Read No Such Thing as a Free Lunch (No Such Thing As...: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) for Free Online Page A

phone rang a few moments later, I let the machine pick it up. It was A-1 Security, confirming my appointment for the next afternoon.
    Heeding Dr. Sanchez’s warning about concussions, to have someone wake me every hour, I set my alarm and lay down on the couch. My head buzzed with anxiety and soon I was floating in and out of restless dreams about car wrecks and a giant man-eating sea turtle that ate Mr. Wiggles. Where
that
came from I have
no
idea.
    I awoke to the sound of a barking dog and a ringing bell. I reached over to turn off the alarm, but the bell kept on ringing. In the semi-darkness I could make out Adrian’s furry little body scratching at the door. I turned on the light next to the couch and stumbled over to the door, craning my neck to check the spy hole.
    Bobby peered back at me, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. His dark hair, dampened by a light drizzle, hung in soft curls around his face. God he was gorgeous. I remained quiet and took a minute to gaze at him.
    “Come on, Alexander, are you going to let me in or what? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”
    I opened the heavy front door and unlocked the storm door. Bobby pulled it open and sauntered into the living room. He peeled off his jacket, tossed it on the couch and sat down. Adrian hopped up next to him.
    “You weren’t sleeping were you?” he asked. “Because when you have a concussion you’re not supposed to fall asleep if you’re alone.”
    “Of course I wasn’t sleeping. I’m not stupid. Hey, how did you know about —”
    Bobby grinned. “Cop grapevine. I ran into Mike Mahoe. He’d heard about it from a cop at the scene.” Mike is a big, good-natured transplanted Hawaiian who looks more at home surfing the waves of Maui than walking a beat in Philly. “So you weren’t sleeping. My mistake.”
    “You don’t believe me,” I said hotly. God I hate it when he doesn’t believe my lies.
    “You fell asleep on the TV remote, sweetheart. The buttons left an impression on your cheek.”
    My hand flew up to my cheek, massaging away the indentations. “That’s why they pay you the big bucks, Detective. Hey, don’t you have a missing cat to check out somewhere?”
    “Nope. Everyone in the city is behaving tonight. Sophia’s asleep and Mrs. Bonaduce is babysitting, so I’m all yours. If you want to go back to sleep be my guest. I’ll wake you in an hour.”
    “I
wasn’t
sleeping.”
    When I woke up an hour later, Bobby was in the kitchen, cooking what smelled suspiciously like real food (as opposed to my usual dinners, which can be found at the checkout stand of the local Seven/Eleven, and while both are delicious, the latter has the nutritional value of plastic).
    I snagged a carrot out of the pot he was using as a salad bowl and sat down at the table. Bobby was busy mushing something pink and lumpy around in a bowl. He added some breadcrumbs and scooped them into patties.
    “You could use some cooking utensils,” he said, expertly flipping the patties into a hot, oiled frying pan.
    “I’ll get right on it. What’s for dinner?”
    “Salmon croquettes. It was the only thing in your cupboard that didn’t have an expiration date that’s older than we are. How’re you feeling?” He kept his voice light, but I knew he was concerned.
    “Good. Much better. Thanks for making dinner. When did you learn to cook?”
    Rocky climbed up on the table and swiped a carrot out of the pot. Before I could stop her, she shot out of the room, the carrot dangling from her mouth like a cigarillo.
    “I’ve got a two year old whose favorite show is
The Iron Chef
,” Bobby laughed. “We spend quality father-daughter time together learning how to make meals made entirely of sticky mung beans. Hey, do me a favor?” He stuck a well-muscled arm out in my direction. “Could you hike up the sleeve?”
    “Sure.” I walked over to the stove and began rolling his