Paint the Town Red (Fox & Oakby Murder Mysteries Book II)

Flaws and Biscuits

When the door closed behind Dr. Fenton, Petra leaned back into the large armchair she'd been seated in while he'd been strapping some sort of a plastic Spanish boot. After the supper of tomato soup - and she was still internally laughing at the significance of the menu - and the painkillers Dr. Fenton had supplied her with, she was feeling rather comfortable, despite being somewhat of a Captain Ahab.

The door opened again, and the Titan walked into the room with a tea tray.

"I've called Albert, he'll drive you to Fenton's surgery tomorrow," he rumbled setting the tray on a small table near her.

"Who's Albert?" Petra asked absent-mindedly, preoccupied with choosing a biscuit.

Interestingly enough, today's assortment was much more attractive than on the day she'd intruded on him in his library. Perhaps her proclivity for sweets had been noted then. Petra bit into a chocolate-covered shortbread.

"The chauffeur," the Titan answered.

He stood, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. They were dark grey, of impeccable cut, and became him immensely. He must have changed while Dr. Fenton was fussing around her injured extremity. Who knew the Titan could look just as elegant in a soft grey jumper as in one of his bespoke three-piece suits? In actuality, Petra did know: she'd seen him in casual attire, once again when she'd finally gotten access to his library.

Petra poured herself tea and threw him an inquiring look. He shook his head.

"Will this become a habit of yours now?" he asked.

Petra picked up the second biscuit, bit a half, and hummed questioningly with her mouth full.

"You endangering yourself due to some sort of an investigation, and me saving you?" he clarified.

Petra swallowed the sweet, sipped her tea, and cocked her head. The Titan looked just as inexpressive as always. She hadn't the foggiest what he was thinking. Petra shrugged.

"Most likely. And if you think of it--" She shook the third biscuit at him. "You didn't exactly save me last time. I simply panicked and probably imagined being followed."

"You haven't imagined being run over by a car," he pointed out.

"No, I don't think I have." Petra giggled. "Unless I subconsciously tried to avoid our dinner."

"You could have simply refused me," he said and sat down in the armchair across the table.

"Does this ever happen - someone refusing you?" Petra asked with a snort.

"Hardly, I have to admit." The right corner of his lips curled up. "But again, you hardly ever comply with the usual rules of engagement, Dr. Nenadovich."

She simply loved his baritone. And to think of it, she'd used to think he was boring!

"I don't mind complying with rules," she said pensively, finishing the fifth biscuit. "Generally. If they make sense."

"If they make sense to you, I imagine," the Titan remarked.

Petra shrugged again.

"So, shall I lock you in a tower to keep you out of harm's way?" he asked.

She might have been imagining, but it seemed his voice dropped and wrapped around 'lock' like a velvet shawl - or a reticulated python. Perhaps, Oakby Snr wasn't boring at all! Perhaps, he was even... naughty!

"Do you have a tower?" Petra asked with sincere curiosity.

"The Old Fire Station belongs to me. I could furnish you a cell in the hose tower."