She jerked back, her eyes going huge as she pressed her fingers to the sting.
“Oh God, oh my God, Cat. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—Did I hurt you? Oh Jesus.” He took her arms, and his face was as stunned as she imagined hers was. “It was an accident. I swear.”
“It’s all right.”
“You just walked right into it. I didn’t expect . . . I’m so fucking clumsy. God, let me see. Is there a bruise?”
“It was barely a tap.” True enough, she thought. More a shock than an actual hit.
“It’s red,” he murmured and touched his fingers gently to her cheek. “I feel terrible. I feel like a monster. Your beautiful face.”
“It’s nothing.” She found herself soothing him after all. “You didn’t mean it, and I’m not fragile.”
“You are to me.” He drew her into his arms. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come by in such a lousy mood in the first place. I just wanted to see you. Then you were partying downstairs. I just wanted to be with you.”
He brushed his lips over her cheek. “Just needed to be with you.”
“I’m here now.” She touched his hair. “And I’m sorry I can’t help you out on Thursday. Really.”
He eased back, smiled. “Maybe you can make it up to me.”
The sex was good. It was always good with Luke. And because of the spat, and the slap, he was particularly tender. Her body warmed under his, the muscles taxed by her own long day loosened. And while her system climbed to peak, her mind emptied.
Satisfied and sleepy, she curled against him.
“You ever going to get a bigger bed?” he asked.
She smiled in the dark. “One of these days.”
“Why don’t you come to my place for the weekend? We can hit a couple of clubs Saturday night, do a late brunch Sunday morning.”
“Mmmm. Maybe. I may have to help out with the lunch shift downstairs on Saturday, but after. Maybe after.”
He was silent a moment, and she thought he’d drifted off to sleep. “You could deal with your parents earlier on Thursday, skip out of the dinner part and meet me at the restaurant at seven.”
“Luke, that’s just not going to work for me.”
“Fine.” There was a sulk in his voice as he rolled away, got out of bed. “We’ll just leave it all your way, as usual.”
“That’s not fair, and you know it.”
“What’s not fair,” he snapped back as he began to dress, “is your unwillingness to compromise on anything. The way you put everything ahead of me.”
The postcoital glow evaporated. “If you really feel that way, I don’t know what you’re doing with me.”
“At the moment, neither do I. You take more than you give, Cat.” He buttoned his shirt with short, sharp movements. “Before much longer, I’m going to be tapped out.”
“I’m giving you the best I’ve got.”
He shoved his feet into his shoes. “That’s really sad for you.”
When he stalked out, she lay back.
Was she that selfish? she wondered. That emotionally stingy? She cared about Luke, but did she take a real interest in his work? Not so much, she admitted, not when she was so wrapped up in her own.
Maybe her best was sad.
She rolled over in the dark and searched a long time for sleep.
When Reena walked into the squad room with O’Donnell after spending most of her shift knocking on doors and interviewing witnesses, getting statements from the owner of the building’s ex-wife, former business partner, current girlfriend, there were three dozen long-stemmed white roses spread over the majority of her desk.
The flowers caused a lot of comments from other members of the unit, but the card made her smile.
Cat,
I’m sorry.
The Idiot.
Still, she didn’t indulge in sniffing at them until she’d carried them into the break room to give her enough room on her desk to work.
She had reports to write. Though the identity of the body had yet to be confirmed, the owner was still among the missing.
With O’Donnell, she walked into their CO’s office to update him.
“Waiting for the lab reports,” O’Donnell began. “Owner—James R. Harrison—was last seen knocking a few back in a place called Fan Dance, a strip club a few blocks from the scene. We got a credit card receipt cashing him out at twelve-forty. Ford truck registered to him’s parked back of the building.”
He glanced at Reena, signaling her to take over.
“We found a toolbox under the debris on the first level, and a screwdriver with a blade that appears to match the punctures on the bottom of the gas can recovered from the scene. Harrison did a turn for fraud five years ago, so his prints are on file. They match ones we lifted from the toolbox, the screwdriver and the gas can. ME wasn’t able to get prints off the body, so they’re working on dental.”
“We should have that tomorrow,” O’Donnell added. “Talked to some of his associates. He had serious money problems. Liked the horses, and they didn’t like him.”
Captain Brant nodded, sat back. His hair was ice white, his eyes a cold blue. There were pictures of his grandchildren on a desk he kept as tidy as her aunt Carmela’s company parlor.
“So, it’s looking like he lit the place up, trying to cash in on the insurance, got trapped inside.”
“Looking that way, Captain. The ME didn’t find any signs of foul play, no wounds or injuries. We’re still waiting for tox,” Reena added, “but nothing’s popping that indicates somebody wanted him dead. He has a small life insurance policy. Five thousand, and it goes to the ex-wife. He never changed the beneficiary. She’s remarried, got full-time employment, so does her husband. She doesn’t look good for it.”
“Wrap it up. Quick work,” he added.
“I’ll write the report,” she offered when she and O’Donnell walked into the squad room.
“Have at it. I’ve got some other paperwork to catch up on.”
He sat. His desk faced hers. “It your birthday or something?”
“No. Why? Oh, the flowers.” She settled in front of her keyboard with her notes. “Guy I’m seeing was a bit of a jerk last night. I get the bennies.”
“Classy.”
“Yeah, he’s got that going for him.”
“This a serious deal?”
“Haven’t decided. Why, you hitting on me?”
He grinned, and the tips of his ears reddened. “My sister’s got this kid who’s done some work for her. Carpenter. Does good work. Nice kid, she tells me. She’s trying to fix him up.”
“And what, you think I’ll go on a blind date with your sister’s carpenter?”
“Said I’d ask.” He lifted his hands. “Nice-looking boy, she says.”
“Then let him find his own girl,” Reena suggested, and began to write her report.
11
Bo scarfed down the last peanut butter cookie, washed it down with cold milk. Then, sitting at the breakfast counter he’d built himself, gave an exaggerated sigh.
“If you’d ditch that husband of yours, Mrs. M., I’d build you the home of your dreams. All I’d ask in return would be your peanut butter cookies.”
She grinned, and flicked her dish towel at him. “Last time it was my apple pie. What you need’s a nice young girl to take care of you.”
“I’ve got one. I’ve got you.”
She laughed. He really liked the way she laughed, with her head thrown back so the big boom of it hit the ceiling. She had a round, comfortable body and so would he if she kept feeding him cookies. Her hair was red as a stoplight and all fuzzy curls.
She was old enough to be his mother, and a hell of a lot more fun than the one nature had given him.
“Need a girl your own age.” She poked a finger at him. “Handsome boy like you.”
“It’s just that there are so many to choose from. And none of them hold my heart like you, Mrs. M.”
“Go on. You’ve got more bl
arney than my old grandda did. And he was Irish as Paddy’s pig.”
“There was a girl once, but I lost her. Twice.”
“How?”
“Just a vision across a crowded room.” He lifted his hands, flicked his fingers. “Evaporated. You into love at first sight?”
“Of course I am.”
“Maybe this was, and I’m just wandering aimlessly until I find her again. Thought I did once, but she poofed on me that time, too. Now, I’ve got to get going.”
He unfolded himself from the stool, six feet two inches of lean muscle. The years of physical labor had built him up, toughened him.
She might have been twice his age, but she was still female, and Bridgett Malloy appreciated the view.
She had a soft spot for this handsome boy, that was the truth. But she was too practical to have continued to throw work his way over the past six months if he wasn’t skilled and honest.
“I’m going to find you a girl yet. Mark my words.”
“Make sure she knows how to bake.” He bent down, kissed her cheek. “Say hi to Mr. M. for me,” he added as he pulled on his coat. “And just give me a call if you need anything.”
She handed him a bag of cookies. “I’ve got your number, Bowen, in more ways than one.”
He headed out to his truck. Could it get any colder? he wondered, and stuck to the path he’d dug out for her from steps to driveway. The ground was white with snow that had melted to ice, refrozen. And the sky above was a heavy gray that promised more of the white stuff.
He decided he’d stop at the market on his way home. Man didn’t live by peanut butter cookies alone. Maybe he wouldn’t have minded finding a woman who knew her way around the kitchen, but he’d gotten to be a good hand in there himself.
He had his own business now. He patted the wheel of the truck as he got in. Goodnight’s Custom Carpentry. And together, he and Brad had bought, rehabbed and turned over a couple of small houses.
He could still remember talking Brad into that first investment, pitching the sagging wreck of a house as a diamond in the rough. He had to give Brad credit for vision—or utter faith.
He had to give his grandmother credit for trusting him enough to front some of the money. Which reminded him to call her when he got home, see if she needed him to fix anything around her house.
He and Brad had worked like dogs, rehabbing that first house. They’d turned a good profit, repaid his grandmother plus interest. And reinvested the rest.
When he took the time to think about it, to really think back, he had a dead boy to thank for where he was today. Why that event, the death of a virtual stranger, had changed his life he couldn’t be sure. But it had motivated him to stop drifting, to get moving.
Josh, he thought now as he drove away from the Malloy house in Owen’s Mill. Mandy had been really broken up about it. And oddly enough, the fire and the kid’s death had been some of the elements that had cemented their friendship.
Brad and . . . what the hell was her name? The little blonde who’d been the object of his friend’s intense desire back in those days. Carrie? Cathie? Shit, it didn’t matter. That hadn’t gone anywhere.
Right now, Brad’s object was a spicy brunette who liked to salsa dance.
But his own blonde—the one glimpsed at a party a lifetime ago—still cropped up in his mind now and then. He could still see that face, the tumble of curls, the little mole near her mouth.
Gone, long gone, he reminded himself. He’d never known her name, the sound of her voice, her scent. Which was probably what made that memory, that feeling all the sweeter. She was whatever he wanted her to be.
He streamed into traffic, decided everybody in Baltimore had opted to go to the grocery store after work. All it took was dire whispers of snow, and every mother’s son and daughter jammed the aisles. Maybe he could skip it, make due with what he had.
Or just order in a pizza.
He had to go over his drawings for another job, and the supply list for the house he and Brad had just settled on.
His time was better spent . . .
He glanced idly to his left as the traffic in his lane stopped.
At first all he saw was a woman, a really pretty woman driving a dark blue Chevy Blazer. Lots of hair, curling hair the color of light caramel, springing out from under a black watch cap. She was tapping her fingers on the steering wheel in a way that told him she was keeping time to something on the radio. His was rocking with Springsteen’s “Growin’ Up.” And from the rhythm of her fingers, he thought she had the same station going.
Funny.
Entertained at the thought, he angled so he could get a better look at her face.
And there she was. Dream Girl. The cheekbones, the curve of lips, the little mole.
His mouth dropped open, and shock had him jerking, stalling his truck. She flicked a glance in his direction, and for a moment—a kind of breathless moment—those long, tawny eyes met his.
And once again, the music stopped.
He thought, Holy shit!, then she frowned, turned her head away. Drove off.
“But, but, but—” His own stutter brought him back. He cursed himself, turned on the engine. But his lane was stuck, and hers was moving right along. Horns blasted irritably as he dragged off his seat belt, shoved open his door.
He actually had the wild idea of running after her car. Just running down the street like a mental patient. But she was too far ahead. Too far, he thought, furious with himself, for him to even read her plate.
“There you go again,” he murmured, and simply stood, horns blaring around him, as the first flakes of snow fell.
Anyway, it was weird.” Reena leaned on the counter in the kitchen at Sirico’s, where her mother was back, manning the stove. “I mean he was really good-looking, if you discount the fact that his mouth was hanging open wide enough to catch a swarm of flies, and his eyes were bugged out like somebody’d just rammed a stick up his butt. I mean I could feel him staring at me, you know? And when I looked over, he’s like this.”
Reena mimed the look.
“Maybe he was having a heart attack.”
“Mama.” With a laugh, Reena leaned over to kiss her cheek. “He was just weird.”
“You keep your doors locked?”
“Mama, I’m a cop. Speaking of which, I caught another case today. Couple of kids broke into their school, set fires in a couple of classrooms. Didn’t do a good job of it, lucky for them.”
“Where are the parents?”
“They’re not all you. Fire-setting like this is a big problem with kids. Nobody was hurt, which was a godsend, and the property damage was minimal. O’Donnell and I rounded them up, but one of them—I’ve got a bad feeling about him. I think the psych eval’s going to back me up. Ten years old, and he’s got that look in his eyes. Remember Joey Pastorelli? That look.”
“Then it’s good you caught him.”
“This time. Well, I’ve got to go spruce myself up for my date.”
“Where are you going tonight?”
“I don’t know. Luke’s being very mysterious about it. I’m ordered to wear something fantastic, which is why I was hitting the mall for a new dress and had my weird-guy sighting.”
“Luke. Is he the one?”
“He’s the one right now.” She rubbed a hand down her mother’s back. He wasn’t the long-haul guy, she knew that already. “You’ve got Bella and Fran tucked in and giving you grandbabies.”