“Shoot! For a minute there I thought maybe the two of you were thinking about giving it another shot.” He looked hopeful. She knew Delaney was a firm believer in marriage. Despite admiring his partner’s finesse at dating, Delaney seemed to love being married.
“I don’t think reconciliation is possible.”
“You sure?”
“What would you do if Karen made you choose between her and being in the FBI?”
He shook his head, and before he answered she was sorry she’d asked. He pulled his chair closer and his face got serious. “Part of the reason I became an instructor was because I know Karen gets nervous about me being in the middle of hostage negotiations. That last one in Philly, she had to watch most of it on TV. Some sacrifices are worth making.”
She didn’t want to have this conversation. Discussing her failed marriage accomplished nothing these days except to remind her of the hollowness in her gut.
“So I’m the bad guy because I’m not willing to sacrifice my career to make my husband feel better?” The anger in her voice surprised her. “I would never ask Greg to stop being a lawyer.”
“Relax, Maggie. You’re not the bad guy.” Delaney remained calm and sympathetic. “There’s a big difference between asking and expecting. Karen would never have asked. I made the decision. Besides, Greg’s got some major screws loose if he would let you get away, period.”
Her eyes met his, and he smiled, then quickly looked back around to see that Turner was still with his new friends. Though Delaney, Turner and Maggie spent hours together, week after week, there were usually no emotional revelations or personal discussions.
“Do you miss it?”
He glanced back at her and laughed. “What’s to miss? Standing in freezing-cold or stinking-hot weather for hours, trying to talk some asshole out of blowing away innocent people?” He rested his elbows on the table and scratched his jaw, his eyes serious again. “Yeah, I do miss it. But I get called in on a case every now and then.”
“What can I get you two?” a waitress asked as she squeezed between two diners to get to their table.
Immediately, Maggie felt a wave of relief, welcoming the interruption. She saw Delaney’s face relax, too.
“Just Diet Coke for me.” He smiled up at the pretty redhead.
Maggie was impressed with his unconscious flirting. Had it simply become a habit from hanging around Turner so long?
“Scotch, neat,” she said when the waitress looked her way.
“Oh, and that guy over at the end of the bar—” Delaney pointed “—it doesn’t look like it now, but he will eventually be joining us. Is your grill still on?”
The waitress checked her watch. A small beauty mark above her upper lip twitched as she scrunched her eyes to make out the time. In the dim light, Maggie could see the lines of exhaustion in the woman’s attractive face.
“They’re supposed to close down at midnight.” She kept her voice friendly though Maggie could tell it was an effort. “There are still a few minutes if I get it in now.” Her offer was genuine. “Any idea what he wants?”
“A burger and fries,” Delaney said without hesitation.
“Medium rare,” Maggie added.
“With pickles and onion.”
“And a bottle of A.1 sauce, if you have it.”
“Oh, and cheddar cheese on the burger, too.”
The waitress smiled at them. Maggie glanced at Delaney, and they burst out laughing.
“God, I wonder if Turner realizes how predictable he is?” Maggie said while wondering if there was anyone who paid as much attention to her habits and quirks.
“It sounds like the three of you are very good friends.” The waitress had relaxed, looking a little less fatigued. “I don’t suppose you know what he’ll be drinking?”
“Do you have Boulevard Wheat?” Delaney asked.
“Of course. Actually, it’s a Kansas City brew.”
“Okay. Well, that’s what he’ll want.”
“I’ll get his order in and bring back your drinks. Sure I can’t get either of you something to eat?”
“Maggie?” Delaney waited for her to shake her head. “Maybe some fries for me.”
“You got it.”
“Thanks, Rita,” Delaney added as though they were old friends.
As soon as she left their table, Maggie gave Delaney’s shoulder a shove. “I thought you said you weren’t good at this stuff?”
“What stuff?”
“This flirting stuff. Usually Turner’s doing it, so I don’t get to see the real master at work.”
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” But it was obvious from his grin that he was enjoying the attention.
“‘Thanks, Rita’?”
“That’s her name, Maggie. That’s why they wear those name tags, so we can all share a friendly meal.”
“Oh, right, only she never gets to know our names or sit down and eat with us. How friendly is that?”
“Hey, guys.” Turner slid into the last chair. “Lots of attorneys here this time.”
“Those two women are attorneys?” Delaney craned his neck to get a better look.
“You betcha.” He waved a piece of paper with their phone numbers before tucking it into his pocket. “And I never know when I might need an attorney.”
“Yeah, right. Like the three of you were talking legal matters.”
Maggie ignored their banter and simply asked, “What conference is this anyway?”
Both men stopped and stared at her as if waiting for the punch line.
“You’re serious?” Turner finally asked.
“Hey, I make the same presentation every time, whether I’m in Kansas City or Chicago or L.A.”
“You really don’t get into these things, do you?”
“It’s definitely not why I joined the FBI.” Suddenly she felt uncomfortable with both of them studying her as if she had slipped and said something wrong. “Besides, Cunningham keeps my name off the program roster, so it’s not like anyone is coming specifically to hear me and my words of wisdom.”
She had interrupted their jovial moods, reminding them why she was really here. Not because she longed to teach profiling to a bunch of cops, but to keep her out of the field, away from Albert Stucky. Rita returned, relieving Maggie once again, this time with a tray of drinks. Turner immediately raised his eyebrows at her when she placed the bottle of beer and a glass in front of him.
“Rita, you’re a mind reader.” He wasted no time using her name just as Delaney had, as if they, too, were old friends.
The pretty waitress blushed, and Maggie watched Delaney, searching for signs of rivalry. Instead, he seemed pleased to leave the flirting to his single friend.
“Your burger and fries should be ready in about ten minutes.”
“Oh my God! Rita, will you marry me?”
“Actually, you should thank your friends. They got the order in just before Carl closed the grill.” She smiled at Maggie and Delaney this time. “I’ll bring out the rest of the order as soon as it’s ready.” Then she hurried away.
Maggie couldn’t help thinking that Rita was a seasoned waitress who already knew which of her customers were the big tippers. Turner rewarded his waiters and waitresses with attention and familiarity, but it was Maggie or Delaney who remembered to leave a substantial tip.
“So, Turner,” Delaney said. “Why are there attorneys at this conference?”
“Mostly prosecutors. Sounds like they’re all here for that computer workshop. You know, the database thing the Bureau’s been setting up. Lots of D.A. offices are finally getting connected. At least in the bigger cities. And since they’re all sooooo very busy, and can never spare an experienced attorney, it looks like they’ve sent their fresh young things.” He sat back and surveyed the room.
Maggie and Delaney shook their heads at each other. Just as Maggie tipped back her glass, she saw a familiar figure in the long mirror that stretched behind the bar. She slammed her glas
s down and stood, sending the table rocking and her chair screeching. She looked over in the direction from where she thought the mirror had reflected the image.
“Maggie, what is it?”
Turner and Delaney stared at her as she stretched to see over the bar patrons. Was it her imagination?
“Maggie?”
She checked the mirror again. The figure in the black leather jacket was gone.
“What’s going on, Maggie?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I’m fine.” Of course she was fine. Yet her eyes searched for and found the door. There was no man in a long, black leather jacket coming or going.
She sat down, pulling her chair in and avoiding her friends’ eyes. They were getting used to her jumpy, erratic behavior. Soon, she’d be like the little boy who cried wolf, and no one would pay any attention. Maybe that was exactly what he wanted.
She grabbed her glass and watched the amber liquid swirl. Had it only been her imagination? Had she really seen Albert Stucky or was she simply losing her mind?
CHAPTER 16
He waited for her at the rear exit, knowing this was the door she would use when she was finally ready to leave. The alley was dark. The brick buildings stood tall enough to block out any moonlight. A few bare lightbulbs glowed above some of the back doors. The bulbs were dull, covered with bug shit and swarmed by moths, but still his eyes stung when he looked at them directly. He tucked his sunglasses into his jacket pocket and checked his watch.
Only three cars remained in the small parking lot. One was his, and he knew neither of the other two belonged to her. He knew she wouldn’t be driving this night. He had decided to offer her a ride, but would she accept?
He knew how to be charming. That was simply a part of the game, a part of his disguise. If he was to take on this new identity, he would need to play the role that came with it. And out of the two of them, women always preferred him to Albert.
Yes, he knew what women liked to hear, and he didn’t mind telling them. In fact, he enjoyed it. It was part of the manipulation, an integral piece of the puzzle to gaining complete control. He had discovered that even strong, independent women didn’t mind giving up control to a man they found charming. What silly, wonderful creatures. Maybe he would give her his sad story about his failing eyesight. Women loved being caretakers. They loved to play roles of their own.
The challenge excited him, and he could feel his erection swelling. He would have no trouble tonight. Now, if he could just wait. He must be patient—patient and charming. Could he be charming enough to get her to invite him home with her? Already, he tried to imagine what her bedroom looked like.
A door screeched open halfway down the alley, and he stepped into the shadows. A short, burly guy in a stained apron came out to toss several trash bags into the Dumpster. He lingered, lighting a cigarette and sucking in several quick drags before stomping it out and going back in.
Most of the other places had closed. He didn’t worry about being seen. If anyone noticed him, he could tell them almost anything, and they would believe it. People heard what they wanted to hear. Sometimes it was too easy. Though if he had guessed right, she would be a bit of a challenge. She was much older, much more street savvy than the cute little pizza girl. He would need to do some serious talking to get her to trust him. He would need to pour on the charm, compliment her and make her laugh. Again, he could feel his erection as he thought of winning her over, wondering how far he could go.
Perhaps he would start with a gentle touch, a simple caress of her face. He’d pretend he was getting a strand of her lovely hair out of her eyes or tell her she had an eyelash on her cheek. She would think him concerned, attentive and sensitive to her needs. Women loved that crap.
Suddenly the door opened, and there she was. She hesitated, looking around first. She checked the sky. A light mist had begun about fifteen minutes ago. She popped open a bright red umbrella and started walking quickly toward the street. Red was definitely her color.
He waited, giving her a head start, while he reached down and checked the scalpel, safe in its custom-made, leather sheath, and tucked inside his boot. He caressed its handle, his fingers lingering, but he left it there. Then he followed her down the alley.
CHAPTER 17
Monday, March 30
Tess McGowan awoke with a splitting headache. Sunlight streamed through her bedroom blinds like lasers. Damn it! She had gone to bed again without removing her contact lenses. She threw her arm over her eyes. Why hadn’t she gotten the type she could leave in forever? She hated this recent reminder of her age. Thirty-five was not old. Okay, so she had squandered her twenties. She wasn’t doing the same with her thirties.
Suddenly she realized she was naked beneath the covers. And then she felt the sticky mess beside her. Alarmed, she pushed herself up, keeping the bedsheets to her breasts, searching the room through blurred vision for clues.
Why couldn’t she remember Daniel being here? He never stayed over at her house. He said it was too quaint. She noticed her clothes in a tangled mess on the chair across the room. Heaped on the floor next to the chair were what looked like men’s trousers, the tips of shoes peeking out from underneath. A black leather bomber jacket hung from the doorknob. She didn’t recognize it as anything Daniel would wear. That’s when she heard the shower, aware of its sound only as the water stopped. Her pulse quickened as she tried to remember something, anything, from last night.
She checked the bedside stand. It was eight forty-five. Somehow she remembered it was Monday morning. She knew she didn’t have any appointments on Mondays, but Daniel would. Why couldn’t she remember him coming over? Why couldn’t she remember herself coming home?
Think, Tess! She rubbed her temples.
Daniel had left the restaurant and she had taken a cab home, but of course she hadn’t gone straight home. The last thing she did remember was doing tequila shooters at Louie’s. Had she called Daniel to pick her up? Why couldn’t she remember? And would he be furious if she asked him to fill in the blanks? Obviously he hadn’t been angry with her last night, and she shifted away from the damp spot.
She laid her head back on the pillows, squeezing her eyes shut and wishing the throbbing would stop threatening to split her head open.
“Good morning, Tess,” a rich, deep voice came into the room.
Before she could open her eyes, she knew the voice didn’t belong to Daniel. In a panic she sat up again and pushed her back against the headboard. The tall, lean stranger with only a blue towel wrapped around his waist looked startled and concerned.
“Tess?” he said softly. “You okay?”
Then she remembered, as if a dam broke loose in her brain, releasing the memories in a flood. He had been at Louie’s, watching her from the corner table, handsome and quiet, so very unlike anyone who frequented Louie’s. How could she have brought him into her home?
“Tess, you’re starting to scare me.”
His concern seemed genuine. At least she hadn’t brought home a mass murderer. But then, how in the world did she think she’d know the difference? With his hair still wet, he looked harmless, wrapped in only a towel. Immediately she noticed his hard, firm body and realized he would be strong enough to overpower her without much effort. How could she have been so foolish?
“I’m sorry. I…you startled me.” She tried to keep the alarm from her voice.
He grabbed his trousers from the floor but stopped suddenly before putting them on as if something had just occurred to him.
“Oh Christ! You don’t remember, do you?”
Beneath the morning bristles, his boyish face looked embarrassed. He fumbled into his trousers, stumbling once and accidentally dropping the towel before the trousers were all the way up. Tess watched, flustered and annoyed that his muscular body was turning her on, despite her confusion. She should be worried he could hurt her, instead she found herself wondering how young he was. And dear God, why couldn’t she remember his name?
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“I should have known you had too much to drink,” he apologized as he frantically searched for his shirt, going through her things and carefully folding them as he put them back on the chair. He stopped at her bra, and his embarrassment only grew. His distraught politeness made her smile. When he glanced over at her, he did a double take, startled by her expression. He sank into the chair, now ignoring her clothes and absently wringing his hands and her bra without realizing it.
“I’m a complete idiot, aren’t I?”
“No, not at all.” She smiled again, and his obvious discomfort relaxed her. She sat up, keeping the sheet carefully pressed against her as she drew her knees up to her chest and placed her arms on top to rest her chin.
“It’s just that I don’t do this sort of thing,” she tried to explain. “At least, not anymore.”
“I don’t usually do this sort of thing at all.” He noticed her bra in his hands, folded it and set it on the nearby bookcase. “So you really don’t remember any of last night?”
“I remember you watching me. I remember being very attracted to you.” Her revelation surprised her almost as much as it surprised him.
“That’s it?” He looked wounded.
“Sorry.”
Finally, he grinned and shrugged. She couldn’t believe how comfortable she felt with him. There was no more panic, no more alarm. The only tension seemed to be the obvious sexual attraction, which she tried to ignore. He didn’t look as if he was even thirty. And he was a stranger, for heaven’s sake. She wanted to kick herself. Dear God! How could she have been so reckless? Had she not changed at all after all this time?
“If I ever find my shirt, could I maybe take you to lunch?”
Then she remembered Daniel. How would she explain any of this to Daniel? She felt the sapphire ring he had given her stabbing into the soft underside of her chin, like some painful reminder. What was wrong with her? Daniel was a mature, respectable businessman. Sure, he was arrogant and self-absorbed sometimes, but at least he wasn’t some kid she had picked up in a bar.