For something that tasted so vile, the freshly ground and brewed beans smelled surprisingly delicious. She hoped that meant she’d made a suitable cup of coffee, and put the water back on to reheat for her tea as she cleaned up.
Richard still hadn’t returned to the kitchen by the time she’d finished steeping her tea, and she started to worry. Had the toilet stopped up? Had Sir Kipling escaped and somehow locked her date in the bathroom? How he would pull off such a stunt she had no idea, but she wouldn’t put it past him.
After carefully arranging their plates of pie and hot mugs of steaming goodness, she headed for the kitchen doorway, intending to poke her head around the corner and see if the bathroom door was still closed. Just as she neared the corner, however, Richard rounded it, moving with uncharacteristic haste, and they collided. Well, actually, Lily bumped into Richard’s tall, solid frame, and bounced. She might have fallen flat on her bottom if he hadn’t reached out and caught her, pulling her to him in a convulsive grab that seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised her. He quickly let go, apologizing profusely as he checked her over for damage. His look of embarrassed guilt was slow to fade as she shakily brushed off his concern, spouting every politeness she could think of in an attempt to halt the rising flush in her cheeks.
They finally made it back to the table and sat, avoiding each other’s gaze as they partook of the after-dinner fare. Lily hadn’t put out cream or sugar, assuming Richard scorned those frilly additives as just a distraction from the all-important task of caffeine consumption. Sure enough, he reached for his coffee straight away even before tasting the pie, not pausing until he’d brought it close enough to breathe in the aroma rising from it on swirling tendrils of steam.
“Wow!” he exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise. “This smells fantastic. For someone who thinks coffee is vile, you sure are good at making it!” He beamed at her, raising his cup in salute before drinking at least half of it down in one gulp, unaffected by or simply ignoring the scalding heat.
Lily couldn’t help but smile. She sipped her spiced chai primly, trying not to look too pleased. “Oh, don’t exaggerate, Mr. Grant. I mean, Richard,” she amended at his mock scowl. “I’m sure it only tastes so good because you’re used to cheap diner coffee.”
“Not true,” he argued, putting down the cup and picking up his fork, which he waved about animatedly as he drove home his point. “I happen to be quite the coffee connoisseur. I know what a good cup of joe tastes like. And this”—he pointed to his cup with the fork—“is a good cup of joe.”
“You’re too kind,” Lily insisted demurely, though only because it was polite to do so. Inside she was glowing, feeling that she’d finally accomplished something. For once. “I would save the gushing, though. You haven’t tasted your pie yet.”
He did, dramatically rolling his eyes heavenward and making sounds of ecstasy as he savored the first bite. “Holy smokes, woman, where have you been all my life? I haven’t had pie like this since my Granny’s fourth of July picnics back when I was a kid.” The pie disappeared in short order, even before the rest of the coffee, which Lily took as a greater compliment than all of Richard’s words and dramatic sound effects put together.
Of course, it was possible he was just laying it on thick in an attempt to make up for their last date. But Lily chose to focus on the genuine look of pleasure on his face as he ate instead of dwelling on the possibility of calculated compliments. After all, you couldn’t blame a man for trying.
After dessert they retired to the couch. Well, it would be more accurate to say that she attempted to hide behind a stack of dirty dishes, which Richard deftly extracted her from as he gently pulled her toward the living room. She didn’t know why, but now that the distraction of food and drink had been removed, she felt suddenly and cripplingly shy. What happened next? Was it too early to ask him to leave? Did she even want him to leave? If he stayed, what would they do? Hadn’t there been something she was going to ask him? She couldn’t remember.
Fortunately, her ninja worrying skills were no match for his quiet confidence, and he seemed not to mind her abrupt awkwardness as he settled her on the couch and sat next to her: not so close as to crowd, but close enough to lean in for a kiss. Why that particular measurement of distance came to mind she declined to consider, yet she didn’t scoot away to a more respectable distance, either. For some reason, though, when Richard rested his arm on the back of the couch—not touching her, just reminding her of the possibility—she felt oddly caged. Hemmed in on all sides. Was that a normal feeling? She had no idea, having nothing to compare it to. She wanted to want to be near him. But her traitorous emotions were not cooperating.
She tried to relax, reminding herself that sitting companionably on the couch was a perfectly normal thing to do with one’s date. Wasn’t it?
Richard, it seemed, had a nervous side, too, under all that calm composure. His posture was relaxed, but Lily could feel tension in the air. “Thank you for the wonderful meal,” he said abruptly, probably as desperate as she was to break the silence.
“It was nothing,” Lily murmured, staring at the bottom corner of her bookshelf where it met the rug.
“Nonsense, Miss Singer. I—may I call you Lily?”
She nodded mutely, now examining the books on the shelves.
“Lily, it was a delicious example of fine cooking and I’m honored to have been a part of it.”
Pleased, but not knowing what to say, she simply didn’t answer, eyes absently surveying each title on her bookshelf to make sure it was in alphabetical order. Wait, what was The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes doing to the right of Alice in Wonderland? It belonged on the left side. Who had moved it?
“Lily? Lily!”
Her head finally turned at Richard’s second, more insistent call. She focused on the knot of his tie. A very well-tied knot it was, too. A handsome knot. A handsome man.
“Is there something wrong?” he asked, voice warm but concerned.
“Um…no.” Lily said slowly. “I’m just not very good at…well…you see I haven’t had much opportunity to…”—she hesitated, paralyzed mind refusing her command for an elegant way to express herself—“date,” she finished, blushing.
Richard chuckled, though it had a nervous tinge to it. “Don’t worry. Even old dogs like me freeze up sometimes. But I don’t see why you have anything to worry about. You’re a remarkable woman. Smart, talented, beautiful, well-spoken. Nobody is going to care about a few awkward jitters when you’ve got all that going for you.”
“Really?” She asked, finally daring to look up. His hazel eyes caught hers and he stared deep into them, seeming to forget what he was about to say.
Some inexorable force was pulling at her, drawing her closer to him. The decision-making part of her mind had shut down, refusing to respond to the frantic voice in the back of her head, and she found she was grateful. And terrified. How could one be excited about and yet dread something at the same time? She spent a good few seconds mulling over this question, clinging to the welcome distraction as Richard’s face loomed nearer and nearer. He seemed just as mesmerized as she, though there was a hint of something else in his eyes.
His face was so close now that she could feel the warmth of his breath. It sent tingles all the way through her body, down her spine, and to her toes, awakening a fire in her she’d never felt before. It was deep, hot, and made her shiver in delight. She closed her eyes, waiting, breathless.
“MEOW!”
The very loud and insistent sound crashed down over her like a bucket of ice-cold water. She felt Richard jump in surprise, and her eyes flew open as she whipped her head around toward the sound’s source, thunderclouds coalescing above her head.
“Sir Edgar Allan Kipling! I told you—” She stopped abruptly, gaze falling on the small pile of black somethings at her saboteur cat’s feet. “What are those?” She asked in confusion, an uncomfortable chill washing over her skin that only moments before had been so ho
t.
“Gifts your date left in the hall, bedroom, and bathroom. I suspect there’s one in here, too, but I haven’t looked yet.”
“How in the world did—” Lily vaguely heard Richard’s confused voice, but she shut it out.
“What do you mean?” she asked her cat, not caring that there was another person in the room witnessing her one-sided conversation. She started to get up, needing to prove to herself that those small black things were not what they looked like. But Richard grabbed her wrist, stopping her. She turned in surprise, and finally saw, looming there plain as day, what she’d only caught glimpses of before.
Guilt.
Her heart skipped a beat and she could hardly breathe.
“Look, I can explain—
“Let go of me!” She bit out, wrenching her wrist from his grip with a sudden viciousness that caught them both off guard. Thoughts and feelings bombarded her, horrified questions she needed, but didn’t want, answers to. Getting up from the couch, she bent and gathered the objects, a cold dread washing through her as she stared down at them. She didn’t need to be an FBI agent to know that they were listening devices.
The cold dread was replaced by a hot knife. Her chest hurt like she’d been stabbed. First her father, then her best friend, now her date. Was there any man she could trust?
“Get. Out.” Her words snapped through the air like gunshots. Was that why her ears were ringing? Or was that the rage?
Richard got up slowly from the couch, hands held up in pleading. “Lily, it’s not what it looks like. I mean, it is, but not like you think. Please, let me explain.” He tried to take a step toward her, but Sir Kipling arched his back and hissed ferociously, making him start.
“Explain? It seems pretty plain to me, Agent Grant,” she said, her words sharp enough to cut glass. Richard winced at each one. “You took advantage of me. You came into my house, ate my food, played with my feelings, all so you could spy on me. Obviously I’m under FBI investigation, though for what I have no clue”—she had some guesses, but wasn’t about to voice them—“and apparently it was just too difficult to set up a van on the corner like any normal FBI stakeout. No, you had to worm your way into my home and string me along all while pretending to be a respectable southern gentleman.
“Why? Were you bored of sitting out in your van? Did you want a little sport? You make me sick,” she spat out. “Well here’s your sport. Catch.” She threw the handful of electronic bugs at him as hard as she could. He reacted instantly, arms raising reflexively to protect his face so that the tiny missiles bounced off them instead, scattering in all directions.
Arms still raised, he peered at her between them, expression tortured. “Please, Lily. It’s not like that at all. I really am interested in you. Everything I told you is the truth. Yes, I originally approached you because you’re part of an ongoing investigation and I had to do my job. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. There’s a lot of stuff going on you don’t know about. The FBI is trying to protect you as much as get answers. I’m trying to keep you safe, not spy on you. If you’d just sit down we can talk about it. I’ll explain everything.”
Lily drew herself up, summoning every shred of dignity she had left. “You will address me as Miss Singer, if you please, Agent Grant. And I am not interested in hearing anything you have to say. You’ve manipulated me from the start and I want you out of my house this instant. If the FBI has anything to say to me, have them send someone else, because I never want to see you again.”
“Please—”
“Leave!”
Sir Kipling punctuated her word with a few more hisses and a threatening swipe in Richard’s direction.
Richard’s shoulders drooped in defeat, and he bent to pick up his surveillance equipment before heading for the door. After he opened it, he looked back, lips parted to voice another plea.
“Out!” Lily almost yelled, desperate to be rid of him as hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes.
He turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.
Lily collapsed on the couch, burying her head in her arms as she wept, heart broken in so many new, painful places she hadn’t realized were there.
Fortunately she had all of Sunday to regain enough composure to be seen in polite company. It seemed she’d fallen harder for Richard than she realized, though that wasn’t the worst of it. What hurt the most was knowing she had, once again, ignored her instincts in search of companionship. She yearned for someone to be close to, someone who understood her—whether that be a father who shared her interest in magic or a boyfriend who could recite poetry with her. John Faust had been bad enough, but her blindness in that case was understandable. She was desperate to know her real father, and John Faust was a master of lies and manipulation. After seeing the truth, she should have been more careful, should have known better. Well, she had known better, deep down, which is what galled her. Richard was an FBI agent, for goodness’ sake. Why had she deluded herself into thinking he cared for anything else than to pry into her life?
Copious amounts of tea and chocolate dulled the stabbing hurt but left a bitter ache that plagued her deep into the night. Sir Kipling kept close, rubbing on her ankles and curling up to purr in her lap at every opportunity. He didn’t utter a single “see” or “I told you so,” proving his undying love for her with uncharacteristic restraint. She was more grateful than words could express, as he seemed to be the only male around she could trust these days.
With that sad commentary on her life to keep her company, she left for work Monday morning in less-than-high spirits. She’d had her phone turned off since Saturday night, not wanting even the possibility of a call from Richard to disturb her. Now, sitting down at her desk, she took a moment to relax surrounded by the comforting smell of books and the soft glow of morning light suffusing her office. Then, taking a deep breath, she turned on her phone and braced for a slew of voicemails she was determined to delete without mercy.
To her great surprise, she had only one, and it wasn’t from Richard. She felt both relieved and hurt but tried not to dwell on it as she listened to the voicemail.
“Miss Singer, your commission has been accepted by your first choice of artist. She has agreed to meet this Monday evening at the time and location indicated on your form, to discuss the particulars of your commission. As per our contract, we will be withdrawing fifty percent of the agreed-upon payment from your bank account, with the full amount to follow at the confirmed completion of your commission. If, for any reason, the artist fails to complete the commission, your payment will be refunded minus a ten percent transaction fee. We are at your disposal should you have any questions or concerns. Have a good evening.”
The crisp, painfully proper voice of Anton Silvester cut off as the voicemail ended, leaving Lily even more weary than before. Over the weekend she’d done her best to forget about everything—the ploy to find Tina, Sebastian’s predicament, her father’s machinations. Now it all came crashing back and she wondered how she would get through it all.
There was nothing for it, however, but to do her best. Duty wasn’t something you abandoned just because you’d had a bad day. Or weekend. Or life. And despite the fact that, in the throes of hurt and betrayal, she’d lumped Sebastian in with all the other men who’d caused her pain in her life, he was actually the one person out of all of them that she missed. She just wished he’d stop hiding things from her.
The day passed much more quickly than she wanted it to, bringing her inexorably closer to her confrontation with Tina. She wasn’t looking forward to it, not least because she was terrible at confrontation, but also because she’d have to talk about Sebastian. Those feelings were still a tangled mess, and it was easier to ignore them.
Through the form she’d submitted to Anton, she’d arranged to meet Tina at Grant Park, close to the entrance to Zoo Atlanta. It was a public enough place that there would be witnesses about to discourage any foul play, but private enough that they could ha
ve a conversation without fear of eavesdroppers. Lily stopped by her house on the way to meet Tina to pick up Sir Kipling, instructing him to watch out the back dash for anyone who looked like they were following them. She took a circuitous route and doubled back a few times just in case. This was not a meeting she wanted the FBI observing.
It was still bright and hot as Lily surveyed the spot where she was supposed to meet Tina. Tina, of course, didn't know she was meeting Lily. Just some unnamed person paying her a lot of money for a “job.” Since Lily was afraid Tina might run away as soon as she saw her, instead of sitting on the agreed-upon park bench wearing a blue purse over her right shoulder, she simply left the purse on the bench and retreated to stand behind a nearby row of bushes, shaded by a spreading tree. Sir Kipling crouched under the bushes, surveying all with watchful eyes. It was his job to follow Tina if she ran off.
Close to their meeting time, a middle-aged woman sat down on the park bench, giving the lone purse an odd look. Lily’s heart jumped, and she waited with bated breath, hoping she hadn't blown the whole thing. If the lady picked up the purse or looked around to find its owner, Tina might get suspicious. But if only she would sit there and look normal, as if the bag were hers…
Several moments passed and the woman stayed put, busy with her phone. Lily slowly let out her breath but remained tense. Where was Tina? She should be arriving any minute now.
Sir Kipling’s soft meow filtered up through the branches of the bush. “Straight ahead, in the shadow of that ticket booth over there.”
Lily peered in that direction and finally spotted her quarry. Tina was leaning against the wall, arms crossed as she watched the bench, waiting. This presented a conundrum for Lily. Should she come out of hiding, giving Tina a chance to see her and run before she was close enough to talk? Should she stay put and let Tina approach the bench? Or should she try to sneak around closer and surprise Tina? Good grief, Lily thought, she was no good at this stuff.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Allies Page 20