Touch of Madness

by C. T. Adams

  “Rob?”

  “Katie! I got the job! Tom talked to me about it at breakfast this morning and I came right over.” Excitement bubbled in his voice. “I really needed the break! Thank you so much! I swear I’ll do a good job, too. I know how much your brother means to you.”

  He was babbling. Not that it mattered. I couldn’t have spoken anyway. I was just too relieved. Rob might be young, and a little immature in some ways, but I trusted him, and as a wolf, he was certainly strong enough. He’d guard Bryan and take care of him. Between him and Mike, my baby brother would get the best possible care and protection. Thank God … and Tom.

  “Kate? You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I said the words with a smile. I meant it. If the trial went badly and I lost, the insurance would pay. I could deal with performing the investigation for the Thrall. But the thing with Bryan; that had me terrified. Tom had known it, and despite our fight, he’d found a solution. “Tell Mike I apologize for being an ass yesterday.”

  He snorted lightly and let thick, teasing sarcasm play through his voice. “You, an ass? No, surely not.”

  “Rob—” I wasn’t really angry, but I put a warning in my voice.

  He let out a joyful bark of laughter. “Gotta go. Catch you later, Reilly.”

  “Later,” I agreed.

  I hit the button to end the call, then pressed again for a line out. I forced myself to hit the number for Tom’s cell phone quickly, before I chickened out and hung up the phone. I owed him a thank you, and an apology. I’m pretty good at gratitude—apologies, though, not so much. But I’d do it. First, I owed it to him. More important, he was a terrific guy, and I didn’t want to lose him for any reason.

  “Hi.” His voice sounded tentative; cautious.

  “Hi.” I was suddenly tongue-tied. There were so many things I wanted, needed to say, and I couldn’t quite come up with the words.

  “Kate … I—”

  “Tom.” We each spoke the other’s name simultaneously, then laughed.

  “Awkward, isn’t it?” he admitted.

  “I’m so sorry!” I sighed. “I didn’t mean to cut you out. I planned to tell you. But then I met with Mike, and you’d fixed dinner, and I got distracted.”

  Tom heaved a long sigh. “I know. I realized that when I took the time to think it over. But Kate, you have a cell phone. Why the hell didn’t you just call me?”

  “You were going to the … well, the pack meeting. Can you imagine a worse possible time to call and bring this up? Well, and it’s just really not a good idea to bring it up on the phone at all.”

  He thought about that for a long moment. “You’re right. And it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for the pack to overhear you telling me that you’re going to be working for the vamps either.” He spoke slowly, as though he was choosing each word with extreme care. “Look, we need to talk. Why don’t you meet me for lunch at Guiseppe’s. I’ll set the reservation for 11:30 so we can beat some of the lunch crowd.”

  Guiseppe’s was a very nice, very expensive, Italian restaurant on the 16th Street Mall. It caters to the very wealthy business types and is a “must” for celebrities passing through the Mile High City. Normally, neither Tom nor I go to restaurants in that price range. Yes, the food is wonderful, but I just can’t justify the extravagance, even with the check from Mary. I could hear a small choke in my voice when I responded. “Guiseppe’s?”

  “Yes, and I’m paying—no arguments. I want to make up with you for not giving you the chance to explain.”

  “You could make up with me at the Spaghetti Factory for a lot less.” I was only half-joking.

  “I know.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “But they aren’t open for lunch and I want to see you dressed up. You won’t do that if I don’t pick somewhere nice.”

  He knows me well. I consider dressing up a nuisance and wearing panty hose to be one short step above torture. Tom’s solution to that, of course, was to suggest garters and thigh highs. His birthday is coming up soon. I plan to surprise him by doing just that. But not today. I didn’t have the time or money to go shopping for lingerie before lunch.

  “Fine, Guiseppe’s it is,” I agreed. “And Tom—” I took a deep breath. I knew it should be easy for me to tell him, but it never is.

  “Yes?”

  Hesitating would make me sound uncertain, so I just blurted it out. “I love you.”

  He paused, and his voice softened. “I love you, too.”

  I was smiling when I hung up the phone. He loved me. He forgave me. My stomach fluttered with happy butterflies.

  Tom wanted me dressed up and at Guiseppe’s by 11:30. I’ve never been one to buy a lot of dressy clothes. I have business clothes. I have casual clothes. I just didn’t do dressy often enough to need a wardrobe for it. He’d have to live with something he’d already seen on me.

  I flipped through the various hangers in my closet looking for something suitable. I finally realized there was an outfit he hadn’t seen me in. I’d bought it for Joe’s graduation from medical school. I’d only worn it that one time a few years ago, but fortunately I’d chosen a classic look that hadn’t gone out of style. The dress was sleeveless linen, with a low scoop neckline, in a small floral print on a daffodil-yellow background. The collarless jacket was a matching solid yellow. The color looked good on me, the tailoring was feminine enough that Tom would like it, and comfortable enough that I’d be able to move in it. Somewhere in the back or bottom of the closet there were even matching shoes and a purse.

  Of course it was a spring outfit, not exactly perfect for a winter lunch, but I told myself I refuse to be dictated to by fashion norms. Besides, it was clean.

  I was dressed, pressed, and wearing makeup and jewelry by the time the cab arrived at the front door. It was a bit of an extravagance to take a cab just those few blocks, but I’d gone to a lot of trouble with my appearance. And damn it, if Tom could spring for lunch at Guiseppe’s, then I could spring for a short cab ride—hopefully, the cab driver wouldn’t mind a handful of change for his tip.

  At exactly 11:28 the cabbie dropped me off at the side street that intersected Sixteenth Street nearest the restaurant entrance. Tom came running over as I was pulling my wallet out of my purse. He paid the driver before I could, giving him a hefty tip. As the cab drove off he looked me up and down, letting out a whistle of appreciation. “I like the outfit. I haven’t seen that one before.”

  He planted a kiss in my hair before I could speak, and I found myself inhaling deep to catch the clean scent of him. It wasn’t cologne, it was just Tom, and my heart tightened in my chest.

  “I save it for special occasions.”

  “Ah. And this is a special occasion?”

  Any date with Tom was a special occasion, but I’d feel like an idiot saying so. So I blushed and stammered, which made him chuckle low in his throat.

  “You look pretty spiffy yourself.” I wasn’t the only one who thought so either. More than one woman walking along the mall was staring at him. He was worth a stare, too, no doubt about it. The tan dress pants he wore had been perfectly tailored to show off the best backside God had ever put on a human male. His shirt fit just as well, showing off a broad, muscled back and narrow waist. His belt and shoes were shined to a high gloss and were almost exactly the same shade of brown as his hair. He was absolutely gorgeous and completely unaffected by it.

  “You know, there are lots of people in this world who think kissing in the rain is romantic.” He gave me a sly look. “Wanna try it?”

  I laughed, but he kissed me anyway. It was warm, sweet, and yes, very, very romantic.

  “We’d better get inside.” Putting his hand around my waist we walked to the front of the restaurant. He held open the door for me, and in we went.

  The first thing that struck me was the smell of freshly baking bread. It made my mouth water. I wasn’t the only one. Behind me, I could hear Tom’s stomach rumbling as the maitre d’ led us to an intimate, linen-dra
ped table at the far side of the restaurant. Already it was beginning to get crowded as men and women in business suits settled down to power lunches. A large group was already at the long table in the corner, laughing and teasing a man who was retiring. Black balloons with snarky sayings danced in the breeze from the heater vents.

  At least a dozen servers in starched white shirts and crisp black pants were moving swiftly through the dimly lit room to a counterpoint of clinking glass and muted voices.

  The maitre d’ managed to scoot my chair in beneath me as I sat without either of us looking too awkward. At his signal, a young man came over with a pitcher of ice water and our server appeared with menus and a bread basket and introduced himself.

  There were no prices on my menu. To me, this is never a good sign. I frowned, and Tom caught the look. “It’s all right, Katie. I can afford it. Really. Remember I told you the rent you charge was saving me a bunch of money every month. Well, today you’re getting some of it back.”

  I made little grumbling noises and he laughed. “You worry too much.”

  I didn’t have a ready answer to that, and I was spared the necessity of coming up with one by the appearance of a stranger at our table.

  He was tall, thin, with close-cropped silver hair that was a shade or two lighter than the gray of his suit. The white shirt he wore had enough starch to stand up without him in it. His perfectly knotted raw silk tie was exactly the same shade of pale blue as his eyes. He held out a manicured hand to me and introduced himself in a voice that would have screamed self-confidence if screaming just weren’t so tacky.

  “Ms. Reilly, you don’t know me, but I’m Edgar Simms. I’ve left some messages on your machine. I’m sorry to interrupt, but when I saw you here, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” He smiled, and it was both subtly smug and predatory.

  I shook his hand. After all, he was my brother Joe’s ultimate boss. It wouldn’t hurt to be nice. At least that’s what I told myself. “Doctor Simms, this is Tom Bishop, he’s a firefighter here in Denver.”

  “Mr. Bishop, it is a pleasure.” Simms shook Tom’s hand and smiled, but immediately turned his attention back to me. Tom was watching him with wary eyes, and I didn’t blame him. I really wished I hadn’t left my weapons at home. I probably could have managed to fit one arm sheath under the jacket if I’d tried.

  “Ms. Reilly, I know your reputation. You do not know mine.” He smiled to take the sting out of the words. It wasn’t sincere, but it was definitely pretty. His dentist had done a fine job on an expensive set of caps.

  “Which is?” Tom kept his face completely bland, but there was an energy, a tension in the way he held himself, that was a warning.

  “I am not used to being refused.”

  Why doesn’t that surprise me? I bit my tongue so I didn’t say it out loud, but Tom blinked, as though he’d heard the thought. Maybe he had.

  “And what is Kate refusing you?” The warning wasn’t hidden this time. It was there in the almost growling quality Tom’s voice had taken on.

  Dr. Simms didn’t flinch. He did, however, raise an eyebrow in surprise. Still, he answered the question. “Bryan Reilly is the first Eden zombie ever to make even a partial recovery. Doctors from all over the world have been clamoring for the opportunity to work with him. But I’ve read the police report filed by Detective Brooks. I believe that Bryan’s recovery is directly tied to her psychic abilities. Studying one without the other would be pointless.”

  “I participated in one of your studies once.” I kept my voice polite, but it took more effort than I would’ve liked to admit. “It didn’t work out well.”

  Dr. Simms gave a polite, manufactured chuckle, but his eyes hardened to chips of blue ice. “Quite the understatement.”

  I shrugged.

  “Kate—”

  “Ms. Reilly, if you please.” I hadn’t told him he could call me Kate, and I realized, when he said it, that it bugged me. I’d only just met the man, and already I didn’t like him. He struck me as being a well-bred, well-heeled bully. I don’t like bullies.

  “Of course … Ms. Reilly. I can understand your reluctance. But I am in a position to do you a service. You currently have criminal charges regarding destruction of hospital property worth thousands of dollars.”

  I sighed. Who’d have known the damned incubator would be so expensive? By pouring alcohol into the system I had damaged it irreparably. I couldn’t honestly say I was sorry. I wasn’t. But I really did hate the fact that I was probably going to have to pay for it. I might even have to go to jail. Although I was pretty sure that most jurors would be on my side in this one, particularly if they got to see the video.

  “I can see to it that those charges are dropped if you would be willing to cooperate.”

  “I doubt that. Only the DA can make that determination. It’s not your choice to make.”

  We stared at each other, neither of us blinking until I felt the weight of Tom’s hand on mine.

  “Dr. Simms.” Tom spoke softly, but there was a weight behind the words. Simms turned to meet Tom’s gaze. Whatever he saw there made his back stiffen, and his jaw thrust stubbornly forward. Still, the words Tom spoke were completely polite and utterly mild. “Ms. Reilly and I came here for a quiet … private luncheon. If you don’t mind, we really would like to get back to it.”

  “Of course.” Simms gave Tom the kind of nod you would give an opponent in a fencing match. “But I would like to leave you with this thought, Ms. Reilly. I have more than just business motives for pursuing this. My daughter Melinda is an Eden zombie. I would, will, do anything to bring her back.” He turned to Tom, his voice hard. “I’ll leave the two of you to your private luncheon.”

  He stalked off, his back rigid beneath the elegant suit.

  “Well, he certainly knows how to ruin a mood, doesn’t he?” Tom observed.

  “Yes indeed,” I agreed.

  “And did you see whose table he sat down at?”

  I turned, following Tom’s gaze, and began swearing softly under my breath. Dr. Simms was just pulling up a chair to join P. Douglas Richards and Lewis Carlton. Even if Tom hadn’t recognized Richards, nobody can miss Carlton in a crowd.

  The waiter arrived. Tom ordered lobster. I chose rare steak. Neither was a particularly “Italian” dish, but we’d had lasagna the night before. At first I had my back to Carlton and company, but I just couldn’t stand it. So, as subtly as I could manage, I shifted seats, moving one over, so that I was both closer to Tom and had a better than peripheral view of their table. Tom noticed, but didn’t comment.

  We didn’t talk much during the salad course. We were both too distracted and tense. Fortunately, they were getting ready to leave before our main course arrived. When Carlton stood to leave, he looked full at me … and winked before deliberately stretching up his arms to put on his winter jacket. He must not be trying to impress today or he wouldn’t bother with the jacket. Tom got a relatively close look at the sheer size of him as his hand flattened briefly on the overhead ceiling beam, and understanding dawned.

  “Damn, but that’s a big man.”

  I nodded, even though his eyes were still locked on the former NBA star. “A big host.”

  “Shit. Unarmed he would’ve killed you. Hell, even if you were armed he probably would.”

  “But I’d hurt him first. Maybe snap off one of those pearly white teeth.” I sipped my water, knowing it was true. I’d learned back during my last adventure with the Thrall that breaking off one or both feeding tubes, which drop down behind the human’s eye teeth after the parasite attaches to the spinal cord, can stun the parasite. It can even cause enough shock to kill it.

  Tom’s expression softened. He turned, his eyes meeting mine. There was pride in that look, and a little possessiveness. “You bet your ass.”

  The waiter came with our food and poured the wine. I took a sip from my glass. It was excellent. Until I started dating Tom I’d never been much for wine, or any other alcohol. But
he liked wine with meals, and was enjoying introducing me to new vintages. As time went by I found I was enjoying the taste of it. I’d never be a connoisseur, not by a long shot. But I was starting to get a handle on what kinds of wine went best with different sorts of food.

  The waiter bowed his way away from the table, leaving us to our meal.

  The steak was excellent. I was grateful. So often, because of health issues, they overcook the meat. From the first bite I could tell it was perfect, tender, juicy, just the way I like it. I savored the taste in my mouth, and followed it with a sip from my wine glass. It was almost enough to drive away the tension of having run into Dr. Simms and the others. Almost.

  “The problem,” I spoke softly, so that only Tom would hear, “is that I can’t keep backing down, or they’ll rule me. Now that they have someone I’m intimidated by, they’ll use him every time they want something. I won’t live like that.”

  Tom’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “So what are you going to do?”

  I shrugged. “I haven’t got a clue. Any suggestions would be welcome.”

  “Let me think on it for a bit.”

  We shared a slice of double chocolate fudge cake with ice cream for dessert. Tom’s not nearly as big a chocolate fan as I am, but he’d been willing to indulge me. We didn’t linger after the meal. Both of us had other things we needed to do.

  We parted with another kiss in front of the door to the restaurant and a promise of dinner at home tonight. Tom had a meeting to attend down at the station. I needed to go to the bank and deposit the money from the Thrall and the check Mary had given me. After that I would take a trip down to Our Lady of Perpetual Hope and deliver my apology to Mike in person, and maybe talk to him a little about things. He gives great advice, even if I don’t always follow it.

  9

  The rain had slowed until it was little more than heavy mist. I walked to the bank, staying mostly under the cover of store awnings, hurrying across the streets with the lights, always careful not to break my neck, or twist my knee again. Wet pavement and high heels are a recipe for disaster as far as I’m concerned. I know there are women who do just fine. I’m not one of them.