As she’d known it would, her comment got an immediate response. Steve rose and headed out of the room.
“Merciful heavens,” Martha murmured.
When Kate looked over, Martha had one hand across her heart, while the other fanned wildly back and forth in front of her face. “What?”
“The two of you.”
“What about us?”
Smiling ruefully, Martha said, “Herb was a wonderful man, Kate, and I loved him to bits. But the air never crackled like that when we looked at each other. Talk about electricity! My poor old heart goes into palpitations just thinking about it. Is it always like that between you?”
Kate turned unseeing eyes to her column. “Always.”
“And you don’t want to try to work things out?”
“As... stimulating as being with him always is, the pain and loneliness are far worse. So no, Martha, I’m not going to try to work things out. Unless I see some visible signs that he’s really changed, that he’s ready to open up to me, that’s one road I’m not going to travel.”
“No signs so far, huh?”
“There are no billboards along that highway.”
“Pity.” Martha spoke with what sounded like true regret.
A minute later Steve returned with Carlo, Bruno and Antonio in tow.
“Any leads?” Kate asked when they’d seated themselves stiffly on her leather sofa.
“Nothing.” Carlo shook his head. “Like you already said, no one saw anything at the post office yesterday.”
“What about fingerprints?” Steve asked.
“They lifted a few good lateral prints from both the basement and the living room,” Antonio offered. “But so far we’ve had no luck matching them up with anything on file. We’re still working on it.”
Steve nodded as if he’d expected as much. “And the letters? Do any of the prints on them match the prints you found in the living room?”
“We couldn’t get anything useful from them,” Bruno said. “If there were any prints to be found, they were smudged by other people handling them. The only clear prints we got were from Martha and Kate. And you.”
“Maybe you’ll have better luck with this one.” Steve handed him the envelope containing the latest letter. “None of us have touched it.”
“So we’re not any further ahead than we were yesterday?” Kate asked with a sinking heart.
“I wish I had better news for you, Katie,” Carlo said sympathetically.
“Keep your chin up, kiddo,” Bruno added. “We’re bound to turn up something soon.”
“Bruno’s right,” Antonio said. “Just lay low for a little while longer. We’ll have this guy before you know it.”
Kate prayed they were right. Because, scared as she was by the threat her biggest fan posed, the threat Steve posed was far larger. If she wasn’t careful, if she so much as let her guard down, she was afraid the worst would happen.
She was terrified she would fall in love with him all over again.
Chapter 8
The roses wouldn’t die.
Each morning, when Steve walked into Kate’s office, their fragrance assaulted him like a fist to the nose. Every time he looked at them, sitting squarely in the middle of the coffee table, he found himself grinding his teeth.
Four days had passed since the flowers had been delivered. Four long days during which Kate’s gaze had never once lingered on his for longer than the second or two it took to establish contact. Four endless days during which their conversation had remained carefully neutral. Four interminable days during which he’d worked by her side, slept in her guest bedroom, jogged with her on her morning runs, followed her on scheduled errands and wished, whenever he looked at them, for the blasted roses to shrivel up and die.
He’d never sent her flowers. Nor had he surprised her with unexpected gifts. Was that what she wanted? Tokens of affection? Pretty words?
She was a woman who dealt in words, who made her living by arranging them on the page in such a manner that they aroused the emotions of the people who read them. And he was a man who mistrusted words. Intensely.
Oil and vinegar. When you shook them up, they mixed temporarily. Eventually, however, they separated once more. The way he and Kate had. The way they would again, once her biggest fan was found. For his peace of mind, he prayed it would be soon.
Unfortunately, a review of the pictures Martha had taken had revealed no obvious suspects. Nor had any of the pictures taken since by Kent. No more letters had arrived. No fingerprint matches had been made by the police. No disturbances had interrupted them. It seemed that Kate’s biggest fan was taking a break. For now.
Perhaps he was trying to lull them into a false sense of security before stricking again. Perhaps, now that he was aware that Kate had hired protection, he’d given up and gone on his merry way. It was a tempting thought, but Steve didn’t believe it for a minute. His gut told him that this guy meant business. Deadly business. Without a doubt, he would strike again. The only questions were, when and where?
And would Steve still have a shred of sanity left when that time arrived?
Willing his mind to focus on the job at hand, he concentrated on the day’s schedule. That was when it dawned on him that today was Friday, and that the whole weekend yawned before him. Martha wouldn’t be coming in tomorrow. He’d be alone with Kate. Other than a few errands, the schedule was bare.
Though they’d been alone every night for the past four nights, somehow this felt different. More...intimate. Weekends were for lovers, time to shed the cares of the work world, kick back your feet and relax. Together. When he and Kate had been married, he’d lived for those rare weekends when he’d had some free time to spend with her. Nine times out of ten, they’d whiled away those hours in bed. But that was then, and this was now. What was he going to do with himself for the next forty-eight hours?
Glancing across the room, he saw Kate, brow furrowed in concentration as she composed the first draft of that day’s column. She wore a vividly striped pink-and-white cotton shirt over a pair of white shorts. The shirttail was untucked, and the sleeves had been rolled up to her elbows. She’d left the top three buttons undone, exposing a creamy length of throat that invited further inspection. As usual, her long hair was secured at the nape of her neck by a wide barrette, and her feet were bare. To Steve, she looked utterly delectable. And totally unreachable.
It wasn’t right that all he had to do was look at her to feel anew the silky softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. It wasn’t fair that he could still taste the mouth that had kissed his with a fervor that had made his mind spin. It went beyond all human endurance that the soft moans she’d made whenever he’d touched her just so, and the way she’d called out his name when she’d reached the pinnacle of her desire, continued to echo in his ears. No man should be tortured the way he was being tortured by the mere sight of the woman he used to love.
Surely, by now, and after everything that had happened, he should have reached the point where he could look at her and not want her. Yet, despite everything, he did. Desperately. Heaven help him.
Thoughts like these were what drove him to his flute every night. He played until he was exhausted and his fingers ached, and then he played some more. Still, it didn’t stop him from wanting her. He was beginning to think nothing would.
It was just his wounded pride driving his fantasies, he told himself. Wounded pride was what made him want to test the waters, to see if he could make her want him the way she had when they were married. Wounded pride, and nothing more. She’d killed any feelings he had for her the day she asked him for a divorce.
When he looked away, his gaze collided with Martha’s. There was a knowing, almost sympathetic look in the older woman’s eyes that told him she’d seen him staring at Kate. Had she also seen the depth of his yearning?
Martha cleared her throat. “Think I’ll head into the kitchen for a glass of lemonade. Anyone else thirsty?”
“
I’ll stick with my water,” Kate said, sounding distracted.
“Lemonade sounds good to me,” Steve said.
“Two lemonades coming up.”
After Martha left the room, Steve returned his attention to the schedule. Though his photographic memory had already implanted it in his brain, he needed something other than Kate to occupy him. A seeming oversight caught his attention. It amazed him he hadn’t seen it earlier.
“No date with David tonight?” He was proud of himself when his voice sounded casual.
“No.” Kate’s fingers flew over the keyboard.
He was either a masochist or a fool, he told himself, because he couldn’t let it go. Even though she’d told him it was too soon to tell what her feelings were for David, and that she wasn’t in a hurry to fall in love with anyone, he couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Trouble in paradise?”
She glanced up, a faraway look in her eyes, and he knew her thoughts were centered on the column she was writing. “What?”
“I just assumed you’d have a date with David tonight.”
Her eyes cleared, and she seemed to focus on him. “Why?”
Steve shrugged. “It’s Friday.”
“And?”
“You’re single. It only makes sense you’d have a date. Besides, a guy spends all that money on flowers, he wants to see you more than once. I just assumed tonight would be one of those times.”
“Well, you assumed wrong.” She returned her attention to the computer screen.
“I thought he called you a couple of days ago.”
With a weary sigh, Kate looked up again. “He did.”
“And he didn’t ask you out?”
“He asked. I said no.”
He had no business feeling so ridiculously happy. Her next words confirmed it.
“Until this guy is caught, I don’t see any reason dragging anyone else into this mess.”
What was he hoping? That being with him again had made her see how empty any other relationship was? Idiot. “Very sensible of you.”
She nodded. “I thought so. Anything else you want to know?”
Nothing much. Just two simple things. How could you walk out on me the way you did? And why do you keep on insisting that I left you? “No.”
“Then I have a question. Do you have a date tonight?”
The words took him by surprise. “No.”
“Why not? You’re single. It’s Friday night...” She gazed at him expectantly.
Steve grinned and shook his head. “Touché.”
Her answering grin made his heart thump. Thank goodness Martha chose that minute to walk back into the room, before he did something stupid. Like kiss Kate.
He drained the icy glass of lemonade in one long gulp. It didn’t come close to quenching his real thirst.
At eleven o’clock, Jock Oldham phoned.
“Hey, buddy,” he said when Steve answered. “Sorry it took so long to get back to you, but I think I have the information you need.”
“I’m listening.”
“All the birds, except one, are still snug in their nests.”
Steve’s pulse rate accelerated, and he gripped the receiver tightly. “Which little birdie’s learned to fly?”
“Lyle Benedict.”
Lyle Benedict. The low-life drug dealer who had threatened to kill Kate to keep Steve from testifying against him.
“When did he get his wings?”
“A month ago. Good behavior.”
The same time Kate had started receiving those letters. Steve felt a stirring of triumph. This was too much of a coincidence to be ignored.
“Where can I find him?”
“Rumor has it he’s found religion.” Jock’s voice dripped sarcasm. “These days, according to his parole officer, Lyle’s hangout is the Light of Hope Ministries on the North Side. They run a soup kitchen. Supposedly Lyle spends his time there, witnessing to the homeless.”
Like Jock, Steve didn’t believe for a minute that Lyle Benedict had reformed his ways. If the man was hanging around a soup kitchen, it was because he had an ulterior motive. And Steve knew exactly what that motive was: revenge.
When he ended his conversation with Jock, he crossed the room and stood beside Kate’s desk.
“Yes?” she asked, without looking up.
“Can you take a break?”
Slowly she raised her gaze to his. “Why?”
“We have an errand to run.”
“You mind telling me where we’re going?” Kate asked when he stopped at a red light a few blocks from her house.
“We’re going to pay a visit on a man named Lyle Benedict.” Steve kept his gaze on their surroundings. So far, he’d seen nothing out of the ordinary.
“Why?”
“Because he was released from prison at the time you started receiving those letters.”
He felt her gaze settle on him. “You think he’s my biggest fan?”
“I think there’s a good chance he is.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m the one who put him in prison. And because he swore to get revenge.”
She digested his words in silence for several seconds before asking, “What do you want me to do?”
“Look him over very carefully. See if you recognize him as someone who’s been hanging around the post office. Listen to him speak. Try to determine if it’s the voice of the man who...shoved...you....”
His words trailed off when he saw the woman walking along the opposite sidewalk. She was pushing a stroller. Inside, sat a little girl who appeared to be just over two.
Steve’s heart twisted. If she had lived, Molly would be that age. Would she have looked like that now? Would he have had that same look of contentment on his face while rolling her stroller down the street?
A glance at Kate told him that she, too, was observing the stroller’s progress. He couldn’t see her eyes, couldn’t tell if the sight of that beautiful child stabbed at her heart the way it did his. Probably not, he decided, because she didn’t carry around the burden of guilt that he did.
Behind him, a horn blared, and he realized the light had changed.
Damn! He’d never had such difficulty keeping his mind on the job before. Then again, he’d never shared any emotional ties with a client, either. It was a good thing Kent was bringing up the rear, Steve decided, because he definitely was not at peak performance level.
With trembling hands, Steve steered the car forward.
Neither one of them said a word about the child.
When Steve and Kate climbed out of his car in front of the Light of Hope Ministries, they were confronted by a for-lorn-looking church whose grimy, buckled, stained-glass windows were protected by steel bars. A heavy red wood door creaked loudly when he opened it.
Inside, all was hushed and reverent and stiflingly hot. Squinting through the dimness, it took Steve only seconds to determine that Lyle Benedict was not among the gathered worshipers in the sanctuary.
A staircase to their left led them down one flight and through a pair of open doors. The aroma of tomato sauce drew them to a large room where fans whirred, doing little more than stirring up the heavy air. Approximately fifty men, women and children sat eating at tables that had been scattered across a worn hardwood floor. Another twenty people stood in the line that formed to their right and filed past two serving tables.
“I’m looking for Lyle Benedict,” Steve addressed the man dishing out potatoes.
“Over there.” The man inclined his head toward the other end of the room.
Turning to Kate, Steve said, “I can’t stress how vitally important it is that you let me handle this. Just listen and observe.”
She gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t interfere. Just pretend I’m invisible.”
Fat chance of that ever happening. Reaching out, he gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Thanks.”
Her fingers curled around his, and she squeezed back. The warmth of her hand, an
d her smile, traveled straight up his arm and into his heart.
“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” she said.
You have a job to do, Gallagher, he reminded himself sternly. Get a grip. Squaring his shoulders, and ignoring the pounding of his heart, he turned his gaze to Lyle. “Let’s go.”
His quarry sat at a table reading the Bible to a grizzled man who, despite the heat, wore a hat, scarf, gloves and winter coat. This really was taking the act too far, Steve thought distastefully. Obviously Lyle had seen him coming and was putting on a show for his benefit.
When he reached the table where Lyle was sitting, he placed his body protectively in front of Kate’s. “Hello, Lyle.”
Lyle’s head whipped around. After gazing up at Steve for several seconds in seemingly stunned surprise, a wide grin split a face that still managed to look amazingly youthful and innocent despite his years on the street and behind bars.
“Stevanno, my man! What brings you here, brother?”
As if he didn’t know. Steve wondered how many hours Lyle had spent in front of a mirror, perfecting his reaction. He had to have known that Steve would eventually track him down, especially after he shoved Kate in front of that bus. Because Steve knew Lyle, knew the way the man’s mind worked, he was certain Lyle had prepared well for this confrontation.
“You’re what brings me here, Lyle. I came to see you. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
Bible in hand, Lyle stood and squeezed the homeless man’s shoulder. “Excuse me, brother. Enjoy your meal. Remember, you are not alone.”
The same cocky swagger that Steve remembered so well brought Lyle to his side. Only now, for some reason, it seemed less cocky and defiant, more confident, purposeful.
Lyle pointed to an empty table that was set well apart from the rest. “We can talk there. No one will bother us. People tend to mind their own business around here.”
For six months, after he’d infiltrated the nefarious street gang called the Crows, Steve had been Lyle’s best friend and confidant. Though he’d despised what the gang had stood for and the drug trade they’d trafficked in, he’d grudgingly found himself liking Lyle, even respecting him in a way. Like his reawakened desire for Kate, he was amazed to discover that a remnant of that emotion still remained.
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