She scanned the ingredient list and then examined the ingredients clustered on her counter. Where was the dark chocolate? Frantic, she pawed through the items—whole milk, vanilla bean, sugar. No chocolate.
She couldn’t very well make pots au chocolat without the chocolate.
Think, Sasha, think.
She’d definitely purchased an overpriced baking bar of the finest fair trade, organic dark chocolate. So where was it?
Then she remembered. The cashier had bagged it separately, perhaps accustomed to harried mothers rewarding themselves with a secret indulgence after shopping. She’d seen her sisters-in-law do it—they’d snag a Godiva bar at the checkout line and then smile and guiltily say, “Oh, don’t bag that, I’ll just stick it in my purse.”
And that’s what she had done. The clerk had handed her a small bag holding the bar and she’d shoved the thing in her handbag.
Her eyes fell on the pile of items she’d dumped inside the door. Briefcase. Her long cashmere coat. Kathryn’s quilted jacket. No handbag.
Her handbag, she realized, was currently sitting beside her desk on her office floor.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
She jogged, as best she could in the boots, toward her office. She didn’t bother with the car. The sweethearts were out in full force now, circling the narrow streets near Shadyside’s upscale restaurants in search of parking spots like birds of prey stalking rabbits. Walking would be faster.
And speed was a priority.
She needed to get back and baste the chicken in its juices one last time before she made the gravy and the blasted dessert. They’d be eating dessert late now—it would take the little cups of chocolate several hours to set properly, but she was confident she’d find a way to keep Connelly entertained until the dessert had chilled.
The wind picked up. She raised the hood on Kathryn’s jacket and pulled it snug, tugging on the drawstring under her chin.
She was glad she’d grabbed the jacket instead of her own ankle-length coat, which would have restricted her stride and slowed her down.
Having learned her lesson, she passed by the alley that connected to the parking lot, opting instead to take the extra steps out on the well-lit sidewalk. As she hurried into the building and through the front hall, she nearly bumped into Jake, who appeared to be on his way out.
“Whoa,” he said, putting out a hand to stop her.
“Sorry. Forgot something. I’m in a hurry.”
“Clearly.”
He released her arm. She continued down the hallway and started up the stairs.
She was halfway up when she remembered the burnt-out light at the rear entrance.
“Hey, Jake. You should replace the security light out back,” she called down.
He turned and looked up at her with serious eyes. “I’m headed to the hardware store for a new light right now, actually. Wish I’d done it sooner. When Ocean’s shift ended, she left and came right back to let me know someone slashed Kathryn’s tires.”
Sasha froze, her hand on the railing.
“Someone? Or Nick?”
Jake spread his palms and turned them upward. “Who knows. No one saw anything. I reported it to the cops. They came out and took a statement, but you know how it goes—she’s left town and if it was Nick he had the good sense to beat it before they got here.”
He gave her a helpless look and then pushed through the front door, jangling the bells that hung from above. She turned and pounded up the remaining stairs.
She unlocked her office door and didn’t bother with the overhead lights. She rushed in and used the faint light that streamed in her window from the streetlight outside to locate her bag in the shadows. Downstairs, the bells over the front door rang faintly, announcing another customer. She dug out the chocolate bar and secured it in the zippered front pocket of Katherine’s jacket, then she tossed her bag into her bottom desk drawer.
She opened the door to leave, but a man’s shape blocked the doorway. For a moment she thought Jake had forgotten to tell her something and had returned to catch her before she left.
Then the man reached forward and pushed her back into the office.
“What are you doing in here, Kat? Did you really think she could hide you from me?” he growled in a guttural voice.
Sasha strained to make out his features in the dim light, but she already knew who it was: Nick Costopolous.
He had nearly a foot and probably eighty pounds on her. But she knew she had the advantage. He’d seen the jacket and thought she was Kathryn. She ducked her head so the hood fell over her face.
“Answer me when I talk to you. Did you get my flowers?”
He pushed her again, roughly, and she stumbled backward into her desk.
Sasha felt around blindly behind her for the desk phone.
“You think you’re going to call for help? That’s funny, Kat. No one’s going to help you.”
Without warning his arm shot out and he lashed her across the face. It was an open-handed blow, but the force sent her sliding sideways across the desk to the floor on the other side.
She stumbled but stayed on her feet. She charged him, driving a palm heel strike into his chin.
The force slammed his mouth closed, and he bit down on his lip.
“You dirty bitch! You’re gonna regret that,” he warned and spat blood on the floor.
She switched on the desk lamp with her right hand and tugged the hood off her head.
“No, Nick. You’re going to regret this.”
She took advantage of his moment of wide-eyed surprise to land a roundhouse punch. Her fist connected squarely with his Adam’s apple.
He sputtered and choked. And then he reached out and caught her left hand. He squeezed hard, crushing the bones together.
Nick was very strong, she realized. And much crazier than anyone else she’d ever faced in a sparring session or on the street.
He must have seen that knowledge cross her face because he grinned wildly at her.
“Ah, you aren’t so tough after all, are you, little lawyer?”
She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out in pain.
“You might be the dumbest man alive. You could have literally gotten away with murder. But now you’re going to pay.”
“What are you gonna do? Sue me?” he laughed at his own joke.
He dropped her hand and charged forward, wrapping both of his hands around her throat. His grip compressed her windpipe, and she struggled to breathe.
Her last deliberate thought was that Daniel had picked an excellent time to review defending chokeholds. Leverage and surprise, she reminded herself.
Then her brain switched off, and her training clicked on.
She planted her rear foot to create a base and stop her backward momentum.
At the same time, she raised her hands. His face clouded with confusion, like he thought maybe she was surrendering.
No such luck, Nick.
She reached over his arms and, in an explosive motion, hooked her hands between his fingers and her neck. She shot her hands down and plucked hard at his thumbs, pulling them out from her throat. Her hands closed over his thumbs, and she twisted them down, trapping his hands against her chest.
She gasped greedily for air.
Follow with at least three combatives.
Keeping his hands pinned against her body with her right hand, she dropped her left elbow and smashed it into the side of his face.
His head bobbled back and she moved in. She drove a knee into his groin the followed it with another crushing left elbow strike.
When he doubled over, she was ready. She smashed her palm into his chin. Another knee to the groin.
He sunk to his knees, cradling his crotch.
She estimated the time from thrusting her arms up into the air to Costopolous on his knees whimpering was less than three seconds. Judging by the dazed confusion in his eyes, he still didn’t know what hit him.
She backed toward the door
and yelled for help in a raspy voice. Her hoarse shout echoed off the walls and bounced back to her loud and urgent.
Footsteps sounded below as Jake’s workers ran toward the sound of her voice.
Now that it was over, she had only one thought: her chicken better not have dried out.
CHAPTER 10
The dishwasher from Jake’s evening crew turned out to be an enormous, ripped Cross-Fit devotee, who was more than happy to flex his ample muscles babysitting Costopolous until the police arrived.
After handing off Costopolous to the dishwasher, Sasha called Connelly’s cell phone repeatedly. He didn’t answer. She didn't want to leave a message that said, hey, Nick Costopolous attacked me, so I'm running late. So she left no message at all.
By the time the police had taken her statement and the paramedic had bandaged her hand, it was nearly nine o’clock.
Jake insisted on driving her home. She was grateful but didn’t want to talk, so she leaned her head back and closed her eyes until the car came to a stop in front of her building.
“You okay to get inside?”
She smiled tiredly at him. “I'll be fine.”
She felt the opposite of fine—battered and bruised; her damaged hand aching, her dinner ruined; Connelly unreachable.
She trudged into the building and plodded up the stairs to her condo. Each step seemed heavier than the last. She had broken her New Year’s resolution and ruined Valentine’s Day in one swoop. Maybe she really was a danger magnet.
She turned the key in the door and wondered if she'd find Connelly inside or just a charred chicken.
She inhaled deeply and opened the door.
Connelly was there. He stood in front of the open refrigerator, bent at the waist, checking something inside. No burnt chicken adorned her counter. The classic rock Connelly favored was blasting from her laptop’s speaker. Two glasses of wine, the lilies, and a candle sat on the dining room table.
She exhaled shakily and shut the door.
He turned from the refrigerator already smiling, his eyes doing that crinkling at the corners thing she loved.
“I made your chocolate pots for you,” he said, pointing a thumb at the refrigerator. Then his smile faded as he took in her swollen cheek and bandaged arm.
He crossed the room in an instant and was holding her wrist tenderly before she could blink.
“What happened?”
She sighed. “I forgot the chocolate at my office. I went back for it. Nick thought I was Kathryn and he attacked me.” She repeated the facts numbly.
He unzipped the jacket and pushed it off her shoulders to the floor. Then he pulled her into his chest and held her, smoothing her hair with one hand.
She listened to his heart tick against her cheek.
“I tried to call you,” she said into his chest.
“I’m sorry. My phone’s dead,” he said with a touch of embarrassment.
“It doesn’t matter. I was just worried you’d think I stood you up or something.”
He kissed her forehead.
“When I saw your dessert recipe and the ingredients all spread out, I figured you ran to the store to get chocolate. Pro tip: you can substitute cocoa powder and butter for chocolate in baking. We have a container of dark chocolate cocoa powder. Voila.”
She looked up at him in surprise. “You mean the stuff we use to make hot chocolate?”
“That’s the stuff.”
He led her to the couch and pressed a glass of wine into her hands. He considered her face for a moment then asked, “How badly did you hurt him?”
She found herself smiling at the question—Not how badly are you hurt? Not did you hurt him? But how badly did you hurt him? Well, if nothing else, Connelly knew her.
“Nothing permanent. He’s gonna pee sitting down for a while.”
Connelly smiled back, and she sipped the wine.
“He’ll be peeing in the corner of a cell, right?”
She nodded. “He’s being charged with the attack on Kathryn as well as the attack on me. He also slashed her tires, so there’s a vandalism charge, too. He’ll be going away for a while.”
Connelly looked like he was choosing his words with care.
“It’s too bad they can’t reopen the murder investigation.”
She chose her response with equal care. “I suggested that they look into his background and interview Kathryn’s friends. I explained to the arresting officer that I couldn’t say more because I represented him on charges that he murdered his wife. Judging by the light in his eye, he understood what I meant.”
They looked at each other for a moment. Sasha took another sip of wine.
He cleared his throat. “Was the meal your gift to me?”
“It was supposed to be. Is it ruined?” she asked miserably.
“No,” he answered immediately. “I’m holding the chicken in the oven to keep it warm, the salad is assembled, and your sides are fine. The dessert’s going to take a while to firm up, but dinner’s the opposite of ruined.”
He’d salvaged dinner. The thought made her ridiculously happy.
“Awesome.”
He looked at her curiously. “Tell the truth—did you really make that all by yourself? Your mom didn’t come over and help?”
She gave him a level gaze. “I’ve been taking cooking lessons. I wanted to do something for you. That meal was made with love—and a minimum of panic.”
He cupped her chin in his hands and softly kissed her swollen cheek.
“Cooking isn’t supposed to be a contact sport. But, thank you.”
She pressed her mouth against his and said, “You might want to taste it before you thank me.”
Connelly meowed faintly in response—or so she thought.
She cocked her head.
“Did you just hear that?” she asked.
“Hear what?” he said as another meow sounded.
“Meowing,” she put her glass down and stood.
He jumped up and pulled her back to the couch.
“Wait here,” he ordered. She arched a brow at the command, but he was already heading for the stairs.
He disappeared into the bedroom and returned a moment later holding the gray kitten like a football.
“I thought you took it to a foster home.”
He smiled. “Couldn’t do it. It’s a he, by the way. The foster lady checked.”
Sasha opened her arms for the kitten, but Connelly pulled him out of her reach.
“Wait.”
He sat next to her, holding the kitten in his lap and swallowed hard. Then he looked into her eyes and said, “This kitten is commitment, Sasha. He’ll need care and attention, even when you have a big case. Are you sure you’re ready to take that on?”
“I’m ready. Give me the cat already.”
Connelly placed the kitten in her outstretch hands. The kitten’s hazel eyes were enormous. He began to purr instantly and nuzzled his nose against her palm.
She scratched him under the chin, and that’s when she noticed the ring.
The ruby and diamond ring Connelly had sort of given her back in the fall wasn’t secure in its box on her shelf. It was dangling from the kitten’s collar.
She pushed the ring with her finger and it swung gently, picking up the light in dozens of brilliant sparkles.
“What’s this?”
Connelly removed the kitten’s collar and dropped the ring into his hand. Then he reached for Sasha’s left hand, realized it was covered with a bandage, and took her right.
“I want to do this again, but do it right this time. Sasha, I love you. I want to spend eternity with you—apparently, we’ll spend it dodging death and disaster, but there’s no one I’d rather do that with. Will you marry me?”
A slow smile spread across her lips and a warmth radiated from her chest out through her body to her ears and her toes. She tingled.
“Yes.”
He turned the ring over and said, “I had it engraved this time.�
��
She squinted at the minute lettering:
To my little but fierce SMcC. I love you. Always. LC
“It’s perfect,” she said, hoping she wasn’t shouting but unable to tell over the blood rushing in her ears.
He slipped it on her right ring finger. The kitten swatted at his hand.
Sasha held her hand up to the light and turned it each way.
“I guess he needs a name,” Connelly said, petting the kitten, who had nestled into the crook of his arm.
“Smoky?” Sasha proposed.
“Sebastian,” Connelly countered.
“Hmm, Cupid?”
“No. Cashmere?”
She shook her head. “Justice.”
“How about Trouble?”
“Griggs?”
“Geoff.”
“What kind of name is Geoff? Maybe White Lightning?”
He rolled his eyes. “Wilson. No, Mr. Fluffles.”
Sasha appraised the kitten—his gray fur, the white stripe down his nose, and his friendly demeanor. He was perfect. He made everything better. And, suddenly, she knew.
“Java,” she declared.
Java mewed in approval. Connelly laughed, and the noise startled Java, who jumped off the couch and landed gracefully. He wandered away to sit in front of the oven and sniff at the chicken inside.
“We should eat,” Connelly said.
“Mmm. You said it’ll keep?”
“Sure, a little while longer, at least.”
She raised a brow and pushed him back against the couch.
“I have a better idea,” she breathed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and covered his mouth with hers.
He mumbled something against her lips.
“What?” she asked.
“I said, whatever you say, Mrs. Connelly.”
He put a hand behind her neck and gently turned her so she was leaning against the arm of the couch. He kissed her neck and ran his hands down to her boots.
She let him unzip them and toss them on the floor.
Then she swung her legs over his waist and straddled him, trapping him against the couch.
“What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. McCandless?” she teased, pushing lightly against his chest with her good hand.
Lovers and Madmen(Sasha McCandless 4.5) Page 5