I'll Be Seeing You

by Beverly Bird

  He still wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about this…this changing she was doing all of a sudden.

  “Kate?”

  “Hmm?”

  She was facing the stove and had her back to him. She looked over her shoulder when she spoke. Reams of dark curls shifted with the movement. She hadn’t fought her hair down into manageability this morning, either. Why hadn’t she?

  “What?” she asked impatiently when he didn’t answer.

  “Uh, I’m going to need a complete list of everyone Dinner For Two has ever served. And, uh, that book, your phone log. You know, the one you showed me the first night where you write the time of the calls to the second.” Somehow he knew she’d be able to lay her hands on all of it within three minutes of setting foot in her apartment. He waited for the swish of irritation that her fierce sense of organization always brought to him. This time it didn’t materialize.

  Kate cocked her head, frowning at him. “So you’re saying the leak wasn’t someone inside the PPD.”

  She was too quick. Raphael lied. “I don’t know yet. I just want to turn over every stone. Someone knew you were planning to serve the Spellmans last night. My guess is that while we were in the kitchen the first time, he entered your van and just waited.”

  Kate cleared her throat carefully. “For me to go back there alone.”

  Raphael didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

  “He would have grabbed me then.” Kate shuddered and hugged herself.

  When she did, her curls shifted, catching the sunlight that poured through the window. He thought again of that open bedroom door last night. Was she deliberately throwing off come-hither signals? The thought hit him like a sledgehammer between the eyes just as he had taken a mouthful of coffee. Raphael choked. Kate looked alarmed.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I swallowed funny.” No, he thought, she could have no way of knowing that he actually preferred her hair like that, all wild and untamed, hinting at that part of her that was buried deep, the part that had risen up with fierce abandon when he had touched her. She wasn’t throwing off signals. It was just…indifference. They’d been thrust together for enough days now that she no longer cared if she had every hair in place.

  “You’re staring at me,” Kate said. In fact, it disconcerted her enough that she almost burned the second omelette. She went back to it quickly and slid it onto a plate. Before she turned to him with it, she tucked an errant curl behind her ear.

  And she wondered why she bothered. It didn’t matter how good she looked—or how bad. She could have made breakfast stark naked, she thought, and it wouldn’t have gotten a reaction out of him. No, that wasn’t quite true, she thought, her heart squeezing suddenly and painfully. He’d probably get angry with her, the way he had last night over the robe.

  “Here,” she said, shoving the plate at him.

  Raphael moved quickly to catch it. He turned and went to the coffee table in the living room without another word.

  Kate gnawed on her lip for a moment until the pain made her realize what she was doing. She looked at her plate. She was no longer hungry. She carried the plate into the living room and set it on the sofa beside Belle. The Chihuahua’s nose twitched in sleep, then her head shot up. She eyed the omelette and dug in.

  “What did you do that for?” Raphael demanded.

  “I dropped it on the floor,” she lied. She’d be damned if she’d let him know how much his indifference had started hurting—enough to rob her of desire for one of the things she loved most, her own cooking.

  “Looks fine to me,” Raphael muttered, scowling at the last of the omelette as Belle devoured it.

  “I have my doubts about the cleanliness of your kitchen.”

  “You’ve been cleaning it.”

  That was true. Kate shrugged and dropped the discussion. She hurried upstairs without saying anything more. If they were going out, she’d have to do something about her hair.

  When she came down a second time, Raphael breathed again. Her hair was captured by a headband. She’d changed the shorts for navy blue trousers, though now the T-shirt was tucked in and it seemed to cling to the swell of her breasts. He was going to have to live with it, Raphael realized. He was just not going to look.

  They drove his Explorer to her apartment. He’d been right. She was in and out with the necessary records in three minutes flat. They took everything to headquarters and entered it into evidence. Then he divided her client list into thirds. He called Fox and Vince Mandeleone and gave them each a portion of it.

  Raphael worked down his list while Kate prowled and paced, but she didn’t say a word. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. On one hand, it could mean that she was still so desperate for this to be over that she didn’t want to make even a single sound and distract him from finding something. Then again, it could be some kind of woman thing, like playing hard to get and staying one step out of reach to drive a guy nuts.

  God knew her silence was distracting enough in and of itself. And the way she moved. She made a few trips back and forth from the water cooler for Belle. He glanced up from a phone call once to absorb that quick, tight movement her hips made, the one that had kept him a little bit crazy from the start. Then she sat at Fox’s desk and put her feet on it the way she had seen him do, leaning back in the chair with the dog on her lap. Belle laid her injured snout pathetically and comfortably between Kate’s breasts, stretching that thin fabric even more tightly across them.

  Raphael swallowed a groan.

  He couldn’t concentrate until he sent her out with an officer to get them some lunch. Then he worried that she wouldn’t come back unharmed. The cop he’d sent was one of the best. Still…he wouldn’t protect her the way Raphael would.

  By the time they returned, he was pacing. He looked at her, then at the officer. “No trouble?”

  “Not this time,” Kate answered for the man, then promptly started feeding portions of her sandwich to the dog.

  “You dropped that, too?”

  Her hand hesitated as she began to tear off another piece. “I forgot to tell them to leave off the salami. I don’t like salami.”

  “So take it off yourself. But don’t feed a perfectly good hoagie to a dog.”

  Belle curled her lip at his suggestion. Kate sat down at Fox’s desk again and sighed, putting the sandwich listlessly to her mouth. She bit off a small piece and chewed dutifully.

  Something was definitely wrong with her, Raphael realized. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.

  He went back to the list. By half past four, he had touched base with both Fox and Mandeleone again. No one on either of their lists had any visible or even obscure connection with the Irish underground. Same with his own.

  There was nothing. No link, no possibilities, no explanation for how a hit man could have been tipped off that Kate was going to be at the Spellmans’ on Wednesday night. Which left one last, quelling avenue, Raphael thought. Faith Spellman or her husband had mentioned it to an absolute stranger. And if that turned out to be the case, they’d probably never find the link.

  “Are you done?” Kate asked, watching his expression.

  “Almost.”

  He opened the file she’d given him with her employees’ information. He made another few phone calls, running the information through DMV and the PPD computer. Raphael found nothing new on Beth or Janaya, either. He sat back in his chair and rubbed his jaw.

  “Who could it be?” Kate asked desperately.

  He let his gaze move to her and wished he hadn’t. Her eyes were almost the color of pitch now. He didn’t know which was worse—having her look delectably appealing with that mussed hair that made it seem like she had just come undone in his arms, or this vulnerable, haunted expression that made him want to comfort her. It bothered him tremendously that both got to him. What the hell did that mean?

  “Well,” Kate demanded.

  “Everybody’s clean.”

  “Th
is doesn’t make sense!”

  “Oh, the link is there. Somewhere. It’s just hidden.”

  “So how do we find it?”

  “We go over every name again and again until we see something.”

  “That could take forever.”

  We don’t have forever.

  Raphael knew that, too. Wholly apart from any desire either one of them might have had—might still have, he corrected himself—about getting this over with so they could go their separate ways, there was someone else involved who wanted to finish it even more quickly. Someone who had to be getting tired of holding his ground.

  Two attempts had been made on Kate’s life within four days. And she was still alive. Someone out there couldn’t possibly like that.

  Someone knew every move she made with Dinner For Two. But every client and employee came up clean.

  Someone apparently didn’t give a damn that Allegra Denise had been on the premises that night, too. Someone was focused entirely on Kate.

  She knew something, Raphael thought again, or she’d seen something. But she had no clue what it was. It always came back to that.

  Raphael got wearily to his feet. “Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s go home.”

  Chapter 14

  Kate sat in silence on the ride home, her thoughts in turmoil. Once Raphael reached out to change the radio station from the one she’d set it on. She frowned at the gesture but made no move to flick it back, lost in her chaotic thoughts.

  She had to do something about this.

  It had been hounding her all day. Their situation had become intolerable. While he’d worked, she paced and fretted with it. While he’d made phone calls, she’d thought again and again of what Shawna had said to her on that morning Belle had turned up at her apartment.

  Men are like those Rorschach tests a shrink gives. When you first look at them, you think they look exactly like a cow. But what you’re really looking at is two minstrels holding hands. The only way you can ever really know what a man is thinking is to goad him into acting on it.

  Kate’s hands trembled a little. She fisted them in her lap. What was she thinking?

  She was thinking about goading him. She couldn’t go on like this, she realized. Not for one more minute of one more day. And Raphael had said just half an hour ago that they were no closer to knowing who had killed McGaffney today than they had been days ago.

  There would be no quick escape from him. There was no end in sight to this investigation. And Kate knew, with a painful squeezing of her heart, that there was no way she was going to survive any more of the strange tension that had built up between them, any more of this heartache.

  He’d kissed her…then he’d said that he’d done it to snap her out of her hysteria. He’d kissed her again—then he’d said he hadn’t planned on it, that he’d only done it because she’d made him angry. Last night, she’d been sure he was going to kiss her a third time—but then he had stalked off to the kitchen, clearly upset.

  He was, most definitely, a Rorschach test.

  What to do? Kate knew—of course, she knew. Shawna had been right about everything else. She was probably right about this, too. Kate was going to have to goad him into action.

  “Stop at a market,” she said suddenly.

  Raphael looked over at her. “Come again?”

  “I feel like cooking. And there’s nothing left at your house. I’ve used everything.”

  She had a point, Raphael thought. But he felt edgy and tense and didn’t feel like a lot of unnecessary stops. He wanted a beer and the comfort of his own home.

  Then again, his home hadn’t been exactly comfortable since she had first set foot in it.

  Besides, he remembered, cooking seemed to be therapeutic for her. And she’d been acting oddly all day—unnaturally quiet, jittery. If cooking would bring her back to herself, he’d do it. He paused at a red light.

  “There’s an excellent seafood place on Twenty-Third just north of Arch.” Kate thought aloud. Her mind was racing. “And there’s a market two blocks east of there. It’s practically one-stop shopping. They’ll even have wine.”

  “A beer will do me.”

  Kate set her jaw. “We have to have wine.”

  “What for?” She was doing it again, he thought. She was acting strangely.

  Because, Kate thought, beer wasn’t right for the kind of mood she had in mind.

  She would do what she did best, she decided. Well, she would start with cooking. She would make the mother of all meals—exquisite, romantic, everything he liked. Then she would edge into unchartered territory.

  She would seduce him. And see…just see…what he would do when he was goaded.

  By the time they’d gotten the seafood and had collected a cart full of fresh greens and wine at the market, Kate’s insides had settled into a cold, hard block of determination. She could do this. She would do it.

  She was terrified. And strangely elated, her nerves shimmering inside.

  She was out of the Explorer before he’d even stopped it in his driveway. Raphael watched her march to the door like a petite, pretty soldier. Then again, no soldier he had ever seen had had hips that could move like that.

  He felt strangely doomed, and couldn’t understand it.

  Raphael’s dinner conversation eddied around Kate. She answered in monosyllables and didn’t contribute much. She scarcely ate, though she’d outdone herself with oysters Rockefeller, Caesar salad and lamb kebabs with the little cherry tomatoes that he liked. He gobbled them up, but her stomach was in knots.

  She couldn’t do it. Kate knew precisely what would happen if she did. He’d push her away again, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to stand it another time.

  But she had to do it. Because if she didn’t, sooner or later Raphael would find the hit man, and that would be that. This would be over. And she’d be left holding a whole lot of nothing.

  She couldn’t do it. She wasn’t any good at all this sort of thing.

  But if she could only find the courage, then she’d know where she stood with him once and for all. And no matter what happened, when this was over and he was gone, she would have the comfort of knowing that she had reached out and at least tried to grab something splendid for herself.

  She couldn’t do this. She had to do this. Because if she let someone so wonderful slip through her fingers like so much sand, without ever trying, she doubted if she would ever be able to look herself in the mirror again.

  Kate heard her own thoughts ring in her head and felt like lightning had struck her. How had she gone from tolerating him to respecting him to liking him and now to…to needing him? No, not need, she thought quickly, sipping more wine, feeling the glow of it start to fill her. Need was such a strong word. Want was more apt. Yes, she wanted Raphael—she could admit that. But needing him was something else entirely. Need was terrifying. Need made it sound like she would never be whole again without him.

  “Kate.”

  “What?” She jumped, snapping her gaze up from the deep burgundy wine she’d been staring into.

  “I said, everything was great.”

  “I made coffee, dessert…” She trailed off. I can’t do this. I have to. She was going to.

  All she had to do was figure out what came next. Kate got to her feet. Suddenly, her skin felt on fire.

  Raphael stood, as well, and picked up their plates from the table. She’d served lamb and oysters at a coffee table, Kate thought, and she hadn’t even noticed the incongruity of it until this moment. And now he was cleaning up. They must be wearing off on each other. She laughed aloud, a little giddily.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, looking up.

  She swallowed, and her throat felt as dry as sand. “Uh, nothing. No, don’t.”

  Raphael stopped in mid stride, a plate in each hand. “Don’t what?”

  “Just leave the…the…m-mess.”

  He looked at her oddly. “You want to leave dirty plates all over t
he living room?”

  “I’ll clean up l-later.”

  He frowned. “You’re stuttering. Why are you stuttering?”

  “I’m not stuttering.”

  “Yes, you are. You just said l-later.”

  “Don’t make fun of me!” If he did, she thought she would die. That would be it. She’d never find the courage to go through with this. But he only shook his head, looking mystified.

  “Okay,” he said. “You’re not stuttering.”

  “Yes. I mean, no. I’m fine.”

  He continued into the kitchen. A moment later, Kate heard the dishes clatter into the sink. Then he was back.

  She had absolutely no idea what to do next, how to go about this.

  Football, she thought, seizing on it. Of course, football. He liked football. If she could get him on the sofa, in front of the television, then turn the lights out, she could take a breath and figure out how to proceed. “Let’s watch football,” she blurted.

  Raphael had just reached for the last of the bottle of wine on the coffee table. He went still in mid motion. Then he straightened again, empty-handed. “Kate. It’s Thursday.”

  “I know that.” She scowled.

  “Football is on Sundays. Well, mostly Saturdays right now, because it’s preseason.”

  No football? Damn, she thought. Double damn. “Oh.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes on her. “Am I getting this right? You want to watch TV?”

  Kate sighed in relief. She nodded emphatically.

  “With dirty dishes all over the coffee table,” he clarified.

  She hadn’t even thought of that, of how it would spoil the mood. Kate opened her mouth and closed it again, not sure how to answer.

  “What’s wrong with you tonight?” Raphael demanded.

  What was wrong, she thought frantically, was what she knew—whether she was experienced at this or not—that sinking her hands into sudsy water and washing dishes and loading a dishwasher right now would be extremely counterproductive to what she had in mind. Kate finally made a decision. She picked up the wine bottle herself, her movements feeling jerky. “I don’t want to waste this. Let’s finish it.”