by Judith Mehl
She attempted to laugh it off and not let her defensiveness rule the moment. “Why would I do something like that to great food?”
He began to list all the incidents of her aiding students, or himself, from the itch creams to the vinegar tea. Fortunately, before she could respond, he forked some of the salad into his mouth and moaned in delight.
She chose to smile and watch.
When he tried the fettuccini and practically purred she felt vindicated. He swallowed and murmured, “This is ambrosia.”
She smiled again and slowly brought the wineglass to her lips. She sipped delicately, admiring his nicely sculpted arms while he ate. He took another appreciative bite and sighed over the combined scent and taste. “I’ll never say another word about your health food.”
He’d seen her watching him and mirrored her look, wondering what it would be like to nibble on those wine-touched lips.
She poked at the veal, hunting for the tastiest looking bite. It was safer than looking up into his eyes and seeing the need reflected there. Her fork searched her plate in what became an all-consuming task. Was she supposed to respond to that look? Could she resist? Could she trust him? Would he ever confide more information about his past? Her thoughts bounced around, keeping her tongue silent.
They’d agreed to not ‘talk shop’ but suddenly she couldn’t think of anything else to say. He finally rescued her by mentioning how peaceful he’d found her garden.
She thanked him for the comment. “That was the intent. I was looking for something to soothe. I found that even the work of creating it caused that feeling.”
He nodded, tackling more of the veal while she talked. There was no doubting his sincerity over enjoying the food. She was glad she’d made the effort.
They talked more easily. She spoke of finding the house and the need in her soul for such a place. He talked about his dreams and his confusion was clear. He wanted disparate things in life. He enjoyed the travel and adventure of his old job, though he wouldn’t talk much about it. He wanted a home, envied her hers, as well as her certainty that the home and her life were right for her.
They cleared the table and she made the coffee as they talked more. She brought out the banana cream pie and he promised her undying love. She was pleased, but hid the fear that it was only said jokingly and turned her back to fill the dishwasher, hoping he hadn’t seen her thoughts on her face.
“We need to make plans.”
She jerked around when he said that, but couldn’t read his expression as he walked back to the table on the porch, pie in hand. He returned for the plates and silverware.
“What do you mean?”
“As much as I’ve enjoyed the interlude, I’m worried. We have no new leads on this case. We closed out one more possibility with the journal. But that still leaves us with a killer and you in danger for an unknown reason. I’m baffled, and I’m worried.” He spoke while he dished out the pie, not looking worried at all, and she was confused. Where was he leading?
She served the coffee, saying nothing. Hoping he would clarify. She wasn’t going to make a fool of herself jumping to conclusions. He studied her while he slowly sipped from the warm mug, obviously looking for some reaction to what he’d said.
His smoldering looks belied his relaxed posture as he waited. Was she supposed to answer a question she hadn’t heard? Or a look that defied a simple response? Were they talking business here, or were they on a more personal level? Kat drank her coffee and met his eyes almost defiantly, challenging him to clarify what she saw in them. It was a mistake. With one look into those aquamarine pools, she not only lost the challenge; she forgot where she was.
He rose.
She watched his lean muscles ripple beneath his shirt. When he walked behind her she thought he was just moving to catch the view. When he nuzzled the back of her neck it was an instant mind drain. There was nothing but the touch, the sizzle, Nick. She was standing and turned in his arms without knowing how. Without caring. His hands possessively played down the sides of her body, noting the curves with due reverence before moving on. Her breath was unsteady as his lips skimmed her throat and captured her mouth.
Fire sparked everywhere, igniting and burning in a flash. She was gone and hadn’t even touched bare flesh. As that thought skimmed through her mind she realized how much she wanted to touch and be touched. By the time the thought registered they were next to her bed. He deepened the kisses, drawing all air from her and leaving a void for the conflagration to fill.
He’d been anxious to remove that dress since he’d seen her in it, but moved cautiously, slowly, nibbling his way with kisses. She held tightly to her senses long enough to reciprocate and slowly lowered the zipper of his pants and tugged downward. He caught her by the elbows and raised her up before he lost it completely. This would be tenderness and pleasure like none she had before, he vowed, as he drugged her again with kisses and stretched beside her. Her body became a shrine. She became the sacrificial offering as she went up in flames. And all he’d done was worship her with his mouth, outlining the curve of her shoulder, the sensitive angle of her elbow, the hollow beneath her knee.
It pleasured him to stroke her till she moaned, to sip from the sweet lips she offered. While he explored the sensations she created in him, she tried to mentally withdraw, to seek control. but a quick flick of his tongue across her lips confirmed that she had no control, and wanted none.
When he eased up for a minute she was able to stroke in kind, follow the muscles she’d only viewed from a distance, and relish the firmness beneath her palms. The sheets rustled and they moved, sinuously around each other. As he slid within her, their eyes and hands also locked, sealing their connection with a wordless vow before the flames engulfed them both.
His day started high and crashed quickly on the rocks. He awakened in her bed, in her arms, and discovered they’d forgotten to set the alarm. Late for his meeting, he only managed a quick kiss and an “I’ll call you.” Not at all what he longed to say or do. As he ran out she sleepily shouted after him, “You should at least grab a hard boiled egg. You need the wake-up chemicals in the amino acid tyrosine before your meeting.”
Now, as he stomach growled for want of breakfast, Nick laughed. Good old Kat. He’d have to adjust to her healthy attitudes. Might not be a bad idea, he vowed, as his stomach growled again. G. L. was on the phone and on his case. The detective was having trouble keeping track of Kat. He’d complained before. This morning Nick only had time to renew his promise to feed G. L. her schedule as much as possible.
G. L. made a brief report on his latest findings. One thing he said bothered him but led to nothing conclusive—stories he’d heard about Carlos. For example, one of the English teachers remembered hearing something at a faculty meeting a month ago. Some of them were talking prior to the meeting. One made a snide remark about Maria and her many interns. The man laughed and said, “No wonder Charlie kept turning her down!” She could tell that Carlos had overheard and he looked really incensed.
Nick suggested G. L. investigate further. The detective said he’d snoop around a little and see what else he could dig up.
Meanwhile, Thomas was after Nick first thing this morning about some bad publicity in the local paper, like it was his fault the campus was in the middle of a murder investigation and the police hadn’t found the killer! Nick agreed to see what he could do.
But worst of all, he hadn’t had a minute to talk with Kat and she was scheduled with interviews and meetings all afternoon. His fault, she took on the work to free his time for dousing brush fires. Public relations wasn’t what he thought it’d be at all. The stress was monumental. And he’d certainly dealt with stress before. That had been life threatening. This was just frustrating. He preferred the former. His past of crawling around hiding from the mercenaries in third world countries was looking better by the minute—except for Kat.
He pondered how to tell her of his past. He hadn’t done anything illegal. Far fro
m it. He just hadn’t wanted his past work to cloud his present. He’d ventured on a fresh start, leaving behind the baggage of those meteoric, though lonely, years. Maybe she’d be impressed. Maybe disgusted. But he owed her the information.
More importantly, he’d been sidetracked from his purpose last night. He’d barely brushed the subject of her safety, had been determined to tell her about his partner, and to ask her cooperation. He had planned to ask her to stay with him each night for safety reasons. Now he wanted her with him for his own reasons. He’d agreed with G. L. that watching her at night would put too much strain on the private detective and with little purpose. G. L. had a small staff but they were concentrating on his other jobs, freeing him to follow Kat during the day and track down some clues to whom might be threatening her.
When Nick planned to ask her permission to stay he hadn’t quite pictured it happening so explosively, and without her knowledge of all the facts. Now he was determined to coerce her into his way of thinking on the safety issue, and approach the investigation with renewed vigor. He realized their conflict over her safety and how this investigation could ruin their personal lives.
Chapter 26
Irregular word spacing suggests emotional instability and unnecessary flourishes in the upper zone may signal delusional thinking. Stalkers may adopt this type of writing.
“The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Handwriting Analysis” by Sheila Lowe
He crept through the dusk onto Katharine Everitt’s front porch, so intent on the door he almost knocked into the birdfeeder. It made him halt, take a breath. Curtains prevented him from seeing inside. He drew a gun and tried the doorknob, turning gently. The catch released and the door slowly opened. He edged through the opening and slipped to the right. He paused. No sound. No movement. He waited.
Kat walked down the hall to the kitchen, lost in thought. It had been a long day. Should she change clothes and crash for the night or go out to eat? Then she saw something. A shadow near the front door followed by a slight sound abruptly pulled her out of her reverie. She froze. Then the trembles came.
Oh, God. She knew someone had been following her. Had felt it for days. Her spirits sagged at the sight of the front door, ajar. She’d tried to remember to lock the door as soon as she came home every evening, ever since Detective Burrows warned her. Why hadn’t she remembered tonight?
She started breathing again to quell the fear. One step at a time, she coaxed herself. Slowly move toward the kitchen and the butcher knives, she decided. She didn’t keep a gun. The knives were all that came to mind.
Her body sluggishly followed the signals from her brain. Don’t panic, she directed. Slowly, silently, she coached herself through the shadows. It was even darker in the kitchen. Those shadows would be in her favor. She reached the knife rack, slid one out carefully and soundlessly, and inched sideways toward the back door. No way would she turn her back on the hall doorway.
Meanwhile, the man worked his way towards the living room, glanced in, then inched down the hall toward the kitchen. As he maneuvered through the doorway he sensed movement in the corner. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness just enough to see the knife glinting. He stopped short. Stared. As his eyes adjusted he could discern her shape. Being confronted with Kat and a large butcher knife was something he least expected.
Kat saw him also, but wasn’t sure what to do. The gun wasn’t pointed at her and she’d never thrown a knife before, let alone at a human being.
“Where is he?” the man whispered.
The seemingly inane question short-circuited her in the middle of deciding what to do. Startled, Kat whispered back. “Where’s who?”
He looked around warily while keeping an eye on the butcher knife. “The guy who’s been stalking you.”
Kat attempted to hold her fear in check, looked at his gun and said, “Looks to me like he’s right here.”
Finally realizing her meaning he blurted, “Whoa, Kat, this isn’t what it looks like.”
“It looks like you just broke into my home armed with a gun.”
“I didn’t break in, you left the door unlocked. Don’t you know better than that?”
She didn’t know whether to faint or laugh. An intruder cautioning her to lock her doors? What is this? And he called her Kat. Maybe this wasn’t what it seemed at first. Maybe the fear congealing in her stomach could disappear and let her normal senses come to the fore, but right now she wasn’t quite sure. She only knew he had a gun and she was standing there with a seemingly lethal but useless weapon in comparison.
Cautiously, she flipped the light switch and raised her eyebrow, indicating she was willing to listen, but kept the knife pointed straight at his heart. “Well?”
“Would you put that thing down?” G. L. begged.
“Would you give me your gun?”
He shifted his weight, tense, but the gun didn’t move. “An impasse already and we haven’t even begun?”
Pretending to ignore the gun issue for a minute she accused, “You called me Kat!”
“That’s what Nick calls you. I’ll call you Miss Everitt if it will help.”
“It would help if you’d put down the gun.”
Let’s clear up something first. Are you sure you’re alone here?”
“I’m sure I’m not. That’s why I’m still holding a knife.”
“I meant besides me. I thought for sure when no lights went on that you encountered someone already here.”
“Why should there be someone here? Well, I didn’t check under the beds but until you barged in I thought I was alone.”
He circled around the table, more as a nervous reaction, than a move toward entrapment but Kat wasn’t taking any chances. She hefted the knife higher and made threatening gestures. The intruder didn’t know she had no clue how to throw it and that they banned her from the softball team in high school because her aim was abominable.
“Before this goes any further, I’m going to look around. Make sure we’re the only ones here.”
“No problem. Just make yourself at home,” she snapped petulantly. Then realized she could make her escape while he was gone. He may not be the crazed killer he seemed at first but she wasn’t taking any chances.
G. L. realized what she was thinking, and hoping to stall her escape, introduced himself.
“Sorry.” He shoved out his right hand. “I’m G. L. Petingill the Third.”
She eyed him up and down suspiciously. The stocky build and battle-scarred face somehow didn’t fit the image that name implied. “Come again?”
He slowly reached into his pocket and without taking his eyes off her, pulled out a business card. “Here.” Unfortunately there was no getting around it now. She would know he was guarding her with Petingill Security emblazoned on the card, he thought. Well, Nick would just have to fend for himself. He’d told Nick he couldn’t follow her, make sure her home was safe, and keep his efforts hidden from her, all at the same time.
She lowered the knife to half-mast while studying the card. She glanced at him, then back at the card, as if having difficulty connecting the two.
“Please wait till I return. We have to talk,” he said as he slipped down the hall.
G. L. returned shortly. “Nice place. I like the sunroom.”
Kat had inched toward the back door but stood her ground. Why should she leave? It was her house. Besides, she now had some questions for this Petingill guy.
“Find anything? And what does Nick have to do with this?”
Knowing that Nick’s goose was cooked if Kat found out he’d hired a guard, he hesitated. “No, all’s clear. Why don’t we leave Nick out of this?”
“I didn’t bring him into it. You did.”
G. L. tried another diversionary tactic. “So, why didn’t you turn on any lights when you came home?”
“If you must know, I did. She jerked her head in the direction of the hallway. In there—the bathroom.”
He sheepishly glanced in the direction sh
e indicated. Oh brother. He’d never thought of an inside room where the lights wouldn’t show outside. And he’d been in this business for years. No wonder Nick wanted help with this one. He, himself, barely knew Kat and he was making mistakes. Actually, he only knew her from what Nick had told him about her. Which was part of his problem at the moment. She didn’t know him.
He realized she truly was safe, lowered the gun and stuck it in the back of his waistband. He nodded toward the kitchen table and asked permission to sit. “I don’t know about you but I’ve had enough of a scare for one night!”
She glared at him as he headed toward the nearest chair.
“Nick?” She reminded.
He sat. Finally, she sat also, kicked off her shoes, and switched to another pressing question for the moment.
“And you’re here in my kitchen with a gun because…?”
“I was hired to tail you; make sure you were safe.”
“By whom?”
“Shall we say a friend?”
She grimaced, settled back in the chair, slightly more relaxed. She even set the knife down. “Not likely. No friend of mine would have me tailed without letting me in on it.”
“Would you have agreed to it if you’d been asked?”
She huffed in disgust, which was enough of an answer for G. L. “See! You wouldn’t have allowed it. Then how safe would you be?”
“Probably a lot safer than I am with a strange man walking through my house carrying a gun!”
G. L. settled back and attempted to explain that. He told how he trailed Kat home at dusk. She had entered the house and he waited a long five minutes and still no lights had gone on. He described how his anxiety rose as he circled the house looking for forced entry, open windows, or any signs of someone else being there. He had glanced around the neighborhood but no cars other than hers were in sight. He reasoned that an assailant could have parked quite a distance away and hiked here.