“My father was military,” Adam heard himself telling her. It was a whopping lie. A useful one, though, to create a nice sense of affinity. The words came easily, too, because this history was borrowed from a friend. “We usually stayed put for three years at a time, and the friendship thing was a little easier for me because all the kids had the same experience. Still, you don’t graduate from high school with your best friend from kindergarten.”
“No.” She sounded sad. “All my favorite books when I was growing up were about these deep bonds of friendship. I was so jealous.”
He wanted to take her hand. Instead he reached for his wine glass.
“I’ve told myself I grew up more independent than I would have if I’d ever put down roots.”
“There’s that,” he agreed.
“Where are your parents now?” Naomi asked.
“Dad’s retired.” Another lie; Dad never got there. After having to resign from LAPD even though there was never any solid proof he’d taken bribes, Adam’s father had been lucky to get hired as sheriff in a small crime-ridden town down by the Mexican border, where he treated his bitterness with booze, grew a gut that sagged over his belt, and woke up angrier every morning. Eventually there’d been a divorce. And then – hell. Adam’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t going to think about the end.
Back to fantasyland. “One of their last stops was San Diego, and they liked it so they stayed. They have a nice little house, and Dad’s become a gardener.” He managed a smile as he told her about Ramirez’s dad, a stocky, tough former Navy chief, deadheading his roses and conducting war, now, only against aphids.
Adam had been an adult by the time he became friends with Juan Ramirez and was as good as adopted by his parents. Adam didn’t like knowing he’d just used some really good people in a way they wouldn’t approve.
Naomi laughed, though, as if he’d restored her effervescence. He was gladder of that than he should be, which triggered a warning ping.
“How about your mom and stepdad?” he asked, wanting to turn the subject from him and his life before he had to think up new lies he’d have to integrate with the ones he’d already told – and remember.
She hesitated just long enough, he wondered whether she was concocting a lie of her own.
“My stepfather was abusive.” Face and voice both told him this was raw truth. “Mom died five years ago, just before I—” She stopped so fast Adam heard the rubber burning. She swallowed. “He didn’t kill her, but he might as well have. She was broadsided by a drunk driver. Pure chance that driver wasn’t him.”
Hell. “I’m sorry,” he said, and discovered in shock that this time he’d laid his hand over hers on the table without even realizing he was doing it.
She stared at their hands, too. Neither of them moved for a moment. He didn’t so much as breathe. And then she turned hers and gave his a grateful squeeze. His heart threw in a hard thump as he looked at those intertwined fingers, hers pale, fine-boned, his so much darker, thicker. Her nails were short and unpainted - practical. He wanted those small, competent hands touching him. Anywhere, everywhere.
Don’t be an idiot.
Yeah, yeah. His goal had been to get close to her. That was happening. Holding hands was like...a bunt, he decided. Not even close to a base hit, never mind a double, triple or home run. Nothing he had to feel guilty about later.
He just wished holding hands with her didn’t feel so good, as if the simple touch had become a conduit.
He cleared his throat. “I assume you don’t speak to the son-of-a-bitch.”
Her eyes met his squarely. “Not a chance.”
“Good for you.”
“He didn’t hurt me. Mostly he ignored me. Sometimes I almost wished he’d hit me. I think when I made him mad, he took it out on her.” She gave her head a little shake. “Let’s change the subject. Tell me something about you.”
First thing that entered his head was to confide his youthful dream of becoming a fighter pilot. Not smart, because that would lead to him having to say what he actually did do for a living. The subject would inevitably come around, but later was better than sooner.
“I was a hell of a soccer player.”
Her smile lit that piquant face. “Modest, too.”
He grinned at that. “Got me through college on a scholarship. I still play in an adult league.” He was a forward, Ramirez a dynamite goalie. “How about you? Are you strictly a runner, or do you play any sports?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m an okay swimmer, but I never competed. I did gymnastics when I was little, but I’m kind of a coward. Flying through the air, feeling the bar slip through your fingers and landing on the mat with a big whump?” She mock-shuddered. “I was scared to death on the balance beam. Mom gave up.” She smiled. “We played a little soccer in P.E. I think I would have liked it. I was always the last picked for basketball teams. Can’t imagine why.”
He chuckled as he lifted a hand for the waitress. Naomi declined dessert, and he did the same. “Can’t be as good as yours,” he said, and was rewarded by her smile.
The waitress heard what he said, though, and Naomi mentioned her cafe. Next thing he knew, the chef had emerged from the kitchen and they were engaged in shop talk. He stayed at the table sipping coffee while she disappeared to inspect the kitchen, not emerging for a good fifteen minutes.
Cheeks flushed, she apologized, but he shook his head.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Yes, actually. There’s not really anybody else in Cape Trouble...” She didn’t finish, obviously feeling she’d gone out on a limb on the arrogance scale, but so far as he’d seen, she was right. There were cooks, and then there were chefs. Tonight’s dinner had been cooked by another chef.
He thought about suggesting a walk on the beach since night had yet to fall, but unlike her he hadn’t forgotten that they could easily have been followed. He didn’t like being unarmed and feeling exposed, either. Besides, he discovered when they stepped outside that a faint drizzle had started, enough he had to use the wiper blades to clear the windshield.
In his SUV, pulling back out onto the highway, he nudged the conversation to siblings. None for her, a sister for him. Pets - no and no. His mother had a cat now, if that qualified. He’d hardly set eyes on it, since it shot behind the couch whenever he stepped foot in her condo.
“You haven’t said what you do—” she began, but he talked right over the top of her as if he hadn’t noticed she’d asked a question, too.
“Have you owned your own restaurant before, or always worked for other people?”
He sensed a startled glance, but after a moment she said, “I actually did own one before this. It was...bigger. We offered lunch and dinner, so I worked really long hours.”
Adam filed away the “we”. Had Cobb been an investor in her restaurant? He wished he knew whether investigators had looked into the possibility of a financial entanglement.
“I was thinking about this recently,” she continued. “I should have brought in someone to take more of the business stuff from my shoulders. I had a bookkeeper, but I supervised the staff myself. I’m a perfectionist, and I liked keeping control. And when you’re on top and want to stay there, you have to constantly strive for new, startling, better—”
Adam wondered if she was talking to him anymore, or only herself. Purple-gray dusk was settling, blurring detail.
“I think you forget about better,” she said softly. “I actually enjoy preparing simpler food now. Trying to make the familiar as good as it can be, while still satisfying people who think, oh, macaroni and cheese, I like that.”
“I understand. And I can attest that your food is amazing.”
“Thank you,” she said, letting him hear her smile.
Night was coming swiftly now, and either there was no moon or clouds covered it. They’d encountered hardly any other traffic on the highway. He recognized the curve ahead and knew they’d be crossing Mist River into Cape Trouble
in just a minute.
Naomi said suddenly, “Thank you for suggesting this. I mean, getting away. It felt...really good.”
It had, even for him. He’d set aside his job more than he probably should have and let himself enjoy taking a woman out for dinner.
“I had a good time, too.”
“Partly, I don’t do much in the evening because I have to get up so early in the morning. If I had my own house, I might enlarge the kitchen so I could do some of the baking in the evening instead, but as it is...” She shrugged.
“Why’d you sell your other restaurant and move?” he asked. “Was it because you wanted to go smaller?”
Cape Trouble wasn’t exactly lively at this time of night, but streetlights and hotel and restaurant signs were lit, letting him see Naomi’s face better than he had a minute ago.
“No-o,” she said slowly. “Something happened. I just...I wanted to leave the area.”
“Southern California?”
Careful not to look at her, he was still aware of being scrutinized.
“Yes,” she said finally.
“I might have eaten in your place.”
Earlier silences had felt...comfortable. This one stretched long enough he had to glance her way.
“As many restaurants as there are in the greater L.A. area, it’s unlikely.” She sounded almost snappish, as if she was hoping like hell he hadn’t.
He wondered what she’d say if he asked the name of her restaurant. Cape Trouble fell behind them. He had his signal on for the turn into Jasper Beach when instead he asked, “Why don’t you like the idea that our paths might have crossed before?”
“This is my new life. Ne’er the twain shall meet,” she said lightly.
The nice man who’d taken her out to dinner would have accepted her less-than-subtle evasion and not pursued the subject. The cop observed, “The something that happened must have been a humdinger.”
She turned her head to look out the window. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m easy to talk to,” he said mildly.
But, damn, they were pulling up in front of her cottage, and she unfastened her seat belt and had her door open before he set the emergency brake. Apparently he’d killed the mood.
“Hold on,” he said. “Let me do a walk-through with you.”
Uh oh, he thought. Walk-through? He sounded like a cop or a real estate agent. But if she’d noticed, he couldn’t tell, because she was already out of the SUV. From the set of her shoulders and the stretched length of her neck, all the tension eased this evening was back. Adam guessed she’d have loved to say, Thanks, but no thanks, except that the strain on her face told him she was also scared to go into her home alone. After a moment she gave a short nod before slamming the passenger side door.
He wanted to grab his Glock from the glove compartment, but she turned towards him rather than the house as she waited, providing no opportunity. Not much choice but to go in unarmed.
They walked the short distance to the side door in silence. His nerves and muscles tightened in readiness. He scanned the interior of her little Ford on the way. No surprises there. None inside, either, that he could see. Her gaze darted this way and that as they entered each room, but didn’t settle anywhere and he didn’t detect any alarm, so he guessed she hadn’t had a repeat visitor, and nobody hid under her bed or crouched behind her dryer or the clothes hanging in her closet.
No invitation to stay for a cup of coffee was issued, although she relented at the front door to the extent of saying, “Thank you for offering to come in. It’s dumb to keep being scared every time I get home—”
“No. You have good reason to be cautious. Cautious is smart.”
A little frown furrowed her brow as she studied him. “That’s what the detective said the other day.”
“It’s common sense.”
“Yes, but if someone really did break in, he’d have discovered there isn’t anything here worth taking. Why would he come back?”
Keeping his mouth shut, he couldn’t resist a significant glance at the messenger bag she’d dropped on the sofa. Naomi turned enough to see what he was looking at, and her cheeks flushed.
“I almost always have it with me.”
“You know that. I didn’t until now.”
She frowned. “Now you’re scaring me! Knock it off.”
Adam flattened a hand on the doorjamb beside her and looked down at her. “I want you to stay safe.”
Which was not his principal goal here, or shouldn’t be, anyway.
“Oh.” Her face softened.
Caramel, he thought again, looking into her eyes. Warm and melted. He leaned forward.
They looked at each other. For all her wariness, she felt the same pull, he could tell. Even yearning. I shouldn’t…but I want to. That’s what she was thinking.
He shouldn’t, either, but, damn, he did want. A polite guy kissed his date goodnight, he told himself. He didn’t slap her on the back and say, Good talking to you. He should play this to the end.
Naomi didn’t step back. In fact, she tipped her face up and her eyes fluttered shut when his mouth brushed hers. The contact was barely a whisper, but he felt zinged as if by static electricity, only in a good way. He went back for more, no longer bothering to think up justifications.
This time he covered her lips with his and took advantage of what might have been a gasp to slip his tongue into her mouth. The tiny sound she made shot straight to his groin. So did the feel of her small, strong hands when they settled on his shoulders.
A part of him knew he was kissing her way too seriously for the circumstances, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Instead of exploring her mouth, he was devouring it, but, God, her tongue met his and she leaned into him even as he gathered her tight, lifting, fitting her to his larger frame.
A groan rumbled in his chest, and he tore his mouth away long enough to kiss the tip of her cheekbone, her temple, her closed eyelid, back to her cheek, then take a nip at her earlobe that had her quivering. Everything about her worked for him, even the way she breathed, fast and light like a bird captured in his hand.
His hand was sneaking around to cover her breast when light flashed against his closed eyelids. Adam opened his eyes fast, just as headlights played over them. A powerfully protective instinct had him pushing her back over her doorstep so his body blocked her completely. His right hand went for his weapon, before his brain caught up with the memory that he was unarmed. Which was lucky, or he’d have ended the game he was playing with her prematurely.
Fortunately, the car continued past at fifteen miles an hour, tops, as hasty as anyone in this neighborhood ever drove. Adam didn’t like knowing the eyeful the driver had probably gotten, though.
She’d gone rigid in his grip. “Who was that?” she whispered.
“Nobody. I mean, probably a neighbor. You do have neighbors,” he joked, when he didn’t feel anything approaching humor. Adam was painfully aroused, angry at himself for kissing a suspect the way he just had, and even angrier because he’d let himself become blind to their surroundings even though he knew someone had it in for her.
“Oh. Oh!” With that second small cry, she leaped back, her self-consciousness fully restored. “I don’t want gossip.”
He was irked to hear how appalled she sounded.
“What’s so scandalous about having your date kiss you goodnight on your doorstep?”
“No, I know you’re right,” she said after a moment. “But, um, I’d better really say goodnight this time.” Her eyes didn’t meet his. She was still embarrassed, or something else.
“Okay.” What else could he say? “I enjoyed myself tonight,” he repeated.
“I did, too.” She sneaked a look at him. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Sleep tight.” He stepped forward, kissed her lightly on the cheek, then walked back to his Tahoe when that was the last thing he wanted to do. Just before he reached it, he heard her front door close. The po
rch light remained on, as did the one over the side door. He’d noticed last night that she was keeping both on when she hadn’t the first night he’d sat outside her place. Lighting the darkness, that was another human instinct to keep fear at bay.
He drove to his less-than-cozy home away from home and let himself in, only he didn’t turn on any lights. Instead, he sat in the dark and watched Naomi Kendrick’s small house, interested not ten minutes later to see a Cape Trouble P.D. unit creep past, pretty obviously checking out her place.
Had to be the police chief’s doing, and above and beyond, considering they were outside the city limits here.
Which told Adam he wasn’t the only one who knew damn good and well that the guy who snatched her bag would be back.
For future reference, he was glad to find out he hadn’t misjudged the city cop who had inexplicably become police chief in tiny Cape Trouble, which – given the summer’s happenings – wasn’t as untroubled as you’d expect.
*****
Naomi lay awake for hours. She heard more traffic than usual and, unlike last night, timed the intervals. Almost exactly forty-five minutes apart. Comforted to know it was the extra patrol Daniel had promised her, she relaxed, until she thought about the long stretches between patrols, and then she started to worry about whether, if the man behind the knit mask was watching, he could clock the appearances of the patrol cars and know exactly how long he’d have in between. Which left her more awake than ever.
She thought about the evening and how…happy she’d felt, except for the unsettling moments when she remembered the way Adam Rostov’s eyes had burned into hers the first time she saw him across her small dining room, and how conveniently he had then popped up when she needed him.
See How She Runs (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 2) Page 7