Something's Cooking

by Joanne Pence

  She seethed, breathing hard, unsure she’d heard him. “What?”

  “I said, all right.”

  “You can’t mean that.”

  “You told me you’re packed. When did you plan to leave?”

  “You agree?”

  “You might be safer if you’re away, out of sight. It might have been shortsighted of me to insist that you stay here.”

  “Because I might be safer somewhere else?”

  His blue eyes pierced her. She’d almost forgotten, arguing with him so much, the effect a simple glance from him had on her. “Of course,” he said. “Why else would I want you away from here?”

  The emotion in his voice rocked her, weakening her defenses. She fought any softening of her feelings, though, and gave him a steely stare. “I’m leaving tonight.”

  “Tonight! No way.”

  “Shall we bet on it?”

  He folded his arms, suddenly every bit as stubborn as she. “I won’t let you go to Bodega unless I go up there and talk to the local police. But I can’t leave tonight.”

  She folded hers in return. “Then you’d better come up with another solution real fast, Inspector, because I’m not staying in this apartment any longer.”

  17

  Angie couldn’t believe she was doing this—skulking around some dingy back alley. One moment, she had been anticipating a cozy little retreat at Bodega Bay, peaceful and safe. The next, she’d been persuaded to hide out in the city for a couple more days. Why had she turned into such a marshmallow when he turned those baby blues on her and suggested she stay at his home? Even his obvious reluctance to have her there hadn’t defused her ready agreement. Damn! She didn’t know what angered her more: him or her reaction to him.

  Did she honestly think she’d have a second chance at melting his cold heart? Whom was she kidding? But, on the other hand, as her niggling inner voice pointed out, he must care at least a little bit, or he would have simply sent her packing. It couldn’t all be out of duty.

  So here she was, standing among bulging Hefty garbage bags and trash cans, in a dark alley, imagining assailants lurking behind every dark corner and waiting for Prince Charming to find them a taxi cab.

  She’d handed Rico her car keys and her suitcases. Rico would take Angie’s car, drive around for about a half hour, and, when he was sure he wasn’t being followed, meet them at a parking lot across town. She and Paavo had taken the stairs from her apartment to the basement, and then run to a side door exit.

  She’d held her breath as Paavo raised his gun, opened the door, and bobbed his head outside. When no one tried to remove it, she had followed him into the darkness.

  They had scrambled over three backyard fences before they reached the street on the opposite side of the block from Angie’s apartment. Every muscle in her body ached. Going over the fences wasn’t so bad—Paavo had given her a boost up and steadied her as she got both legs on the other side of the fence—but landing on that other side had caused her teeth to rattle. She was amazed she hadn’t broken a leg, if not her neck, doing it.

  Now they huddled in an alley off of a busy street until a taxi drove by. Paavo ran into the street and hailed it. It stopped.

  Sore and exhausted, she flopped back against the cab’s seat, wondering what she was doing. Was she the crazy one, or was it the cop beside her? The cop who made her so angry she scarcely knew her own mind….

  He’d promised to drive her, using her car, to Bodega as soon as he was free to go. As they neared the rendezvous point with Rico, she realized he hadn’t ever actually seen her car. “My car’s pretty small,” she said. “It’s Italian, and a couple of years old already. Anyway, since the trip to Bodega is fairly long, if you prefer, I could rent something bigger to drive up there.”

  The cab pulled into the lot. Rico was leaning against Angie’s white Ferrari.

  “No,” Paavo said with a little catch in his voice, “your car will do just fine.”

  Thanking Rico for all his help, Angie gave him her father’s card, in case she wasn’t able to send the payment due him and Joey.

  His eyes took on a sad cast as he nodded, then left.

  She turned to hand her car keys to Paavo, but he was already halfway in the car, checking out its dials and running his hands lingeringly over the soft leather interior. She’d never dreamed she’d be envious of a car.

  “I can’t wait to get away,” Angie said shortly after they arrived at Paavo’s cottage. “Can’t you do something, pull a few strings, so we can leave tomorrow?”

  Paavo sat on the sofa, his hands clasped. A sudden shadow came over his face. “Tomorrow morning is Matt’s funeral.”

  “I hadn’t realized,” she whispered. “Would you like me to go with you?”

  “No.”

  She nodded. Why had she expected any other answer? Again, she wrapped herself in her rancor at him, making it a shield against the compassion she also felt, but in this proximity, her anger was difficult to hold. Holding a grudge didn’t come naturally to her. She preferred to have a simple, cleansing tantrum, and then get over it and go back to being friendly once more. But Paavo wouldn’t allow her to get close enough even for that.

  Hercules was kicking up a ruckus. The cat’s hunger made Angie remember that she hadn’t eaten all day either, and probably, neither had Paavo.

  Within minutes, Hercules was devouring his canned food as she scrambled eggs, made toast, and heated a can of chili. Paavo’s pitiful pantry offered little choice.

  She set the kitchen table, dished out the food, and returned to the living room to call Paavo.

  He was curled up on the sofa, sound asleep, his brow unlined, the sadness and worry momentarily gone. She stood over him a moment, realizing that he needed sleep far more than dinner. She suspected he hadn’t slept well last night, and she knew he had spent the night before that at the hospital, at the station, and with her. She stood there a long time, just watching him. He could be brusque, cold, and bossy, but underneath, his heart was warm—with others, at least. Matt must have known that, and Matt’s wife. She remembered Chief Hollins saying Matt’s son liked visiting Paavo. It seemed Paavo wasn’t doing nearly as good a job as he imagined at hiding his true nature. Poor man.

  She found the linen closet and an extra blanket. Perhaps her being there relaxed him in some way he didn’t even realize. She hoped it was so, because that was how she felt. In fact, she had to admit she liked being there more than the thought of being alone in Bodega. She covered him, smoothing the blanket over his long, powerful frame. Maybe he’d ask…no, demand…that she stay right there until her own place was safe again. Of course, she’d say “no” for a little while….

  She ate dinner alone. After cleaning up the kitchen, she moved her suitcase into the bedroom. It was a comfortable room. The whole house was comfortable, as Paavo was under that steely surface.

  She read the plaques and certificates on his wall, all of which had to do with the police force. Aulis Kokkonen must have been a good influence, but what makes a kid go from the streets to the force? Whatever it was, being a cop meant a lot to him. He clearly was proud of his work and his accomplishments, and he believed in them. Looking at his mementos, she felt a stirring of affinity. She couldn’t have explained it, but it was there.

  After changing into a long, heavy, flannel nightgown—brought along especially for cold Bodega nights—she switched on the lamp by the nightstand, propped up pillows, and took Sam’s recipes from her handbag. She had decided to read through them to see if she could spot some code or clue, as Paavo had suggested. There had to be some hint, some ingredient….

  The next morning, the smell of freshly brewed coffee gently nudged her awake. Across the room, Paavo stood at his dresser, his back to her, putting on cufflinks. That done, he looked in the mirror, adjusted his tie, and picked up his hairbrush.

  Angling her head just a bit, she could see his reflection in the mirror. She stared, struck by how handsome he looked in his charcoal suit
, dark tie, and white shirt. She hadn’t spent much time simply observing the man before. Usually she had been too busy being irritated by him to pay much attention. But as always, he had a magnetism that she couldn’t deny.

  Deep in thought, he held a faraway look that softened his features and erased the wariness that too often defined his expression.

  She noticed the gentle waves appearing in his hair now that it was a bit longer than when she had first met him. The skin at the inner corners of his eyes and below was a shade darker than the surrounding area, making his eyes look especially deep set and intense. She loved his eyes.

  Her gaze caught his in the mirror. He had been watching her through the glass with an odd expression on his face. She smiled and tried to appear nonchalant, as if she hadn’t been staring at him so openly, so admiringly.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  He put down the hairbrush and faced her. His gaze traveled the length of her there, in his bed, wrapped in his blankets. When he raised his eyes to hers again, they were like blue flames. Their heat traveled straight to her heart.

  He turned abruptly to the dresser and began to rummage through the things on top of it. “Where are the keys?…Ah!”

  “Did you eat, Inspector?” she asked, wrapping her pink quilted robe over her gown as she got out of bed.

  “I’m not hungry.” He left the bedroom and walked toward the front door. “I won’t be gone long. I’ll use your car, if you don’t mind. Mine is still at your place.”

  “Fine.” She followed right behind him.

  “Don’t go out. A patrolman will be driving by at least every half hour. He’ll keep an eye on things.”

  “Thank you,” she said. He reached for the doorknob, looking so alone that her heart ached for him and she moved closer to him. All of yesterday’s resolutions had vanished, and she couldn’t let him go without saying something. “Paavo.” Her voice was a choked whisper.

  He turned, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his, tightly, not even quite sure how she had gotten there. The clean, spicy scent of his aftershave, and the warm, firm feel of his lips made her knees weak. Almost as quickly, she let go of him. She was embarrassed but nonetheless glad she had kissed him. “Take very, very good care of yourself,” she murmured.

  He nodded, his blue eyes capturing hers a moment, and then he hurried from the house.

  18

  Angie cleaned out the refrigerator while waiting for Paavo to come home. She had never seen so much mold outside of a botany laboratory. Later, she thumbed through some magazines and looked over his books, but all she could think of was Paavo. Where was he?

  At about three in the afternoon, the phone rang. Angie ran to it and picked it up on the second ring.

  “Hello?” She was breathless.

  “Who’s this?” a woman’s voice asked.

  Angie frowned. “Who are you?”

  “I’m trying to reach Paavo Smith. Perhaps I dialed wrong?” The voice was low with a Swedish accent.

  “This is his number.”

  “Oh.” The woman hesitated. “Are you the cleaning woman?”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Is Paavo there? I’d like to speak to him.”

  Angie’s stomach knotted at the imperious, yet seductive-sounding voice. Her imagination assigned a face and figure to the speaker. Seven feet tall, beautiful, with long, silky white-blond hair, and a voluptuous body, the woman probably pumped iron while skiing on one foot down the Matterhorn. Just Paavo’s type.

  “He’s not home. Can I give him a message?”

  “So, who are you, then?”

  The woman was impossible. “I’m his ex-wife. His third ex-wife. Me and the kids are here to get all the back child-support payments he owes us.”

  “Oh!”

  “May I tell him who called?”

  “No. No, that’s all right.” The woman hung up.

  Angie slammed down the phone. Her guilt was fleeting.

  Another two hours passed before she heard her car pull onto the driveway. She wanted to run to the door, but considering the way she had seen him off, she decided a little discretion was called for. She waited, none too patiently, on the sofa.

  Paavo opened the front door and walked in. “Hi.”

  “You were gone longer than I expected.” God, I sound like a wife, she thought.

  His blue eyes glinted, but he said only, “I guess so. I checked in a few times with the patrol.”

  “Where did you go?” Again? Her voice clearly had become possessed, and these questions popped out, uninvited.

  “To the zoo.”

  “What?” Was the man mad? While she had sat there worried half to death, he had decided to go look at wild animals?

  He took off his jacket as he spoke, turning his back to her. “Actually, things were kind of…rough…at Matt’s house, and he has, had, a four-year-old, a great kid, named Micky. I took him. It was good to get him away for a while.”

  She looked at him with astonishment at first, but then her eyes became misty, and her heart went out to him.

  She rushed away to get him a cup of coffee while he changed into a blue heavy-knit sweater and light gray slacks. He’d eaten little that day, and she convinced him to take her out to the dinner he had promised days ago. They went to a small neighborhood cafe where he was known and the food was good and plentiful. She kept reminding herself that she was still angry at him, but the reasons why were growing dimmer.

  It was dark when they arrived back at his house. He lit a fire and fed Hercules while Angie poured them each a brandy.

  “What’s this?” he asked, picking up the dollar bills by the phone.

  “I called my mother today. I had to tell her about my going to Bodega Bay. It was a long conversation.”

  “I’m not a pauper, Miss Amalfi.” He slammed the money onto the table.

  “I know! But I sleep here. I eat your food. I couldn’t use your phone like that, too.”

  “I wouldn’t have cared.”

  “I know, but…have you done this kind of thing much?”

  He looked at her with eyes narrowed and dangerous. “What do you mean?”

  “This. Bringing someone like me here to your house.”

  He braced his hands against his hips, a towering figure in the small room. “Oh, sure. It’s a regular bed and breakfast. Can’t you tell? It’s how I make my pin money.” His voice was too quiet. Angie knew that inside he was seething at her.

  She shrank back into the sofa cushions. “I didn’t mean there was anything wrong with it. I was serious.”

  “Never.”

  “Never what?”

  His eyes caught hers and slowly his cold anger seemed to vanish. “You are never serious, Miss Amalfi.”

  Would she ever get past this aloofness of his? She knew others did—Aulis, Matt’s child, and even Angie’s own mother, but he’d built a wall between them Joshua’s horn couldn’t bring down. Why? Was it simply because deep down he just didn’t care for her, or was there some other reason? She couldn’t face the fact that she was no more than a case to him—the case of the woman who was rapidly making a first-class fool of herself over him!

  Men had always thrown themselves at her, pursued her until she grew tired of running. This one treated her as if she had all the feminine appeal of a mushroom.

  “By the way,” she said, “you got a call today. A woman with a heavy Swedish-sounding accent. Tell her your cousin was here and she was just joking on the phone.”

  “My cousin?”

  “She’ll understand.”

  He gave her a quizzical look. “I see.”

  “It sounded like she really wanted to talk to you,” Angie said with forced casualness. “You should call her.”

  “Angie, I—”

  “Call her. Really. Go see her tonight if you want. I don’t mind.”

  “Angie—”

  “I realize you have a life. I never thought you lived lik
e a monk, you know. Just because you are around me—”

  “Miss Amalfi!” He crossed the room to stand in front of her, glaring down at her as she sank further back on the sofa.

  “Yes, Inspector Smith?”

  He stood for a moment longer and then sat by her side. Slowly, wonder filled his eyes, and all the cold aloofness vanished.

  “Miss Amalfi,” he said with a grin that on anyone else would have been labeled goofy, “I do believe you’re jealous.”

  Hot rage filled her. “Of all the arrogant—!”

  He placed a finger against her lips and suddenly the memory of her simple kiss that morning leaped between them. She stopped talking, her anger fizzling as quickly as it had erupted, and she stayed absolutely still as his head bent toward her. He lifted his finger and in its spot placed his lips. He didn’t put his arms around her, didn’t hold her. Only their lips met.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and her body leaned toward his as her eyes shut. His kiss was gentle, soft, right. Yes, she thought, as her hands lifted to his head and her fingers spread to touch his high, proud cheekbones, then his ears, his hair. She liked the feel of the soft, springy waves of his hair and ran her fingers along the sides of his head, to the back, and then circled her arms around his neck.

  He lifted his head, his eyes dark and burning as they traveled over her face. “Damn,” he whispered.

  “Paavo…” Her arms tightened.

  He slipped his arms around her back and pulled her against him as his mouth descended with crushing force on hers, unleashing the tension that had pulsated between them for so long. Her fingers twisted in his hair as her lips parted and his tongue plunged to meet hers, hot and urgent. There was no gentleness here, no softness. She felt as if she held a caldron in her arms. Just as her heart had opened to his gentleness earlier, she responded to his passion and returned his kisses with equal reckless fury. His mouth traveled over her cheeks, her eyes, then back again to her lips, sending shooting sparks of desire throughout her body that left her gasping for breath.