by P. Kirby
The red formfitting sweatshirt reflected in his eyes and gave them a burgundy cast. Whatever their color, they were as intense as she remembered. He stood as she approached.
“We’re coordinated,” he said, flashing a smile and gesturing at his shirt and her red sweater.
To hide her nerves, she picked up the menu as soon as she sat. “I’ve never been here. Do you have any recommendations?”
“The green chile cheeseburger is great. But I’d order it with hot, not mild chile. Especially since you’re a native New Mexican.”
Maya could feel her mouth drop open.
He laughed. “I’m with the government, remember?”
“Er, and you know everything about me. Big brother and all that?” Although the idea was unsettling, his easy smile softened it a little.
“Honestly, Maya. I don’t know anything that someone with twenty bucks and the internet couldn’t find out.”
“Now that’s unnerving.”
“Welcome to the information age.” He turned as the waiter, a blond young man with an overly long face, approached. “Green chile cheeseburger?” Adam asked, giving Maya a quick sideways glance. When she nodded, he ordered one for her and himself. While he placed the order, Maya studied him, hoping for something that distinguished him from Adam Sayres.
His face had an almost unreal symmetry. Maya thought of an article she had read that suggested that all humans were attracted to symmetrical faces, no matter what culture. That must have explained the waiter’s overattentive behavior.
“So have you learned anything new about the break-in at my house?” she said, forestalling the question she really wanted to ask.
“I didn’t ask you to lunch to discuss the case, Maya.” His eyes caught hers and she felt the flirtatious heat in his words. “But the device used at your house is the same type used in the commission of other crimes.” He shrugged. “But like you pointed out earlier, the perp could have picked up the device on eBay.”
“Here you are, one coffee, cream no sugar.” The waiter set a cup on the table before Adam. “And one iced tea. Straw?”
Maya nodded. “Thank you.”
The waiter, whose name tag read “Tom,” jerked his head, sending stringy pale hair off his face. “Your burger will be out in a few minutes. The kitchen is a little slow,” he said, eager as a puppy and focused on Adam.
Funny, he didn’t look gay. Roland had always said her “gaydar” was well tuned, but she wasn’t getting a gay vibe from the waiter.
“That’s all right, Tom. I’m in no rush.” Adam smiled at Maya and she felt a giddy rush. “But I think that table over there needs refills on their drinks.”
Tom blinked and turned. “Oh, uh, right. Thanks.” He reluctantly shuffled away.
“I’m told you’re a great artist,” Adam said.
Maya laughed. “You mean like Picasso or Rembrandt? Probably not.”
He opened and spilled the contents of a little white cream container into his coffee. As he stirred he lifted his gaze and stared at her. “Picasso’s paintings make my head hurt. I like art that looks like something. From what I understand, you’re a terrific illustrator.”
“I’m good with people and gesture. I hate it when an artist portrays a living thing in a static, stiff way.”
Maya watched as he lifted the cup to his mouth, the way his jaw moved as he took a languid sip. “I’d like to see your work,” he said.
“Really? Is this a gender reversal of the old ‘Let me show you my etchings’?”
He cocked his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Well it used to be a way to—” Maya grimaced. “Never mind. Art school humor.”
“I meant it, though. I’d like to see your artwork.”
“Okay.” What do I say? “Come up and see me sometime”? If he didn’t get the “etchings” gag, he’d never get Mae West.
“Two green chile cheeseburgers with fries and coleslaw.” Tom’s chipper voice saved her from saying anything else. He set a handsome-looking burger, the kind shown in television commercials, as opposed to the squashed, overcooked travesties that were served at fast-food restaurants. The bun was fluffy and speckled with gleaming sesame seeds, and the fixings, bright red tomato slices, pickles, onions and crisp lettuce, waited on one side of the plate.
“Coleslaw?” she said after Tom left.
“Usually I hate the stuff. But Lane’s got a special recipe.”
“Lane?”
Adam pointed with his fork. Maya followed his prompt and saw an aging beach bum emerging from the kitchen. “That’s Lane. The owner of the Mako.” Lane nodded in Adam’s direction and hurried off toward the front door.
As they ate, he made small talk, asking about friends and family. Though Maya wished her life was more exciting, he listened with rapt attention as though recording every detail. It was flattering but somehow unsettling.
After they finished lunch, after Tom had gotten in one last round of fawning over Adam, he walked her to her vehicle. She figured he was about 5’10”, four inches taller than her. His stride was long, though she could tell he shortened it for her sake, staying at her side, close enough that his jacketed arm occasionally brushed hers. They walked in silence, in part because anticipation seemed to have stolen Maya’s ability to speak. Ask him, ask him. When they reached her SUV, she did.
“Who are you?”
Violet eyes widened and then he said, “Excuse me—”
“Adam Richards?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw and Maya watched as his face transformed. Still handsome and boyish and now, dangerous.
“You’ve met Black.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Black?” Maya said, feigning ignorance.
Shoulders rising with a deep breath, he studied Maya, his face regaining some of its innocent charm. “You’re a smart woman, Maya. We don’t have to play these games.”
Maya’s lips parted and then she froze, trapped by the strange magnetism that seemed to be growing stronger, vibrating in her bones. “Sayres,” was all she could say.
His smile was a little sardonic. “The one and only.” He brushed the tip of his index finger down her nose and then cupped her chin in his hand. “Thanks to you.”
“Oh my God.” She felt the cool metal of the SUV’s fender under her palm before she realized she had steadied herself on the vehicle.
“In some ways, you are the god. You created me. And Black.”
“Don’t say that. I didn’t—” Seeing his eyebrows lift, Maya stifled her protest. “It’s impossible,” she went on, gathering her composure. “Drawings do not come to life.”
“You think this is an elaborate con job. I somehow got a look at your illustrations and altered my appearance to look exactly like Adam Sayres? And Benjamin Black is working with me. Correct?” He dropped his hand from her chin.
Maya scowled, but said nothing.
“You’re beautiful, Maya, but it would take a lot more than good looks to drive two men to undergo such an extreme makeover.”
“Maybe I’m an heir to a fortune I don’t yet know about.” Maya took a deep breath. “I agree. The idea of anybody bothering to scam me is ridiculous, but nowhere as ridiculous as someone springing to life from the pages of a comic book.”
“You don’t believe in magic.” His smile mocked.
“Magic? Are we talking about Las Vegas stage magicians or pixie dust?”
Adam’s laughter was warm and melodious and made her already overwrought heart skip a beat. “They’re one and the same. The better stage magicians all hire outside ‘consultants’ to help with their more elaborate stunts.”
“Consultants?”
“Elves. Members of the NaTaghs, a family of elves who have been hiring themselves out to human magicians for at least a century.”
“Too bad Houdini didn’t retain their services.”
“He did, but he had a bad habit of not paying for services rendered. So his last act went awry.”
“Elves
killed Houdini. You’re kidding, right?”
“Have you ever seen an elf?”
The safe answer, the response that logic demanded, was “No.” Except Maya was talking to a man who claimed to be the flesh-and-blood incarnation of a comic book character.
“Maybe.” She looked at her feet and scuffed a petrified glob of gum with her shoe. “I’ve never seen little short people with pointy hats who bake cookies, but…”
“You have seen tall people with pointy ears and large, slanted eyes and high cheekbones.”
When Maya looked up she saw the twinkle in his eyes. “Yeah. So?”
“Your innate magical power cuts through their magical glamour and you see them for what they are.”
She glanced at her watch. “You’re saying this power is how I made a drawing come to life?” Before he could answer, she said, “I’ve done lots of drawings. What’s so special about Benjamin Black and Adam Sayres?”
Adam gave her a long, measuring look. “You don’t know? You truly made Black and me flesh unintentionally?”
“Made flesh? Yuck. Look, I—” She’d been gone for a bit longer than an hour. Work was piling up on her desk and yet she felt an odd disconnect with reality. It was like being a teenager again and not wanting a date to end. “I need to get back to work.”
Her attention moved to his eyes and stayed there. Their familiar patterning, the interplay of pale blue with shades of deep indigo, a color she had spent hours trying to perfect, trapped her. He stared back, expression unreadable. Would he kiss her? She was at turns desperate for him to do so, and yet terrified that he would.
It was Adam who broke the spell. “I’ve kept you too long. You’re going to be late.” Maya thought she detected a note of disappointment in his voice and felt a disconcerting sense that it was directed at her.
“Thank you for lunch.” Taken by a startling bout of shyness, Maya once again dropped her gaze to her shoes.
“Anytime.”
The soft touch of his fingers along her skin, slipping up to her chin, sent a delicious shiver down her spine. Forced to meet his eyes, she tried a smile. Instead of smiling back, he leaned in and kissed her. It was a careful kiss, as if he wasn’t quite committed to the idea. But his lips were soft and when she returned the kiss, a rush of electric energy sizzled from his mouth to hers.
And in that moment, she believed in magic. Not ordinary lust, but the stuff of fantasy novels, the wild power of sorcerers. It ran through her blood with the warm tingle of liniment, pulsing through her skin and meeting the same power that emanated from Adam. She forgot she was standing in a parking lot or the ferocious deadlines awaiting her back at the office. Reduced to a bundle of nerves, she lost track of where she ended and Adam began, or even that it was Adam she kissed.
It was delicious, better than the usual first kiss, suffused with all the “I want more” factor of a great kiss. When he pulled back, she had to fight the urge to grab his face and reclaim his lips. Instead she stared dumbly at him, feeling the outrageously loud thudding of her heart.
Adam smiled. “I’ll call you. Dinner next time, perhaps?”
The metal of her keys bit into her hand as she clenched them and she came to herself. “Yes. That would be fun.”
Their eyes met one final time and then he nodded and walked away.
Maya gulped and turned to her vehicle. The key skipped over the lock and etched a small scratch on the finish as her shaking hand struggled with the simple task. When the key slipped into the lock the strange vibrations in her body abruptly dampened. Taking a deep breath, Maya laid her hand on the SUV. The sensation of hot energy faded and disappeared. Interesting.
She got in the SUV and turned the key. As the engine hummed to life, she looked at her reflection the rearview mirror, half expecting to see a change in her face. Nothing. The usual brown face and dark brown eyes stared at her.
The only reminder of the amazing kiss was a persistent tingling in her lips.
Chapter Eleven
If her mind had been on her work, Maya might have finished everything by five. Adam’s bewildering kiss had left her with a hyperkinetic energy. All that vigor came with a shortened attention span. Her mind wandered and she kept forgetting to make requested changes and lost track of which illustrations had been finalized and which were far from done.
Mentally exhausted but still physically hyper, she left the office at six-thirty. After she climbed into her vehicle, she headed for her favorite pizza place. Five minutes later, she sat in the lobby of Tenorio’s Pizza, puzzling over the conflicted feelings that grew as time passed.
Adam’s kiss. She’d never felt its equal. She put her hand to her mouth, trying to remember the touch of her ex-fiancé’s lips. But now, after Adam’s kiss, she couldn’t quite recall what it was like to kiss Daniel, or any other guy for that matter.
But there was something about the kiss, something about Adam that niggled at the back of her mind. A warning? That was ridiculous. If he was truly Adam Sayres, he was one of the good guys, an ATF agent. Adam Sayres was exactly the kind of upstanding citizen who usually drew her like a moth to a bug zapper.
The analogy was a bit harsh, but so appropriate where Daniel was concerned. Some people lit up a room when they entered it. Daniel shone with a charismatic brilliance, his dynamic personality fueled by the energy of everyone else in the room. In short, Daniel was exhausting.
Kind of like Adam.
Perhaps that was why Adam Sayres, the man with magic lips and a solid career, kept slipping from her thoughts, only to be replaced by his antithesis, Benjamin Black.
When she thought of Benjamin, the whirlwind inside her stilled and she felt comfortably warm, like the feeling she got from a steaming bowl of Eric’s green chile stew on a cold winter night.
“Maya Stephenson?”
Maya lifted her head and saw that the girl behind the counter held the white carton containing her pizza. She paid for her dinner and left.
Maya opened her front door carefully and listened before entering. She didn’t know what she expected. That an intruder would jump out and announce his presence? But her paranoia gave her a sense of control.
Nothing was amiss in the house, as far as she could tell. Delilah swirled her tail and darted back and forth in anticipation of dinner. The air that brushed Maya’s face was warm and inviting, so she stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind her.
She set the pizza down on the coffee table and then fed Delilah. The fish slurped down four orange nuggets and remained near the top of the aquarium, her stare fixed on Maya.
My fish likes him. Maya sighed, thinking of the new pair of pink flannel pajamas. She should at least thank him, she reasoned, and then headed for her studio. The notepaper with his number was still pinned to the corkboard. Before she could change her mind, she quickly punched the number into her phone.
It rang four times and she was about to hang up when he answered.
“Hi.” Maya paused, and then forged on. “This is Maya. I—”
“Maya. Hi.” Benjamin’s surprise was obvious.
“I wanted to thank you. For the pajamas. I couldn’t get the blood out, they were my favorite pajamas.” Oh, good grief, girl. Stop babbling. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Maya looked around her studio, gaze landing on the easel. She couldn’t figure out how to dispose of it, so it stood there in a state of charred ignominy. If Benjamin didn’t set the fire, who did? Did he know who? If he did, would he tell her?
Her stomach growled. “Have you had dinner?”
“No, not yet.”
“I got a pizza from Tenorio’s. A large.” The words sprang from her mouth before she could stop them. “I can’t eat the whole thing; I’ll probably eat too much. You could save me from myself and…”
There was a cavernous silence on the phone. “You’re inviting me over?”
“Well, I’m not mailing half a pizza to you.”
He let out a low l
augh. “Okay. Sure.”
When he appeared on her doorstep fifteen minutes later, Maya greeted him at the door, a half-eaten pizza slice in her hand.
“Sorry. I started without you,” she mumbled through a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni. “Long day. I was starving.”
“I’d never stand between a woman and her pizza.” He held up a four-pack of bottled beer. “I didn’t know what to bring.”
“Beer and pizza.” She made a thumbs-up. “Perfect.”
Maya brought two plates and a handful of paper towels into the living room and set them next to the pizza box on the coffee table. She gestured at the couch. “Have a seat. No standing on ceremony when pizza’s on the menu.”
Benjamin nodded, handed her a beer and picked up a plate. He actually smiled and met her eyes.
Maya looked down at the beer and twisted off the top. Still cool, the beer had a warm nutty taste. “Mmm. This is good.” She studied the label. “Smoking Pigeon?”
“Yeah. They’re out of Durango, Colorado.” He took a swig and swallowed. “American beer used to be pretty boring. The microbrews have changed that. At least, that’s what Breas says.” He sat and pulled a steaming slice of pizza from the box.
Maya sat as well, as far away as the couch allowed. “Who’s Breas? Your girlfriend?”
He started to laugh, grabbed a napkin, choking. “No,” he managed. “He’s a friend.”
“A friend? The kind of friend who sets incendiary devices in artists’ studios?”
“No, he doesn’t much care for fire.” His right eyebrow lifted and he gave Maya a measuring look. “You still think I set the fire in your studio.”
“Well. It’s a logical assumption. My house is broken into and somebody sets a fire in my studio, both events happening within an hour of each other.”
“I didn’t set fire to your studio. I don’t intentionally damage property.”
Maya rolled her eyes. “You take other people’s property.”
Without a trace of shame, he said, “Yes. But I don’t leave any evidence of my presence. I get in, get the target and leave.”