Thinking of You

by Rachel Kane

  Besides, he hadn’t made a single move. Not one. He didn’t like me. Who could?

  Oh yes, the inevitable descent into sweet, sweet self-pity.

  I wondered what Katie and Roger would say about all this. My two detectives, what would they think? This would be one of those chapters where they stand at the scene of the crime, alone, with the witnesses all scattered elsewhere throughout the house. They’d put their heads together and talk quietly about the clues.

  Katie would say, “Alex went right over to Secret Reader’s house. He was furious with her. That’s got to be evidence of something.”

  Roger, ever the skeptic, would come back with, “You have to look at the time. He didn’t rush over to her house right after his conversation with Cam. He took the night to think about it, then went over the next day. That doesn’t sound like passion to me.”

  “You wouldn’t know passion if it was dipped in chocolate.” But she would’ve said that with a twinkle in her eye. “Still, I think it’s an important clue. Especially when you add it to the bottle of scotch and the late-night visit. The game is afoot, Roger!”

  I put my head against the bookshelf. I wish people were as easy to understand in real life, as they were in mystery novels. There might be hidden motives, there might be secrets, but by the end of the book it had all been figured out, and you could feel the tension drain out of you, a tension that had been building, secret by secret, surprise by surprise.

  Maybe I could just ask him. No, that was too forward. Maybe I could hint at asking him. Is that something normal people did, when they wanted to know if someone liked them? Surely they didn’t come out and ask, not that baldly. It would be an interplay of hints, jokes, flirtations.

  Ugh. I hate flirting.

  But I had to find out. I had to get to the bottom of this mystery.

  The Case of My Own Weird Emotions, by Cameron Carlyle.

  I wondered if Alex was out of his meeting with Micah yet. Maybe I could circle back to the law office, see if his car was still in the parking deck.

  Ah, so we’ve moved on to the stalking phase of the relationship.

  I had nearly made up my mind to do it, when the phone rang. It was such a startling sound in the silence of this bookstore, that I jumped when I heard it.

  “Hello?” I said tentatively.

  “I just wanted you to know,” said Alex, “that I’m off the case.”

  14

  Alex

  Micah rounded his desk, but didn’t sit down. Instead, he looked right at me.

  “What the hell,” he said.

  “Look, it’s not what you think.”

  “Are you sure? Because I’m thinking you’re too close to the case. I’m starting to regret asking for your help.”

  “I made a mistake, okay? Visiting Secret Reader was a mistake. But it might buy us time. She’ll get wrapped up in talking about the big intrusion, and won’t trot out the next revelation about Cam—”

  Now he sat, landing in his seat with a huff. “Christ, Alex, do you even understand what I’m talking about? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?”

  I reached up and touched my face. “What’s wrong?”

  “When I first came out to your place the other day, I thought you were hiding from the world back in your garden. But you looked a hell of a lot healthier then than you do now. Are you sleeping at all?”

  I blinked. “Of course I’m sleeping.” Wasn’t I?

  “You haven’t shaved. Your clothes are a mess. And you’re apparently spending the night with our client.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You know how this works, Alex. We can’t have even the appearance of a personal relationship between you two.”

  I stepped back from his desk. “I haven’t done anything unethical,” I said stiffly.

  “You’re doing something unhealthy, though. Something that’s not good for you. Damn it, Alex, is this case too much for you? It’s my fault. I should’ve left you in your damn garden.”

  “I’m fine, Micah. Yeah, maybe I don’t dress as sharply as you do, and I don’t see the point in shaving every five minutes, but—”

  “Bottom line,” he said, “are you too close to this case for your own good? Look, I know you never talk about the David Black thing—”

  “Jesus, don’t dredge that up.”

  “I won’t! But damn it, Alex, I need to know, are you too damaged to work this case?”

  The room went silent and cold.

  I had been asking myself some version of that question every day since untangling myself from Black.

  Am I too damaged to continue working?

  Am I too damaged to have a relationship?

  Am I too damaged to live?

  Micah was one of my best friends, and one of the very few people who had stood by me after that time in my life. Even when I had refused to tell him any of the details, he still stuck with me. I owed him honesty.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  He stared at me for a long, long moment. Finally, he nodded. “I think that’s true. You don’t know. But you’re not dismissing the idea out of hand.”

  “It scarred me,” I said. “There is no escaping that.”

  “Then tell me what to do,” said Micah. “Do I kick you off this case for your own good? Do I watch you circle the drain? What’s going to happen here?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. No. Don’t kick me off the case. Give me some time to think things through.”

  Give me time to figure out why I want to defend Cam with every fiber of my being. Time to figure out why everything that hurts him, enrages me, makes me feel like I could burn down the world to protect him.

  I don’t know what’s happening to me.

  “Okay,” he said. “Take a day. Stay away from Cam, just 24 hours. Whatever happens with Secret Reader, we’ll handle here at the office. But give yourself a little break. Remember the past, Alex. Learn from it.”

  As though I ever do anything but remember the past.

  “All right,” I said. “A break.”

  “No work. Go play in your garden.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “And don’t see Cam.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “What do you mean, you’re off the case?” Cam looked frantic. I hoped he wasn’t going to make a scene.

  We met in a cafe not too far from Micah’s office. When I walked in, I spotted Cam easily, sitting in the back corner, huddled over his coffee. I slid into the seat across from him.

  “Micah’s concerned about me,” I said. “He wants me to take a day off. From the case. From you.”

  “But I don’t understand,” he said. “Why would he be concerned? Just because you visited that woman—”

  “It’s a long damn story. I’m not sure I have the energy right now. But I wanted to tell you. He might end up kicking me off the team, for my own good. And yours, really.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  I rubbed my eyes. When was the last time I’d slept? The waitress brought me coffee, and the caffeine was welcome. “Look, say this winds up in court,” I told him. “Say you end up suing her for defamation. Or, god forbid, have to get a restraining order, if she plans any more spray-painting jobs. All she has to do is mention I showed up at her house, and the waters are muddied.”

  “But you didn’t do anything!”

  I shook my head. “If you’ve learned anything from this experience so far, it’s that facts don’t matter. Appearances do. If she can have a lawyer say I came to her home and threatened her, it becomes a lot harder for you to pursue a case in court. Micah is right. I need to back off.”

  Cam surprised me by reaching across the table and grabbing my hand. “But I need you. On the case, I mean. You’re the only one who talks to me. You’re the one who understands the effect this is having on me. All Micah cares about—”

  “Micah cares. Trust me. He’s looking out for both of us here.”

  Cam’s han
d was still on mine. I made no effort to pull away.

  “There aren’t a lot of people in the world I trust,” he said. “Somehow, you’re one of them. If you leave…”

  He looked away. There was so much meaning in that gesture, in his turned head.

  I thought about that picture on his shelf. His fake parents. How heartbreaking that was, not even to have a photo of your own people, your own family. To have lost that connection with your past.

  And here I was, yet another person leaving him.

  I squeezed his hand, and he glanced at me.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay?”

  “I’ll do what it takes to stay on. But Cam…” I swallowed. “There are some reasons that it’s difficult for me. Stuff I don’t talk about. It’s bringing up a lot of old memories, a lot of trouble from the past. I think it’s doing the same for you. We have to be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I read a lot of mysteries growing up,” Cam told me. We were walking next to the river, on the flagstone path the city had put in. “I was probably too young to read them. I didn’t always understand what was going on. But the endings, I always loved the endings. The detective coming in to explain how he’d cracked the case. All through my childhood, I kept waiting for an adult to show up and do that. Someone who could solve everything, answer all the questions.”

  “Does anyone like that exist?” I asked. “I could use a few answers, myself.”

  Cam smiled as he looked out at the water. “I haven’t found anybody yet.”

  I wanted to tell him about David Black.

  I did not ever want to tell him about David Black.

  It was such a battle inside me. It felt dishonest not to say something about it, so Cam would understand why today’s meeting with Micah had turned into a fight.

  But what an ugly time in my life. Why would anyone want to know about that?

  “Was it hard growing up like that, without your parents?” I asked.

  His smile faded. “It was hard. They were the great mystery of my life. The mystery no one could solve for me. I wanted someone to tell me why it happened, because in books, everything ends up making sense. Nothing is ever random. Motive, means, opportunity, it’s all spelled out. Why couldn’t real life be like that?”

  He’s lying.

  Wait, what the fuck?

  I needed a break. I needed to go tend my garden. Clear my head. Because if the little lie-detector in my head was going off now, something in my brain wasn’t working right.

  Yet there it was, that sense again that Cam wasn’t telling me the truth.

  About his parents? About the fire?

  Why on earth would anyone lie about that?

  I remembered the copied passages from his book, and his early insistence that he’d done nothing wrong. I’d been convinced he was lying then. He hadn’t been, he’d just been mistaken…but those subconscious signals he gave off showed that some part of him knew the truth.

  I shook my head. This was ridiculous. Cam wasn’t lying about his damn past. He had no reason to.

  The past few days had taken a toll on me. That’s all this was.

  He looked over at me. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

  “I don’t know. Man, I just don’t know.”

  His hand took mine again.

  “Alex, I don’t know how to say this—”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  We had stopped walking. He was in front of me, his eyes searching mine.

  “You’re in pain,” he said. “I can see that. If there’s one thing I can detect in people, it’s pain. I know what it looks like.”

  I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Couldn’t force out the easy lie.

  “I don’t know how I feel about anything,” I said. “You want a mystery? Here, it’s the Case of Alex’s Feelings.”

  “Tell me what hurts,” he said. “Am I doing it? Am I too crazy to have for a client, am I—”

  “No. No, that’s not it at all. I don’t understand what’s going on. I was so furious when I saw you were under attack again. And when Micah started talking about me leaving the case…I don’t know. Was I scared? Maybe? I can’t tell.”

  He bit his lip. His eyes darted to the side. “Alex, I’m just going to say this. Maybe it’s a mistake to do it, maybe I’ll regret it the instant I do it. You’re the most interesting person I’ve met in a long time. I’m feeling things… Oh, god, I’m horrible at talking about this stuff. There’s a reason I write mystery instead of romance.”

  My hand was still in his. “Oh,” I said.

  He nodded. “I think I like you. I think. I don’t know how it’s supposed to feel, though. I don’t know how to tell. But I’m confused, and when you’re not around, I wish you were there.”

  “Micah would kill me if he knew we were talking like this.”

  “It’s just me talking about it thus far,” said Cam.

  “If you knew anything about me, you’d run,” I said.

  “I’m not running. Not yet.”

  “I’m not good for you. I should come with a damn warning label.”

  “Consider me warned. You’re poison. If there’s one thing I’m used to thinking about, it’s poison.”

  “Damn it, Cam, this is so dangerous.”

  His other hand was on my cheek. My heart was beating so fast. We were out in the open, where anyone could see. Anyone could attack, things could go wrong, I could be—

  When his lips brushed mine, it felt right.

  It felt like things were falling into place. Order being brought to chaos.

  Like the world made sense.

  I kissed him back. I heard him gasp, felt his hand tighten against mine.

  We weren’t out in the open anymore. The entire world had dropped away. Nothing else existed but the two of us, and I took him in my arms and kissed him hard, my roughness against his softness, a sense of certainty different from anything I had ever felt. I was unsteady, I might fall, the world was moving fast beneath us, and only his arms could hold me up.

  When the kiss broke, I stared down at him, a look of wonder in my eyes.

  He smiled up at me.

  “Cam,” I said, my voice breathless, “we need to talk.”

  15

  Cam

  I was torn. Dragging Alex back to my apartment, ripping off his clothes, and pushing him down onto my bed would have solved a lot of the tension I’d been feeling these past few days. I deserved a break from it all, and couldn’t think of a better way than to tangle with him in bed. His rough kisses had me inflamed, breathing hard, ready for more.

  Yet whatever he wanted to talk about had a weight to it, a seriousness, a need to be heard, that I couldn’t ignore.

  I asked what he wanted to talk about, but all he said was, Not here, and we walked to his car. Tingling with anticipation, desire, but also worry, I rode with him until we reached a neighborhood on the outskirts of town, one of those rows of old houses where there are still trees and yards, little brick walls separating each property, before you got out into the suburbs proper.

  Things were a little run-down here, a little seedy, and yet the brick bungalow he parked at was charming, with ferns out front, and a path that led to a garden gate to the side.

  Inside, I inhaled. You learn so much about people from the scent of their homes. I’d made scents into vital clues in my books. What would I learn about Alex from the air in his house?

  Here was a man who kept things simple, who kept his life small. You could smell furniture polish, and leather oil, and something floral that wasn’t an air freshener…maybe actual flowers. And indeed, as he led me into his small living room, there was a bowl on a table full of cut flowers, their stems completely removed. A bowl of petals.

  I looked over at Alex, marveling at this strange man who was so gruff and angry, yet who had the patient and desire to clip flowers into a bowl, as a decor
ation almost no one would ever see.

  Because that’s the other thing that struck me about this house: It was made for one person, and one person alone. There was nowhere to sit, just a single chair next to the table.

  “It’s…it’s not much,” he said.

  My hand found his. “It’s plenty.”

  “Do you want a drink? I do. Badly.”

  I was going to make a joke about how early in the day it was, but Alex was clearly nervous, and I wasn’t going to stop him from calming those nerves. I followed him into a kitchen that could have come straight out of a 1960s Sears catalog.

  His hand shook as he poured himself a whiskey.

  “Look,” I said, “we don’t have to do anything, there’s no pressure.”

  “I’m not nervous about that,” he said quietly, taking the first sip of his drink. “It’s…”

  He sighed and set his glass back on the old formica counter. His hands found the counter and gripped its edge. His eyes closed tightly.

  Somehow I knew that look, recognized the expression.

  The painful memory that must be fought off.

  I’d felt that often enough. And I knew it would be wrong to press him right now, wrong to try to drag the memory out of him. He’d have to come at it in his own way, his own time.

  I took his abandoned glass and sipped from it it. Something told me I’d need courage for whatever this memory was.

  “You’ve heard of David Black,” he said to me. Now we were outside. He had a drink again, holding it in both hands, as though to steady his grip. His yard was tidy and small, but led into a riotous garden, full of wild blossoms and creeping vines, a patch that seemed like total floral chaos until you realized there was a secret order here, that care had been taken with the placement of each flower, so that standing here you were able to see every one of them, watch them tremble on their stalks as they were visited by bees, by moths, by butterflies. A hummingbird hovered in mid air, then zipped past us.