Chapter Twenty Two
Max
I finger my mother’s pearls as I walk toward the restaurant entrance where Liam is waiting for me outside. I think it’s pretty cool he waited outside so I don’t have to go in to a maître d' or hostess and do the whole I’m here with blah, blah, blah. Not to mention the fidgety waiting around and feeling awkward as passersby whisper to each other about whether you’ve been stood up. To me it just sets the stage for being nervous over dinner and I really want to approach this interview mentally clear, without any emotions involved.
“You look fantastic,” he says with a warm smile.
“Yeah, quite the transformation from the tomboy look, huh?”
“Absolutely, but I can appreciate the need for comfort in your line of work. You’re quite lovely either way.”
The hostess leads us to our table and Liam promptly orders a bottle of Dom Perignon. I attempt to discourage him since this really isn’t a date, but he won’t hear of it. I find his confidence and taste for the finer things not only impressive but intriguing. That’s me -- always fascinated by what makes people tick.
“Do you mind if I jot down notes as we talk?” I’m already pulling out a notepad and pen from my purse so there’s really no graceful way for him to say no. Normally I’d tape the conversation on my phone but, after all, this is something of a social dinner and I’d have to edit the voice taping later on anyway. Taking notes will be more effective for what I have in mind.
“By all means. I would expect no less,” he says with a warm, cordial smile. His gaze is penetrating and I find it difficult to look away. I frown as I try to remember my first question. Before I can write a single word, my pen slides from my sweaty palm onto the floor. I mutter an apology and bend to pick it up but Liam beats me to it. He straightens and returns to his seat, holding the pen for me to take from his outstretched hand. Our fingers brush and a frisson of awareness heats my cheeks.
There’s something slightly disconcerting in his gaze that I can’t figure out. Hell, maybe I’m jittery tonight because I haven’t been around a man in what feels like forever. I don’t mean a father figure like Jack, either. One thing I do know is that there’s an edge to this guy that no amount of chivalry or Dom is going to conceal. The hint of mystery only makes me curious about his secrets. And Liam surely has some secrets -- we all do. How dark his secrets are remains to be seen.
I brace myself, taking a drink of the champagne before getting down to business. “You said ‘my line of work’ a moment ago. What exactly did you mean?”
“Do you ever go to crime scenes?”
“Yes, I go with my boss, Jack. He’s a retired detective.”
“I can’t imagine going from writing to being thrown into crime scenes, where I assume dead bodies abound. It must be quite a shock.”
“Well, our current case will be on the news by 11:00 pm tonight so I think I’m safe discussing this with you. The last two crime scenes involved severed limbs. Just the limbs, no body to be found. To be perfectly honest with you,” I say with a wince, chagrined in spite of myself, “when Professor Ostrom told me that you’re an orthopedic surgeon, it was the perfect opportunity for me to pick your brain.”
“By all means, I’m at your service.” The crooked smile on his face coupled with the humor in his striking blue eyes have me feeling horribly torn: he’s either incredibly arrogant or he knows more about me than he’s letting on. I push the nagging feeling away and continue.
“Like I said, this is all going to come out anyway so I’m not giving you any confidential information. I wouldn’t want you thinking I can’t keep a confidence. I know there are times when professionals are dismissive of me because I’m young but I assure you I’m very professional.”
He leans in, eyeing me solemnly before he speaks. “I’m not the type of person to judge anyone on how they look. I believe your work speaks for itself. I’ve seen your blog and I was impressed, it’s quite professional. Don’t let anyone steal your confidence, Max. The career you’ve chosen is competitive and you need to believe in yourself.”
I’m distracted by the slight wobbling of the table as he taps his foot on the floor in a lightning fast rhythm. I guess surgeons have to find an outlet for nervous energy too.
“I’m confident, no worries there. I just care about building a solid reputation and wouldn’t want you or any other professional thinking I’d blab confidential information.”
He shocks me by lifting his glass for a toast. I follow suit and smile as our glasses clink and he says in a hushed voice, “To confidentiality…and to the hope that one might need it this evening."
“Oh. Um, absolutely, to confidentiality.” I finish off the champagne and shake my head to clear it. I should really get back to the interview.
“Sorry, Max,” he chuckles easily, leaning back in his chair. “I’m afraid I got carried away for a moment. You can’t blame a guy for hoping. No worries.”
Our server returns and presents our shrimp cocktail appetizer with a flourish.
“Ladies first,” Liam murmurs, and there’s that cocky smile again. This guy is so good looking that it could be distracting. I dip a shrimp in cocktail sauce and can’t help but moan as the perfectly prepared flesh seems to melt in my mouth. I take a drink of the Perrier that was brought to our table with the bottle of Dom. I don’t want to overdo it on the champagne. I need to stay focused on the business at hand. I take a deep breath and forge ahead.
“Okay, here goes. The killer is leaving severed body parts all over town. The thing is, the limbs are cut with such precision. The medical examiner says that he seems to know what he’s doing, like he might have some medical training.”
“My goodness, I certainly hope you didn’t invite me out to eat because I’m a suspect.” He has the good graces to look as if he’s restraining a laugh. I roll my eyes good-naturedly. Good looking and a sense of humor too. Just wow.
“Hey, now, don’t laugh at me. I need your expertise here,” I reply with a teasing frown.
He smiles at me indulgently. “It’s just that I find you quite entertaining. Now, don’t take that the wrong way. You see, my days are spent dealing with broken bones and arthritic joints. You, sweet Max, are a much-needed breath of fresh air. Please…allow me to be amused, it’s a luxury I seldom get to enjoy. Take it as the compliment it is.”
Why am I so gratified by his approval? I’m not one of those women who needs a man’s approval to validate herself, am I? No, this isn’t like me at all – normally, I wouldn’t give a shit one way or the other. His voice pulls me from my troubled thoughts.
“Have you thought more specifically about this person’s possible medical background? Perhaps it’s someone who studied medicine but didn’t make the grade, so to speak?” He waits until elegant platters of surf and turf are placed in front of us before he continues. “Not everyone who goes to medical school makes it, you know. There’s more to it than simply passing college courses. In addition to the very specific skill set one must bring to bear to identify symptoms and create treatment plans and perform surgery, there are psychological tests as well. The psychological screenings are quite rigorous to ensure that a doctor can handle the pressure. You know, nerves of steel and all that,” he concludes with lopsided grin.
“So someone could be gifted with, say, a scalpel…or a saw…but not graduate because of mental health concerns?”
“Exactly. Exceptionally talented, even. It happens. Not often, but it happens. Truly devastating to the person involved, I would think.”
“Mm, this food is amazing.” I take another sip of my Perrier before I continue. When I look up he’s eyeing me as if he’s taking my measure.
“What, no more champagne because you’re driving? I’m impressed.”
I dab at my mouth with the linen napkin. “Very perceptive of you, doctor. You know, I’ve never considered the psychological aspect of your profession. You’ve made a very strong point.”
“Glad I c
ould help. I make a point of being observant. And it’s no hardship paying attention to you, Max.” There’s that cocky demeanor again. This guy may not be my type but I’m sure he’s quite a hit with the ladies.
“Thanks, that’s a sweet thing for you to say,” I mumble into my napkin as my cheeks start to heat up. Time to get this conversation back on track. “But, you know, I really prefer to not be the center of attention. I’m glad I decided to interview you. You’ve given me a lot to think about. Would you mind if I call you if I think of anything else?”
“I’d be flattered if you did, and disappointed if you didn’t. In fact, I would love to hear from you again, regardless of how your investigation goes. Now, unfortunately, I do have another surgery coming up, so as much as I hate to be a kill-joy, I’m afraid I need to call it a night. I do like to be at my best and rested.”
“I understand. My brain is practically swimming with ideas anyway so it’s probably for the best. I need to get my thoughts organized on my laptop and see where this case takes me next.”
We stand and he helps me with my wrap. I shiver in spite of myself when his fingers brush against my skin. His hand is warm on my shoulder for a moment before it slides down to rest at my lower back as he guides me out of the restaurant.
I really didn’t know what to expect, but it’s been an enjoyable night. In fact, I’m blown away with the whole evening. The meal, the tip he left, where he took me, the insights he gave me to think about – from what I can see, the man is the whole package. Just wow. Sometimes he almost seemed too smooth, but then again, I’m not really used to smooth in the first place, so a little smooth probably goes a long way with me. Careful, girl…
As we stand next to my car, my thoughts are chaotic. There is definitely some chemistry here that’s pleasant enough, although he does make me feel a little off kilter somehow and I haven’t decided if it’s in a good way. As it is, I have no idea what kind of ‘goodnight’ moment is called for here. We talked business, yes, but with a fair amount of flirting going on. So do we shake hands or is this more of a ‘kiss goodnight’ situation?
“Well,” he chuckles, leaning casually against the side of my car, “I think this may be the first time I’ve walked a lady to her Kia and not to her door.” He has his arms crossed over his chest and one leg is bent slightly at the knee with the ankle crossed over the other. He could easily be next month’s GQ magazine cover.
Standing there smiling down at me, Dr. Liam Chambers is the epitome of casual charm -- and, yes, I will confess to feeling more than a little charmed by him tonight. The heat in his gaze makes it clear that he wants to take this goodbye in a far less professional, much more personal direction, and I don’t have a problem with that.
As I wait for his next move, his eyes become heavy-lidded and there is a subtle shift in his expression, from lazy seduction to something that seems almost distant. Maybe he’s nervous like I am. Or maybe I’ve just confused the hell out of him with all my mixed signals, standing in front of him with all the enthusiasm of someone facing a firing squad. You’d think I’d never been kissed before. It’s just one more example of the occasionally strange energy between us and I’m not sure what to make of it -- so much so that I find myself taking a step back when he moves toward me.
In the next instant, though, his charisma is back full force as he gathers me into his arms and presses his lips to mine. It’s a good kiss as first kisses go. He knows what he’s doing and so do I, and we don’t make a mess of it by any means. But I can tell right away that our chemistry doesn’t have the zing I’m looking for, the wow factor that sexual chemistry ought to have. But it’s a very nice kiss, and sometimes that’s a good enough place to start.
Chapter Twenty Three
Jack
Max made it home safe and sound, but Doctor Boy is not, nor will he ever be, off my ‘Not Good Enough for Max’ watch list. Unlike many people, I don’t judge by outward appearances. I’ve seen firsthand what goes on behind the closed doors of society’s elite. It’s taught me that depravity has nothing to do with social status. Instead, it festers in the murderous souls of those who prey on the weak. Max is not weak, not by a long shot. But my years as a detective have made me a very cautious man, and I look out for my own.
Urban Elite is off to a strong start. Any worries I had early on about not being challenged were unfounded. Looks like we’ll have no shortage of criminal cases to investigate, but such is our world nowadays. No longer am I held back by the rules and regulations of the police department. Sure, I’ll abide by the laws that I’ve spent a lifetime preserving, but I fully intend to enjoy a certain…procedural flexibility…when the chips are down. If I want to choke the evil truth out of the fuckers who prey on the defenseless, I have that option now—especially when it concerns looking out for one of my employees. When you understand how predators use the system to their advantage, it changes the rules of the game. I just need to find that line in the sand so I don’t go too far and somehow jeopardize the dream I’m trying to bring to fruition.
My ultimate goal is what it’s always been: to protect those who can’t protect themselves. By launching Urban Elite, I’ve simply taken it upon myself to level the playing field and inject some positive energy into the urban landscape. My own brand of urban renewal, I guess.
The crew I’ll soon be training will be young and inexperienced. They have no idea how the ugly roots of cruelty and sadism wind around the heart of a serial killer, choking out any humanity they may have once possessed.
Our serial killer could be the guy in the next cubicle at work or the neighbor who loves to gossip at the fence. Monsters don’t come with a sign around their neck warning society of who they really are. And they don’t hide in our closets or under our beds, either. They walk among us doing what they do best: blending in. They may come in different shapes and sizes, but they always come…
Chapter Twenty Four
Max
I want some comfortable clothes and a glass of wine, and not necessarily in that order. I really enjoyed tonight and as charming as the doctor is, I’m still trying to decide how I feel about him kissing me goodnight. He’s hot, and he’s most definitely sexy, but what I want are answers to my questions, not a man. It was a good first kiss, no doubt about it. I’m just not sure if I want a second one.
I approach the mirror and lift my fingers to remove my pearls. My fingers flutter around my neck, trying to deny what my eyes can clearly see. Panic sweeps through me. They aren’t there. Son of a bitch! I unzip my dress, ripping and tearing at my clothing like a mad woman, hoping against hope those pearls have somehow fallen down in my under garments and hung on by some miracle. A sea of emotions coupled with questions flood over me as I try to think where I could have lost them. Myriad tumultuous emotions combine to make rational thought impossible.
I throw on some yoga pants and an old t-shirt. I’m pulling my hair into a ponytail as I race toward the door. I grab a denim jacket and slip my feet into flip-flops even though the night is really too chilly for them. No way am I taking the time to put on tennis shoes. Once I’m safely in my Kia, I peel out of the parking lot and will the gate to hurry the fuck up and open.
Those pearls are priceless. I somehow resist running the red lights that seem to be working against me. Even though the restaurant is only blocks away it feels like it takes forever. I think to call Liam’s cell number. Maybe he’ll remember if I was still wearing the necklace when he walked me to my car. No luck, though – he’s, of course, concerned when I tell him they’re gone, but can’t remember if I was wearing them or not when we said goodnight. Nice to know he was paying attention. Dammit.
I slide into the parking lot, almost hitting another car. The Kia has barely come to a complete stop when I jump out and start running. Panic courses through me, stealing my breath as I think about losing the last thing my mother gave me before she died. I will not cry. I will not fucking cry.
I brush past people, practically storming the
hostess podium as I fight back tears. The hostess is looking at me as if she doesn’t recognize me and the words that tumble from my mouth sound foreign to my own ears.
“I was just here. I had on a black dress.”
“Um…” It takes a moment for her to remember me as she looks me up and down, no doubt wondering why a frantic, bedraggled woman is demanding her attention. After all, the restaurant is packed and I’m sure she’s seen so many people tonight they all begin to blend together. At last, recognition sparks in her eyes and I breathe a huge sigh of relief. Maybe all isn’t lost.
“I lost a set of pearls, I think they might be here somewhere. They’re a family heirloom. Has anyone returned them?”
Her immediately skeptical expression slowly shifts to downright pity as she considers me. Finally, she gives in. “Let me call the manager.”
As she speaks quietly into the phone, hope soars in my heart at the possibility of running my fingers over them again. Surely in an upper echelon establishment like this, someone would have done the right thing and turned them in to the manager. Wouldn’t they?
A man approaches from the back of the restaurant, clearly heading our way.
“Please, has anybody returned a set of pearls? I wore them earlier and when I got home they weren’t around my neck. They’re a family heirloom,” I repeat, as if the information will make someone reconsider if they were somehow tempted to pocket them.
“I’m sorry, miss, I’m afraid not. I’ll talk to my employees and have them keep an eye out for them as they clean up tonight after closing. You can leave your address with the hostess and if we find them or someone turns them in, we’ll call you right away.”
I reach in my purse and toss a business card on the hostess podium as I turn and race out into the parking lot. Maybe they fell off and I didn’t notice. I burst through the door and run right into the massive chest of my boss, who immediately places his hands on my shoulders and pulls me out of the doorway and onto the sidewalk.
Urban Renewal (Urban Elite Book 1) Page 9
