“Exactly,” she agreed. She refused to look away, even though she wanted to.
And then, ever so slowly, the corners of his mouth curved again. He’d never had anyone resist him before, let alone to this extent. He began to wonder things about Kristin in earnest.
“You have nothing to worry about, Kristin,” Malloy told her, his voice low, sultry. “I’d never do anything you wouldn’t want me to do.”
He sounded earnest, but Kristin wouldn’t allow herself to believe him. “Said the man with the hypnotic eyes.”
“Really?” he asked, amused. “You think my eyes are hypnotic?”
She sighed. She was not about to stand here and say things that he took as compliments. Kristin shook her head. “Let’s just go before they start serving breakfast at this restaurant you picked.”
“We’ll save breakfast for another time.”
She opened her mouth to say, “In your dreams,” then realized that if she did, she would be guilty of reading things into his statement. After all, he never said that the breakfast he was referring to would follow a night of lovemaking. That was her imagination that had put that interpretation to his words.
So she pressed her lips together and said nothing. Instead, she got back into her car and, after he’d given her the address in case they were separated, she followed him to the restaurant he’d chosen.
* * *
A few short miles later, Malloy turned into a parking lot. He’d brought her to a restaurant that looked as if it had once been someone’s home.
The faded sign out front told her they were stopping at “Jerry’s.”
“Are you sure they’re open?” was the first thing she asked as she emerged from her car after parking it next to his.
“All these other people seem to think so,” he told her, gesturing toward the other cars that were parked around them. “And the lights are on, so I think that the odds are pretty good that Jerry’s is open.”
With reluctance, she locked her car. Looking at the building, she still had her doubts as to the wisdom of this venture she’d agreed to. The building appeared somewhat run down.
“What kind of food do they serve here?” she asked.
“Good food,” he answered, preceding her up the three steps to Jerry’s front doors.
She followed him up the stairs, but then she went no farther, stubbornly stopping by the door and placing her hand over it to keep him from opening it, as well. She wasn’t about to take another step until he stopped playing games and answered her.
“Let’s try this again. What kind of food do they serve here? It’s a legitimate question,” she said pointedly.
Did she think he was taking her to someplace other than what he’d just said? “And this is a legitimate restaurant. You can look it up on your smartphone. It comes with a high rating, and as to what they serve, they serve mainly steak and seafood. Anything else?” he asked gamely.
He made it sound as if she was being paranoid, but she decided not to comment on that. “No. Was that so hard?” she asked, then, unable to refrain, she had to put another question to him. “Why is it you want to play games all the time?”
“Games can be fun,” he told her with what could have only been referred to as a sexy leer.
Kristin knew she should be annoyed or indignant—or both—and probably should just walk out now, while she still had the chance. Cavanaugh, she knew, was way too charming for her own good.
But they were in a public place, and as long as they were, Kristin knew she was safe enough to relax a little and just have dinner with the man. She didn’t want him thinking she was being a coward. And, she reminded herself, there quite possibly might even be some informative conversation on the agenda.
Besides, if things did start to go south on her, her car was within sprinting distance. She was confident that she could get to the vehicle quickly in order to make her getaway.
But, in all honesty, she had to admit that she doubted it would come to that.
Oh, God, she realized, she was beginning to actually trust him.
“At times,” she allowed, repeating what he’d just said before she added her own footnote to the words. “I don’t think that this is one of those times.”
She was surprised to see him smile in response. The detective’s smile told her that he knew more than she did about what she’d just said.
“That remains to be seen,” Malloy replied.
Holding the door for her, he waited until Kristin walked inside, then followed her in.
The interior of Jerry’s was not so dimly lit that patrons had trouble making out the faces of the people sitting across from them, yet definitely was not bright enough to detect any flaws, both with their food and with the person sitting opposite them.
Malloy felt it was the perfect compromise and said as much to his companion.
Kristin was quick to catch the contradiction. “I thought you said the food here was good.”
“I did and it is. But nothing’s perfect,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Will this be all right?” the hostess asked, bringing them to a booth.
Rather than answer, Malloy looked at Kristin, waiting for her to respond. “It’s fine,” she replied, surprised that Malloy had deferred to her. After all, the man was nothing if not a take-charge personality.
Once the hostess had withdrawn and Kristin had taken her seat, Malloy followed suit and then asked, “What’s your pleasure?”
Caught off guard, Kristin could only stare at him. He wasn’t blatantly saying what she thought he was—was he? “What?”
“What’s your pleasure?” Malloy repeated, his smile growing just another shade wider.
The gleam in his eye made her think that she was right. So much for subtlety.
“You’re asking that now?” she demanded. “Here?” She didn’t bother hiding her annoyance.
“I’m talking about food,” he pointed out mildly. “What are you talking about?”
She felt like an idiot. What was wrong with her? She was usually far more in control and put together than this. She kept anticipating him putting moves on her, and he was being nothing but polite. Was this the real him—or just part of his game to get her off her guard?
“Steak,” she told him between clenched teeth. “I like steak.”
“Must be hard to chew if you keep your jaw locked like that,” he observed. Closing the menu that the hostess had given him, Malloy leaned over the table. Lowering his voice so that he wouldn’t be overheard, he said, “Relax, Doc. We’re just here to eat—and maybe talk a little more about the case if you’d like. Nothing else.”
The last sentence sounded as if he was giving her his word.
Even so, Kristin still looked at him uncertainly. “Nothing else?” she repeated.
“Nothing else,” Malloy said again, his voice mild as he straightened in the booth. “Just two colleagues, grabbing a bite to eat, discussing a cold case they’re working.”
The waitress came by then to take their order, and he paused, looking at Kristin politely.
“Steak, please.”
“How would you like that?” the waitress asked.
“Rare.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malloy smile to himself. She had to stop doing that, she told herself. She had to stop trying to figure out what he was thinking. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter, Kristin silently insisted.
The waitress went on to ask her what kind of side dishes she wanted and how she liked them prepared. As Kristin responded, Malloy’s smile deepened.
And then she knew why.
“And what would you like, sir?” the waitress asked, turning her attention to him.
“I’ll have the same,” he answered, giving her his menu. “Guess we have mo
re in common than we thought,” he said to Kristin.
As the waitress withdrew with their orders, he asked, “You’ve really never been here before?”
“No, why?”
“Because, from your order, you obviously like steak, and Jerry’s has the best steak in the city. The place has been here for the past forty years,” he told her. And although he’d only lived here a short while, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t come here on more than one occasion before he’d relocated.
“When you don’t go looking for something, then you won’t find it,” Kristin told him. “Whenever I have a craving for steak, I usually buy one in the grocery store and make my own.”
The sides of his eyes crinkled. “I love a take-charge woman.”
She thought they weren’t going to do this now. She just wanted to enjoy dinner. “Cavanaugh,” she said in a warning voice.
“Sorry,” he apologized, then repeated as if it was some kind of a mantra, “Just a friendly dinner, just a friendly dinner.”
“Which could turn very unfriendly very quickly,” she reminded him.
Kristin had to admit that she was surprised when he looked directly into her eyes and said, “You really don’t mean that.”
She wanted to say yes and that he had no idea what she meant. He didn’t know her. But somehow, the words just refused to materialize.
Instead, what she did manage to say was, “Let’s not put it to the test.”
His eyes were smiling at her, as if he knew she was all talk and nothing more.
She was exceedingly tempted to show him how wrong he was, but she had to admit that he was being nothing but polite, and she couldn’t very well repay him for that by being nasty to him.
Taking a deep breath, she told herself to relax. Never mind that he had given her the same advice a few minutes ago. She wasn’t trying to let go of the tension she was harboring for his sake; she was trying to let go of it for hers because at the moment, her nerves had taken over and were literally making her feel as if she was going to shatter into small pieces at any moment.
She couldn’t put her finger on the exact reason why she felt this way—or maybe she could but felt safer if she didn’t.
The trouble was, she didn’t want to live life in the safe lane.
Slow and steady might very well win the race, but she didn’t want to win it that way. Because even if you did win the race that way, where was the passion, the sense of victory and fulfillment that went with a win?
A win wasn’t a win until it was actually felt in every part of your being.
It was official, she thought, looking into Malloy’s green eyes; the man was making her crazy.
Chapter 15
The minutes seemed to speed by, and they wound up talking longer over dinner than she thought they would.
The most surprising thing about that was Kristin found it easy. Not just listening to him, because she was fairly accomplished when it came to listening—or at least looking as if she was listening—but talking to him, as well. That was the part that she really found surprising.
Because talking was trickier, especially when it came to talking about things that mattered. Mattered personally, rather than things like liver temperature and approximate time of death, which were in the realm of her job, not her life.
Before Kristin knew it, almost two hours had gone by, they’d eaten their meals, had dessert and the waitress had come by to refill their coffee cups for a third time.
Shifting somewhat self-consciously—how had she managed to go on like that?—she glanced at her watch for confirmation.
It was even later than she’d thought.
“I didn’t realize it was getting so late.” She should have left an hour ago, she upbraided herself, if not before.
Malloy shrugged casually. “For some people, the evening hasn’t even started.”
“Those people probably don’t have to get up early to go to work.” She made it a point to arrive at work each day before she was supposed to, catching up on whatever might have happened after her shift.
Kristin picked up her purse and opened it. “What does my half come to?”
“You don’t have a half,” Malloy told her.
She wasn’t about to get into the habit of having him pay for her. That constituted a debt, and she made it a point not to feel as if she owed anyone anything except her best efforts.
“We ate exactly the same thing, right down to the chocolate cream pie and the coffee. It’s only fair that I pay for half,” Kristin insisted. “Now what is it?”
She reached for the receipt that the waitress had brought back after Malloy had put the amount on his credit card. It would be a simple enough matter to divide it in half.
But he pulled the receipt away before she could get it.
“Sorry, none of us Cavanaugh boys were raised that way,” he told her, affecting a Southern twang. “The male of the species pays. Even if he’s going out with his sister,” he qualified when he saw her begin to protest. “It’s just the way things are. Live with it,” Malloy added pleasantly.
The hell she would. “I don’t like being in debt to anyone for anything.”
He should have known she was going to give him a hard time over something he viewed as routine behavior. “Okay, you want to consider debts and their payments—just consider this my payment for the pleasure of your company.”
It was a line and she knew it was a line, but he said it with such sincerity and conviction that she could have very easily bought into it.
And that, she reminded herself, was the man’s gift.
Frustrated, she wasn’t about to argue in public. Instead, she said, “I pick up the next check.”
His eyes instantly gleamed. “The next check, eh? Gives me something to look forward to.”
Too late she realized that she’d said exactly what he’d wanted her to say. She’d just given validity to the notion that there was going to be a next time for them. Another meal, another several hours where very little about work was aired.
She needed to be on her guard more, Kristin thought, shaking her head. “You are a very devious man.”
His smile seemed to unfurl like a flag on a windy day. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I’m not sure I meant it that way,” she told him as they walked out. It was a criticism more than anything else—for him as well as for herself.
“So what did you think of the place?” he asked her as they each reached their respective vehicles and came to a full stop.
Kristin glanced over her shoulder at the building they had just left. “Quaint. Nice. Homey.” She paused after each word, giving herself time to think of the next one. She would have preferred to have found it lacking, but she hadn’t, and she couldn’t lie, even to him. “I like it,” she concluded.
He looked genuinely pleased, and she couldn’t help wondering why it would make a difference to him if she liked the place or not.
“Thought you might,” he told her.
She was lingering, Kristin realized. Lingering and maybe waiting for something she knew she shouldn’t be waiting for. Taking a breath, she silently upbraided herself. She needed to make a quick getaway before she was tempted to go further.
“Well, thanks for dinner,” she announced abruptly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” he repeated.
Malloy held her door open for her as she slid in behind the steering wheel, then closed it as she buckled up.
Taking a breath, Kristin backed out of the space and then drove off the lot. She allowed herself only one backward glance in the rearview mirror. Malloy was just getting into his car.
Eyes on the road, Kris, she lectured herself. You don’t need to watch him.
She had driven a total o
f three blocks when she looked up into her rearview mirror again. The car traveling a couple of lengths behind her seemed vaguely familiar.
It was Malloy’s car.
Keeping her eyes on the road, she reached into the purse she’d tossed in the passenger seat and rummaged around until she located her phone. Operating purely by touch, Kristin inserted her smartphone into the phone holder she had mounted on her dashboard. Once she was sure that her phone was secure, she tapped out his number on the keyboard.
In less than half a ring, Malloy answered.
“Cavanaugh,” he responded whimsically.
She could almost feel his eyes boring into the back of her head. It made her angrier. “Yes, I know. What I don’t know is why you’re following me home.” She remembered the reason he’d given her last time. “This is a brand-new tire, so it can’t be to make sure that it doesn’t blow before I get home.”
“You’re right, it’s not. The reason’s far more old-fashioned than that,” he told her.
She glanced up into the rearview mirror, even though she knew he really couldn’t see her, and at this distance, she couldn’t see him, either.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What is it?” she asked.
“A gentleman always makes sure a lady gets home safely,” he told her.
A gentleman, eh? “You have someone else in the car with you?” she quipped.
He took no offense. He’d come to expect her parrying and would have been disappointed if she hadn’t made a crack.
“Nope, just me. Now stop talking on the phone, Kristin,” he said, “or a cop’s liable to pull you over and give you a ticket for that.”
A lot he knew. “I’m not using my hands,” she told him.
The pause before he spoke was long and thoughtful. “Now there’s an image.”
Biting back a few choice words, Kristin disconnected the call.
He followed her all the way home.
And, just as the first time, when she parked in her garage, he pulled up into her driveway. But this time, she walked out to her driveway as well and electronically closed the garage door.
Cavanaugh Cold Case Page 15
