Flash Point

by Metsy Hingle

  “Why don’t I drive you back to your hotel?”

  “Thanks, but I have a rental car,” she said, and picked up her camera bag. “And I think…I think I’d like some time alone.”

  “Then at least let me walk you to your car,” he said, and took the bag from her. He opened the door and motioned for her to precede him. “You know, I realize that we men are always accusing you women of carrying everything but the kitchen sink in your purse. But I have to tell you, I think you’ve got the sink in here, too. This thing weighs a ton.”

  “That’s because it’s not my purse. It’s my camera bag. It sort of does double duty for me.”

  “Not everyone who’s asked to come down to a police station feels that they need to bring a camera with them. It’s got me wondering what you planned to take pictures of,” he teased.

  “Don’t get all paranoid on me, Detective. Taking my camera with me is a habit. I’ve been doing it since I was thirteen years old. I automatically grabbed it when I left the hotel to come here.”

  At the entrance, he held the door for her and then began walking with her to the parking lot. “Most women would have grabbed their purse.”

  Kelly chuckled. “I don’t even own a purse,” she informed him, and stopped in front of the blue sedan. “Here’s my car.”

  “You should do that more often.”

  “Do what?” she asked as she unlocked the car.

  “Laugh,” he said, his voice going all serious. “You’ve got a really nice laugh, Kelly. One that I wouldn’t mind hearing a bit more of.”

  Kelly glanced up at him, suddenly realized how close he was. She also recognized the look in those Paul Newman blue eyes of his. “Yes, well,” she began, clearly remembering that kiss he’d given her, but determined not to allow herself to be drawn into something she would regret with this man. “You have to admit, there hasn’t been a whole lot to laugh about lately, what with Sister Grace’s death, this business about that doctor’s murder and now the results of the DNA tests.”

  “You have had a rough go of it lately.”

  “I’m glad you agree,” she told him, and started to open the car door, but Jack beat her to it. Quickly she slid into the seat behind the wheel.

  He leaned down. “Tell you what, why don’t I see what I can do to coax a few more laughs out of that pretty mouth of yours?”

  Kelly jerked her gaze up to his. She eyed him warily.

  “How about I pick you up at your hotel tonight and take you out somewhere and see if we can find something for you to laugh about.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not? I know you’re not working, and my guess is you haven’t made any other plans for tonight. And since that kiss we shared wasn’t all one-sided on my part, I figure you don’t fine me repulsive. Or am I wrong?”

  “No, of course not. But…”

  He flashed her that grin. “Then I don’t see any problem, so I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Jack, wait!”

  “Yes?”

  “I…” She scrambled for a reason why she couldn’t see him and latched onto the obvious. “Isn’t it against regulations or something, I mean you being a cop investigating a murder where I’m a suspect?”

  “I never did consider you a suspect, and thanks to the DNA test, now no one else does, either.” The grin turned into a full-fledged smile that had the nerves dancing in her stomach. “How do you feel about Chinese food? Do you like Chinese?”

  “I…yes.”

  “Good. Then I’ll see you at seven.”

  “Jack, it’s not a good idea.”

  “What? You don’t like Chinese? What about Creole?”

  Kelly let out a breath. “I’m not talking about food. I’m talking about you and me. We are not a good idea.”

  “I think that’s debatable,” he told her. “So why don’t you tell me what it is you’re trying to say.”

  “What I’m saying is that my life has just gone into a tailspin with everything that’s happened. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m not even sure if I’ll still be here tomorrow. So a relationship with anyone is the last thing I need or want right now.”

  “You finished with your little speech?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I have a question for you. Are you going to eat dinner tonight?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said warily.

  “Let’s try again. Did you eat today? And I’m warning you, don’t lie, because us cops know when a witness is lying.”

  “Yes. I had breakfast.” She didn’t bother telling him that that breakfast consisted of a stale muffin from the minibar.

  “That means you need to eat dinner. So do I. All I’m suggesting is that the two of us eat it together. What harm is there in that?”

  “Why do I think this is a trick question?”

  “Because you have a devious mind,” he told her, and leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. “I’ll see you at seven.”

  Jack saw Kelly at seven for dinner that evening, and the next two. And by the time he’d shown up at her hotel on Saturday evening, she’d put up little argument as to why they couldn’t share a meal together. While he wasn’t sure where things were heading between them, he knew where he wanted them to go. And he was fairly sure if he were to tell Kelly, she’d slam the door in his face and bolt it. She was wary of him, wary of most people, he suspected. That’s why he’d taken things slow and easy.

  He was making progress, Jack told himself as he tipped the valet who’d brought up his car and then opened the door for Kelly. She no longer pulled away when he kissed her. And she didn’t tense whenever he touched her anymore. Best of all, she was talking more, telling him about her work, about her life in New York.

  “Where are we going?” she asked when he joined her inside the car.

  “Since we’ve had Chinese, Mexican and Creole, I thought maybe we’d try Italian tonight,” he informed her as he pulled the car away from the hotel into the traffic. “Sound okay to you?”

  “Sounds great. I haven’t eaten any Italian since I was in Italy. But I meant what I said, Jack, tonight I pay for dinner.”

  “Whatever you say, Ms. Santos,” he replied, and headed toward uptown. “So why don’t you tell me about Italy.”

  She told him. About the photo shoot she’d done there for some fashion magazine. About the problems they’d run into when the employees working in the hotel industry went on strike. About her own trek through the Italian countryside and the photos she’d taken for her private collection. About how deeply she’d been moved by the sight of the families sitting together in the little church she’d found one Sunday morning.

  “I don’t guess I have to ask if you’d like to go back,” he said as he turned off the main street into a residential area. “Sounds like you loved Italy.”

  “I did.”

  “Makes me want to go.”

  “Oh, you should. Everyone should go to Italy at least once in their life.”

  “Then I’ll book a flight tomorrow—but only if you promise to come with me and act as my guide,” he said as he turned onto a tree-lined street of residential homes.

  She went all quiet on him for a moment, making him regret the teasing remark. Finally she said, “You’d do better to find someone who speaks the language. I just know enough Italian to get by.”

  Jack didn’t bother telling her that he was fluent in both Italian and French. He simply pulled the car to a stop in front of his house. “We’re here,” he said as he shut off the engine. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  Kelly jerked her gaze from him to the two-story Greek-revival-style home. “I thought we were going to eat Italian.”

  “We are. I’ve cooked dinner for us.” He hopped out of the car and walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. “Welcome to Ristorante Callaghan.”

  She sat there for a moment, simply staring at his outstretched hand. Finally she looked up at him with those big, cautious eyes that
had been haunting his thoughts of late. “I’m not sure this is a good idea, Jack.”

  “Having dinner?”

  “Please, don’t. I’m not very good at male-female games. I never learned how to play them. And as much as I like you, I won’t play them with you now. I’d only end up disappointing you and hurting myself.”

  Anger sparked inside him at her accusation. “I don’t play games with people’s feelings, Kelly. Especially not with someone I care about, and I care about you.” He let out a breath, softened his tone. “I brought you here because I wanted some time alone with you. I didn’t want to go sit in another room filled with people, with waiters hovering around us because they want to turn the table, and with me trying to drag out the meal because I didn’t want it to be over.”

  “Then why not just be honest and tell me?”

  “Would you have agreed to come if I had?” At her silence, he said, “That’s what I thought.” He stooped down, took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. “The only thing I’m planning tonight is for the two of us to have dinner and enjoy each other’s company. But if the idea makes you uncomfortable, we can leave. I’ll see if I can find a restaurant instead. It’s up to you, Kelly. You tell me what you want and that’s what we’ll do.”

  She hesitated a moment and Jack thought he’d lost, when she said, “I’d like to stay.”

  Straightening, he took her hand and helped her from the car. “Then prepare yourself for the best Italian food you’ve ever eaten.”

  “That’s quite a claim,” she told him as he unlocked the door to the house and they went inside. “Don’t forget I was in Italy just a few weeks ago. It’s pretty hard to top authentic Italian cuisine.”

  “Then be prepared to be impressed, Ms. Santos.”

  “All right, I admit it. I’m impressed,” Kelly told him after they’d cleared away the remains of the meal and finished tidying up the kitchen. “Dinner was wonderful, Jack.”

  “You sound surprised,” he replied as he put away the pasta pot and colander that she’d dried.

  “I am. I never thought of you as a cook.”

  “Why not?” he asked as he added soap to the dishwasher and turned it on.

  “It doesn’t fit with the image I have of you.”

  “And what image is that?” he asked.

  Kelly tipped her head to one side. “I don’t know. When I was younger, I used to think of you as a handsome, rich playboy. But after you helped me that night in the park, I saw a different side to you, a deeper side. I knew you were someone who cared about people.”

  “And now?” he asked as he took off his apron, folded it and set it aside next to Kelly’s.

  “Now I see you as a dedicated police detective who doesn’t let his personal feelings get in the way of doing the right thing.”

  “You’re referring to the DNA test, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “You didn’t agree with your captain and you knew it would upset me, but you had me come down and take it, anyway.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “I know. But you didn’t try to lay the blame on anyone else—even when I was furious with you over it. You’re a good man, Jack Callaghan. And a terrific cook.”

  He took a bow. “Why, thank you, ma’am. I aim to please.”

  “So are you going to tell me how you learned to cook like that?”

  He sighed. “I have a confession. Meatballs and spaghetti is the only dish in my repertoire. It’s my favorite, and Tilly, our family’s cook, was sure I was going to starve when I went off to college, so she made sure I could at least cook that.”

  “You fraud,” she said, laughing. “And here I was berating myself because my Italian cooking isn’t half as good.”

  She started to throw the dish towel at him, but Jack caught it and her in his arms. The laugh died on her lips. And his. He watched her eyes darken, and when she lowered her gaze to his mouth, he groaned, “Kelly.”

  And for the very first time, she kissed him.

  The kiss was soft, gentle, almost shy. And it was over much, much too quickly, he thought as she eased her lips away from his. “It’s getting late. I probably should be getting back to the hotel.”

  Jack could almost see the wheels turning in that complicated head of hers, knew she was dissecting the reason she’d kissed him, deciding it was a mistake. Determined not to let her do that to herself or to them, he kept his tone light and said, “It’s not even ten o’clock yet and you still haven’t seen the rest of the house. You do want to see it, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but only if you’re sure you don’t mind showing it to me.”

  “Are you kidding? After all the money I’ve sunk into fixing this place up, I’m seriously considering charging admission. Come on, I’m dying to show it to you.”

  He showed her the house, and by the time they were heading back downstairs, she was laughing and at ease again. “I can’t believe you’ve only lived here since March. There’s such a feeling of…roots…I guess that’s the word I’m looking for. It’s as though this house and you were made for each other.”

  “Funny you should say that. It’s the same thing that Alicia said.”

  “Alicia?”

  “Alicia Van Owen,” Jack responded, and could have kicked himself for bringing the woman’s name up. “She’s the real estate agent who found the place for me.”

  “She must be very good at her job, then, because she certainly did a fine job putting you and this house together.”

  “I guess so. She has a real knack for striking deals.” Which was true, because Alicia really did seem to know just how to hit a sales figure upon which both buyer and seller would agree. “But this is the room that sold me on the place,” Jack said as he led her back to the den with its bookcase-covered walls, fireplace and high ceilings. “The mantel over this fireplace is the original.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She ran her fingers along the carved woodwork for a second, then stepped back to glance up at the painting over the mantel. “The woman in the portrait has to be one of your ancestors. Who is she?”

  “My great-great grandmother. She was the first Callaghan bride to settle in New Orleans.”

  “She’s lovely. I can see the family resemblance,” she informed him as she looked from him to the portrait.

  “So you’re saying I look like a southern belle?” he teased.

  “Not quite. Meredith bears a striking resemblance to her, though. Except for the eyes. You definitely have her eyes.”

  “Ah, yes, the famous Callaghan eyes. That’s what my mother calls them. She said that’s what attracted her to my dad.”

  “I can see why.”

  “I think you just paid me another compliment, Kelly Santos,” he teased, and loved seeing the flush in her cheeks.

  “I’m sure it’s something you’re used to.”

  “Not from you,” he told her.

  She shifted her gaze from him to the fireplace itself and hugged her arms to herself. “It looks like you’re all set for the winter,” she remarked, obviously referring to the grate already laid out with wood and with extra logs stacked beside it.

  “There’s nothing like a fire on a cold night. And speaking of cold, it’s kind of chilly in here. How about I light us a fire?” he suggested, and stooped down in front of the hearth to strike a match.

  “No!”

  Jack jerked his attention back to Kelly. She’d gone deathly pale and her eyes were wide and terrified. He immediately went to her, caught her hands. “You’re trembling. What’s wrong?”

  “I—I don’t like fires.”

  Suddenly he remembered her asking him to extinguish the candles at the table in the restaurants. He’d thought it was the scent that bothered her, never questioning it could be for another reason.

  “I know it’s stupid and I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing stupid about it and you have nothing to be sorry about. Come and sit down,” he said, and led her over to the couch. “I’l
l get you a brandy.”

  “I don’t need any brandy. I’m fine now.”

  Jack ignored her because she was far from fine. She didn’t have a lick of color in her face. Walking over to the bar, he poured her a tumbler of brandy and brought it back to her. “Drink,” he commanded.

  She hesitated a moment, looked into his eyes, then took one sip, then another. “Thank you.”

  Jack took the glass from her and set it aside, then gathered her into his arms. He held her close, resting her head on his shoulder, gently running his fingertips along her arms to relax her. He didn’t ask any questions, simply waited for her to tell him when she was ready.

  “For as far back as I can remember, I’ve been terrified of fire,” she began. “I have recurring dreams about being trapped in a room with flames shooting up all around me. The shrinks they sent me to when I lived at St. Ann’s thought it might have had something to do with whatever happened to me before I came to St. Ann’s. But I don’t remember.”

  “How old were you?”

  “They said I was around three when someone left me at the delivery entrance of the orphanage. Or at least that’s their best guess of how old I was. I couldn’t tell them who I was or how I got there. According to the doctors, I had suffered some kind of shock and to cope with it I blocked out everything about my past.”

  “How did you get the name Kelly?”

  “The laundry woman who found me was Irish, and since it was a cold night when I’d been left there, she concluded the saints had taken care of me. So I became Kelly Santos.” She paused, continued. “I was told I had burn marks on my shoulder and my left hand. So it’s a pretty good bet that I was in some kind of fire.”

  Jack took her left hand. He noted the no-nonsense short nails without polish, the lack of any rings. He turned it over, studied her palm. It was soft, pretty and perfect, like the rest of her. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “It didn’t leave any scars.”

  Not the ones you could see, anyway, Jack thought.

  “Over the years they tried therapy and even hypnosis once, hoping to get me to remember who I was and what had happened to me, how I ended up at St. Ann’s. But none of it worked. I couldn’t remember. Which I guess is kind of ironic when you think about it.”