"So you're here to stay now," he said, leaning closer to her.
Cat had been single since she and Grant, the fussy soccer player studying electrical engineering, broke up in her junior year of college. She had been enduring one heck of a dry spell. Tempted as she was by a couple of bar meet-ups that could easily have turned into one-night stands, she just hadn't had the energy for the emotional fallout she knew she'd experience from those. Cat was the kind of woman who always got attached. And not in the creepy, let's-get-married-after-one-date way. She just never had the stamina for casual sex. It was a heady, emotionally intense experience for her, especially with the inevitable, added intimacy of being privy to her partners' dreams.
She still remembered slipping into one of Lee's dreams years ago, back when they were both still in high school, he a senior and Cat a sophomore. He'd been in discussions with army recruiters about his future while most of his classmates were busy researching colleges.
In the dream, he wore a parachute and was flying by transport jet to a destination where he and the rest of the crew would be air-dropped. Sitting in the jet with him were his father, dressed in the army uniform he'd worn in Vietnam, and his grandfather, wearing his World War II-era uniform. Both men had been enlistees, just like Lee. Cat remembered Lee's fear about deciding to choose a military career for himself, especially since he would likely see combat.
His father was leaning against the wall of the transport, smoking a joint.
"I've seen things I wish I could forget," he said, smoke slipping from his mouth and nose. "But I doubt I ever will. If they gave me the choice now, I don't know if I'd go." He took another drag on his joint, and this time, peace signs and doves flew out of his nose and mouth. "I might tell Uncle Sam to fig off," he said, and Lee couldn't help but laugh in the dream at his father's signature way of cussing, how innocent it seemed in that moment. The doves and peace signs disappeared in the air with a popping noise, as if they were fat bubbles.
Then the girl in the famous black-and-white photo, an iconic image of Vietnam, the girl whose clothes had been burned off by napalm, appeared out of nowhere, screaming. She ran right into his father, both of them disappearing into each other as if they were an old film strip melting on a reel.
His grandfather spoke up at last, as if he'd been silently observing and waiting for the right moment to talk. "Your dad didn't get a very honorable war," he said. "According to the history books, anyway. But that's got nothing to do with it. There's atrocity and honor in every war, there is."
At that, his grandfather began a marching drill that lasted for several powerful minutes. He stopped, stood at attention for a few seconds, and relaxed. He tossed his rifle at Lee and said, "Step in, Private."
Lee caught the rifle easily and fell in step with his grandfather. He missed a couple of moves, and the old man gently corrected him. After several rounds, he had the pattern down. They marched together until his grandfather turned on his heel and said he had to go now. He stood facing Lee and briefly squeezed the sides of his grandson's arms, a brusque stand-in for an actual hug. Pointing a finger at Lee's heart, he said, "You've got everything you need in here."
At that, he turned, grabbed a parachute, and jumped.
In the dream, Lee's fear dissipated, and taking its place was a powerful sense of responsibility, which seemed like it was two responsibilities rolled into one. The first was to live up to the men in his family, who were both decorated war heroes. The second was to protect something large and sprawling but worth protecting, and that was freedom; it was to Lee everything that made him a human being, the right to make one's own choices and way in the world without the threat of force.
Cat remembered waking up from that dream overwhelmed by a passion to serve, to protect humanity. She'd never felt anything like that in another person's dream, and it was probably the thing that had both drawn her to Lee and also made him seem so elusive.
You're here to stay now. The comment was loaded. It was half question, half admission of interest. When he wasn't on a tour of duty, Lee lived an hour away, near what was now called Joint Base Lewis-McChord, or simply "JBLM," a fusing of the Fort Lewis army post with the old McChord Air Force Base.
He knew Dave and Simon, but he was clearly here to see her.
"Yes," she answered, trying not to breathe too heavily, but her heart was racing. She actually felt swoony.
"I'm glad," he said. "Cat, it's good to see you."
Her voice caught in her throat, so she smiled at him.
Something in his face showed her smile affected him. "Can I get you a drink?" he asked. Lee went to the bar and made her a gin and tonic himself, as he didn't want to disturb the hosts, who clearly had their hands full. Even though it was more of a hot-weather drink for her, something she drank during the sweltering St. Louis summers, it grounded her a bit with familiarity. She loved the tanginess of the limes and tonic.
The party was in full swing by this point, and there was nowhere to sit. They stood in a doorway near the bar, but that turned out to be a stage entrance. A couple of actors burst through the doorway between them, one wearing a matador costume, the other presumably the bull, as he held his index fingers above his head. Their routine went on a good fifteen minutes and involved several rounds of audience participation. Lee was pulled in once as replacement bull. He played along admirably.
Once the impromptu play was finished, someone turned the music up. It was Adele singing "Rolling in the Deep." Cat and Lee tried to talk, but he had trouble hearing her above the din. He kept leaning in toward her with his right ear, and she noticed that on his left he wore a hearing aid. After a few frustrating attempts at conversation, Lee scanned the perimeter of the room, spotted a set of glass doors leading outside, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward them.
"There," he said, closing the door behind them. "It's quiet out here."
The night was clear enough to see a full moon and stars between patches of grey clouds. Down below, the outdoor lights in the Fletcher-Bander garden illuminated the outlines of ferns and early summer flowers.
It was a little nippy on the balcony, and seeing her shiver, Lee took off his uniform jacket and slipped it over her shoulders. His arms were around her as he did this.
"Is it too cold for you?"
"No, Lee," she replied, looking up at him. "I think you're making me shiver."
"Oh," he said, swallowing hard. For a tense moment, he looked down at her as if he were in pain.
She reached up and touched his ear, the one with the hearing aid. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring her touch.
"What happened here?" she asked.
"Iraq," he said. "I got a little too close."
She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. He'd always been a man of few words. In that respect, she knew the military life probably suited him.
She couldn't take her hand away, not just yet. There were patterns of white scars running from his ear to the sides of his face that she hadn't noticed before. She let her hand slide down the side of his cheek to his jaw. He reached up and took her hand, his eyes opening. He moved her hand to his mouth and kissed it.
The motion made her catch her breath. She felt her body sway toward him. One of his arms slipped around her waist, and with his other hand he cupped her cheek, drawing her in for a kiss.
She felt something burst open inside her, and she couldn't help it; she wrapped her arms around him as if she'd never again let go.
"Cat," he said, holding her tightly.
They broke apart and looked at each other. A wicked smile turned up the corner of Lee's mouth, and they both erupted in laughter.
"Damn, girl," Lee said. "It's been too long."
"Since you've had any, or since you've seen me?" Cat teased.
"Well, both, if you must know the truth."
"It's the same for me," she confessed.
His face turned serious again. He pulled her close, pushed her gently against the balcony railing, an
d leaned into her. She could feel his excitement, tense, needy.
"I want you," he whispered. "Tonight."
Something in her heart detonated, sending cascades of warmth down through her belly and between her legs. She wanted him, too.
She was gasping for air. "How?" she asked, laughing a bit, trying to recover. "I'm at Granny Grace's. You live down there in militaryland."
"Come home with me," he said. "I'll drive you back."
Could she abandon Granny Grace at the party for a tryst with Sergeant Stone? She turned it over in her mind. She hadn't been with this man since high school... But she still remembered the feel of him, how he fell asleep with his arms around her, holding her all night. And in the morning, they'd made love again. It was better with Lee than it had been with her most recent boyfriend, fussy Grant, who seemed to have more passion and stamina on the soccer field than he had in bed. She also had to admit to a certain curiosity about Lee. She wanted to see the world he inhabited; she wanted to move in his space, watch how he lived.
"Let's go back in and mingle a bit," said Cat. "Then we'll see how the evening should end." She smiled teasingly at him and then slipped through the door and away.
Cat found Granny Grace ensconced in the living room talking to several well-known writers, those she recognized as part of Seattle's literati. But her grandmother was the one telling stories, regaling the writers with tales of her PI escapades.
"Little did the killer know that I was hiding behind the potted palm," she was saying as Cat walked up. "I recorded his confession word for word." The gathering exclaimed.
"Well, hello, dear," Granny Grace greeted her as she saw Cat. "I thought you'd vanished under the full moon."
"I was talking with an old friend," mumbled Cat, blushing as the literati stared at her.
"I bet," said Granny Grace, winking. "This is my granddaughter," she explained to her audience, "Cat McCormick. She's tough as nails, and she's taking over Grace Detective Agency."
The crowd oohed and ahhed at that, and Cat flushed further with embarrassment, feeling anything but tough as nails. Here her grandmother was, networking on her behalf while she was out on the balcony canoodling with an old flame.
Cat spent the next thirty minutes explaining her background and her plans to a group of overly interested writers. On the one hand, she could imagine them making mental notes about her for a character sketch. On the other hand, you couldn't throw a rock in Seattle and not hit a writer, there were so many of them, and they all knew each other. She figured the time was well spent getting into their network.
After that, she and Granny Grace made a concerted effort to work the room.
Cat's grandmother introduced her to the head of a fishing industry association. He was celebrating a victory that night, as his group had just received an award for designing a system that saved endangered seabirds, both murrelets and terns, from getting tangled in their longline equipment.
"Fishermen, praised for our environmentalism," he told Granny Grace. He was at least a decade her junior but clearly charmed by the woman and eager to impress her. "We longliners are green," he declared, one hand pulling the tip of his white beard, the other clasping a sweaty drink. The ice cubes tinkled against the glass as he gestured. He leaned in toward her grandmother as he spoke, touching her arm occasionally. She smiled and egged him on, congratulating him for proving that industry could regulate itself.
"I've always been a fan of enlightened self-interest," Granny Grace remarked.
"Self-interest?!" The man reacted as if hurt. "My dear woman, this one was truly for the birds."
She laughed at his play on words, tilting her head back and smiling widely. Granny Grace fingered the pearls at her neck, a gesture that Cat realized was a tad flirtatious. Her senses sharpened, and she began to perceive a tension between the two. Romance? Why not? That meant it was time for Cat to make a graceful exit.
She scanned the room, hoping Lee hadn't given up on her. There he was, leaning against the bar, in deep conversation with Dave. She sauntered over toward them.
"It's all about the fore-foot strike," Dave was saying. He was talking about his strange toe shoes. Lee seemed skeptical, but Dave was doing his best to convince him.
"Think about it," Dave urged. "Human beings were born to walk barefoot. It's the unnatural shoe forms that are ruining our knees."
"You might be right," Lee conceded. "But if I were walking through a dusty alley in Fallujah, I'd rather be wearing combat boots."
"Touché, sergeant," said Dave, holding up his glass in salute. "Touché."
Lee spotted Cat and turned, his face lighting up. But Dave intervened. "Cat, there you are. Listen, Simon and I have a proposition for you."
"Hey, I'm the one who's supposed to be propositioning her," Lee protested as Dave swooped in, taking Cat under one arm.
"Watch out for G.I. Joe," Dave warned with a laugh. "He'll ship out and break your heart. But enough of that now. We know you're already sort of working for us, indirectly," he said, "but we'd like to hire you."
Just then Simon appeared over Dave's shoulder and chimed in. "Yes, Cat. We want you to act as a PI there at the condo."
Cat was confused, but the idea of her first real PI assignment excited her. "Is this about the break-in?" she asked. "The doll?"
"Yes," Simon said. "We think you're right—it could be nothing, but what if there's something going on? Granny Grace has a hunch about it."
Ah, so Granny Grace's mark was all over this one, thought Cat. Well, she had a hunch, too, and she was planning to continue her investigation anyway. Why not get paid for it?
The two men steered Cat into their office, where Simon took out a checkbook, filled out a check, ripped it out, and handed it to Cat.
"Consider yourself on retainer," he said. Cat's eyes seemed to be playing tricks on her. It was made out for five thousand dollars.
"I can't take this," she said.
"You don't want the case?" Dave put his hands on his hips defiantly.
"I want the case," Cat replied. "But that's too much."
"Why? Because we're friends?" Simon asked. "You should charge us what you'd charge anyone. We don't need a favor. You're in business."
Cat didn't know what to say. She thought about her salary—if it could be called that—at M&O. It was twelve dollars an hour. Doing the math didn't help slice it any better—she made less than twenty-five thousand a year, and that was before taxes. If she couldn't live with Granny Grace, she'd really be in trouble, as the cheapest rent she'd seen in Seattle was a studio apartment for eight hundred and fifty bucks, and utilities were extra. Add another six hundred a month in expenses and student loan payments, and she wouldn't be able to make ends meet.
"You both have been so generous already," Cat noted.
"Pshaw," countered Dave. "We've got an overqualified security guard at our condo. You're a bargain for what M&O is paying you. And now we're taking advantage of your rock-bottom PI fees because you've just launched your practice."
Simon murmured agreement. "Besides, Cat, if there are people running around inside our condo building, we need to find out why. Especially if a child is involved."
"I'd be honored to have you as my first clients," said Cat. "But I'm not yet licensed, bonded, and insured."
"Well, this will help you get that started, right? Consider it a warm-up case," Dave affirmed. "Do we have a deal?" he asked, holding out his hand for a shake, Simon following suit. She shook their hands, and the three of them returned to the party. Lee was still waiting for her over by the bar, and the crowd had thinned.
"So what's the verdict?" he asked. "Has the lady decided how the evening should end?"
Cat looked him square in the eyes and, brimming with a newfound confidence, announced, "The lady has decided this night should never end."
An hour later, Cat was standing in the picture window of Lee's condo, the lights of downtown Tacoma flickering below her. He lived in a brand-new building built i
nto the side of the hill that sloped up from the Thea Foss Waterway and Puget Sound. The condo was smallish and located in an iffy neighborhood, but it had an incredible view; she could see the cool ice-blue glow of the twin sculptures flanking the walkway to the Museum of Glass, as well as its signature metal cone, outlined against the dark sky.
She'd decided to keep the knowledge of her first real PI job to herself, and she wanted Granny Grace to be the first person she told anyway, so she said nothing to Lee. Besides, it was code not to discuss her clients or their cases with anyone, she already knew.
Cat felt Lee slip his arm around her waist and nestle his face into her neck. It made her weak-kneed, and he deftly removed the drink from her hand and took her in his arms. They kissed passionately, expressively, his eyes full of wonder, she thought, that the two of them could find themselves together like this again after so long.
His place was modern and sleek, very male. She could tell he wasn't there very much, that this was his landing pad when he wasn't on a mission. It was spotless; Lee had always been Spartan in his tastes. Another reason the military life probably suited him, she surmised. It was a far cry from the eclectic clutter of Granny Grace's house.
What little artwork there was had to do with his work. His life, she thought, for this was far more than work. Above the gas fireplace was a spectacular oil painting of his Ranger battalion on a mission in Iraq. On the mantel were medals, a framed patch. She felt her breath catch as she took in the evidence of who her Lee had become.
"Does it bother you?" he asked. "What I do for a living?"
She put on a brave face. "Not at all. It's not that different from what I do. Or rather, what I'm trying to do. We're both sort of in law enforcement. You're just more... elite." It was a reference to his service in the Rangers, of which she admittedly knew next to nothing, except that they were the cream of the crop.
He chuckled. "Law enforcement. Right." He sighed, looking at her with an expression of utter longing mixed with something else: responsibility, pain. "I think I better show you something."
Cat in the Flock (Dreamslippers Book 1) Page 5
