Cavanaugh Cold Case (16 page)

“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 more 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

T
he 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 of 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.

“Mission completed,” she declared when he stepped out of his vehicle. “You saw me home safely.”

“Technically, the ‘mission' isn't complete until I see you walk into your home and turn on the lights to make sure everything's secure.”

The way he said it made her think of the manner in which police secured a building. “Is that going to entail you coming in, gun drawn and clearing every room, one at a time?”

She did have a flair for the dramatic, Malloy thought, amused. “I hadn't thought of that, but now that you mention it, that would definitely complete the mission.”

“Let me put your mind at ease,” she said with a touch of sarcasm. “I have very nosy neighbors. If anyone was seen breaking into my house, they would have lost no time calling 911, and we would have seen the house surrounded by squad cars when we pulled up. Nobody's here,” she guaranteed.

He wondered if she had any idea just how strongly attracted he was to her and how much it took for him not to act on that attraction.

“You can never be too careful,” he told her, although he remained standing exactly where he was. He wasn't about to push. He didn't believe in it. Things either happened naturally, or they didn't.

“You're not going in,” she observed, stating the obvious. Her stomach had been churning ever since she'd spotted him in her review mirror, following her home. Right about now, her fingertips had joined the act, growing icy as her palms did the exact opposite, sending heat through the rest of her.

His eyes met hers. His voice was almost seductively low as he asked, “Do you want me to go in?”

His question was reminiscent of what he'd told her the other day. That he would never do anything she didn't want him to do. He was waiting for an invitation, she realized. All she had to do was say no, and she'd be out of danger. He'd leave.

Just one little two-letter word, that was all it would take.

She took a breath.

And then she heard herself saying, “Get it over with.”

Malloy arched one eyebrow, puzzled. “Get what over with?”

There was almost defiance in her eyes as she continued looking up at him.

“Kiss me,” she told him. “Kiss me so that we can both get it out of the way and get on with our lives.”

He was trying hard not to laugh. “I don't think I've ever heard it put quite that romantically before.”

She'd almost doubled up her fists then, wanting to pound him on his chest.

Instead, Kristin managed to keep her hands at her sides as she retorted, “I'm not trying to be romantic, I'm trying to be efficient.”

Well, that was a new one on him. “Oh, is that what you call it? Efficient? Never heard it referred to as that before.”

Her chin was raised in that defiant way he'd come to recognize.

“
This
is in the way for both of us for different reasons,” she retorted, feeling almost desperate because of the havoc that was going on inside of her.

She knew that he wanted to kiss her in order to prove to her that he could turn her world upside down. As for her, with increasing frequency, she'd been catching herself wondering what it was like to be kissed by him. It was now at the point that it was a part of every hour of every day. She wanted it to stop.

“And I don't think we can really continue productively working together until we resolve this—this—
issue
,” she cried for lack of a better word, “and move passed it.”

“Okay,” he said gamely, “if that's what you really want.” Malloy took her into his arms. “Just remember that this was your idea.”

There it was again, she thought. That grin of his. That wicked grin that was half sin, half redemption. She still fought it, still tried to seal herself off from its effects, but it was a losing battle.

“What I really want is not to have it cropping up on me all the time, taking my thoughts prisoner like some kind of guerilla soldier on a mission.”

“So let me get this straight,” he said, doing his best to keep a straight face. “If I kiss you, then this will all be over? The wondering, the anticipating, all of it would be over? Finished?” The way he posed his question made her feel that he highly doubted that would be the outcome.

“God, I hope so.” The words rushed out, riding a heartfelt sigh.

Malloy deliberately leaned in as if to kiss her, then drew his head back at the last possible moment. When she widened her eyes, looking at him both surprised and confused, he said, “Maybe we should take this inside,” then explained, “Nosy neighbors,” reminding her of what she'd just told him about her neighborhood.

Inside.

He wanted to take this inside.

This was a step she hadn't quite thought out. A step that was certain to instantly make everything twice as intimate as before.

But she couldn't very well back out now, not when it had been her idea to do this in the first place. He was counting on that, wasn't he? she thought, seeing the confidence in his eyes. It made her resolve twice over to be immune to him no matter how torrid the kiss turned out to be.

So she murmured something akin to agreement and put her key into the lock. The
click
that resounded as the lock was released echoed and magnified itself in her head.

Malloy reached behind her and turned the knob, opening the door for her.

Like someone who was caught up in the remnants of a dream, Kristin crossed the threshold and walked inside her house.

The next moment, he followed her steps and eased the door closed behind him. She expected him to take the lead, but he didn't. Good, bad or neutral, whatever was going to happen next would be entirely up to her.

She felt her heart pounding hard.

“Oh, all right!” she cried out loud in something that resembled terrified frustration.

The next moment, she threw her arms around his neck and brought her mouth up to his.

She'd just meant to complete the act. Lips against lips, skin against skin. The promise of the act was supposed to be far more enticing and fulfilling—at least on the mental level—than the actual execution of the act itself.

Supposed to be.

But reality had a way of playing havoc on expectations, good or bad. And in this case, the expectations paled in the face of reality. Because it wasn't lip against lip and skin against skin. It turned out to be lightning and thunder, wind and gale and, in all likelihood, a little hurricane and earthquake thrown in, as well.

The latter because Kristin could have sworn, as the kiss kept deepening and deepening to the point that she thought she was in danger of falling off the edge of the world, that the earth had moved beneath her.