Forever Mine (9 page)

“Yes, the job’s in Sausalito. The commute will probably cost me almost as much in gas and bridge tolls as the guy's paying me.”

“Guy?” Sarah exhaled a wistful sigh. “You’re so lucky. Your clients are most often men.”

Sarah, an elementary school teacher, never ceased to lament her work environment. Except for the principal, the custodian and two married men, her coworkers all fell into the female category. “I’ll bet your client turns out to be a Ryan Gosling lookalike. If so, introduce him to me. You already have a boyfriend.”

Allie smiled. Michaela’s boyfriend was her sixth in less than two years. The men all started out as soul mates but, in less time than it took Allie to design and create a wedding gown, Michaela had moved on to the next catch. She offered to introduce Allie to one of her exes, but Allie declined on the grounds it seemed almost incestuous.

“How’s Jean Claude?” Sarah asked Jen, whose boyfriend was a direct import from France.

“Busy as usual. He and his partners might open another restaurant. California Continental, I think.” Her face set in a pout.

“Don’t they already own three?”

Allie understood the time constraints yet another restaurant would put on her friend’s relationship with the Frenchman. She’d dated an entrepreneur once, well actually an inventor. He’d spent an excessive amount of time in his basement, trying to do something innovative with women’s undergarments. Although ahead of his time with one particular idea, eventually, someone else beat him to SPANX.

“They do own three. Jean Claude spent last month scouting locations for the new spot.” Jen frowned. “Four years is a long time to date a man you see less of every time he opens a new restaurant.”

“I thought he
promised
to give you a
promise
ring.” Michaela shook her head. She never hung around long enough to receive one from a man and had, on occasion, expressed her contempt for such an arrangement.

“
Oui
.”

Even after so many years with Jean Claude,
oui
was one of the few French words Jen had mastered. Although considered a brainiac at Apple’s Silicon Valley headquarters where she was a product manager, foreign language proficiency eluded her.

The waiter approached, and everyone ordered salads with a variety of extras. Allie splurged on fresh crabmeat.

They ordered a bottle of Chardonnay to toast Jen’s birthday. After the waiter had poured each a glass, Michaela made the congratulatory comments. Allie sipped her wine. Eventually, the alcohol soothed the inner turmoil the past two days had dumped on her doorstep. The muscles in her shoulders, tight from stress, relaxed.

“Allie, how are the clothes coming along?” Jen’s interest in fashion had escalated ever since she’d rubbed more than shoulders with a man who came with a French pedigree.

“I’ve finished the second cocktail dress. I like it, and hope it shows well.” Allie knew Jen and the others wouldn’t be satisfied if she didn’t provide a description. “The top is silver sequins, except for a small darker center swirl. The left side of the bodice is strapless. The skirt is five layers of white tulle. Short. Hits just above the knee.”

The women gave a collective sigh.

“A size zero, no doubt,” Michaela said. Her broad shoulders and athletic frame put her into a twelve.

“Actually, my model, Fiona, isn’t a size zero.”

Sarah laughed. “There’s hope for us.”

“She’s a size one.” Allie ducked as if she expected someone to pelt her with a piece of bread.

“I hate her already.” Sarah, barely five-foot-three, constantly battled her weight and was usually on some weird fad diet.

“I’ve decided on the design for the casual daytime outfit,” Allie continued. “Three quarter-sleeve top. Orange, black and lime narrow-to-wide horizontal stripes across a gray background. The fabric just came in last week from New York. I’m pairing it with an orange mini. Large pockets and seam down the front. After that, I just have to finish the cocktail dress, wedding gown and one dressy daytime outfit.”

“I know you’ll advance to the finals.” Jen reached across the table to squeeze Allie’s hand.

Any outing with her friends filled Allie with warmth and contentment. Right then, especially, she wanted to hug them all, wanted desperately for her life to return to normal.

Then Michaela asked, “Did anyone notice the handsome guy in the brown jacket sitting at the bar eating a hamburger?”

Allie’s throat constricted. Although the restaurant was packed, she sensed Michaela had referenced Detective Sutter. She cast a covert glance in the indicated direction. With sunglasses hooked onto the front of his T-shirt, Sutter chewed on a mouthful of the Chalet’s classic burger. She’d pretty much forgotten about him during the past thirty minutes. Adhering to the designated space he’d placed between them after they exited the car, she never checked to see where he’d been seated. Renewed tension stabbed at her shoulder muscles, and her head filled with alarming thoughts that rammed home the reason Sutter shadowed her.

“He’s stared at you a couple times,” she said to Allie.

“Really?” Allie shook her head. “I don’t recognize him. I’m sure I don’t know him.” She wrapped her fingers around the stem of her wine glass and squeezed hard. She couldn’t decide what was worse, having Sutter staring at her or not having him in sight at all. Two days, and they’d already formed something of a disquieting symbiotic relationship.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” In a sense, her denial was true. She knew nothing of Sutter other than his unhealthy eating habits and assorted annoyances. Although on the plus side, he appeared very conscientious and rarely left his post at her bedroom window. While inside her house, his proximity gave her need for security a much-needed boost. Conversely, his accompanying her on this outing reinforced the serious danger Dave posed to her.

“He’s
mucho grande
in the looks department,” Michaela persisted. “He’s not wearing a wedding ring.”

“Not interested.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” There was no simple way to explain that Sutter was a cop, and the only reason he was even inside the restaurant was because he’d been charged with protecting her from a psychopath.

“Because why?”

Because if he wasn’t as good a cop as she hoped he was, she could wind up dead.

“Take another look.”

“No thanks. Anyway, staring is rude.” While keeping a watchful eye, Sutter had unfortunately proven a tad too conscientious.

“Sweetie, when a three-hundred pound gorilla in spandex stares at a woman, that’s rude. When a guy with that kind of sex appeal does the same thing, it’s called a Christmas bonus.”

Jen turned and peered through the balloon ribbons attached to her chair. “Oh, he reminds me of Jean Claude, the dark, mysterious type.”

Allie saw nothing mysterious about Jen’s boyfriend. Clearly, he was uninterested in marriage but not about to forego his benefits with Jen, whenever he made time. She didn’t find anything mysterious about the detective, either, at least nothing that interested her.

Sarah, too, glanced toward the counter. When she turned back, her face bore a broad grin. “Here’s a fantasy: he’s the single father of a five-year-old about to enroll in my fall kindergarten class.”

“I thought you were already living that fantasy,” Jen said.

“Hmm, not quite. One of the single father’s is friendly and sometimes hangs around after class, but I’m not sure if he’s interested in me other than as his kid’s teacher.”

Michaela, never short on romantic advice, grinned. “When the term ends, gaze into his eyes and tell him how much you’ll miss your chats. Sound like you mean it. Maybe he’ll take the hint.”

Sarah shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think. Act. You need to become more aggressive with the opposite sex. Like the guy who’s staring at Allie. He doesn’t give a hoot if we catch him.”

Allie sipped her wine. Was there enough in the glass to expunge Sutter’s image? She gulped a mouthful.

The waiter approached with their lunch selections. As soon as her salad was placed before her, Allie stabbed a piece of crabmeat and lettuce with her fork.

Michaela said, “Here’s the way I see it. He’s a big, bad, brazen boy looking for some female companionship. Specifically, Allie’s.”

The plump piece of crabmeat nearly slid down Allie’s throat. She caught it in time before she became a Heimlich recipient, very likely at the hands of Detective Sutter. Weren’t all cops versed in the maneuver?

“Who’s at what?” Jen asked.

“The mysterious stranger. Allie should pay more attention to him. How dangerous can he be? He’s drinking Coke.”

Allie picked at her salad. For the past two days, danger hung like a pall over her shoulders. Only the danger wasn’t from Sutter but a monster who cast a long, dark shadow. She shivered at the specter of Dave and almost lost what little appetite she had.

“Here’s what I suggest you do.” Michaela turned toward Allie. “Walk over to him and ask how you know each other. Act as if you’re certain you’ve already met somewhere. Trust me, he’s not going to blow you off.”

Allie shook her head. “Forget him. I don’t have the time or interest to pick up strange men.”

“Oh, right. I forgot. You’re off men for the next hundred years. You know you can date and have a career in fashion at the same time.”

Allie was used to Michaela’s argument, but she’d made the commitment. To achieve her goal of producing a full-fledged fashion line, she’d put serious relationships on hold. Being dateless wasn’t a fatal disease. It beat being dumped because she wouldn’t arrange her time around some guy’s schedule, which is what happened with her last boyfriend. He couldn’t understand why
sewing
was more important that skiing half the winter away in Tahoe.

Michaela shrugged. “With the wrong kind of attitude, you could miss out on meeting a great guy.”

“I doubt it,” Allie mumbled.

After the food was consumed and the dishes cleared, the waiter brought cappuccinos and plates for the cake. Throughout all the machinations, Allie directed her eyes anywhere but at Sutter, though they wanted to stray in his direction. As if he were a regular guy worth meeting—one she might seriously consider altering her three-year-plan for—and not a pushy, aggressive cop. So why did she have to scuttle the urge to glance his way?

Sarah cut the cake. Allie stared down at her plate as if it promised to reveal an infallible path to world peace. Instead, her brain served up a pretty accurate picture of the detective. Wouldn’t her friends be shocked to know he carried a gun? That would certainly interest Michaela, who was attracted to men she labeled
bad boys
, just like she’d labeled Sutter. Allie agreed with her assessment, probably because she knew Sutter was engaged in a dangerous profession. If he were an engineer or a stockbroker, both of which she’d dated and kicked loose, would she form the same opinion? Not likely.

“He’s got a certain edge,” Michaela said. “Besides the sexy bod, my guess is he’s a take-charge kind of guy. You can tell just looking at him. That bod…And I know something about bodies.”

Allie silently agreed and hoped her assessment was true if Dave ever materialized on her doorstep.

After dessert, Jen opened her gifts. She saved Allie’s for last—a sheer pastel flowered shirt almost identical to the one Jen had drooled over at Neiman Marcus, when the two had dropped into the department store just to browse. Since the original was way too pricy for Jen, Allie whipped up a similar one for a tenth of the cost. The expression in Jen’s eyes confirmed it was her favorite gift.

They settled the bill, and everyone rose and headed toward the exit. Michaela held Allie back. She glanced toward Sutter.

“Go ahead. I dare you to ask him why he stared at you throughout lunch.”

Allie smothered a laugh. Michaela should only know the truth; barring sex, she was practically cohabiting with the man.

“You needn’t be obvious. Make eye contact. He’ll take it from there.”

“I’m still not interested. Also, don’t try anything funny when we walk past him.”

By the time they reached his perch, Sutter was signing a credit card receipt. Allie hurried past and dragged Michaela after her.

They descended to the first floor where WPA murals from the 1930s covered the back wall, highlighting Fisherman’s Wharf, Baker Beach and Golden Gate Park. Glass-topped exhibit tables held memorabilia from early decades along with a detailed mock-up of Golden Gate Park. Allie said her goodbyes to Sarah and Jen, who headed for the restroom. A sudden concern surfaced. What if Sutter appeared downstairs before she could shake loose from Michaela?

“Where did you park?” Allie asked.

“Around the corner. Where else when the place is so crowded?”

Allie let out a relieved breath. “I’m across the street.” She gave Michaela a hug. “I’ll call you first chance.” She headed out the front door and walked at a brisk pace through the adjacent parking lot. Although having successfully put distance between Michaela and Detective Sutter, the ever-present reminder of Dave warned her not to exceed the twenty-foot distance she’d agreed on. A quick backward glance confirmed the agreement was in force.

She crossed the Great Highway and slowed as she approached the car. No need to wonder about Sutter’s whereabouts. Even without visual confirmation, she had a strong sense of him being close.

Allie waited beside the car. A brisk breeze blew in from the sea; the air smelled crisp and clean. A few hardy souls tricked out in wet suits straddled surfboards and bobbed on the ocean’s surface.

Seconds later, Sutter had his keys in hand and the passenger door open. Allie slid onto the seat. Yes, she had a very strong sense of him, which should have put her teeth on edge, especially now since she agreed with Michaela’s assessment of Sutter indeed being a big, bad, brazen boy. His kind, as her friends well knew, was the farthest from her type. At least she’d always thought so. It was rather disconcerting to feel a connection to him, even a small one. As if she needed another complication piled onto the sickening realization of a murderer wending his way toward her. The thought made her grateful for Sutter’s protection.