Hidden Fire, Kobo (25 page)

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Sarah chewed her lip, pacing until the
crowd cleared and Randy started down the aisle.

It was probably nothing, she told
herself. But Randy should see what she'd found. He finally made it, after being
stopped and thanked by almost every person in the room. She looked more closely
at his smile, his flushed face. He was enjoying himself. She'd been amazed at
how quickly he adapted to the dancers, how he could adjust his playing to match
what they were doing. They probably looked better than if they'd had their
canned music.

Her chest swelled. She was proud of him.
She considered the feeling, savoring it, then he finally reached her side. "Here,"
he said, handing her the roses. He kissed her forehead. "What did you want
to tell me?"

"First, that you were fantastic. Second,
keep your hands off Mrs. Simonson. And third, come with me."

She took his hand and led him through the
thinning crowd, passing the reception counter and heading toward a sign marked "Restrooms".
She walked past it, then pushed open a set of glass-paned double doors halfway
down the corridor.

The room had reverted from dressing room
to staff lounge, although ribbons and glitter festooned the floor. The aroma of
coffee replaced the earlier scents of hairspray and makeup. She bent to
retrieve a sparkling tiara and set it on the round dining table in the middle
of the room.

"While I was in here, some of the
staff came in for coffee," she said. "They were using these."
She opened the drawer where she'd stashed the mugs behind some disposable
plates and tableware. Garrigue mugs. She handed one to him. He held in his
fingertips, by the edge of the base.

"If you're looking for fingerprints,
they washed them and dried them before putting them away," she said. "The
prints on there will be mine."

"One of your missing mugs?"
Randy asked.

"I can't be positive without
reviewing my inventory. But look at it. Do you notice anything?"

He turned it in his hands. Ran his
fingers along the handle, the rim and finally along the edge of the squat
pedestal bottom. Would he notice? He stopped, looked at it more closely.

"Feels like it's been repaired. Like
the base broke off and someone glued it back on. Otherwise, looks like an
ordinary coffee mug to me. Did I miss something?"

She shook her head. "No, that's
exactly what I think."

"Well, it broke and someone fixed
it. What's the deal?"

She pulled the other matching mug from
the shelf. "This has been repaired in exactly the same way. That seems too
much of a coincidence. You're always telling me you don't trust coincidences."

His brows drew together. "Maybe
these were—I don't know—like seconds. The stuff you see at outlet malls. Maybe
Garrigue sells his rejects."

"No way. The man's doing exclusives.
He wouldn't allow an inferior piece out of his studio." She hesitated. Her
ideas were totally off-the-wall. But maybe Randy could take them down, look at
them and see them with his detective eyes. "What if by mistake, he shipped
rejects. His assistant might have mixed up boxes or something, since he's away.
Maybe someone came in to get them back."

Spoken out loud, the words sounded
ludicrous. Not the way things had seemed when she thought maybe she could solve
Randy's case, or at least help him and they'd be working together.
Collaborating. Partners, of a sort. Which is why she'd decided to show him the
mugs here rather than try to sneak them out. Besides, she couldn't sneak
anything past him.

"Wait." She took the mug from
Randy's hands and set it on the table. "That was too stupid for words.
Even if he took his pots back, or sent someone to do it, why would they have
smashed all that other stuff? Wouldn't they have tried to replace the bad stuff
with good ones? But how would they know which ones? He'd have had to get all my
records, copy them and track down every sale trying to figure out who bought
his pottery. I had all the specific sales data with me.

"I told you it was a stupid idea."
She was talking to the coffee mugs, not wanting to see Randy laughing at her,
but she braved a peek in his direction. He looked … thoughtful. Like he was actually
considering her crazy idea.

"Did you ask where they came from?"
he said. "Who they belonged to?"

"I didn't want to say much. This
place is a gossip's paradise. People know you're a cop. If I was asking
questions, they might make a connection and I thought we should keep a low
profile. You know, so the bad guys didn't find out someone was on to them and—"
she searched for a term she'd heard Randy use—"rabbit. That is, assuming
there's any connection to these mugs and my shop." She took a breath. He must
think she was an idiot. "That sounds lame, doesn't it?"

He laughed, but the underlying warmth was
clear. He wasn't laughing
at
her. "Not at all. It sounds like you're
thinking like a cop. Not trusting anyone. Keeping things close to your chest."

The comparison didn't sit well. Wasn't
that what was bothering her about Randy in the first place? But she couldn't
deny the upwelling of pride.

He went on. "You haven't seen them
before tonight?"

She rolled that around in her mind. "No.
I've been in here a number of times. I'd recognize a Garrigue in a heartbeat. I'd
remember. I bet it's been here less than two weeks."

"Which could be before you got your
pottery."

"True, but until I check my records,
there's no way to tell."

"Would your records be accurate enough?
Don't a lot of pieces look alike?"

She nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. He
doesn't number them or anything. But if I sold a pair of mugs to someone
Saturday, I'd have a record and you could ask them, right? And it's possible if
I compared these to my inventory photos, I might be able to make out a slight
difference."

"I trust your eye. But I think the
most efficient approach would be to ask around here. Subtly, of course."
He grinned. "We don't want anyone to rabbit."

She accepted his teasing.

He picked up a mug, then set it down. He
cradled her face and, for that instant, his face was as transparent as hers had
ever been. His eyes shone with love. "But first I need to tell you I had a
good time tonight. It's been a long time since I've connected to a bigger
picture than my work." His voice was husky. She knew her eyes reflected
the same emotions.

He kissed her. Slow, gentle and
compassionate. Everything in his eyes was transmitted through the kiss. She
accepted it, returned it, then pulled away. "I had a good time, too. You
should let the non-cop side come out more often."

The non-cop side. She realized she'd
hardly ever seen it, other than their private moments, but those were primarily
sexual. Seeing him interact with the kids … Unconsciously, she rubbed her
belly. She and David had reached the, "it's time for a family" point
in their lives right before he was killed. Did her confusion about Randy stem
from that ticking clock inside her? The fear that with him, she might not have
a family? Or if they did have children, he wouldn't be around to be a father?

There she went, filling her mind with
unanswerable questions. She cleared them from her mind, although she knew they
were still in there, swarming around like the dancing bumblebees from tonight's
recital.

Randy gripped her hands, still gazing
into her eyes. Abruptly, he dropped them and straightened. His eyes were cop's
eyes again. She sensed the door opening behind her. Composing herself, she
turned to find a woman in a brightly patterned smock giving them a raised
eyebrow once-over.

"Hi," Sarah said, grabbing the
tiara from the table, twirling it in her fingers. "I was helping out with
the recital earlier. Looks like someone forgot this."

The woman seemed more interested in
Randy.

She gave Sarah a brusque nod, but gave
Randy a friendly smile. A
very
friendly smile, complete with the
hair-fluffing bit. "You played the piano tonight. You're quite good."

"Thanks." He gave a
noncommittal shrug.

Sarah grabbed the mugs and carried them
to the coffee maker. "We were going to have a quick cup of coffee before
we hit the road." She shot the woman a piercing "hands off my man"
look and filled both mugs. "Did you want some?" she said over her
shoulder. "There might be enough for a third cup."

The woman glanced at them before
returning her gaze to Randy. Her tongue flitted across her lips. Randy came
over and took one of the filled mugs, brought it to his mouth.

The woman's features regrouped into a
professional expression. "No, thanks." She went to the small fridge
and grabbed a soda. "I guess I'll be going."

Once the woman had gone, Randy gave her a
questioning look. "Since when do you drink real coffee? Or is this decaf?"

Sarah took his mug and dumped its
contents, along with hers, down the sink. "She's not a regular here. That
smock says she's from the nursing temp agency. I doubt she pays any attention
to the coffee mugs in the cabinet, but I didn't want her to get a good look at
these."

"And that would be because?"

"Because we're going to borrow them.
I'm going to take a closer look."

She ignored his raised eyebrows and
rummaged under the sink for a trash bag. She wrapped the mugs in paper towels
and put them in the bag. "I intend to bring them back. Is there a problem?
Do you have to arrest me if I walk out of here with them?"

"Walk out of here with what?"
he said, his eyes twinkling.

Randy eyed the plastic bag Sarah held on
her lap. She seemed to think there was something to learn from the mugs, and
maybe there was. Part of his mind dealt with the spin he'd have to put on
taking the mugs if they turned out to be evidence. Another part simply enjoyed
sitting in his truck with Sarah. A mantle of magic surrounded the night and he'd
do whatever he could to keep it alive awhile longer.

Sarah ran her fingers over the bag, as if
to reassure herself the contents hadn't vanished. The mugs took on a presence
of their own, as if there were two more bodies in here with them. He shifted in
his seat. There was that other annoying entity making itself known every time
he glanced at Sarah and saw the way her eyes gleamed with pleasure.

He'd enjoyed watching her mind work in
its convoluted way. Like when he and Kovak tossed ideas around. Brainstorming
meant nothing was too stupid to consider, especially when dealing with the
intelligence level of most of the people they arrested. Criminals, for the most
part,
were
stupid, so stupid ideas were often the ones that solved
cases. He caught himself before he said anything. Shit, if he used the word
stupid, he'd embarrass her. Or piss her off. Neither option was one he wanted
to deal with.

When they got to her shop, she swiveled
in her seat. "You can wait here if you want. I'll only be a few minutes."

Like hell
. "I'll come with you."

He left the bag on the front seat, locked
the cab and followed her to the back door. Inside, she paused. Her breath
hitched.

"I forgot," she said.

"Forgot what? Do we need to go back
to Saint Michael's?"

She shook her head. "No. I forgot
how … different everything looks in here. So empty." He put his hand on
her shoulder. She shrugged it off. "Doesn't matter. I'll have to get used
to it until things pick up."

He waited, wandering through the
half-empty shelves while she went into her office. She'd done a good job of
displaying her stock. Someone who'd never been here before wouldn't know
anything was amiss. Sarah's artistic touch was evident. The merchandise was
arranged to showcase the pieces. Customers would assume there were lots more
tucked away in a stockroom.

He roamed to the counter, flipped through
the guest book. It went back through the years when she and her husband worked
here together. Names and comments freezing snapshots in time. Some scribbled,
some neatly printed. Some with mailing addresses, some with email, some merely
a city or state. He never paid much heed to where people were from unless he
had a reason to stop them for something. But how many total strangers came
through Pine Hills, never leaving more of a trace than a name in a guest book?
Was one of these names someone he should be hunting down?

"Ready," Sarah said.

She smiled and he was ready to take her,
right now, right here on the carpet of her gift shop. Marking his territory?
God, you'd think he was seventeen. He took the pile of file folders from Sarah,
adding the guest book to the top.

"You want to do this all tonight?"
he asked. "It's been a long day."

"I won't sleep until I check it out,"
she said. "You can drop me off. I don't think there's much you can do. My
notes and codes won't make any sense to you."

Like hell, he thought again. "I'm a
quick study," he said and walked her out to the truck.