Love On The Line (5 page)

So much for keeping things impersonal.

              “No. Just that you were there. I keep trying, but…” As if he suddenly realized where he was and that his face was mere inches from hers, Noah blinked and let go of Violet’s elbow like it had burned a hole in his palm. He stepped back, and the unexpected rush of cool air snapped her back to reality.

             
“Oh. Well, I was only there for that one minute, and I don’t know any of the details. I’m not really sure I’d be much help with anything else.” Violet turned back toward the food so he wouldn’t see her unease. The thick bandages peeking out from the sleeve of Noah’s gray Brentsville PD T-shirt were a stark enough reminder of the danger he and her brother faced every day, thank you very much. She didn’t need to go digging for all the juicy particulars.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. The doc says it’ll come back to me, so I guess I’ll just wait it out.” He stood still for a minute, and Violet grabbed the opportunity to get moving. She might have a strict policy against doing the culinary drop-and-dash, and yes, she’d promised Jason she’d make sure Noah was really okay every day and not just faking it, but she didn’t want to take her sweet time in his kitchen, either. Cooking for Noah was strictly business, and as much as those two words didn’t normally mix in her philosophy, she needed to keep it that way.

“It won’t take long to make this, and then I’ll be out of your hair. As long as you’re okay with me using whatever I need in here, you don’t have to stay.” The familiar heft of the saucepan she’d brought from home tested the muscles in her forearm, the stainless steel handle smooth and perfect in her palm, and it allowed her breath smoother passage to her lungs.

“Okay, sure. There isn’t much here, but I guess just use whatever you want.” Noah lifted his shoulders into the beginning motion of a shrug, but his body jerked to a halt about halfway through. His expression remained completely stony, but something flashed deep in the flinty coolness of his eyes, and it reached in and yanked Violet with palpable force.

Pain. He was in pain.

“Noah?” The word was out before she could sink hooks into it to haul it back. He turned to look at her, shoulders framed by the entryway leading back to the bare-walled living space. His stare was so flat and closed off that for a second, Violet wondered if she’d conjured the emotion behind them, but then his stomach let out a toothy rumble, shoving her instincts into gear.

“I know granola bars might fall into your ‘weird’ category, but they’re better than going hungry, especially if you need to take a painkiller. You should eat.” She dipped a hand into the grocery bag in front of her, coming up with a bright green box boasting nine-grain goodness.

“I’m fine,” he said, and God, he was just as hard-headed and gruff as she remembered. She was only trying to help.     

              “You’re hurting and you’re hungry,” Violet popped back, unable to bite down on the words to keep them in. “And the last thing I want to do is tell my brother you passed out on my watch because you were too much of a hero to take care of yourself and eat.”

Well that got his attention. Noah fixed her with a hard look she’d bet he gave up often, retracing his steps back into the kitchen to pluck the box of granola bars from her outstretched hand.

“I get that you’re here as a favor to your brother, but let’s get something straight, Morgan. I might need to eat, but all the food in the world isn’t going to take care of me. The only way I’m going to get right again is to go back to work where I belong.”

And with that, he walked out of the kitchen.

#

Three days later, Violet had a system worked out with Noah whereby she’d knock on his door at four o’clock every afternoon, he’d grunt and let her in, and she’d cook while he sat on the couch watching a selection from what looked to be the world’s largest collection of Kung Fu movies. The silence between them was thick enough to spread on toast, but Violet had no reason to break the business-only rhythm they’d established.

Except that it was driving her one hundred and fifty percent bat-shit crazy.

Okay, yes, she wanted to keep things as cursory as possible, and more yes, Noah seemed to be just fine with doing the bare minimum of interacting to get by. But still, she couldn’t get past the urgency in the tight gravel of his voice as he’d realized she’d been in his hospital room, or the stab of pain he’d tried to hide at something as simple as a shrug.

Noah had sworn that food wouldn’t take care of him, and damn it, despite the fact that she knew caring for a cop was a dangerous idea, Violet wanted nothing more than to cook for him until she proved him dead wrong.

Which was ludicrous, really, since she didn’t even
like
the guy. But something about the entire exchange left her feeling restless and challenged and more torn than ever about taking the personal aspect out of preparing his meals. And that was dangerous too, because if Violet skirted the business-only boundary they’d established this week, she might be tempted to remember how unbelievably hot Noah’s mouth felt on hers when he parted her lips in one swift stroke that New Year’s Eve. And she’d definitely be tempted to remember how, instead of pushing him away like she should’ve, she’d been so turned on, she’d thrown her arms around him and feasted on him like he was a four-course meal, and she’d been inches away from starving.

Since Violet was the only one of the two of them who
seemed to remember that little event, it was probably best to bend her cardinal rule, cook for the guy, and get the hell out of Dodge. Noah had been drunk, and she’d been stupid. End of story.

Never mind that it had been the hottest kiss anyone had ever laid on her in her entire twenty-nine years.

The chain on Noah’s front door rattled against its metal housing, knocking her squarely back down to the thinly-carpeted hallway in his apartment building. Violet scooped up the overflowing grocery bags and re-set her shoulders, determined to exchange enough mono-syllabic pleasantries with Noah to make sure he was getting by and then retreat to his kitchen. But then he opened the door, and all bets were definitely off.

“Oh my God, you look awful.” The words sprang out of her mouth without permission, and Violet clapped a hand over her lips in a textbook illustration of
too little, too late
. But the half-moon shadows cutting deep under Noah’s eyes, coupled with the pale cast of his skin and seriously bed-rumpled dark hair all but screamed of someone in pain.

“Thanks. You look great,” he said, and she winced at her rudeness.

“I’m sorry. But…” Violet clamped her teeth over her bottom lip, willing herself to shut up. She might not be crazy about the guy, but he kind of had good reason to look rough.

“Don’t worry about it.” Noah waved her off with his free hand, stepping back to usher her inside the tiny foyer. “It was a hard night, that’s all.”

Something odd gave up a hard twist in her chest, and all she could manage in response was a very lame, “Oh.”

Noah started to move down the hallway without further elaboration, but this time, instead of taking his cue and simply parting ways with him at the turnoff to the kitchen, Violet stopped to peek into the living room. As she’d come to expect, a cinematic fistfight was in full swing on the flat screen TV mounted on the wall. But the newspapers and scrawled notes covering every available surface on the coffee table, as well as a good chunk of the couch, had her pulling up in surprise.

“Wow, you’ve been reading a lot.” She clunked the grocery bags to the floorboards, stopping to give the room a healthier scan, and Noah’s face pinched into a frown.

“I’m catching up on current events.” He angled his body toward the kitchen, but something about his expression made her balk.

“Are you reading about the other day? When you were…” Violet trailed off, the taste of the terrifying unspoken words metallic and sharp in her mouth.

“There’s nothing to read. No suspects, no details. None that are being printed, anyway.” His voice was even, almost methodical, but the scenario told her things his expression wouldn’t, and even though his eyes flicked to the kitchen in an obvious gesture, she didn’t budge.

“Have you remembered anything else?”

Noah’s gaze went from cold to glacial, and he straightened against the navy blue sling hugging his arm tight to his frame. “No.”

Violet’s fingers twitched with intention, even though the thought running rampant in her head was borderline crazy. She should just reclaim the grocery bags from their spot on the floor, head into the kitchen, and do her job. Pushing Noah like this was a bad idea for several reasons, not the least of which was that whatever he did end up remembering was likely to scare the hell out of her since Jason had been at the scene when someone put a bullet in Noah’s arm. But the look on his face was so devoid of feeling, so devoid of anything, that it occurred to Violet all at once that it must be manufactured.

And this was her chance to let the food take care of him. Even if it was just for an hour.

“Since you’re all caught up on the news, why don’t you come help me in the kitchen?” Without waiting for an answer, she hefted the bags from the floor and headed into the kitchen, hoping he’d either be too shocked or too stubborn not to follow her.

Three…four…five…

“You want me to help you cook?”

Violet pressed her smile firmly between her lips, ducking her chin to try and further hide the evidence while she plopped the grocery bags next to the sink. “Sure. Unless you have something more pressing to do.”

He shot her a look akin to a nonverbal
hardy har har
, pressing his back against the counter by the doorway in what looked like a well-practiced lean. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little incapacitated.” His eyes dropped to the arm bound to his side with marked irritation, but Violet crashed his pity-party in a single snort.

“Just because you’re down an arm doesn’t mean you can’t help.” She pushed up the sleeves of her bright green tunic top, her charm bracelet giving up a hearty jingle. Not wanting anything to happen to it, she slipped the clasp free, putting the bracelet on the narrow ledge over the sink as she shot a glance at the grocery bags next to Noah’s spot at the counter. “For starters, you can unload those.”

“And you don’t think I should be taking it easy?” He didn’t move, but it didn’t escape Violet’s notice that he didn’t protest, either.

“It doesn’t matter what I think. Clearly,
you
don’t think this is too tough, otherwise you wouldn’t be in here, would you?” She threw a clean kitchen towel over one shoulder and started to wash her hands, the familiar prickle of anticipation high on her cheeks as she turned to start prepping the meal.

Slowly, Noah started pulling ingredients from the bag in front of him, placing them on the counter one by one. “What are you making?”

She reached into the lone cupboard that housed his entire collection of pots and pans, pulling out the deep-bellied Dutch oven she’d seen earlier this week. “Since you’re such a carnivore, I thought chili would be a good pick. Unless you don’t approve.”

One near-black eyebrow went up. “The chili I’m used to comes from a can.”

Violet groaned. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Go ahead and pass me the onion, would you? I’ll get it chopped and then you can cook it up with the ground beef.”

Silence tripped between them for a long second before Noah handed the onion over, the papery shell brushing against the calluses on her fingers with a muted rasp. The creases around his eyes softened just slightly, but it was enough to send a tight pop of victory through her veins.

“So, uh, what’s this?” Noah asked, picking up a plastic storage bag of reddish-copper spice mix Violet had labeled with the words
chili—2S/NB.

She opened her padded knife roll with a flourish, peeling and chopping the onion with efficiency even though the pungent scent made her senses smart and her eyes water. “Oh, that’s my secret mix of chili spices. I could tell you what’s in it, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“I could construe that as threatening a police officer, you know.” Noah’s face made it impossible to tell whether or not he was kidding, which probably made him a really good cop.

Too bad for him, Violet was well-versed in really good cops, having shared the womb with one and been raised by another. “Feel free to arrest me, detective. But then you won’t eat.”

Damn if he didn’t look like he was seriously mulling it over. “You’re lucky I’m hungry.”

“And you’re lucky I make kickass chili.” Violet slid the Dutch oven over the thick black grate of the stovetop with a heavy scrape, cranking the knob to ignite the gas beneath it. She rimmed the bottom of the deep silver
O
with oil, inhaling the warmth while she waited for it to give up a faint ripple.

“So do you mix up a bunch of this stuff and just dole it out whenever you need it?” Noah shook the bag of spices, peering at the plastic although his expression still betrayed nothing. Leave it to a cop to be so methodical.

“Nope. Everything I do is made to order for each client. See the code on there? It tells me how many servings, and who it’s for. That way I can change it to taste, and it ensures everything is fresh each time.”

“Spices can go bad?” He lifted his chin just enough to mark both his curiosity and guilt, and Violet’s laugh snuck out before she could slap a lid on it.