Something's Cooking (7 page)

Suddenly, she realized she was alone in a room full of people. It was the strangest sensation. She looked from one person to the next, realizing any one of them, stranger or friend, could
…No!
Her heart began to pound, as dizziness swept over her. She hadn't felt this way before, when Paavo was near. With him she was secure, protected.

She shut her eyes, swaying, and then rushed blindly to the exit, needing to get away from the closeness of the room, away from the music, away from her horrible thoughts….

She stepped onto the well-lit deck, gripped the railing, and gulped the fresh ocean air. As her head cleared, she felt foolish and disgusted with herself. She wondered if she could ever again be as carefree as she had been in the days before the threats had begun and her life had turned upside down.

The sea breeze was cool against her skin, and she tossed her head back, savoring it.

“Excuse me.”

Startled, she looked down to see a pretty little
girl holding out a champagne glass. “The man said you'd enjoy this.”

“He did?” Angie took the glass. She looked around to see where the child had come from or if anyone was near. They were alone.

“Tell me, was he a tall man who is very handsome?”

The girl giggled and nodded to both questions.

Angie smiled, relieved. “Tell him thank you, then.”

After the girl turned and ran off, Angie put the champagne glass on the rail, cupping it and running her thumbs over the condensation that had formed on it. Paavo Smith could be a surprisingly thoughtful man.

“Is anything wrong?” The subject of her thoughts appeared beside her. He put his hand out as if to touch her shoulder but then seemed to think better of it.

“I needed some air,” she said softly, feeling flushed and more than a little foolish over her behavior. “Boring in there, wasn't it?”

The white of his teeth flashed in a wry smile. “You're lucky to have a fine family.” She nodded and leaned against the railing, looking down toward the beach.

He bent forward with his forearms on top of the railing. A full moon cast a corridor of light on the water, but the rest of the ocean and the night sky was lost in darkness. Just beyond the deck, the hillside dropped away to the beach far below.

“My, uh, father used to take me bass fishing on
the beach down there when I was a kid,” Paavo said softly.

“Really?” Angie looked at Paavo's proud profile. “My grandfather and I used to come fishing out here, too.”

Paavo's eyebrows rose as he turned to her. “Bet you never touched the bait.”

“I did, too! My hands aren't so delicate.” She reached out and placed her hand on top of his, gripping it as if to show the strength of her fingers. He rolled his hand over so that it was palm up. She placed her hand in his. “My grandfather used to take me duck hunting, too. I didn't like it, but I'm good at skeet shooting. He didn't have any grandsons, you see, so he taught me to fish and hunt instead. Fishing was my favorite, though. I'd like to again, someday.”

“Oh?” His thumb lightly ran over her soft skin.

“Yes, I would!” Her tone was defiant, but she left her hand in his a moment longer before she pulled it back.

“Do you feel any better?” he asked gently.

“A little.”

He straightened. “Would you like me to take you home?”

“I ought to stay a while longer. I guess we should go back in. I'm afraid you'll have to listen to ‘Volare' a few more times.”

He grinned. “It could be worse.”

“Right. It could be ‘O Sole Mio.' Oh, my champagne.” She reached for it and lifted it toward her lips. “Thank you for sending it to me.”

“Wait.” He grabbed her wrist. She jumped
back as some champagne sloshed over the side of the glass. “What did you say?” he asked. “I didn't send you any champagne.”

She froze. “But the little girl said…”

“That I sent it?”

“No. A man…I assumed…”

He lifted the glass from her hand and sniffed the champagne. “Do you carry perfume?”

“Perfume?” She opened her handbag, dug around in it, and then held up a tiny vial.

He put the champagne glass on the rail, unscrewed the top of the vial, and dumped the perfume over the deck.

“But—” she cried. He glanced up at her. “That was three hundred dollars an ounce,” she whispered.

He poured a little champagne into the vial, swished it around, poured it out, then refilled it with more champagne. He put the vial in his pocket.

“You can't believe…” she began, her voice quivering slightly now. She shivered at the hard, calculating look in his eyes.

“I don't know what to believe. We'll find out for sure.”

They found the little girl and Paavo quietly and gently questioned her and her upset parents. But the child was only four and could only say a tall, black-haired man had given her a dollar to carry the champagne to Angie. They walked around, trying to find the man again, but he was probably miles away.

“Even here,” Angie cried when she and Paavo
were alone again, “even here, with my family…. It can't be any one of them. It simply can't.” The thought appalled her.

“A clever stunt.” Paavo ran his fingers through his hair as he looked over the crowd. “Who would question one more guest at a party this large?”

Angie shook her head. “I give up, Paavo. I can't bear it any longer!” To her dismay, her voice broke.

She lifted her gaze to his. Their eyes met and locked as the band began the slow ballad “Al Di Là.”

Without asking, he took her hand and led her to the dance floor. Her stomach clenched as he stepped toward her, his face serious and shuttered as always. His arm circled her waist, drawing her closer, and she lifted her free hand to his shoulder, without will, without hesitation. Up close she could see that his eyes were even lighter in the center and sky blue on the edges, that his lashes were thick and dark. She could see the funny bend in his nose, the sensuous, well-defined shape of his lips. Similarly, his gaze slowly slid over her, his expression harsh as if against his will his arm tightened and the space between them closed to nothing. She shut her eyes as a tremor rippled through her, and she let herself lean against him, willing, for this moment at least, to lose herself in the arms of this quiet, puzzling man. She felt his cheek touch her hair as he, too, seemed to relax a bit. He tucked her hand against his chest and their steps grew slower and smaller until the music ended.

Paavo's hand lightly
touched Angie's back as they walked down the hall to her apartment. Now she knew what a prisoner whose bail had been revoked felt like, and she sighed as she pulled out her keys. Still, in a prison cell, there was safety, just as there was safety in her apartment. If Paavo's suspicions about the champagne were correct, it would do her no good to stay at her parents' home, because the killer would have already found her there. Staying there would only bring danger to the rest of her family.

At least her apartment was defensible.

“It's me, Rico,” she called as she placed the key in the lock. No answer. And no sound coming from the T.V. Odd.

“He's asleep, I guess,” she said, but Paavo pulled her away from the door and reached for the snub-nosed revolver hidden under his tuxedo
jacket. She gasped and then leaned against the wall, her mind reeling with fear.

Not here, she prayed. Not at my home. Please be all right, Rico. Please!

Paavo turned the key in the latch, then twisted the doorknob until the latch clicked. The door slowly swung open, revealing a well-lit but too quiet apartment.

Cold perspiration formed on her upper lip, and her pulse quickened.

Paavo peered into the doorway and then entered. Angie inched closer, bolstering her courage. As much as she was afraid of what she might find inside, she wouldn't stay in the hall alone. Only with Paavo did she feel safe. She entered the apartment. On the floor lay Rico, tied up. Paavo was kneeling beside him, removing the gag from his mouth.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, rushing to help unravel the ties from his legs, while Paavo moved to the bindings that held Rico's hands together.

“It wasn't my fault, Miss Angelina,” Rico protested as soon as the gag was off. “I called for a pizza. Some delivery man. He gave it to me and when I put it down to pay him, he bashed my noggin.”

“It's all right,” Paavo said.

“I'm sure sorry, Inspector. Nothing like this never happened to me before. I thought it was okay, you off with Miss Angelina, so I eased up. I'm sure sorry.”

“Nobody's blaming you,” Angie said, working alongside Paavo to free Rico. “How do you feel?”

“Like a jerk.”

She smiled wanly as she and Paavo helped Rico stumble to the sofa. He muttered more than a few choice words as blood began circulating again through his limbs. Angie handed him some straight scotch and then surveyed the room. There wasn't much damage, only papers pushed around, drawers opened, and the T.V. pulled out from the wall. It's not so bad, she told herself. She wouldn't admit that the break-in had anything to do with that other business. It was a simple robbery by a poverty-stricken pizzaman who saw her fancy apartment and decided to steal some money.

She shuddered and rubbed her arms as the image flashed through her mind of some stranger touching her things, violating her home, her haven. She struggled to control the anger and hysteria building up within her.

Rico raised his face somewhat sheepishly to the tall policeman. “He come in with the pizza. Then he don't even leave it. Sonafabitch.”

“You get a good look at him?”

“Not much. He wore a Giants' baseball cap and he kept his head down, looking at my pizza. I guess he wanted it, even then.”

Paavo turned to Angie. “I'll take him to Emergency to get him checked over. Then we'll go to the station. I'll need a description of the man, ask a few more questions, and have Rico check out some mug shots. Some men will come over to dust for prints. You'd better call Joey.”

She nodded, then pressed Rico's hands. “Are you sure you're feeling okay?”

“I'm sure, Miss…. Wait, I just remembered.” Both pairs of eyes turned to him. “I think I heard him in the room with the computer. Looking for something, by the sound.”

“Oh, no.” Angie ran to her den. Papers and disks were strewn all over the floor. Her eyes filled with tears.

“My work!” she cried. “He's destroyed everything!” Her emotions had been on a roller coaster ride all day, and she felt like the track had just ended in midair.

Paavo came up behind her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders.

“It'll be all right,” he said. “You can put it right again.”

“No! It's gone. All of it.”

“Angie,” he whispered, turning her around with a light pressure on her shoulders. She guessed he wanted her to pull herself together, hold her chin up, and not fall apart, but she was beyond that. She hurled herself at him, her arms circling his back and clutching him tight against her. His nearness and strength were the only real, secure things in a world suddenly hostile and frightening. She buried her face against his shoulder and sobbed. It wasn't just her papers, it was days and days of fear and madness all come together.

His hands remained properly at her shoulders a long while, and then she felt his body soften. Slowly, he moved his hands across and down her
back, gathering her to him, his cheek resting against her hair. “It's okay, Angel,” he whispered, stroking her hair, her face. “Don't cry.” Perversely, as much as she had hoped he'd understand, when he did, she cried even harder.

When her tears eased a bit, he straightened, his hands found her shoulders again and he stepped back, breaking her hold, yet calming her still with his gaze. How could she ever have thought his eyes cold?

“We'll stop the person who's doing this, Angie. We'll protect you.”

“He's been here in my apartment. He's followed me to my family. No one can even find him, how can anyone stop him? He's like some kind of monster out of childhood nightmares, and I just don't—” Her voice choked.

“He's human, and human beings make mistakes. I won't let him hurt you.”

She needed to believe him, to trust him.

Slowly he lifted his hands to her face, then rested his fingertips lightly against her jawline. As she gazed up at him, he gently brushed the teardrops from her cheeks with his thumbs. His eyes darkened as one thumb passed slowly over her top lip, then under the fullness of the bottom one. Her breath grew shallow at his touch, and she lay her hands against his waist to steady herself and to bring her closer to him. Suddenly, though, he lowered his hands, his mouth forming a grim line.

Angie stepped back, wondering bleakly how it was possible for him to be so gentle in one moment, then turn away so completely the next, as
if he regretted allowing himself and her that momentary lapse, as if he regretted even touching her.

“I'll call Joey for you,” he said briskly, again the police inspector as he walked to the telephone on her desk.

She rubbed her arms, suddenly cold.

He also called the police department to send some lab people, so that by the time he left to take Rico to the station, Angie's apartment was crowded with Joey and numerous other policemen, more than one of whom looked with astonishment at Angie's elegant dress and the inspector's tuxedo. No one dared ask why they were dressed that way, though.

Angie tried to stay out of the way and was sitting in a corner of her kitchen when a youthful-looking policeman, tall and lanky, came up to her. He shifted from one foot to the other before he spoke.

“I'd like to apologize,” he said finally.

“Apologize?”

“Yes, ma'am. I'm Officer Crossen. I got the call from you about the bomb at your place.”

“I remember.”

“Oh. Then you probably remember that I didn't take your call very seriously.”

“That's right.”

He blushed. “I'm sorry. I'm just glad, well, you know….”

Angie studied him a while. He seemed too young to have so much responsibility for other
people's lives and to be so willing to put his own on the line. “It's okay.”

“At least Inspector Smith's on the case. He's the best.”

“The best?” Angie said, hoping to draw out more information about Paavo.

Crossen needed little coaxing. He sat on a counter stool. “Do you remember the big Aquarius case?”

She nodded. It had been in the paper for months.

“He cracked it. And the nut who was systematically killing insurance executives? Smith figured out that one too. Plus lots of other cases that weren't famous because he nailed the killers before they got much play in the papers.”

“I see.” She had no idea Paavo was in that kind of a position. She tried to remember what she had read in the papers about those cases. “Didn't the Aquarius case end in some kind of a shoot-out?”

“Oh, yes. Just Smith, his partner, Kowalski, and two patrol cops. They brought in the whole ‘family'—twenty people. It was a fine action.”

She stared at Crossen as his words penetrated. Killings, shoot-outs—and getting misty-eyed at weddings. Would she ever understand Paavo Smith?

“Holy sh——-! I mean, excuse me.” Crossen's exclamation jarred Angie out of her reverie.

“What is it?”

“This.” He waved a recipe she had hanging on the refrigerator door. “My Mom's a great cook, and I know a little about it myself. I heard you
had some crazy recipes, but I never thought they'd be
this
goofy. ‘Mix together one package chocolate cake mix, half a cup of butter, three eggs, one cup of water, and two thirds of a cup of sauerkraut drained and chopped!' Can you imagine? Kee-rist! ‘Bake at three hundred and fifty degrees for thirty minutes.' Ha! My Mom would bust a gut laughing at this.”

Angie's face went rigid. “That's
my
recipe.” She sniffed. “It's really quite tasty.”

Crossen put down the recipe, his eyes wide as he backed out of the room.