Alone in the Dark. Marie Ferrarella
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“Oh, King doesn’t, does he?”
He could see exactly what she was saying. That she thought he was substituting King for himself. Obviously the woman didn’t suffer from an inferiority complex. “You know, I never realized it before, but you’ve got a smart mouth.”
“Lots of things you probably haven’t realized about me, Officer Coltrane.” She flashed him a very significant look. “Lots of things I apparently didn’t realize about you.”
He cut her off before she began to wax sentimental or something equally as unacceptable to him. He never knew what to do when confronted with either tears or gratitude. He usually wound up ignoring both. “I think we should stop the conversation right here.”
Patience nodded, agreeable up to a point. “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”
He felt like a mustang, cornered in a canyon with only one way out. The way he’d come. “Who said I wanted to talk?”
For a second she stopped what she was doing and studied him. “Well, you don’t want to just sit there like a department store mannequin, do you?”
No, he wanted to finish his coffee and leave, but he kept that to himself. For the moment. “What’s wrong with that?”
She laughed again and the sound went right through him. “It’s too quiet for one thing.”
The last time it had been too quiet for him, he’d found himself, without warning, looking down the business end of a Smith and Wesson. Other than that, he took his silence where he could. “I never saw the need to litter the air with words.”
She gave a careless shrug of her shoulder and reached for a handful of napkins. She shoved a thick wad into the napkin holder she was always forgetting to restock. “It’s only littering if it’s garbage. Something tells me you don’t spout garbage.”
“I don’t ‘spout’ at all.” He regretted the impulse to drive by her house tonight. Just went to show him that no good deed ever went unpunished.
“I guess that’s what makes King such a perfect partner for you.” She glanced over at the dog who was hunkered down in corner, focusing his attention on the soup bone she had given him. Tacoma was close by, enjoying a similar feast. Patience could feel Brady watching her every move. “You always study people so intently?”
“You’re not even facing me,” he protested.
“I don’t have to be.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “I can feel your eyes.”
He drained his cup. There was nothing to keep him here. So why wasn’t he getting to his feet? “That’s just not possible.”
Removing the lid from a cake she’d just baked less than a hour ago, Patience paused before cutting into it. “So how did I know you were watching me?”
“Deduction.” It was the logical response. “You’re the only thing here worth looking at.”
Her mouth fell open before she could catch herself. Patience stared at him, not sure she’d heard what she thought she had. “Is that a compliment?”
Annoyance creased his brow. “That was just an observation. That’s what a cop does, he makes observations.”
She sighed, cutting two slices and placing them on the plates. Why did he sound so put off, so irritated whenever she tried to guide the conversation to a more personal path? Who was he beneath that bulletproof vest? There had to be a softer side to him, otherwise he wouldn’t have been there tonight, outside her house.
She brought the plates over to the table. “You make it very hard to say thank-you, you know that?”
“There’s no need to say thank-you.” Brady glared at the plate she placed in front of him. He nodded at it. “What’s that?”
Patience sat and made herself comfortable. She pushed one fork toward him and took the other one for herself. “I call it cake.”
“I know what it is. I meant, why are you putting it in front of me?”
“I’d just assumed that maybe you’d like some with your coffee.” She saw that he’d finished his and rose again, going to the counter to get the pot. Holding it over his empty cup, she paused. “Unless a can of oil might be more to your preference.”
He nodded at the pot, indicating that he wanted her to pour. “What kind of cake?”
“Good cake.” She grinned as she set the coffeepot down on the table and took her seat again. “Rum cake. I made it.”
It smelled enticing. Almost as enticing as she did. The thought sneaked up on him from nowhere. He sent it back to the same place. “You bake?”
“Bake, cook, clean,” she enumerated, flashing a bright smile. “I’m multitalented. I’m still having a little trouble clearing tall buildings in a single bound, but I’m working on it.”
He shook his head. Half the time she made no sense at all. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The ‘Superman’ intro.” There was no light of recognition in his eyes. It was as if he’d grown up on another planet. “Never watched classic TV programs from the fifties?”
There’d been no television set in his house when he was growing up. No money even for a cheap set because every available penny went into his father’s shot glass. He’d started school in Salvation Army clothes. Books were a luxury, never mind a television set. If there was something that his father wanted to see, he watched it on a set at the bar, the rest of them be damned.
The woman hadn’t stopped probing since the second he’d walked into her house. “Why?” he asked.
“For fun. Do I have to explain fun to you, Officer Coltrane?”
He’d absently taken a bite of the cake and he had to admit, the woman knew her way around ingredients. He couldn’t remember enjoying something so much. As he’d gotten older, food became for functioning only. But this had pleasure attached to it.
Now if she’d only stop talking…
“There’s no need for you to explain anything to me, Doc.”
Patience picked at her cake, her attention completely focused on the man in her kitchen. The more she talked to him, the less she knew.
“I beg to differ. Since you’ve taken it upon yourself to act as my protector, I think it’s my duty to reciprocate by opening up a whole new world for you.”
He put down his fork. “This isn’t a joke, Doc. I’m here because you have a stalker.”
Her expression grew serious. She didn’t want to dwell on this. What she wanted was just to make it all go away. She didn’t like looking over her shoulder, being afraid.
“Had,” she emphasized. “Look, I’ve been giving this some thought. We don’t even know that the rose is from Walter. Maybe one of my other pet owners wanted to say thank-you.”
“So where’s the note?”
She shrugged. “Maybe it got lost. Blew away. The wind’s been pretty bad off and on today.”
Was she afraid? he wondered. Was that why she was so determined to ignore the possible seriousness of the situation? “If someone wanted to say thank-you, why didn’t they just say it?”
“I don’t know.” Why was he making it so difficult for her? “Because they’re shy. The point is, although I really do appreciate it, you don’t have to go out of your way for me, Coltrane.” And then her expression softened. “Unless of course you felt like coming over and sharing a cup of coffee with me and this was just a handy excuse for you.”
He wondered if she knew that her vulnerability was getting to him. “The coffee was your idea.”
“You’re