Читать книгу: «I'll Be Seeing You», страница 3

He cleared his throat. He didn’t want her to have a dimple. And if she did, then he damned well didn’t want to notice it. “What about the next time you went to the dining room?”

“That would have been to take them their salads. And another bottle of wine.”

“And after that?”

“I went back to get their salad plates. She was gone that time.”

“Gone where?”

“He said to ‘the little girl’s room.”’ Her expression told what she thought of that particular euphemism. “I took her salad—he wanted to keep his. I went back to the kitchen to finish up with the steaks, and…” She trailed off.

The dog, Raphael remembered. Then when she’d finally gone back after that, McGaffney had been dead. “So he was killed between the time you went to pick up the salad plates and the time you took the entrees out.”

Kate was subdued. “Yes.”

“If we could nail down just how many minutes passed—”

“We can. I served the steaks medium to medium rare, at McGaffney’s request. They were two inches thick. Twelve and a half minutes in the broiler for the first set, then the dog did her thing, and it took me twelve and a half minutes to do two more steaks.”

“Twenty-five minutes.” He didn’t know whether to be irritated with her again or amazed.

“Actually, less than that. I do most courses ten minutes apart. So I went to get the salad plates when the first steaks had been in the broiler for two and a half minutes.”

Raphael stared at her, figuring out the time of death. She’d called 911 at eight-eighteen. Therefore, McGaffney had still been alive, by her calculations, at approximately seven fifty-five. Give or take thirty seconds.

She was a very dangerous woman to have left alive.

“Other than that, I was in the kitchen the whole time,” she said. “I try to remain as unobtrusive as possible. So all I can tell you for sure is that the killer didn’t come in through the back door.” She frowned. “Are we done?”

For the first time, Raphael saw violet smudges beneath her eyes. He was reasonably sure they hadn’t been there half an hour ago. “We’re done. For now.”

“Good.” She looked at the mantel clock as she got up and headed for the kitchen. “I have to get up in five hours.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. In fact, it sounded a lot like an alarm was going to go off somewhere in this apartment at roughly six o’clock in the morning. Raphael followed her with his eyes. “What for?”

“I work at the diner from seven to eleven. The breakfast rush.”

“Not tomorrow, you don’t.”

He should have recognized the warning signs by now. The way her shoulder blades shifted. The way she turned to him and stared.

“I can’t call in on a morning shift. They won’t have time to get anyone to replace me.”

Raphael came off the love seat. “What if you were sick?”

“I don’t get sick.”

“What, you’re Superwoman?”

She sniffed again. “No. I’m just reliable.”

“Well, get over it.”

She took a step toward him. “I will not. I have a life!”

“Not for the foreseeable future, you don’t.”

“I work!”

“So do I.” He was getting angry again. “You make fifteen hundred dollars a week! What the hell do you need a diner job for?”

“I don’t make fifteen hundred a week! I told you, there are costs. I’ve got employees to pay!”

That still left her clearing probably eight or nine hundred a week. This was insane.

“And I’ve got an obligation,” she added.

“You work a second job you don’t need because of an obligation?”

“Yes. No. Well, not entirely.”

She made that sound again. It wasn’t a sniff, not exactly. It was more a sharp intake of breath.

“I work two jobs to save money for my restaurant.” And it galled her to say so, to let him in on…well, her dream. But his expression turned thoughtful, and he surprised her.

“Honey, my guess is that you might be better off just doing what you’re doing.”

The thought had occurred to her, too, just recently, since business had picked up so radically. Dinner For Two had been intended as a means to an end. But then, she’d never really expected it to take off the way it had.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him.

Kate turned off the light in the kitchen, then went and sat on the sofa near the pile of blankets and pillows she’d put out for him earlier. He sat beside her. Not too close, she noticed with that achy stirring in the area of her chest again. Well, she was used to that.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye in the thin darkness. His eyes made something curl in the pit of her stomach. He was gazing thoughtfully at nothing, seeming to see only his own thoughts. But they were good eyes, she thought grudgingly, even when they hardened, like now.

Kate pulled her gaze away. “Just tell the press I didn’t see anything. Then it won’t be necessary for you to watch over me. These…these mobsters will read about it in the paper, then you can go on your way and I’ll go mine.”

Raphael laughed. “Sure. That’ll work.”

She drew herself up indignantly. “I fail to see why not. It’s the truth.”

“You think these guys are of a mind to say, well, if the cops say it’s so, then it must be so?”

Put that way, it sounded ridiculous. “I don’t want you here! I don’t want you underfoot. You’re going to…to complicate everything!”

“That’s me, honey, one big complication.” Raphael got to his feet again, feeling absurdly burned, just as he’d begun to feel sorry for her again. “All right, let me tell you how this is going to be. In five hours, you’re going to call the diner. You’re going to tell them you’re not going to be in for a while, days at least. Take an unplanned vacation.”

Kate opened her mouth to argue, then she closed it again prudently.

“Then you’re going to stay figuratively handcuffed to me while I work this case, while I figure this out. Because that’s about the only way you’re going to get your precious life back. At the moment, I’m the only prayer you’ve got.”

It made her stomach roll over queasily. But Kate rallied. “Your job is to watch over me, correct? Isn’t that what Mr. Plattsmier said? That means you follow me. So I suggest you get some sleep so you’ll be on your toes in order to do that. I’m a busy woman.”

Kate stood from the sofa and walked toward the hallway. She tried not to hurry, as if she wanted to escape his reaction. As she passed the sideboard and the little lamp, she reached and flicked it out, plunging him into darkness.

“Good night.” Then she went to her bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her. Purely for the satisfaction of it, she threw the lock just as hard.

Chapter 4

The exclamation of Kate’s bedroom door shot through Raphael’s head like a bullet. His accommodations sent his mood spiraling downward even more.

He bunked down on the sofa to find that there was a popped spring in the middle of her center cushion. In the thin darkness, it took on the proportions of the tire of a truck. The darkness was incomplete because a yellow neon sign pulsed right outside her living room window and wouldn’t let shadows gather. Raphael considered closing the blinds but the August breeze was like the breath of an aging dowager—warm, fitful and without substance. Scant as it was, if he blocked it, he would suffocate.

Kate Mulhern didn’t seem to own an air conditioner. Or if she did, she was hogging it for herself in her ramparted bedroom.

Raphael rolled, putting his back to the window, and punched his fist into the pillow. Then his cell phone rang. He sat up, grabbed it from the coffee table and snarled into it.

“Are we having fun yet?” his partner asked.

“She’s a lunatic!” Raphael considered adding a string of adjectives but his mind went blank. He felt that overwhelmed by his situation.

“And here I’d thought she’d be just your type,” Fox drawled.

“Yeah? What type’s that?”

“Breathing.” It was a low blow. They both knew the reason behind Raphael’s somewhat frenetic dating patterns this past month. “It wasn’t your fault,” Fox said a silent moment later.

Raphael’s tone turned caustic. “You taunt a killer, you can’t expect him to strike back, is that it?”

“You didn’t taunt him. We were closing in on him. Damn it, Rafe, you’re smarter than this. What are you going to do, spend the rest of your life never going out with a lady more than once because some scumbag might decide to make her pay for her association with you?”

That was pretty much exactly what he had decided. There was no doubt in Raphael’s heart that Anna Lombardo’s blood was on his hands. Gregg Miller had targeted her, had chosen her, had strangled that calm, cool light right out of her eyes because of him. To warn him off. But Raphael was damned tired of talking about Anna tonight.

“What did Allegra have to say?” he asked.

Fox sighed, but he changed the subject. “Not a word worth repeating. She saw nothing, heard nothing, smelled nothing. She says she was in the bathroom and when she came back, Phil was dead.”

It was pretty much what Kate had said. Raphael got up from the sofa. His stomach was rumbling. He headed for her kitchen.

“How about why McGaffney opted to dine at home tonight?” he asked finally. “Did Allegra have any insight on that?”

“Sure,” Fox said. “Something about her knickers.”

“That’s a crock.”

“It is. He wanted to ply her for information about what Charlie Eagan’s boys have been up to. We know that. But we’ll never get her to say so.”

Raphael flicked on the kitchen light. He opened Kate’s refrigerator, then stared.

“You still there?” came Fox’s voice.

“She’s got her leftovers labeled.”

He saw a plastic container that said Beef. Raphael grabbed it and pried the lid off. Red and rare. He found bread, then horseradish sauce in a small glass jar that said Horseradish Sauce. He made himself a sandwich. As an afterthought, he grabbed a carton of milk from the refrigerator, as well. He opened a cupboard door. Where the hell were her glasses? He found metal utensils that looked like they could have been used in the Inquisition, but nothing resembling an object that one might drink out of. Disgusted with Kate’s orderliness, he swigged from the carton.

“Did Allegra mention a dog?” he asked, swallowing.

“A what?”

“A dog.”

“No,” Fox said slowly, “I can’t say that she did. Why?”

“There was one there tonight. Seems it wandered in through the back door while the lady was cooking. It stole a steak off one of her plates and beat it.”

“A dog,” Fox repeated.

“Right.”

“You’re thinking that it was some kind of a setup to divert the caterer’s attention?”

“Well, it’s weird, what with the timing and all.”

“We’ve come across some far-fetched things over the years, but I think that’s reaching.”

Fox was probably right. “Damn, this is good.” Raphael swallowed another bite of the sandwich and marveled. Then his voice darkened. “Let’s wrap this thing up, pal. I don’t know how many days of Betty Crocker I can stand.”

“I’ll make the rounds of Eagan’s men in the morning.”

“I’ll take McGaffney’s boys and see what I can find out there.”

“Not to bring up a sore subject, but what about the caterer?”

Raphael licked the last crumb of sandwich from his finger. “She’s coming with me.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Damned right it is.”

Suddenly, the last of the caffeine rush from her coffee left him and Raphael was bone-tired. “I’ll check in with you at midday,” he said and disconnected.

He hit the light switch in the kitchen and flopped down on the sofa again. He stuck the whisper-thin pillow beneath his backside to provide some minimal padding against the torture spring. He covered his eyes with his forearm to shut out the pulsing yellow light, then, instantly, he slept.

The next thing he heard was her screeching.

Kate had not ever known that a man could snore in such a fashion. Oh, she’d heard it spoken of, joked about. But the constant, deep sound that came from her living room all night was beyond the realm of her wildest imagination.

Sometime just before dawn she got up to stuff an extra blanket against the crack beneath her bedroom door to buffer the sound. It helped a little, but she was still agonizingly aware that he was out there. He was invading her life, her world, her plans. Pervading everything that was precious to her, making her stay home from work. Or at least he was trying to. It remained to be seen who would be the victor in that little battle.

“Damn you, Phillip McGaffney,” she muttered just as the alarm went off.

Kate rolled over and slapped her palm down on top of it. Then she was instantly contrite. Phillip McGaffney was dead. What kind of problems did she have compared to that?

Then a particularly resonant rumbling came from under the blanket beneath her door. At least McGaffney had not been forced to spend the night with Raphael Montiel chainsawing away on his living room sofa, Kate thought sourly. It was just possible the man had gotten the better end of the deal.

At least Montiel had left her alone. He hadn’t—

Hadn’t what? A thin laugh escaped Kate’s throat. He hadn’t been suddenly overwhelmed with lust for the single woman just beyond the locked and blanket-bulkheaded door? Not likely, Kate thought. He’d spent most of their interview the night before watching her with those green eyes squinting ever so slightly. Like she was a bug or a microbe on a slide, something he couldn’t quite identify. He had not once glanced at her with anything resembling a gleam in those eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, getting to her feet, swaying slightly from fatigue.

Kate knew her assets, and she also knew that a man like Montiel would never appreciate any of them. She’d tangled with his type before—a man with that same lazy, confident sense of power—and she had been left almost literally at the altar by him in favor of a flighty, vapid, though admittedly physically perfect exotic dancer. She swiped a hand over her head to smooth her wild curls. Then she went grimly to the closed bedroom door.

The problem was that she knew relatively little about men, she realized. She’d been engaged for those six short months and had come out of that experience even more perplexed by the species than she had been before. She did know, however, that men didn’t have to be particularly swept away by attraction to…well, to…want it. And mornings—well, men often felt particularly amorous in the morning, and it was not so much desire that got them that way but testosterone.

Kate eased back from the bedroom door. Better to be safe than sorry, she decided.

She retreated to her closet, then she went to her dresser, gathering clothing. She was not going to bounce back and forth between the bedroom and the bath with a towel wrapped around her. It was best to set a precedent, she thought, right here, right now. Who knew how much longer this situation would be necessary?

After she showered and had gotten dressed she tiptoed into the living room, past the sofa, then she stopped and stared. He was laying on his back. His right arm was flung over his eyes.

He had taken his shirt off.

“Oh, my,” Kate murmured. The arm heaved over his face was corded and looked strong. She hadn’t realized last night just how…well, muscled he was.

He hadn’t used the sheet she’d given him. He still had his jeans on, and she was very grateful for that. But the snap was open, and the dark golden hair on his chest tapered down, narrowing into a V until it disappeared beneath the denim. Kate took in a deep breath and ran a finger under her collar. She took a step backward from the sofa, then two. Coffee. She needed coffee. Now.

She squared her shoulders and turned for the kitchen. Then she stared at her counter, and a sound of pure distress caught in her throat.

There was a carton of milk sitting out. A whole half gallon. And it was the good stuff, too, not two percent, not skim, but the carton she used in recipes. Her gaze flew around the kitchen. She knew every move he had made by the time she breathed again.

There were rye crumbs on the counter. His cell phone sat beside them. She hurried around the breakfast bar and yanked open the refrigerator door. Within another thirty seconds, she knew that both her roast beef and the horseradish sauce had been decimated.

That didn’t particularly bother her. She cooked for others to enjoy, after all. But the waste infuriated her—a perfectly good half gallon of milk!

“What have you done?”

Her cry went through Raphael’s unconscious like a jet breaking the sound barrier. It boomed his heart into sudden overdrive. He rolled and groped beneath the sofa for the gun he had tucked there after removing it from his waistband last night. When he landed on his feet, he was armed. “What?”

Astonishment—and maybe just a little fear—punched the air right out of Kate’s chest. “Put that away!”

Raphael looked around. There was no one in the apartment but them. “What?” he asked again.

“That…that weapon!”

Raphael looked down at himself. Sleep tried to cling to his mind like a sticky spiderweb, making his thoughts track too slowly. “It’s been called a lot of things but—”

“The gun! Are you crazy? What kind of person are you?”

Raphael finally came fully awake. “Me? What the hell did you scream for?”

“I want a new baby-sitter.” She turned her back on him smartly—he doubted if a trained cadet could pivot quite that cleanly—and went to the kitchen. She grabbed the telephone on the wall.

“Your hair’s sticking straight up from your head.”

Kate gave a cry and dropped the phone. She plastered both hands to her skull. Of course it was. She’d stuck her fingers into it in dismay when she’d seen the mess he’d made of her kitchen.

She smoothed her hair frantically, then was appalled to realize that she even cared what he thought. She dropped her hands.

One wild curl had escaped her effort, he realized. It made him itch to touch it, to see if it would wrap around his finger with a life of its own. He was losing his mind.

“I don’t want you here,” she said.

“Yeah. We’ve been all through that.” He snapped his jeans and tucked the gun into them at his back.

Kate struggled for reason. “I understand that the authorities think I’m in danger, but I want them to send someone else to protect me. Clearly, this isn’t going to work.”

Something vaguely uncomfortable gripped Raphael’s stomach. He told himself it was just the way she talked. It was really starting to get to him. Clearly… Then again, he’d rarely been vetoed by any woman, for any reason on any job.

“Why not?” he heard himself ask.

“You’re…you’re…” Kate crossed her arms over her chest and wished he would put a shirt on. “Chaos,” she finished.

“I’m chaos? You screamed.”

“You wasted a whole half gallon of milk while I slept! And you woke up and pointed a gun at me!”

“I thought you were in danger!”

“Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because you were caterwauling!”

This time he could almost predict what she would do before it happened. That sniff. The immediate hoisting of her shoulders. “I was not caterwauling.”

“You sounded like a cat with its tail trapped in a door.”

Color flooded her cheeks. Raphael watched the phenomenon.

Then, finally, for the first time, he noticed the way she was dressed. She wore khaki slacks, socks and neatly laced sneakers. This was topped by a white turtleneck, albeit a sleeveless one. Except for her arms, every inch of skin from her chin on down was covered, laced, pressed, creased. She looked as though she had been up for hours already.

Raphael glanced at his watch. It was only twenty after six.

He scrubbed his face with his hands. He needed a shower and a shave. Of course, he had nothing with him to shave with, and she definitely didn’t seem the type to keep an extra razor on hand for unexpected male guests. Let her call Plattsmier, he thought. The department was full of by-the-book rookies who would put her milk carton away after they drank from it, and they’d both be a hell of a lot happier if one of them was assigned to her. But Raphael doubted if any of them had ticked off the commissioner just lately, or if they knew a blessed thing about Philadelphia’s organized crime netherworld.

Nope, he thought, he was stuck with her.

“Call in to your diner,” he said. “Tell them you won’t be in. I’m going to take a shower.”

“No.”

He’d already turned away from her. Now he looked back. She was holding the milk carton in front of her in both hands, as though it were a smoking gun.

“We talked about this last night,” she said, drawing herself up again. “I have responsibilities. I intend to meet them.”

Raphael felt his blood pressure creeping upward again and it wasn’t even yet six-thirty in the morning. Then he realized that there was always more than one way to skin a cat.

He thought of her labeled food containers. Of her scheduling diary with the times of calls noted down. “Yeah? Counting the one to your commonwealth?”

Kate frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re one of two prime witnesses in a murder investigation. Seems to me you have a certain responsibility to the good people of Pennsylvania, too.” Unless he badly missed his guess, this was one woman who had never missed a chance to vote. Hell, she probably wrote her comments in the margins of the ballot.

“I fail to see—”

“You’re bait.”

“I’m what?”

“Bait. You’re alive. You might have seen something. In all likelihood, someone is going to come after you in an effort to remedy that problem. When it happens, I’m going to nail his—”

“Spare me the profanity,” she said quickly.

“Backside to the wall.”

“I take it self-confidence is not a problem for you.”

“No. Not when it comes to my work.”

That quelled her. A new flatness had come to his tone. It was unapologetic and brooked no argument. Kate felt like she was somehow losing this discussion. “What does that have to do with the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania?”

“The long and short of it is that by cooperating with me, you’ll be helping to take a criminal off the streets.”

She cocked her brows. It irritated the hell out of him. But Raphael was winning here, and he knew it.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “A killer comes after me, and you’re there beside me so you can nail his—”

“—backside.”

“—to the wall.”

“Right.”

“And no other officer could do this quite so well.”

“I’m not an officer. I’m a detective. Big difference.”

“I beg your pardon.”

Raphael smiled graciously. “Bottom line, honey, you’re stuck with me if you want to see justice served.”

Kate nodded thoughtfully.

She should have been fighting it a bit more, he thought. This victory was feeling a little too easy.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Go take your shower. I’ll make us some breakfast. Then I’ll let you come to the diner with me so you can play watchdog.”

“Damn it—”

“Stop swearing.”

“Get used to it.”

“I will not.”

“You’re not getting it here! I need to look for this guy! I can’t do that from a diner!”

“You just said he was going to come to me.”

“He will. He’ll try. I want to nail him first! I can’t do that if I’m baby-sitting you!”

“That’s your job!”

“It’s my assignment. I can do it my own damned way. And my way is to keep an eye on you while I try to unravel this mess.”

“Not without my consent.”

He was going to kill her, Raphael thought. End of problem.

He’s going to kill me, Kate thought. She saw his hands clench at his sides, and he did have that gun tucked behind him somewhere. She took a judicious step backward until her spine came in contact with the refrigerator.

She did not want to die. She most definitely did want someone good watching her back until this was over. But that only made it doubly important that they set some ground rules here.

“Look,” they said simultaneously.

Kate waved a hand. “Go ahead. You first. You will anyway.”

“We need a plan here,” Raphael replied.

This time her brows positively arched. “A plan? You want to make a plan?”

“Right.”

“Such as?”

“If I had one, we wouldn’t need one.”

“Unless, of course, it was diametrically opposed to my own.” His eyes went to slits. Kate held a hand up, palm out. “Okay, okay. Go ahead. You were saying?”

“Call in to the diner for one morning until we can figure out how we’re going to do this.”

She hated, positively hated to admit it, but it made sense.

“They’ll understand!” he argued at her silence. “A man dropped dead into your dinner plate last night!”

“Actually, it was a salad plate.”

“What the hell difference does it make?” he shouted.

Kate flinched. “One morning?”

“And then we’ll take it from there.”

Kate knew, somehow, that it was the best she was going to get. Besides, she saw an advantage to letting him win this one. It was a matter of give and take, she reasoned. Dinner For Two had an engagement this evening. Talking him into letting her do both seemed like something of a long shot. She’d give in on the less important of the two issues. The dinner engagement was something they could get into later.

“Okay.” She put the milk down and reached for the phone. But she didn’t punch in the number right away. She watched him turn away and head for the hall, still shirtless. She took in those broad, bare shoulders. They moved nicely with his stride, with that grace that was all male. She contemplated the movement of muscle beneath skin that looked like pale bronze. Kate put the phone down again quickly and rubbed her palms on her khakis to dry them.

He paused at the door to the hall. “You wouldn’t want to have kept that milk anyway.”

“Why not?” she asked, startled.

“Because I drank right out of the carton.”

He heard her make that strangling sound again. Raphael went on toward the bathroom, imagining her expression, grinning to himself. Regardless of the fact that he didn’t want the prize, winning felt damned good, he decided.