Читать книгу To Catch a Killer - Kimberly Meter Van - Страница 9

It was late and the storm that had started when they were down in the ravine was pelting the earth with fat, angry raindrops, creating a staccato against the tiled roof of the single-story motel. She’d declined to go out with the team for a bite to eat, preferring to go over case notes and forensic reports, though as she glanced at her watch and her stomach growled in complaint she wondered if maybe she should’ve chosen differently. Sighing, she fished a can of salted almonds from her bag and popped the top. Voila, dinner.

Tossing a few into her mouth, she’d just settled into the chair with her pad and pencil when a short rap at the door had her tensing. The team hadn’t returned yet, which made whoever was on the other side of that door, suspect. Moving softly and grabbing her gun, she called out, “Who is it?”

There was a pause and then she heard Matthew answer. “Me. I, uh, brought you something.”

Puzzled, she holstered her gun and opened the door a crack. Matthew stood there with a bag of Chinese takeout, his expression hard to read. Glancing down at her wardrobe, she grimaced at the tight, long-sleeved sleep shirt and soft flannel pants she was wearing. Well, it’d been a long time but Matthew had certainly seen her in less, so she reluctantly opened the door wider. “For me?”

He lifted the plastic bag from Mr. Choy’s. “Mu shu chicken. Used to be your favorite. I ran into your team as I was picking up my order and McIntyre told me you’d stayed behind. Figured you ought to eat something,” he added a bit gruffly as if he were just as surprised as she was at his actions. He reached into the bag and pulled out the mu shu, thrusting it at her. “So here. Take it or leave it. Hell, I don’t even know if you even like this stuff anymore.”

She accepted the container and the sweet, tangy smell teased her senses, kicking her suppressed appetite awake with a vengeance. “I do. Thanks. Do you … want to come in?” she asked, unsure.

Matthew hesitated, then stepped over the threshold as she closed the door behind him. She took a seat at the small table where her notes were strewn about in a haphazard mess that belied her generally organized nature. Moving a few of her piles, she cleared a space for him to join her. “I can’t believe Mr. Choy’s is still in business after all these years,” she said, making small talk as she dug into the still-warm order. She chewed slowly, enjoying the pleasure of a once-favorite food. “He was old when I left.”

Matthew opened his own container of sweet-and-sour pork and, before digging in, said, “His boy took over. Does a pretty good job of picking up where his old man left off. Mr. Choy, from what I hear, is loving retirement and has taken a shine to golf, despite being near to ninety years old.”

“At least he’s staying active,” she murmured, taking another bite. She gestured with her fork to the food. “It’s great. You’re right. Tastes as good as I remember, so his son must be doing a bang-up job.”

They ate in silence but Kara knew they were both thinking the same thing: in what universe was it possible that she and Matthew were sitting at the same table, eating dinner like old friends? She swallowed and glanced at him surreptitiously, her practiced eye noting every detail about his appearance that was different and yet the same.

Solid Matthew. Always the practical one. The phantom of a smile threatened to play on her lips as she thought of the numerous scrapes and binds they’d narrowly escaped as kids simply because they’d had the sense to at least listen to Matthew when things had gone too far. It was a miracle nothing had ever managed to make it to her permanent record, a boon she no doubt owed to Matthew, not Neal. Often Neal had been as headstrong and reckless as she in their teens. Her daughter, Briana, had inherited that quiet wisdom Matthew had come by so naturally. For that, Kara was grateful.

Finished, she pushed her container away and sighed at her full belly. She didn’t often get the opportunity to just sit and eat without feeling pressured to finish so she could return to the task she’d set aside.

“Thanks. That hit the spot,” she said, her gaze roaming his face as she looked for clues into his motivation. For as much as she wanted to enjoy this unexpected gesture of kindness, she didn’t trust it for a minute.

He shrugged. “Can’t think on an empty stomach, right? I remember you used to get light-headed when you didn’t eat. Wouldn’t want you to keel over at an inopportune moment.” His gaze met hers in a speculative manner as he cocked his head. “Looks to me that you don’t eat enough these days. You’ve gotten skinny.”

“And you’ve bulked up,” she countered, although she refrained from adding that his bulk came from muscle not fat and that it made his six-foot-plus frame all the more impressive.

His mouth twitched as he laced his fingers across his solid abdominal region, which she imagined sported a full six-pack underneath that dark thermal Henley. “True. I like to eat so I have to work out.”

No ring. Her gaze bounced from his bare fingers, and she hoped he didn’t notice, but such luck was too much to ask for.

“Just ask.”

She started to give him her best blank stare, as if she didn’t know what he was saying, but dropped the ruse when curiosity won out over prudence. “Married?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Kara chuckled, yet an odd pain punched her in the side, suspiciously close to her heart. “What happened?”

The blue in his eyes darkened but the casual lift of his shoulders told a different story. “Just didn’t work out. Sort of like you and Neal, I guess. Except, my ex-wife is still alive and living quite comfortably on the alimony I pay her.”

“Neal and I never actually made it to the altar,” she reminded him quietly.

“Yes, I remember. I was supposed to be his best man.”

She refused to wince at his statement and instead quietly tucked away the fact that he hadn’t mentioned child support. And she was inordinately happy. Dangerous thinking, she silently reprimanded herself even as she pulled away and started to clean up the food containers. “Well, everything happens for a reason, right?”

“That’s what some people say.” He handed her his trash. “How about you?”

She dropped the trash into the canister, making a mental note to put the can outside of the room for the cleaning staff to empty first thing tomorrow. She didn’t allow them to clean due to the sensitive nature of her stay. The busy work made for an easy excuse to stall but Matthew knew her well, even if years stood between them.

“What have you been doing with your life all these years? I don’t see a ring on your finger, either.”

She pushed a lock of hair behind her ears. “I’m married to the job.”

“I can see that. Top of your field, the go-to person in high-profile cases … you’ve done well for yourself. But there’s more to life than the job, right?”

Kara bit the inside of her cheek, her daughter’s beloved little face jumping to mind, and she had to stop the smile that would’ve followed. Briana was the light in her universe, the one bright spot in an otherwise depressing world. But Matthew was the last person she wanted to know about Briana—even if she was his daughter.

Somehow she didn’t think he’d understand. Matthew had never been the type to forgive and forget. He’d still not forgiven her for leaving Lantern Cove and breaking Neal’s heart in the process.

No, she thought sadly, Matthew would never know that the one night they both betrayed Neal had resulted in a wonderful little girl. And that was for the best—for everyone.

Breaking her reflective silence, she met Matthew’s stare with a short smile. “The job is enough for me.”

His own smile turned wintry. “Well, we both know you sacrificed a lot to get where you’re at.”

“Yes, I have.” More than you know. “And on that note … I’m going to have to say good night. Thanks for the food.”

Matthew went to the door. “Don’t mention it,” he murmured. And then he was gone.

Kara brushed her teeth and finally climbed into bed, her eyelids feeling weighted with cement, which was a welcome feeling. Working herself to exhaustion was the only way she ever got any sleep, especially when she was under the gun to catch the bad guy.

She couldn’t have been asleep long before something jerked her awake with the certainty that she wasn’t alone.

Pitch-black filled the room. Without adjusting her position, she peered into the darkness, managing to keep her breathing slow and steady as if she were still asleep, but she could discern nothing. Confused, she slowly sat up in the bed, and flicked on the bedside lamp.

Nothing. Her room was exactly as it was when she went to sleep. Rubbing the grit from her eyes, she sighed and chalked it up to extreme fatigue. Snapping off the light, she fell back against her pillow and closed her eyes, determined to catch more zzzz’s before her alarm went off at 6:00 a.m. Just then, a soft voice whispered in her ear and nearly stopped her heart.

“She’s here.”