Читать книгу Cavanaugh In The Rough - Marie Ferrarella - Страница 13

Chapter 4

Suzie counted to a hundred.

Slowly.

She’d already gotten the impression that O’Bannon was the impatient type, so if he was planning on doubling back to make a reappearance in her lab, she was fairly certain he’d do it way before she reached a hundred.

Just to be sure, she counted to a hundred a second time.

Finished, she relaxed and turned her attention to the tablet the detective had deposited almost carelessly on her desk—as if he didn’t know that her interest would immediately be drawn to it. She mentally crossed her fingers that the two fumbling teens had somehow managed to capture something of significance on their phones, and that it wasn’t all just blurred videos.

Heaven knew she wasn’t getting anywhere with the photos she’d taken at what now amounted to the secondary crime scene, Suzie thought. If the woman’s killer had dumped her body there—and Suzie was certain that whoever it was had—she had no hope of singling out his or her shoe prints from all the other prints that were so pervasive around the body.

She hadn’t found any traces of blood in the area, either. None belonging to the victim and none that might have pointed to her would-be killer. In addition, Suzie hadn’t seen anything beneath the young woman’s nails to indicate that she had tried to fight off her killer.

What she did find, however, was a great deal of spilled alcohol, all varieties, on the floor, as well as traces of drugs that at first assessment appeared to be of the recreational variety.

She found it rather ironic that she was dealing with that sort of party scene now. She herself had almost gone that route when the scandal had broken wide open. Only her fierce resolve to hold herself together for her mother’s sake had kept her from doing it. Kept her from availing herself of the alcohol and drugs that would have numbed her acute pain, as well as her acute shame, and brought her peace, at least for a little while.

And then, after the trial was over, her mother had killed herself, abruptly bringing what was left of Suzie’s own shattered world crashing down on her.

She paused for a moment, drawing in a long breath as she struggled to center herself and put the barriers back up where they belonged. She needed to contain those memories, to keep them as far away from her mind as she possibly could.

Though she hated admitting to weakness, she knew that she couldn’t handle those memories yet.

Maybe she never would.

Squaring her shoulders, she pulled the tablet closer and activated the video. She had clues to find and a murder to make sense of. She owed it to the dead girl.

She owed it to a lot of dead girls.

* * *

It felt like she’d been staring at the videos, playing them over and over again, for hours now. Each time she did, she picked up something new she hadn’t seen before.

But now her eyes felt as if they were burning.

Leaning back in her chair for a moment, Suzie closed them.

When she opened her eyes again, only the extreme control that she had learned to exercise kept her from screaming. Even so, her heart pounded like a war drum.

When she’d shut her eyes to momentarily rest them, she’d been alone in the lab. When she opened them, she found she wasn’t alone any longer.

Chris was standing right in front of her, less than two feet away.

Damn O’Bannon, he would wind up giving her a heart attack.

“Why are you sneaking up on me?” she demanded, unconsciously pressing her hand against her chest, as if to keep her heart from leaping out.

“I wasn’t sneaking,” Chris told her innocently. “Although I did leave my tap shoes at home. The chief of d’s frowns on scuff marks the taps make on the wood,” he explained, keeping an entirely straight face.

She didn’t have the patience to listen to him go on and on. Her composure had faded hours ago.

“It’s late, O’Bannon. What are you doing here?” she asked.

Rather than becoming defensive, he turned the tables on her, saying mildly, “I could ask you the same thing.”

She didn’t care for the nature of his question, or his attitude. She hadn’t invaded his work space; he had invaded hers.

And she wanted him gone.

“I have work to do. I like working late,” she emphasized. “There’s usually no one around to bother me,” she added, looking at him pointedly. Her message was clear.

Or so she thought.

Chris nodded. “I had a hunch,” he told her. “That’s why I came back.”

Give the situation, he wasn’t making any sense. But then, she was beginning to think that he was doing that on purpose. Well, whatever his game was, she didn’t have the time or the desire to play. She wanted him gone.

Now.

“Unless you have some new information for me—” Suzie began, but she never got the opportunity to finish.

“No, no new information,” Chris confessed, making no move to leave.

“Well then—”

Again he didn’t give her a chance to finish. “I do, however, have this.”

She still had no idea what he was talking about—or why the man just couldn’t take a hint, even if she was hitting him over the head with it.

“‘This?’” she questioned.

She looked on in surprise as he hefted a large paper bag from the floor and placed it on her desk—obviously one he’d brought in when she had her eyes closed. Chris began to unpack its contents.

Within seconds, he’d taken out five steaming white containers, each embossed with red Chinese characters on the sides.

“You know the old saying, if the mountain won’t come to Moh—”

“I am neither the mountain nor the person in your imaginary drama,” Suzie pointed out sharply.

Chris rolled with the punches. “Okay, then let’s just call it a mercy dinner.” Since she didn’t instantly protest, he continued. “You haven’t moved from that spot since I dropped off the videos. You’ve got to be starving by now.”

Suzie’s mouth dropped open, but she recovered quickly. “You’re spying on me?” she cried, not knowing if she should be creeped out or just angry. Who did this man think he was to take over this way? To keep tabs on her every movement?

“No,” he stated. “What I did was have a casual conversation with my uncle.” Before she could take him to task any further, he added, “I called him to let him know I’d gotten the cell phone videos copied and that I’d dropped them off with you. That’s when he mentioned your habit of burning the midnight oil and that you’d probably be doing the same thing with this. He expressed concern that you had a habit of forgetting to eat.”

Chris glanced at her pointedly as he flattened the now empty bag, setting it off to one side. He had put out the boxes, as well as the chopsticks and napkins that had come with the order. He also laid out the two sets of plastic cutlery he had specifically requested. He had no idea if Suzie knew how to use chopsticks, and he’d come prepared.

“If you recall, I did mention dinner today,” he reminded her.

“And if you recall, I mentioned the word no,” she countered with a defiant note.

Chris shrugged, unfazed. He dragged over a chair from another workstation.

“I just figured that was before you got hungry.” He noticed that she still wasn’t making a move to open any of the containers. “It’s here. You might as well have some,” he coaxed, opening a container close to him. She still made no move toward the food. “Were you always this stubborn?” he asked. “Or is it just me who sets you off?”

Suzie sighed. She supposed he was right. The food was here and it wasn’t as if she was making some sort of a commitment if she actually ate some of it.

Erasing the unfriendly expression from her face, she peeled back the paper wrapping from a set of chopsticks, separated the two pieces and deftly clasped them in her fingers. “Thank you,” she murmured almost grudgingly.

Glancing up at her, Chris stopped eating for a moment, saying, “I’m impressed.”

Despite her best efforts, Suzie could feel her back going up. “Because I thanked you?” she asked, ready to tell him to take his butt off the stool and make himself scarce.

“No,” he replied easily, defusing her instant reaction, “because you can use chopsticks. I’m not any good at it.”

She would be the last to flatter him—nor did he need to have his ego bolstered—but what he was saying was absurd.

“It’s not like playing a cello,” she told him. “You just take the two pieces like so...” She demonstrated. “Then you pick up the food and bring it to your mouth, like so.” She proceeded to go through the motions, slowly and elaborately.

When she was finished, Chris attempted to mimic her actions. But he wound up failing miserably, actually sending one chopstick flying.

Unable to help herself, Suzie started to laugh at what was at best a very sad display of artlessness and ineptitude.

Rather than take offense, he appeared pleased. “So you actually can laugh,” he observed.

She had to say it. “At particularly hapless displays of ineptitude? Yes,” she allowed. “I can.”

“Well,” he said philosophically, “I’m always happy to please a lovely lady.”

The laughter faded and Suzie became serious again. “Don’t do that,” she told him.

“Don’t do what? Call you lovely?” Chris asked innocently.

That went without saying. She didn’t like hearing empty words of flattery, but she knew it was also pointless to tell him that. He wouldn’t listen.

“No, don’t keep trying to hit on me.” Suzie paused to consider her words. He wasn’t going to listen to that, either. “Although I guess that’s kind of like telling you not to breathe.”

Chris just smiled warmly at her. Was he humoring her or agreeing with her? She couldn’t tell.

“We can consider the possibilities while we eat,” he told her, the same warm, inviting smile on his lips.

Suzie shook her head in disbelief. She had to laugh again. When he looked at her, an unspoken question in his eyes, she explained, “You’re like that blow-up clown doll, aren’t you? The one that no matter how many times you punch it just bounces back up again—right in your face.”

“Well, that’s a new one,” he said, rolling the image over in his mind. “Never been compared to a blow-up clown doll before.”

Suzie had no idea why, but she suddenly felt bad. O’Bannon had, after all, brought her dinner even after she’d been less than friendly toward him, all but telling him to get lost.

She relented. “That wasn’t exactly meant as an insult,” she murmured.

And then there was the grin again, the one that belonged to the happy-go-lucky, lighthearted boy he had to have been. The one, for all she knew, he still was.

“I know,” he told her with a conspiratorial wink.

That pulled her up short. Either they were on some kind of a wavelength she was totally unaware of, or he had one hell of an ego.

“You know?”

“Why don’t we stop dancing around like this, Suzie Q, and eat before it gets cold?” he suggested, pulling a carton closer to him. He opened it up. “Although I have to admit I do like Chinese food cold.” He raised his eyes to hers, creating, just like that, an intimate air. “For breakfast the next day.”

Suzie pressed her lips together in annoyance, waiting for some sort of innuendo or maybe even a graphic scenario to follow. But there was none. There was just Chris, grappling with his chopsticks as he tried to bring at least a few strands of lo mein to his mouth.

He failed, but tried again. And again, valiantly trying to conquer the two slender pieces of polished wood and make them do his bidding.

Unable to stand it any longer, Suzie put down her own chopsticks, then picked up his and carefully positioned them in his hand.

When the result was less than successful, she tried another approach.

This time, she placed the chopsticks in his fingers and wrapped her hand around his, carefully guiding it to the contents in the container.

After three attempts, Chris, with her help, managed to secure a single morsel of shrimp. When, with her hand still around his, he brought the piece to his lips, Suzie experienced a feeling of triumph that somehow, in the next moment, seemed to transform into a completely different emotion.

She felt a warmth traveling through her limbs and torso, and even felt, heaven help her, a momentary shortness of breath that had nothing to do any condition that might have sent her hurrying to the ER, and everything to do with the man she was attempting to instruct.

Suzie pulled her hand away as if she had just come in contact with a hot frying pan filled with boiling oil.

“I think you have the hang of it,” she said crisply, doing what she could to distance herself from the moment—and from the man.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Chris confessed. “But it certainly isn’t for lack of you trying. You know,” he told her with a laugh, “I think I might have discovered a brand-new kind of diet. We could call it the chopstick diet. Dexterity-challenged people like me eat all their meals using chopsticks. The pounds’ll start dropping off from day one,” he enthused. “And people won’t have to invest in some big initial layout of cash. All they have to buy is a pair of chopsticks and then try to eat what they normally eat.” He smiled broadly at her. “I can smell the success from here.”

Suzie shook her head. He was actually laughing at himself. He really was one of a kind, she thought. She pushed the plastic fork toward him.

“Eat,” she told him. “You don’t need to lose any weight. You’re fine the way you are.”

Chris put his hand over his chest, feigning surprise. “Why, Suzie Q, is that a compliment?”

“That,” she informed him, “was a slip of the tongue. Now eat,” she ordered. “These containers can’t stay here while I do my work, so once I finish eating, they’re going to have to be cleared away.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed, nodding. “I consider myself warned.”

As she watched, he picked up the chopsticks again. “Use the fork,” she told him.

If he continued to eat using the chopsticks, he would be here half the night, and despite what she’d just said, she couldn’t very well toss him out, not after he’d sprung for dinner the way he had—never mind that she hadn’t asked him to.

But he’d already begun to eat again.

To her surprise, as she watched, Chris didn’t drop anything. As a matter of fact, he was wielding the chopsticks like someone who didn’t just use them on occasion, but who was very skilled with them.

When he looked up to see her watching him, her lips slightly parted in surprise, Chris set down his chopsticks for a moment.

“What can I say?” he asked with an expression she was forced—unwillingly—to describe as modest. “I learned from the very best, and you, Suzie Q, are a very skillful teacher,” he concluded, adding a postscript. “Thanks for taking the time to teach me.”

He was good, she thought. Ordinarily, she would have said he was a con artist. But in this case, she didn’t know if O’Bannon was being genuine, or if she’d just been played.

He did look sincere.

Because she couldn’t decide one way or the other, for now she decided to concentrate strictly on the meal, which she had to admit, with its variety, was excellent. If nothing else, Christian Cavanaugh O’Bannon did have one redeeming quality.

The detective knew where to find a good Chinese restaurant.