Читать книгу Emergency Response - Susan Sleeman - Страница 12

FOUR

Alone at last in the kitchen, Darcie planted her hands on the granite countertop, her back to the family room. The cool, smooth surface took the sting out of her hands. She needed time to process this day. Time away from everyone else. She couldn’t rush up to her condo for fear of waking Isabel, so she’d gone with the first thought that had come into her head—the kitchen.

Unfortunately, it was open to the family room, leaving her in full view. Still, cooking for this many people was a big job and no one on the squad would offer to help when it wasn’t their night, so she should have the kitchen all to herself. It was sweet of Morgan to offer to take over, but when Darcie pushed the point, Morgan certainly hadn’t insisted.

Fighting down a panic attack, one like the many she’d experienced after Haley died and Tom bailed on her, Darcie set to work on her family’s simple shrimp-boil recipe. She dug out a large stockpot and started water flowing. She unearthed several pounds of fresh shrimp, plump sausage and ears of corn from the refrigerator, then found a bag of baby red potatoes in the bin. As she retrieved the spice boiling bags from the pantry, Noah stepped into the room.

He smiled, but she could see he was testing her mood. “What are you making?”

“Shrimp boil—shrimp, corn on the cob, sausage and red potatoes all cooked with seafood spices,” she answered, trying to sound calm and collected so he would think she’d recovered from the attack and go home.

“You probably ate a lot of seafood growing up in Florida.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you go back there often?”

“Not really.” The fact that her family had disowned her when she married Tom, who was nothing more than an unemployed biker when they met, had nothing to do with the investigation, so she didn’t bring it up.

“Want some help?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

She sighed and met his gaze. “Look, Noah, I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful for your help today, but if this is your way of getting me to talk about the incident and how I’m feeling, I’m done with that and ready to move on.”

“I’m that obvious, am I?” He grinned and his dimple, the one that seemed to beg her to poke a finger into it, appeared.

Instead, she turned off the water and started the gas burner beneath the pot.

“I’d hoped to talk to you about reviewing your callout list,” he continued. “I’m sure it’s in my email by now and we can sit down to review it together.”

She turned to him. “Tonight?”

“Yes, if you’re up to it.”

She had the stamina and the desire to do it tonight, but having Noah in her home made her think about him as a man and not a police detective. She didn’t need that distraction right now when her focus should be on helping him find her attacker. “I’m glad to work on the investigation with you at the precinct. We could do it in the morning right after I finish with the sketch artist.”

He watched her for a moment, a cloud darkening his eyes, then he shrugged and seemed to relax.

“So what you’re saying is I’m not invited to dinner,” he joked, but she could hear the hurt behind his words.

She looked up at him. “Do you think it’s a good idea for you to stay?”

“You mean because you’re cooking?” That grin again and the dimple. She could barely resist the dimple.

She sighed.

“Okay, sorry,” he said sincerely. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to spending time with me as I’m not leaving you alone until your attacker is caught.”

She crossed her arms. “I won’t be alone. I have the team.”

“A team who could be called out at any time of the day or night.”

“I’d go with them on the callout, then.”

“You’d have to stay here to care for Isabel. You really don’t want me to leave the two of you alone, do you?”

No. Yes. “I have a gun.”

He eyed her. “That you’re not willing to use.”

Her shoulders went up defensively. “I might have shot him.”

“Maybe,” he said, keeping his probing gaze fixed on her. “When’s the last time you went to the range to practice your marksmanship?”

A few months, but she wouldn’t tell him that. She shrugged.

He planted his hands on the counter. “Then after we get through the callout list tomorrow, we’ll be heading to the range.”

“You don’t need—”

“I know I don’t need to take you to the range.” He crossed his arms and put on his serious detective expression, which made him look hard and unyielding. Annoyingly, she found it equally as attractive as the cute dimple. “Anyone on the team can take you, or you could go on your own. But since I’m the one who has the problem with not letting you out of my sight until this guy is caught, you’ll humor me and let me see how well you can handle a gun.” He held her gaze, issuing her a challenge.

She thought to argue, but she knew he’d stand right there and keep at her until she agreed with him. She liked his tenacity. His strength and determination. Just not when he directed it at her.

“Now, I’m inviting myself to dinner.” He waved a hand over the counter. “What do you need help with?” He jutted out his chin as if challenging her to tell him he wasn’t wanted.

She was done fighting him for the night. After the attack, she had no energy left to do battle over something like this. “Do you know how to shuck corn on the cob?”

At the instant brightening of his mood, she regretted her decision to let him stay.

“No, but I’m sure you can teach me.”

She slid the bag of corn across the island. “It’s not hard. Cut off both ends and start peeling off the outer husk, then the silk strings. If the silk is stubborn try running it under water.”

She turned her back on him before he asked for additional directions. She went to the sink and started peeling the shrimp. She felt him watching her every move and resisted sighing for about the zillionth time today.

She’d always thought if they argued the spark between them would ignite into something fierce. It had and they were about to spend time together. Maybe a lot of it. Could they do so without the tension mounting every second? If not, she’d be in world of hurt by the time they captured the shooter.

* * *

Noah got up from the dining table and carried his plate to the kitchen. From everyone’s reactions, he was sure that dinner had been amazing, but the tender shrimp had felt like sawdust in his mouth, and he’d had to choke it down. His fault. Totally. He’d gotten his feelings hurt. There, he admitted it. How girlie was that? He was supposed to be this tough cop and he’d let Darcie hurt his feelings when she’d made it clear that she wanted him to leave.

So what had he done about it? Invited himself to dinner. Dumb. Really dumb. He could have just sat outside and kept an eye on the house. He didn’t need the added pain of being in Darcie’s company when he wasn’t wanted.

He shook his head, hoping to erase the memory of the tense meal, where her team members kept casting him and Darcie long looks. They knew there were sparks between the two of them. They were law enforcement officers with finely honed observation skills, so how could they not see it? Even Logan, who was new to the group, got it. Krista and Morgan were the only ones who seemed to be in the dark.

He set his plate on the counter next to the pile of dishes everyone ditched before moving to the family room. Darcie insisted on cleaning up, too, saying it was her responsibility and she wasn’t going to shirk it.

Noah heard the television news playing in the family room. He should go see what the reporters were saying about the shooting. Instead, he watched Darcie load the dishwasher. Despite the fiasco at dinner and his brain warning him to back off, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her.

Look at him. Standing there like a fool after a dinner that nearly made him hurl. If a chance to have dinner here came up in the future, he’d say no, even if it was his last meal on earth and eating here was his only choice. He’d take hunger, thank you very much.

His phone rang and he looked at the screen. His lieutenant.

“Lockhart,” he answered and leaned against the island.

“Thought you’d like to know we completed our canvass and forensics finished their sweep.” Emerson’s tone was flat, as if he didn’t care about the outcome.

“And?” Noah asked, hoping they’d located a lead on their shooter.

“The canvass didn’t turn anything up. Several people were either not home or not willing to open their door to us. You know how it goes. They may have seen something, may even know the guy, but they’re not going to help.”

Noah wished he didn’t know how that went. They’d solve more cases if people spoke up. “It’s not surprising for that neighborhood.”

“Exactly. I’ll have officers follow up and let you know if they convince anyone to break their silence.”

“And the criminalists? They find any forensic evidence?”

“Yeah, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Go ahead.” Noah gritted his teeth.

“They recovered a crumpled piece of paper with Darcie Stevens’s name on it. It was located where the shooter vaulted over the fence. Like he was trying to ditch it in case he got caught.”

“Darcie’s name’s on it?” he repeated like a parrot.

She must have heard him as she pivoted to look at him.

“See for yourself,” Emerson said. “I’ll text a photo of it to you right now.”

After drawing Darcie’s attention, Noah decided not to ask any additional questions before getting a look at the picture. His phone dinged and he opened the file. The scrap of paper held a handwritten list with the numbers one through three and a name listed behind each number. First place belonged to Leland King, second to Ramon Flores. Bright red slashes ran through each of their names. Darcie’s name took the third slot. Slash-free.

A hit list.