A First Date with Death (9 page)

“Exactly,” she answered.

I gave Edward a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

He chuckled. “I share the blame. I suppose I’m equally boring, although for the record I want you to know that
I
wasn’t bored at all.”

We took a few tentative bites of dinner and drank some wine. I decided to go ahead and really sample the wine; after all, maybe it would loosen me up and I’d be more entertaining for the viewers—that, and the bottle of pinot noir was starting to open up and it was hard to pass up.

“Where do you want to live?” Edward asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?” I asked, caught a little off guard. The last thing I wanted to discuss on national television was all the reasons I wouldn’t be returning to San Francisco.

“Well, I work in the Bay Area. You’re happy in San Francisco, right? If we . . . if this . . . works out, then we’ll want to be geographically close to each other . . .”

“Frankly, I’ve lived in San Francisco for six years now and I find myself not really wanting to return.”

There was a disappointed look in his eyes and I struggled for something to say that would lift his spirits, but instead I said, “I grew up in Cottonwood. I think I’d like to raise a family in the country. On a farm.”

His eyes twinkled. “On a farm? Sounds idyllic.”

“In a lot of ways, it was.”

He remained silent, but reached out and began rubbing his thumb across my wrist, the unasked question hanging between us: What kind of career growth would a small, Podunk town offer a surgeon?

Edward broke the silence by pulling me to him and kissing me. His lips were full on mine and I felt a delicious warmth spread from my chest into my belly.

“Cut, got the kiss,” Cheryl yelled.

Edward pulled away from me, looking more than a little thwarted. “Oh, I . . . I was hoping we’d get longer.”

I glanced down at my almost untouched salmon dinner. “Me, too!”

“Come on, we need a shot of you all walking out to the car.”

My stomach grumbled as I bid adieu to a perfectly prepared gourmet meal that I wouldn’t get to eat.

Edward escorted me to the Town Car. I was expecting a good-night kiss, but instead of pressing his lips to mine, he embraced me.

His lips brushed against my ear and a chill tickled my spine when he whispered urgently, “I need to talk to you, Georgia.”

E
dward’s words wrapped around my heart like a sea creature’s tentacles, digging and squeezing. My heart constricted and my breath caught.

He had something to tell me.

Just like Pietro!

I am in danger or he is in danger.

I grabbed at his neck. The camera was on us. I wanted to shout at them to leave us alone, but pressed my lips to Edward’s instead.

“What is it?” I asked desperately between kisses, hoping my hair was obstructing the camera angle enough so that no one would be able to tell what we were saying.

“Not now,” he said calmly. He stepped away from me and opened the car door. “Good night, Georgia.”

His eyes were locked on mine. He seemed to be telling me to forget it. To get into the car.

“I had a great time,” he prompted. “I hope you don’t make me wait too long for the next date.” He winked.

I nodded dumbly.

Date?

Is that code for something?

He tucked me into the car and then the driver was speeding away.

Darn!

I knew I couldn’t very well have a conversation with Edward then, but it was still frustrating and frightening as hell.

The Town Car pulled into the spot next to my Prevost coach. I thanked the driver and hurried inside the coach to change. I was hoping Becca would take me to a place where I could have some greasy pub food along with the aforementioned and promised cocktail. Edward and I had finished our “date” in record time and I, of course, found myself still hungry. A few small bites of salmon wouldn’t cut it for me for dinner.

I slipped out of the citrine gown and found that I could breathe again. These tight dresses had me holding my breath the entire time. But I knew better than to complain or they’d put me into a corset.

I grabbed a pair of my most comfortable jeans and sneakers and put them on. It was still early.

The telltale sound of gravel crunching around my Prevost alerted me that Becca was likely outside.

I peered through the blinds, just to confirm, and was rewarded by seeing my best friend practically skipping toward my door.

I flung open the door. “Why are you so happy?”

She laughed. “Am I?”

“You were floating across the parking lot.”

She waved a hand. “Are you ready? I’m dying for a drink. I’ll tell you on the way.”

I grabbed my small purse, which held my wallet, lipstick, and keys, then looked around. Without my phone I always felt like I was forgetting something. I shrugged. “Okay, I guess I’m ready.”

I locked the coach door, then followed Becca through the parking lot and side alley to her yellow Volkswagen Bug.

“So, what is it? Why are you glowing?”

She grinned. “It’s nothing really.” She shrugged. “It’s just that I got to flirt with Ty a little while you were on your carnival date and he’s hot.”

“Oh, really? Sparks and all?”

She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Yeah.” She started the car and maneuvered through the L.A. streets. “We have to keep it on the down-low, though, because I don’t want the barracuda hearing anything.”

I nodded. “Well, she won’t hear it from me.”

I filled Becca in on my date with Edward and how strangely it had ended.

“I wonder what he wants to tell you. Any idea?” she asked.

“No! I have to find a way to talk to him.”

“Well, don’t look at me.”

I bit my lip and fidgeted with her car radio.

“I’m probably gonna get busted for taking you out,” she said.

“Right. Right,” I mumbled.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said.

“Like what? I’m not even looking at you. I’m looking at the radio!”

“Whatever, but I know you’re all thinking, ‘Why can’t Becca help me?’”

“I’m not. I wasn’t. I know you’re not supposed to help me.”

She sighed. “I’ll see if I can get you time with Edward.”

I smiled.

She poked me. “Shut it.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” I protested.

“Anyway, we’re here now,” Becca said. “Look for parking.”

“Already? I was expecting traffic.”

“No, not at this hour. Plus I picked somewhere close because you have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Why do I have to get up early?”

“It’s the elimination.”

“Why can’t we do those in the evening?”

Becca found a tight spot and slipped her car into it. “Because you have two more dates tomorrow.”

“Why can’t they be the next day?” As soon as I’d said it, I knew I was being whiny and that Becca would call me on it.

“What? We’re made of money? You want a little cheese with that whine?”

I waved her off, but she persisted. “Do you know how much it costs to rent out the mansion? Plus it’s got a lot of issues. There’s an active leak and I don’t know how long we can stay.”

“Okay, okay,” I said as we got out of the car and walked toward a small bar. There was a neon sign that read
POOL
and lots of signage for domestic beers.

“But it’s not raining—how can a leak disrupt our filming schedule?”

Becca leaned into me as she pulled open the door to the bar. “Plumbing leak. It’s the upstairs bathrooms and it’s not the gray water, if you know what I mean.”

“Yuk!” I said.

She made a face. “I know.”

I shook my head at the irony. Hollywood would not delay a filming schedule due to a severe accident or suicide, but add in a little waste plumbing fiasco and everyone folded.

•   •   •   •   •   •   •   •   •

M
y eyes slowly adjusted to the dark bar. In the far corner was a pool table and alongside the bar was a wall that highlighted various celebrity headshots along with their autographs. We grabbed a seat at the bar. As soon as we ordered a couple of lemon drops, Becca took off to the ladies’ room to freshen up.

I was looking forward to relaxing with her and catching up on things. Like telling her about seeing my dad and asking if she had an update on Teresa or maybe Aaron. Was he still in the hospital? Still in a coma?

I fiddled with my cocktail napkin as I wondered if there was a way to question Aaron. If he was still in a coma, it was unlikely, but if he was recovering maybe I could cash in a favor with an old coworker on SFPD and ask them to drop by and talk with him.

The bartender placed a chilled martini glass in front of me and one directly in front of the empty spot beside me. He poured the lemon drop from the shaker into the glasses. I was ready to lick the sugar from around the rim of the glass, but sensed someone approaching from behind me.

I straightened and turned, my old cop senses firing.

Scott was standing directly behind me. “Hey, fancy meeting you here.”

Ignoring the jolt of nervous energy that fluttered through my stomach, I said, “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“We followed you.”

“Who? Who is we?” I asked, searching over his shoulder for another familiar face and praying that I wouldn’t find my ex-fiancé, Paul.

“Ty and I.” He motioned with his arm toward where Becca had disappeared.

I could see Becca and Ty talking in the hallway that led to the restrooms. Ty was leaning in toward her, pinning her to the wall between his muscular arms. Becca was laughing at something he said.

“Oh,” I said.

“He likes her,” Scott said in a confidential tone.

I smiled. “I can see that. Looks like he’s going to eat her up on the spot.”

Scott laughed.

“So, do you think he’s on the show for the money?”

Scott wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Do you know who’s in it for the money? Can you just give me the names now and save me some grief?” I asked.

“I don’t know for sure, but I have some guesses.”

“You’re one of them, right?”

“Are you kidding? If I was in it for the money why would I be here?” He opened his hand to encompass the bar.

“To fool me,” I said.

“But I’m breaking the show’s rules right now. I’d be risking getting kicked off.”

“Well, look at Ty,” I answered.

He raised an eyebrow. “Right. Okay, but he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. Please let’s not compare me to him.”

I laughed and he smiled openly. He looked irresistible, so cute and smart and confident.

I took a sip of my lemon drop, then asked, “How did you two get out of the house?”

He frowned. “Oh, that’s not hard. There’s no security or anything.” He shrugged. “We just slipped out and didn’t say anything to the other guys.”

From across the room I could see Becca and Ty locking lips. I fought the urge to grab Scott and do the same.

Why does he have to be so sexy?

“So, what’s up with you and the insurance guy?” he asked.

“Who?” I asked.

“Who?” Scott repeated. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t know who I’m talking about. The cop on the show pretending to be an insurance guy.”

“Why do you think he’s a cop?”

Scott hailed the bartender. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Does it bother you that he’s a cop?”

“No. Should it?”

“Not if you’re not hiding anything.”

He laughed. “I’m not hiding anything. You’re the one hiding something.” The bartender appeared in front of us and Scott ordered a manhattan, then turned to me. “May I buy you a drink?”

“I have one.” I indicated the glass beside me, which I was shocked to find empty.

He chuckled. “You pretty much sucked it down as soon as you saw me. Do I make you nervous?”

“No. Uh . . .”

He ordered me another lemon drop and sat on Becca’s stool. He was quiet for a moment, giving me the opportunity to study the contour of his jaw, which was strong and masculine. He suddenly smiled a lopsided grin, apparently indicating that he knew I was studying him and was pleased about it.

“You’re incredible!” I said, embarrassed about being caught checking him out.

The chemistry between us was undeniable.

The bartender placed our drinks in front of us and left. I looked around and found that Becca and Ty had disappeared from the hallway.

“I can’t believe she’d leave me alone with someone like you,” I said.

“Someone like me?” Scott said. “Should I be offended by that remark?”

I shrugged, frightened by our connection and looking for any excuse to push him away. Was I really ready for relationship? “Someone who wants to rush off and see the videotape of a man plunging off the Golden Gate Bridge.”

He shook his head. “No, no, no. You can’t fault me for that.”

I stared at him. “Please!”

He continued. “It was a shock. I was in shock. I mean, how often does that happen?”

“You going into shock? I don’t know.”

“Ah, you’re one of those people who approach conversation like a sport. I like that about you. I meant the guy plunging into the ocean off the bridge. That part was a shock.”

I sat up straighter suddenly. “Hey, wait a minute. Did you see the tape?”

“Yeah,” Scott said.

“You did!” A bolt of excitement fired through me and I practically jumped off of my stool.

“What did you see?”

“Oh! Who’s the ghoul now?” he said.

“No! I don’t mean it like that.” I shoved at his shoulder and he caught my hand, laughing.

“I mean—you know—did you see anything that might indicate it wasn’t an accident?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“How about with Pietro? Did you notice anything—”

“I don’t know,” Scott said, squeezing my hand and lacing his fingers through mine.

A warm, tingling sensation zipped up my arm and into my heart.

“Did you talk with him much?” I asked. “Did you know him at all? Do you think—”

“I didn’t talk with him about anything significant. I’ve pretty much kept my distance from the others . . .” He tugged on my hand, gently pulling me forward. He leaned into me, tilting his head so that our foreheads and noses touched. “Why do you want to keep talking about all those other guys?” he said in a low voice.

My breath caught and something in my belly quivered as I looked into his dark eyes.

“I want to know what happened to them,” I murmured.

“Forget about what happened to them,” he whispered. “And think about what’s happening now.”

His mouth closed around mine, sending all synapses in my body into overdrive.

What
is
happening now?

Trouble.