Lovers and Madmen(Sasha McCandless 4.5) (2 page)

As much as she wanted to, she wasn’t going to stab
the arrogant chef; but she certainly wasn’t going to engage in personal chit
chat with him either. Connelly wasn’t just special; he was extraordinary. He
understood her in a way no one ever had, and she needed him in a way she had
never needed anyone before. He was a true partner. But that was none of
Rouballion’s business.

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“Then you should make a superior dessert, too.
This tarte you have planned is too bland for a romantic meal. I will teach you
my recipe for
pots au chocolat
,” he said.

Sasha’s face must have betrayed her dismay at
having to learn yet another recipe and at the eleventh hour, no less, because
the chef laughed.

“It is decadent but facile. Even you can do it. I
assure you,” he said.

She bit down hard on her inner cheek then said,
“Great.”

She couldn’t wait to get out of Chef Rouballion’s
kitchen and take out her aggression on Daniel.

~
~ ~ ~ ~

Sasha
had learned after her first two French cooking lessons that it would be best to
follow each lunchtime cooking class with Chef Rouballion with a sparring
session. She’d convinced her Krava Maga instructor to meet her three afternoons
a week for a private hand-to-hand combat class. By the time she’d drained
herself of her built up aggression and irritation in a flurry of jabs, punches,
blocks, kicks, and takedowns, she usually felt positively Zen.

“Do
you feel plucky?” Daniel cracked, by way of greeting. “Today, we’re going to review
defending against chokeholds.”

She
rolled her eyes at the pun but said, “Sounds good.”

She
rolled her shoulders and stood facing Daniel.

For
the next forty-five minutes, he choked her—from the front, from the back, from
the side, while she was prone on the ground; he choked her one-handed and
two-handed. And each time, she plucked at his hands to free herself and then
unleashed a hail of combative moves on him.

Finally,
he held up a hand.

“You
did great.”

“Thanks.”

She
took a long drink of water and reveled in her hard-earned serenity.
Unfortunately, the tranquility lasted approximately ten seconds—until Daniel
decided that a hundred pushups would be an appropriate way to celebrate
completion of her final cooking class.

“Oh,
come on,” she protested.

Daniel
sighed. “Discipline, Sasha. I’d tell you that it might save your life someday,
but I imagine you know that better than anyone. What’s it been—four near-death
encounters in a year and a half? You’re a walking danger magnet.”

She
shot him a dark look and dropped to the studio floor.

“First
of all, I didn’t go looking for any of those situations,” she said, assuming
the plank position and digging her toes into the floor.

She
pressed her legs together and braced her arms at shoulder width.

Well,
maybe that last one.
But, she’d had a good reason, and she’d helped prevent
a flu pandemic. He should be thanking her.

“As
far as I know, magnets don’t going searching for metal either. But somehow rusty
nails find them anyway,” Daniel continued, apparently unaware of the debt of
gratitude he owed her.

She
lowered herself until her elbows stuck out at 90 degrees and waited a beat.
Then she pushed back up until her arms locked, out and straight.

“One,”
Daniel counted.

She
repeated the movement, slowly and precisely. She was careful to wait a beat at
the bottom and to await Daniel’s count at the top. There was no sense in doing
them sloppily; he’d just make her start over. In that regard, he was just like
the chef.

As
she raised and lowered herself under Daniel’s watchful eye, she considered his
statement. She
had
gotten herself mixed up in too much trouble. But that
was all behind her.

Her
current caseload included a breach of a supply contract; an insurance coverage
action; and the defense of an unfair competition claim. Even her pro bono work
was safe and mundane—she was drafting wills for first responders. The most
dangerous activity on her schedule had been the French culinary class, and that
was over.

“Ten.”

In
fact, it had been her New Year’s resolution to avoid any situation that had a
high likelihood of ending in gunfire, a stabbing, and/or the arrival of law
enforcement officers. So far, more than six weeks into the year, she could
boast of a perfect record.

“Twenty.
Watch that right arm. It’s getting wobbly.”

She
glared up at him and tensed the muscles in her forearms.

“I
think I like Chef Rouballion better than I like you,” she muttered, as she
lowered herself to the floor again.

“That’s
too bad,” he said with a laugh, “I was going to see if you and Leo wanted to
join my parents and us for drinks tomorrow.”

“Us?
You mean—”

A
warm smile spread across Daniel’s face and lit his eyes.

“Yep.
Christopher gave me an ultimatum: come out to my parents so we could quit
skulking around like criminals or he was leaving.”

“And?
How did Larry and Bertie take the news?”

“Forty.
Dad said he’d known for years that I was gay, but he was glad to see I was no
longer a coward. Mom doesn’t care that the mysterious Chris has turned out to
be a boy, but she’s not exactly thrilled that he’s not a good Jewish boy.”

“I
told you they’d be happy for you,” she said, locking her arms and resting at
the top of her pushup.

“Don’t
stop. You were right. They love him—religious issues aside. So, we’re having
them over to our place for dessert and drinks tomorrow. Really, you should
come. Sixty.”

“Love
to, but can’t,” Sasha grunted. “It’s my culinary debut. I’m going to surprise
Connelly with dinner, remember?”

Daniel
twisted his mouth into a knot, “I know, but ...”

“But
what?”

He
was silent for a moment, then he said, “I’ve tasted your cooking. Dessert and
drinks might be a good backup plan for you. Seventy.”

She
skipped the retort that sprang to mind, opting instead to conserve her energy.
As thrilled as she was for Daniel and Christopher, she wasn’t interested in
spending a romantic evening with them and Daniel’s parents.

Her
arms began to shake and burn, so she focused solely on forcing herself up,
down, up.

Thirty
repetitions later, she finally heard Daniel intone ‘one hundred.’

Then,
resisting the nearly overwhelming desire to collapse on the floor and whimper,
she jumped to her feet and managed a smile.

“Well,
that was fun.”

Connelly
poked his head into Sasha’s office at exactly six p.m. In the distance, the
bells of a church on Fifth Avenue chimed the hour.

“Hey,
are you ready to go?” he asked.

She
hurried to close the window that contained her shopping list for the next night’s
dinner and shut down her laptop.

“Just
about,” she said. She swept a pile of folders and correspondence off her desk
and into her briefcase. Her tired arms felt like overcooked noodles.

“Naya
already left?” he asked, as she finished packing up her computer and her
papers.

She
nodded. Her friend and legal assistant had rushed out of the office about
thirty minutes earlier, shouting a goodbye as she passed Sasha’s door.

“I
think she had plans with Carl,” she told Connelly.

“Is
it getting serious between those two?” he asked.

Sasha
shrugged. “Not sure. Naya’s been quiet lately.”

Quiet
and distracted—ever since they’d returned to work after the week off between
Christmas and New Year’s. Sasha had her own distractions, so when Naya had
brushed off her inquiries, she decided to let well enough alone.

“How’s
lasagna and a bottle of red sound for dinner?” he asked.

“Heavenly.”

She
smiled up at him and then slung the laptop bag over her shoulder, her arm
screaming in protest. She closed the briefcase and lifted that, too, cursing
Daniel silently.

“Good,
because I already assembled it.”

She
shook her head and smiled.

“What?”

“How’d
I get so lucky? My own personal chef.”

Connelly
had always handled the cooking in their relationship. He enjoyed the process of
putting together a meal; she viewed food mainly as fuel. That dichotomy was one
reason she wanted to make him a fantastic meal. She knew the effort would demonstrate
something that she could never adequately express with words.

She
joined him at the door and flicked the switch to turn off the overhead lights.
He dipped his head to cover her lips with his.

She
kissed him back, hard, enjoying the pressure of his warm mouth.

He
pulled back and looked down at her.

“What
is it?” she asked.

He
stared at her, his face quizzical, then ran his tip of his tongue over his
lips.

“You
taste like … garlic and dark chocolate?” he said in a puzzled tone.

“Eww,”
she laughed. She’d forgotten to brush her teeth after the cooking class.

He
followed her through the door, wondering aloud what she’d had for lunch.

They
waved goodbye to the girl behind the counter at the coffee shop on their way
out the door and then circled around the building to the small parking area in
the back. Jake—who owned both the building and the coffee shop that bore his
name—had included a parking spot in Sasha’s lease. It was a perk she rarely
used because she preferred to walk to her office. But given the scarcity of
street parking in Shadyside, it was priceless to have the spot when she did
drive or when Connelly picked her up.

They
skirted the dumpster and the blue recycling receptacle that sat to the left of
the door and headed for Connelly’s Lexus SUV in the gloom. Clouds covered the
weak moon, and the security light above the back door flickered.

A
chill crept along Sasha’s spine. She wasn’t sure if it was from the wind or the
setting. She made a note to tell Jake to fix his light. Just then something
brushed her ankle in a blur of fur, and she gasped and stumbled, turning an
ankle in her stiletto heels.

Connelly
grabbed her elbow to keep her upright.

“You
okay?”

She
nodded but before she could speak a high, inhuman cry pierced the night.

“What
the—?” Connelly asked.

The
sound was coming from beneath his SUV. She dropped her bags then crouched and
peered under the vehicle. Two luminous almond-shaped eyes peered back at her,
shining in the dark.

Another
mewl filled the air.

“I
think it’s a cat,” she said.

She
stretched out, laying on the cold damp pavement, and pushed herself under the
vehicle with trembling arms.

A
small kitten sat hunched beside the right rear wheel of the SUV. Its thin frame
shook.

“Hey,
kitty,” she said in a soft, low voice.

The
kitten let out another strangled mew.

“Is
it hurt?” Connelly asked, crouching beside her and resting his forearms on his
thighs.

“I
can’t tell. I’m going to see if I can grab it. Will you unlock the doors?”

He
stood and depressed the key fob. When the vehicle beeped, the kitten jumped,
and Sasha caught it around its middle. The kitten didn’t struggle. Instead it
froze and allowed Sasha to pull it out from under the SUV.

She
stood and cradled the kitten against her chest. Its heartbeat raced, and it
cried again.

Connelly
opened the passenger door, and they examined the animal under the interior
light.

Sasha
saw no wounds or cuts on the kitten’s soft gray and white fur.

“I
don’t think it’s hurt—just scared,” she told Connelly.

She
stroked the cat’s head, and her hand came away wet. She turned her palm up
toward the light and her heart pounded. Her hand was covered with blood.

“Connelly
…” she began. She held her hand out for him to see.

He
ran his own hands through the cat’s fur, parting it in careful sections to look
for an injury Sasha had missed.

“It’s
not bleeding,” he said.

The
kitten howled again and flailed. It wriggled free from Sasha’s arms and darted
out of the SUV. It landed gracefully on the ground and stared up at Sasha and
Connelly, crying loudly.

It
turned and started across the lot. After a few steps, it stopped and yelled
again. Then the animal took off toward the door at the back of the building,
howling with increased urgency and volume.

When
it reached the building’s back wall, it disappeared behind the dumpster.

They
followed the sound of its cries across the lot.

When
they reached the building, Sasha turned sideways to shimmy between the dumpster
and the brick wall. A flash of pale skin caught her eye.

“Connelly,
there’s someone back here!” she said around the lump in her throat.

Please,
please don’t be a dead body
.

She
stepped forward, but Connelly snaked out an arm and caught her around the
waist.

“Wait,”
he said in a low whisper. He pulled her back.

He
reached into his coat pocket. For a wild moment, she expected him to pull out
his gun. Instead he removed his iPhone and activated the flashlight app. He
leaned to the side and shined it toward the arm that was partially visible on
the ground behind the dumpster.

The
cat leapt back out, its enormous eyes catching the light, and charged at Sasha.
It rubbed its head insistently against her leg.

“Hello,”
Connelly called in a loud, strong voice.

There
was no reply.

“Hello?”
Sasha tried.

They
held their breath and listened. The kitten whimpered and head butted Sasha’s
shin.