Sooner or Later (20 page)

He parked in the same place, clicked on his stopwatch, and jogged down the horse trail to the gate. This time he could see where he was going and he plotted his way through the copse of birch trees, zigzagging back and forth several times to find the most direct route, and hacking away the undergrowth until he had a definite path and the quickest route through the copse.

Satisfied, he waited until darkness fell, then set his watch again and jogged toward the house. He was breathing heavily when he arrived on the terrace and he decided he needed to go to a gym, work out a bit.

After deducting the time spent in the birch thicket, it had taken him fifteen minutes. Not nearly good enough. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to make a quick getaway, but this time he was leaving nothing to chance. He had to be speedy.

Expecting to see Maria and the dog, he retreated to
the far end of the terrace, lit a cigarette and waited. By the time she emerged, his heart had regained its normal rhythm and he watched calmly through the binoculars as she walked down the steps with the old dog. This time, he was far enough away for it not to catch his scent, and it didn’t bark. He checked the watch again. Within a couple of minutes, it was the same time as last night.

Satisfied, he waited until she went back into the house and locked the door. Then he turned and jogged silently back the way he’d come.

Back at the car he checked again. Thirteen minutes, but his heart was thundering like a piston. Sinking thankfully into the ear, he told himself he’d better get to that gym tomorrow, get on the treadmill, get in shape. Even though he didn’t anticipate trouble—after all, no one ever seemed to visit the house at night—he still had to be prepared for any eventuality.

He drove in darkness to the end of the horse trail, and peered cautiously out into the road. It was empty. Switching on his lights, he swung left down the hill and drove quickly back to L.A.

Back at his apartment, he showered, changed into an expensive blue shirt and beige pants, downed a slug of bourbon from the half-empty bottle, then took a leisurely drive to Santa Monica.

Main Street was jammed, with not a parking space to be found, and Dan was lucky to get a slot in the four-story car park. He slipped the car into the tight space, groaning as he noticed Ellie’s yellow Jeep next to him. The Explorer already looked as though it had done bat-tie, and he didn’t need any more dents and smashed headlights.

Strolling back along Main, he felt like a hick from the sticks, used as he was now to the silence and darkness of a
country night. The shops were brightly lit, music blared from passing cars, people rushed past him, laughing and chattering, heading for restaurants, or stores, or clubs. An art gallery was having an opening, serving margaritas and spicy-smelling canapés to the chic crowd who’d come to inspect their artist’s latest works. Dan sniffed the air appreciatively as he passed by, hoping Ellie’s food was going to taste as good as this smelled. He grinned, thinking about her; she would be on her mettle tonight, out to show him her stuff. This time,
she
would be on the defensive about her restaurant, instead of him about his vineyard.

The minute he walked in the door, Maya knew it was Dan. He was wearing a simple white linen shirt, rolled at the sleeves, blue jeans and camel suede loafers. His eyes looked a startlingly deep blue against his tanned face, and they had a kind of wise expression as he turned to look at her; not know-it-all, just as though he had seen it all. “Been there, done that,” she murmured, heading speedily toward him.

“Let me guess,” she said, fixing him with her gorgeous whiskey-colored eyes, “you’re Dan Cassidy.”

“Guilty.” He grinned at her, and she wondered, amazed, how Ellie had resisted him for so long.

“And you must be Maya?”

She smiled back at him. “I see my fame has spread all the way from L.A. to Santa Barbara County.”

“Farther than that—from Arizona.”

Maya groaned. “She told you about that?”

“’Fraid so.” Dan laughed at her dismayed face. “Maybe not in detail, but enough to know you two had a good time there.”

Maya sighed. “Ellie’s life is an open book, that woman just doesn’t believe in secrets. Anyhow, welcome to Ellie’s Place.” She showed him to a table in the window
and handed him a menu. “I’ll tell Ell you’re here,” she said, heading back to the kitchen. She couldn’t wait to see her face when she told her what she thought of Dan Cassidy.

Dan looked round interestedly. The lighting was low and intimate, with little rose-shaded lamps on each table instead of candles, and a nice buzz of conversation and laughter came from the other tables. The place was three-quarters full; not bad, he figured, for a Wednesday night. He held the menu under the light, studying it intently.

He caught Ellie’s delicate perfume, felt her lips on his cheek, and looked up, smiling. He had never been so happy to see anyone in his life. Besides, she looked delicious in her white Ellie’s Place T-shirt and black jeans, with her hair in a ponytail under the black baseball cap.

“Okay, Cassidy,” she said, placing a bottle of wine on the table and taking the seat opposite him, “you’re on my turf tonight.”

Their eyes linked for a second. “True,” he admitted. “I hope you can live up to your reputation.”

“We’ll see,” she said modestly, pouring wine into two glasses.

Maya appeared with a dish of
tapenade
and a basket of wonderful-smelling hot bread. “Ellie baked it,” she informed Dan, “it’s just one of her many talents.”

He took a piece of the bread and looked at Ellie. “So what are the others?” She looked blank. “The talents. God, this is good. Really good. I haven’t tasted bread like this in … forever. Just like our mothers were supposed to make.”

“More like Paul Poiláne, in Paris,” she corrected him. “I learned my trade there,”

“You surely learned well.” He tasted the wine and made a pleased face. “Whose is it?”

“A neighbor of yours, Fess Parker.”

“The man knows what he’s doing.” Reaching across the table, he caught her hand in his. “I missed you,” he said, sincerely.

“You’ve hardly had time, we saw each other last night.”

“That’s too long.”

From across the room, Maya thought they looked like a pair of lovers, alone in their window table in the rose-shaded light, lost in each other. She sighed, it was all so romantic. If only Ellie didn’t blow it by getting on her “ambition” high horse again. When would that woman learn that life was all a compromise?

Outside on Main Street, Buck saw them through the window. He’d just been about to walk into the cate, but now he stopped. He took a step back, staring angrily at them, holding hands across the table, gazing into each other’s eyes.
How dare she
, the voice in his head shouted angrily.
She’s your woman. You will have to kill him too, if he doesn’t get out of your way.

Enraged, he turned on his heel and hurried back down the street to his car, then drove to her house. Parking on the hill, he ran across the street and let himself in with the key he’d had made. His heart thudded with that irregular rhythm as he stood for a minute in the tiny hallway, then headed up the stairs to her bedroom.

His Ellie was not a sloppy woman and everything was tidy. Picking up her pink bathrobe, he pressed it to his cheek. It smelled of her powder and perfume.

He sank onto the bed, cradling it to him. She was in his arms, pressed close to him, her scent teased his nostrils. It was almost as if she were there.

It was ten-thirty before the cafe quieted down and Ellie finally got a break and could sit with Dan. He’d
insisted she choose the meal for him, and she had served him herself. Simple things, because he was an uncomplicated man who knew what he liked. The white bean soup; the rack of lamb with the
persillade
crust, garlic mashed potatoes and ratatouille. And now he was about to taste her famous tart.

Leaning her elbows on the table, her bottom lip caught anxiously between her teeth, she watched him pick up the fork and cut carefully into the pastry. If he hated it, she would just die….

Dan closed his eyes, as though he were allowing the taste to linger, then opened them. Without saying a word, took another forkful.

She leaned worriedly across the table. “Go ahead, tell me you hate it. I can take it.”

His blue eyes looked innocently into hers. “Was I supposed to say something?” He downed another mouthful.

She sat back in the chair.
“Beast!”
she hissed.

Dan loved it when she pouted. It reminded him of when she was a kid. He finished the tart, put his fork on the plate and sighed with satisfaction. “I could eat that all night.”

“Thanks. How about the rest of the meal?”

He could tell she was anxious. “Best I’ve had since Paris.”

She looked surprised. “I didn’t know you were in Paris.” Then she blushed, furious. He was teasing her. Of course he hadn’t been to Paris, he’d been too busy being a cop.

“So much for that,” she said loftily, standing and beginning to clear the dishes.

He caught her arm as she turned away. “There’s a restaurant in Manhattan. It’s called Paris and the food is great.” He was laughing. “But this was better. Truly, a wonderful meal, Ellie.”

“Then thank Chef Chan.”

His grin widened. “That was just to pay you back for what you said about my vines,” he apologized.

“Burgeoning?”
A smile curled the corners of her mouth.

“How about having some coffee with me?” He was pushing his luck but she was weakening.

Ellie glanced round the almost empty cafe. “I’ll do better than that. We’ll have it at my place.”

This was more than he’d expected, especially after setting her up so badly.

“I’ll have Maya close up,” she said, already walking away.

He was waiting at the zinc counter, hands in the pockets of his blue jeans, when she returned. Looking at him, she thought he looked as good as she remembered him at eighteen, lean, muscular, golden-tanned.

Looking at her, he thought she looked as delicious as the tart she had baked. She was wearing a little red jacket and her black bag was slung over her shoulder.

Looking at both of them, Maya thought they looked great together. And they looked even better when Dan slid his arm round Ellie’s shoulders as they walked out of the cafe.

Leaning her elbow on the counter, she sighed, happy that Ellie had finally found someone she cared about. Not that Ellie would ever admit it. It would take a miracle, or a catastrophe, before she’d do that.

Buck hauled himself off the bed, exhausted by his passion. Replacing the pink robe carefully on the chaise near the window, he walked into her bathroom, washed his hands and dried them on the soft white towel. Then he straightened the coverlet and plumped up the pillow where his head had lain.

With one last lingering glance around his love’s domain, he walked from the room, down the steps and out the front door.

There was only a single streetlight and that was half a block away, leaving this section in semidarkness. He scuttled down the little brick path and across the street, just as two vehicles turned into it. For a second he was blinded by their headlights, and quickly turned his face away.

He heard them stop, and he turned to look. He saw Ellie getting out of the Jeep, and Cassidy parking the Explorer. His stomach curdled as they walked, hand in hand, into the house.

After a minute, he saw the lights go on upstairs, saw Ellie and Dan at the bedroom window. She was pointing something out to him, then she slammed it shut and pulled the curtains.

Anguished, he ran back to the car. The pain was like a stake in his heart. He switched on the ignition, drove up Ellie’s street, and parked opposite. His eyes were fixed on the lighted windows. Tears were streaming down his face.

“And this,” Ellie was saying to Dan, leaning from her bedroom window, “is why I really love this house.”

Dan peered over the rooftops, down the hill at the distant gleam of silver. He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Do I assume that’s the ocean?”

“Of course it is,” she said indignantly, leaning farther out. “Listen, you can hear it.”

He listened. “All I hear is traffic.”

Ellie slammed the window shut and drew the curtains.

“And I thought you were a true romantic,” she said with a derisive snort.

The floorboards groaned as he followed her out of the
bedroom and down the creaking stairs. “You know what they say, once a cop, always a cop.” Looking at the drooping tulips in the beautiful antique urn on the console in the living room, he added, “Besides, if I were a romantic, I’d have brought you flowers.”

“I’m perfectly capable of buying my own flowers, thanks.”

Flouncing into the kitchen, she measured coffee into the filter, poured in the water, then switched on the machine. She took a couple of the green mugs with the cherries on from the cupboard and a yellow bowl of sugar, then looked doubtfully at it. “I don’t even know whether you take sugar in your coffee.”

“Obviously I know you better than you know me.” He was leaning against the kitchen counter, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans.

“That’s the cop in you. You observe everything.”

“I’ve observed the cracks in the walls. Are you sure this place isn’t going to fall down around you one night?”

She shrugged. “Not until the next earthquake, I guess.”

“Spoken like a true Californian.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Now I know I’m in Tomorrowland.”

“Don’t worry, Detective, the building inspectors told me it’s only superficial damage, not structural. I believe it’s moved a bit since they were here”—she lifted one shoulder philosophically—“but what can I tell you. I like it.”

Dan liked it too. He liked the colors, and the overstuffed sumptuousness of the furnishings that lifted it from an ordinary little dwelling into a special place.
Ellie’s Place.
She had a talent for creating a welcoming atmosphere, he thought, remembering the cafe earlier.
Taking the tray from her, he carried the coffee into the sitting room.

Ellie switched on the CD player, lit the candles on the coffee table, dragged a cushion from the chair and sat cross-legged on it. Pulling the band off her ponytail, she shook her hair free, lifting the weight of it, then letting it fall.