Touch of Evil (11 page)

"It is, Julie! He's the guy in the fireman calendar. That's Mr. August." I glanced back at Tom and tried not to gawk. Well, he could be a calendar model. He's certainly gorgeous enough.

"Omygawd! I think you're right, Megan. Man, he is soooo hot! My sister had to wipe her drool off that page when she bought it." The doors of the restaurant swung outward just then as the manager unlocked the upper and lower locks of the second towering door. Tom reached back his hand expectantly and pulled me toward him. He put his hand firmly against the small of my back and then fixed the giggle girls with his full attention. He winked and flashed a smile at them that could have melted solid steel before following me inside. I heard their delighted squeal just before the door shut behind us.

"You're a calendar model?" I asked quietly with awed amazement while we waited for the greeter to return from seating the people in front of us. He shrugged and managed to look both modest and pleased. "Yeah, sort of. The department did their annual charity calendar last year, and I was Mr. August. No big deal. The police do one, too." I chuckled. "It was a big deal to them. You probably made their whole week by smiling at them."

I noticed that his hand was still warm against my back and his eyes were locked with mine. Boy, did I notice. His words were more serious than I think he planned. "I'm a lot more concerned with whether I've made your whole week."

I was thankfully saved from responding when the greeter returned. The lights were dim enough that hopefully he couldn't see the blush that reached all the way to the roots of my hair.

There's nothing like low lighting and the smell of pasta sauce to stimulate conversation. I don't know why. We were sitting in the back of the trolley car since there were only two of us, and they were saving the bed and bathtub for larger groups. It wasn't long after we started sipping our wine that we were both spilling our life stories to each other.

"Yeah, I think I've met your brother," Tom said, nodding. "Doesn't he work over at St. E's? When Denver General gets full, we take victims over there."

I nodded with a mouth full of hot crusty bread, slathered with butter. I figured I'd earned it by sleeping the whole previous day, so I wasn't too worried about the calories.

When I finally swallowed, I replied. "Yep. He's worked in the ER since med school. He really seems to love it. It takes a special breed to do that day after day. I sure couldn't deal with the stress." He was devouring his salad with gusto. Mine was long since gone. Hungry? No, not me. I started to reach for another slice of the wonderful bread but stopped. The man was going to think I'm a pig. I reached past the basket and grabbed my water glass instead.

He let out an exasperated breath, put down his fork and reached for the bread basket. He

removed a slice, buttered it and put it down on my plate, while I watched with raised brows.

"Eat the bread, Kate. I can hear your stomach rumbling from here. Starving yourself for your figure won't impress me much."

I had to laugh, which surprised him. God! Did he think I was that vain? "This has nothing to do with my figure, Tom. But, for the record, I love your attitude! No, I just discovered earlier today that I'd slept the entire previous twenty-eight hours because I got cracked on the head with a brick and didn't hear the alarm clock when I was supposed to. I'm trying not to gorge myself as much as my body wants me to."

Worry replaced the surprise and he sat back into his chair to stare at me carefully. I bit into the slice of bread and shrugged. There wasn't much else to say.

His face grew serious and slightly angry. "So, you were standing at the top of an eight-foot ladder looking at the ceiling, after a concussion and without food for over a day? Are you nuts? " It was my turn to be surprised. No questions about how I got the concussion, which is what I expected. Of course, I hadn't planned to tell him about Monica. Werewolves and the Thrall are mortal enemies—another good reason to have him live in the building, I suppose. But I didn't want him in danger because of me, either.

When he saw my surprise, followed by my

annoyance whenever I think about Monica, he got the wrong impression. He swore under his breath and waved his hands in front of him. "Hey, sorry, that's the EMT in me kicking in. I know it's none of my business, but you really could have been seriously hurt if you'd gotten dizzy and fallen from that height. I'll shut my mouth now." He lowered his gaze to his meal and picked up his fork silently. I actually hadn't considered falling off the ladder and I should have, because he was right. I reached across the table, and put my hand on top of his to stop his self-conscious stabbing at a garbanzo bean. I sighed and nodded. "No—you're right. I shouldn't have been up there, which means that I took a harder crack than I'd realized for even thinking I could."

He smiled just a bit and released the fork. He flipped his hand and gave mine a quick squeeze before picked up his fork again. The food arrived, so conversation was replaced with contented eating sounds. Neither of us seemed inclined to talk until most of the spaghetti was safely nestled in our tummies.

After I was sitting back happily, letting my food settle before finishing the plate, I asked, "So, what made you become a fireman? There seems to

usually be a reason why people go into fields like fire fighting or police work."

He nodded calmly. "There is. And it's the one you'd expect. Some people I cared about were killed in a fire."

I always hate hearing things like that. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Tom. What happened?"

He let out a slow breath and then wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth with his napkin.

"I was about fourteen, I guess. It happened at night—an electrical fire." He let out a sad chuckle.

"They always seem to happen at night, don't they?

Anyway, I woke up coughing and tried to wake everyone. I managed to wake Dad. He insisted that I take out my younger sister first, and he would get Mom out. That whole part of the house was

already engulfed, but I managed to find Liz and lift her over my shoulder. I tried to get back to where I'd left Dad so we could all go out together, but I couldn't see through the smoke. A fireman found us near the front door, both unconscious from smoke inhalation. I found out later that I was the only one they could save. Liz died at the hospital before I woke up."

I hadn't realized that the waitress had stopped at the table, but she was busy listening, too.

"Oh God! That's terrible, Tom! You lost your whole family?" My voice showed my sorrow and horror. The thought of it made me a nauseous. I'd lost my own parents to a car accident about the same age, but at least I still had Joe and Bryan. What would it be like to be completely alone?

The waitress interrupted, and her voice was a little shaky. "I'll just get these empty plates out of your way, folks. You go on talking and ignore me." Tom smiled sadly but then his eyes cleared and he was suddenly fine. "No, it's okay. There's not much more to say. It was a long time ago. Do you want some dessert, Kate? I hear their chocolate cake is to die for here."

The waitress saw a chance to lighten the mood, and took it. She chuckled and raised her brows.

"You hear it's to die for? You've had a slice for three nights in a row now!"

I looked the question at Tom and he laughed, only a little bit embarrassed. "Yeah, so sue me. I like the food here, and my electricity was out in the apartment."

He held up two fingers to the waitress and

winked. She smiled, nodded and removed the

plates on her way back down the narrow aisle. She had to move sideways, and say "excuse me" more than once. I was suddenly glad that we'd arrived when we had. We'd been so involved in talking that I hadn't realized the place was now packed with people. I glanced at my watch and saw that more than an hour had slipped away. For some reason that reminded me of the lease. Segues are weird things.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, and reached down underneath the table for my purse. I had to worm it out carefully from where it had secured itself between the bench seat and the wall of the trolley, nearly resting my chin on the table to reach it. "That reminds me. You don't have to look at it now, but I wanted to give you the lease to look at. No hurry. I'm not trying to push. I was afraid I'd forget if I didn't bring it along."

His smile broadened and he lifted his glass of wine in a salute. "To the woman who is going to save me from a life of darkness and cold canned food!"

I removed the tri-folded paper from my purse and handed it to him with one hand, raising my glass in the other. "And to the man who will help pay the electricity to stave off darkness in my own house!" The walk back to the building after dessert was pleasant and quiet once we hit the side streets where few cars travel after working hours. The sun hadn't quite set behind the mountains, but the shadows were already deep between the

skyscrapers. Wailing sirens in the distance made both of us perk up our ears until they faded into the distance.

I'd already told him all about the courier business over cake and coffee, and surprisingly, started to talk about Dylan. He wasn't nearly far enough from my mind today, and I just hated it.

"When I learned he'd cheated on me with Amanda, I just couldn't accept it. I guess the thing that made me most mad is that nobody who knew us was surprised." I let out an exasperated breath. Tom nodded, and put an arm around my lightly shivering shoulders. The breeze was kicking up, or so I told myself. I hadn't realized I was rubbing them until I felt his hand settle onto my shoulder. But his warm hand felt good deeper inside than just on my arms.

"Yeah, I know all about betrayal," he said quietly. "You always seem to think that you're on top of things when you're in a relationship. That somehow you'd know if the other person was cheating. But you never do. It always comes as a surprise."

I nodded, not quite sure what to say. We'd only known each other for a few hours, but it felt like years. That made him a bit nervous. It just seemed—I don't know—too comfortable being with Tom.

When we arrived at the building, he seemed a little nervous. "So, I guess I'll see you in a few days then. I need to find one of the guys at work with a truck to get my stuff over here. I'm on vacation this week so I could find a place, but none of the other guys are. So it might be the weekend before I can get started. Will that be okay?"

The words came out before I even realized it.

"Heck, I've got a truck if you need one. Edna's old, but she can carry tons of stuff."

He turned to me, and apparently I had

completely stunned him. He opened his mouth a few times to speak, but nothing came out. He even raised his hands as though he was talking. Finally he shook his head. "Wow. I mean, nobody's ever offered to do something like that for me. I wasn't fishing, I swear. But I couldn't, really. You're already giving me the place for a song, and—" I put a finger to his mouth, which seemed too personal, but just right, too. "Tom, stop. It's not as generous as you're making it out. You're going to do the packing, and the hauling. I'm just providing the truck and driving it. I'm betting that you can handle the moving part, right?"

He laughed lightly. "Yeah, the werewolf stuff isn't worth much in the real world, but I can do grunt work. I'll just rent a dolly for the balance issues and you won't even have to get out of the cab of the truck."

My questioning look brought an answer. "A couch isn't too heavy for me, but it's clumsy. One good gust of wind can knock me off balance." I opened my purse and pulled out a pen and a deposit slip from my checkbook. I scratched out the account number, and wrote down my home

phone number before handing it to him. "The printed number is my cell phone, but call me at the home number when you've got everything packed. I'll try to let you know if I get called out of town on a job."

He folded the paper and then wasn't quite sure what to do. So I decided for him. "Talk to you soon, then, okay?" I turned and unlocked the glass door and went inside the darkened entry. I saw from the corner of my eye as he started down the street, whistling.

Two things happened almost at once: I heard the glass door shut behind me, and the toe of my boot caught in the canvas underfoot. I started to fall at an awkward angle and could see the brass scroll work quickly approaching my head. My next recollection was being in Tom's arms, even though he had been outside and the whole fall had only taken seconds to occur.

I looked up into those pretty brown eyes and thought I saw something more than just gallantry deep inside. His voice was husky. "Wouldn't want you to crack your head and forget that you offered me the apartment." His smile was warm as he pulled me closer, but I flinched and he stopped. Too much pain, still too close to the surface. It wasn't his fault, but the last thing I needed in my world at that moment was a man. Without a word, he stood me back onto my feet and let me go, which was nice.

"Uhm—well, try to be a little more careful, huh?"

I nodded and smiled shakily, because part of me really wished that he hadn't stopped. I found myself watching him walk out the door and down the street as I locked the deadbolt behind him. Only when he was finally swallowed by shadows did I turn to go upstairs.

Sigh. It really had been a long time since I'd been happy, even for one night.

6

Well, certainly the quickest way to get rid of a happy moment is to deal with reality. I took a deep breath and turned the key in the mail drawer. I pulled stacks of past due bills, envelopes with return addresses and no name, but a first class stamp, plus sales flyers out in handfuls. I finally found what had been lying at the bottom of the box that had caused it to be so full. A small cardboard box was holding the rest of the mail aloft. I tried to remember what I had ordered, and turned it over to see the return address.

My spirits lightened a bit! I'd waited for this package for weeks. It was just what I needed to help forget the rest of the mail—or at least keep up my humor.