Ian cleared his throat. “As much as I know you love my morgue, I’m going to have to run you out. I still have one more autopsy before I can go home. So be gone.”
Embarrassed, she pushed to her feet wearily. “Sorry, Ian.”
Kane waited until they were at the front door before speaking. “I do want my field glasses back,” he said mildly. “Just in case you were thinking of canceling on Hunter.”
Her cheeks heated. “I wasn’t. Exactly.”
“Look, I don’t know what happened and I don’t need to. But if you need to talk…”
Touched, she patted his shoulder. “I’m okay, but thanks.” She was almost to her car when she heard him yell from the other side of the morgue’s parking lot.
“Don’t forget the lipstick,” he called, and made her smile.
Chapter Nine
Monday, September 20, 8:30 p.m.
David’s jaw clenched as he cast his line off the end of Glenn’s dock. With quick, vicious jerks he reeled the line through the dark water of the lake, knowing he was never going to hook a fish as angry as he was, and not giving a damn.
Olivia hadn’t come. Hadn’t called or texted. Nothing.
Maybe this was her way of getting back at him. If so, he deserved it.
Sweat dampened the back of his shirt, despite the cooler temps of the fall night. He’d rolled his sleeves up his forearms, tossed his shoes into the dirt at the other end of the dock, and now stood in his bare feet casting for a walleye he’d never catch, going over each minute of that one night again and again, and trying very hard to stay calm.
Then his shoulders jerked forward. He’d hooked one. A damn big one. Reflex had him reeling-just as he heard the low roar of a vehicle approaching. He kept reeling as he listened, wondering if it would keep going, like all the cars had up until this point.
It didn’t. It stopped out front, the engine idling. Minutes ticked by and the engine continued to idle. Turn off the car, Olivia. Then he let out the breath he’d been holding when she did. A door slammed in the stillness of the night.
Two very long minutes later he heard the gentle slam of the back door and let out another breath. His hands continued to reel as he heard the crunch of fallen leaves and, finally, detected the faint aroma of honeysuckle. She was here.
“I didn’t think you would come,” he said, not turning around.
“I said I would,” she said quietly.
He turned then, looking into the face that had captured his imagination the moment he’d seen her. But it had been her eyes that had drawn him that first night. He found they still did. Round and blue, they’d been by turns sharp and intelligent, soft and understanding. And, later, hot and needy as she’d looked up at him, her head on his pillow. He swallowed hard.
“I’m glad,” he said simply and her lips turned up. Not quite a smile. He dropped his eyes to her throat and could see the pulse beating there, fast. Nervous, he hoped. Not scared. Please don’t let her be scared.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I needed to pick up my dog and go home. Clean up a little.”
His eyes dropped to the dress she wore. He’d seen it before. The first night he’d met her, at Mia’s rehearsal dinner. The night they’d sat and talked about everything under the sun until the small hours of the morning. He had to wonder if she’d chosen the dress on purpose, or if it was simply a favorite.
Blue like her eyes, it was made of something diaphanous that gave him teasing glimpses of her curves as the fabric rippled in the breeze. She’d left her hair down, as he liked it best. He wanted badly to touch, but his hands were filthy, so he kept them where they were, clutching his rod and reel for dear life.
He looked at his own clothes ruefully. “I was. Cleaned up, that is. Sorry.”
“It’s my fault. I should have called. Time got away from me. It sometimes does that.”
He stared another long moment, wondering how to ask the question that had burdened him for two and a half years. Why did you leave? What did I do? “I’ve hooked a fish. Hook’s set hard in his mouth. If I cut the line…”
“He’ll suffer. So reel him in. It’s nice out here, with the lake. Who lives here?”
He reeled, impatiently now. He wanted to wash his hands so that he could touch her. “A friend who’s staying in my apartment building. The one I’m rehabbing.”
“I didn’t know you’d opened it for tenants already.”
“I didn’t plan to. They just needed a place to stay. Now I’m half full.”
Something moved in her eyes and he wished he could interpret it. “That was kind.”
“So is your work with runaways. That night in Chicago, you said you wanted to do something, to give kids like your sister a chance before they ruined their lives. Lots of people talk about making a difference, Olivia. You do. You’re there at the teen shelter almost every weekend.” Even at the height of her work with the victims in the pit, she’d kept her commitment. That had profoundly impressed David.
Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. How do you know what I do in my spare time?”
“I’ve… paid attention. Since I’ve been here.”
Now her eyes narrowed. “You’ve been watching me?”
He focused on reeling. Yes. “Kind of.”
“Kind of? What the hell kind of answer is that?” Her hand was plunked on her hip. Her very curvy hip. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously.
“Not a terribly good one, I’m afraid,” he said.
She pursed her lips, fixing her gaze on his fishing line. “Do you have a better one?”
“I think so, but it’s hard to concentrate right now.”
She huffed. “So hurry up. What are you going to do with it anyway?”
He assumed she meant the fish. “Depends. Do you like fresh fish?”
“Depends. Who’s cleaning it?”
His mouth quirked up at her disgruntled tone. “Me.”
“Then I like fish. I couldn’t help but notice the table you’d set. Is the fish for dinner?”
He’d stopped by the home store for a tablecloth, candlesticks, and some plain white china. Nothing fancy, but better than Glenn’s chipped plates. He’d turned Glenn’s gouged-wood table into something halfway presentable, in case things went well.
“Depends. I’ve got steaks marinating. I didn’t know if you’d have had a chance to eat.”
Some of the starch seemed to leave her sails. “I don’t really do steaks. But the fish sounds wonderful and I didn’t have dinner. So thank you.”
He had the fish now, lowering the rod and reeling fast. “Did the father ID the girl?”
“Yes. Her name was Tracey Mullen. We have no idea why she was in that condo, but it looks like she played mom against dad. Each thought she was with the other.”
“Divorced then?”
“Yeah. Mom comes tomorrow. Not gonna be fun. I gave the dad your message.” She hesitated. “Told him you’d risked your life to save her. He thanked you.”
“I’ve been thinking about him, all afternoon. Thinking of you, having to tell him.” The fish was close now. “Back up. This boy’s coming out.” She skittered back and he gave a final pull, landing the walleye on the dock where the fish slapped around frantically. “Big one.” He looked up, saw her face droop. “Should I throw him back?”
“Would I seem silly if I said yes?”
He met her eyes. “No,” he said gently and she relaxed. “This boy’s lived a long time. Seems a shame to end his roll.” Pulling on gloves, he took the hook from the fish’s mouth and put him back into the water, holding on until the fish gathered enough strength to swim away on his own. “I catch and release most of the time anyway. Only so many fish one man can eat. Let’s go inside. I’ll clean up and then we can talk.”
“And I’ll get better answers?”
“Yes.” And he hoped he got answers, too. Ones he could live with.
Monday, September 20, 8:45 p.m.