He was too insecure, too scared of women, of people in general, to take the initiative so boldly unless he had a compelling, hidden motive.
Maybe he was planning an attack in the privacy of her apartment. Or he might have doctored the food-the veggie dish, the one he'd bought for her. Might have put poison in it, or a sedative.
One thing was certain. This was no casual get together. It was a chess move, a tactic in a deadly serious contest of strategy, and she had a sense that it was perilously close to the end game "Still warm," Hickle said, touching the sealed containers.
"I hope it wasn't presumptuous of me to order this stuff without asking you."
"Not at all."
"I just thought… well, I enjoyed our dinner last night."
"Me too."
"I guess I don't get out as often as I should."
"I don't know if dinner in my apartment exactly constitutes getting out."
"Is it a problem, eating in here? We could use my place if you want."
She thought about taking the opening he had offered, but if he had trouble in mind, he could strike as easily in his place as in hers.
"Mi casa es su casa." she said.
"Let me get the windows open, okay? It's gotten stuffy."
She raised the windows in both rooms, checking to be sure her surveillance gear was safely concealed behind the closed door of the bedroom closet, then deposited her purse on the coffee table by the sofa. She hated to be separated from her gun, but it wouldn't look natural to hold on to her purse while at home.
Anyway, it was within close reach.
"Now I'll get out some plates"-she nudged him aside to reach the cabinet-"you set'em up on the coffee table, and we'll chow down."
"Sounds like a plan." He seemed lighthearted, almost droll, which worried her because she knew it was an act.
Rummaging in the cabinet, she became aware of her deficiencies as a hostess, at least in these temporary quarters. She lacked napkins, china, glassware, and metal utensils, as well as any beverages other than bottled water.
"I'm afraid we'll have to dine picnic style," she told him.
"Styrofoam plates, plastic cups and forks, paper towels as place mats and napkins. And if you want anything to drink besides water, you'll have to grab it from your fridge. Sorry."
"Water's fine with me."
"I'll try a little of the pork and chicken if you don't mind." She spooned the meals onto the plates.
"I'm not a strict vegetarian. And why don't you take a little of the broccoli?" If he had tampered with the veggie portion, he might find a way to decline the offer.
"That'll be great," Hickle answered calmly.
Maybe the food was okay, then. She sat next to him on the sofa, balancing the picnic plate in her lap. For a few minutes there was nothing to say. Ordinarily Abby was a skilled mechanic when it came to fixing a stalled conversation. She knew how to lubricate the gears and recharge the battery and get things moving again.
Tonight her mind seemed frozen. She knew why. She was not in control of this encounter. She was not the only one keeping secrets this time.
She ate the meat dishes exclusively until she saw Hickle sampling the veggie meal. He seemed to have no reservations about eating it. She saw him chew and swallow. Her fear of poisoning receded. Even so, she wasn't very hungry.
"Anything on TV?" Hickle asked.
"I don't think so."
"You watch it much?"
"A little."
"Like what?"
"Nothing special. Sometimes one of those magazine shows, you know, like Dateline." She had never watched Dateline in her life, but she had the impression that it was on nearly every night, so it must be popular.
"How about you? You have any favorite shows?"
He hesitated.
"I like to watch the local news."
She was almost sure he was studying her reaction.
She played it cool, showing a slight frown of distaste.
"The news? Isn't that depressing?"
"I think it's good to, uh, stay informed-you know, about the community."
Yes, she thought, you're very civic-minded.
"But there's so much crime."
"Crime is part of life. Without people who break the rules, where would we be?"
"The Garden of Eden?"
"Maybe, but what's the point of living in paradise if you're not really living? Know what I mean?"
She speared a chunk of broccoli with her plastic fork.
"Tell me."
"Okay, here's the thing. Adam and Eve were only going through the motions, see. They were content to just exist. They didn't strive for anything. They never sought out their-well, their destiny."
"Do you believe in destiny?"
"Yes, I do."
"What is destiny, do you think?"
"Destiny…" Hickle drew a slow, thoughtful breath.
"Destiny is like what happened with Dante and Beatrice.
You know that story?"
"Not really."
"Dante became a great poet, but his destiny was set when he was nine.
That was when he saw a girl from afar, a girl his own age. Her name was Beatrice. He fell in love, dedicated his life to her. Years later, when he was in his forties and Beatrice was dead, he wrote an epic poem in tribute to her. She lives on through his art. She was his destiny, I think-even though they were never lovers, never even friends. Still, she was meant for him, and finally she was his, not in life, but in death."
"I see' Abby said softly.
He must have heard doubt in her tone.
"You don't agree with me, do you? You don't think it's destiny?"
"I think…" Abby calculated the risk of honesty, then looked directly at him.
"I think it sounds like a kind of madness, Raymond."
He stiffened but forced himself to smile.
"The kind of madness that breaks all the rules," he said evenly.
"So I guess we're back where we started."
"Crime, you mean." Abby looked away, breaking eye contact. It was not good to challenge him.
"Where there's crime, there's usually punishment."
"Some people aren't afraid of punishment."
"Maybe they should be."
He was silent, pensive. She forced herself to eat another few bites of her dinner. It had been a gamble to raise the issue of punishment. She had no idea how he would react. With violence, maybe, or simply by withdrawing into a sulk.
She thought she was ready for anything, but when he spoke, his question surprised her.
"Did you really come here from Riverside?" "Sure," she said, holding her voice steady.
"And you had a fiance who cheated on you?"
"Yes, I did." She didn't like being interrogated. She tried to turn the tables.
"Why would you ask?"
"Sometimes I have the feeling you're not what you seem."
Not good. How to respond? With a smile.
"Then what am I?"
He smiled also, but it was a smile without humor.
"An image. An illusion. Or maybe what I said the first time we met: an actress."
"I told you, I'm a girl trying to get her head together after a bad breakup. Nothing more complicated than that."
"Everything is more complicated than that." He studied her openly, his food forgotten. She knew he had more to say, and she waited for it.
"Do you know how it feels," he asked finally, "to want to believe in something… or someone… when you're not sure you can?"
She saw what looked like anguish in his face and almost pitied him.
"I know how it feels. But there are times when you've got to believe."
"Why?"
"Because relationships are built on trust." She thought of Travis when she said it, Travis with his stash of GPS.
Hickle shifted closer to her on the sofa. She could feel him trembling, but whether it was a signal of fear or rage or. some other feeling she couldn't guess.
"You trusted your fiance," he said, "and he lied to you."
"Not everybody lies."