Watchers of the Night, page 7
“Thanks. Mom loves decorating. There used to be a lot more stuff in here.” He hung their jackets and placed the helmets on the bench by the closet door. “Did you want to hang your holster with your jacket?” he asked.
“I—um, I have a habit of keeping it in the bedroom with me. I was told it was the best place to keep it,” she added, seeming almost defiant.
“It is. I do the same thing.” He didn’t want her to feel embarrassed. He shook off his shoes and grabbed her backpack. “Come on—I’ll give you the quick tour.”
Adam loved this place. In the ten years he’d spent here, from a teenager until he moved out at twenty-three, his parents’ love had infused these four walls. Mom’s eclectic choice in her native Lebanese art, combined with Dad’s Nordic love of the bare necessities, made their home so unique it had been featured in a popular Canadian home magazine.
Cynthia was the second woman to visit—Else, his ex, was the first. “Here you are. Make yourself at home.” He placed her backpack by the bedroom door.
“Thanks.” She turned a slow circle before facing him. He caught the questioning look in her eyes.
Instead, he headed for his own room. Adam wasn’t going to mess this up. He sensed the attraction between them, but one wrong move, and he’d lose his chance to...
He stopped, suddenly realizing that he needed something more than a passive working relationship.
Chapter 6
“What do you mean the break-in has something to do with the bombing case?” Daniel demanded.
Cynthia sighed. “Instead of asking all the questions that I don’t have the answers to,” she said, trying to control her frustration, “how about you get a couple of officers, go to my apartment building, get the key from the landlady and, you know—investigate?”
He sputtered. “Yeah, sure. Sorry about that.”
“Call me as soon as you find anything on the letter.” Her anger grew as she remembered part of the message.
I’ll be watching you, Cornwall.
“You bet. Where are you staying?”
“At a friend’s house. Only for a couple of days.”
She hung up the phone and blew out a sigh. She hoped Daniel found something.
A knock. “Cynthia? Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She scrambled to her feet. “Give me a minute.”
Damn, she needed more than a minute. “Oh man.” She grabbed her hair and gently pulled. How the hell did she get into this situation? Oh yeah, by calling Adam to rescue her instead of heading straight to the police station and staying at a hotel.
Was she getting too close? Memories of her own similar tragedy, and solving it when no one else could, had dragged her into Adam’s world of pain. She wanted to be the one to help ease it, but she wasn’t doing a very good job of it.
Being in his apartment should have been the last thing on her mind, and yet, here she was. She hadn’t refused his demand to stay with him. Why not?
“Argh.” Cynthia didn’t have time to figure this out—Adam was on the other side of the door waiting for her. She grabbed her laptop and phone, put on her “officially at work” face and walked out to brave the unknown.
She observed the clean lines of the condo, noticed how the rooms flowed into one another in an open concept plan, and how big it was—maybe too big for one person. Beyond the cozy dining room was the large kitchen, with Adam moving about. The delicious smells she inhaled caused her stomach to growl loudly. She approached slowly, not wanting to startle him.
Cynthia already knew Adam was tall, but she was again surprised by how broad his shoulders were, and how his upper body tapered to a trim waist. He wore a T-shirt, and his muscles flexed with a will of their own as he worked. Studying a body in motion was a whole new ball game.
“There I go again,” she mumbled. She’d never get any work done. This was why relationships were a serious no-no in her books.
Adam turned—he must have heard her. “Hey,” he called out. “I’m just throwing something together for us to eat. You can wait in the living room if you want.”
She should have taken him up on that offer and studied the photos she’d taken of the crime at her apartment until he finished. Instead, she walked over to the breakfast nook adjoining the kitchen and placed her stuff on it. “I don’t want to be rude,” she said by way of explanation when she saw his surprised expression. “Plus, we can talk.”
His boyish, impulsive smile made her stomach feel weird. Damn emotions, getting in the way of work. Cynthia made a show of opening her office laptop, before plugging it and her phone into the handy outlet behind her and transferring the photos so that she could study them better on the larger screen.
“You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”
“Sorry?” She glanced up, and her breath caught in her throat. Adam wore a pair of khaki cargo pants that looked tailored. They were a snug fit, showing off the definition in his thighs and backside.
Lord have Mercy. Cynthia kept her gaze glued to her laptop screen, fiddling with buttons. “Did you ask me something?”
“Allergies.” He said this slowly. “Do you have any food allergies?”
“Nope, none, I’m good.” She sensed him standing there a moment longer before moving away. Damn, that was close. No more looking at Adam for now. She pulled up the first picture—the letter that was discovered on her bed. The words were written in block letters to try and disguise any personality traits. “I should hear from Daniel in a couple of hours,” she started.
“What the hell does the letter say?”
Cynthia had read it, but in the heat of the moment, the meaning never registered. Now as she stared at her screen, the words angered her even more. “‘Be a good girl and back off. Don’t want to see a pretty thing like you get hurt. I’ll be watching you, Cornwall.’”
“It’s a bit vague, isn’t it? I mean, how does it relate to Dad and what happened at the clubhouse?”
She turned the laptop around for him to see the photo taped beneath the words. “That’s a picture of me conducting my investigation after the explosion.”
He moved closer and bent down to look at the screen. He frowned. “The perp was there.”
“Probably hiding in the crowd.” It was a close-up shot of her, standing to the side of the clubhouse wearing her hazmat suit. “I think this was taken just before I went into the building to start my investigation.” She shivered. “I hope Daniel finds something.”
“He will. He was trained by you, wasn’t he?” Adam had two plates on the counter beside him.
“Let me help you.” Cynthia put her stuff on the floor behind her and got up.
“If you can grab the cutlery and place mats in that drawer and lay them out on the dining room table, that’d be great.”
She stared at the multitude of utensils before her. Adam must do a lot of entertaining. “We’re keeping this simple, right? I mean, we’re not having a four-course meal or anything like that?”
“We’re having a three course one—salad, main and dessert.” He glanced over his shoulder.
“Gotcha.” He didn’t have to do all of that. She picked up the required pieces and got to work setting things up. “Um, listen, I’d rather not have any alcohol, if that’s okay.” She needed Adam to understand that this was not a dinner date. The fact that he even went through all this trouble of cooking a meal that made her mouth water was already awkward.
“That makes two of us. Water glasses are in that cupboard.” He pointed with a spatula.
Cynthia just finished putting the glasses on the table when Adam came over with two bowls. “Fattoush salad,” he announced, setting them down. “Do you want anything else besides water? I have soda and juice as well. Oh, and I’ll be brewing cappuccinos for dessert.”
Wow, who is this man? If she had pursued a different career, she wouldn’t hesitate to be all over this guy—handsome, a cook, a good listener. Along with his excellent work ethics, she was surprised he was single. “Just water for now, thanks.” He sat down opposite her.
“This looks delicious.” She spied cucumbers, radishes, tomatoes and what looked like pieces of fried pita bread. “This is a Middle Eastern salad?”
“Lebanese. One of Mom’s specialties. That’s where she’s from.”
Intriguing. That explained the paintings and his knowledge of them. She took a bite, and let the flavors do a dance in her mouth. “Adam, this is really good.” Her stomach agreed as well, growling in response. She paused, glancing at him.
He gave her a small smile. “Displays your appreciation of the food.”
“I’m sorry—that was embarrassing.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s a compliment.” He got up. “Let me take that for you.”
Cynthia hadn’t realized she finished the salad so fast. She gave him the bowl, their fingers brushing against each other. A warm tingle of heightened awareness had Cynthia watching Adam’s every move as he went into the kitchen to get the main meal. Oh, this was bad—in so many good ways.
She rubbed her sweaty hands across her thighs as he returned. “And what’s this?” she asked, savoring the smells of the meal before her.
“These are called arayes, basically meat-stuffed pitas.”
She looked at it, curious. “I think I smell...cinnamon?”
“Got it in one.” He slid a couple onto her plate before attending to his. “They’re hot, so fork and knife is best at first. But I like to use my hands.” He demonstrated by cutting his into quarters, grabbing a piece and dipping it into the small bowl beside him. “The yogurt gives it an extra level of flavor. One of the best family meals my grandma taught me to make,” he said, licking his fingers.
So in this short time frame he’d mentioned a few important family members. His love for them was obvious. “How are your friends doing in the hospital?” she started, mimicking his movements and managing to get dinner into her mouth without making too much of a mess.
“Bruiser said they did well through surgery, but not out of the woods yet. There’s going to be a lot of healing and physical rehab for the next few months.” He kept eating, but the sadness in his eyes tore at her.
“Have you visited them?”
“No.”
Something in that one word raised a red flag. Cynthia wouldn’t push it. “I’ll analyze as much as I can tomorrow, and find out if Mr. Creatura knows anything.”
“Hey, you don’t think...” He hesitated. “Will Boucher try to take you off the case after the break-in at your apartment?”
“Like that’s going to happen.” She almost spat out the words.
Adam nodded and went back to eating. “I figured you’d say something like that.”
They ate in silence for several minutes. “Adam,” she said, then stopped.
He glanced at her.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to upset you earlier, asking about your friends.” She rubbed her arms, thinking of an all-too-similar story in her life, with similar results.
“Cyn, I’m not mad at you. It’s been a rough couple of days.” He got up to take her plate.
Hearing him use her nickname sent a shiver of goose bumps across her arms. Oh boy, I am going to go downhill fast. “No, please—let me.” She jumped up, grabbed his stuff and hurried into the kitchen before he could protest. She put everything down, then looked around, feeling bewildered. “Do you have everything hiding behind a panel?” she demanded. “Where the hell is the garbage can?”
Adam leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. He didn’t say anything, but his amused expression spoke volumes. He pointed at the door beneath the sink.
She scraped off the remnants of dinner, put everything in the sink, then turned and gave him a look. “Dishwasher?”
Another damn panel. “How do you know where everything is?” she asked, then regretted that question. She turned her attention to the dishes, rinsing them off and placing them in the machine.
He laughed. “Practice, Ms. Cornwall. Now if you’re done, let me get the cappuccino machine going. In case you’ve forgotten, you are my guest, after all.”
He had taken several steps into the kitchen, and in order to get out, she had to pass him with almost no room to spare. “Excuse me,” she said softly, leaning back. Adam didn’t move. “I need to get by,” she added.
“I know.” His voice held a low timbre, and the grin that slowly spread across his face was the teasing kind that made Cynthia shiver in her socks.
Lord. Undaunted, she put her hands against his chest and pushed. No luck. She tried using her hip to shove him out of the way. Nope. “Adam, come on,” she implored.
“There might be a toll you’ll have to pay in order to pass.”
“Oh, you mean like a gold coin?” Sarcasm usually worked to help get her out of sticky situations. If that didn’t work, she’d have no choice but to put on her “office” attitude.
“Something a lot more fascinating than that.” He lowered his head.
“Detective Adam Solberg.”
He stopped—that got his attention.
“May I ask what you’re doing?” Cynthia didn’t know how she kept her voice from trembling.
He stared into her eyes. His blue gaze was so intense it could put the sky to shame. “Flirting with you.”
It wasn’t even a question on his part. His honest response left her speechless for a few seconds before she finally found her voice. “Office relationships are a no-go for me.”
“Have you ever wondered what would happen if you met someone at work who, I don’t know, ticked all of your boxes?”
“I haven’t met any man who’s completed my list.” Although Adam hit almost everything she wanted in a guy, damn him.
“That’s a shame.” He shifted just enough for her to squeeze by, but not without touching a part of him. She sat at the dining table and glared at his muscular back while he prepared dessert.
Maybe coming to Adam’s place was a mistake. Despite keeping her distance as much as she could, she couldn’t deny the attraction that seemed to be growing between them. Thankfully, Adam hadn’t overstepped any boundaries, but how long would that last? His truthful admission of flirting was cutting it awful close. Maybe he’ll back off now that I’ve put my foot down.
As for herself? Well, she wasn’t knew what she was doing. Touching his unmoving pecs like that was somewhat deliberate and using her hips to bump him out of the way was sheer madness. She stifled a laugh. Yeah, she sort of did that on purpose too—no need for Adam to know that, though.
Cappuccinos arrived first, along with dessert that she knew was complicated to put together. “Did you make the baklava?” she asked in awe, staring at the delicate pastry.
“All from scratch.”
“Holy crap.” The first bite melted in her mouth. Cynthia made the second bite last to enjoy the flavors. Sweet, flaky, nutty and utterly delicious. “Where have you been all my life?” she asked, chewing on another mouthful. If she wasn’t careful, she’d eat the whole pan. “This is just... I don’t know what to say. It’s amazing.”
“Thanks.” He sipped his drink, watching her.
She carefully swallowed, then picked up her cappuccino.
“So...” He placed his cup down with a clink. “Have you heard anything from your colleague?”
She glanced at her watch. “It’s ten o’clock. Daniel should have something by now. I’ll give him a call after I help you clean up.”
His smile was almost shy. “No, I’ll clean up while you talk to him. Might be better that way.”
* * *
Adam listened to Cynthia’s muted conversation while he kept himself busy. Occasionally, he also gave himself a good mental talking-to for daring to push against her personal space. She had given him a stern reminder about office relationships, a rule that he normally followed, but with her, it was getting difficult. Especially when she did things that contradicted her cardinal rule. Shoving against his chest to make him move was one thing—pushing her hip against his to try to slip past him was a whole other level of damn sexy. How could he resist teasing her?
He’d been nervous when she walked into his home, knowing her gaze would miss nothing. When he left her so she could call Daniel after their meal, the thought of waiting for her had set his nerves on edge. The next thing he knew, Adam found himself in the kitchen, replaying the dinner and their conversation while he cleaned. He hadn’t expected her questions that teased out information about his family. It felt natural, like longtime friends finally seeing each other after several years, and picking up where they left off.
He loved being with his female family members while they enjoyed each other’s company and cooked. The feeling of closeness and love filled him with such good vibes. When he finally had the courage to ask if he could help, at the ripe age of seven, Teta had practically squealed with delight. She had shown him her secret recipes that even Mom never laid eyes on. The summer vacations spent with Grandma, Mom and their relatives in Lebanon had been the best part of his life.
He had made a promise to talk to her every day, even if it was only for five minutes, and the past two days were the first times he hadn’t followed up.
He finished cleaning, and glanced over at Cynthia. She was still on the phone, her voice quiet. With the dishwasher running, he turned off the lights and headed into the living room to switch on the television. He rarely used it, preferring to read a book before bed, but he needed the distraction until she finished. He kept the volume low as he flipped through the channels, hesitated when he saw the nightly news, then finally settled on a documentary.
His phone pinged. He got up and retrieved his personal one, and read the short text from Bruiser.
