Every Move She Makes (24 page)

I stood and started for the kitchen.

He glanced at my aunt and said, "This is better discussed in private."

"The bedroom?" I responded, curious. It was either that or the porch.

He followed me in. "We won't be more than a few minutes," he told
Bettencourt and my aunt.

"Does police work never end?" my aunt asked Reid.

"Hardly," he said. "Now, refresh my memory. What card is it I want to
get?" I shut the door behind us, confident that my aunt would keep Reid
perfect company for the next couple of minutes. Torrance put his finger
to his lips, whispered, "Your aunt," then motioned me away from the
door. "I need to make sure we're not overheard." He led me into the
bathroom, then shut that door as well. "What is it?" He didn't answer.

Not at first. He simply looked at me, his gaze dark, dangerous. Finally
he said, "That was Mathis checking in. He said they got a lead on the
pizza." "And?" He reached out, brushed a strand of hair from my face,
his touch lingering on my ear. I thought of how he'd caught me in the
restaurant, held me, his whisper. His finger trailed down my neck, and
then along the edge of my dress.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Are you and Bettencourt ... ?" He never finished. He didn't need to.

I knew what he was asking. He stepped closer until we were a hairs
breadth apart, yet still not touching. Heat emanated from his body.

"No." My voice cracked, and I wasn't sure if he heard me. I shook my
head and said slightly louder, "No." Then his mouth crashed against
mine. His tongue sought its way inside, his kiss deep, swift, his
fingers entwined in my hair, preventing me from moving away. "God, I've
wanted you from the moment you sat in my car that night," he whispered
against my lips, his body pressing into mine. A shiver swept through me.

"Tell me you don't want me. Tell me ... and I'll let you go." He
waited. I felt his heart pounding against mine. I couldn't answer,
couldn't find the breath to speak.

"Tell me."

"I can't," I said. He kissed the bruise on my temple, then paused to
look at me. This time when his lips touched mine, he lifted me until I
was sitting on the edge of the sink. The paradox of the cold porcelain
through the silk of my dress and the heat of him against me was
delirious and erotic. I didn't think more than a minute passed, and I
found myself wishing my aunt and Reid were anywhere but here. I wanted
more. But this was not the time or place, and so I reached up and put my
fingers to his mouth. He pulled back, looking at me. I sensed he was
disappointed. In me? Himself "You were talking about the pizza," I
reminded him. "Was I?" He kissed me again, softly, slowly. Finally he
drew away, but it seemed forever before either of us caught our breath.

"The pizza?" I managed.

He searched my face. "The pizza order to Giovanni's was called in. The
phone number left with the cashier was from the Hall of justice."

"Where in the Hall of justice?"

"Homicide. It was your number." I think I stared at him for a full ten
seconds. "That doesn't mean anything." "No. It means only that someone
knew your number, and left it as the callback number for the pizza
order."

"Someone as in Scolari?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you thought it."

"That's my job. To think of all possibilities." He was quiet a moment,
then, "Are you okay?" With what? I wanted to ask. With this latest news
he'd just dropped on me? With the idea we'd almost had sex on my sink?

"Yeah. Fine." Whether he believed me or not I don't know, because he
regarded me for quite some time without saying a word. He started to
turn away, stopped suddenly, hauled me against him, and kissed me again.

Then he turned to go, and breathless, I watched him leave, listening to
the soft click of the bedroom door as he closed it on his way out. This
man was spending the night. Did that mean we'd sleep together? I picked
up my hairbrush off the mirrored tray on my dresser. I stroked the brush
through my shoulder-length dark brown hair, examining my reflection,
finding no evidence of our quick rendezvous written in my brown eyes. As
I set down my hairbrush, I noticed the mirrored tray it sat upon had
been moved. There was an edge of oval, dust free-not more than a quarter
of an inch, as though someone had lifted it and tried to replace it. Had
I moved it when I picked up the brush? I looked around the room, unable
to convince myself it was merely my imagination. My underwear drawer had
a bit of white sticking out, preventing it from closing completely. I
opened it. Everything was still folded, but shoved forward as though
someone had reached toward the back. Then I noticed the closet, open,
shoe box lids slightly askew. I'd straightened every one of those a few
days ago while trying to avoid the very man I'd just kissed in my
bathroom.

My head started hammering. Slow down. Think.

Mathis, cross-dresser? No one was here when we went out. Scolari?

Searching for what? Who else? Reid had been in here. Torrance. Me. I
couldn't very well go out and say, hey, who the hell was digging through
my room. Well, I could, but Reid would explode, either at the suggestion
it was him or the idea that someone had been in my room. I'd wait to
tell Torrance in private, after Reid and my aunt left. Torrance had
returned to the kitchen and his laptop, picking up where he'd left off
as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Reid and my aunt were still
engrossed in their game, and at first Reit didn't appear to have even
missed me. But after several minutes I couldn't help but notice the way
he studiously avoided looking at me, or even speaking to me. I was glad.

I could tell he was steaming and I had no desire to get into it with
him. Reid wasn't the sort who would overlook his ex-wife kissing another
man beneath his very nose. Come to think of it, I wasn't sure I would
either. I wasn't exactly proud of myself at that moment. I picked up my
drink, promptly drained it, then poured another.

Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door.

"Damnit," Torrance said, slamming his laptop shut. His actions
surprised me, since rarely did he show any sort of emotion. He got up,
answered the door. Mathis walked in.

"Guess I'm your baby-sitter tonight," Mathis said to me.

Reid and my aunt wrapped up their game, oblivious to my turmoil. "Are
you switching places now?" I asked in as casual a voice as I could
manage.

"Something came up," Torrance said.

Really? I thought. "speaking of baby-sitters," my aunt said. "I better
get home to Kevin. Her glance strayed from me to Torrance, then back.

Had she suspected our tryst in the bathroom? I threw her a dark look,
willing her not to say anything more. For once she complied. Reid helped
her on with her jacket. "I think that's my cue." He came up to me and
gave me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. "Call if you need anything."

His tone was cold, unconvincing. "Thanks. I will." It was the best I
could do under the circumstances. Television reigned as Reid and my aunt
left, and I watched "Torrance pack up his gear.

"'The couch?" Mathis said.

I pulled myself together, picking up the sheets that "Forrance folded
every morning and placed on a shelf beneath the telephone stand. "Yes.

I'll get you some fresh sheets." In the bedroom, I tossed the old sheets
on the bed, then pulled another set from the top shelf of my closet.

When I turned, Torrance was standing there. I wanted to tell him about
the things being misplaced. I

wanted to know about his intentions toward me.

"I'll talk to you in the morning," he said. I tried to read something in
his words, his stance, his expression. Just once, I wanted him to give
me some clue as to what he was thinking. "Yeah, sure," I said, holding
the sheets in front of me like a shield. At the same time, I reminded
myself why I'd been so adamant about not dating within the department.

It wasn't something I'd experienced any success at. My first attempt had
been with a guy I'd dated in the Academy. At our graduation, I was
surprised when he never introduced me to his parents. I took it upon
myself to do so, only to have them politely introduce me to the young
woman seated next to them. His fiancee.

My fault, I figured. The guy wasn't mature enough.

Strike one. The second cop I dated was a good ten years older than my
twenty-five years. Much more mature. What I didn't know was that our
idea of shift partners differed. While I was working swings, he was
supposed to be at home, sleeping. Alone. One afternoon I showed up
unexpectedly, only to find him in bed with the woman he worked with on
day shift. Strike two. I had no wish to do it a third time-Reid was bad
enough, and he wasn't even a cop. I couldn't stand the awkwardness when
things didn't turn out the way I thought they were supposed to. And I
hated how the entire department seemed to know about it before I did.

Torrance stood there a moment longer, as though waiting for me to say
something more, then turned to leave. I followed him out, and handed the
sheets to Mathis, who, thank God, appeared not to notice the tension
emanating from me. Perhaps I was becoming as adept as Torrance at hiding
my feelings. "See ya, Mathis," he said, dropping his laptop into his
briefcase, then heading out the door. It shut behind him, and I stood
there staring at the empty kitchen, when Mathis said, "That a report he
left behind?" A black three-ring binder lay on the table, and I hurried
over, picked up the thing. Before I even thought about what I was doing,
I opened the door and stepped out to the porch. Torrance was near the
bottom of the steps.

"You forgot a case file," I called out.

He glanced over his shoulder. "I left it for you," he said without
stopping. "Can you at least tell me what's going on?" This time he
stopped. His hand on the railing, he turned and regarded me as though
what he was about to say weighed heavily on him. "I'm not even sure
myself." We stood there in silence for several moments.

Finally I descended. "What happened up there in the bathroom-"

"I can assure you, I've never done anything remotely close to what
occurred up there before." What on earth did he mean by that? "Why are
you leaving?" I asked instead. His expression shuttered, and he looked
away. "I was afraid I'd end up sleeping with you," came his quiet reply.

"I've never allowed that to happen before, to sleep with a woman ... '

Oh, God. The rumors. Torrid Torrance. I wasn't sure if I could take the
truth at the moment. "Tell me you're not saying what I think you're
saying."

"Which would be ..."

"Tell me you're not gay." He stood one step below me, nearly eye to eye,
and so close, I could feel his warm breath on my face. He lifted my chin
with his finger. "Is that what you think?" he asked, his voice
deceptively soft. When I didn't respond, he moved even closer, wrapping
his arm around my waist, pressing himself into my thigh.

Okay, that answered that question.

"Like you," he said, stepping back, allowing the cold air to rush
between us, "I don't date cops, which was what I was trying to tell you.

Nor do I give a damn what others in the department think about me. And
before you ask, I'm not bi, either." His admission about dating
surprised me, mostly because it meant he was aware of my private life.