Finding Sarah (19 page)

Randy parked behind Sarah’s
building and helped her out.

“This isn’t exactly how I
expected the evening to go,” she said, “but you caught her. And now you can
find that Brady guy and maybe everything will be back to normal.” She gave him
a puzzled look. “You don’t seem happy.”

“Sorry. It’s been a long couple
of days. And I have at least an hour of paperwork to do. She has to be
transferred to Pine Hills.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow? Come
up for some coffee or something?”

The rush of the arrest had left,
more quickly than usual, since he still didn’t have the person he needed—the
man who’d hired, or coerced her into the robbery. He wished he had Sarah’s optimism.
But after days of trying to make connections, he was ready to admit he could
close the case, but would have the wrong person behind bars. And that Laughlin
wasn’t going to cut him any more slack. He didn’t realize he’d accepted her
invitation until they were standing in front of her door.

Inside, he took a seat on the
couch, his gaze halting at the dining room table. The checkered tablecloth didn’t
disguise the fact it wasn’t the table he’d sat at a few days ago. He started to
comment when Sarah turned and shook her head.

“Nobody’s getting my shop. If I
have to sell every darn piece of furniture I own, I’ll do it.” Her voice was
tight and he thought he ached more than she did herself.

She went into the kitchen. “I
think we need some hot chocolate. Comfort food. Sorry it’s instant packets,
though.” She filled a teakettle and set it on the stove. On her way back to the
living room she stopped at the stereo. “Bridge Over Troubled Water” began
playing.

“Cocoa and Simon and Garfunkel.
Mom’s cure-all for the blues.”

“Do I look that bad? Are you
taking care of me?”

She smiled. “Tell me about what
happens next.”

“They’ll bring Harriett to Pine
Hills. She’ll appear before a judge where he’ll explain the charges. My guess
is he’ll release her on bail, assuming he believes her story.”

“Do you?”

He nodded. Sarah was quiet for a
moment. “I get it. You caught Gertie—Harriett—but you still haven’t figured out
why she did it. The mysterious Mr. Brady is still out there.”

“Good detective work, Ms. Tucker.”

She came back to the living room
and sank to the couch. Now she looked like he felt.

“And,” she continued, “whoever he
is, catching this woman doesn’t mean he’ll go away.”

The kettle whistled. Sarah made
no move to get up. Randy went into the kitchen and pulled it from the stove.
Sarah had laid out mugs and two cocoa packets. He mixed the drinks and brought
them back to the living room. “If you need a friend,” he intoned. “I always
liked that song. Sad, but comforting, too.” He set the mugs on the coffee table
and shut off the lamp.

He sat down next to Sarah and
when she didn’t draw away, he pulled her against him. She leaned into his
chest. He put his arm around her shoulder, and they sat in the dark while their
cocoa grew cold. Which was about the only thing growing cold. Sarah’s even
breathing told him she must have drifted off. She snuggled closer, exhaling a
contented sigh. He inhaled, and the peach scent of her hair hit him right in
the testosterone. His erection strained painfully against his zipper, but he’d
die before he’d move and disrupt the moment.

She’s a victim. You’re a cop.

He didn’t know whether to be
grateful or angry when his phone rang.

Sarah rushed into the kitchen,
dragging her collapsible shopping cart behind her. Never mind the
little-old-lady image, it got her groceries from the bus stop to her apartment.
She yanked the bags out of the cart.

What had she been thinking when
she invited Randy to dinner? Last night had been a disaster in the
get-to-know-you-when-you’re-not-a-cop department. Good grief, she’d actually dozed
off sitting next to him. Okay, leaning against him. Snuggled against his chest.
Relaxed. Okay, not exactly relaxed when she’d sensed his arm around her and
heard the pounding of his heart. If his phone hadn’t rung, waking her, she didn’t
know what might have happened.

But he’d been the perfect
gentleman, kissed her on the forehead, and left. But not before something deep
in her brain escaped her mouth, and she’d invited him to dinner.

What
was
she thinking? She
hadn’t cooked for anyone in ages.

Then, everything had taken twice
as long as it should have. A dawdling customer, so she’d missed a bus. Then the
huge line at the checkout at Thriftway.

Could be worse. At least it wasn’t
raining.

Sarah unloaded the bags, arranging
the ingredients on the counter. She’d worried about the menu since she’d opened
her mouth and invited Randy to dinner. And since she’d been without Jennifer
today, she didn’t have a lot of time to cook, but she’d had a lot of time to
worry about it. She’d pored over her recipes trying to find something
affordable, quick and elegant without being pretentious.

What did Randy like to eat? Why
couldn’t she have asked him that instead of how many girlfriends he’d had? She
finally decided on rigatoni. What the heck, she made a darn good spaghetti
sauce, and rigatoni didn’t have that embarrassing dangle factor. Garlic bread?
Why not? They were both going to eat it. Salad. Vanilla ice cream for dessert.
With chocolate sauce. Thick, gooey chocolate sauce.

She changed into jeans and a
T-shirt and began her prep. There was no way she would be finished before Randy
got here. Too bad. He could watch, or he could help. She was not opening a jar
of spaghetti sauce. This was a family recipe, and she wouldn’t rush it.

While the onions sautéed, she
cleaned the greens for the salad and put them in her salad spinner, getting
rewarded with a nice cold shower when she took the top off before it stopped.

Calm down. Relax. You’ve done
this dozens of times.

She’d get the sauce simmering,
change her clothes, and everything would go off without a hitch.

She crushed a clove of garlic
into the onions and let them sauté for a minute before tipping them into a
large saucepan. She chopped the tomatoes, added some tomato sauce, a hint of
Worcestershire, some fresh basil and oregano, a generous glug of red wine, and
gave it a good stir. A quick taste, a little more salt, some red pepper flakes,
and she was satisfied.

She adjusted the burner and went
to set the table. Loud plopping noises sent her racing to the stove to pull the
Vesuvius-like liquid from the burner and lower the flame, but not before she
was covered with splotches of hot, red sauce.

A knock on the door, followed by
Randy’s voice. Already? She wiped her face and managed to blind herself with
the onion residue left on her fingers. Eyes streaming, she worked her way to
the front door, tripping over the folding metal shopping cart she’d left in the
middle of the living room.

“Darn!” She extricated herself
from the wire cart and hobbled to the door. She opened it and bent to rub her
throbbing shin.

“Sarah! What happened?” He kicked
the door shut behind him, put his arm at her waist and half carried her to the
couch. “Sit down. Let me look at you.”

“It’s nothing. Bumped into the cart,”
she said when he sat beside her, his hands on her shoulders, staring at her.

A blush spread over his face. “I’m
sorry. I heard a crash and you shouted, and you were doubled over, and I saw
you’d been crying. For a second I thought you were covered in blood, too.”

“Onions,” Sarah said. “And
spaghetti sauce.” She looked down at her shirt. She did look like she’d been
wounded in battle. She tried not to laugh. “It’s nice to know you care.”

Randy retrieved the bag with the
wine bottle he’d dropped in his haste to rescue her. He ducked his head. “Sorry.”

He looked so sheepish, Sarah
couldn’t contain herself any longer and the laughter exploded. Randy’s laughter
joined hers until they both gasped for breath.

Sarah sat up, wiping her eyes on
her sleeve. “If you could have seen the look on your face,” she said. “Every
woman needs a white knight to save her from erupting tomato sauce. I’m glad you’re
mine.”

“Any time, my lady.” He reached
to her face and wiped her cheek with a thumb. “It’s good to see you laugh.”

“You, too.” She took his hand and
kissed his thumb. His face grew serious and he leaned forward and reached
behind her neck with his other hand. Sarah continued nibbling his thumb,
flicking her tongue over it, watching Randy’s eyes half close, feeling his
breathing escalate. He pulled his hand from Sarah’s mouth and put his lips over
hers. She kissed him, gently at first, but with more passion as he sought her
tongue and pushed her back down on the couch. Heat rose within her. She reached
for his hand again and placed it on her breast. She felt his fingers on her
nipples as they strained against the lace of her bra. She thrust tighter
against his hand and the heat flowed from her breast to her groin.

He rose from the floor and Sarah
shifted herself as far back onto the couch as she could, turning her body to
face his. His kisses never stopped as he lay next to her. She rubbed her body
against his, feeling her breasts against his torso, her hips against his
erection. His kisses moved from her lips to neck, to ears and back to her lips.

God, how she wanted him. She
gasped for breath. They shouldn’t be doing this. Not here. Not yet.

“Wait. Stop,” she panted. She
heard Randy’s groan, but he released her and lifted himself on one elbow.

“What’s the matter? Am I hurting
you?”

“God, no. It’s … it’s … I don’t
know.” She reached up and traced the line of his jaw. “There are things to
consider.”

Randy took her hands and nibbled
her fingertips. “I understand. I have protection.”

A typical male reaction. As if
the only consideration was safe sex.

“Let me up for a minute, please.”
She tried to read Randy’s face. She knew he was frustrated, but he didn’t look
angry. He swung himself around and helped her to a sitting position.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought
you wanted this as much as I did.”

“I’m sure I do. More, maybe.” She
closed her eyes for a moment, then continued. “I never slept with anyone but
David,” she whispered. “And we waited until we were married. This. With you. It’s
scaring me. I want you so badly, but then I think about how fast it is and I
panic. I don’t know your favorite food, or your favorite color, or what movies
you like.”

“I won’t lie and tell you this is
easy,” he said. “I want you so much it hurts. But if you want to wait, I’ll
wait. If we’re right for each other, we’ll be right for each other for a while
longer. And, to answer your questions. Lamb chops. Blue, stone blue. And I’ve
seen
Blazing Saddles
twelve times.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, turning
to face him.

“But we’re not going to take up
where we left off, are we?”

“Not until after dinner. All
those tomatoes shouldn’t have sacrificed their lives in vain. And maybe we
should try a proper bed instead of this couch which is easily three sizes too
small for you.”

Randy stroked her cheek, but not
before she’d seen him glance around the room, his gaze stumbling on the photos
of her with David. He rested his chin on her head. “I’ve thought about that. I’m
not sure I want to have our first time in a bed you shared with David. I think
his ghost might get in the way.”

She’d made her peace with David,
but Randy’s remark touched her. She gazed into those brown eyes flecked with
hazel. “Let’s have dinner here. I’ve got ice cream for dessert. Do you think it
would survive a trip to your place without melting?”

He smiled. “Most definitely.”

“You can open the wine while I
get into some dry clothes. Corkscrew’s in the second drawer, left side.” She
tousled his hair and kissed his cheek and scampered to the bedroom.

Eating took precedence over
dinner conversation. The anticipation was almost tangible. Randy helped clear
the table and wash the dishes. Their fingers touched, their bodies rubbed
against each other as they maneuvered in the small kitchen.

“I’ll be right back,” she said. “Why
don’t you get the Styrofoam cooler from the cabinet on the back porch. And the
fudge sauce is on the counter.” Smiling, she went to her room, plucked some
clean underwear from the drawer and jammed it into her purse along with a
toothbrush.

Suddenly, she sobered. She
reached behind her neck and eased the chain over her head. Holding the ring in
front of her, she gave it one loving kiss and put it in her jewelry box. “No
more ghosts,” she whispered. “I love you, David, but it’s time to move on.”

* * * * *

On the ride to Randy’s house,
Sarah tuned the radio to an oldies rock station. Trying to keep a conversation
alive when she knew they both had only one thing on their minds was impossible.
She began swaying to the beat and soon they were both belting the chorus to
Sweet
Caroline
.

“My mom loves Neil Diamond,”
Sarah said.

A few more songs and they were at
Randy’s house. He opened the door for her and turned on a lamp by the couch. “You
want dessert now?”

“Right after the ice cream.”

Randy chuckled. “I’ll serve. How
about we eat on the couch?”

Sarah settled on the couch and
toed off her sneakers and socks while she adjusted the three-way bulb in the
lamp to the lowest setting. Candles would be better, but she hadn’t thought to
bring any.

Randy appeared with two sundaes. “What
are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

“That was not a ‘nothing’ look,
that was a ‘something’s missing’ look.”

“I thought candles would be nice.
But they’re not important. The moonlight is enough.”

Randy set the ice cream on the
end table and disappeared down the hall, returning in a moment with a green
foil gift box. He arranged half a dozen pillar candles on the coffee table and
lit them. The scent of vanilla filled the air. Sarah turned off the lamp and
picked up her bowl. An ice cream purist, she turned the spoon over as she put
it into her mouth so that the initial sensation on her tongue was the creamy
richness of the ice cream. She grinned as Randy followed her example, eyebrows
raised.

“This way, you don’t get the
metallic taste of the spoon,” she explained. The scent of the candles
intensified the vanilla flavor of the ice cream.

Randy nodded in agreement,
matching her bite for bite.

Sarah scraped the remains of the
sundae from her bowl. She licked the spoon, enjoying the chocolate’s creamy
sweetness. She glanced at Randy, sitting beside her in the flickering light. A
flush rose to his face as he set his bowl on the coffee table. Lowering her
spoon, she glued her eyes to his and let her tongue dance circles around her
half open mouth while she savored both the chocolate sauce and the thought of
his mouth against hers. The look in his eyes made her forget the chocolate. Her
breath quickened.

Randy dipped his fingertip into
the chocolate residue in her bowl and brought it to her lips. Her tongue
swirled around his finger. He pulled his hand away and covered her lips with
his own. She pressed deeper into the kiss, her tongue feeling the chill in his
mouth turn hot. Somewhere in the distance, she felt him remove the bowl and
spoon from her fingers, heard the soft thud as he placed them on the coffee
table, but the kiss took on a life of its own, transcending awareness of
anything else.

He pulled her on top of him so
that she straddled his lap. She leaned her head into his chest, listened to the
pounding of his heart, the rapid rhythm of his breathing. His hands sent
shivers down her back as he reached under her sweater and unfastened her bra.
Murmurs of pleasure intertwined as one. She wanted his hands to envelop every
inch of her. Shifting herself closer into his body, she began rocking gently,
her mind oblivious to all but the fluttering sensations building deep within
her.

She ran her fingers through his
hair, caressed the velvety softness behind his ears, rubbed her hands up and
down his back, began working his shirt free of his pants. His hands moved to
her chest, kneading her breasts, rolling her nipples under his thumb. Sparks
shot through her at his touch. She reached to unbuckle his belt, to touch him,
to share the pleasure.

“Sarah,” he gasped. “Wait.” He
put his hands over hers.