Lost But Not Forgotten (15 page)

Gillian heard the question mark at the end of his statement. She wasn’t sure, after their near-collision with the men who were tailing her, if she wanted to embark on this conversation. But she had to say something. “I told Flo—and you—that this is where I ran out of money.”

“I know. You’ve lived here—what? Almost a month already?”

“Yes. So?” She raised her head, her blue eyes wary.

He took the coffeepot out of her rigid fingers and filled it with tap water. “So, it’s none of my business, but most of the women I know can’t be in an empty room ten seconds without plotting where to hang pictures and set knickknacks.”

Even when I had a place, I didn’t keep my baby’s ashes on my mantel.
Lacing her fingers, Gillian clamped her teeth together to keep from lashing out.

For a minute Mitch thought he’d pushed her too far. She looked fragile enough to splinter into a million pieces. That hadn’t been his aim. He only wanted some idea of where he stood. Where
they
stood. “Go shower,” he said, his voice only slightly gruff. “Point me toward the phone and I’ll order our pizza. Unless you’d rather eat something else. There’s a Thai place not far from here. We used to call them and order in at the station if we had to work after Bert and Flo closed.”

Opening a drawer, Gillian took out a phone book and a cell phone. “Suit yourself, since you’re paying. Oh, don’t give them my name, please. Only the apartment number.”

“Sure, but why?” Her eyes reminded Mitch of baby owl’s he’d seen at the ranch. And suddenly her lips looked so kissable, he forgot his question.

“Are you vouching for the character of all pizza delivery drivers?”

“What are you afraid of, Gillian?”

She was oh, so tempted to tell him. Tempted to tell him everything that had happened to send her running away from all she knew and loved.

Her laugh sounded brittle. “That’s a question cops
shouldn’t have to ask a woman living alone. But you aren’t a cop anymore, are you, Mitch? All the same, if more women worried about the strange men they let into their lives, wouldn’t there be fewer Jane Does in the morgue?”

In the silence that ensued, all that could be heard was the gurgle of brewing coffee and Trooper lapping vigorously at his water.

Mitch riffled through the phone book. “Ethan would tell you I’m better behind the scenes than with interrogation. Sorry if I sounded skeptical. Before you head for the bath, tell me what pizza toppings you like.”

“I’m not wild about anchovies. Anything else is fine. Chicago-style, if that’s an option. And extra cheese.” She looked guilty. “And don’t nag at me about clogging my arteries. I eat pizza once in a blue moon. When I do, I want the full gastronomical effect.”

The strain that had developed between them dissolved at last. Mitch threw back his head and laughed. “You’re talking cop-style pizza. Gut-busters we call ’em. Best washed down with beer.”

She left the kitchen, but stopped after reaching the hall on the other side of the living room. “If you need something to pass the time while you wait, there are magazines in the drawer of the end table. You can probably figure out which ones I bought.
Biker
and
Tattoo
were here when I moved in. They’re kind of interesting—if you like bulging muscles and tattoos. And,” she said drolly, “…those are the women.”

The pup padded after her as she disappeared. “Lucky dog,” Mitch mumbled to himself. Those rare glimpses of Gillian’s humor were one thing that kept him intrigued. That and the air of mystery about her, he supposed. A definite air of mystery.

After he phoned for the pizza, he ambled down the hall looking for Trooper, and paused outside a door where he heard water running. Tapping lightly, Mitch glanced into a room across the hall that must be Gillian’s bedroom. “Hot pizza will be here in fifteen minutes,” he called when the water stopped. “I think I’ll go to the bar at the corner and pick up a six-pack of beer.”

“All right. I’ll be quick, but feel free to start without me.”

Mitch hadn’t intended to snoop in her room. Except, he told himself, he should make sure Trooper wasn’t chewing her shoes. Again he was struck by the austerity. Four off-white walls. A double bed, covered with a cotton spread. Sort of a rosy-pink shade. Again, the only color. Peering into the open closet, he whistled softly for Trooper. What stunned Mitch was the scarcity of clothing. He’d been in a few women’s bedrooms. Their closets overflowed with dresses, blouses and shoes.

A pair of sneakers and a pair of sandals sat beside Gillian’s work shoes and the boots she’d worn riding. Above, on the closet shelf, stood an open suitcase and an unzipped duffel bag. She certainly wasn’t attempting to hide anything—like a million bucks in stolen cash.

His wry smile turned into a frown as Trooper crawled out from under the bed, his nose stuck in a white sock. He looked so funny, Mitch had to chuckle. He dragged the errant pup out of the room and pulled the door closed, at once forgetting the frugality of Gillian’s closet.

Gilly heard her bedroom door whisper shut. Was Mitch checking to see if she had knickknacks in there—or had he been searching for Daryl’s key? Maybe he’d hoped to find it for his buddies. Well, she wished him luck. She’d even ripped the lining out of her suitcase trying to find any sign of that key.

Knowing he’d probably urged her into the bath in order to go through her things dampened Gillian’s enthusiasm for the evening ahead. She lingered until the water got cold. Sometime after that, she heard Mitch return with the beer, then heard the pizza arrive. Finally, she got out and dried off. Wrapped in a towel, she eased open the door, glancing right and left before she dashed across the hall. Sure enough, the bedroom door she’d left ajar was now closed.

Mitch called down the hall, reminding her that the pizza was there. “I’m getting a head start on the beer,” he added.

“I need another minute or so.”

“Okay,” he yelled back.

Inside her room, she made a cursory check. Nothing seemed out of place—except for a sock, which lay in the center of the floor. Where had it come from? She took her time dressing, all the while trying to decide whether or not she’d say anything about his intrusion. He must not have been much of a cop. He’d left a trail an idiot could follow.

“Find what you were looking for in my bedroom?” she blurted out the minute she entered the living room.

Mitch sat on the couch with one of the motorcycle magazines spread on his lap. Glancing up, he crushed an empty beer can and automatically opened another. “Yes,” he said mildly after indulging in a long drink. “Trooper sneaked in there and went under your bed. He came out with a stray sock. I didn’t check to see if the mate’s still under there.”

“Oh.” She fought an uncomfortable wave of heat that climbed up her neck.

“Is it me you don’t trust, Gilly? Or men in general?” Mitch put down his beer.

The timer on the oven buzzed, saving Gillian from answering.

“I put the pizza in the oven to keep it warm.”

“I’ll get it.” Turning, Gillian tripped over Trooper. He barked sharply, and Mitch gave a command in Dutch to quiet him. The dog sank to his haunches at once, his ears pointed and twitching.

“I’m impressed. Maybe I ought to get a dog.” She didn’t say for protection as well as companionship.

“You have your food,” Mitch scolded Trooper when he put a paw on the box Gillian was sliding the sizzling pizza back into.

“What’s in the sack?” she asked, pointing to a bag on the kitchen counter.

“I conned the tavern out of plates and napkins. No sense dirtying your dishes for a meal like this.”

“You think of everything. Um, maybe I should keep you around.” She felt bad for accusing him of snooping. This was her attempt to lighten the mood.

Mitch carried the hot pizza box to the couch, and left Gilly to bring the plates and napkins. Making room for her on the middle cushion, he pulled the tab on a beer for her. He served her a slice first, ordering Trooper in English to sit. A sad-looking dog flopped on his belly at Gillian’s feet. Dropping his nose on his paws, he gazed at her from soulful eyes.

“Can he have a bite?”

“No. He’s been trained not to beg, according to Ethan. I’d hate to mess up his training.”

“Ethan trains dogs?”

“No, Ethan bought him from the kennel that trained his dog, Taz.”

“I met Taz, remember?”

“Right. Not for long, though. Ethan acted like a total jackass that night.”

“He looks after your welfare. I think that’s commendable.”

Mitch shut the box lid and took a pull from his beer as he slid closer to Gillian. “That’s what Regan said. We could all four be friends, if Ethan would shape up.”

Gillian ate her piece of pizza except for a bite of crust, which she left on her plate even though she was tempted to sneak it to Trooper. Satisfied, she settled back to nurse her beer.

“One skinny slice and you’re done?” Ethan stared in amazement at the woman seated beside him. He couldn’t explain why he felt nervous around her tonight. Generally he knew what to say to women. Gilly was different, he acknowledged.

“Don’t stop eating just because I’m full.” As if to prove it, she broke off a piece of pizza and fed Mitch little bits.

“This has distinct appeal,” he mumbled. Especially since she paused to pick off the mushrooms as he’d done with his first wedge.

Swallowing the last bite, Mitch grabbed her wrist, then leaned over and took his time kissing her thoroughly and wholeheartedly.

Gillian told herself she was playing with fire. Kissing Mitch Valetti led to more, and that was a bad idea. As she tried to hold on to that thought, her hand went limp. Her toes curled into the carpet. On his lips, she savored the taste of cheese, marinara sauce and malt from the beer. A feast, she decided.

Trooper filched the pizza crust on her plate. Scrambling to his feet, he loped off to his bowl in the kitchen.
Mitch sensed what the pup had done, and after flailing with one hand, made sure the box was firmly shut.

Mitch found he was no longer hungry. At least not for pizza. Lifting Gillian, he brought her onto his lap. At once he felt the visceral hardening behind his jeans zipper.

Gillian felt it, too. This was the time to call a halt, to make excuses.

Then Mitch slid both hands under the fleece top that matched the sweatpants she’d hurriedly donned after her bath, and the moment to make excuses passed.

He’d guessed correctly that she didn’t have anything on under the zippered sweat top. His pleasurable growl said plainly how he felt about being right.

Thought of any kind failed her once he’d snaked the zipper down and skimmed his palms over the aching tips of her breasts. Loud warnings sounded inside her head.
Don’t do this!
And yet…

Their arms and legs tangled pleasurably. But as Mitch shifted her again, Gillian attempted to pull away. The narrow, lumpy couch was exceedingly uncomfortable. Twice Mitch inhaled on a sharp moan and finally released Gilly to massage his badly aching side. When he yelped, swore, ending with an “Ouch!” Gillian sat up.

“This isn’t working, Mitch.” She pulled down her fleece top.

“You’re right. Why are we going through these contortions when you have a perfectly good bed down the hall?” Grinning, he stood up and held out a hand.

“I mean…it’s not working. You’re in pain and I’m…out of the mood.”

“Oh. That kind of not working.” He studied her. “I should go then.”

But he swayed and grabbed for the arm of the couch
to keep from pitching headlong into the pizza box. “Whoa!” he exclaimed, straightening a little at a time. “Must be more tired than I realized. And after a couple of beers… I guess I’m done for.”

“You have a ways to drive, too. Uh…I have an extra blanket,” she said, watching him stifle a yawn and move unsteadily toward the door.

Sleepy-eyed, he turned to watch her test the couch cushions with one hand. They both heard a spring pop. “Thanks, Gilly, but my side’s already giving me fits. I’ll be okay. It’s not that far from home.” He fumbled his pickup keys out of his pocket as he called to Trooper, hoping Gilly would invite him to stay. If not, maybe he’d phone and ask Ethan to come get him.

Gillian plucked the keys out of Mitch’s hand and dropped them on the coffee table. “I guess my bed’s big enough for two. If you really are as sleepy as you seem,” she said, eying him cautiously.

“I really am. Not something a guy likes to admit to a gorgeous woman.”

“I’m not gorgeous. And all flattery will get you tonight is half a soft bed and a pillow to yourself.”

“You’re on,” he said, struggling to maintain some dignity. “Don’t take this wrong, Gilly, but I won’t be sleeping in these jeans. They’re killing my bad side and my hip.”

She wondered, when she agreed to his terms, if she ought to have her head examined.

Mitch managed to shut off the lamp before trailing her down the hall. True to her word, the bed was feather-soft. He let her douse the bedroom light before he tugged off his jeans and rolled into one side of the bed. He’d thought it would be hard to share a bed and not touch her. He was wrong. The strenuous horseback ride, the
lovemaking on the mountain and the subsequent worry over her fainting—added to the beers he’d downed too fast—had taken a toll. Soothed by her scent on the sheets and her warm body by his side, Mitch fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.

Gillian lay awake much longer. She didn’t drift off until Trooper had crawled onto the foot of the bed and settled at her feet. And she still wore her sweats.

Some time later, slamming car doors on the street below, accompanied by Trooper’s low growl, awakened her from a twilight sleep.

She sat up and strained to see the clock sitting on the table near Mitch. Almost four o’clock. Muffled voices rose up from the street below through her open window. Gillian would have lain down again, but the pup’s constant whining under the window prompted her to get up and see what was going on outside.

What she saw started her trembling. Two men, one chubby and one thin, stood next to a blue car arguing. Arguing and gesturing at her building.
It was them!