Searching for Cate (15 page)

The husband's always the last to know. Unless, of course, it's a trusting daughter.

L
ydia turned away from the front door after having locking it behind her departing guests.

It was a little after ten. Both Cate and Christian had left somewhat sooner than she'd expected, less than an hour after dinner was over. Neither one had seemed overly comfortable this evening. But comfortable or not, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was chemistry between the two of them just waiting to explode. She mentally crossed her fingers that she'd pushed something a little further along.

Leaning against the door, she smiled hopefully at her husband.

“Well, that went well.”

Lukas gave her a look that all but said, “And what planet are you living on?”

Moving away from the door, Lydia lifted one shoul
der in a hapless half shrug. “Okay, maybe not exactly well. But it wasn't awful. And I just know there's something going on between them. I can feel it.”

Lukas merely shook his head, a fond, indulgent expression on his face.

“Just promise me you won't quit your day job anytime soon.” When she frowned, he laughed. He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. He led her into the living room. “You do a hell of a lot of things well, Lydia. Matchmaker just doesn't happen to be one of them.” He motioned her toward the stairs, pressing a kiss to her temple before whispering into her ear. “Now, what do you say we go up to bed and you can do one of those multitude of things that you
do
do well?”

Lydia gave him a skeptical look. “I thought you have to get up early tomorrow.”

“I do.” Despite the fact that it was a Saturday, he had surgery scheduled at seven-thirty tomorrow morning. Which meant he wanted to be at the hospital no later than six-thirty. But thanks to the dinner party breaking up earlier than anticipated, that gave him a little leeway. “We're wasting time.”

Lydia looked toward the kitchen. She hated facing cleanup first thing in the morning. “But the dishes—”

Lukas continued ushering her off in the opposite direction. “Will still be in the dishwasher tomorrow morning, unless we're blessed with elves, or druids, or some kindly spirits from my ancestors decide to stop by.” Her protest grew halfhearted, especially when that intimate smile of his curved his mouth, the one that was only meant for her. “News flash, I didn't marry you for
your housekeeping skills or your culinary skills, which, by the way, have improved vastly.” He liked nothing better than flattering her. “Dinner was excellent.”

“Thank you.”

He'd already said that to her, as had Cate and Christian, so at least the meal itself had been a success. It was nice to know that something had gone right. The rest, apparently, was going to take a little more time.

Lydia realized that Lukas hadn't finished his train of thought. She looked up at him innocently. “What did you marry me for?”

Very slowly, Lukas applied his thumb to the side of the first button on her blouse and coaxed it out of its hole, then went on to the next. His eyes remained on hers. “Guess.”

Lydia was tired, wired and worried—definitely not in a state primed for lovemaking. Yet when Lukas was close to her like this, when the scent of his skin filled her head, the casual touch of his hand heated her body, all she could think of was making love with him. When they made love together, nothing else mattered. The rest of the world, its chaos, its problems, all disappeared. Everything disappeared.

Except for him and her.

It was her precious corner of the world.
Their
precious corner of the world, she thought, her heart quickening. Warmth filled her. “How many chances do I get?”

He was on her last button. Her blouse parted, giving him a glimpse of the light blue lacy bra she wore underneath. It was one of his favorites. “If you don't get it right on the first try, I'm going to have to show you.”

She widened her eyes, doing an imitation of a vapid woman without a thought to call her own. “Um, is it my smile?”

“Close, but no cigar.” The next moment, filling his arms with her, he lifted her up.

With a whoop of delighted laughter, Lydia laced her arms around his neck. Her head was spinning as if she'd imbibed something a lot more potent than sparkling cider with dinner.

She began to nibble on his neck as he approached the stairs, then drew her head back for a moment.

“You really don't think they hit it off?”

Her eyes searched his face, hoping for a positive response. Her own thoughts kept fluctuating and it wasn't entirely because of the two people involved. Damn, she couldn't wait until this part of the pregnancy was in the past. She hated this vacillating feeling. It just wasn't like her. She was accustomed to making gut calls about almost everything.

“Not like we're going to,” he promised. And then he sighed. “I guess there's only one way to shut you up tonight.”

His smile was enticingly wicked a second before he captured her mouth with his.

Lydia surrendered herself to the moment. And to the thrill.

 

Her key in her hand, Cate stood beside her car in the driveway where she'd parked it. The evening had ended a bit abruptly with both of them practically vying for the honor of being the first out the door.

She supposed it really hadn't been that awful. She
just balked at having things arranged for her without her knowledge or consent. That
really
took control away from her, and right now, it was all about regaining control of her life.

Cate looked at Christian over the roof of her car.

He pulled his door open. As if sensing that she was watching him, he glanced in her direction.

“I guess that was kind of awkward,” she murmured.

Her smile was almost shy. Had she been embarrassed? He hadn't thought of that. He'd been too busy dealing with his own reaction to think of hers.

“I've been in more comfortable situations,” Christian admitted. If she had been embarrassed, she was certainly being a good sport about it, he thought. Christian paused, debating his next move as he fingered his car's ignition key. He supposed that Cate was just as much a victim of Lydia's unexpected foray into match-making as he had been. That gave them something in common. “Want to get that cup of coffee we never wound up going out for the other evening?”

Cate had one foot inside the car and nearly stumbled. His question, coming out of the blue, caught her completely by surprise. As did the little shaft of pleasure she felt swirling through her, leaving a tiny pinhole in its wake. A little ray of light began to push its way through.

Getting out of the car again, she stared at him. His question replayed itself in her head. This was without orchestration, entirely spur-of-the-moment.

Impulse.

Somehow, the very fact that it was impulsive sanctioned her reaction. Cate inclined her head, allowing a faint smile to surface. “All right.”

“Or would you prefer getting a nightcap instead?” He'd deliberately passed on the wine that Lukas had offered him at dinner, wanting to make it easier for Lydia to abstain without drawing attention to herself. “I know this small restaurant not too far from my place…” Looking at her, Christian let his voice trail off.

His place.

Was he asking her something? Suggesting something? That maybe she…

She was reading too much into it, Cate told herself. One of the drawbacks to being an FBI agent. Nothing ever seemed simple anymore.

And sometimes, every once in a while, some things were. Like maybe now.

She widened her smile and nodded. “Sure. That sounds good. Why don't you lead the way? I'll follow you in my car.”

He tried not to think about where this might go and what he might have started. For now, it was just one foot in front of the other.

Gingerly, Christian folded his six-foot-two frame into the small interior of the car that had been as much therapy for him as a project. He'd begun work on it two months after Alma had killed herself. Not because he'd wanted to, but because Uncle Henry had presented it to him as a challenge.

“You need to do something with your hands, boy,” his uncle had said. He'd half expected a pair of boxing gloves to be dropped in his lap. Lukas had taken it up at Uncle Henry's behest all those years ago and it had turned him around.

But instead of gloves, Uncle Henry had given him a book on building his own car. At first he'd resisted, but Uncle Henry kept prodding and pushing. He'd begun working on what ultimately turned out to be his car in self-defense, never thinking it would amount to anything.

But bit by bit, the vehicle began to take form. Eventually, he looked forward to working on it, to scouring junkyards, searching for the right parts. It took time, especially with his workload. He made time. Silently, he dubbed the car Phoenix because it had emerged out of hundreds of discarded, broken parts.

Just the way he finally did, rising out of the ashes of what had been.

After a time, the car was finished. He was not. He doubted if he ever would be completely whole again. He knew it was something that his mother prayed for, but the world, his world, was sorely short on miracles.

For now, he congratulated himself each evening for making it to the end of another day. He doubted if he could ever expect more than that. To expect was to be disappointed and he had more than his share of that.

Christian adjusted his rearview mirror, making sure to keep the woman driving behind him in his sights. He drove slower than usual. If a light began to turn yellow as he approached it, he'd ease up even more, coming to a stop rather than taking a chance on crossing the intersection and leaving Cate behind at a red light.

Twenty minutes later, he was pulling up his sports car into the Red Balloon's parking lot. It was already three-quarters full, but there were a few empty spaces away from the front. Cate was right behind him. And
then right next to him as she stopped her vehicle in the spot beside his.

“Do you always drive that slowly?” she asked him as she shut the door behind her.

He had to admit that the slower speed had been an effort for him. “I didn't want to lose you.” Securing his own door, Christian led the way to the Red Balloon's entrance. “Why?” He held the door open for her. “Too slow?”

A wall of warmth greeted her the moment she stepped inside the restaurant. Music pulsed from the interior, just loud enough to enjoy, not loud enough to destroy conversations. The lighting was dimmed to a soft, intimate glow.

She liked the place instantly.

Christian held up two fingers as they approached the hostess. The woman led them to the rear of the dining area.

“I think I coasted half the way here,” Cate told him, following the hostess. She glanced over her shoulder to look at Christian. “It took everything I had to keep from running up your tailpipe.”

The hostess took them to a booth that was tucked away on one side, away from foot traffic.

Christian moved up behind Cate. “You're one of those drivers that speeds, I take it?”

The hostess placed a menu at each place setting and discreetly withdrew.

“I've always had a tendency to do everything fast,” Cate confided. It tied in with her need to know things as soon as they occurred. She always read the end of a mystery before buying the book so that she could spend
her time appreciating the technique being employed rather than trying to figure out who had “done the crime.” “I hate wasting time.”

He laughed as he took his seat. “The CSI people must drive you crazy.”

Cate slid in from the opposite side and found herself beside him. There wasn't enough booth and too much of him. She slid back a little.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, they do. How did you know?”

“Lydia complains about the same thing, although she's slowed down a little since she married Lukas.” He thought of life on the reservation. Of time that seemed to stand still for weeks on end. “Where I come from, time seems endless. Minutes are to be enjoyed as they stretch out into the day.”

A bright, bubbly waitress came up to the table. Before she could say a word, Christian handed her his menu and Cate's. “Just drinks for now,” he told her, then looked at Cate for her order.

She wanted something smooth to cut the edge off what she was feeling. “I'll have a white Russian.”

“Make mine a black one.”

The young woman nodded, making a notation in what appeared to be a Palm Pilot. “One white Russian, one black Russian. Appetizers?” Her bright eyes danced from Cate to Christian and then back again.

He raised a brow in Cate's direction, but she waved away the suggestion.

“If I have anything else to eat tonight, I'll explode.” With a nod of her head, the hostess withdrew. Cate picked up the conversation. “What you said before
sounds good in theory, but I don't think I could put it into practice.”

“You mean about enjoying the minutes?”

She nodded. “I'm too goal oriented.”

“And your goal now?”

“Is to close the case I'm working on.”

He looked at her for a long moment. She felt as if he was actually seeing
through
her, into her thoughts. Into her soul.

“And nothing else?” he asked.

She could almost feel his eyes touching her. Could feel the air all but wrapping itself around her, sealing her in. With him.

The booth was much too intimate, Cate realized. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Maybe it wasn't.

She cleared her throat, as if that would somehow also drown out the small, annoying voice in her head that so often played devil's advocate with her.

“You know my other goal,” she told him as she wrapped the fingers of both hands around the tall glass of water before her. “Getting Joan Cunningham to admit that she's my mother.”

He studied her face, trying to imagine himself in her place. Wondering what he would feel, if he'd suddenly found out that he had another set of parents somewhere. Parents who, for whatever reason, had given him away. He wasn't convinced that he would
want
to find them. “Isn't it enough that you believe she is?”