Something's Cooking (12 page)

Angie looked at
the clock: it was four-thirty. Paavo had called at ten that morning and spoken only to Rico, telling him to be especially on guard—not even to open the door. The fact that Paavo hadn't asked to speak to her and hadn't called back suited her fine. She didn't want to talk to him anyway. Not ever seeing him again wouldn't have bothered her in the least.

She spent the morning on the telephone to Bodega Bay searching for a house to rent. Then she packed her suitcases. Bodega Bay, a small fishing village on the Sonoma coast, was isolated and quiet, although only about two hours north of San Francisco.

It was the ideal place to hide, to run away from the whirlpool her life and her emotions had fallen into. She couldn't possibly continue, the way things were.

Convenient!
Her face burned with pain, rage, and embarrassment all over again whenever she remembered Paavo's hateful word. How could she have been so mistaken about the man?

The decision to leave San Francisco gave her a feeling of release. Even a little giddiness. She'd be free of this anxiety, this constant tension of worrying about herself—and Paavo. Worrying about some man just didn't fit into her lifestyle.

She kicked the sofa and threw herself onto it, her face in her hands. A scared, sick feeling churned in her stomach. Paavo's world of violence, criminals, and ugly, senseless death was still too near to dismiss easily. But she would. And very soon.

At six o'clock, she heard a knock at the door. Rico ordered her back into the bedroom and stood beside the front door, gun poised. “Who is it?” he called.

There was a moment of silence. “It's…” a meek voice started, and then there was the sound of a throat being cleared. “It's Stan Bonnette. Is Angie home?”

Angie started out of the bedroom. Rico waved her to stop. He unlocked the bolt, held his gun in front of him, and opened the door a crack.

“Don't shoot!” Stan yelled. “I'll go!”

“Come in. It's okay,” Rico opened the door to let Stan enter.

“Stan!” Angie said, as a rush of relief filled her. He was a figure from the past, when her life had been simple and carefree. She had always wanted to find a man like Stan to marry one day. Not Stan
himself—she had never cared for him that way—but like him. Wealthy, suave, with a business free of murders, guns, and crooks. A nice, staid business that wouldn't interfere with her idea of a good time. She gave her perfect hostess smile. “How nice of you to drop by.”

Stan's face was ashen. “Hello, there! Well, I don't want to intrude, so I think I'd better be on my way.”

Rico was already back at the T.V.

“No intrusion.” Angie took his arm and yanked him into the apartment, kicking the door shut as she led him to the chairs by the bay window. “Rico's my bodyguard.”

“You still need a bodyguard? What's wrong with the police? Why can't they do something? Bunch of incompetents!”

Angie's smile froze as she looked at Stan without saying a word. Not long ago she probably would have joined him, railing against the vagaries of law and order. Now all she could think of was Paavo—and Matt.

Instead of replying, she asked, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Scotch.”

She had just poured a Diet Coke for herself and set the drinks on the table when the brusque rap she'd waited for all day sounded against the front door. No, she corrected herself, she had
not
waited for him all day. She stared at the door. A wild, silly hope surged in her that, just perhaps, he was here to apologize for his horrible words. Just perhaps he was going to charge in, sweep her
into his arms, and whisper words of regret, of remorse, of passion….

“Rico, Smith here. Open up.” The cold, perfunctory voice shattered her fantasy.

Stan groaned as Rico crossed the living room to the door.

A moment later, Paavo strode into the room, taking in the cozy scene with Stan in one sweep before his eyes met hers. The look in them was cold, and maybe something more. Disappointed? Or was he merely resigned?

He appeared even more tired than he had been yesterday. She wanted to greet him casually, to show how little he mattered to her, but the words stuck in her throat. She lowered her gaze to her drink and let silence hang in the air.

“I see Bonnet's back again,” Paavo said.

Stan stood. Angie looked up as he puffed out his chest. “Listen, Smith, you've no right to keep sending me out of here! I think I better stick around and listen to just what you're planning to do about this situation. It's intolerable, do you hear, intolerable that Miss Amalfi is still being threatened. I demand you get busy!”

She saw the anger growing in Paavo's eyes. After his past two days and his exhaustion, he would have no tolerance for Stan's sudden heroics.

“Stan!” she cried, jumping up.

But Stan was on a roll. “When are you police going to get off your duffs, stop visiting this attractive woman, and find whoever's after her?”

“Bonnet.” Paavo's voice was a low rumble. “Time for you to say bye-bye.”

Stan's face reddened with fury. “I said I will not be ordered—”

“Thanks for stopping by.” Angie grabbed his arm and pushed him toward the door. “Go home now, Stanfield. Please.”

The anger on his face turned into astonishment as he gaped at her. With an indignant sniff, he squared his shoulders and marched solemnly from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Paavo's cold glare now fixed on Angie.

Fury and pain converged as she looked at him. “You'll have to ignore Stan. He was just being chivalrous.”

“So I saw.” His mouth curved into a sneer.

“At least he knows how!”

“Fine, now that we've established what an ace among men he is, I can get on with business.”

“That suits me just fine.” She plopped down on the yellow Hepplewhite.

He remained standing. “I wanted to give you the latest breakthrough. The man's name isn't Edward G. Crane. It's Edmund Banner. He's been here about a year, from the East Coast, where he's been in and out of jail more times than you can count. Small-time stuff. Have you ever heard the name Edmund Banner before, Miss Amalfi?”

Her heart flinched at the formal address. So we're back to “Miss Amalfi” now, she thought. Why not, now that she was no longer convenient? Anger licked at the edges of her control. “No, I've
never heard of Edmund Banner, or Edward Banner, or any other Banner,
Inspector Smith
.” Two could play at this game.

He raised one eyebrow. “I'd like a copy of every recipe Sammy Blade gave you.”

Without a word, she went into the den, where she pulled copies of Sam's recipes from her files. There were only fourteen items. She made two sets, using her personal-sized copier: one set to bring to Bodega Bay—if Paavo wanted to study them, she would, too—and the other set to give him.

She returned to the living room and gave him his set. He shuffled through the papers. “I've had this place patroled all day, in case you were worried,” he said.

“My worries are almost over.”

“Oh?” His attention was on her now.

“I've decided I can't stay here.”

His black brows locked, and he scowled at her. “What do you mean?”

“Just that.” She lifted her chin. “Think of me as a coward all you want, but I'm scared. I don't mind admitting it.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I've rented a house at Bodega Bay. I'm already packed and I'm going there.”

“You're what?” He slowly circled closer, reminding her of a panther carefully, menacingly, stalking its prey.

She refused to react to him or back down. “I'm going away until things blow over.”

He stared at her without word or expression,
his eyes penetrating and his lips drawn in a tight, thin line. “If someone is determined to kill you, they'll try to find you wherever you go.”

“Once I'm away, I'm sure they'll leave me alone. I know nothing.”

The ceiling lights outlined his long, lanky figure. He seemed to loom over her. “But you do know something,” he said. “That's the problem. You've been in the middle of this from the time you printed Sammy Blade's first recipe. You saw his murderer. Crane contacted you. And not only that, the ballistics suggest that Blade and Matt were killed by the same gun.”

Angie hated this Sherlock Holmes act. “Rather ‘elementary,' is it?”

He shrugged, as if the answer was too obvious to bother with words.

“I don't care!” She spit her words out through gritted teeth. “I'm leaving.”

His face darkened as he leaned over her. “Right now, Miss Amalfi, you're my only lead.”

Her eyes widened a moment, then narrowed. “So I'm just bait for your trap!”

“That's not the way it is.”

“Like hell!” She stood, brushed him aside, and then spun around to face him, carefully enunciating each word. “A lead, you said! Your best lead. Well you,
and
your leads,
and
your police business, and all the rest of it can be damned! I'm through with all of you.” She marched to the door and placed her hand on the knob, ready to open it and throw him out.

Instead, she watched him walk to the window
and look out, his back an unrelenting, rigid outline against the darkening sky. He turned toward her again. “I wouldn't do anything that might harm you.”

He was so infuriatingly controlled that she wanted to scream. “Of course not. Lose me and the department might look bad. To think that I trusted you, that I cared. My God, I've been a fool!”

His eyes dulled and a look—could it possibly have been longing?—flickered briefly in them before they became shuttered and emotionless again. “We need you here,” he said.

She could feel the blood throbbing in her ears, her breathing fast and heavy. He's a cop just doing his job, she told herself for the umpteenth time.

“I'm driving to Bodega Bay. No one will know where I am. I'll be able to breathe again.”

“Will you for once just
listen
to me?”

“No!” She stabbed the air in front of his chest with her finger. “You listen. You're the one who said we were from different worlds. So you can jolly well think of my going as a victory. Angie's going to cut and run, just as you always predicted. I won't be here to be used, to be convenient, for
anything
, any longer!”

“Enough!” He gripped her hand, her accusing finger crushed in his barely contained fury. But the moment their hands touched, she felt a jolt arc between them like an electric current. An angry, smoldering gaze raked her from head to toe as his hand drew her toward him. But she
held herself back, stiff and unbending. Time seemed to stop as he weighed his response. Then his shoulders eased, and he let her go. “All right,” he whispered.

She seethed, breathing hard, unsure she'd heard him. “What?”

“I said,
all right
.”

“You can't mean that.”

“You told me you're packed. When did you plan to leave?”

“You agree?”

“You might be safer if you're away, out of sight. It might have been shortsighted of me to insist that you stay here.”

“Because I might be safer somewhere else?”

His blue eyes pierced her. She'd almost forgotten, arguing with him so much, the effect a simple glance from him had on her. “Of course,” he said. “Why else would I want you away from here?”

The emotion in his voice rocked her, weakening her defenses. She fought any softening of her feelings, though, and gave him a steely stare. “I'm leaving tonight.”

“Tonight! No way.”

“Shall we bet on it?”

He folded his arms, suddenly every bit as stubborn as she. “I won't let you go to Bodega unless I go up there and talk to the local police. But I can't leave tonight.”

She folded hers in return. “Then you'd better come up with another solution real fast, Inspector, because I'm not staying in this apartment any longer.”

Angie couldn't believe
she was doing this—skulking around some dingy back alley. One moment, she had been anticipating a cozy little retreat at Bodega Bay, peaceful and safe. The next, she'd been persuaded to hide out in the city for a couple more days. Why had she turned into such a marshmallow when he turned those baby blues on her and suggested she stay at his home? Even his obvious reluctance to have her there hadn't defused her ready agreement. Damn! She didn't know what angered her more: him or her reaction to him.

Did she honestly think she'd have a second chance at melting his cold heart? Whom was she kidding? But, on the other hand, as her niggling inner voice pointed out, he must care at least a little bit, or he would have simply sent her packing. It couldn't
all
be out of duty.

So here she was, standing among bulging Hefty garbage bags and trash cans, in a dark alley, imagining assailants lurking behind every dark corner and waiting for Prince Charming to find them a taxi cab.

She'd handed Rico her car keys and her suitcases. Rico would take Angie's car, drive around for about a half hour, and, when he was sure he wasn't being followed, meet them at a parking lot across town. She and Paavo had taken the stairs from her apartment to the basement, and then run to a side door exit.

She'd held her breath as Paavo raised his gun, opened the door, and bobbed his head outside. When no one tried to remove it, she had followed him into the darkness.

They had scrambled over three backyard fences before they reached the street on the opposite side of the block from Angie's apartment. Every muscle in her body ached. Going over the fences wasn't so bad—Paavo had given her a boost up and steadied her as she got both legs on the other side of the fence—but landing on that other side had caused her teeth to rattle. She was amazed she hadn't broken a leg, if not her neck, doing it.

Now they huddled in an alley off of a busy street until a taxi drove by. Paavo ran into the street and hailed it. It stopped.

Sore and exhausted, she flopped back against the cab's seat, wondering what she was doing. Was she the crazy one, or was it the cop beside
her? The cop who made her so angry she scarcely knew her own mind….

He'd promised to drive her, using her car, to Bodega as soon as he was free to go. As they neared the rendezvous point with Rico, she realized he hadn't ever actually seen her car. “My car's pretty small,” she said. “It's Italian, and a couple of years old already. Anyway, since the trip to Bodega is fairly long, if you prefer, I could rent something bigger to drive up there.”

The cab pulled into the lot. Rico was leaning against Angie's white Ferrari.

“No,” Paavo said with a little catch in his voice, “your car will do just fine.”

Thanking Rico for all his help, Angie gave him her father's card, in case she wasn't able to send the payment due him and Joey.

His eyes took on a sad cast as he nodded, then left.

She turned to hand her car keys to Paavo, but he was already halfway in the car, checking out its dials and running his hands lingeringly over the soft leather interior. She'd never dreamed she'd be envious of a car.

 

“I can't wait to get away,” Angie said shortly after they arrived at Paavo's cottage. “Can't you do something, pull a few strings, so we can leave tomorrow?”

Paavo sat on the sofa, his hands clasped. A sudden shadow came over his face. “Tomorrow morning is Matt's funeral.”

“I hadn't realized,” she whispered. “Would you like me to go with you?”

“No.”

She nodded. Why had she expected any other answer? Again, she wrapped herself in her rancor at him, making it a shield against the compassion she also felt, but in this proximity, her anger was difficult to hold. Holding a grudge didn't come naturally to her. She preferred to have a simple, cleansing tantrum, and then get over it and go back to being friendly once more. But Paavo wouldn't allow her to get close enough even for that.

Hercules was kicking up a ruckus. The cat's hunger made Angie remember that she hadn't eaten all day either, and probably, neither had Paavo.

Within minutes, Hercules was devouring his canned food as she scrambled eggs, made toast, and heated a can of chili. Paavo's pitiful pantry offered little choice.

She set the kitchen table, dished out the food, and returned to the living room to call Paavo.

He was curled up on the sofa, sound asleep, his brow unlined, the sadness and worry momentarily gone. She stood over him a moment, realizing that he needed sleep far more than dinner. She suspected he hadn't slept well last night, and she knew he had spent the night before that at the hospital, at the station, and with her. She stood there a long time, just watching him. He could be brusque, cold, and bossy, but underneath, his heart was warm—with others, at least. Matt must
have known that, and Matt's wife. She remembered Chief Hollins saying Matt's son liked visiting Paavo. It seemed Paavo wasn't doing nearly as good a job as he imagined at hiding his true nature. Poor man.

She found the linen closet and an extra blanket. Perhaps her being there relaxed him in some way he didn't even realize. She hoped it was so, because that was how she felt. In fact, she had to admit she liked being there more than the thought of being alone in Bodega. She covered him, smoothing the blanket over his long, powerful frame. Maybe he'd ask…no,
demand…
that she stay right there until her own place was safe again. Of course, she'd say “no” for a little while….

She ate dinner alone. After cleaning up the kitchen, she moved her suitcase into the bedroom. It was a comfortable room. The whole house was comfortable, as Paavo was under that steely surface.

She read the plaques and certificates on his wall, all of which had to do with the police force. Aulis Kokkonen must have been a good influence, but what makes a kid go from the streets to the force? Whatever it was, being a cop meant a lot to him. He clearly was proud of his work and his accomplishments, and he believed in them. Looking at his mementos, she felt a stirring of affinity. She couldn't have explained it, but it was there.

After changing into a long, heavy, flannel nightgown—brought along especially for cold
Bodega nights—she switched on the lamp by the nightstand, propped up pillows, and took Sam's recipes from her handbag. She had decided to read through them to see if she could spot some code or clue, as Paavo had suggested. There had to be some hint, some ingredient….

 

The next morning, the smell of freshly brewed coffee gently nudged her awake. Across the room, Paavo stood at his dresser, his back to her, putting on cufflinks. That done, he looked in the mirror, adjusted his tie, and picked up his hairbrush.

Angling her head just a bit, she could see his reflection in the mirror. She stared, struck by how handsome he looked in his charcoal suit, dark tie, and white shirt. She hadn't spent much time simply observing the man before. Usually she had been too busy being irritated by him to pay much attention. But as always, he had a magnetism that she couldn't deny.

Deep in thought, he held a faraway look that softened his features and erased the wariness that too often defined his expression.

She noticed the gentle waves appearing in his hair now that it was a bit longer than when she had first met him. The skin at the inner corners of his eyes and below was a shade darker than the surrounding area, making his eyes look especially deep set and intense. She loved his eyes.

Her gaze caught his in the mirror. He had been watching her through the glass with an odd
expression on his face. She smiled and tried to appear nonchalant, as if she hadn't been staring at him so openly, so admiringly.

“Good morning,” she said.

He put down the hairbrush and faced her. His gaze traveled the length of her there, in his bed, wrapped in his blankets. When he raised his eyes to hers again, they were like blue flames. Their heat traveled straight to her heart.

He turned abruptly to the dresser and began to rummage through the things on top of it. “Where are the keys?…Ah!”

“Did you eat, Inspector?” she asked, wrapping her pink quilted robe over her gown as she got out of bed.

“I'm not hungry.” He left the bedroom and walked toward the front door. “I won't be gone long. I'll use your car, if you don't mind. Mine is still at your place.”

“Fine.” She followed right behind him.

“Don't go out. A patrolman will be driving by at least every half hour. He'll keep an eye on things.”

“Thank you,” she said. He reached for the doorknob, looking so alone that her heart ached for him and she moved closer to him. All of yesterday's resolutions had vanished, and she couldn't let him go without saying something. “Paavo.” Her voice was a choked whisper.

He turned, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his, tightly, not even quite sure how she had gotten there. The clean, spicy scent of his aftershave, and the warm,
firm feel of his lips made her knees weak. Almost as quickly, she let go of him. She was embarrassed but nonetheless glad she had kissed him. “Take very, very good care of yourself,” she murmured.

He nodded, his blue eyes capturing hers a moment, and then he hurried from the house.