Chapter 6
SABLE
"Are you sure you're all right?" Forrest poured us each a glass of water and handed one to me.
"Yes, I'm fine." I nodded my thanks and took a sip. My hand shook as I set the glass down on the table.
"Actually, I think it's sinking in."
"We can leave if you want to," he offered. He placed his hands on the table, as if to push himself up from his chair.
"No, no." I flapped my hand at him. "It's okay. We both have to eat."
Like in the cafe, he'd made sure I had a chair in the corner where I could see the rest of the room. If Woody decided to come at me again, I'd know long before he reached the table. I'd have plenty of time to crawl under it.
Nothing said 'badass woman' like hiding under the table, right?
"So you said Woody was an acquaintance?" Forrest hadn't elaborated. "Do you work together or something? Wait, let me guess. You know him from a life of crime. He's appeared in front of you in court ten times. No, thirteen."
Forrest chuckled. "Woody has never been arrested."
"That doesn't mean he isn't guilty," I pointed out.
He raised his eyebrows to concede the point. "Sometimes Woody makes some bad judgement calls."
I grunt-laughed. "You think?"
Forrest grimaced.
"Coming into my apartment and trying to kill me. Yeah, I'd call that bad judgement. At least from where I was standing." My smile faded.
"Hey," Forrest said sharply. "No one would think trying to kill you was a good judgement call."
"Except Woody," I said with a shrug.
"Woody has issues."
"Woody needs therapy."
"Woody would be the first to admit he needs therapy," Forrest said. "I'll talk to him. Make sure he understands what's going on."
I toyed with my hair, curling it around my finger.
"Why was he so certain I killed Wolfgang?" I asked. "I mean, on paper it looks like I had a cause." I suppose I answered my own question.
"You wouldn't have been the first wife to kill a man who was hurting her," Forrest said. "For what it's worth, they get my sympathy. I'd never sentence a woman who took matters into her own hands because the situation was desperate."
"Good to know," I said dryly. "If I ever have to kill someone, I'll make sure you're the judge."
He cocked his head slightly, blue eyes intent on me. "I’m curious under what circumstances you would kill someone."
Of course a server chose that moment to step up to the table. She gave him a funny look before taking our order and hurrying away.
"I think you scared her," I said in a loud whisper.
He smiled slightly. "She wouldn't be the first. No doubt she won't be the last."
"Are you really that scary?" I twisted my hair a little faster.
He leaned forward and smiled wolfishly. "Absolutely. No one wants to end up in front of me in court."
I met him halfway across the table. "I don't think you're that scary."
His eyebrows rose. "Then I'm not trying hard enough." He grinned and sat back.
"You still haven't told me how you know Woody."
"Socially," Forrest said. "He's a friend of a friend."
"I see. Has he ever tried to kill you?"
Forrest propped his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand.
"Only once."
My eyes widened. "He's tried to kill you once."
"It was a misunderstanding," Forrest said easily.
"Let me guess, he thought you killed his father. Or his mother."
Forrest chuckled. "It was nothing like that."
"It sounds to me like Woody Taylor-Francis is a hazard," I said. "Are you sure he shouldn't be arrested?"
"If he was arrested, there wouldn't be enough evidence to charge him with anything," Forrest said.
"Not even a witness to attempted murder?" I gestured at myself.
"Threatening you isn't classified as attempted murder." Forrest toyed with his glass, turning it around slowly in his fingers.
"Tell that to my heart, which still hasn't stopped racing like crazy, for your information." I took another sip of water, only to realize the glass was empty. I held it out while Forrest refilled it.
"He intended to kill me, you know. Otherwise he wouldn't have shown me his face. Maybe I should get a restraining order. Maybe you should get a restraining order as well, since he attacked you too."
"He didn't attack me," Forrest said. "He sent me some lavender."
I blinked. "Lavender?"
"Yes. I'm allergic."
My mouth dropped open to an O of surprise.
"I'm starting to dislike this Woody guy. Who sends someone something they're allergic to?"
"For what it's worth, he also sent a packet of antihistamines." Forrest placed the water jug back on the puddle of moisture it left on the table.
"Oh, well, that makes it okay then," I said sarcastically. "You're going to tell me it's not attempted murder because he sent an antidote, aren't you?"
"Something like that," he agreed. He accepted a basket of garlic bread from the server and offered me the first piece.
I didn't think I was hungry until I smelled it. My stomach was still in knots after the encounter with my masked attacker.
"What's with the mask?" I asked. "On Woody, I mean."
"It adds a dose of drama, as well as hiding his identity." Forrest tore off a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth.
"Drama," I echoed. "It certainly did that. It scared the shit out of me."
He chewed and swallowed. "I’m sorry, I should have been there sooner. If I had, I could have stopped him before he stepped foot in your apartment."
"He might have killed you before killing me," I said. "He seems a bit, what's the word… unhinged."
"Woody wouldn't have killed me," Forrest said firmly. "He knows better."
"Because then he would be arrested," I said.
"Exactly. Killing a judge doesn't usually go down very well with, well, anyone."
"Is that why did you decided to be a judge?" I asked, half joking.
He chuckled. "Believe it or not, I like to put the bad guys behind bars," he said. "I realized early on I didn't have what it took to be a superhero."
"No cape?" I asked.
"No lair," he said, almost sad.
"Oh, come on, a guy like you could have made your own lair, couldn't you?" I got the impression he had the means. Hell, I could make my own lair if I wanted to. Since I had no idea what I'd do with a lair, I wouldn't.
"Now you mention it, maybe I should." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as if he was seriously considering the idea.
"There you go then," I said. "You could call yourself Judgeman."
He choked back a laugh. "That wouldn't be very subtle, but I like it. Would you be my sidekick?"
I stared at him in mock horror. "Excuse me, you'd be my sidekick."
That earned me a smile. "I stand corrected. Seriously though, I do the best I can to do good in the world. It's not always easy, but someone has to do it. It might as well be me. Tell me more about yourself. What did you want to be when you grew up?"
"Apart from a superhero?" I said. "I wanted to be a singer."
"You sing?" He paused with his last chunk of bread halfway to his mouth.
I dropped my hand from my hair down to the table, tapping my fingers lightly on the surface.
"I used to," I said. "It's been a while. I play the piano, too. I went to music school for a couple of years before…" I glanced down at my hand, my dark red nails glossy against the wood of the table.
"Before Wolfgang?" Forrest asked gently.
"Yeah," I said on an exhale. "I wanted to stay in school. Make a life for myself."
"Have you thought about going back?"
I glanced up at him. "Back to school? I suppose I could. I never really gave it much thought before. It seems…"
"It seems what?" he pressed gently.
"I don't know, frivolous," I said reluctantly. "You're trying to save the world, one criminal at a time. What am I doing?"
"Do you know what I do when I'm in a bad mood?" he asked.
"Throw someone in the slammer for a really long time?" I asked.
He snorted. "Apart from that, I listen to music. Music unites people. It makes us feel good. Some might say that's even more important than what I do. Why would you not want to share that with the world?"
"Because a lot of people are better at it than I am?" I suggested, answering his question with one of my own.
"If everyone stopped doing things because other people were better at it than them, who would ever do anything?" he asked.
"No one, I guess," I said. "What if I try it and fall on my face?"
"What if you try it and do so well you, I don't know, win a Grammy? What if one person listens and smiles because of what you did?"
"What if one person listens and throws up in their mouth a bit because of what I did?" I countered.
"Then they have bad taste," he said firmly.
"You haven't even heard me sing," I pointed out.
"After dinner, would you sing for me?" His expression suggested he didn't just mean musically.
My face heated. "Maybe. Let's see if we can get through dinner without trying to stab each other in the eyeball with a fork."
He considered for a moment. "That's fair. For what it's worth, I promise not to try to stab you in the eyeball with a fork. Or a spoon. Or a knife."
"Not even a spork?" I wasn't sure this restaurant had any, but it didn't hurt to be clear, just in case.
"Not even a spork." He nodded as he spoke. "What were you planning to do with that piano stool? Back at your apartment, you wielded a piano stool at Woody."
"Oh." My face heated a little more. "It was the only thing I had close to me. I figured he'd find it harder to get to me if I had something like that in front of me. It's ridiculous, I know."
"It's not ridiculous." He was firm on that. "Have you had self-defense classes?"
"I took a couple in college." Between classes and movie marathons with Savannah and some other friends. "Let me guess, you're about to recommend someone."
"As it happens," he smiled. "I know a woman who specializes in teaching other women to take care of themselves. I'd recommend her to every woman." He exhaled deeply as he finished speaking. His brow creased, eyes narrowed, as if he was frustrated.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I'd like if we lived in a world where women don't have to take self-defense classes to save themselves from men," he said bluntly. "Since we don't live in that world, it's a good idea to learn the skills."
"I suppose it is," I said. He was right, we shouldn't have to be vigilant all the time. On guard because a man felt the need to overstep. Where was that spork when I needed it?
"At this rate, I won't have time to go back to school. I'll be too busy doing therapy and self-defense classes."
Honestly, though, both gave me something to look forward to. It was past time I dug myself out of my rut of self-pity. Wolfgang was gone. He was dead. I wasn't. It was time I started to live.
The server brought our first course after that, and we fell into silence while we ate.
Every so often I glanced up at him, to see him watching me, speculation in his eyes.
I wanted to ask what he was thinking, but I suspected I might not like the answer.