Chapter Seven #3
“I’m glad you feel better,” he replied. “I think I’m going to go ahead and get started on dinner. How does spaghetti with sauce and shrimp sound?”
“Delicious,” she replied. “I wish you’d let me help you. I feel guilty just sitting at the table and letting you do all the work.”
“Don’t feel guilty. I cook every evening for myself, and it’s no trouble to make the meal for two. Besides, the kitchen is too small to have the both of us in it.”
He didn’t want her that close to him where he could feel her body heat radiating toward him and where they might inadvertently touch each other.
He didn’t want to be so close to her delicious scent as it threatened to dizzy his senses.
He didn’t want her anywhere near him as he was feeling particularly vulnerable right now.
He’d spent far too much time this afternoon thinking about what her lips would taste like and how her naked skin would feel against his own.
She was bruised all over, had two fractured ribs, and he was thinking about sex. He was ashamed of his own thoughts. He got up from the table and moved into the kitchen area where he couldn’t see her.
“I’ll sit in here and keep you company,” she said as she sat at the table.
So much for his brief escape from her presence. He stepped outside the back door and started his generator, then got out his cooktop and plugged it in. From his pantry, he pulled out a pound of spaghetti and a jar full of sauce.
“Before you forced me to go to sleep, you told me you quit being a homicide detective because of burnout. Was it one particular case that really got to you?” she asked.
He wished he’d never opened this door, but he had, and of course she had questions for him. It had certainly been one event that had made him walk away from his job, but it had nothing to do with his work. But he wasn’t about to go down that path.
“No, it wasn’t any one particular case. I guess it was just an accumulation of all of them.
” He filled a pot with water and put in on the burner to boil, then emptied the jar of sauce into a pan and placed it on the stove to warm.
“It’s a job where you definitely see the horror that human beings can do to each other. ”
“How long were you on the force?” she asked.
“Almost eight years.” He pulled the bag of cooked shrimp out of the cooler and set it next to the saucepan. “I was hired on when I had just turned twenty-one.”
“Then that makes you thirty-three years old?” It was more a question than a comment.
“That’s right,” he agreed.
“Have you ever been married?”
“Yeah, once.”
“What happened?” she asked, curiosity rife in her tone.
“It didn’t work out.” A wealth of deep emotion built up inside him. He swallowed hard against it and tried to push it away, but it tightened his chest and made it difficult for him to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” she replied in that soft, gentle tone that always got to him.
“What about you? I’m pretty sure you’ve never married, but have you had a serious relationship before?” He would much prefer that the conversation be about her instead of himself.
“I’ve had one serious relationship, but it didn’t work out. That was two years ago, and since then my main focus has been about my work. Until my mother’s murder, I really had no other focus.”
“Now that you’re the store manager, what’s next for you career-wise? Are you now where you want to be for the rest of your working life?” He turned to glance at her.
She looked so lovely in the turquoise and white T-shirt. It was a perfect color for her dark beauty. Even without makeup, he could see the dark length of her eyelashes and the natural blush in her cheeks. He turned back to the stovetop as his gut tightened for another reason altogether.
“Yes and no,” she replied. “What I’m really hoping is that eventually Debbie will be ready to sell the shop and step away from it altogether. I’ve been saving and hope that when that day comes, I can buy the store from her.”
“So, you want to be a shop owner.”
“That would be my ultimate dream,” she replied. “Once that happens, I’ll be ready to devote more time to my social life.”
As the water in the pot began to boil, Jacque broke the noodles in half and put them in the water. He opened the bag of shrimp, rinsed them off and put them in the sauce.
“Of course, I’m hoping by that time my mother’s case will be solved,” she added.
“And hopefully you’re planning on forgetting about your own investigating skills.” He stirred the spaghetti and then turned to face her once again.
“I haven’t decided that yet.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Please tell me you aren’t going to try to continue what you’ve been doing.”
“Probably not, but I need to do something to find the killer.”
He looked at her in frustration. “Monique, you need to stay as far as you can away from anything to do with this. You got lucky that a neighbor heard you scream when you were getting beaten. You might not be as lucky next time.”
“I know, but I hate to feel like I failed.” She looked down at the table.
“It’s like my sisters have always thought about me.
I’m the baby of the family and too weak and incompetent to do anything but sell pretty clothes.
If I could solve my mother’s murder, then maybe they would change the way they view me. ”
Her words surprised him as they revealed what was obviously a driving reason for her desire to solve Mystique’s murder. He would have never guessed that she was somehow trying to prove herself to her older siblings.
“Monique, you didn’t fail. I don’t know for sure how somebody found out what we were doing, but you were warned to stop it.
Still, you pushed on and then you got beat up.
Good God, woman, you’ve shown yourself to be incredibly strong and courageous.
That’s definitely not a fail. However now you would really be a fool to continue on and deep down you’ve got to know that. ”
“You’re boiling over.”
He looked at her in confusion. “What?”
“Your pot… It’s boiling over.”
He quickly turned around to lower the burner and then began to stir the cooking noodles in an effort to make it stop boiling out of the pot. Once he had that under control, he stirred the sauce, then set a bag of bread and a tub of butter on the table.
“Do you want me to make a salad?” he asked.
“No, I’d rather eat extra spaghetti and not spoil it by eating a salad.”
“Then you’re my kind of woman,” he replied lightly.
It didn’t take long for the meal to be ready to serve. As they ate, she asked him about the investigations he’d done, and he found himself telling her about some of the more humorous things he and his partner had gone through.
He liked to make her laugh. For the past four years there had been no real laughter here. She had such a musical one and it seemed to fill up all the dark corners in his shanty.
He was almost grateful when the meal was over. He cleaned up the dishes, went to sit in his chair and immediately picked up his book. He was done talking to her for the night. He’d already opened himself up far too much.
He was aware of her gaze on him as he opened the book. She must have gotten the message for she picked up her phone and began reading something on it.
He found his thoughts wandering as he stared at the words on the page.
Tomorrow they would begin a new routine with her insisting on going back to work.
He still thought it was too early for her to return, but he also knew there was no way he could talk her out of going.
He could definitely protect her to and from work.
Would somebody come after her while she was in the store? His gut instinct told him no. The store was on Main Street and according to Monique it kept fairly busy. He didn’t think the killer would want to chance going into a public place to get to her.
Was it possible the killer would leave Monique alone now?
He’d like to think so, but he couldn’t be sure.
And his uncertainty would keep her here and safe.
But he had to somehow keep his distance from her.
She was far too easy to talk to, far too charming and beautiful, and it threatened the solitary life he’d built for himself.
So the real question was while he was keeping her safe, who was going to keep him safe from her?