Alone in the Dark (5 page)

the sugar, he shook his head. He took his coffee the way he took his view of life: black.

"It would if you sat out there long enough." Reaching into the cupboard, she took down

two small plates. "Just how long were you planning on staying there?"

He tried not to notice how tight her body was when she stretched. "Not long."

She shook her head. Opening the drawer beneath the counter, she took out two forks and

a long knife. "Like I said, you just don't lie well. Look, Coltrane, I'm touched—"

"Most likely," he said in a disparaging manner, which made her think that he meant the

term in the old-fashioned sense, as in touched in the head, "but it's my job to protect the

citizens of Aurora and last time I looked, you were among that number. Besides…" He

paused to take a sip of coffee. It was so strong, it jarred his teeth. He gave his silent seal

of approval. "Anything happens to you, the department has to find a new vet. King doesn't

like adjusting to anyone new."

She turned to look at him, a smile playing on her lips. "Oh, King doesn't, does he?"

He could see exactly what she was saying. That she thought he was substituting King for

himself. Obviously the woman didn't suffer from an inferiority complex. "You know, I

never realized it before, but you've got a smart mouth."

"Lots of things you probably haven't realized about me, Officer Coltrane." She flashed

him a very significant look. "Lots of things I apparently didn't realize about you."

He cut her off before she began to wax sentimental or something equally as unacceptable

to him. He never knew what to do when confronted with either tears or gratitude. He

usually wound up ignoring both. "I think we should stop the conversation right here."

Patience nodded, agreeable up to a point. "Okay, what do you want to talk about?"

He felt like a mustang, cornered in a canyon with only one way out. The way he'd come.

"Who said I wanted to talk?"

For a second she stopped what she was doing and studied him. "Well, you don't want to

just sit there like a department store mannequin, do you?"

No, he wanted to finish his coffee and leave, but he kept that to himself. For the moment.

"What's wrong with that?"

She laughed again and the sound went right through him. "It's too quiet for one thing."

The last time it had been too quiet for him, he'd found himself, without warning, looking

down the business end of a Smith and Wesson. Other than that, he took his silence where

he could. "I never saw the need to litter the air with words."

She gave a careless shrug of her shoulder and reached for a handful of napkins. She

shoved a thick wad into the napkin holder she was always forgetting to restock. "It's only

littering if it's garbage. Something tells me you don't spout garbage."

"I don't 'spout' at all." He regretted the impulse to drive by her house tonight. Just went to show him that no good deed ever went unpunished.

"I guess that's what makes King such a perfect partner for you." She glanced over at the dog who was hunkered down in corner, focusing his attention on the soup bone she had

given him.Tacomawas close by, enjoying a similar feast. Patience could feel Brady watching

her every move. "You always study people so intently?"

"You're not even facing me," he protested.

"I don't have to be." She looked at him over her shoulder. "I can feel your eyes."

He drained his cup. There was nothing to keep him here. So why wasn't he getting to his

feet? "That's just not possible."

Removing the lid from a cake she'd just baked less than an hour ago, Patience paused

before cutting into it. "So how did I know you were watching me?"

"Deduction." It was the logical response. "You're the only thing here worth looking at."

Her mouth fell open before she could catch herself. Patience stared at him, not sure

she'd heard what she thought she had. "Is that a compliment?"

Annoyance creased his brow. "That was just an observation. That's what a cop does, he

makes observations."

She sighed, cutting two slices and placing them on the plates. Why did he sound so put

off, so irritated whenever she tried to guide the conversation to a more personal path?

Who was he beneath that bulletproof vest? There had to be a softer side to him,

otherwise he wouldn't have been there tonight, outside her house.

She brought the plates over to the table. "You make it very hard to say thank-you, you

know that?"

"There's no need to say thank-you." Brady glared at the plate she placed in front of him.

He nodded at it. "What's that?"

Patience sat and made herself comfortable. She pushed one fork toward him and took the

other one for herself. "I call it cake."

"I know what it is. I meant, why are you putting it in front of me?"

"I'd just assumed that maybe you'd like some with your coffee." She saw that he'd

finished his and rose again, going to the counter to get the pot. Holding it over his empty

cup, she paused. "Unless a can of oil might be more to your preference."

He nodded at the pot, indicating that he wanted her to pour. "What kind of cake?"

"Good cake." She grinned as she set the coffeepot down on the table and took her seat

again. "Rum cake. I made it."

It smelled enticing. Almost as enticing as she did. The thought sneaked up on him from

nowhere. He sent it back to the same place. "You bake?"

"Bake, cook, clean," she enumerated, flashing a bright smile. "I'm multitalented. I'm still having a little trouble clearing tall buildings in a single bound, but I'm working on it."

He shook his head. Half the time she made no sense at all. "What the hell are you talking

about?"

"The 'Superman' intro." There was no light of recognition in his eyes. It was as if he'd grown up on another planet. "Never watched classic TV programs from the fifties?"

There'd been no television set in his house when he was growing up. No money even for a

cheap set because every available penny went into his father's shot glass. He'd started

school in Salvation Army clothes. Books were a luxury, never mind a television set. If there

was something that his father wanted to see, he watched it on a set at the bar, the rest

of them be damned.

The woman hadn't stopped probing since the second he'd walked into her house. "Why?"

he asked.

"For fun. Do I have to explain fun to you, Officer Coltrane?"

He'd absently taken a bite of the cake and he had to admit, the woman knew her way

around ingredients. He couldn't remember enjoying something so much. As he'd gotten

older, food became for functioning only. But this had pleasure attached to it.

Now if she'd only stop talking… "There's no need for you to explain anything to me, Doc."

Patience picked at her cake, her attention completely focused on the man in her kitchen.

The more she talked to him, the less she knew.

"I beg to differ. Since you've taken it upon yourself to act as my protector, I think it's

my duty to reciprocate by opening up a whole new world for you."

He put down his fork. "This isn't a joke, Doc. I'm here because you have a stalker."

Her expression grew serious. She didn't want to dwell on this. What she wanted was just

to make it all go away. She didn't like looking over her shoulder, being afraid.

"Had," she emphasized. "Look, I've been giving this some thought. We don't even know that the rose is from Walter. Maybe one of my other pet owners wanted to say thank-you."

"So where's the note?"

She shrugged. "Maybe it got lost. Blew away. The wind's been pretty bad off and on

today."

Was she afraid? he wondered. Was that why she was so determined to ignore the possible

seriousness of the situation? "If someone wanted to say thank-you, why didn't they just

say it?"

"I don't know." Why was he making it so difficult for her? "Because they're shy. The point is, although I really do appreciate it, you don't have to go out of your way for me,

Coltrane." And then her expression softened. "Unless of course you felt like coming over and sharing a cup of coffee with me and this was just a handy excuse for you."

He wondered if she knew that her vulnerability was getting to him. "The coffee was your

idea."

"You're drinking it." She shook her head. It was official—her brother was going to have to surrender the pigheaded crown because there was a new champion in town. "Does

everything have to be a debate with you?"

"It wouldn't be if you didn't automatically jump in on the other side."

"Sorry, it's in my nature." Patience shrugged, willing to back off for now. "There were a lot of people I had to hold my own with." She thought of her brother and cousins. "You

know how it is."

"No," he replied flatly, "I don't."

"No siblings?"

Finishing his cake, he pushed the plate aside. "I have a sister."

From his tone, she made a natural assumption. "But you're not close."

He and Laura had once been extremely close, the way two siblings involved in a dire

situation could be. But now both wanted to forget the childhood that linked them to

tragedy.

"We exchange Christmas cards." How was it that she'd managed to turn things around

again? "Look, this isn't about me."

"No," Patience agreed cheerfully, "it's about me. And I'm curious about you. This is the first time I've seen you out of uniform and outside the clinic." And as such, she wanted to

make the most of the opportunity. She'd been curious for a while now. Unlike the other K-

9 cops who came to the clinic, Brady volunteered nothing. "You never come to my uncle's

parties."

He finished his second cup, then set it down. "I'm not much of a party person."

"Neither is my brother Patrick, but he shows up." She reached for the coffeepot, but

Brady shook his head, placing his hand over the top of his cup. Patience withdrew her own

hand from the pot. She nodded toward the cake, silently offering him another slice, but he

turned that down, too. "Haven't you heard, Coltrane? Socializing is good for you."

"General rules don't usually apply to me."

A rebel. She'd known as much when she'd first seen him. There was something about the

way he'd held himself, something about the way he'd walked that told her he preferred

the road less taken.

Why did she find that so intriguing?

"I'm beginning to get that."

Brady rose from his chair. "Good."

No, Patience thought, rising to her own feet, not good at all.

«^»

Brady glanced toward King. The canine was still in the corner, doing his best to polish off

the soup bone she'd given him. King seemed to sense that his master was looking at him.

The dog raised his head and eyed Brady. It appeared to Patience as if the two were really

communicating.

The next moment the dog abandoned both the bone andTacomaand came trotting over,

however reluctantly, to Brady's side.

She couldn't resist petting King's head. The dog all but curved into her hand, showing her

that, Brady's partner or not, he was very receptive to the affection she showed him.

"I'm impressed," Patience told Brady as she stroked the dog's fur. The top of the dog's

head came up past her waist. If she hadn't known that the animal was a purebred, she

would have said he had a little Great Dane in him. He was large for a shepherd. "That's

some rapport you two have. King seems to read your mind." She flashed a grin at Brady.

"Which is more than the rest of us are able to do."

Seeing how impatient he was to be gone, Patience walked Brady to the front

door.Tacomafollowed in their wake like a silent Greek chorus, just waiting for an opening.

"You don't have to walk me," Brady told her. "I know where the door is."

"I know I don't have to, I want to," she emphasized, stopping at her door. "Not everything has to be just for pragmatic reasons, Coltrane. Sometimes people just do things to be

polite." Why was he so afraid of being friends? He'd obviously thought enough of her

safety to put himself out and play sentry. So why couldn't he just accept her friendship?

"You stood guard at my door for who knows how long—"

He interrupted before she could take off on another verbal odyssey. "I sat in the car for

maybe thirty-five minutes."

"Whatever." She waved a dismissive hand at his words. Facts weren't important here.

Intent was. "I wasn't asking for an accounting, Officer." Temporarily stymied, she sighed and shook her head before she turned it up to his. "Don't youeverloosen up?"

"Thisisloose," he informed her tersely. And if he was suddenly wondering what it would be like to kiss this five-foot-four, nonstop talking machine, she didn't need to know about it.

Hell, he didn't even want to know about it.

But the thought lingered just the same. As did the curiosity.

"It's loose only if you're a steel girder," she quipped. She cocked her head and wondered all sorts of things. In the two years that he had been bringing King into the clinic, she'd

only learned his name, rank and serial number. With his air of secrecy, he would have made

a hell of a soldier. "Are you involved, Coltrane?"

Of all the questions she could have asked, this one completely threw him. "What?"

"Are you involved?" Patience repeated. Maybe Coltrane was so removed from everything,

he didn't understand what she was talking about. "Is there someone waiting for you to

come home right now, standing by the window and wondering why you're late?" she