Chasing Darkness (13 page)

The
picture and the note were in her purse. She would ask Nick about the photo. At
least she would accomplish something if the rest of the evening was miserable.
And it would give them something to talk about. Something she knew enough to
talk about. Evidence, crime scenes, prints—those were the things she knew.

She
looked at the front of the restaurant, and a part of her longed to go home and
slip under the covers. She craved the feel of her flannel sheets and wished
she’d brought an extra sweater. She was perpetually cold, the last remnant of
her Southern upbringing. Everything else she’d managed to rid herself of, but
the constant chill reminded her of how far she’d come, both physically and
mentally.

Fastening
the top button of her suit coat, she straightened the sweater she had draped
over the coat and moved briskly toward the restaurant entrance. Yoshi’s was a
wide-open room with a small area filled with people seated in traditional
Japanese style, on pillows on the floor. She wanted to look at her sock choice
but held herself back, hoping they were sitting at a table.

“How
may I help you?” a thin Asian woman asked as Sam entered Yoshi’s.

“I’m
meeting someone here.” Sam scanned the room for Nick.

“The
name, please.”

“Nick
Thomas.”

The
woman eyed her carefully and nodded, turning her back. But before she looked
away, Sam felt ice in her look. “Follow me.”

Nick
sat at a table for two, tucked in a corner. He stood as Sam approached. “Thank
you, Ava,” he said to the Asian woman and pulled Sam’s chair out for her.

“You
come here often?” she asked, shaking off the added chill from Ava’s stare.

“I
used to—back when it was on Claremont. This is only my fourth or fifth time
down here.”

Sam
moved awkwardly into her seat. Suddenly, she wished the boys had been able to
come. She felt strange being out with Nick without it being case-related. “Any
word on Lugino’s toxicology?”

Nick
raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “You want me to celebrate my birthday by
talking about Lugino?”

Flushing,
she shook her head. “I just—”

Nick
leaned toward her and touched her hand. “Came back today. No signs of heroin.
Traces of marijuana, as we expected. We’ve got him on possession. We found some
pot and paraphernalia in his car. We’re holding him on that. It’s all we can do
for now.” He paused. “Now, no more shoptalk, Agent Chase.”

She
smiled and saluted his serious tone.

He
held her gaze. “You look gorgeous.”

She
shook her head and found herself laughing, the stress of the day draining
through her toes as she started to relax. Oh, God. Laughing. It felt so good.

“That
wasn’t meant to be funny.”

Her
laugh grew heartier. Except for Nick, Sam had no friends who weren’t directly
related to the Department of Justice or her boys. And even he was only slightly
outside that circle. Her work and her boys, they were her life. And tonight she
needed a break from that life.

“I’m
glad we’re doing this. I could use a fun night out, and so could you.”

“That’s
for sure.” She laid her napkin across her lap. “Hellish day at the office.”

Nick
smiled. “Corona on your ass about the case?”

She
nodded. “You too?”

“Bad.
I was serious, no work talk tonight. Deal?”

“Add
Derek and Rob, and I’m in.”

Nick
reached his hand across the table and Sam shook it. Her craving for that drink
was beginning to wear off.

The
waitress arrived with a teapot and two ceramic cups.

“I
ordered us green tea.”

Sam
exhaled, remembering her last date. It was too pathetic to think about how long
she’d gone without male companionship. The date had been shortly after her
divorce, before the boys had come to live with her. Her neighbor had pushed Sam
to meet a young friend of hers, and finally Sam had conceded. The man had
ordered a bottle of wine without her knowledge and then stared at her
disbelievingly when she told him she didn’t drink. Nick already knew she didn’t
drink—and she’d never seen him drink either.

She
picked up an upright menu with pictures of the sushi and read the names out
loud. “Maguro, hamachi, ebi, kappa makki.” She drew out each syllable and
scrunched her nose.

“You’ve
never had sushi.”

She
looked at him.

He
laughed. “You should’ve seen your face. You looked like a rookie with his first
corpse.”

Sam
blushed. “It just looks so—”

Nick
smiled. “Raw?”

“Something
like that.”

He
pried the menu out of her hands. “I’ll order for us. Do you trust me?”

The
silent alarms should have sounded. This was the point when they always did. But
instead she just nodded. The wild thing was, she did trust him—as much as she
trusted anyone.

Chick
Corea finished his set just before ten and Nick led Sam toward the door. The
sounds still surrounded her in a soothing wave of bass and drums and saxophone.
She longed to go back and listen to the second set, to keep this feeling.
Anything to avoid returning to the real world. She knew that wasn’t like her.
She shouldn’t have been thinking that way, but at that moment, prolonging the
escape seemed ideal.

As
they stepped onto the sidewalk, an Amtrak passenger train rumbled down
Embarcadero West right in front of the restaurant, and Sam savored the sound as
she had Chick Corea’s music and the cinnamon jazz of Nick’s own voice. She was
intoxicated with the relief of setting aside everything for just a few hours.
She took Nick’s hand and squeezed. He held on.

When
the train had passed, Nick turned to her. “What did you think of the sushi?”

“It
takes some getting used to, but I think I like it.”

Dropping
her hand, he looped his arm in hers, pulling her close. “And the jazz?”

“Same
answer, detective. I take it you’ve listened to jazz your whole life?”

Nick
stared up at the sky as he spoke. “Never got into anything else. No disco, no
rock and roll. I was the only kid in college listening to Miles instead of
Mick.”

He
laughed and looked back at her, studying her face before speaking again.

“I
was the youngest of six kids. When I was twelve, my dad died. My mom’s younger
brother, my Uncle Ray, used to come pick me up and take me to watch his band
practice. There were six of them. All of them had nicknames. Ray was called
Sunnie—like Sunnie Ray—because he had the widest smile. And his teeth were so
white against his dark skin. Artie played the trombone. He wouldn’t let anyone
call him anything but Artie. But behind his back we called him Bear-bone. Mixer
played the sax.”

She
laughed as they walked slowly down the street. Neither rushed. “Mixer?”

“I
never did find out where that nickname came from. He worked construction, so
maybe it had to do with mixing cement. The other guys were Tree and Zebra. Tree
was as big as his namesake, and Zebra had two white stripes through his hair on
either side of his head. Then there was Runt. He was only about five-seven and
he played bass. They used to call me Runt Junior.”

Sam
laughed, looking up at Nick. “You?”

“I
didn’t grow until college. I was always the shortest kid in school.” He stopped
and shook his head as though living a memory. “You should’ve seen Runt play the
bass. Man, he was good.” Nick paused. “He was killed in a knife fight when I
was seventeen. The guys gave me his bass. I still play, but I’m not any good.”

She
touched his arm. “They played jazz?”

He
nodded. “All the classic stuff—Miles, Thelonius Monk, Charlie Parker, Mingus.”

“Who?”

Nick
looked shocked. “You’ve never heard of Miles Davis?”

She
shrugged. “Maybe the name.”

“You
haven’t lived until you’ve heard Miles Davis. He and Chick Corea used to play
together. And Thelonius Monk? You don’t know Thelonius Sphere Monk?”

She
shook her head.

“Wow.”
He smiled. “You’ve come to the right place, then. I’ll get you up to speed in
no time. Sometime you can come check out my vinyl collection. I’ll play you
some of my favorites.”

His
energy radiated through Sam and she felt herself giggle. How long had it been
since she’d giggled? Had she ever? Sam could feel the cool bay wind, and she
pulled her coat around her neck. Nick stopped her and, turning her to face him,
began to button her coat for her. She shivered.

“You’re
out here freezing and you’ve got your sweater tied around your neck,” he
scolded.

“It’s
too cold to take my coat off to put it on underneath.”

Nick
shook his head and touched her cheek, pulling her close.

Cars
passed on the street as people filed out of the nightclub, moving in a blur of
color and words. Sam didn’t hear anything they said, didn’t see anyone clearly.

Instead,
her every neuron was focused on Nick. The way the blue lights from the window
reflected off his skin, the light stubble of his beard, the golden hazel of his
eyes that looked green in the cast of the lights. His chest pressed against
hers and she felt his lips touch her ear. Then her cheek. She felt him coming
close, nearing her mouth. She felt a wave of excitement and then apprehension.
He barely touched her, his lips only brushing against hers. And then it was
over and she suddenly longed for more.

“Do
you want to come by my apartment—hear a couple of those albums I was talking
about?” he whispered.

Without
speaking, she nodded. She did want to go. She just didn’t trust herself to say
it out loud.

“Really?”

She
nodded again, forcing her feet to move alongside his. But she didn’t want to
move. She didn’t want to leave. Unwilling to return to reality even to drive,
she longed to remain in his arms, right there on that street. “Where are you
parked?” she asked.

He
shook his head. “I got a ride over.”

“Why?”

He
grinned. “I lost my car keys.”

Sam
laughed. “Again?”

He
nodded as they headed together to her car.

“Here,
then, but don’t lose them,” she said, handing him her keys.

He
looked puzzled. “You want me to drive?”

With
a quick breath, she nodded.

Nick
closed his hands on the keys and narrowed his gaze. “You’re sure?”

Settling
her mouth around the words that she wanted to come out, she said, “Just a
couple of albums, then I’ll go home.”

He
nodded slowly. “Okay. I’d love to play a couple for you.”

On
the drive, Sam leaned back and let the music replay in her mind. Since she’d
stopped drinking, nothing but reading had allowed her to escape. Night was the
time when she missed alcohol most. Being able to relax enough to not worry, to get
a full night’s sleep without waking up hour after hour and fretting about the
past and the future and the hundred other things that ran through her brain.

The
photo came to mind again, and she knew she should tell Nick. But she didn’t
want to think about it, let alone talk about it. Not now. Not when things were
so perfect. He would worry, and she didn’t want that either. Tonight she just
wanted to enjoy him.

Even
with Brent before the divorce, she’d kept her concerns to herself. It wasn’t
part of their arrangement. She kept up the appearance of perfection—inside and
out. And he took care of all their physical needs—house, food, cars. There
weren’t supposed to be emotional needs. She was a cop, for God’s sake. Cops
didn’t have emotions. The way Sam saw it, Brent’s marrying a cop had been his
way of stretching to the limit. He was sophisticated, high class, and she was
in law enforcement. Look how unusual he was, how open-minded. She just wasn’t
the typical doctor’s wife. And yet she still cleaned up well.

Marrying
a beautiful cop made him seem deeper. And then there were all the great jokes
with his buddies about what it was like to tame a rough one. She’d overheard
that more than once. But Brent had very little sex drive—which had been fine
with her. They never discussed anything emotional, never reached beyond the
surface.

His
definition of being a doctor was treating physical ailments. He didn’t know or
care what was going on in her brain. Not until he realized that she was damaged
goods.

“What
are you thinking about?”

Sam
started. “Nothing.”

“I
thought you said you trusted me.”

Sam
turned to meet his gaze and nodded. “I do.”

He
raised his eyebrows.

“I
was thinking about something in the past,” she said, somehow unable to stop
herself from speaking. The two sides of her were at war—the one urging her to
keep it all inside, the other demanding that she be truthful and not screw up
her one friendship.

“Is
there something about the past you want to tell me?”

She
shook her head.

Nick
didn’t push. They pulled off at the Concord Avenue exit, into the thick of
strip malls, gas stations, and video stores. Slowly the area became
residential. He continued four blocks before turning left down Bonifacio Street
toward Baldwin Park and then taking a right into his apartment complex.

Sam
grabbed her purse and got out of the car. Nick took her hand and led her to his
door. “It might be messy.”

She
nodded, unable to speak above the pounding of her heart. He opened the door and
flipped on a light.

She
wandered in a slow circle, surveying her surroundings with the same caution she
used on a crime scene. The room was practically empty. A folded futon and a TV
sat in one corner. Next to the TV was a stereo with a turntable and cartons of
albums. “There must be three hundred here.”

“Five
hundred and thirty-six. Most of them were Ray’s.”

Sunnie
Ray, she thought, smiling. “You can’t get this stuff on CDs?”