Crazy in Chicago (5 page)

Despite her resolve, her lips turned upwards in a smile of genuine pleasure as her gaze lighted on him. How could she do anything else when he smiled at her with a male delight she'd rarely seen before? When he looked so good, standing barefoot in the hall in his cutoffs and t-shirt. His crooked smile lit up his tanned face, and the gleam in his dark-as-chocolate eyes would have done the Big Bad Wolf proud.

Only she wasn't Little Red Riding Hood. Roberta cleared her throat. “Hi Cody. You wanted something?”

Oops! Wrong thing to say!

His lips curved upwards again, with a warmth that seared her down to her toes, fanning fantasies already running hot from too much daydreaming and wondering about her next door neighbor. Wondering why he seemed so enticingly mysterious yet familiar in some odd way she couldn't fathom.

Slowly Cody stretched one arm over her head until his hand rested against the door frame. His smile broadened further and his dark eyes sparkled. “Just came over for that milk and cookies you promised me.”

“Milk and cookies . . .” Roberta's voice trailed off. It had been a joke. Hadn't it?

“I distinctly remember you agreeing to give me milk and cookies for my insomnia,” he purred. “So here I am. You are going to ask me in, aren't you?”

“Yeah, sure.” Roberta straightened. She told herself he just wanted to pump her for information about SUFOW.

She stepped back, and he sauntered past into her living room. Chairs and couches were pulled out from the walls, and knickknacks, lamps and cushions were piled on the coffee table and end tables. He would come over the night she decided to give the living room a thorough cleaning.

He looked around with open curiosity. “Hmm. It's always interesting to see what someone's apartment tells about them.”

Roberta wrinkled her nose. Even when everything was in its place, it was far more cluttered than his apartment. “So what do dust bunnies behind my couch tell you?”

He laughed. “That you've got better things to do than clean.” His expression turned little-boy hopeful. “For instance, make chocolate chip cookies?”

Roberta chuckled. “Give it up, Cody.” She surveyed him. “You don't really want milk, do you?”

“Yes, ma'am. One large glass. And cookies, too, if you've got them.”

“The milk I can do. But you're out of luck on the cookies, homemade or otherwise. I rarely buy them. Too much temptation.”

“Spoken like a true Puritan.”
 

“No, spoken like someone who'd like to lose five pounds. Here, help me shove the couch back to the wall.”

Cody complied, and they had the couch back against the wall with a minimum of effort. When he straightened, he studied her. “Why do you want to lose weight? You look fine to me. Very fine, actually.”

Roberta turned away to hide the color she could feel rushing into her face. It was nice he thought she looked good. But men always said stupid things like that. Then ran off after the next tall, gorgeous woman to come along. “Here, I'll get that milk for you now,” she said. “Why don't you go out and sit in the garden?”

As she poured Cody a tall glass of milk, and herself a diet lemonade, she heard the sliding door open. The sounds of the city at night permeated her apartment. She sighed. She'd feel a lot better if she knew why Cody was here. Did he want to talk about UFOs? Was it as simple as wanting a little company? Could he possibly be interested in her?

She snorted at the last thought. Men who looked as good as him, and were as charming and well-employed, usually didn't need to knock on a neighbor's door for company. And as for being interested in her, he probably had women lined up from here to his office. No, it had to be work-related.

She lifted the tray and headed for the garden. But still, Cody puzzled her. For someone she'd just met, he seemed far more familiar than he should. As if she'd known him. But from where?

She slid open the door and slipped out. The object of her thoughts stood by the parapet, his back to her, broad shoulders filling the Bulls T-shirt, and legs akimbo in a blatantly masculine stance. Only the rich brown hair curling in little-boy fashion at the nape of his neck hinted at some sort of vulnerability, a chink in the perfect picture—the kind of thing that always, unfortunately, attracted Roberta. She frowned. And why did he seem so familiar?

She shook her head and set the tray on a white metal table. “One milk, coming up.”

Cody slid into a chair across from her, grasped the glass, then looked up with mock surprise. “What? You didn't heat it up?”

Roberta rolled her eyes. “Don't push your luck. At least I had two per cent milk for a change, and not that watery skim milk I drink most the time.” She made a face and muttered, “Heat your milk. You've got to be kidding.”

“Actually, I'm not. I love warm milk. But this will do just fine.” He picked up the glass and downed half of it in one long gulp. When he set it down, he wore a milk mustache. Unself-consciously he licked part of it off, then wiped off the rest with the back of his hand.

He looked up and caught her watching him. She flushed; he grinned.

“Oh no. Are you going to throw me out because my table manners are bad?”
 

Disconcerted, Roberta scrambled for a plausible excuse for staring. “No, I was just thinking you'd look good in one of those milk commercials. You know, the ones where famous people are shown wearing milk mustaches?”

“A commercial, huh? That's probably more up your boss's line. He seems to love the spotlight.” Cody's eyes twinkled. “Too bad you're not drinking milk. We could compare moustaches.”

Roberta smiled nervously. Was he flirting? Why didn't he just get down to business? He'd already made a comment about Garnet. Maybe she should ask him outright.

Before she could say anything, Cody resolved the question. Pushing his glass aside, he crossed his arms on the table top and leaned towards her. “Speaking of your boss, how'd you ever come to work for the illustrious Dr. Garnet Jones?”

Something in his tone made her wary. It wouldn't be the first time she'd defended her boss. She was used to Garnet's peremptory and sometimes arrogant ways; he often offended people who didn't know him. “I answered an ad in the paper,” she said. “It sounded interesting, so I took the job.”

Cody unfolded his arms. He looked at her searchingly. “So you weren't drawn to SUFOW because of some personal experience with aliens or UFOs?”

Relieved that this wasn't an attack on her boss, Roberta shook her head. “No. Not me, personally. But I did know someone who believed she'd been abducted by aliens. It was my roommate in college. She had a nervous breakdown.”

Cody frowned. “And?”

Roberta bit her lip. To this day, she felt guilty about her skeptical response to her roommate's story. “I don't know whether she fell apart because she'd been abducted, or because no one believed her at the time. I know I didn't. No one did. She ended up in a psychiatric hospital, and eventually moved back east to her family.”

“That must have been pretty upsetting for you,” observed Cody. “Do you think it's affected your attitude to the idea of aliens coming to Earth?”

“I know it made me question a lot of my beliefs.”

“But now?” Cody persisted. “I'd like to know. Do you actually believe UFOs and aliens are visiting Earth? Garnet apparently does, and makes a good buck from his belief.”

“I make a good buck from it too,” Roberta answered quietly. Besides her salary, she received a portion of Garnet's royalties from the last book, the one she'd helped him research and write. She wasn't ashamed of her role, but neither was it any of Cody's business. Not yet, anyway.

“That's fine. But what about you?” Cody repeated.

Roberta paused. She wanted Cody to think well of her. She didn't delve into why. But she didn't want to lie either. “This isn't for publication, is it?”

“No. I'd just like to know. I'm curious.” Cody sat back in his chair. His voice took on a speculative edge. “What exactly do you think of all this crapola?

“Crapola?” Roberta bristled.

“So you do believe?”
 

“There are thousands of unexplained events, strange happenings that have no parallel in our Earthly experience,” Roberta retorted. “Maybe one at a time they can be dismissed, but when you add it all up, there's just too much evidence to ignore. So if you're asking, yes, I do believe. I believe aliens and UFOs have come to Earth and will continue to do so, despite the negative, disbelieving attitudes of people like you.”

“And it's not just guilt over your roommate?”

Cody's perceptive question jarred Roberta. “No!”

“Hmm.” Unruffled by her denial, Cody posed another question. “So you really meant it the other night when you lay out here asking aliens to take you?”

Roberta's temper flared even as she saw the tiny smile play around Cody's mouth. He was teasing her, but she couldn't prevent herself from rising to the bait.

“Stop it,” she snapped. She'd been ridiculed one too many times, by everyone from her family members and friends to absolute strangers. She wasn't going to take it now, here in her own home. It didn't matter how charming or good-looking Cody was.

“It's people like you, sensationalizing perfectly reasonable events, making fun of people with weird headlines and stories about two-headed babies, twisting what's said. You open up the words and experiences of perfectly sincere people to nothing but ridicule.”

“Two-headed babies?” Cody's brow puckered. “What do two-headed babies have to do with what I'm talking about?”

When she ignored his question, he continued. “Besides, doesn't your Dr. Jones and SUFOW play to the media? Isn't Jones the one who tells the stories of the scary abductions, the frightening medical examinations by aliens, the sinister inter-breeding plans by extraterrestrials? If anyone's to blame for sensationalism, it's him.”

Stung by the criticism, Roberta lashed back. “As usual, you're exaggerating. But that's what the media always do, don't they? Blow everything out of proportion.”

“No they don't.” Cody's even tone started to fray. “Maybe the National Enquirer or The Globe. But not
The Streeter
. And not me.”
 

His eyes glittered dangerously but Roberta ignored the warning. “If you're so principled, why do you work for
The Streeter?
” she challenged. “It's just another sensationalistic rag, doing anything to make money.”

Cody opened his mouth, then shut it. A spark of shame niggled at Roberta for her attack, but she shoved it aside. Why should she always be the one on the defensive?

“
The Streeter
is not a rag,” Cody finally said in a slow, deliberate voice. “I work there because they pay me well and allow me freedom to write about anything I want. I used to work for The Tribune, and it was great, but the people there aren't any more principled than at
The Streeter
.
The Streeter
gives my work good play and is starting to command more respect all the time.”

Roberta watched the grim set of his jaw. The picture tripped a switch in her memory. Her eyes widened.

She knew where she'd seen that handsome face before. She knew why he seemed so familiar.

She'd seen that face plastered on newspaper after newspaper, and on the morning and evening TV news. She'd read all about him in great detail, day after day, along with everyone else in the Chicago area. She had a file with every word written about him in the cabinet in her bedroom, and another complete set of clippings at work.

She stared at him, her eyes round. “I know who you are,” she said. “You're that reporter—the reporter who mysteriously disappeared last year for six weeks!”

 

Chapter 3

 

Defensiveness and anger drained out of Cody, replaced by a deep weariness. He shut his eyes. He hated talking about his disappearance, but there was no point denying it.

He sighed and opened his eyes. “Yes. That's me.”

His gaze settled on Roberta's expressive face. He watched as a myriad of emotions crossed it. Surprise. Curiosity. Eagerness. Excitement. Was she remembering what she'd read about him? Had she read about his string of girlfriends, his life in the fast lane, his flirtation with dangerous sports? His former fiancee, a columnist at
The Streeter,
had written about every aspect of his life, including his many faults, in the paper's extensive coverage of his disappearance. On his return to work, he'd read every article and cringed more than once.

“So what happened to you?” Roberta interrupted his thoughts. “I don't remember hearing or seeing much afterwards except that you'd been found. And something about you losing your memory.”

“Yes.” He paused. What was the quickest way to answer her question and end this discussion? “They found me in a waterfront park, walking around in a daze and muttering incoherently. The first thing I remember, though, is waking up in the hospital, surrounded by doctors and nurses.”