Death of a Pirate King - lanyon Josh - Страница 14
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“Jake Riordan did this to you,” Lisa said and there was genuine anger in her face. “He hurt you so --”
“God, don’t!”
She broke off, looking shocked.
“I’m sorry,” I said, more calmly, “but please don’t bring Jake into this.”
After a moment she wiped her eyes and picked up her glass, and I picked up mine.
* * * * *
I was lying down that evening when Guy let himself in. I got up quickly and went to greet him. The savory scent of chicken curry filled the flat. I found Guy in the kitchen unpacking foil-wrapped containers of Thai food from Saladang Song. The same place Jake used to pick up dinner sometimes -- and I really, really needed to stop thinking about Jake.
I kissed Guy and he smiled and said, “Grabbing a kip, were you? Why don’t you go lie down and I’ll call you when it’s ready?”
I pulled out a chair and sat down backward, folding my arm along the back. “It’s takeout,” I said. “It’s ready. How was your day?”
“The takeaway will wait. Go have your lie down.”
“I don’t need a lie down,” I said pleasantly. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
For the first time Guy’s vaguely British accent and those little affectations of speech were irritating me -- and so was that Father-Knows-Best attitude. The realization dismayed me.
He had turned to get plates from the cupboard. I rose, slipped my arms around him and rested my face against his hair, which was pulled back in a long ponytail. The silvery strands were soft as silk, smelling of the apple shampoo he used and more faintly of pipe tobacco; it smelled familiar and comforting. He put his hands over mine, raising one to his mouth and kissing my palm.
The feel of his mouth nuzzling my skin was pleasant too, and when he turned to take me in his arms, I was glad. He kissed me, and I knew his taste and liked it. I kissed him back and opened my mouth for his tongue, and it slipped in wet and slick. His kiss deepened; his hands stroked my back, warm through my T-shirt, pulled me closer -- and I wondered why I wasn’t getting hard like Guy was.
It had to be because I wasn’t feeling one hundred percent.
After a few seconds he pulled back, kissed my lips lightly, and said, “You sure you’re feeling all right?”
“I’m fine. I wish people would stop asking.”
Guy was smiling. He ran his hands lightly down my arms, caught my fingers briefly, and let me go. He turned once more to lift the plates down. “It’s the beautiful but frail shtick,” he said over his shoulder. “You bring out my maternal instincts.”
He was joking, but I knew he worried about me. The fact that I’d waited until we were seeing each other fairly steadily to confess I had a heart condition hadn’t helped -- nor did the fact that I currently looked like I was related to those big-eyed waifs that Margaret Keane paints.
I said, “Appearances are deceptive. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”
Guy said, “Don’t I know it. I’ve never met a more self-sufficient little prick.”
“Hey, watch the adjectives.”
He grinned, handing the plates to me. “You have a problem with self-sufficient?”
* * * * *
We ate our meal on the sofa watching a History Channel special on the Salem witch trials -- and I remembered Jake’s comment about Calamity Jane.
I was doing it again. In fact, I was brooding over Jake’s reentry into my life more than I was worried about being suspected of murder. All I could figure was that my ego had taken a bruising with the knowledge that Jake had continued his S/M pursuits during the time we’d been seeing each other -- well, and that it had been with one steady partner.
Because I knew he cared about me. Maybe I wasn’t the most experienced guy in the world, but I wasn’t inexperienced either. I remembered…
But if I had any brains, I wouldn’t remember. Because that was painful and pointless.
What I needed to be thinking about was how the hell did I break it to Guy that I was getting involved in the Porter Jones murder investigation despite having assured him I had no such intention. I knew he was going to be upset. He’d have been upset even if Jake hadn’t been part of the equation. And the fact that Jake was part of the equation was definitely not going to go over well.
Maybe I could wait another day or two to fill him in.
I glanced at his profile, and Guy glanced back and smiled. “That tom yum goong soup has put some color in your face.”
“It’s very good,” I said. It could have been warm water for all the attention I’d paid. I was stalling out of sheer cowardice. I needed to tell him.
I’d finally wound myself up to it when Guy glanced at the clock on the bookshelf and said, “Damn and blast. I promised I’d go to Margo’s signing tonight. I didn’t think -- did you want to come? It’s not like you don’t get enough of book signings.”
I said, “I’ve got the Partners in Crime group tonight. But give Margo my love.”
His brows drew together. “I thought you were going to cancel Partners in Crime?”
“They’re meeting in my bookstore. How am I going to cancel them?”
“Simple. Tell them you don’t want to host the group here anymore. Last week you said you were fed up with it and wanted out.”
“I’d just got out of the hospital last Tuesday,” I said. “I was tired and irritable.”
Like now -- only then I’d had a good reason. I could hear Guy thinking it, but he didn’t say it. Already in motion, he carried his plate into the kitchen, dumped it into the sink. Pausing by the hall table, he gathered his keys and sunglasses.
“Shall I come back later?” he asked…and I wasn’t sure if there was a hesitation in his voice or not.
I said, suddenly awkward -- it was atypical for Guy to ask permission -- “I think I’m going to make it an early night after the writing group.”
He came and kissed me, lingering a little, combing a strand of hair behind my ear as he studied my face. “That’s a good idea, lover. You’re looking awfully peaked.”
I smiled politely, unfairly annoyed with him again.
Guy kissed the bridge of my nose and departed.
A minute or two after the door shut behind him, I noticed that he’d left his tweed jacket. I grabbed it and started downstairs, but I had to take it slowly and I reached the side door in time to see the taillights of his red Miata disappearing down the street.
Closing the door, I started back upstairs. An envelope dropped out of Guy’s jacket pocket and landed on a step. I picked it up, glanced at it, then glanced again as I took in the return address.
As I stuffed the opened letter into his jacket pocket, I wondered who was writing Guy from Tehachapi California Correctional Institution.
Chapter Seven
Wednesday morning was wasted at Huntington Hospital on the battery of tests Dr. Cardigan had ordered.
It was nearly eleven when I got back to Cloak and Dagger Books. I parked, let myself in the side door in time to hear Natalie saying indignantly, “I don’t think it’s such a strange coincidence. Adrien used to date a cop. If it’s anyone’s fault he keeps getting involved in murders, it’s --”
“Natalie!” I said sharply.
She jumped guiltily, breaking off midsentence. Detective Alonzo turned from the counter where he had cornered her. He held a Starbucks cup, which he raised in greeting.
“Hey there, Mr. English. I’ve got a few follow-up questions, if you don’t mind.”
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