“Three o’clock. Why?”
“She had a busy afternoon. After she left you, she came to my restaurant, Le Beau, looking for me. She also asked me to come to her hotel room tonight.”
This time it was Rachel who asked, “Why?”
“She said it was something personal. Something she couldn’t tell me at the office. She said she wanted me to meet someone.” He kept his gaze fixed on her. “I’m assuming it was you.”
They stared at each other.
“We need to talk,” he said.
She considered that. “What if I don’t want to?”
“You’re afraid?”
“Aren’t you?” she shot back
He gave her a hard look. “I always hope for the best and prepare for the worst.”
“Which is what in this case?”
He waited until a couple walking along the street passed them. “I don’t know. Let’s get off the street. Le Beau is only a block away. We can talk there.”
His heart started to pound as he watched her considering the suggestion. What if she said no? What if she walked away from him? That thought made his chest feel hollow, but he told himself he knew where to find her.
When she finally said, “Okay,” he relaxed a little, yet his nerves were still humming as he turned in the direction of the restaurant.
They walked through the darkened streets, neither of them talking nor touching each other, yet each of them giving the other sidewise glances as though that would lead to a sudden revelation.
The restaurant was crowded when they entered, but the maitre d’ nodded at Jake who headed straight toward the back, reassured by Rachel’s footsteps behind him.
They walked into the same office where he’d talked to the now dead woman.
In addition to the desk and chair, the room contained a small, comfortable seating area with a modern leather sofa, antique tables and an Oriental rug that he’d gotten from an estate sale. To the right of the sofa were a bar and lawyer’s bookcases filled with old, leather-bound volumes that he’d bought when the aging resident of a Garden District Victorian had moved to a nursing home.
Rachel looked around with interest. “You’re doing well for yourself.”
He shrugged. “Moderately. Make yourself comfortable.”
She sat down gingerly on the edge of the sofa, looking like she could spring up and bolt at any moment. He understood why. The atmosphere in the little room had turned super charged, as though their very proximity was about to set off sparks.
“I think we could both use a drink,” he said.
“You have some wine?”
“Of course. What would you like?”
“Merlot.”
“You have good taste,” he said, thinking that sounded inane.
Turning, he opened the bar, got out a high-end bottle and removed the cork befor pouring them each a glass. When he held one out to her, she said, “Put it on the table.”
“Why?”
“Because apparently we read each other’s minds when we’re touching.”
She’d said what they’d both been thinking.
