“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said, meeting his gaze again.
He lifted his cup and gave her a little nod. “Okay then. Enjoy your pancakes.”
She watched him leave, holding her breath until his scent faded from the air.
Chapter Five
There was no blond guy. Nick wasn’t proud to admit he’d invented a reason to talk to the dark-haired beauty he’d seen in the window of Friedman’s, but the truth was, he’d been walking back to his car after questioning a neighbor about a case when he’d seen her at the counter and hadn’t been able to resist speaking with her. Yes, he was attracted to her, but Nick was a disciplined man and simple attraction wouldn’t be enough to draw him inside or cause him to lie. What he found irresistible was the familiarity. She was the memory of a song he could almost hear and couldn’t quite remember.
He was sure he’d met her before. The way she brushed her hair back from her face, the angle of her wrists when she rested them on the counter, the crease in her brow as she stared at her phone, the way her full lips pressed against the rim of her coffee mug. Her perfume. Oh God, her scent. Orange peels and smoke with a dash of spicy cinnamon. It was distinctive and he’d smelled it before, he was sure, but he couldn’t remember.
Part of him expected that he’d known her as a child, maybe gone to elementary school with her. He’d grown up in an abusive household, and some of those years had been lost to him. He’d met a lot of people during that time, faces that were a blur because nothing stood out in his mind but hunger and the damned belt his guardian used to beat him with. But she’d denied recognizing him at all. Goddamn, his brain hurt thinking about it, and the weirdness last night wasn’t helping the feeling that all was not right in his head.
He’d lost time. He’d been upstairs at the Stevensons’, then in the blink of an eye he was in the kitchen. Maybe he needed another psych eval. He rubbed his temples. He’d long ago dealt with his abusive upbringing in therapy and so far hadn’t suffered any long-term psychological issues. Could a person have delayed onset PTSD? Maybe. But he wasn’t having flashbacks or anxiety attacks.
The entire ride back to the precinct, he stewed over his actions and was so deep in thought he didn’t notice his partner, Soren, standing in the door to his office until the man said something.
“How’d it go last night?”
Nick snapped out of his reverie. “All right, I guess.”
“Thanks for covering for me. Rhonda woulda divorced me if I missed our anniversary again for my side hustle.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded check. “Here’s what we agreed on.”
“Thanks.” He rubbed his eyes. “Hey, can I ask you something about that job?”
“Sure.” Soren shrugged.
“You ever have anything weird happen when you’re there?”
“Weird like what?”
“Like things move and shit. Like does the air-conditioning blow real hard or something?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about right now, Nick, but you’re kinda worrying me. What the fuck happened?”
“Come in and sit down for a minute.”
Soren took the chair across the desk, and Nick gave him a play-by-play of finding himself in the kitchen and the rumpled comforter.
“But you checked the video and there was nothing there?”
“Yeah. One second it’s flat, the next rumpled. The diamonds were still in the safe. Nothing missing.”
“Did you bookmark the recording?”
“Yeah, of course I did.”
“I’ll take a look. I need to run out there this afternoon anyway to review Mr. Stevenson’s security plan for some big gala he’s planning.”
“Thanks.” He cracked his neck. “I just can’t shake that something about that night was wrong.”
Soren frowned. “Coming from you, that gives me the willies. Your gut feelings have a habit of saving lives.”
“I promise you, my instincts are not infallible.”
“But they’re pretty damned sharp.”
“I’m not sure about that. I saw a woman this morning I could have sworn I’d met before. She wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
