So, Charlie thought, hiding a smile. So, is Cupid among us, then?
But why would Joe and Dulcie be against Kit and Sage's friendship? The tortoiseshell was no longer a kitten, she was a grown cat now.
All through their whispered exchange, Sage lay sleeping on the table, sedated and kept warm. And whatever the problem, in the end Kit and Joe gave the first blood, and Dulcie was left to stay the night.
As the scent of alcohol filled the room, Charlie didn't like to watch John Firetti draw blood from Joe; the tomcat, despite his macho pretense, lay as rigid as if he were about to be field dressed. When Joe flinched, Charlie flinched. When the needle went in, she felt sharply its stinging bite-she was nearly as shaky and unnerved as she knew Joe was. The big, brawny tomcat suddenly seemed very small and frail-Joe seemed, himself, in need of tender protection.
When Dr. Firetti finished taking blood from Joe and Kit, he called Natalie on the intercom to help with the surgery. Kit refused to go home, so he settled Charlie and the three cats comfortably in his adjoining office; he gave Joe and Kit chicken broth to lap, and tucked them up in a blanket to keep warm, and showed Charlie where he kept the coffeepot. As the friends waited during surgery, Kit's eyes never left the connecting door, and silently Charlie and the cats prayed for the young feral.
5
AT ABOUT THE TIME Charlie entered Dr. Firetti's clinic, Mike Flannery was headed for Molena Point PD to pick up Dallas, to go on to the party at Clyde 's place. He was stopped at a crosswalk in the center of the village, waiting for a pair of overdressed tourists to wander past, when he saw her-he caught his breath, felt his heart do a flip even after all these years.
She had started across the street when she paused, studying the car uncertainly, looking at the license plate and then to his driver's-side window; she wouldn't see much in the reflected light from the setting sun. He put down the window, when she saw who was driving she stepped back, looking as uncomfortable as he felt.
"Mike? I thought it was Detective Garza. The tan Blazer, the police license…The sun was in my eyes…"
"It's his car," Mike said. "Hello, Lindsey. Let me pull around the corner."
He'd dreaded this moment, he hadn't known how he'd feel when he did see her. He'd considered telling Dallas he didn't want to work this case.
Well, here it was. So what was he going to do?
Take the case and throw himself back into the old feelings? They were still there, he knew that now. Or distance himself, be polite but turn away from her? Hand the case back to Dallas?
Lindsey had called Dallas early in the week concerning what she thought was a new lead, a body found up in Oregon, time of death maybe ten years ago…If that wasn't grasping at straws.
She had never gotten over Carson. As far as Mike knew, that was why she'd broken with him and left the village. He'd been pretty shaken when suddenly she'd told him she was moving back to L.A., gave him no reason.
They hadn't fought, they had been getting along fine, or so he'd thought. He had, in fact, been feeling pretty serious, almost to the point of proposing-a commitment he had not once considered since his wife died.
Lindsey's excuse for leaving was that she still felt involved with Chappell, that she'd realized she still cared for him. That not knowing whether he was alive or dead had left her unable to commit herself fully.
That had seemed fair enough-even if, he thought wryly, Chappell had run out on her.
Mike had wondered if maybe she hadn't wanted to be saddled with his three daughters, but he couldn't see why, they were all grown up by then and out on their own. Still, though, they were family. Lindsey had not had a pleasant family experience, none of the closeness that had warmed his own life, and maybe she was wary of that involvement.
To Lindsey, having grown up in a dysfunctional family and with an older sister who bullied her, maybe the whole idea of family was abhorrent, was not a relationship she wanted.
But why hadn't she said so? Why the hell did women have to be so devious? He'd never thought of Lindsey as devious.
For a long time after she left, he'd been angry, bitter.
Strange that now, despite his painful memories, he wanted to work the ten-year-old case, that this last week he had found himself looking at the case as a challenge.
And so who was devious? So who wanted to get back together again, and was afraid to admit it?
Parking in a green zone in front of the library, he watched her approach on the passenger side; the moment seemed almost in slow motion. She was just as beautiful, slim, willowy, her creamy oval face meant to be touched and kissed, her huge hazel eyes too painfully familiar, her soft brown hair floating around her face, changing in the glow of the dropping sun from chestnut to dark gold. Light, feathery brows, no makeup but a hint of pale lipstick. Her hands gave her age more clearly than her face, smooth hands but the veins standing out, her oval nails colored a soft salmon tone. She was around forty-five, ten years his junior. She wore a pale blue sweater with a V-neck over a white, open-collared shirt, her long slim legs easy in faded jeans. She leaned down, smiling in at him.
He reached over, pushed the door open. " Dallas is at the station," he said almost curtly. "How have you been, Lindsey?"
"I…Fine," she said uncertainly. "And you? I talked with Dallas a few days ago. I had to be out of town, I didn't know when I'd be back, to make an appointment. When I saw the car, I thought…" Slipping into the car, she studied his face questioningly, her hazel eyes picking up amber lights. "You've retired, Mike. You're moving down to the village?"
"I'm staying with Dallas at the moment." He didn't tell her he'd be moving into Clyde's house, would be staying there alone while Clyde and Ryan were on their honeymoon, nor that he'd then be moving into Ryan's vacated apartment. Was he afraid he might weaken and ask her over? Afraid she'd ask herself over? His reticence both amused and annoyed him, he felt as awkward as a kid.
He told himself he was just protecting his privacy. It was true that he'd been looking forward to some downtime, to a period of quiet isolation during which he could do a little unhurried work at his own pace, his own hours. His daughter's big, airy studio with its expansive view of the village rooftops and of the sea beyond was just what he wanted, an ideal bachelor pad.
Was that what he was afraid of? That he'd invite her up? Afraid to be alone with her?
So why the hell, then, did he take the case?
Her smile was like the sun coming out. She made him feel too vulnerable; he hadn't meant to be thrown back into this. He'd intended to keep the investigation strictly business-or that's what he'd told himself. He'd thought he'd see her again and it would mean nothing, just old friends who'd moved on. Had told himself that was a long time ago and now they were both different.
But now, suddenly, it was all with him again. Every detail of their time together seemed like yesterday, their casual dinners at her place, their runs on the beach, nights before the fire, holding her close.
Forget it. Keep your mind on the case. Or step back, tell Dallas you don't want to work this one. He looked at her sternly. "Why, after ten years, have you decided to pursue the case again?"
"You know I spent a year, after he disappeared, trying to find him, Mike. You know how I pushed the police and the California Bureau of Investigation. You know I didn't have any evidence that would put him across state lines, that would make it a case for the FBI. But now, maybe there is something."
He studied her, seeing how tired she looked suddenly, and older.