Eight
BAD GIRLFRIEND
RATHER THAN TO the bar, Ian led me to the front door of the Cliff House restaurant.
He waited for the hostess to get my coat from the back, taking it from her when she returned and handed it to him with a flirtatious smile. He rolled his eyes at my irritated snort, smiling at me tautly before he held the coat up for me to put on.
“Is this new?” Ian murmured, as I slid my arms into the sleeves.
I felt myself flush, but kept my back to him as I answered. “I left mine at home today, so I picked one up downtown.”
“It’s nice. A bit on the clandestine side.”
I let out a laugh, looking up at him. “What does that mean?”
“You could be a spy in that coat.”
“You would know,” I murmured.
“Indeed I would.”
I smiled. Even so, I found myself wondering again, just how long Ian had been there at the bar while Black and I had been talking.
It wasn’t like Ian to spar with me, either.
He didn’t say anything else until we’d walked outside. Even then, he walked me a dozen paces away from the restaurant, leading me by the hand up the sidewalk until we were on a section of dirt pathway overlooking the Sutro Baths. Nothing more than a ruin of a stone foundation remained of the baths themselves, nestled in a small bay below the southern edge of Land’s End. Looking back at the lit up restaurant and the dark ocean behind it, I took in the panorama in a quick sweep of my eyes, strangely conscious of Black, even out here.
Once Ian had me on the apex of that windswept segment of sandy path, he released my hand. He turned on me, his blue eyes suddenly sharp, and completely devoid of humor.
“Where have you been, Miri?” he demanded, his voice holding an edge. “I’ve been worried. I’ve also been calling... for hours now.”
Studying his face, I understood now, why I’d picked up so much weirdness on him.
He’d been posturing in front of Black all right. Not because he’d been threatened by Black himself, but because he’d been annoyed with me.
The wind whipped at my cheeks and eyes, forcing me to look away. I held my hair back with one hand, tugging it under the collar of the dark coat.
“Ian, I’m sorry, really. I turned my phone off and forgot. You know I’m prone to forgetting my phone... and I had no idea you were coming home tonight, so I wasn’t expecting a call until tomorrow.”
That part was true at least.
It didn’t smooth any of the tension from Ian’s face.
“Don’t play games with me, Miri,” he said, his voice colder. “Nick called me.”
I sighed, silently swearing to myself I was going to kill Nick Tanaka.
“...something about a serial killer who’s obsessed with you? He seemed to think the guy was his wedding killer. He also said he might have to let him go today.” His voice grew harder, even as he pointed down the hill towards the Cliff House. “What the hell are you doing out with a client, given that? You’re aware you fit the victim profile, yes? That you’re the type of woman this ‘wedding killer’ likes to target? Nick made it sound like his suspect was practically salivating over you...”
“Ian...” I sighed.
“Don’t ‘Ian’ me,” he snapped. “I’m not Nick. I know when you’re playing naive because you think the rest of us are too stupid to know it’s an act. What happened in that interrogation room yesterday? I could tell Nick didn’t share everything.”
I shook my head, tugging my hair out of my face again when some of it pulled free of my collar. Pressing my lips together, I met his gaze.
“Nick is being ridiculously paranoid about me, Ian,” I said. “I told him as much, both times I talked to him about it. That guy he had me interview? He was playing games, it’s true... and maybe he was a little too excited when a woman went in there to interrogate him, but that had nothing to do with me.” The lie felt bitter on my tongue, but I did my best to keep it off my face, to keep my voice bored. “Honestly, I’m still not convinced Nick has the real killer. He kicked me off the case anyway, didn’t he tell you?”
“No,” Ian said, frowning at me harder.
I held his gaze, watching him assess my expression.
I knew he did it partly in reflex, but it made me tense anyway. That was the problem with dating someone whose job required them to read micro-expressions all the time, and who knew how to hide their reactions from view.
Normally I had less reason to be paranoid about it.
Normally, I wasn’t lying to him.
He sighed, even as I thought it. “I’m sorry for being alarmist. Nick got my dander up, I admit. Had me worried you were tied up in a trunk somewhere.”
“What the hell did he say to you?” I said, letting him hear my annoyance.
“Too much... and not enough,” Ian said. Combing a hand through his hair, he exhaled hard again, sounding faintly angry. “I was about to get on a twenty-hour flight so I couldn’t even talk to him... at least not to get the whole story. I suppose I could have called him back once the plane was in the air, but I figured since there wasn’t much I could do about it en route...” He trailed, glancing at me with a frown. “I got enough to know Nick was worried about you last night. Worried enough to contact me in Bangkok, even though he must have known you’d be furious at him for that.”
At my sympathetic sound, he stepped closer, his voice tense.
“Miri, he made it sound like he really thought you were at risk. I’ve never heard him like that before. Not about you... and you two have done cases like this before.”
“Well... not exactly like this,” I said, smiling.
Ian wasn’t mollified. “He was worried enough that he told me he intended to keep you under surveillance until they had this chap to rights, Miri,” he said. “He was going to put a tail on you, if he ended up having to let his suspect walk.”
I fought to keep the reaction off my face.
Clearly Ian had no idea that Quentin Black was the suspect Nick had been talking about. Which meant he’d never gotten a name from Nick.
Still studying my face, Ian sighed, letting go of my arm.
“Okay, so I might have overreacted a bit, when I couldn’t get ahold of you,” he said, combing his fingers through his sandy blond––and now windswept––hair. His thick and usually near-perfect hair remained sticking up somewhat when he finished, probably because he hadn’t gotten a shower since the flight.
“I am sorry, Miri,” he said. “To be honest, I panicked a little when I didn’t find you at your flat. I had your phone traced. I was on the verge of dialing Nick when I saw you in that booth. I only hesitated earlier because I knew you might kill me if it turned out you were out with Lacey having drinks.”
“You had my phone traced?” I said in disbelief.
He nodded, his expression sheepish. “Yes.” He gave me a slightly defensive look. “It was the first time, Miri. I swear it. I was afraid for your life.”
Deciding to let it go, I walked closer to him, rubbing his arm through the jacket.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, and meant it. “You must be exhausted.”
He let out a low laugh. “I am. That damned negotiation was brutal... the Bangkok thing, I mean. Positively brutal.” He glanced down at me, smiling faintly. “So you really have to be with this P.I. fellow tonight? I was hoping for a foot massage... and some wine. Maybe a lot of wine... along with a massage of a few other body parts.”
I let out a low laugh, stepping closer so that I was between his arms. When he wrapped them around me, I rubbed his back through the dress shirt.
“You still mad at me for being gone too much?” he said.
I shook my head, snuggling deeper into his arms.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. But ask me tomorrow.” I paused. “Have you been home yet?”
“Only long enough to dump my bags,” he said, sighing again. “And finish geo-locating my fiancée’s phone.” Despite his embarrassment, I felt him relaxing as I continued to massage the small of his back with my fingers. He looked down at me again. “I really did try to call first, Miri... before I resorted to spyware. Ten times, at least. You might find a few panicked messages from me if you ever bother to turn your phone on again.”
I nodded, feeling another wave of guilt as I bit my lip.
I found myself wavering too, wondering if I should tell Ian who Black was, what I’d been doing all day. I’d never kept anything important from him before. He wrapped his arm around me tighter while I was still thinking, squeezing me against his side.
“This new client of yours,” Ian grunted when I coiled my own arm tighter around his waist under the long coat. “He’s not ugly enough for how I’m feeling right now, either, pet.”
I let out a laugh, smacking him lightly in the chest. “Is that jealousy? Seriously? Because I might need to pull out my phone and record it, if so... it might be a first.”
“I might actually be worried if you bothered to turn on your phone at all,” he grumbled.
I held him tighter, pressing my face against his chest.
Again I tried to decide if I should tell him who he’d just met inside the Cliff House. I knew he’d find out eventually... it was inevitable now. He would eventually hear Black’s name from Nick or in the news, and since Ian tended to have a pretty close to photographic memory when it came to names and faces, he would put two and two together. It was part of Ian’s job to remember people like he did; he’d told me that more than once.
I was more or less the same way, if for different reasons. Even so, Ian’s attention to detail still managed to awe me at times.
But I knew I was still avoiding.
The problem was, if I told Ian who Black was, the first thing he’d do is call Nick.
The second thing he’d do is blow a gasket at me for putting myself at risk.
I definitely wouldn’t be going anywhere else with Black that night.
I’d also caught the double meaning in some of what Black said to Ian. He really thought there was a “flight risk” with the killer. Maybe he even thought this could be our last chance to catch him. Which meant that if Black was right and the killer really was a psychic––in the sense of being the kind of psychic Black was himself––then he’d probably get away. Even if I told Nick to stake out the Legion of Honor tonight in our place, the cops wouldn’t be able to catch someone like that, not without help from someone like Black.
And could I really defend what I’d been doing that day? The storyline itself was more or less coherent––in terms of finding Black at home unexpectedly when I’d really only intended to check out his business––but that did zero to explain my motives, or why I would go with Black after Nick explicitly warned me to stay away from him.
Besides, I knew Ian. I knew how crazy all of this would sound to someone as hyper-rational as Ian was, even apart from his intelligence training.
To Nick and his cop brain, it wouldn’t just sound crazy. It would sound complicit.
I was ninety percent certain Nick would simply arrest me, probably for obstructing justice. He’d definitely think I’d been lying to him about my prior knowledge of Black and the nature of our relationship. Assuming he wasn’t convinced of that already.
Thinking about that, I sighed again.
Nick did think that already. I was kidding myself to believe otherwise.
So really, the issue was Ian.
Either way, I’d be gambling on whether Ian would forgive me for lying to him about who Black was. Given that I’d never talked to Ian about the psychic thing before, that might open a whole can of worms that could bleed into our relationship for a long time after.
As I thought about that end of things, I felt a harder pain, deeper in my chest.
That was the larger part of this that I’d been avoiding. That part, I’d been avoiding for months... well before I’d ever heard the name Quentin Black.
Namely, was it fair to let Ian marry me without telling him what a freak his wife-to-be truly was? Somehow, meeting Black had caused me to question my decision to remain quiet on that front all over again. Maybe it wasn’t as small a part of me as I liked to pretend. Maybe it really wasn’t fair not to tell Ian about it before we tied the knot for real.
Now that Ian had seen me with Black, I would have to decide. I would have to decide what I would tell him when I got caught... which would definitely happen.
It was just a matter of when.
A part of me still wanted to hold that moment off, however.
At least until after we caught the wedding killer.
Remembering everything Black had told me, I felt that desire to wait on telling Ian intensify. I’d never met anyone like me before. A few crackpots who claimed psychic powers, sure. A few people who could read a little bit, like that witchy woman who glimpsed what I was behind my shield.
But no one like Black. No one anywhere near what he was.
A part of me just couldn’t let it go.
I also found myself thinking that however this thing played out, it would definitely point me in one direction or the other in terms of how much to tell Ian about what and who I really was.
“So?” Ian said, shaking me gently. “Can you get out of this thing? Claim fiancé emergency and reschedule? You can call me a twat, if it helps... claim I’m a needy, clingy fucker who’s jealous you’re out with another man on his first night back in town in two weeks...”
“Because that would completely help in selling my credibility to a prospective employer,” I said, laughing a little as I gave him a mock frown.
“You know I’m kidding,” he said softer, holding me tighter. “I’m serious about the rescheduling though. Any chance you can get out of this thing? Just for tonight?”
Ian was one of the smartest people I knew.
Maybe that’s why I was never dumb enough to lie to him usually.
As if he’d heard me, he exhaled again. “You can’t, can you?”
I made my decision before I knew I meant to.
I shook my head. “Can’t do it. Sorry.”
He frowned, but I saw no surprise in his eyes. “Yeah. I figured, based on what he said. Thought it couldn’t hurt to grovel a bit, though.”
I shook him back, still hugging him around the waist. “Anyway, you should get some sleep. Go home and take a bath and crash.” I hesitated, glancing up at him with a smile. “I’ll come by in the morning with bagels and coffee. I can give you that, err... massage... then too. When we’re both a bit more up for it.”
He grinned, making his dimple stand out and making me feel guilty all over again.
“Okay,” he said, sighing more theatrically as he released me. “Well, I guess I’d better go. Your Mr. Quentin Black will think I’ve stolen you... and I’m seriously about to drop.”
“You stink a bit too,” I informed him.
He laughed, shoving at my shoulder with a hand as we made our way back down the path to the sidewalk. When I reached his side by the row of parked cars, he caught hold of my arms, pulling me against him. Before I could speak, he crushed me in his arms, kissing me hard on the mouth. He tasted like whiskey and garlic, which didn’t bother me but shocked me a bit before I fell into the kiss, sliding an arm around his neck as I kissed him back. He pulled me tight up against him as he kissed me a second time.
When he stopped, he leaned his forehead against mine.
“I really did miss you, Miri,” he murmured.
I closed my eyes, nuzzling his face as I felt a denser tug of guilt. “I missed you too. Now go get some sleep so I can show you how much tomorrow.”
“Why do I feel like I’m being dismissed?” he said with a smile.
“Because you are,” I retorted, smiling as I released him. I smacked him on the ass with my palm. “Now go. You’re distracting me. And this guy pays well.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
As Ian walked away, heading up the road to where I now saw his parked SUV, I fought another twinge of guilt, watching as he hit the clicker to unlock the doors. I waited for him to open the door and climb into the driver’s seat before I turned, aiming my feet back down the hill and towards the Cliff House bar and restaurant.
“I’m a bad girlfriend,” I muttered under my breath.
I told myself it was all right, that at base Ian trusted me, that I’d be able to make this right with him in the end, even if he was furious with me when he found out I’d lied to him about Black. I wasn’t cheating on him. I wasn’t betraying our relationship, even if I wasn’t including him in this thing.
But it wasn’t all right.
I knew damned well it wasn’t right, that I was crossing a big line for the two of us. It was a line I would never have dreamed of crossing before today.
Worse, I couldn’t even fully explain to myself why I was crossing it.
For the first time, I’d given Ian reason to doubt me.
Quentin Black had managed in less than twenty-four hours what hadn’t happened to me and Ian once in over a year... I’d lied to my fiancé. I’d given Ian cause to doubt my word. Glancing up at the Cliff House sign as I approached the heavy wooden door, I exhaled again.
Worse than that, there was something between me and Black.
I knew it, even as I tried to convince myself it wasn’t true.
And while I didn’t see it as a threat to me and Ian––at least not in the usual man and woman sense––I knew it also wasn’t only the psychic thing. It wasn’t only that we were both looking for the wedding killer either, or that seeing that girl in the morgue somehow dredged up memories of the murder of my baby sister, Zoe.
It was more than that.
More than I wanted to think about, truthfully... or even acknowledge. There was something else there––some kind of connection between Black and me––although I couldn’t for the life of me decide what it meant.
Black’s explanation for that bond was absurd of course. Ludicrous.
Even so, his crazy theories about inter-dimensional races didn’t negate the bond itself.
Nor did it do anything to help the nearly compulsive quality I felt behind it, at least in regards to me. It was almost like I couldn’t help myself around him. I couldn’t seem to force myself to want to stay away from him.
Which my clinical brain told me probably meant Black was a psychopath.
The more I thought about that, the more something else became abundantly clear.
I should leave.
I should march right back up that sidewalk and try to flag down Ian before he drove away. That, or I should walk to Geary Street on my own and grab a bus or a cab back to my place... or even downtown to pick up my car from that parking garage. Hell, I could call a cab right here, have them take me to the police station on Fillmore so I could tell Nick everything that happened over the last six or seven hours.
Then I could call Ian, apologize profusely and beg for his forgiveness... right before I went over there with his favorite take-out Chinese, a few bottles of good red wine and a hell of a lot of massage oil.
I wouldn’t need to give Quentin Black another thought.
But I knew I wasn’t going to do any of that.
I knew I wouldn’t even before I’d finished unbuttoning the front of that borrowed coat, standing at the door of the Cliff House restaurant.
Even so, I stood there for a few seconds longer, pretending like I might.