CHAPTER TWELVE
“Alex!” I hurried to him. He looked up with such hope in his eyes when he saw me that I melted a little. He stood so that we met at the door.
“Catherine, I didn’t do anything, I swear.”
As before, that rang true but incomplete. I had never gotten such mixed impressions from someone before, and I didn’t like it or understand it. “Hang on a minute; let’s go inside,” I stopped him from speaking further and inserted my key into the lock. He stood there, the anxiety rolling off of him, igniting my own.
We silently passed through the waiting area to my office. He collapsed in the chair, eyes wide, silently begging me to believe him. And I did. Mostly.
“What happened?” I asked instead.
“Has a Detective Dawson spoken to you yet? If he hasn’t, he certainly will soon, I’m sure. He spoke to me this morning at the station. I’m apparently a suspect. What should I do?”
I didn’t respond immediately, because I realized that the detective had already spoken to Alex before coming by my condo. Questioned and released. Sneaky.
“Catherine?”
I refocused on the distraught man before me. “Tell me what he asked you.”
“He asked me all about last night, including whether or not I had spent time with Karen. The actress who died,” he added, not realizing I already knew.
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth, of course. I danced and talked with her off and on throughout the night.”
“What happened when you left with her?”
Now it was Alex’s turn to stay silent. “What makes you think I left with her? Did you tell the detective that?” He managed to look both wounded and angry.
“No, I didn’t. He didn’t ask.”
Alex appeared relieved. He grinned suddenly. “Did you really think I left with her?”
I shrugged and averted my gaze. “Both of you vanished at the same time.”
“Did we now? And how do you know that?” He leaned back in the seat, hands interlocked behind his head. He smiled broadly, worries of a murder suspect forgotten, at least temporarily.
“I noticed you talking with her. Then you were both gone,” I finished, rather lamely to my own ears.
“Were you tracking me?” He seemed interested rather than irritated.
“Yes, yes I was,” I astonished myself by admitting.
“I’m glad.”
“You are? I thought you were interested in Karen.”
“Karen? She was sweet and liked to dance. That was all.” He paused before continuing. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever act on your attraction for me. Because of our work relationship.”
“My attraction?” I asked the question, though we both knew the answer.
“Yes. The one that is definitely reciprocated by me,” he replied flirtatiously and I smiled back, feeling a flush of heat in response.
“Wait. Let’s stay focused. What happened to Karen?”
He paused a beat too long before answering. “I don’t know. I didn’t leave with her. Although I left after her.”
Again, that incomplete truth. “How do you know that?”
“I looked for her before I left and didn’t see her.”
“Why were you looking for her?” Did you want to leave with her? This was the unspoken question.
“No,” he answered my unasked question. He didn’t elaborate, but I knew it was the truth.
“Then why?”
“I was worried.”
“About what?”
Another too long hesitation. “I’m not sure. Something seemed off that night.”
That was more lie than truth; what was going on? “Is that why you kept sniffing the air? Or at least that’s what it looked like to me.”
He seemed almost impressed with my question. “Yes, I was. There was a smell that seemed off. Wrong.”
That was almost a complete truth. Now we were getting somewhere. “What? Like pot? You know that’s legal here now.”
He chuckled with me, the smile not quite reaching his eyes this time. “I can’t really explain it.”
Mostly lie. Damn it. “Can’t? Or won’t?”
“A little of both.”
“Will you tell me one day?”
“Yes. Not today.”
“Not today,” I repeated. That was the truth. “I guess that’s okay.”
“You believe me that I’m innocent? That I didn’t hurt Karen or the other women?”
“Yes, I do.” He didn’t respond. “Are you surprised?”
“A little, if I’m honest. You don’t really know me.”
“That’s true,” I acknowledged. I wasn’t ready to explain my human lie detecting ability.
“But, I’m a good judge of character and I don’t believe you’re a killer.”
“Thank you, Catherine.”
“You’re welcome.”
He grinned. “Will you go out with me?”
“Yes.”
“Just like that.”
“Just like that.”
“What about the professional relationship thing?”
“We’ll work that out as we go.”
“That sounds wonderful.” He walked around the desk and stood over me. I remained sitting. He put his hands on the arms of the chair and leaned in close. “Are you sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” My breathing quickened at his nearness, even though we weren’t touching.
“There are things,” he swallowed audibly, “about me that you might not like.” He pushed back and turned away.
“So solemn,” I teased and when he turned, I was shocked to see real pain in his eyes. I stood next to him, our heat comingling. “I know you have your secrets. Let’s take it one day at a time. Okay?”
“Okay.” He smiled shyly. “Meet you tomorrow at eight? If Thai is good, I’ll text you a place I like.”
I reached a hand up to touch his cheek. He took that hand in his own, held it in place. We’d work everything out moving forward. I trusted my instincts. They’d never let me down before – I pushed down the awful memory of the one time I ignored them.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”