Not Telling
1068 Words
Well, Madison did know, but she couldn't reveal that yet.
She poured coffee for Q and herself as if she were some innocent bystander.
Q didn't look at her often, but when he did, something in his gaze saw through her. As if she were standing in front of him naked. His unnerving stare made her look away. Not that she wanted to stop perusing this tall, slim, and slightly disheveled person. He oozed masculinity and he could take on any situation and still get home in time for dinner.
He was less awkward than he had been in college. She had to say that he'd turned out to a lot of man compared to the gawky boy he had been.
Why had she let him go?
“You hungry?"
He blinked as if he didn't know the correct answer. “Uh, a little. I missed lunch."
“Right. Your staff went out without you?"
She peered into her stainless steel, almost-walk-in, fridge.
“I thought I'd catch up with them, but I got involved in some things."
She nodded while she pulled out some leftover lasagna. “You on a special diet?" As if she didn't remember his favorite foods.
He cracked a small smile. “No."
“I just know so many people on low carb, low fat, and no flavor diets. Me? I eat. And I'll keep doing it until I have to worry about getting fat."
Turning on the oven, she heard him mumble something. “What?"
He shook his head as if he'd said something rude and was glad she didn't hear him. She settled across the kitchen island from him. “My story."
He held his phone, ready to take notes on it. “Go ahead."
She didn't cross her fingers. Some of this story was true. “Charlie got into news photography after we'd been married awhile. He dabbled, but when 9/11 happened, he went at it full time. Photojournalism, really."
Q's gaze went around the kitchen. Everyone thought that same question. Q was polite enough not to ask.
She laughed. “The house came from my father."
He nodded but didn't type in anything. His long-fingered hands held the phone with grace. Those hands had been gentle, but firm when they'd made love in college. She shivered. Too long without s*x. She cleared her throat to get rid of the thought. Falling in bed with Q would be a mistake.
“Anyway, Charlie had been in the Middle East covering all sorts of conflicts over there. Then I lost touch with him."
“Was he kidnapped?"
“Not that I know of. No ransom note. Nothing. That was six months ago. I've had someone looking, but no luck. I don't really have any contacts over there. My father's business was mostly with Europe. No one could help me."
“You hired someone?"
“An ex-mercenary. Money talks, but I haven't seen any results," she said. Just Charlie getting himself in trouble again. Me bailing him out. That was an aside to this assignment. Her last assignment, she swore.
“Has this person contacted you?"
“Not for a month. I've stopped putting money in his account. I figured he'd come out of the woodwork once the money dried up."
“Still nothing?"
He gazed at her again. She stood, not enjoying the scrutiny. Odd because she was used to people staring at her. She'd been homecoming queen and Dairy Princess of Hunterdon County, among other titles.
The oven dinged. After sliding the lasagna into the preheated oven, she set the timer. “Salad?"
He waved a hand. “Don't make a fuss. I'll eat anything that's put in front of me."
She smiled at that. How could she not? He was charming and self-effacing. Just as she remembered. How long since she'd seen him? She and Charlie had been married only ten years but apart for three now. “I need one. And I already have it made."
“What was the mercenary's name?"
“Joe Shuster."
He typed it into his phone. “How'd you find him?"
“In the back of Soldier of Fortune Magazine."
His gaze enveloped her again. She shrugged. “I can be resourceful."
“I see. Madison, he could've been some oddball with PTSD."
She liked that he finally said her name. Sounded good with his bedroom voice. That voice made many girls in college swoon, but Q never seemed to notice. Even when she pointed it out to him.
“I recognize that, but I was desperate."
The salad went into bowls and she gathered dressings from the refrigerator. Q put blue cheese dressing on iceberg lettuce and called it a salad. She didn't want him to know how much she remembered about him. How much she remembered about that night. That one amazing night.
“I'll need his phone number," Q said.
His voice shook her out of her trip down memory lane. “I'm sure he won't answer."
***
Q breathed a sigh when she left the room. The first time he met her was when they were in college and he needed to tutor her in biology. At her apartment. When no one else was home. About meiosis and mitosis, or cell reproduction.
He'd sweat through his shirt in the first half hour. Madison never seemed to notice. She just kept touching him and making it all worse. He'd been afraid to stand up.
Nor did Madison seem to see that he couldn't keep his eyes off of her, so he kept looking away. He didn't want to stare. She was perfect.
And so out of his league. Still.
He reviewed the paltry notes he took, wondering if he'd ever get all the information he'd need. “The crew can deal with this tomorrow when they're sober."
And Madison would be out of his life again.
Duran Duran's A View to a Kill played indicating he had an incoming call. He didn't recognize the number, but he answered it anyway. “Q."
“It's Jack Whitman." The owner of the building next to the detective agency.
“Jack? Problem?"
“You should come here. Minor injuries. No one got killed, but the building's destroyed?"
As if he weren't overwhelmed already, not his building had been demolished by bomb. Was this terrorism or related to his case.
“Destroyed?" Q said.
- Writer
