“Did he seem…dismayed that you recognized him?”
Cait thought back. “No. Surprised, maybe. Otherwise, the meeting was really underwhelming.”
“And you haven’t seen him again?”
She shook her head. “Nor heard from him. I half expected him to call, if only to ask about Mom, but their thing really was a long time ago.”
Jane drilled on it some more, but she finally gave up. The meeting was so inconsequential, it couldn’t possibly be relevant unless the fact that Cait and he had run into each other at all seemed significant to someone.
Cait took out her calendar, and they established that Jerry had been murdered the night she had had dinner with Beverly Buhl, Michael Kalitovic and Noah. Noah confirmed that he had followed Cait to her brother’s house after the dinner, and he was able to tell Jane precisely what time he’d left Cait. Jane didn’t question whether she had actually gone into the house, but close enough that Noah made a point of telling her Colin had come out on the porch to meet his sister. Which all seemed pointless to Cait; Colin had told her enough details, she knew Jerry’s murder had happened much later—probably sometime between 11:00 p.m. and 1:00 a.m. If she’d wanted to kill him, she could have sneaked out of the house after Colin and Nell were asleep.
Colin could have done the same.
Appearing disappointed, Lieutenant Vahalik finally left.
Noah reached over and pulled the door completely shut behind her. “How are you?”
“Do you know how often you ask me that?”
“You live a wild life.”
She scrunched up her nose at him. “I’m fine. Glad to be rid of Blake. Really freaked to find out someone else hates me.”
He opened his mouth, closed it.
“What?” she asked.
“Just thinking this other person doesn’t necessarily hate you. He—I say that for convenience and because not many women carry a nine millimeter—may conceivably never even have met you.”
“Oh, that’s a comfort.”
His blue eyes were too perceptive. “How about dinner tonight? I can cook.”
“Is it the sleepover you want?” She heard how sharp she sounded.
Something ghosted across Noah’s face. She’d have given a lot to identify it.
“We can have a nice evening without you having to face down your brother.”
In other words, no. He didn’t want the commitment of having a woman—or, more specifically, her—actually spend the night. Last night had been different. He’d let his alarm get to him. But now his natural caution and disinterest in real commitment had kicked in.
Part of Cait wanted to tell him she had other plans. But, of course, he’d know better. He was her social life. Plus, call her weak, but she wanted to spend the evening with him. She wanted to make love with him, in that big bed amid the construction mess.
So after a minute, she nodded. “I’ll let Colin know.”
“Good.” He didn’t move for a long minute, his gaze on her face. Then he took the couple of steps necessary to kiss her lightly before saying, “Later,” in a husky voice and leaving.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THEY BARELY MADE it upstairs to his bed.
Once Noah, still sitting at the table after dinner, had pulled Cait down on his lap and gotten his hands under the petal-pink blazer, then beneath the thin, silky top, he’d been done for. The way she moaned and arched when he sucked her breast right through her bra, he doubted she’d have objected if he had unzipped and put her into place right there.
But then he’d lifted his head for a minute and seen lights across the river and realized that, there in front of the windows, they could be visible to a neighbor who happened to be out in his backyard admiring the stars or doing God knows what else.
Or to a man who had been following her, watching for his opportunity. The reminder that someone wanted to kill her and could conceivably be out there in the darkness this minute, watching, worked like cold water dumped over his head. It restored him to a measure of sanity, enough to enable him to lift her off him and hustle her toward the stairs.
Cait clutched her bra to her breasts—he guessed he must have unfastened it—and didn’t object to the speedy pace he set. Beside the bed, she shed her clothes at the same time as he did. Looking at that long, slim body, nipples still tight, he was hit with another realization—he hadn’t had any condoms with him downstairs. The idea of using a condom hadn’t so much as crossed his mind. And that was a mistake he had never once made, not even when he was a perpetually horny sixteen-year-old.