Perfect
Page 113
"Uncivilized or not, I have to insist on seeing Jul—Miss Mathison."
"And if I refuse to open the gates?" Katherine persisted stubbornly.
"In that case," he said drolly, "I'm afraid I'll have to blow the lock off of them with my trusty service revolver."
"If you do," Katherine said, irritably pressing the switch to open them, "you'd better keep that trusty revolver loaded, because two of my father's shotguns will be pointed right at you when you get here."
Cutting off any possible reply, she released the intercom button and walked quickly down the hall to the library where she found Julie huddled in a chair watching the morning news. A picture of Zack Benedict was on the screen and the expression of naked tenderness and longing on Julie's face as she smiled at him made Katherine's heart ache. "Is he okay?" she asked.
"They do not have the slightest idea where he is," Julie announced with unhidden pleasure. Wryly she added, "They also do not have the slightest idea whether or not I'm still a suspected accomplice. They make it seem like my silence and the FBI's silence on the subject is practically an admission of guilt. Are you ready for me to give you a hand with the omelets?"
"Yep," Katherine said cheerfully, "however, we have an uninvited guest, who'll probably be joining us for breakfast. Such rudeness as his does not warrant our combing our hair or changing into street clothes," she said when Julie looked askance at her long yellow bathrobe.
"Who is it?"
"Paul Richardson. He thinks of you as 'Julie' by the way. He let that slip on the intercom and tried to cover it up."
The long talk they'd had the night before, combined with all the sleep she'd gotten, had greatly restored Julie's strength and spirits. "Just so he doesn't think of me with numbers across my chest," she joked as the doorbell began to peal. "I'll answer that," she said, tightening the belt on her robe.
Unceremoniously, Julie yanked open the front door, then stepped back in shock as Paul Richardson held his arms up and pleaded in a comic voice, "Don't shoot. Please."
"What a delightful idea," Julie replied, but she was biting back a smile at his humor. "May I borrow your gun?"
He grinned, his gaze roving over the shining chestnut hair tumbling over her shoulders, then shifting to her bright eyes and soft smile. "A night's peace and quiet seems to have done you a world of good," he remarked, then his brows snapped together and he said sternly, "Don't pull another disappearing act like this one again though. I told you before that I want to know where you are at all times!"
Buoyed up by the television news that Zack was still safe, Julie accepted his reprimand without protest. "Have you come to lecture me or arrest me?" she asked cheerfully, knowing instinctively it was the former, as she turned and walked with him down the hall.
"Have you broken any laws?" he countered as they entered the kitchen.
"Are you planning to stay for breakfast?" she evaded, heading for the chopping block in the center of the kitchen.
Paul Richardson looked from Katherine who was breaking eggs into a bowl to Julie who was picking up a knife and getting ready to slice into a green pepper. Both women were devoid of makeup, clad in robes and pajamas, with their hair still rumpled from sleep. They looked lovely, innocent, and utterly charming. "Am I invited?" he asked Julie, grinning.
She looked up at him, her dark blue eyes searching his face as if she were trying to see beyond his skin and into his soul, and he suddenly wished there was more kindness and goodness there for her to see. "Do you want to be invited?"
"Yes."
She smiled then, the first genuine, unstrained smile she'd given him, and it had a radiance that made his heart quicken. "In that case," she said, "sit down at the table while we fix you one of our special omelets. We haven't made these as a team in a year, so don't expect too much."
Paul pulled off his jacket and tie, loosened the top button of his shirt collar and settled down at the table while Julie brought him a cup of coffee and then returned to her tasks at the chopping block. He watched them in silence, listening to their smiling banter, feeling like he'd somehow been admitted to a peaceful kingdom ruled by beautiful fairies with tousled hair and long, pastel robes who joked about past events that enthralled him. Katherine Cahill was drop-dead gorgeous, he decided, while Julie Mathison was merely pretty, but it was Julie who drew his gaze and held it like a magnet. He watched the sun shining through the window, glinting on her hair, studied the infectious glamour of her smile, the softness of her skin, the astonishing lushness of her curly lashes. "Mr. Richardson?" she said quietly without looking up from the small white object she was chopping into tiny bits.
"Call me Paul," he said.
"Paul," she corrected.
He definitely liked the sound of his name on her lips. "Yes?"
"Why are you staring at me?"
Paul lurched guiltily and said the first thing that came to mind. "I was wondering what that stuff is you're chopping up." He watched one long, tapered finger point to what he now realized was an ordinary garlic clove.
"You mean this?" she asked, but she lifted her head and leveled an amused stare on him that made him feel like an awkward schoolboy caught cold in a transparent lie. "Yes," he bluffed. "That. What is it?"
He watched her lips form the smiling words and heard her say it ever so sweetly: "It's hemlock."
"Thank God. I was afraid it was garlic."
Her startled laughter rang out like music and when it ended, they were both smiling at each other. "You have a beautiful smile," he said quietly as she returned to her task.
She glanced at him from beneath her lashes and quipped, "Just the thing to set me apart in the FBI's mug book, don't you think."
Paul's smile faded abruptly. "Has Benedict contacted you? Is that why you took off yesterday without a word to me and came up here? Is that why you've referred twice this morning to being arrested?"
She rolled her eyes at him and laughed, "You have an overactive imagination"
"Damn it!" he said, standing up and starting toward her before he realized what he was doing. "Don't play games with me, Julie! When I ask you a question, I want a straight answer." He glanced over her shoulder at Katherine, "Would you mind leaving us alone?" he snapped at her.
"Yes, actually, I would. Do you honestly believe that Julie collaborated in that man's escape from prison?" she demanded indignantly.
"And if I refuse to open the gates?" Katherine persisted stubbornly.
"In that case," he said drolly, "I'm afraid I'll have to blow the lock off of them with my trusty service revolver."
"If you do," Katherine said, irritably pressing the switch to open them, "you'd better keep that trusty revolver loaded, because two of my father's shotguns will be pointed right at you when you get here."
Cutting off any possible reply, she released the intercom button and walked quickly down the hall to the library where she found Julie huddled in a chair watching the morning news. A picture of Zack Benedict was on the screen and the expression of naked tenderness and longing on Julie's face as she smiled at him made Katherine's heart ache. "Is he okay?" she asked.
"They do not have the slightest idea where he is," Julie announced with unhidden pleasure. Wryly she added, "They also do not have the slightest idea whether or not I'm still a suspected accomplice. They make it seem like my silence and the FBI's silence on the subject is practically an admission of guilt. Are you ready for me to give you a hand with the omelets?"
"Yep," Katherine said cheerfully, "however, we have an uninvited guest, who'll probably be joining us for breakfast. Such rudeness as his does not warrant our combing our hair or changing into street clothes," she said when Julie looked askance at her long yellow bathrobe.
"Who is it?"
"Paul Richardson. He thinks of you as 'Julie' by the way. He let that slip on the intercom and tried to cover it up."
The long talk they'd had the night before, combined with all the sleep she'd gotten, had greatly restored Julie's strength and spirits. "Just so he doesn't think of me with numbers across my chest," she joked as the doorbell began to peal. "I'll answer that," she said, tightening the belt on her robe.
Unceremoniously, Julie yanked open the front door, then stepped back in shock as Paul Richardson held his arms up and pleaded in a comic voice, "Don't shoot. Please."
"What a delightful idea," Julie replied, but she was biting back a smile at his humor. "May I borrow your gun?"
He grinned, his gaze roving over the shining chestnut hair tumbling over her shoulders, then shifting to her bright eyes and soft smile. "A night's peace and quiet seems to have done you a world of good," he remarked, then his brows snapped together and he said sternly, "Don't pull another disappearing act like this one again though. I told you before that I want to know where you are at all times!"
Buoyed up by the television news that Zack was still safe, Julie accepted his reprimand without protest. "Have you come to lecture me or arrest me?" she asked cheerfully, knowing instinctively it was the former, as she turned and walked with him down the hall.
"Have you broken any laws?" he countered as they entered the kitchen.
"Are you planning to stay for breakfast?" she evaded, heading for the chopping block in the center of the kitchen.
Paul Richardson looked from Katherine who was breaking eggs into a bowl to Julie who was picking up a knife and getting ready to slice into a green pepper. Both women were devoid of makeup, clad in robes and pajamas, with their hair still rumpled from sleep. They looked lovely, innocent, and utterly charming. "Am I invited?" he asked Julie, grinning.
She looked up at him, her dark blue eyes searching his face as if she were trying to see beyond his skin and into his soul, and he suddenly wished there was more kindness and goodness there for her to see. "Do you want to be invited?"
"Yes."
She smiled then, the first genuine, unstrained smile she'd given him, and it had a radiance that made his heart quicken. "In that case," she said, "sit down at the table while we fix you one of our special omelets. We haven't made these as a team in a year, so don't expect too much."
Paul pulled off his jacket and tie, loosened the top button of his shirt collar and settled down at the table while Julie brought him a cup of coffee and then returned to her tasks at the chopping block. He watched them in silence, listening to their smiling banter, feeling like he'd somehow been admitted to a peaceful kingdom ruled by beautiful fairies with tousled hair and long, pastel robes who joked about past events that enthralled him. Katherine Cahill was drop-dead gorgeous, he decided, while Julie Mathison was merely pretty, but it was Julie who drew his gaze and held it like a magnet. He watched the sun shining through the window, glinting on her hair, studied the infectious glamour of her smile, the softness of her skin, the astonishing lushness of her curly lashes. "Mr. Richardson?" she said quietly without looking up from the small white object she was chopping into tiny bits.
"Call me Paul," he said.
"Paul," she corrected.
He definitely liked the sound of his name on her lips. "Yes?"
"Why are you staring at me?"
Paul lurched guiltily and said the first thing that came to mind. "I was wondering what that stuff is you're chopping up." He watched one long, tapered finger point to what he now realized was an ordinary garlic clove.
"You mean this?" she asked, but she lifted her head and leveled an amused stare on him that made him feel like an awkward schoolboy caught cold in a transparent lie. "Yes," he bluffed. "That. What is it?"
He watched her lips form the smiling words and heard her say it ever so sweetly: "It's hemlock."
"Thank God. I was afraid it was garlic."
Her startled laughter rang out like music and when it ended, they were both smiling at each other. "You have a beautiful smile," he said quietly as she returned to her task.
She glanced at him from beneath her lashes and quipped, "Just the thing to set me apart in the FBI's mug book, don't you think."
Paul's smile faded abruptly. "Has Benedict contacted you? Is that why you took off yesterday without a word to me and came up here? Is that why you've referred twice this morning to being arrested?"
She rolled her eyes at him and laughed, "You have an overactive imagination"
"Damn it!" he said, standing up and starting toward her before he realized what he was doing. "Don't play games with me, Julie! When I ask you a question, I want a straight answer." He glanced over her shoulder at Katherine, "Would you mind leaving us alone?" he snapped at her.
"Yes, actually, I would. Do you honestly believe that Julie collaborated in that man's escape from prison?" she demanded indignantly.
