Thief of Hearts

Page 7

Kara looked at Jared. “I’m betting lunch is on the house.”
Jared nodded unhappily. “Come on, Ish, you’ve given me enough free meals, you’ve probably cost yourself a thousand bucks in food…I was glad to help, but I was only doing my job, you don’t need to keep giving me—”
Ishiguro held up a hand imperiously. When he spoke, his voice was very mild, but his gaze was arctic.
“Are you suggesting my son’s life is not worth some raw fish and rice?”
“Uh. No.”
“Are you suggesting there is no debt between us?”
Jared sighed. Kara smiled. “Give it up, Jared. Besides, you’re insulting our host.”
“The lady is wise,” Ishiguro declared, just as the waitress reappeared, carrying a large tray crowded with enticing dishes.
Ishiguro placed the food himself, clucking over them like a hen with two chicks, making sure the temperature of the food was exactly right…Kara waited for him to tie a napkin around Jared’s neck and start hand-feeding him, but he didn’t go that far. And then, finally, he left them to their food.
Kara had to laugh. Poor Jared looked so embarrassed, she almost felt sorry for him. “No wonder you didn’t want to come in here,” she said, digging into her chawanmushi, a delicately flavored custard crammed with seafood and mushrooms.
“It’s not just the fuss he makes,” Jared confessed in a low voice. “I swear, he loses money every time I come in. Then, I avoid the place for a few months and his feelings are hurt…it’s kind of a mess.”
“That will teach you to save lives, you bastard,” she said solemnly and they both laughed.
They had barely begun their meal when Jared’s pager went off. He sighed, swallowed and unclipped his pager for a quick glance. “I’ve got to go back to the hospital,” he said. “Let me call you a cab.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said, tossing her napkin on the table.
“No, Kara, stay here and enjoy the food, you—”
“This isn’t a date, Jared,” she reminded him coolly, though she’d had trouble remembering that fact herself. “I’m sticking close for the next few days. Besides, it’s not hard to get your pager number. For all you know, this is a trick. I’m coming with you.”
He looked pleased. She had no idea why. “Okay. I’ll call us both a cab.” They stood and, as Ishiguro approached, he waved his pager at the restaurant owner. “Gotta run, Ish. Everything was fabulous. I’m sorry we couldn’t finish.”
“That’s quite all right, Dr. Dean. I hope you’ll stop back later for dinner.” He shook Jared’s hand, then beamed with surprised delight when Kara bowed. She did it out of a perverse, continual need to prove her late sensei, a man similar to Ishiguro in looks but quite dissimilar in temperament—wrong. He’d told her once, when she was very small, that Americans bowed like cows danced. She’d spent as much time trying to perfect her bow as she had trying to perfect her defensive techniques.
Ishiguro, smiling, returned her bow and they left.
* * * * *
At the hospital, she watched Jared work and was impressed all over again. He was deft, compassionate, constantly smiling and, if he felt it was appropriate, gently teasing. The patients seemed to adore him.
Certainly the nurses were fond of him. She bristled as more than one nurse “accidentally” brushed by Jared, touched his arm, laughed a bit too loudly at his jokes. Then she scolded herself for bristling.
Calling Jared back to the hospital had not been a trick. Still, Kara kept a wary eye out. She hadn’t heard any word on the street about Carlotti, which was good news, so far. Carlotti was like a freight train…slow to get going, almost unstoppable once he reached full speed. When things started to happen, they would happen fast. For now, she and Jared could enjoy the calm before the storm.
Hunger gnawed at her, but she ignored the sensation. It was too bad their lunch had been interrupted, but they could grab a bite when Jared was finished his work. She certainly wasn’t planning to leave him alone while she stuffed her face.
She saw he was looking for her and stepped up behind him, tapping his shoulder. He turned and blinked with surprise when he saw it was her. “How do you do that?” he said, half complaining, half admiring.
“I’ve been looking all over for you and I never see you unless you want me to.”
“Inner city Emergency Room,” she reminded him, “remember?”
“Right. Don’t walk on your hands to prove your point, I get it. And I’m starving . Want to grab some supper?”
She glanced at the clock and saw with a start that she had been watching and admiring and thinking about him for close to five hours. It felt like five minutes.
She nodded and he reached for her hand, unthinking. She stiffened for a moment, then let him hold her hand. His fingers were warm and—odd!—she felt their warmth all the way down to her toes. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long,” he was saying, “I finished as quickly as I could.”
“I don’t mind,” she said and pulled her hand away.
No doubt about it. Dr. Dean was dangerous. She was used to physical danger, used to the worry of some street-snitch giving her up to the cops, used to gang toughs trying to take down A.A. as some sort of stupid initiation rite, but she had no idea how to deal with emotional danger. No idea how to stop herself from liking a man. She wondered for the first time if she was protecting him because it would thwart her enemy, or because she couldn’t bear to see him hurt.
* * * * *
Supper was delightful. Jared noticed Kara ordered everything he did and wasn’t sure why. Was it a sign of respect, or a lack of imagination?
He asked her. She made an exasperated sound and salted her fries. “Nice question. Lack of imagination, of course…the truth is, since you won’t let me pay my way, I didn’t want to bankrupt you by ordering three steak dinners.”
“But I could be rich,” he said, watching her long fingers as they curved around her burger and lifted it to her mouth. “Filthy, disgustingly rich.”
“And we’re eating at Denny’s?” She took a bite, chewed, swallowed, then said with finality, “You’re not rich at all.”
“How do you—oh, cripes. You cracked the hospital personnel files, didn’t you?” He let his head fall into his hands. “Did you leave any of the benefits staff conscious?”
“There aren’t a lot of them around at 2:00 a.m.” Then, almost anxiously, she added, “I wasn’t snooping.
I wanted to find out about you before I decided to get further involved. And by the way, did you know a good secretary makes more than you do in this city?”
“That’s a lie. A mediocre secretary makes more than I do. Doctors don’t make the bucks until they’ve been in the field for a while. Hell, six years ago I was still in med school.”
“Taking your cadavers out to lunch,” she added, smiling at him.
“It helped pass the time,” he said modestly. He stretched in the booth, glancing around the restaurant. It was a typical Denny’s, only a third full this time of the evening and around them the muted clink of silverware on plates mingled with customer chatter.
It was a relief to be relaxed with Kara. He could look into her blue eyes without fantasizing about knocking their Fiesta burgers to the floor and taking her on the table while the waitress gaped and asked if they wanted anything else to drink. They could have a normal conversation. Well, as normal a conversation about her cracking the hospital’s confidential files could be.
Their thwarted lunch and the hours in the E.R. had helped. The nap she’d talked him into last night had also helped. But the raging hard-on he woke with had not. Neither had that weird ass dream. Perhaps knowing Kara was in the next room, barely twenty feet away, made the stiffness between his legs demand urgent attention. Maybe it was the fact that he had thought of nothing and no one else for the past three days.
He had stumbled to the shower, still half-asleep and beneath the warm spray replayed their first (and, since he was keeping score, their only) kiss, only this time instead of pushing him away she had been pulling at his clothes. In his mind, her slender fingers tugged at his belt buckle, slipped his zipper down, her small, hot hand eased into his boxers and clasped him, caressed him while she whispered in his ear exactly what she expected him to do to her the moment she was finished with him.
He had climaxed so hard his knees had buckled. Only then did he notice the water had turned cold.
With a yelp, he had leaped past the curtain, standing on the bathroom carpet shivering, freezing, feeling more than a little foolish…but temporarily sated.
Now, finally, her power over him had eased. Here they were, having a conversation about med school cadavers like two ordinary people and he was fine. Sure, a mob boss had put a contract on his life and Kara was the only thing between him and a baseball bat lobotomy, but the fact remained, all was well with the world.
“I really think we should get married someday,” he said and nearly bit his tongue.
She rolled her eyes. “Always joking.”
“Yup, that’s me, Joke Central.” Cripes, what was wrong with him? He was sated, her hold over him was purely physical and she had no power over him, dammit, so what was wrong? She’d turned his life upside down in less than a week, he didn’t know anything about her, but she was all he could think about, dream about.
He mentally shook himself, then looked at her to ask if she wanted dessert and that was when she did it again. Her gaze flicked past him, to the front door and then back to him. Her expression was neutral; if she had been any other woman he wouldn’t have been alarmed. But Kara, he was beginning to realize, hid strong emotions—fear, anger, passion—behind an icy mask and he didn’t like the way she kept glancing over his shoulder.
He turned and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Some new customers, but it was getting close to dinnertime and that was to be expected. He turned back to ask Kara what was going on, only to realize with a start that she had already gotten up and was strolling unhurriedly toward the front door. At her place was thirty dollars in cash.