Charred by Kate Watterson Page B

a level look. “I’ve never been sure if this case drew me, or if it was more how you might handle it.”
    “What does that mean exactly?”
    “It’s always interesting having dinner with a killer.” Her eyes were steady across the table.
    Even more so sleeping with one?
    He’d always wondered. They’d never really talked about this outright before.
    “Feel free to clarify.” He took a bite of pasta and tried to ignore that she’d struck a nerve. He thought about it as they ate, remembering how she was in bed, wondering if he had scared her a little at times, not that he’d been rough with her, but he was … “forceful” might be the right word. Maybe he made love with an agenda, like he did everything else. Some women liked it, some did not. She sure seemed to at the time.
    “It was neat and clean,” Rachel murmured, “and no one could prove a damn thing. But I covered it, and we both know that what happened that night wasn’t self-defense.”
    He took a sip of wine before he responded, the movement deliberate, before he said pleasantly, “Prove it.”
    “I’m not interested in proving it. And lucky for you, neither was Metzger, most probably because you are an extremely talented investigator. Tell me, were the consequences worth it?”
    Were there regrets? Not on his side. But he’d never admitted it, not to anyone, and he doubted he ever would, not even to Rachel. He picked up his napkin, touched it to his mouth, and then smiled. “Everything we do in this life has repercussions, you know that as well as I do. I can’t change what happened that night. It happened, it’s over, and dwelling on whether I was right or in the wrong is pointless. I was not charged with a crime, which I’m sure you remember because as you just said, you covered that media circus.”
    Sometimes death was meaningless, like what had happened to his parents. And sometimes death was perfect, symbolic, and just.
    He liked the latter scenario much better.
    She leaned forward and spoke softly, just loud enough he could hear her over the bustle of the busy restaurant. “I could never find it, but there’s a connection between you and that girl who was attacked. The truth is, once I met you, I didn’t look very hard because I was so sure of it. If I found it, I’d have to make a pretty difficult decision and so it was an easier path to set aside the reporter for the woman.”
    “I happen to like the woman,” he said in the same low tone, a slow smile surfacing. There had been the chance, all along, that someone would put two and two together, but he’d known it going in, and Rachel was the most likely to dig deep enough. She was very good at her job. It wasn’t why he started sleeping with her, but it was part of the equation.
    However it had all gone down, he’d been right, in his mind.
    It still made him a killer, and what bothered him a little about the entire thing was that she liked it, liked the edge, liked that he was dangerous. He’d gotten that from their first meeting.
    What did that say about her ?
    *   *   *
    Jason loathed the party.
    It didn’t really surprise him, as he hadn’t expected to like it, but it was worse than he expected. Of course, it didn’t help he was underdressed. He’d expected maybe a little beach volleyball and some beer on ice when he heard it was going to be on the lake, not white cloth-covered tables and waiters with trays of drinks in a high-rise condo that had a rooftop deck overlooking the water.
    The view was stunning. The company was not, but that was just his opinion.
    Kate naturally looked great in a sundress and glittering sandals, but her casual was apparently not his casual, her dark hair shining, her expression outwardly serene, but he could tell she was annoyed.
    Very reasonably, or so he thought, he said, “You could have told me.”
    They stood by a row of tropical plants that must take someone hours to water in the heat of this record-breaking summer, looking