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She turned to me, and the double-barreled salute of her nipples was as good as I’d imagined. “It’s Momma’s spaghetti and meatballs.”
I opened the back door to check the work that had been done. A quick step outside to survey the scene showed everything in its place, and no intruders. I returned to the kitchen.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
I closed the door. “Checking to see that the door was done properly.”
“And what part of the door is in the backyard?”
“Sorry, force of habit. Just being careful.”
Her mouth dropped open just a bit, and her head cocked to the side. “You think he’s still out there?”
“No, of course not.” I knew the forensic guys hadn’t found a trace of anybody but Sanderson and the victims at his house, and that had to settle it, but the hairs on the back of my neck didn’t agree.
I let go of the door handle I’d been leaning on, walked over, and wrapped her up in a bear hug. The feel of her soft breasts against my chest recharged me. It was something I’d been missing all day.
She wiggled to get loose. “You didn’t text me back. I was worried.”
“Busy day. Nonstop meetings.” I’d kept my phone on silent and out of sight during the repeated interrogations by Baker and Zalenski.
She turned back to the stove and her meatballs. “Hungry?”
I was hungry, exhausted, and spent after today. I came up behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and nuzzled her neck. “For you.”
She wiggled her ass against me. “Stop that. The stove’s hot.” My woman was being practical. “Dinner comes first.”
Letting go, I let her cook in peace and went back to check the deadbolt on the door. The click as it slid into place felt reassuring.
Watching me at the door, her eyes narrowed. She turned back to the stove, added spaghetti to the pot of water, and set the timer.
I collapsed into a chair and breathed in the delicious smell. “What’s your news?”
She didn’t turn to look at me. “You didn’t text me all day. I was worried. What kept you busy all day?”
“You said you had news.”
“Not until you tell me the truth.”
“Good news, I’ll bet.”
She put the spatula down and her eyes bore into me as she turned. “Stop it.”
“Stop what? You said you had news.”
She turned back to the stove. “Stop evading.”
After a few minutes of silence, I went to the cabinet and selected a bottle of cabernet. “Cabernet okay?” When she didn’t object, I took that as a yes. The cork didn’t cooperate, or maybe it was the corkscrew. “You need a better corkscrew.”
She stayed silent.
I poured large glasses for each of us, and set hers on the counter next to her.
She left the stove to retrieve plates.
I settled back into the chair, leaned on the table, and started on my glass. After half had disappeared, I gave in. “I was in interrogation pretty much all day.”
The timer sounded, and she poured the spaghetti water into a strainer. “Interrogating who?”
