Cut to the Chase (18 page)

P
aul was definitely going to be in trouble with Mia. Just twenty-four hours into Paul's care, Henry had become a couch potato in between their multiple walks to the park. When bedtime arrived, he even allowed Henry to sleep at the foot of his bed.

Mia had called last night to check on Henry. At least that was what she had said was the purpose of her call, but after an hour of discussing other matters that didn't concern her pet, he had come to the hopeful conclusion that she just wanted to talk to him. Which was fine with him, since he couldn't stand being away from her. But there was little he could do. She was busy helping Rose's children settle in and plan for the funeral that was now scheduled to take place on Monday. The police had officially determined that Rose's death was accidental and as a result, the family could proceed with making the arrangements.

Paul was mixing in table scraps with Henry's kibble when Mia called. “How's my little man?” Mia asked.

Paul looked down at the big brown eyes staring up at him in anticipation. Henry's tail was wagging a mile a minute. “We're just about to have dinner and watch a ballgame,” Paul said.

“Sounds like fun. I'd much rather be doing that right about now,” she said.

Mia seemed exhausted and he wished he could drive over to her house, pick her up and bring her to his home for the night. Watching a game on the couch with Mia while eating a heaping bowl of chili sounded like a perfect evening. “Tired?” he asked.

“Yeah, a little. We just got back from the funeral home where we ironed out the last of the details.” Mia paused. “Will you be coming to the funeral?” she asked. Her voice sounded as if she was embarrassed for even asking.

“Of course. I already called a buddy of mine to come to my place and walk Henry.”

Mia sighed. “Can I put anyone else out?” she asked, sarcastically. “The list of favors continues to grow.”

“Rick really doesn't mind. He's planning to take Henry to the park and use your little guy to pick up women.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “Henry, the chick magnet.” Mia giggled, which was music to Paul's ears. “You're spoiling him, aren't you?”

“Um…no,” he lied, mixing in ground beef with the dry kibble.

“Liar. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if I came over tonight and found him asleep in your bed.”

Paul wanted to ask her to do just that, but instead held back. “We're just doing what guys do, throwing a few back, watching the Phillies and eating junk food.”

“He probably doesn't even miss me,” she said, playfully.

Paul placed the bowl on the floor and Henry attacked it like he hadn't eaten in a week. “He misses you.” Paul hesitated, wondering if he should admit what was on his mind, and then without another thought, he heard himself say, “And so do I.”

Paul either took her completely off guard or she was trying to find the words to let him down easy because a few seconds of silence passed before she finally spoke. “I wish I was there…with you.” Another pause, and then, “Good night, Paul.”

R
ose's death didn't hit Mia until she was sitting in the church pew listening to each of Rose's children speak about what a wonderful mother they had, the devoted wife she had been to their father. Mia realized right then she had been on autopilot the last few days, busy making preparations, too busy, apparently, to let the loss of her neighbor sink in until now. She finally let go and began to cry. Paul offered her a tissue and held her hand.

“Thanks,” she whispered. Paul squeezed her hand in reply.

After the ceremony, Mia and Paul made their way out into the vestibule. “Are you going to the cemetery,” he asked.

“No, the caterer should be arriving at my house within the next thirty minutes. Everyone is coming back to my house for a light lunch and coffee,” she said. Feeling a little emotional and very selfish, she asked, “Come with me?”

“I didn't plan on leaving you, Mia.” He put his arm around her and led her out of the church.

Considering the sudden nature of Rose's passing, Mia expected a more solemn atmosphere, one with uncontrollable tears and raw pain. But as the dishes from lunch were cleared away and coffee and cake were passed around, the thirty or so guests spent the afternoon sharing stories about Rose and reminiscing about happier times. Rose's children were gracious with their guests, thanking them for coming to remember and honor a wonderful woman, their mother.

Mia knew that Hannah and Jillian were barely keeping it together and she admired their strength. Ian never left his sisters' sides, which spoke volumes to how close they were, the kind of upbringing they had. Rose and her husband had instilled that sense of family in their children. Rose would have been proud to see that no matter how many miles, or continents, lay between her kids, they had remained close.

Paul was a great help, working like a machine, ensuring that every guest had what they needed. He made certain that there was a constant flow of coffee, replenished the supply of cookies and cake, and took out the trash when it filled to capacity. He had caught her looking at him a few times throughout the day and each time, he simply smiled at her. Paul had removed his suit jacket hours ago and had since rolled up his sleeves. It was while he was loading her dishwasher that she realized she was falling for him.

S
cott was growing impatient, which was contributing to his unpleasant mood and appearance. The prickly scruff he had neglected to shave made him feel dirty…and angry. He had stayed away from his Angel for the last several days just in case the old woman's death was not declared an accident.

But his spirits finally lifted when he learned that the police suspected no foul play surrounding one Rose Elizabeth Higgins. His courtship of Mia Ryan Moore could now resume. But this time around, he would be more controlled. He had not been thinking clearly when he went to Mia's home a few days back. And because of his stupidity, he had to kill a woman, drawing unnecessary attention and delaying the time he wanted to spend with Mia.

But there was still a loose end fit to be tied, three in fact. The Whore and her man, according to the tracker, were still in Philadelphia. He wasn't sure where Paul Whitley was at the moment, but he would make it a point today, between patients, to nail down his whereabouts. Scott had been replaying the same scene in his head for days. Each detail was important; everything had to be accounted for if he was going to pull off three deaths without anyone pointing in his direction.

Scott showered, shaved, and dressed for work. Feeling much more optimistic, he decided to deviate from his usual routine by walking to work and treating himself to his favorite black organic tea at the coffee shop down the street. But as he drew closer to his destination, Scott got the sense that he was being watched. Scott kept his focus on the pavement before him in order to not tip off the possible pursuer. With the shop to his left, he turned and slowly walked toward the glass door. His cautious movements allowed him to steal an elongated glance at the swiftly moving cars behind him in the windowpane's reflection. But one car, a black luxury sedan with tinted windows, was not keeping pace with the rest of the traffic. In fact, it appeared the owner of the vehicle enjoyed taking his time. Only when Scott entered the coffee shop did the black car speed off.

As Scott stood in line for his tea, he recalled the night in the library. He had been sitting in his study carrel when a large, dark-haired gentleman had briskly walked past him. The sight had bothered him, but not enough to put plan B into action. Had his Angel, his beautiful and obviously intelligent wholesome girl, put the pieces together? The fact that he was possibly being tailed suggested he may have made her list of suspects. Scott took out his phone and called the woman he had met in the library. For the next few days, he would have to go through the motions and pretend that their titillating night at Starbucks needed to be repeated, perhaps over dinner this time.

Spending time with the naïve twit was a necessary evil. Starting a “relationship” with Plain Jane would definitely put a wrench in Mia's profile. But what would really drive it home and take the focus off of him completely was if he found someone else to take the fall.

T
hank God she had an understanding principal. Anyone else would have fired her by now. Mia had called out last week due to “illness” and had taken a bereavement day yesterday. Grateful and running scared, nonetheless Mia hunkered down and dove into her work.

Her students seemed excited to see her and she was overwhelmed with dozens of hugs and
I miss you
s. She had missed them, too. All twenty-five of them. Many of her students had made her welcome-back cards. A beautiful bouquet of flowers had even been sent to her classroom. From the wording on the card, it was clear that the principal had shared with the staff that Mia had suffered a loss. Tomorrow she would make it a priority to find out who she could thank for the thoughtful gesture, as the card simply stated in typed print:
You are in my thoughts.

The day flew by, and she was simultaneously playing catch-up and trying to get ahead in her lesson plans when she noticed the time. “Shit!” she exclaimed to an empty room. She had told Paul she would be coming over after work to pick up Henry. Although Ian and his sisters had taken an early-morning flight out to enjoy a much-needed vacation together for a few days, Paul had graciously offered to watch Henry for an additional night.

Mia gathered her belongings, including her lesson plan book, the cards her students had made her and the card that came with her flowers and threw them into her oversized purse. She again looked at the time and cursed under her breath. Luckily, she hit little traffic and made it to Paul's apartment building in a little over twenty minutes.

Paul must have informed the doorman of her impending arrival, because he said, “Mr. Whitley is waiting for you. Please go on up.”

Mia smiled at the older gentleman. “Well, thank you,” she said.

Once on the elevator, she felt the butterflies in her belly spring to life. Just the thought of seeing him again made her flustered. She heard the ping of the elevator, made her exit and started down the hallway, all the while chanting silently to herself, “Get ahold of yourself.” She found his apartment number and knocked on the door before she could chicken out.

Mia heard a familiar whimper and loud obnoxious sniffing from the other side of the door. The door flung open and she was almost tackled by her eighty-five pound baby. “And you questioned whether he missed you?” Paul said, grabbing her by the hand to prevent a very unladylike fall.

“Come here, Henry,” he said, leading Mia into his apartment and closing the door behind them.

Mia threw her purse on the ground, allowing its contents to spill out, got down on her knees and lavished Henry with three days' worth of attention. Paul had taken good care of him, maybe too well. Henry seemed chunkier around the middle. Table scraps and watching too much television had that effect. But she didn't care; her dog appeared happy and as nutty as ever.

“Where's your bone, buddy? Go get it!” Paul exclaimed.

Henry disappeared into another room and came back with a bone larger than his head. “What is that?” Mia asked. “And what dinosaur does that belong to?”

“Henry and I went shopping today. After fifteen minutes in PetSmart, Henry made the difficult choice between what you see here and a squeaky toy. I was pushing for the bone the whole time. More manly.”

Mia laughed as she envisioned Paul and Henry walking the aisles of PetSmart. Still on her knees, she started to gather together the miscellaneous items that had fallen out of her purse when Paul bent down and picked up the yellow sympathy card she had received earlier in the day.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, staring intently at the yellow piece of card stock.

Mia didn't like his tone or the dark expression on his face. “Someone sent me flowers today. Probably came from the faculty. I'll find out tomorrow so I can send out a thank-you note.” Mia narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Ignoring her, he left the room and when he returned, she was surprised to see a card identical to the one she received in his other hand. “My sister received this with a bouquet of flowers from her attacker,” he said, handing it to her.

Because of her sessions with Erin, she knew about the card and its wording. She just didn't string together the possibility that the two cards could have been sent by the same person until now. “It may not be from him, Paul. He signed Erin's card. This one hasn't been signed. It could be exactly what it was meant to be. A sympathy card.”

“Maybe. But I'm not taking any chances. You're staying here with me until we know for sure,” he said. Paul walked over to the front door and secured the locks.

What the hell? Did he really think he could just order her to stay in his apartment, locked away from the world?

“
You are in my thoughts
,” he said, staring at the card again. “If it was sent to you by a group of people, like the school faculty, it should read, “You are in
our
thoughts. Shouldn't it?”

Mia could kick herself for not catching that detail. Her first day back at work had been so crazy and with the funeral the day before, the card in that context had made sense. But it was still premature to assume that the card was sent by Erin's attacker.

“Maybe. But, that doesn't mean I should move in here,” she said.

Mia stood and slung her bag over her shoulder. She was just about to call Henry so they could leave when he said, “Mia, is there a reason why Erin's attacker would send you flowers?” Paul's anger had morphed into concern and it was clear that he was uncomfortable with the question he had asked.

Mia knew what he was asking. How the hell did he connect those dots so quickly? She needed to get out of his apartment. He would learn exactly what she had in common with Erin and she wasn't ready to share that with Paul. “We have no idea who sent me those flowers. I think you're jumping the gun,” she said, walking toward the door.

“Are you a virgin, Mia?” he asked.

Coming from him, the word sounded like a curse, some terminal illness that she would never be able to fight off. She was so angry that she turned and looked him straight in the eye. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I am. Happy?” she asked, her arms folded against her chest.

He didn't break their stare-down. Instead, his gaze only grew darker. “I'm happy you told me the truth. But I don't like how I'm making you feel right now.”

“You have no idea how I feel,” Mia said. She felt her body getting worked up. The tears would be coming any minute.

“Mia, if the card is from him, well, you know what that means. You're in danger,” he said.

Mia shook her head. “You don't know that,” she said. The first tear slid down her cheek…and then another.

“And we can't forget the bigger picture. I know the police ruled Rose's death an accident, but now…well, can we be certain? Your next-door neighbor died while you were out of town. This could all be a coincidence…or not. We don't know. And that's why you're staying in my guest room until further notice.”

Paul was quick on his feet, piecing together things she was still muddling though. Everything he had said made sense and that realization pissed her off. Mia thought with a criminal mind. She knew that the psychopath they were dealing with was dangerous, a man with no remorse. And if it turned out that card was sent from their particular psychopath, she was definitely a target. Frustrated, she said, “I'll need clothes to sleep in…and a glass of wine if you have it.”

Paul knew he had backed Mia into a corner, forcing her to admit that she was what he had suspected, a virgin. And as much as it pleased him to know that Mia had never shared such an intimate experience with a man, the graver concern was that her virginity made her a target.

He was in the process of dialing Andrew when Mia came out of the guest room dressed in one of his long t-shirts and a pair of gym shorts. Dwarfed by his attire, she looked vulnerable…and still a little pissed off. “Who are you calling?” she asked.

“I think Andrew and Chase deserve an update,” Paul said.

Mia ran over and took the phone from his hand. “Not yet. Let me find out if anyone in work sent me the flowers first. No sense in worrying them.”

Paul didn't like withholding information from Chase and Andrew, even if it was just speculative at this point. But she had a point and he didn't see the harm in waiting until tomorrow evening, at the latest.

“Okay. Tomorrow then,” he said, turning and walking back into the kitchen. He went over to the oven and took out the bubbling lasagna.

“Thanks.” She set the phone on the counter. Paul glanced over his shoulder and found her scoping out the table he had set for two. “When did you make dinner? How long was I in the shower?”

“Not long. I made the lasagna before you came over. I had hoped you would join me for dinner before taking Henry home.”

“It appears you're getting your wish and a housemate,” she said, sounding defeated.

Paul came over to the table carrying the casserole dish of lasagna in one hand and a tossed salad in the other. “I hope you're hungry. Living with Erin this past year, I got in the habit of making more food than was necessary. She is a leftovers junkie.”

“She hides it well,” Mia said, taking the salad from him and setting it on the table.

Paul dished out a healthy portion of lasagna onto each plate and then poured the wine. Despite the events of the night, they found little difficulty cleaning their plates. Mia actually went back for seconds, which pleased him greatly.

“You're a great cook,” she said. “My lasagna doesn't come close to this.”

“Thanks. I'm glad you like it,” Paul said, watching her intently. Even in his oversized clothes, she looked amazing. The smell of her freshly washed hair was mesmerizing and he struggled to not let his own needs and desires dictate where the night should go. Mia had just told him she was a virgin and it was important that he take things slow. He didn't want to scare her in any way, even if that meant putting the brakes on. Paul kept the conversation light during and after dinner and refrained from all innocent touching, like holding her hand or brushing her cheek with his fingers.

Although Mia was grateful for dinner, mentioning several times how thoughtful it was while they cleaned up and put the kitchen back in order, she was quiet, as if lost in her thoughts. He didn't want to press her too hard about it, considering, but it bothered him nonetheless.

“It's getting late and we both have work tomorrow,” he said. It was a pitiful way to end the night, but he certainly couldn't say what was really on his mind.

“Yeah, speaking of work, I can't go into class looking like this,” she said, frowning at her shirtdress.

“I think you look just fine. No one will notice a thing,” he said, not breaking a smile.

With her eyebrow raised, she challenged him to crack.

He couldn't resist her, especially when she threw on the sass. He smiled. “I'll drive you home in the morning and then drop you off at work. What time will you get done tomorrow?”

“Around five o'clock.”

“Good, I'll pick you up then.”

“And if we find out the flowers were sent by the faculty?”

Paul didn't even want to entertain the possibility that she wasn't going to stay with him tomorrow night. But he also didn't want to sound like a possessive freak, either. “Then we will adjust accordingly.”

Although she nodded in agreement, he couldn't dismiss the feeling that she seemed sad, disappointed for some reason. Paul chocked up her demeanor to the fact that she just learned that she may be some sick asshole's fantasy. She needed time to digest everything that was happening and hopefully they would get some answers tomorrow. “Good night, Mia,” he said. He kissed her on the forehead and retired to his bedroom.