Protecting His Witness. Marie Ferrarella
tough as nails—or was that only the impression she wanted to give? His job had taught him to look beneath the surface and read between the lines. Something had struck him as off right from the moment he opened his eyes.
“Aren’t you going to ask me any questions?” he asked, rising to his feet. He was less steady than he would have liked and it hurt like hell to walk, but he figured each step would get easier.
Kasey stood before the pantry. “Do you want eggs or cereal?”
“Eggs.” That wasn’t the question he had in mind. “No, I mean about why I got shot.”
She spared him a quick glance just before she opened the refrigerator. She might have questions, but she wasn’t about to ask them.
“No,” she told him, taking out the egg carton. “The less I know, the less anyone else can ask me.”
Chapter 3
Gingerly, bracing his hands on the small kitchen table, Zack lowered himself into the chair closest to him.
Maybe it was his police background, but he sensed she’d had experience with interrogation. She certainly piqued his curiosity, even if he did feel as if he’d been run over several times by a semi. Who was she? And was it chance, or fate, that had brought him literally to her doorstep?
“A woman with no curiosity,” he marveled in awe. “I didn’t think such a thing existed.”
She set the carton of eggs on the counter. “I’m glad I could contribute to furthering your education.”
No curiosity and a flippant response. An interesting combination. So was her long, curly light hair and her golden complexion. He watched the woman move gracefully around the small kitchen. No unnecessary movements. Everything seemed within reach. In moments, she had everything out and ready to prepare the breakfast she’d mentioned.
As he drew in the welcoming scent of coffee, she turned suddenly toward him. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Cooked.”
His mouth quirked in a quick grin. It transformed a scruffy-looking possible criminal into an adolescent boy who knew his way around charming the opposite sex.
Wasted on me, hotshot, she thought. I don’t charm anymore. But if she did, she added silently, that grin would have been an excellent start.
She waited for him to be more specific about his choice. When he wasn’t, she pressed, “Any other requirements?”
Zack shook his head. “Nope, I’m easy. I’ll have them whatever way you’re having them. Fried, poached, scrambled…” His voice trailed off, leaving the rest up to her to fill in.
“Scrambled it is,” she answered, turning back toward the counter and stove. Breaking four eggs, she dropped them directly into the frying pan rather than into a bowl. To her, it was just an unnecessary step, generating more dishes to wash. She took the spatula and broke apart the pattern the eggs began to form. The yolks and whites flowed into each other until they began to solidify in fluffy tufts. “Toast?”
Something he quite possibly would have been had she not been his Good Samaritan, Zack thought. He started to nod in response to her question, then realized that she wasn’t looking at him. “If you don’t mind.”
This time she did spare him a glance over her shoulder. Her expression seemed to repeat her previous statement that if she’d minded, she wouldn’t have asked him.
As she dropped two slices into the toaster, the silver appliance only held two slices. She was single, he decided. And had taken quite a chance with him.
“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly.
Instead of answering, she looked over her shoulder at him again and asked, “Why?”
She might be short on curiosity, but she was long on suspicion, he thought. Was that inherent or something she’d learned? And if it was the latter, what had made her this way?
None of his thoughts were evident in his voice or on his face as he said glibly, “So that when I tell people the story of how an angel came to my rescue, I’ll be able to refer to you by name.”
Uh-huh, she thought. Right. She turned back to her cooking. “Rumplestiltskin.”
Zack laughed. “Not hardly. You don’t look like any ugly little fairy-tale creature that I ever saw in my sisters’ storybooks.”
So, he had sisters. Or was that just what he wanted her to think? God, but she missed the days when a duck was just a duck and not a camouflaged cheetah.
“That’s just to give you a false sense of security,” she told him.
Done, Kasey divided the eggs that were in the pan between two plates. Just as she finished, the toast popped. After setting the frying pan down on a dormant burner, she took the toast and applied a light layer of margarine to both slices. She cut them in half at an angle and placed both onto the stranger’s plate, framing the eggs. If she’d had bacon, she could have made a smiley face, like her mother used to a million years ago when both she and the world were innocent.
Kasey slid the plate in front of the dark-haired stranger. “There.” She placed her own plate opposite his on the kitchen table. But instead of sitting down, she asked, “Coffee?”
He thought she’d never offer. His eyes darted toward the coffeemaker. “Just bring the pot.”
She went to the cupboard and took out one cup, one mug. It was all she had. “Oh, you’re one of those.”
Watching her stretch to reach the top shelf made him momentarily forget about all the little devils beating on his body with pointy silver hammers. She had one hell of a graceful body, he couldn’t help thinking.
“Those?” he queried when she turned around again.
Taking a little for herself—she only liked a small taste to get her going—she poured the rest into the large mug she ordinarily used when she sipped soup. “People who claim they can’t wake up until they’ve had their morning coffee.”
There were days when he felt as if he ran on coffee. “Guilty as charged.”
Leaving her cup on the counter, she brought his mug over to him. “Milk, sugar?”
Zack shook his head, taking the mug from her and holding it with both hands, like someone receiving long-awaited sustenance.
“Only gets in the way,” he told her. Zack took a deep drink and she could have sworn he sighed with contentment. Glancing up at her again, he said, “Good coffee.”
“Grew the beans myself,” she deadpanned, taking her seat. She saw his eyebrows knit themselves together in a bemused line. “The coffee comes from a can,” she told him, erasing any misconceptions.
Obviously the man thought she had no sense of humor. Ordinarily, he would have been right. She had no idea what had possessed her to make the quip. Things like humor and kidding around had long since ceased being part of her daily life. She couldn’t even begin to remember the last time she’d laughed. Running left no time for laughter, left nothing to even smile about.
With coffee in his veins and his belly, he felt almost human again. And ready to pick up where he’d left off. Trying to find out who she was. “You’re really not going to tell me your name?”
She didn’t look up from her plate. “Kasey,” she answered. “Kasey Madigan.”
“Well, Kasey, Kasey Madigan, it’s an honor and a privilege to make your acquaintance.” He put out his hand as if to shake hers.
Kasey kept her hand where it was. She nodded at his plate. “Just finish your breakfast. I have to leave soon and I can’t have you here when I’m gone.”
He could see her point. Nodding,