She patted her purse. “The standard pepper spray.” Which she could use to disable the guy so Adrian could whack him.
He shoved his BlackBerry into a pouch in his cargo backpack. “Be careful. And remember what I said: don’t trust anyone.”
Kristy had run errands the rest of the afternoon. Her cell phone rang with the latest Offspring song while she was checking out at the grocery mart. Her heart jumped. It was Adrian.
“Hey, there,” he said. “Where are you?”
“Don’t you want to know what I’m wearing?” She couldn’t help the grin breaking out on her face.
“I’ll find that out later. I’m sure it’ll be something bright enough to cheer up this dreary day.”
“Actually, I haven’t been home yet. I’m getting the fixings for dinner right now.”
“Are you close to my office?”
“Not very far.”
“Why don’t you come here? I’m running a little late. I’ve got a conference call in three minutes. You can park the perishables in the fridge here. I’ll call the travel agent we use to make your travel plans.”
“For after Valentine’s Day.”
“After Valentine’s Day,” he confirmed, a bit begrudgingly. “Later in the week, just in case this all goes down and we need to stay around and answer questions. After we get your flights hammered out, we can head to your place together.”
“Are you trying to protect me?” It was getting dark already.
“Maybe I want to spend more time with you. Then I can help you with dinner.”
“Deal. Be there in a few mins.”
She arrived at the office shortly after. The door was still unlocked, but it looked as though everyone had gone home. She peered in Adrian’s office. He was on the phone, but he gestured around the corner, and she found the break room. She put her bag in the fridge, content to wander the hallways, until she realized Owen might not be in his office.
“Can I use a computer?” she whispered.
He nodded and she took off, looking for an office that might be Owen’s. Ah, God bless the nameplate. She found it on the next door and slipped in. The lights were off, and only the watery, gray light outside washed in through the window. She settled into his leather chair and turned on the PC. He had no pictures of friends or family on his desk or credenza. Nothing much of a personal nature. A few seconds later she opened his Internet Explorer page and dropped down the History list for that day.
She scanned the list. Nothing about how to murder a woman, of course, but a couple of newspaper sites. She opened the sublist on one of those. Bingo. He’d been reading about Kiss and Kill Cupid. Other news items, too, but those could be a cover. She went to the other newspaper site and found the same thing. That one was Dale’s story. She’d made the right decision.
“What are you doing?”
She swiveled to find Adrian—thank goodness it wasn’t Owen—standing behind her looking at the screen. “He’s been reading up on Kiss and Kill Cupid.”
“Who hasn’t? It’s in the news. People are morbidly fascinated by it.”
He had a point. She closed down the computer. “I’m leaving the possibility open that he could be the one. And I respect that you don’t see it that way. Let’s just leave it at that, ‘kay? I don’t want this evening to be about all this, other than making our plan.”
“Deal,” he said, though his expression was a bit darker. “Ready to go?”
“Sure am.”
He was quiet as they waited for the car he’d called. She caught herself wanting to make it right, to make her case, anything to smooth things out. Damn, this was when she wished she could hear his thoughts.
No, scratch that.
Forty-five minutes later, they were making dinner together, the tension of earlier finally dissipating. She pulled the sauté pan off the flame and used tongs to set the strips of seasoned chicken on the platter. It sizzled, just like it did at her fave Mexican restaurant.
Adrian arranged the platter with tortillas, shredded cheddar, and salsa, then set it on the small dining table. “Most women wouldn’t dare eat something messy like this, much less make it.”
She set the chicken on the table. “It’s fun food.” She nodded to the platter of sautéed vegetables. “And colorful.”
“Like you.”
She arched one of her eyebrows. “Are you comparing me to fajitas?”
He laughed. “I guess I am.”
She plopped down on the chair. “I guess that’s better than being compared to, say, tofu or pickles.”
He laughed. “Definitely.”