Right then, though, I just wanted to get home. Back to Jerome, where it was more or less safe.
Back home, where my Aunt Rachel and I had some unfinished business.
* * *
She seemed to sense that I wanted to talk to her…and was trying to do whatever she could to put off the confrontation for as long as possible.
“Tobias and I had discussed going to the Vaquero Grill for dinner, since I don’t really have time to put anything together,” she said as she got out of the van. “Do you want to come?”
Obviously I was not going to start a blowout in a restaurant, especially in front of Tobias. I shook my head. “I’m kind of tired. I think I’ll stop in at Grapes and get a pizza, then go on home.” I said this last bit with my voice slightly raised, so the bodyguards could know what I was planning.
They all looked worn-out and like they wanted nothing more to go home and crash. Amazing how tiring driving could be when all you did was sit for hours. “I’ll send word to tonight’s watchers and let them know,” Allegra said.
Well, at least the day crew was getting a break. “Thanks,” I told her, then waved to everyone and headed across the street to Grapes, which was busy but not heinously so. I waited at the bar until my pizza was ready, then went on up the hill to the house, juggling the pizza box in one hand and my shopping bags in the other. My house, I reminded myself, although it still didn’t feel exactly like mine.
I shoved the bags under one arm and put my hand on the knob, sending out the little feelers with my mind to have the tumblers fall where they needed to. The lock clicked, and I began to open the door.
“Hey, Angela.”
Adam’s voice. I half turned to see him standing on the garden path, in front of the bottom step. Pushing back my irritation — I really just wanted to sit down and eat my pizza in peace — I said, “Hi, Adam.”
“I heard about what happened today.”
Great. So this wasn’t merely a social call. Still balancing the pizza box in one hand, I told him, “You’d better come on inside. Have you eaten yet?”
He shook his head. There went my plan for leftovers tomorrow night. But since it would be rude to do anything else, I added, “Then you can help me with this pizza.”
Face brightening, he hurried up the steps and then finished opening the door for me. I was happy to be inside; a cold wind was blowing, and I still had on only a light top and no jacket.
I went into the dining room and set the pizza down on the table, then dropped my shopping bags on one of the chairs. The house was mostly dark, with only a light on in the hall, so I hoped Adam couldn’t really see where the bags were from. I wanted his present to be a surprise.
It seemed a little silly to be eating pizza in that grand space, with seating for ten and the heavy wrought-iron chandelier I’d picked out hanging overhead, so I turned to him and asked, “Do you mind if we go into the family room instead? It’s a little cozier.”
“Sure,” he said, and came over and picked up the pizza before I could retrieve it. He didn’t appear to notice the shopping bags at all, and I let out a little mental sigh of relief.
We needed napkins and plates, so I went in the kitchen and fetched some. Then my gaze fell on the wine rack sitting on the chipped tile counter. It had been a hell of a day. Maybe sitting down and drinking with Adam wasn’t the greatest idea, but he was seeming more and more…inevitable. It might be time to stop fighting the whole idea.
“Wine?” I asked, and moved toward the wine rack. “I think I’ve got some chianti in here.”
“Sure,” he said, trying to act nonchalant, but I could see how he perked up at the suggestion.
Nothing for it, then. I extracted the bottle of chianti and fetched some glasses from the cabinet, then got out the corkscrew.
“Can you manage this?” I asked. “I never was very good at it.”
“Some witch you are,” he returned with a grin, then came over to pick up the bottle and the corkscrew.
“I did unlock the door without a key, you know.”
“I guess that’s handy, too.”
He struggled a little with the wine as well, but I didn’t offer to help. I had a feeling he spent more time opening beer bottles than wine bottles. At least he got the cork out, though, and I took the plates and napkins and pizza box while he brought the wine and our glasses to the family room.
It had been the sitting room when this was Ruby’s house, but a family room seemed a lot more practical. There was another fireplace here, on the wall opposite the flat-screen TV. Logs had already been piled there, awaiting a cold evening.