“I’d love to come back,” Meg said, and Matt quickly agreed.
Maddie escorted them to the door. She and Adam embraced again and he stepped out. Matt paused to shake her hand; she stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek. He smiled, liking her very much.
As he and Adam started for the car, he noticed that Maddie had pulled Meg back. She whispered something to her. Meg nodded, and in the light from the old-fashioned porch lamp, he could see her blush. A moment later, she hurried after him.
Maddie waved to them from the door, and they waved in return. They talked about the obvious on the way back—the fact that Hubbard’s pills might have been switched. They’d find out when the autopsy was done. Adam wanted to head straight to his office to get Jackson started on the paperwork. He told the two of them to go home and get some rest.
“We have to pick up Killer,” Meg reminded him.
“Just go home. I’ll enjoy a night with the pup, if you don’t mind,” Adam said.
“I...” Meg wanted to protest. She was already attached to the dog. But there was no reason not to let Adam have him for the night. “Okay,” she said.
As he pulled into traffic, Matt asked, “Do you have a bed at your place yet?”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry,” she told him.
“And nothing in the kitchen yet, right?”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
“Let’s get some dinner, since we missed lunch.”
“That sounds good,” she said.
Matt took them to a place he knew along the way, a restaurant that had an excellent assortment of Mediterranean food, from lasagna to lamb kabobs. He waited until they were seated and had ordered their drinks and their food before he asked, “What did she say? When she called you back?”
“You mean Mrs. Hubbard?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Um, well...it was personal.”
“Personal? I didn’t think you knew her that well.”
“Apparently, she knows us,” Meg said wryly.
“Oh?”
She shook her head, blushing again. Her eyes were a brilliant deep blue, sparkling with a rare beauty, when she replied. “She said you were as gorgeous as a TV gladiator. She has no idea if the real ones were gorgeous or not. And that I shouldn’t let you go.”
Stunned, Matt stared at her, and then he began to laugh. He couldn’t help asking her, “And?”
“And what?”
“What did you say to her?”
*
Watching them sent his blood boiling. Slash was so agitated he could barely keep his position in the driver’s seat of his car.
His car. He’d had to resort to the use of his own because of them. He’d rushed last night; he’d rushed by grabbing a prostitute. He should’ve taken someone he’d observed and studied. And he should’ve taken that woman, his chosen victim, when he knew she’d be alone on an empty street.
But what he did last night—it had seemed so important at the time. He’d felt a desperate fever; he’d had to make a move. He blamed it on them, on those two agents; if it weren’t for that foolish woman, Meg Murray, the police would’ve dropped it. They’d have pursued a killer and nothing more. And now...
Still, they knew nothing. They hadn’t charged anyone. They hadn’t even brought anyone in for questioning.
They were like idiot dogs, dogs with bones...chewing, slavering, not about to let go. And now, while he sat in the car, they were in there, laughing, smiling, talking to each other as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
It made him angry. But he had to lie low. He needed to remember the timetable—what was important and what wasn’t.
And yet...
He watched the two of them. And all he wanted to do was...
Kill.
11
Meg was startled, not at all sure what to say.
Should she tell him the truth? About what she’d said—or what she felt?
“I said you were a good partner.”
“Oh, now, that would be a lie,” he said, obviously amused. “You think I’m high-handed, chauvinistic and intolerable.”
“That’s not true,” Meg protested. “Not the intolerable part. You’re bearable. Just bearable.”
“Ah, thank you for that!” he said, lifting his coffee cup to her and smiling.
“Well, let’s be frank. You feel I’m too young, too emotional and not nearly as capable as you are. You’d rather have an experienced man at your back.”
His smile deepened. “You’re young, yes,” he said.
“That means better reflexes,” she told him.
“And you’re emotional, yes,” he went on as if she hadn’t responded.
“Well, yes, I was emotional when we met.”
He eased forward again, running his finger around the edge of his coffee cup. “I didn’t mind.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“I wasn’t rude, was I?”
Meg waved a hand in the air, astonished by this whole conversation. They were almost flirting.