Annabel leaned forward. "Could he have had something to do with the fires?"
"It's possible. The Chinese tend to be scrupulously legal in their dealings with the whites, even though the tong members murder each other all the time. But maybe Wing Ko is anxious to expand his power no matter what it takes."
"You should tell the police about this."
He shrugged. "I've got no proof of anything, just a hunch. Inspector Fernack would laugh me out of his office."
"You know, it could be just a firebug setting those blazes."
"A firebug?" he repeated.
"Yes. A pyromaniac. Somebody who gets a kick out of setting fires."
Cole grunted. "A lunatic, you mean."
"Well, somebody who's mentally ill, anyway." Annabel reminded herself that he wouldn't know anything about pyromania or most other mental disorders, not in this day and age. The science of psychiatry was still in its infancy.
"All I know is, whoever's setting the fires has to be stopped. One of these days, a blaze like that is going to get out of control, and we're going to have a real problem on our hands. San Francisco has burned down a couple of times in the past, you know. I don't want to see it happen again."
A pang of guilt went through Annabel. This beautiful city had more than a fire in its future, she knew. But it wouldn't do any good to try to explain that to Cole.
She forced her mind back onto the evening at hand. She shook her head when Cole offered her more wine. "I'd better clear these things away," she said as she got to her feet.
He stood up, too, but he didn't offer to help her this time. "Come into the parlor when you're through," he said.
"All right . . ." She looked at him with a tiny frown, wondering what he was up to, but his face gave nothing away.
She put the cork back in the wine bottle, carried the leftover food into the kitchen and placed it in the icebox, then left the dirty dishes in the sink. Time enough for those in the morning, she thought, assuming that she would still be here in the morning. And she intended to be.
When she came into the parlor, she saw that it was lit only by a small, fire in the fireplace. The warmth coming from it felt good. March evenings in San Francisco were quite chilly most of the time, and tonight was no exception.
Cole was waiting by the divan. "Join me?" he suggested, holding out a hand toward her.
Annabel didn't hesitate. She said in a voice husky with emotion, "Of course," and stepped forward to take his hand.
They settled down beside each other, and Annabel discovered that the warmth from Cole's body was even nicer than that coming from the fireplace. He still had hold of her hand. He lifted it and pressed his lips to. the back of it, then rubbed it against his cheek. The smoothness of his face told her that he had shaved as well while he was upstairs.
"I know you must be tired," she said. "I can leave and go back to Mrs. Noone's if you'd like."
Please don't like, she thought Please.
"I'm fine," Cole said. "Not nearly as tired as I was earlier. After the bath and that wonderful meal, I feel positively human again."
"Yes, but it's been a long day" Blast it, why was she doing this? Annabel asked herself. She was practically begging him to kick her out.
"I'm not a bit sleepy," Cole said.
"Well, that's good." Annabel gave an inward wince at the lameness of her response. Maybe, she thought, the problem was that she didn't really feel like talking. So she moved closer to him, feeling the heat of his thigh pressed against hers through their clothes. She snuggled against his muscular torso, and her head rested on his shoulder. It was the most natural position in the world, she discovered as Cole put his arm around her. They fit together as if they had been made for each other.
They were companionably silent for a few minutes as they sat there and watched the fire. Flames like this were so different from the ones she usually dealt with, Annabel thought.
"Annabel."
Cole's voice was little more than a whisper. Annabel lifted her head and turned it toward him. Their faces were scant inches apart now. She could see the muscles in his jaw, the tiny creases around his eyes that came from wind and sun and laughter, the strong line of his mouth, the softness of his brown eyes.
And with that, she pressed her lips to his,