“I won’t touch the bruise itself. I’ll just go around the edges in gentle circular motions.” He was doing it even as he spoke. “Breathe deep and relax. Massage helps your body’s normal lymphatic process to clear it away.”
“This better not be bullshit, Lynch.”
He chuckled. “Suspicious woman. You do have a fantastic back, but this isn’t my idea of foreplay.”
And it wasn’t hers either, but his fingers were skilled and gentle and infinitely soothing. She felt … treasured.
But she was beginning to feel something else, too, that was not at all soothing. She was acutely aware of her naked breasts pressed against the soft pillows of the couch, his warmth above her, the sound of his breathing.
“How … long?”
He went still. “A few more minutes.” Then he continued to massage. “I’m not stopping while I know it’s helping. You wouldn’t want that.”
“No.” Her voice was muffled in the pillow.
But that few minutes was a long time.
Then his hands were gone. “That should do it. Now go get cleaned up while I set the table. It’s almost time for the food to get here.”
“Right.” She grabbed her bra and shirt, jumped up from the couch, and hurried across the room. “Thanks. You must have done a good job. I hardly felt a thing.”
“Didn’t you? I did.” His quiet voice followed her. “And if I can make a suggestion? When you change for dinner, why don’t you put on that sloppy sweatshirt you wore at breakfast. I believe we both might be more comfortable.”
CHAPTER
7
“CHINESE FOOD” WAS A VERITABLE feast whipped up by the Szechuan chef who owned one of the most popular restaurants in the city. He delivered the food himself and even insisted on cooking part of it in Kendra’s small kitchen.
After he left, Kendra stared in amazement at the spread on her dining-room table. Dry-fried chicken with chiles, hot glass noodles, Fei Teng fish, and multiple other delicacies she couldn’t even identify. “This is astonishing. I’m stunned that you were able to get him to do this. I once saw that chef’s picture on the cover of San Diego Magazine.”
“He’s one of the best.”
“Okay, so how did you get him to do it? Let me guess … You once rescued him from the clutches of a Macau crime syndicate?”
“No.”
“You sprung a family member from one of China’s notorious ‘black jails?’”
Lynch laughed. “Afraid not. I got Huang here the old-fashioned way. I offered him an obscene amount of money.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“You’ve been through a lot today. I figured you deserved it.”
She eyed his leather suitcase in the corner. “You’re serious about staying here.”
“I am. Unless I can change your mind about coming to my place.”
Kendra thought for a moment, then nodded toward the living room. “The couch isn’t so bad.”
Lynch smiled. “It’s a nice night. Let’s load up our plates and take these up to the roof. There’s a sundeck up there, isn’t there?”
She nodded. “It was one of the perks that made me buy the condo.”
They toted their dinners and a bottle of wine to the table on the rooftop deck, which was illuminated only by the downtown city lights. After eating a plate of the most delicious Mapo doufu she had ever tasted, Kendra leaned back contentedly with her glass of wine. It was good to gaze out at the lights and just let herself relax. Lynch was always disturbing, but tonight he had turned down that high-powered appeal to low voltage, and she felt almost comfortable with him.
“This feels wonderful. I can almost think.” She paused. “You know, I was pretty scared today.”
His lips tightened. “I know you were.”
“And I’m still trying to understand what happened.” She took a sip of wine. “And why.”
“Are you working on anything else?” Lynch asked. “Any other open cases?”
“No, it’s been months. I have to think it’s related to what happened to Waldridge.”
“I can’t disagree. And it’s significant that they wanted you alive. In my experience, people only do that if they think you have something they want.”
“Like what?”
“Information.”
“What information? I’m still trying to figure out what the hell is going on.”
“Those men might not know that. And you were the last person to see Waldridge. Maybe they think he told you something or gave you something.”
“But he didn’t.”
“If they don’t know that…” He leaned forward, gazing down at the wine in his glass. “We might be able to use it.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Nothing at the moment, but it’s always good to keep our eyes peeled for any kind of leverage we can exert.”
She smiled. “And it’s always interesting to see how the Puppetmaster’s mind works.” She amended, “When it’s not being used to manipulate me.”
He quickly veered away from dangerous waters. “It’s not half as interesting as watching yours at work. What are you thinking about all this?”
She shrugged. “Right now I’m wondering about my Fusion-Lei-boots-wearing savior.”