eyes.
She waited five minutes and then, ignoring the dancing butterflies, she got out of her car and headed for the restaurant’s front door.
It was cool and semi-dark inside. Scents of garlic and onion and rich Italian spices filled the air, and soft music played overhead. A pretty, young hostess greeted her. “Hi, is there just one this evening?”
“No, I’m meeting somebody here. Jake Lamont?”
The hostess smiled again. “Oh yes, if you’ll follow me.”
The hostess guided her through the main dining room and into a smaller private room with a table for two.
Jake stood as they entered, and for just a brief moment she wondered what it would be like if he had gotten the private room because he wanted to know her hopes and dreams...because he wanted to spend time gazing into her eyes and whispering sweet nothings in her ear.
Of course nothing could be further from the truth. He’d gotten the private dining room because they had things to discuss, things like murder and a serial killer working in her hometown.
“This is nice,” she said once the hostess was gone and the two of them were seated at the table.
“I figured it would be good to meet in a neutral place to have this discussion,” he replied. “But how about we eat first and then talk about the main issue.”
“That works for me,” she agreed.
He gestured toward the menu. “I’ve already decided what I want,” he said.
She opened the menu but as she read the offerings, she was acutely aware of his gaze on her. She made her decision, closed the menu and met his gaze.
He looked away and for a moment an awkward silence ensued. Thankfully a waitress entered the room and broke the silence.
She served them water and a mini loaf of garlic bread and whipped butter. She took both their drink and meal orders, and then left the room once again.
“How was your day?” he asked when they were alone again.
She looked at him in surprise. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had inquired about her day. “Do you really want to know or are you just being polite?” she asked.
“I’d really like to know,” he replied.
“My morning was rough. Most of them are rough. I’m not a morning person and everything that can go wrong in a day usually happens then. Yesterday my coffee machine quit working. I bought a new one and this morning I went to make coffee and realized I was out of pods.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Sounds disastrous.”
“Oh, trust me. It was. I am not a happy camper without my morning coffee. Anyway, the rest of my day was good. I’m working on several stories right now and things are coming together nicely on them. How did your day go?”
“It was quiet. I watched a little television and then sketched for a while. I hate Sundays, when the job site is closed down and there’s nothing much for me to do.”
“Do you have family here in town?”
“I don’t have family anywhere,” he replied. “My parents are gone and it was just Suzanna and me. What about you? Do you have family here?”
“My mother died when I was eight, but I have my father and two older, overachieving sisters. Addie and Elizabeth are the apples of his eyes.”
“Which implies that you aren’t?” He raised a dark brow.
“I’ve been his disappointment for years,” she replied, and fought against a hurtful hitch in her heart.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their meals. He’d ordered the spaghetti and meatballs while she had opted for cheese ravioli. “Oh my gosh, this looks yummy.”
“Can I cut you off some bread?”
“Yes, please.”
He cut her a piece. “Butter?”
“Definitely,” she replied.
He slathered the bread with butter and then handed it to her. As their fingertips touched, the butterflies in her stomach flew once again. Good Lord, what was wrong with her?
“I think Italian food is my favorite type of food,” he said as he cut himself a piece of the bread.
“Italian is good, but Mexican is my very favorite,” she replied. “There’s nothing better than chips and salsa and cheese enchiladas.”
For a few minutes they were quiet as they focused on their meal. On the one hand, Monica wanted to hurry up and eat so they could get to the conversation she wanted to have with him. On the other hand, there was a small part of her that wanted the meal to go slow so she could somehow pretend this was a normal first date between a man and a woman who were interested in each other.
Jeez, once again she wondered what was wrong with her. All she wanted from Jake Lamont was any information he might have about the Vigilante Killer. She wanted her big story, and that was it.
She had to stay focused and not get caught up in his beautiful green eyes with their thick dark lashes and the sexy slide of his lips curving into a smile. Okay, she found him vastly attractive, but she needed to maintain her emotional distance from him. She had to remember that he was nothing more than a means to an end.
“So, why news?” he asked as they continued to eat.
She shrugged. “Why architecture?”
“I loved the way buildings looked. I always knew I wanted to design amazing buildings.”
“And I was always fascinated with the women reporters on the news. I studied them and tried to figure out what made them popular. I always knew I wanted to be an investigative reporter and really dig into the stories I thought impacted the Kansas City area.”
“Why not work for one of the big networks?” He cut himself off another piece of the bread.
“It’s a whole new world. More and more people are getting their news from alternative sources and I wanted to be one of those alternative sources.” She offered him a smile. “Besides, I like being my own boss. I don’t always play well with others.”
He raised a dark brow once again. “Ah, good to know, especially when you want to partner up with me.”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret about me...if you’re working with me, then I’ll be the most loyal person in the whole world to you.”
“Now all I have to do is believe you.”
“Trust me, you can believe me,” she said fervently. Their gazes locked for a long moment. She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not, but what she’d told him was the honest-to-goodness truth.
It was she who broke the gaze, finding it suddenly too probing...too intimate. “I’d go to prison
