No Turning Back Part 3

"What else did he teach you?" he asked.

I thought for a moment, then decided to be truthful, no matter if I came across as oddly different from Blane's usual companions.

"The fine art of making a proper whiskey drink, as any good Irishman knows. How to shoot, and more importantly, hit what I'm shooting. Not to trust what people say, but only what they do."

I had been hoping to set Blane as off balance as I was, but his face gave nothing away. He took a sip of his drink so I took the opportunity to pose a question of my own.

"How did you find out about today?" I asked.

"I was there," Blane answered, setting his gla.s.s back down on the table. "He was my client. On trial for embezzlement. Couldn't handle the pressure. I had no idea he'd do something like that, though, I swear."

My lips pressed together. In all the commotion, I hadn't seen him in the crowd, but obviously he had been there, and this dinner was about me possibly holding the firm accountable. I felt a weight in the pit of my stomach. I hadn't realized that I'd been hoping, just a tiny bit, that it might have been something else. I downed the rest of my Manhattan. Blane's eyes narrowed as he watched me.

Greg arrived with our food and I was grateful for the diversion, though my little bowl of soup looked pretty paltry next to the slab of beef he set before Blane. I looked longingly at his plate, then back at my soup which was a pretty light green. It reminded me of the color of Blane's eyes, which just made me cranky.

I picked up a spoon and dug in, hoping the bacon would make it taste better than it had sounded, and was pleasantly surprised. It was pretty good. I hadn't realized until I started eating how hungry I was since I had skipped lunch. I finished the soup too quickly. Probably not the most ladylike thing to do, wolfing down my food, but I knew this wasn't about Blane being interested in me so I didn't care.

When I finished, I realized Greg had brought me another Manhattan. I was still hungry, but the soup had taken the edge off. I took a deep swallow of my drink, eyeing Blane's steak as he ate.

Greg appeared again, taking my bowl. "Would you like anything else?" he asked me. I shook my head and Greg went away.

"Why did you come to Indianapolis?" Blane asked.

I didn't really want to talk more about personal stuff with Blane, but didn't want to be outwardly rude. I cleared my throat, buying some time. "Just needed a change," I finally said vaguely. No need for Blane to know my life history or how I'd wanted to be a lawyer someday. It would sound too much like "Gee, I wanna be like you when I grow up!"

"So how's the embezzlement guy?" I asked, taking another sip of my drink. Blane finished off his steak and pressed the snowy linen napkin to his mouth before answering.

"He's going to be all right," he finally said. "We'll press for a psychiatric evaluation once he's recovered."

"The insanity defense," I said. "A bit cliche, really." I might have been able to appreciate it more had I not been the target of choice to prove how crazy he was.

"Not something I would have encouraged him to do," Blane said carefully.

I decided to just get it out in the open. Playing games wasn't really my thing. I much preferred honesty.

"I'm not going to sue the firm," I said, letting him know I was on to him. The stress of the day and the alcohol was getting to me. He was right, this hadn't really been my typical day. I couldn't wait to get home, take a nice hot shower and climb into bed.

"I didn't think you were," he said, and I just looked at him, disbelief etched on my face. Did he think I was an idiot as well as a hick?

"C'mon," I said with an unladylike snort, "like I don't know what this is about."

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. I felt a flutter in my stomach and nervously swallowed some more bourbon.

"I'm glad you're not going to sue the firm," he said quietly, "and we're grateful for your loyalty. We'd like to offer you compensation for what you had to endure today."

I blinked slowly. "Are you trying to pay me off?" I said bluntly.

"Of course not," he said. "It's what I just said. Compensation for hards.h.i.+p endured under our employment."

They were paying me off. "How much?" I asked, angry now. I thought I saw the slightest glint of disappointment in Blane's eyes. He leaned back in his chair.

"Five thousand," he said, watching me carefully. My eyes widened slightly. Holy c.r.a.p. That was a lot of money.

"Five thousand?" I repeated, my voice squeaky.

"Or ten," he said with a shrug, "if you feel that would be more appropriate."

Ten thousand dollars. That would go a long way toward paying off the debt I was in from my mom's medical bills. I got lost for a minute in imagining how freeing that would be. I could quit my other job and maybe find a nicer place to live. Go back to school even. Then I shook myself. It wasn't going to happen. There was no way I was going to take money from them. It just felt wrong to take that much money, regardless of the fact that it was to buy my silence and cooperation. Blane buying dinner was one thing; taking ten thousand dollars from him was quite another.

I shook my head. "Forget it," I said regretfully. "I don't want your money."

Now I'd surprised him. "What do you mean, you 'don't want the money?'" he asked, looking quizzically at me.

"I don't want it," I repeated, more forcefully this time. I didn't want him or the firm to have that much power over me. I wasn't naive enough to think that kind of money didn't come with strings attached. But I didn't say that.

Greg came by then with the check and I watched with relief as Blane tossed some money down on the table and stood. I felt like I had to be on my guard with everything I said and it was wearing on me. Blane held out a hand to a.s.sist me down from the stool and I reluctantly took it. The last thing I wanted to do was touch him, but falling on the floor held little appeal either. I was anxious to return our relations.h.i.+p to a distant employer/employee one. A very distant one.

His hand was large, warm and surprisingly rough for a man who worked a white collar job. My hand was swallowed in his. When I reached the floor, he took hold of my elbow. He led me to the car where, once again, he held the door open for me until I'd climbed inside. I couldn't fault his mother for teaching him manners.

"Where to?" he asked, once he'd gotten in and started the car. I gave him my address and he headed that way. The bourbon had relaxed me and I settled back and closed my tired eyes. The seat was warm under my thighs and I smiled a little. Heated leather seats.

The next thing I knew, a warm hand was touching my face. I slowly opened my eyes and blinked blearily. Blane's face was very close to mine and it was his hand that was cupping my cheek. Coming awake quickly now, I jerked upright. His hand dropped but he didn't move away. I looked outside. We were in the parking lot of my apartment building.

"Sorry I fell asleep," I said breathlessly. "Thanks for the ride." I opened the door and saw him get out as well.

"I'll walk you," he said. I grimaced. It's not that I was embarra.s.sed about where I lived, exactly, but it certainly wasn't one of the nicer places around. I really didn't need any other reminders tonight of the complete disparity between Blane and me.

I climbed the stairs, my senses overly heightened to Blane behind me. I could hear the soft sound of his jacket move as he walked and fancied I could feel his presence behind me as well. We reached my door and I turned to find him glancing around curiously. I noticed Sheila's lights were off. She must be out.

Grabbing my keys from my purse, I unlocked my door and turned to face Blane again.

"Do you live alone?" he asked, looking over my head behind me into the darkened apartment.

"Yes," I answered. I fiddled nervously with my keys. Surely he wasn't waiting to be invited in?

"What are you going to do about your car?" he asked. He made no move to try and come in as I stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"I guess I'll call a tow truck," I said. At times like these, I really missed my home town. There I had at least known neighbors and friends who could help with things like car trouble.

"Do you have any family here?" he asked, and I shook my head. "Boyfriend?" I shook my head again.

Blane was quiet then and he moved a bit closer. I had to tip my head back to look at him. I was still fiddling with my keys, their jangling the only noise. His hand closed over mine, stilling my fingers. My heart started beating faster and I couldn't look away from him.

His hand came up to touch my hair, tracing a long lock before gently wrapping its wavy length around a finger. I didn't move.

"I'll take care of it," he said softly. I didn't know what he was talking about and I felt like I couldn't breathe. His chest was inches away from me and his eyes intently gazed into mine.

"Take care of what?" I finally managed to say, my voice much more breathy than I would have liked. My eyes drifted unwillingly to his mouth.

The corners of his perfectly carved lips tipped upward. "Your car," he said, and I jerked my eyes back up to his. "I'll take care of your car."

Oh. Okay. Of course I knew that had been what he meant. "You don't have to do that," I protested.

His finger tugged my hair lightly. "It would be my pleasure," he said, his lips still curved in a smile that was part friendly, part wicked. I unconsciously licked my lips. His gaze dropped to my mouth before returning to my eyes.

"I'll need these," he said, gently removing the keys from my hand. "Good night, Kathleen." He released my hair and stepped away. My vocal chords were no longer functioning properly so I didn't get a chance to say anything before he was gone.

Shakily closing and locking the door, I flipped on the light switch. The lamp next to my mother's old couch turned on and I sank down into the familiar cus.h.i.+ons, trying to catch my breath. No wonder he had women falling all over him. Being near him and experiencing his full attention was enough to make me forget all the reasons for staying far away from Blane's magnetic appeal.

I rubbed the back of my neck. I could feel a headache coming on. Heaving myself to my feet, I headed back to my bedroom. Too tired to take a shower, I just brushed my teeth, changed into a t-s.h.i.+rt to sleep in, and fell into bed.

A pounding at the door woke me. Glancing at the clock on my bedside table, I saw it was after ten in the morning. Grabbing a pair of knit shorts, I pulled them on and hurried to the door. I looked through the peephole and saw a man standing there with a clipboard. He had on a pair of navy overalls with his name st.i.tched on them. "Larry," it proclaimed in red letters. I opened the door.

Larry's eyes widened when he saw me. I self-consciously smoothed my rat's nest hair. "Yes?" I asked.

"Are you," he checked his clipboard, "Kathleen Turner?" He looked back up at me dubiously. I cleared my throat and gave up on my hair.

"Yes, I am," I confirmed.

"Well, your car is done," he said, shoving the clipboard at me. "It's down in the lot. I locked it for you."

I took the clipboard and tried to look beyond him at the lot. "What was wrong with it?" I asked, scrawling my name on the sheet.

"Needed a new battery," he said, taking the clipboard from me and handing me my keys which Blane had taken the night before.

"How much do I owe you?"

He shook his head. "Already been taken care of," he said. "Have a nice day."

He left and I closed the door. Well. I guess Blane had been as good as his word. He had taken care of it. I breathed a sigh of relief. Most women probably would rather have flowers or jewelry I was grateful to have a new battery for my car.

Since it was Sat.u.r.day, I didn't have to work until this evening when I had to go in for my s.h.i.+ft at The Drop. It was a nice bar, not a dive, so wasn't a bad place to work and I enjoyed it. The customers were usually middle to upper cla.s.s professionals so the tips were good. I made a pot of coffee and showered while it brewed.

Leaving my hair to air dry, I grabbed two cups of coffee and went next door to Sheila's. I kicked at the door since my hands were full. She was probably asleep after a late night working. I kicked again and waited. Finally, I heard the locks turning and Sheila called through the door.

"That had better be you, Kathleen, and you'd better have coffee." The door opened and I grinned at her, holding out a steaming cup. She'd wrapped herself in a short, silky robe with large red and black flowers printed on it. She took the coffee and backed up, letting me into her apartment. Taking a sip, she groaned in appreciation before artfully collapsing onto her couch. I sat in the nearby armchair, curling my legs up underneath me.

It was grossly unfair how she could look so perfect even when she'd just climbed out of her bed. Her hair was smooth as it splayed over her shoulders and, even though she wore no makeup, her complexion was flawless and her eyelashes dark and lush. If she wasn't so nice, I'd have to hate her on princ.i.p.al alone.

"So," I began, "guess what happened to me yesterday." Tigger, her cat, jumped up on my lap and I began to pet him. He purred contentedly. I knew I'd be covered in marmalade colored fur when I left, but I couldn't resist. Tigger was one of the friendliest cats I'd ever known.

She cracked an eye open. "You met a guy?" she asked hopefully. Sheila was always on my case to get out more, go on dates.

"Well," I said, "you could say that. Except he had a knife." Both her eyes opened now and I told her the story of the crazy guy in the courthouse.

Her mouth was agape when I finished. "Oh my G.o.d, Kathleen!" she exclaimed. "You could've been killed!" I shrugged off her concern.

"I don't think he would've killed me. He just wanted to make sure everyone thought he was crazy."

She didn't look convinced but I changed the subject before she could pursue it. "How was your night?" I asked. "Have you seen Mark?" Her expression turned grim.

"We were supposed to get together last night," she said, taking another sip of coffee. "But I had to cancel. That guy requested me again so I had to go." I nodded sympathetically.

"How did Mark take it?"

"Not very well," she admitted. "He's supposed to come over tonight. I thought I'd make him dinner or something. Men like that, right?" I didn't know why she was asking me. My experience with men was vastly inferior to hers. The question must have been rhetorical because she didn't wait for me to answer.

"Anyway, I'll be glad to have a night off. I think this guy is getting a little weird. He was very...strange last night."

"Strange how?" I asked.

She shook her head. "It's hard to explain. Moody, maybe?" She didn't elaborate and I didn't question her further. We talked about her job only sparingly. I think she knew it made me uncomfortable, though I tried to hide that from her out of respect for her feelings.

"What are you going to make for Mark?" I asked, changing the subject.

"No idea," she said with a grin. "Maybe I'll get something from a restaurant and just put it on my plates so he'll think I cooked it." I laughed. That sounded like something Sheila would do.

"What are your plans for today?" she asked me.

"I have to work tonight so probably just hang out, clean, do laundry. Nothing terribly exciting." It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her about Blane last night, but something held me back. Talking about it would make it seem too real and part of me just wanted to forget about it. I didn't want to imagine something where there was nothing. I wasn't exactly his type.

We chatted for a while longer until we'd finished our coffee, then I pushed the orange lump that was Tigger onto the floor and went back to my apartment. Deciding to make good on what I was supposed to be doing today, I scrubbed my apartment and hauled my laundry down to the bas.e.m.e.nt.

Before long, it was time to get ready for work. I showered and changed into my work uniform black pants and a dark blue, boat-neck s.h.i.+rt with sleeves that came down just past my elbows. It was comfortable and easy to work in. It had the added advantage of bringing out my eyes since the s.h.i.+rt was almost the exact same color. I left my hair down and loose. It would get in the way a bit, but it never hurt to look as good as possible when you were working for tips.

I threw on my jacket and caught a familiar whiff in the air. Pressing my nose to my sleeve, I realized it smelled faintly of Blane's cologne. I wasn't sure if this pleased me or not, but I did take another sniff before heading out the door.

The sun was going down when I emerged from my apartment. I could hear faint strains of music and the light was on in Sheila's apartment. I smiled. I hoped she and Mark could work it out.

I held my breath as I turned the key in my ignition and released it when the engine turned over easily. The Drop was downtown and it only took me about twenty minutes to drive there.

My s.h.i.+ft started at six and I was relieving the day bartender, Abby. She was tall with blonde hair and had been working at The Drop for a couple of years.

"Hey, Abby," I greeted her. She was just finis.h.i.+ng slicing some limes for the garnish tray when I arrived.

"Hey, Kathleen," she replied. Stuffing my purse under the bar, I tied a black waist ap.r.o.n around me and started checking the liquor levels in the bottles for tonight.

She filled me in on the status of the different customers scattered around the bar before grabbing her purse and leaving. Sat.u.r.day nights we had two bartenders and four c.o.c.ktail waitresses. The Drop was owned by Romeo Licavoli and he liked both a male and female bartender on busy nights. So tonight my partner was Scott.

Scott attended Butler University downtown and was majoring in International Business. He was a friendly guy who flirted nonstop, which is probably why Romeo always put him on busy nights. Women loved Scott. He and I worked well together, and while he was constantly flirting with the customers and waitresses, he'd never tried to put the moves on me. Scott treated me more like a little sister and I was glad about that. Mostly.

The pace was steady for a while, then around ten it really picked up. There must have been a concert going on tonight. There always seemed to be something going on downtown and afterward people wanted to prolong their evening so stopped in for a drink.

My hair was getting in my way now and I took a quick moment to tie it back. I was busy pouring a Tom Collins when one of the waitresses, Tish, walked up with an order.

"You've got to check out the guy at my table," she said to me. Tish was another one forever trying to set me up, but I thought picking up a guy in a bar wasn't the best idea. Still, I humored her.

"Which table?" I asked, putting the Tom Collins on a tray and grabbing a highball gla.s.s for a gin and tonic.