his face.
“Got your inventory,” he said when he reached them. He laid it carefully on the desk. “Sorenstein and I worked most of the night. We were as detailed as we could be, considering.”
M.C. thumbed through the list. Fifteen single-spaced, typed pages. “We owe you.”
“You sure as hell do. Buy me a drink some night.”
“You’ve got it.”
He started off, then stopped and glanced back at her. “Remember that comic from Buster’s?”
“Lance Castrogiovanni. What about him?”
“I saw him downstairs a few minutes ago. He was asking for you at the information desk. I’m thinking you have an admirer.”
Detective Allen peeked around his cubicle at them. “A boyfriend, Riggio? And here I thought you and Lundgren were an item.”
M.C. made a sound of disgust. “Grow up, boys.”
She exited the VCB and, five minutes later, crossed the lobby to where Lance sat, looking every bit the fish out of water.
“Are you lost?” she asked when she reached him.
He stood and smiled. “I was. Not anymore.”
Something in his tone left her feeling as if she had done something wonderful. “What brings you into the belly of the beast?” she asked.
“I was in the neighborhood…well, the general vicinity, and decided to look you up. Figured it’d be harder to turn me down in person.”
“Turn you down for what?” she asked, though she had a pretty good idea.
“A date.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“You and me, food and drink. A few laughs. Hopefully more than a few, considering.”
She laughed at that. “When?”
“I’ve got a gig every night this week but Wednesday.”
She would have to miss the family dinner. Her mother’s interrogation.
Lance Castrogiovanni had an excellent sense of timing. M.C. smiled. “Unless I get hung up here, you’re on.”
28
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
7:30 a.m.
The sounds of the busy coffeehouse swirled around him. He liked being out among people. Blending in, interacting.
No one had a clue. Who he was. What he was capable of.
No one suspected his secrets.
Even his Kitten. Or maybe, especially her.
He leaned back in his chair and sipped his espresso, smiling at a woman who glanced his way.
He often played this game: studying people-like that woman-and then imagining what she would do if he revealed himself to her. Imagined the fear creeping into her eyes, the noise she might make-a small squeak, like a terrified mouse.
He almost got hard just thinking about it.
The word Lundgren had called him-impotent-flew into his head, sucking the pleasure from the moment.
She had made him very angry.
But worse, she had known it. Until he had regained control, she’d had all the power.
He had been powerless.
It’d been a smart move on her part. She had surprised him and earned his admiration. But also his ire.
He couldn’t let her get away with it. She would have to pay. A small price this time, as it was her first offense. But not so small she didn’t feel its sting. A warning, of sorts, he decided, pleased with himself.
But what?
The woman at the next table caught his eyes and smiled again. Maybe he should ask her? “I need to scare the shit out of someone. A woman. As a warning. A punishment for bad behavior. What do you suggest?”
No, he didn’t suppose that would do at all, but it was fun to imagine. Taking his espresso with him, he crossed to the woman and introduced himself.
29
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
4:30 p.m.
Every spring, the local chapter of the Leukemia Society of America held a fair to benefit children stricken with the disease. Held at Rockford’s Discovery Center Museum, the fair included food and games, performances and a silent auction. Though it hurt, Kitt always attended. If she could help someone else’s child beat this disease, it was worth any amount of distress she might experience.
This year, for the first time, she was attending alone. The past two, although they had been divorced, she and Joe had gone together. They had clung to each other despite their personal differences.
This year, she supposed, he would be clinging to his fiancee.
She wondered if she would see him there. And if Valerie would be with him.
If he bothered to come. Maybe this was another piece of his past he’d chosen to let go.
Kitt strolled through the fair. She bought tickets for games she had no intention of playing, bid on several items she didn’t want and ate a piece of pizza she wasn’t hungry for.
Lastly, she purchased a luminaria for Sadie. Every year, the fair created a memorial garden to honor those who had been stricken by the disease. The luminarias consisted of a plain white paper bag-on which you wrote your loved one’s name, then decorated with markers-and a tea light to be placed inside.
Kitt scrawled Sadie Marie Lundgren in purple, Sadie’s favorite color, across the bag. She couldn’t bring herself to do more, it hurt too much.
The memorial garden was located at the very center of the main hall, cordoned off by a white picket fence. She found the location appropriate-for weren’t the victims of the disease at the heart of the drive to find a cure?
Kitt handed the attendant Sadie’s bag and watched as the woman placed it, then lit the candle.
She wasn’t the first to place a light for Sadie.
Joe was there.
A lump in her throat, Kitt stared at a second luminaria with her daughter’s name on it.
Our Peanut. Sadie Marie.
The lump became tears. They burned her eyes. God, she missed Sadie. And Joe. Being a mom.
She missed her family.
“Kitt?”
Joe. She didn’t want him to catch her crying. Especially if he wasn’t alone. Blinking to clear her eyes, she turned.
“Joe,” she said stiffly. “Hello.”
She shifted her gaze to the woman with him. She looked to be a good ten years younger than he was, with
