In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [44]
Mel clutched the phone tightly to her ear, her lifeline. “It’s okay. I mean I’m okay. I was just out of it, I guess. Completely out.”
“I’ll bet you feel like a new woman.”
There was a smile in his voice that made her grin. “I wish,” she said ruefully. “Maybe after a shower and a cup of coffee. . . .”
“Wanna have that cup of coffee with me? There’s some things I’d like to talk to you about.”
“Sure. Yes, of course.” She caught sight of herself in the mirror, grimaced, and added, “Just give me half an hour.”
“There’s a little diner on Forty-ninth, between Fifth and Madison. Meet you there.”
Mel swung through the door into the steamy little diner. The very same diner where she and Ed had eaten on that magical snowy night, the first night they had made love. Wild, raving, spectacular, funny, erotic love. She felt the memory of it in the smile on her face, the forever imprint of it on her body, the sensual images she would carry in her mind, always.
Camelia wasn’t the only man to turn and look at her. There was something about her, poised there in the doorway, her short blonde crop ruffled by the wind. Something about the way she stood, so tall, so erect, so lanky and yet so graceful. And so goddamn sexy it took Camelia’s breath away. Which also made him think twice about what he was going to say to her.
“There you are.” She smiled at him, a big smile that gave him a shock. The golden glow had returned and she was back to the Georgia peach again. All it took was sleep, he guessed. Just like with a kid.
He held the chair for her, sank back into his own, signaled the waiter for coffee.
The table was tiny, the place jammed. She leaned on her elbows, still smiling. Her face was so close, Camelia could have kissed it. But that’s not what he was supposed to be thinking about.
“You look better,” he said guardedly, instead.
She nodded, sending her long, freshly washed bangs bouncing. “Sleep and a shower will do it every time,” she agreed. “Not great, but anyhow, better.”
Camelia thought she looked great but he wasn’t about to argue the point. Besides, she smelled subtly of roses, or maybe it was jasmine. It certainly wasn’t Claudia’s familiar Arpège, he thought with a guilty pang, but whatever it was, he was loving it. He groaned again, inwardly. Maybe he should ask to be assigned to another case, ask them to put someone else on this Ed Vincent affair. He thought affair was definitely the wrong word to use.
He smoothed back his already sleek black hair, straightened his silver-gray tie, stirred sugar into his coffee, and ordered a ham and cheese on rye for himself and a bacon and egg sandwich on a kaiser roll for her. She laughed, said he looked after her like a father, and he grinned back and said, “Yeah, sure, everybody’s dad, that’s Marco Camelia.”
“That’s not what it said in this morning’s Post,” she said, suddenly serious. “I read it in the cab on the way here. It said you were one of New York’s finest, and also one of its toughest. They said if anybody could get Ed Vincent’s shooter, it would be you.”
He contemplated his coffee, still swirling slowly in the thick white mug. “I hope they are right,” he said finally.
So far, there were no clues, nothing to indicate who was involved. Or why. The wall safe at Ed’s beach house had contained only money—a couple of hundred thou’, to be exact. He guessed that Ed was right, that once you had been dirt poor, you needed that security blanket of green-backs.
Mel’s heart skipped a beat. She had felt so full of confidence in Camelia, and now here he was, talking like something was wrong. She reached across, grabbed his arm, stared anxiously into his eyes. “What d’you mean? Are you saying you won’t be able to find the shooter? Why? Surely somebody must know him, know who did it?”
“It’s why they did it,” he said quietly. “We’ve got the cart before the horse, Mel. And my feeling is we have to get it the other way around