Illusions of Death Page 7

  She nodded. “I will while I’m working on a screenplay. I wrote the novel, but screenwriting is a different ball game. I may ask a studio collaborator to come for a few days. We’ve talked on the phone. Chris lives in Atlanta. I think we’d get a lot more work done here than if I went back to New York.”

  She sighed. “Besides, I signed my divorce papers before I left the city. I don’t even have a place to live. I might as well put that off and concentrate on what I do best—work.”

  A pang of jealousy shot through Logan at the mention of some guy named Chris spending time with Karlyn. He couldn’t understand why this feeling flooded him. He hadn’t been in a relationship since his own divorce became finalized four years ago. He’d had a few dates, mostly set-ups, but work was his life.

  Till now. What was so different about Karlyn Campbell?

  “Are you free tonight?”

  Her words slammed him from his meanderings.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  Great. He sounded as articulate as a rock. Karlyn was used to witty repartee from suave Manhattan men. He wouldn’t score many points being monosyllabic.

  “I’d like to pick your brain about a scene I’m having trouble with. Do you like Italian?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  Brilliant. He was on a roll. The English Lit minor dazzled yet again in a stunning show of dialogue.

  “I’m a pretty good cook. We could talk over dinner. That is, if you’re not busy. Or if it’s okay with your girlfriend.” She nodded to his hand. “Since I don’t see a wedding ring.”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend. Or dinner plans.” He glanced at her mother. “Do you think your mom would mind? So soon after the funeral?”

  Karlyn frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. How about I take you out? I’m sure she’ll be tied up anyway. It’ll be my treat since I have lots of questions.”

  “It’s a deal.” Logan deliberately didn’t say date. He didn’t want to attach significance to the fact he would be eating in public with a person of the opposite sex, which hadn’t occurred in longer than he could remember.

  “Since you know the area, I’ll let you choose the restaurant. Thanks for agreeing to do this, Logan. It’s time I got back to work. It keeps me sane.”

  Which was the last place his mind was right now. Usually, Logan lived for work. All of a sudden, he’d pushed it far away. All he could think about was spending more time with the very sexy author standing next to him.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.” He drained his coffee and set the cup down. Logan retrieved his trench coat and made his way through the spectators outside. He couldn’t believe he had plans with a special lady.

  Even if she did want to talk murder at dinner.

  Chapter 12

  Karlyn slid into the chair and watched Logan sit opposite her. The man looked good—Polo button-down, gray slacks, sports coat—and he smelled even better.

  All male.

  She forced herself not to sprawl across the table and breathe him in.

  She glanced at the oak paneling and hardwood floors. Soft piano music sounded from the next room. “Nice place.”

  “The food has never let me down. And if you have a thing for chocolate, save room for dessert. In fact, I have a friend whose wife always starts with dessert here.”

  Karlyn laughed. “I’ve never been brave enough to try that.”

  “If you’re full after the meal, we’ll split something.”

  “As long as it’s chocolate?”

  He shrugged. “Or their key lime pie. I could live with either choice.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe we need to order both. What else is good?”

  He opened the menu and scanned it quickly. “The shrimp and linguini. Their scallops and angel hair pasta.”

  “Seems like you come here often.”

  Logan shook his head. “A few times a year. But I’ve eaten at Lombardi’s all my life—thirty-five years and counting.”

  The server took their drink orders and returned quickly with their wine and breadbasket.

  “I’ve never met a piece of bread I didn’t like,” Karlyn admitted as she generously buttered a slice of sourdough.

  “You must work out. I don’t see any bread handles on you,” he joked.

  “I’m a runner. Picked it up in college from a boyfriend. The relationship ended, but the running kept me going.” She bit into the sourdough and sighed. “Whenever I’m working on a story idea, I toss on my Nikes and head to the Park.”

  “Central Park?”

  She nodded. “I used to live a few blocks away. I’ve pounded its pavement many times, characters and scenes whirling around in my head.”

  “I ran track in high school,” Logan shared. “I still run. An instructor at the academy preached you never want a perp to get away because he outclassed you in a foot race. I took his advice to heart.”

  “Even though you’re a detective now? I didn’t think plainclothesmen chased suspects. Except in books and movies.”

  “The former Boy Scout in me likes to be prepared. Besides, I wouldn’t want Matt Collins showing me up.”

  Karlyn laughed. “My readers expect me to put Matt in perilous situations. He has to be able to run like the wind. It’s saved his life more than a few times.”

  Their salads arrived, and she dug in. “Tell me about your work. Any unusual cases?”

  He chewed thoughtfully. “Are you milking me for new book material or interested in what I do?”

  “Either way, you’ll tell me. I’m good at getting what I want,” she said with a smile.

  “I’ll bet you are.”

  The teasing words didn’t mask the undercurrent of sexual energy sparking between them. Karlyn was afraid she’d forgotten how to flirt, but she seemed to be doing fine. The flicker in Logan’s eyes let her know she was right on track.

  He took another bite. “I could tell you about the brawl I broke up last week at the salad bar between two senior citizens during Sunset Hour.”

  Karlyn chuckled. “Were they fighting over the cherry tomatoes or mushrooms?”

  “Neither. It started over who could make the most trips back and somehow segued into a woman they both found interesting. She came in every Tuesday and hadn’t showed up yet. By the time she got there and I’d been called, the old coots had demolished all the salad plates and had moved on to the frozen yogurt machine.”

  “And they say retirement is boring.”

  “That’s about as exciting as the Springs gets. Although we did have a local woman learn that her son hid his bagged drugs in the peanut butter jar. She told us she started hiding her jewelry in it, too, thinking it was a safe place. Naturally, he found it. And sold it.”

  “At least your life’s not dull.”

  Logan shrugged. “Most of the violent stuff happened when I was with Atlanta PD. Gang bangers. Meth houses blowing up. Domestic abuse. Robberies gone wrong. I have a thousand stories about that. The Springs has crime, but it’s on a lesser scale.”

  Their entrees arrived, and their talk turned to books and music. It surprised her how much they had in common. She hadn’t wanted to think of tonight as a date, but Logan Warner made for good company.

  They decided on the key lime pie and some decadent chocolate mess for dessert.

  As they ate, she decided to mention the elephant in the room. “You said you were divorced. Any kids?”

  Logan grew quiet. “No. You?”

  “No. Mario didn’t want any. I finally realized that I did want them. Just not with him.” Karlyn sighed. “I knew for a long time that we weren’t working. Mario was distant or absent.”

  She stirred some sweetener into her decaf. “I wasn’t the greatest marriage partner either. I tend to get wrapped up in my work, creating p
eople and places. Especially if I’m on deadline.”

  “I wasn’t the best husband myself. Married to the job like most cops. At least in your work, you can create a happy ending. Matt gets the killer or solves his case. I don’t always find my bad guy. Even if I do, the D.A. might not get a conviction.”

  Karlyn saw how down Logan had become and tried to lighten the mood.

  “Hey, my life sucks sometimes. My characters misbehave constantly. I plan what they should do, then they deviate off-course like clockwork. Eventually, I get them back on track by the end.”

  Unlike her marriage. She regretted how long she’d drifted aimlessly, hoping Mario would change. Hoping things would improve between them.

  Hoping she could love and be loved.

  They finished their coffee and strolled to the car. The night air was clear and cool. Logan opened her door. Karlyn tried to remember if Mario had ever done that for her.

  Logan stepped in the driver’s side and turned to her.

  “Do you believe people in real life can have that happy ending?”

  Karlyn hesitated. “It’s possible. But not everyone finds it. Sometimes, life gets in the way.”

  “Was this a date?” he asked.

  She bit her lip and decided to be honest. “I didn’t think so. I found you interesting and wanted to talk about my writing with you. I thought I’d ask you a few questions about your profession.”

  “But we didn’t talk much about it, did we?” His moss green eyes drilled into hers.

  “No,” she said softly. “We didn’t. But I did ask you about your work. So maybe—”

  “I don’t date,” he announced. “I had a few after my divorce, but they seemed pointless.”

  “I don’t date either,” she agreed. “The ink’s barely dry on my divorce papers. I’m giving myself some time to heal emotionally.”

  “Then if this isn’t a date, I guess I shouldn’t do this.”

  Logan leaned over, his hand cupping the back of her neck. Before she could react, his lips met hers.

  Magic.

  Instant and real. Karlyn became soft putty in Logan’s capable hands. The kiss deepened, and she found herself falling, spinning, whirling in a heat-filled maelstrom. His mouth dominated hers, enslaved her, created a longing she’d never experienced.

  And as fast as it started, it ended.

  Logan pulled away, breathing hard. His eyes glittered with passion.

  “If this is not dating,” Karlyn told him, “I think I’d like to try dating with you sometime.”

  Chapter 13

  “Have a good time?”

  Karlyn jumped. Her mother stood at the end of the foyer, a wineglass in her hand. Martha motioned her to follow. Karlyn entered the den and took a seat in a leather wingback chair.

  “Need a nightcap?”

  “No, I had two glasses of merlot at dinner. I’ll never sleep if I have anymore.”

  Martha shrugged and topped off her glass. “Where did Detective Warner take you for your date?”

  “It wasn’t a date.” Karlyn hoped she didn’t blush as she protested. She ran a hand through her hair and glanced at the flickering images on the TV with feigned interest.

  Think about anything but that kiss.

  Martha’s brows shot up. “Logan Warner is an attractive man. The woman that lands him will be lucky.”

  She looked back at her mother. “I’m licking my wounds from my divorce. I don’t have any interest in dating.”

  Martha set her glass down. “Let’s try again. I want us to be friends, Karlyn.”

  “Honestly? I don’t know if we can.”

  Martha sighed. “I was so incredibly young when I married Broderick. Twenty-one to his forty-two. Our love was all consuming, like Roman candles erupting when we looked at one another. He was everything I thought I wanted.”

  Her mother paused, gazing at her steadily. “But I found I wanted more. I wanted a child, Karlyn. I wanted you.”

  The words shocked her. “Why?”

  “After a few years together, I realized what was missing. I knew Broderick would never agree to a child. He considered them too demanding. He wanted the focus on him.”

  Martha stood and paced the room. “I waited to tell him I was pregnant. He ordered me to have an abortion immediately, but I was past the legal point.” Martha’s eyes narrowed. “I threatened to leave him. In the end, he agreed to my having you—if I would get my tubes tied and if he would not be responsible in any way for raising you.”

  Her mother’s mouth quivered. “So I kept you. And wondered if it was a mistake on my part. I was never there for you. I let his selfish desires dictate both my life and yours.”

  Martha stopped in front of her. “I don’t want to know what happened between you and Mario. It doesn’t matter. But I’m here for you. From now on.”

  Martha pulled Karlyn to her feet and hugged her. “This is a new beginning for us. Get to know me. If not as mother and daughter, then as friends. Let me get to know you.”

  Karlyn made an instant decision. She might regret it down the line, but she was starved for her mother’s affection. And that surprised the hell out of her.

  “All right. I’ll stay. For now. I can’t make any promises about what might happen, Mother. But I’ll try.”

  Karlyn awoke before six and decided to go for a run. Fortunately, she’d brought her training shoes and one workout outfit. She would need to do some big time shopping or send for more of her clothes. Alicia had graciously stored her things in a guest room of her apartment since Karlyn hadn’t searched for a place to live during the divorce proceedings.

  She found her rhythm early and fell into an easy pace, enjoying the cool breeze. She ran down the main street of Walton Springs, passing the library and town center, complete with fire and police stations and post office. Farther down the block she spotted a drug store, grocers, hardware store, and salon. She slowed as she passed by, wondering if this was Logan’s mother’s shop.

  Karlyn ran another forty-five minutes, finding one lone Starbucks. She grinned. A hot detective and a Starbucks all in the same place couldn’t be all bad. She passed the high school and a huge park, where she turned off and enjoyed several minutes of solitude as she pounded along.

  Finally, she retraced her steps and returned home. After showering and dressing, she gathered her notes and laptop and headed to her father’s office. She entered and noted the faint smell of pipe tobacco that still lingered.

  The battered Remington perched in the center, the only item on the desktop. Karlyn remembered sneaking into his study and sitting in the leather monstrosity of a chair when he went for his daily walk, longing to be a writer. She never stayed long, afraid that a warm seat would alert him to her transgression.

  Still, she sat in it now, a talented writer and best-selling novelist in her own right. She wouldn’t let the chair—or the ghost of a memory—keep her from the business at hand. The screenplay deserved the most attention, so she spent the next hour re-reading what she’d written and then her notes for the upcoming scene. She’d left off here the day she’d met Mario and his lawyer. She couldn’t write a word that morning, and she’d blamed it on the upcoming meeting. Now she realized she’d backed herself into a corner. The roadblock glared viciously at her. She could almost taste what needed to happen, but having it occur in the three pages she’d allotted would be difficult to pull off.

  Writer’s block wasn’t new. She raced through some manuscripts lightning fast, while others bogged down with a saggy middle. Sometimes she put them aside and completed another project or two before ever coming back to what she considered the problem child.

  That option didn’t exist for this screenplay. Her contract called for a completed draft in six weeks. If the studio liked it, she would
polish it and send it to the director. If not, they would award the project to another, more experienced writer. She would get paid regardless, but she wanted to be able to bring it home. Matt was her baby. She knew him better than anyone. She could do this.

  Two hours later, she realized she needed help.

  She stretched and saw it was almost eleven-thirty. Her stomach rumbled. Karlyn puttered into the kitchen and found her mother talking animatedly on the phone.

  “I’m sure they had a wonderful time, Resa. And here’s Karlyn now, looking hungry as a bear. Listen, I will see you this afternoon for that trim, and then we’ll do dinner tonight. Talk to you soon.”

  Martha looked up with flushed cheeks. Karlyn realized her mother was . . . happy. She didn’t remember that emotion registering before. Martha had always been, well, Martha. Calm. Reserved. Detached. This woman was younger and more vibrant.

  Her mother pulled leftovers from the refrigerator, chattering the entire time. “I spoke to Resa Warner. She and her husband are coming for dinner tonight. I can’t wait to have them over. I should call Logan and remind him about dinner.” She paused. “Or maybe you could do that.”

  Karlyn shook her head. “You can. I’m going to eat a quick bite and get back to work.”

  Martha frowned and turned away. Karlyn felt the wave of disappointment hit her. Still, she stuck to her guns. She would not throw herself at Logan Warner like some desperate 1950s chick.

  But she wouldn’t mind seeing him two nights in a row.

  She excused herself after a few minutes, taking another bottled water and some cheese and crackers back with her. That would allow her to keep working uninterrupted.

  She put in two hours of writing, deleting, thinking, jotting new notes, and consulting her outline. Then more writing and deleting again.