Kathleen Creighton - Danger Signals

He hauled the fries out of the bag first, as always, and managed to get a couple of ketchup packets opened before he lost patience and went after the main course. He was about to bite into his burger with his usual gusto when his attention was claimed by the woman across the table from him.

He watched, his own lunch poised halfway to his mouth, as she unwrapped the foil from an untidy mound of just about every vegetable he'd ever heard of-tomatoes, avocados, cucumbers, some kind of sprouts, and God only knew what else-barely contained between two slices of seriously healthy and crunchy-looking brown bread. His eyes followed, his breathing held in suspense, as she carefully lifted this monster to her mouth, closed her eyes and took a hefty bite. There was a distinct crunch, followed by a soft moan of pleasure.

Wade's stomach gave a loud growl. He just managed to get his mouth closed before her eyes opened wide and focused on him.

"Hmm?" she asked, smiling with closed lips in a way that reminded him of a contented cat.

"Nothing." Which was the only thing he could say without opening up doors between them that were better left shut.

She chewed, swallowed, picked an errant wisp of sprouts from her lips, then said with a shrug, "You were probably going to say something snarky about my sandwich-and that's not by benefit of my 'gift', by the way. Merely what most men would say, I suspect."

"Maybe I'm not 'most men,'" he said with a certain arrogance, and with veiled eyes and a shrug of his own. Then he looked up at her and smiled. "Not that it surprises me. I should've guessed you'd be a vegetarian."

"I'm not a vegetarian. Not totally," she managed to say through another bite. "I just forgot to go grocery shopping. With everything that's been…" She let that trail off into silence, and he knew she regretted being the one to invite the shadows back.

They ate in silence, then, and she waited until she'd finished her sandwich and he'd polished off his burger and tapped into his diet soda before she reminded him why they were there. She twisted the top off a bottle of water, took a sip, then quietly asked, "So? What did you want to talk to me about?"

He squeezed a glob of ketchup onto the wrapper from his burger, picked up a small bouquet of French fries and dabbed them into the ketchup, thinking it didn't seem right, somehow, to be talking of nightmares and sinister watchers and serial killers in such a setting. Wishing he could enjoy the respite she found in this place.

But the world, particularly the part of it he lived in, wasn't a rose garden.

He frowned at the ketchup-draped fries, popped them all into his mouth and went on frowning while he chewed and thought about how to ask the questions swirling like dry leaves in his mind.

Who the hell is stalking me, and why? Is it somebody from one of my cases? From this case?

Why am I having The Dream again?

"I suppose," said Tierney. casually helping herself to one of his fries, "you want to know more about The Watcher. I'm not 'reading' you," she added, fixing her candid blue eyes on his face. "It pretty much has to be that or the case, and if it was the case, you'd probably have asked me to meet you at police headquarters. And-" she popped the French fry into her mouth and munched for a moment "-you wouldn't find it so hard to talk about."

He confirmed that with a mirthless laugh. "Nice deduction, Sherlock. Okay, yeah. I want to know about this… watcher, stalker, or whoever he is. It is a he, right?"

"I think so." She tilted her head, considering. "Yes-I'm pretty sure it's a man. Or…men."

"And you're not picking up on what the guy-or guys-want?"

"No…but-"

"But what? If you know anything about this, tell me, damn it."

"I don't get any sense of anger, or hate-anything that suggests he means you harm. Quite the opposite, in fact. He seems… I don't know. I just keep picking up this sense of longing. Of terrible sadness mixed in with great happiness. Happiness that he's found you, I guess. About the sadness…I'm not sure." She paused, and he watched a tinge of pink wash into her cheeks.

"What?" he demanded again. "Whatever it is, tell me."

She shook her head, smiling faintly. "I don't know how you're going to take this, but what he seems to feel for you is…love."

"Ah, jeez." He gave a snort of disgust and began gathering up the remnants of lunch and stuffing them into the fast-food bag. "Now you're creeping me out, Miss Tee. Seriously. This is all I need."

Her smile widened, to his further annoyance, but at least she had the good sense not to comment. Instead she added her trash to his and looped her camera around her neck, then gathered her skirt into one hand, giving him a brief glimpse of slender legs while she lifted them to swivel around on the picnic bench.

"I really need to get some pictures before it heats up and the blossoms start to droop," she said, standing and brushing at the back of her skirt. "Do you want to walk with me?"

He hesitated, knowing very well he should get back to the job. But he didn't want to leave. Not yet. And not because he hadn't really gotten the answers to his questions. Not about the nightmare. No, not that one.

He didn't know how to tell her about the watcher outside his apartment that morning. And about the nightmare. Or maybe he just didn't want to tell her. for the same reason he didn't want to go back to work. Because it was nice being here with her like this, not thinking about the ugliness of the job. or the violence and turmoil of the nightmare. Not thinking about the unanswered questions that kept his muscles tied up with tension and his nerves on edge. Right here, right now, he felt a strange lassitude, something so unfamiliar to him he wasn't even certain he could call it by its right name.

Peace? Contentment?

It was dangerous, that he knew. Peace and contentment weren't things a homicide detective on a case needed to be wallowing in.

He got up from the table and carried the remains of their lunch to the nearest trash barrel, dusted off his hands and turned to Tierney, the necessary words of parting forming in his mind. She was waiting for him a few yards away, her head turned toward him. seconding her invitation with a smile along one bare, lightly freckled shoulder. He felt an odd little hitch in his breathing, and the words in his mind melted away, dried up, like the first raindrops on hot pavement.

What the hell, he thought. A few more minutes isn't going to matter much, one way or the other .

They walked back to the gardens side-by-side, not hurrying, not talking, just strolling the way people do when they don't want the walk to end. but can't say the things they need to say.

Until Tierney took an audible breath and said. "Can I ask you a question?"

He glanced at her, feeling mellow enough to say, "Sure, go ahead."

"What happened to make you feel you needed to talk to me?" She paused, but not long enough for him to reply.

"Something did happen, didn't it? Something that upset you before I called and told you about The Watcher being at the news conference."

His denial was automatic. "I wasn't upset. I just-" He broke it off with some whispered swearing, shaking his head, looking at the ground. "I can't get away with anything with you, can I?"

"Oh, I think you can," she said, and he heard a smile in her voice. "When you want to. But you want to tell me this. You just don't quite know how."

"Okay," he admitted after some more muttered blasphemy, "you're right, I did want to tell you." He held up a hand. "But I wasn't upset. Just ticked off. Weirded-out. Or something. Not upset. I don't get upset." He took a deep breath. And purposely didn't look at her. knowing for sure she'd be smiling.