Steven James - The Knight

Even though she should have been expecting him, when Reggie showed up at the safe house after working a crime scene “in the mountains,” it annoyed Amy Lynn. She’d been hoping he would stay at their home, leave her some space to work. Typical for their marriage-she was always looking for more space, he was always looking for more of “an intimate connection.”

“You doing all right?” he asked after the two federal agents stationed in the house had stepped into the other room.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He picked up Jayson, lifted him playfully above his head. “You sure you want to be here?”

“It’s been good.”

And it had been. She’d been able to throw something together for her weekly column and fudge her way through the steroids piece in time for her four o’clock deadline. Then she’d spent the rest of the afternoon and evening researching the killer. And even though she hadn’t found any leads on John’s identity after looking through the entire Denver News staff and freelance contributors directory as well as the other local newspaper, TV, and radio station staff listings, she was confident she would, given a little more time.

Jayson giggled as Reggie lifted and lowered him. “Maybe after I put this little rascal to bed we can, you know, spend some time together.”

“I’m not a wascal!” Jayson said with a playful smile.

“Mmm, that’d be nice,” Amy Lynn said, but her thoughts were somewhere else.

A few minutes later while Reggie was in the bedroom tucking Jayson in, she went online and researched websites of true crime publishers. Ideally, she would have been writing a series of articles for the Denver News about the killer, but since Rhodes wouldn’t give her permission to work on the story and the execs were trying to play it safe, she decided on a slightly different approach.

There were other ways to scoop a story than just through print media.

In fact, posting it online would give her a bigger audience, more exposure, and she could update the information more quickly. Plus it would help her stay ahead of the other news outlets. Keep her out front.

Of course, she would need to write it anonymously or under a pseudonym, but eventually, when the time was right she would reveal her true name.

She was at her computer when she heard Reggie’s footsteps. The article was not something she wanted him to see, so she quickly minimized her Internet browser.

“So,” he said. She felt his hands massaging the back of her neck. “When will you be ready for bed?”

The massage felt nice. He had strong hands, and he kneaded her tense muscles deeply. “Why?” she said. “Are you sleepy?” She closed her eyes and enjoyed his touch.

“Not so much.” His voice had become a whisper. He kept his hands on her neck, kept massaging.

“I’ll be there in a little bit. Just a couple things I’d like to check on first.”

Strong hands relieving the tension. “Don’t be long,” he said.

“I won’t.” The massage stopped. She opened her eyes slowly and heard the door to the master bedroom close.

Then she resumed her typing, and after a few minutes she’d completely forgotten about her husband waiting for her in the room at the end of the hall.

We stopped for dessert at Rachel’s Cafe, one of my favorite indie coffeehouses in downtown Denver.

Built on the first floor of a remodeled warehouse, Rachel’s had hundred-year-old wooden plank floors, brick walls, and air ducts and pipes snaking across the ceiling. Copies of the Denver News lay strewn on the tables. A coffee roaster sat in the corner near the cramped stage.

Just like most independent coffeehouses, Rachel’s Cafe didn’t have color-coordinated, matching furniture and didn’t sell “green” plush baby seal toys made by child-laborers in China, overpriced espresso makers, or trademarked mints. Instead, Rachel’s simply offered an eclectic bohemian atmosphere and exceptional coffee from around the world. My kind of place.

I would have liked to hang out for a while, but since I didn’t know why Tessa had been so aggressively nice all night, I wanted to get her home as quickly as possible before she said something to Cheyenne that I would regret. So, I made sure our dessert stop was brief, then we headed for Cheyenne’s condo.

Ten minutes after leaving Rachel’s, I parked at the curb, but before I could invite Cheyenne to join me outside so that I could say good night, Tessa spoke up: “Be a gentleman, Patrick. Walk her to the door.”

“Tessa-”

“Go on.”

“That’s enough,” I said.

“That sounds nice,” Cheyenne said. Then she stepped out of the car and waited for me to join her.

I lowered my voice and said to Tessa, “We’re going to talk about this when we get home.”

“OK.”

I opened my door. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time.”

As we headed along the path toward her porch, Cheyenne took my arm and managed to slow our walk to a stroll. “Well, Dr. Bowers,” she said. “Thank you for eating food in my general vicinity tonight.”

“You’re welcome. I’ve been thinking, I’ll probably need to eat sometime in the next week or so. Maybe we can do it again?”

“Hmm,” she said. “I’ll have to check my busy social calendar.”

“That full, huh?”

We arrived at the porch, but instead of stepping into the light as I expected her to, Cheyenne paused on the fringe of the night. “You have no idea how popular I am.”

“And yet you chose to spend the evening with my stepdaughter and me.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’m honored.”

The night settled in, calm and sweet and cool around us. “I had fun,” she said. “And I really like Tessa.”

“She has a way of growing on you.” Then I added, “She means the world to me.”

“I can tell.” Even though I didn’t remember either of us edging closer, the space between us seemed to be shrinking. I gazed at her standing in the faint glow of the porch’s twilight.

Cheyenne Warren really was a beautiful woman.

Moments eased by.

The sounds of traffic drifted toward me from far away, from some distant city that had nothing to do with the two of us.

Finally I said, “Maybe I should be going. You know. Take Tessa home.” But after I’d said the words, I didn’t go anywhere. Neither did Cheyenne. It seemed like neither of us wanted the date-that-wasnot-a-date to end.

I had the urge to take her in my arms, to hold her, to kiss her and see where everything might lead, but then I remembered Lien-hua and how things had ended with her. I didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot with Cheyenne. Didn’t want anything to go wrong.

Take it slow, Pat. She’s worth it. Don’t do anything stupid.

The sound of a car honking on one of the neighboring streets broke the spell, and I eased back a step. “OK,” I said. “I guess-”

Cheyenne let out a soft sigh. “That’s twice now.”

I hesitated. “Twice?”

“Yes. Once at the barn earlier today, and then, just now.”

“What do you mean?”

Her eyes were still filled with their usual confidence and strength but also held a touch of disappointment. “That’s twice I thought you were going to kiss me and you decided to back away from me instead.”

Oh man.

My heart was racing. I felt like I was in junior high again, fumbling for the right words to say to the girl I’d finally worked up the nerve to talk to. “It isn’t that I don’t want-”

She squinched her eyes shut and hit herself in the forehead with the heel of her hand. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m always doing that. I just say what I’m thinking. I don’t even-it’s a bad habit. I’m sorry.”