Dana Stabenow - Whisper to the Blood

He said the first thing that came into his head. "Why the cache for the peas and onions? Why not the freezer?"

She paused, one strip of meat in the air, and gave him a look that would have turned a lesser man to stone. "Why spend the money on diesel to run the generator to run the freezer when winter will do the job just fine?"

"Makes sense," he said. He took in the rest of the kitchen. There were two loaves of white bread cooling on a rack, a loaf of date nut bread cooling in the pan, and coffee cake cooling in a cake tin. "You've been busy."

"It's cold, I'm hungry, answer the question."

"You're jealous," he said.

Such a wave of fury rolled over the counter in his direction that he almost instinctively ducked out of the way of the frying pan that-oil, liver, and all-he was certain would be coming in his direction next.

She struggled for control and won. He breathed easier. "I told You once," she said, her voice very tight, "I don't stand in line. You want to sleep with Talia Macleod, go sleep with Talia Macleod. Just don't come back here after you have."

She banged open a cupboard and slung a plate in the oven to warm with such vigor he was surprised it didn't shatter.

"I'm not sleeping with her," Jim said, and as the words came out of his mouth wondered at them. Had he ever had this particular conversation with a woman before?

"Uh-huh," she said.

He realized she was hurt, and knew a momentary flash of guilt, which corresponded almost exactly to a simultaneous lick of resentment. Since when did he feel guilty over how he treated women?

Since never. His women were supposed to know the score, they were carefully selected and the relationship structured on a rational basis where everyone had a good time and nobody got hurt when it was over. "I've never lied to you, Kate," he said, the words coming out maybe a little hotter and harder than he'd meant them to. "If it comes to that, I've never lied to any woman I've ever known. I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't automatically assume I was lying to you now."

She paused, a strip of liver dangled momentarily over the frying pan, and then set it carefully flour-side down in the sizzling oil. "All right," she said. "That's fair. I apologize." She set the fork to one side and looked him straight in the eye for the first time since he'd come into the room. "The day you were seen with her in the Club Bar? You didn't come home that night." At his expression, she heaved an impatient sigh. "I'm a trained investigator, Jim, not to mention which people tell me stuff." She added bleakly, "I don't know why, but they always do. Sometimes I think I should have been a priest, because I have to be the depository of more secrets than any other Park rat walking around on two legs."

She paused, but he could tell she wasn't done, so he waited.

"I hate this," she said with a heartfelt intensity. She picked the fork up again, evidently this time for the sole purpose of slamming it down.

"What?" he said.

"This!" she said, waving a hand that indicated the space between the two of them. "I hate it that I care this much! That I care for you more than either of us is comfortable with!" She glared at him. "If I could snap my fingers or wiggle my nose or click my heels three times together and make it all go away, I would!" She put a lid on the frying pan, removed it, and slammed it back on again.

"I'm not loving it a whole lot, either," he said, stung, and his voice rising with it. "You think this is easy for me? I've never had a relationship last this long. Hell, I've never had whatever the hell that word means before! But you're in my life, Kate, whether I like it or not, and there doesn't seem to be a whole hell of a lot I can do about it!"

"Well, I'm sorry it's such a trial to you!"

"I didn't say that!" He registered that he was almost shouting with a faint astonishment that failed to moderate his tone. "I'm okay with it! But I'll tell you something I'm not okay with!"

"What?"

He took a deep breath, mastering his anger with an effort, the anger and the effort both still a surprise. "I am not okay with you keeping evidence quiet that pertains to an ongoing investigation."

It was her turn to say, "Huh?"

He gave it to her bluntly, without trying to soften the words. Maybe he even meant to hurt her this time, and maybe that was because he was furious and frightened that he felt guilty and maybe even a little hurt himself that she had so immediately decided that the rumors were true, and he wanted to share the pain. "I've got Howie Katelnikof sitting in a cell at the post."

"You arrested Howie?"

"Not yet, although I've got a pretty good case for him hunting caribou out of season, in amounts that I can prove are commercial. No, Howie appears to think he needs protection from whoever it is who's trying to kill him."

She stared at him for a moment. "So, who does he think is trying to kill him?" And, Katelike, returning like a little homing pigeon to the original item under discussion, "And what does that have to do with me withholding evidence in an ongoing investigation? What investigation?"

"Louis Deem's murder."

She flushed and hung her head, looking undeniably guilty. "Oh," she said weakly.

Ruthlessly he pressed his advantage. "Howie says the four aunties hired the job done, Kate."

Her head snapped back up and she stared at him, obviously shocked. "What?"

"Just when were you going to let me in on that little tidbit of information?"

At this inopportune moment, Johnny returned with the peas and onions. "Here you go, Kate," he said with false cheer. "Sorry it took me so long, the veggie box is kinda buried in moosemeat."

She was still staring at Jim with her mouth open and no sound coming out. Jim was still glaring at her. Johnny looked from one to the other and said, "You know what? Van's having some trouble with the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act, getting the movers and shakers straight, Willie Hensley, Tyonek, all those guys. We've got a test on it tomorrow in History of Alaska class. I think I'm going to drive over and help her out."

He fetched a daypack from his bedroom and swept the books and papers on the dining table into it with more efficiency than finesse. "Don't worry about me," he said, still cheery, "I'm sure An-nie'll give me dinner and a bed for the night."

Still nothing from the tableau vivant at the kitchen counter.

Johnny looked at Mutt. "You want to come with?"

Mutt cocked one ear and bent a reflective gaze on Kate and Jim, but in the end decided she didn't want to be compared to a rat deserting a sinking ship, and sneezed a polite refusal.

"Yeah, well, just try to stay out of the line of fire," Johnny said, and left the building. A moment later the Arctic Cat started up, followed immediately by the sound of it moving up the track to the road and out of earshot. Truth to tell, he was a little surprised at getting away with it, the twenty-five-mile drive alone through a cold winter night. He was heartened at this apparent evidence of faith in his maturity.

Meanwhile, back in the house, Kate had barely registered his departure. "I-," she said. "I-"

He was suddenly and thoroughly fed up. "Yeah, you," he said, rounding the counter. She slapped off the burners and turned to face him. "You don't trust me not to be sleeping with anyone else. You don't trust me enough to inform me of crucial evidence in an open murder investigation."

"But I didn't-"

"What do you trust me for, Kate?" He looked down at her and the anger whipped itself into a white-hot flame. "Oh hell, we both know what you trust me for," and he picked her up off her feet and kissed her so hard she felt her lip split.

She squirmed, her feet dangling a good foot off the floor, pushing against his shoulders, bending herself backward so she could free herself enough to speak. "No, Jim, wait-"