“Make sure you lock your doors.”
“I always do,” she answered before hanging up. But just to be sure, she double-checked. Sure enough, locked.
Back at her bed, she snuggled beneath the covers, convinced that tomorrow she’d be able to put Gram’s mind to rest.
Hopefully, with Gabe’s help.
THREE
The next morning, Gabe pulled his wool sport coat shut against the brisk air as he left his car and walked to Kristina’s apartment building. He still couldn’t believe she lived here.
He pushed the buzzer next to K. Worth. A moment later the door unlocked and he went inside. The large entryway was sparkling clean. The tiled floor shone with polish and the silver row of mailboxes looked brand-new. So much for slumming.
An elevator took him to the second floor. Kristina’s apartment was at the far end. A large wreath sporting a red bow hung around the peep hole. He knocked on the steel door.
The door slid open. She stood there with a smile on her face. “Hi.”
“Good morning,” he managed to say past the tightness in his throat.
He shouldn’t feel this pleased to see her. This was police business, not a social call. Yet he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He really should have just had her e-mail the pictures, but he’d been curious. He wanted to know more about the woman she’d become.
Her faded jeans rode low on her hips. A bright coral, formfitting, long-sleeved sweater accentuated her curves. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a strange-looking rope with multicolored beads hanging down at the end. Mascara darkened her lashes and her lips were glossy. Inviting. His mouth went dry as memories of last night’s escapade stormed through his mind. He should have kissed her and not worried about the consequences.
“Come in,” she said with a sweep of her hand.
Forcing himself to focus, he stepped into her apartment and realized he’d misjudged her. He’d expected a contemporary setting with high-end furniture and expensive decorations. His gaze cataloged the interior. The walled-in, small living room looked cozy with well-worn leather seating and a scarred coffee table strewn with photography magazines. In the corner stood a small Christmas tree, the lights twinkling.
A beautifully carved, yet beat-up armoire sat against one wall. Its opened doors revealed an older television, a stereo and lots of books. To his right was a small eating area and an even smaller kitchen. And he assumed the closed, sliding partition led to her bedroom and bath.
“This way.” Kristina walked toward a curtain, which she pushed aside and motioned him through.
The enormity of the loft-style photography studio surprised him. A large bay window dominated the far wall. Light stands and a stack of props took up one corner. A changing area and a workstation occupied the other two corners. The middle was open and a tripod with a camera sat at the ready.
Large photographs in minimalistic frames were stacked in a corner.
“Great space,” he commented. He walked over to the framed pictures. The one face-out was of what looked like an African village.
“Thank you. It took me a while to get it the way I wanted.”
“You did a good job.” He motioned to the photos. “Did you take these?”
She nodded, her expression a bit apprehensive, as if his opinion mattered.
Flustered by that thought, he flipped through the stack of images. More of Africa, others looked to be in an Eastern European setting, while a few were definitely South American. All third-world communities. Impressed by both the pictures and the fact that she’d gone to these places, he said, “These are great.”
“Thank you.”
Her pleased smile zinged through him, creating a wave of unexpected yearning that tightened his chest. He moved away from the photos and back to business. “So, what did you have to show me?”
Her eyes gleamed with excitement. She rushed to the workstation and picked up several pictures. “Check these out.”
Gabe studied the images. The first two were of Frank as he walked away from the camera toward the dark alleyway. The second showed the man in the shadows, his face unfortunately obscured by darkness. The third showed Frank handing over the envelope. The fourth was of the man emptying the contents into his hand. And the fifth was a zoomed-in shot of a dozen pills in various shapes and sizes.
Gabe raised an eyebrow. “Looks like Frank’s into drug trafficking.”
“See, I knew there was something off about him,” she gloated, looking quite delighted with herself.
Gabe liked her enthusiasm but he couldn’t let her think she’d done a good thing. The thought of her getting hurt made his shoulder muscles tighten. “Yes, you were right. But you took a risk.”
The enthusiastic light faded from her blue eyes. “Didn’t we have this discussion already?”
“Never hurts to reiterate. Besides, this doesn’t mean he had anything to do with Carl and Lena. We still haven’t established anything has happened to them.”
“When will you?”
“Soon.” He hoped. Then he could stop torturing himself with her company.
He moved toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Christopher Columbus Park. The fountain shot water in the air and a woman with a dog jogged along the winding paved path. Beyond the park, the blue water of the Atlantic sparkled in the winter sunlight. Sails ruffled in the morning breeze. Die-hard sailors in this cold weather. He shivered.
Kristina halted beside him. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Very.” So was she.
“On summer evenings I can watch the performance artists,” she stated softly. She turned her gaze on him.
Gabe found himself staring into eyes darker than the ocean and alive with intelligence. She regarded him frankly, with no guile or coyness.
So unlike the woman she’d been.
He could like this new person. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t risk that kind of pain again. “I should go.”
She nodded slightly, opened her mouth as if to speak but then seemed to think better of it.
“What?” he asked.
“Would you mind if I took your picture?” she asked.
A dry laughed escaped him. “I don’t know…”
She moved to her camera and detached it from the tripod. “You don’t have to do anything. Just be.”
“Just be?” How did one “just be”?
She held the camera to her eye, the round dark lens trained on him. The soft snap of the shutter was the only sound as she moved around him. He wasn’t sure if he should move or stay still, so he just stood there trying not to tense. She angled the camera and clicked away. He wondered what she saw worth photographing.
“Do you like ice cream?” she asked.
He arched an eyebrow. “Yes. Doesn’t everyone?”
The click of the camera echoed in the loft. “What kind?”
“Chocolate.”
She lowered the camera. “Just plain old chocolate?”
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Okay. What are you doing tonight?”
“Tonight?” An unexpected rush of anticipation arced through him.
“I plan to take Grams for ice cream. I think she’d like to meet