Suzanna's Surrender

“Oh. It looks nice. You know, Holt, I've been meaning to ask you if you think Livingston is still on the island.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

His response was much too abrupt, Suzanna noted and moved casually around the room. “No, I've just been wondering where he may be staying, what his next move might be.” She ran a fingertip down one of the candles he'd bought. “Any ideas?”

“How should I know?” “You're the expert on crime.”

“And I told you to leave Livingston to me.”

“And I told you I couldn't do that. Maybe I'll start poking around on my own.”

“Try it and I'll handcuff you and lock you in a closet.”

“The urban counterpart to hog – tying,” she murmured. “I wouldn't have to try it if you'd tell me what you know. Or what you think.”

“What brought this up now?”

She moved her shoulder. “Since we have a little time to ourselves, I thought we could talk about it.”

“Look, why don't you just sit down?” He pulled out his lighter. “What are you doing?”

“I'm lighting candles.” His nerves were stretching like taffy. “What does it look like I'm doing?”

She did sit, and steepled her hands. “Since you're so cranky, I have to assume that you do know something.”

“You don't have to assume anything except your ticking me off.” He stalked to the stereo.

“How close are you?” she asked as a bluesy sax filled the air.

“I'm nowhere.” Since that was a lie, he decided to temper it with part of the truth. “I think he's in the area because he broke in here and took a look around a couple weeks ago.”

“What?” She catapulted out of the chair. “A couple of weeks ago, and you didn't tell me?”

“What were you going to do about it?” he countered. “Pull out a magnifying glass and deer – hunter's hat?”

“I had a right to know.”

“Now you know. Just sit down, will you? I'll be back in a minute.”

He stalked out and she began to pace. Holt knew more than he was saying, but at least she'd annoyed a piece from him. Livingston was close, close enough that he'd known Holt might have something of interest. The fact that Holt was wound like a top at the moment made her think something more was working on him. It shouldn't be difficult, she thought, now that she already had him irritated, to push a little more out of him.

The candles were scented, she noted, and smiled to herself. She couldn't imagine that he'd bought jasmine candles on purpose. Especially a half a dozen of them. She traced a finger over the calla lilies he'd stuck – not very artistically – in a vase. Maybe working with flowers was getting to him, she thought. He wasn't pretending so hard not to like them.

When he came back in, she smiled then looked puzzled. “Is that champagne?”

“Yeah.” And he was thoroughly disgusted. He'd imagined she'd be charmed. Instead she questioned everything. “Do you want some or not?”

“Sure.” The curt invitation was so typical she didn't take offense. After he'd poured, she tapped her glass absently against his. “Now, if you're sure it was Livingston who broke in, I think –”

“One more word,” he said with dangerous calm. “One more word about Livingston and I'll pour the rest of the bottle over your hard head.”

She sipped, knowing she'd have to be careful if she didn't want to waste a bottle of champagne and end up with sticky hair. “I'm only trying to get a clear picture.”

He let out what was close to a roar of frustration and spun away. Champagne sloshed over his glass as he paced. “She wants a clear picture, and she's blind as a bat. I shoveled two months' worth of dust out of this place. I bought candles and flowers. I had to listen to some jerk try to teach me about wine. That's the picture, damn it.”

She'd wanted to irritate information from him, not infuriate him. “Holt –”

“Just sit down and shut up. I should have known this would get screwed up. God knows why I tried to do it this way.”

A light dawned, and she smiled. He'd set the stage, but she'd been too focused on her own scheme to take note. “Holt, it's very sweet of you to do all of this. I'm sorry if I didn't seem to appreciate it. If you wanted me to come here tonight so we could make love –”

“I don't want to make love with you.” He swore, viciously. “Of course I want to make love with you, but that's not it. I'm trying to ask you to marry me, damn it, so will you sit down!”

Since her legs had dissolved from knees to toe, she slid into a chair.

“This is perfect.” He gulped down champagne and started pacing again. “Just perfect. I'm trying to tell you that I'm crazy about you, that I don't think I can live without you, and all you can do is ask me what I'm doing and nag me about some obsessed jewel thief.”

Cautiously she brought the glass to her lips. “Sorry.”