Part 4 (1/2)

Not that he would ever be her lover.

”Do you have a back table?” Ian leaned over her shoulder and spoke to the maitre d'. ”Maybe near the bar?”

Taylor picked up two menus and smiled. ”Right this way.”

As she followed him to their table, Kieralyn wondered how Ian would get past not being able to read the menu. Again, her curiosity rose about his decision to leave his dog at home and venture out without aid.

Did the dog make people uncomfortable? Did certain establishments give him a hard time about taking his dog inside? Maybe he thought he would draw less attention to himself alone. Though to her, it seemed more likely that a blind man stumbling through places unfamiliar to him would draw quite a bit of attention.

”Here you are.” Taylor pulled a seat from the table and held it for Kieralyn.

She started to comment that Ian should take the seat.

”Kieralyn.” He brushed the hair from her neck, his fingertips dancing along her nape.

An electric charge followed the path he drew. She stifled the urge to press back against him.

”Sit.” His voice was pitched low so only she could hear.

She sat and took the menu Taylor handed her. Ian sat beside her as if he knew exactly where the chair was and took the menu he was offered.

”Thank you, Taylor.”

Ian moved his chair closer to hers. As soon as Taylor was out of ear shot, she asked, ”How'd you know he was offering the menu to you, but didn't know in your lab that I'd offered you my hand?”

”Because it's the logical step in his process.” He rested his arm on her chair and played with her hair. ”And the laminate rubs against his fingers. What color is your hair? The highlights?”

”Brown with red. How'd you know I colored my hair? Highlights rather than full color?” She scanned the other tables, filled with couples all sitting close. ”And how could you hear his fingers on the menu?”

”Hmm.” He buried his face in her hair. ”Most women would go blonde. Then again, a lot of women would straighten their hair if it was this wavy. As for the menu, Taylor needs lotion. He has dry hands like a lot of people in the restaurant business.”

Tingles of apprehension, excitement, slid just beneath her flesh. Her skin was hyper-sensitized. She felt each hair on her arm and head down to the roots. ”Wait. You know my hair is curly?”

”Wavy and thick.” He cupped the back of her head. ”Tempting. Like you.”

”Ha.” She coughed a little. ”You do remember we're only pretending, right? That you're supposed to be listening and I'm supposed to be watching?”

”So tell me what you see.”

”Other than a blind cad who will, thank G.o.d, never know what he looks like?” Who has the charm of Simon Baker and the rockin' bod of WWE wrestler Randy Orton-the combination was s.e.xy dangerous.

He pulled back and scowled straight ahead. His brandy eyes s.h.i.+fted from friendly seduction to something akin to primal fury. She couldn't have offended him. He had to know he was behaving like an overs.e.xed charmer. And surely he'd come to terms with his blindness. However long he'd lived with the disability, he'd had time to adjust to it, judging by his ability to move around.

”Yes,” he snapped. ”Other than that.”

He was so confident. How could he not realize how appealing he was? ”You're touchy.” Yeah, she'd misstepped. He was p.i.s.sed. She leaned close and placed her arm around his neck. She brushed her lips along his lobe. ”Makes me wonder why. What makes you tick, Ian?”

”Some mysteries are not yours to solve.” His voice held its harshness, but he relaxed his shoulders and settled back into the stance of lovers. ”What do you see?”

”All business.” She'd preferred that since joining the Bureau. Had needed it to keep from thinking of how differently she'd thought her life would turn out. She accepted his mood s.h.i.+ft, but didn't move away from him. He'd said intimate. She would give him intimate. ”Fine. As you said, there are couples everywhere. Touching, holding hands, kissing, leaning together as they listen to the music. Waiters and waitresses are bustling around the room.”

”Any sign of ours?”

”Actually, a woman just indicated she'd be right over.” She narrowed her eyes. ”Did you know that?”

”Pay attention to why we're here. What else do you see?”

I hate secrets. ”You're a pain in the a.s.s.”

”You followed me. Now do your job.”

”Fine.” She huffed lightly. Arguments would have to come later. Not that they were going to have a later. ”There's a married man hitting on a woman at the bar. Sleaze. Though even there, most of the people are obvious couples.”

She brushed her fingers along the nape of his neck, his shorn hair tickling her fingertips. ”Another man, dressed much like Taylor, only slicker, is at the end of the bar talking to the bartender. The jazz band is an ethnic mix of guys. One woman. All dressed to the nines. Everyone is absorbed in their date or their job, and are paying little to no attention to what goes on beyond the circle of their table. No one raises any alarms or seems like they'd be involved in something like a kidnapping and slavery ring.”

”Is that all you see? Nothing else?”

”What do you want? A description of every outfit worn?”

”I want you, a trained FBI agent, to see the details you're missing.”

”I miss nothing.” She was still considered a rookie, but Cabrera couldn't know that. Just as he couldn't know what she'd missed. ”I can tell you where the people in here have bought their clothes and estimate an income level for you. I can go out to the parking lot and tell you which person likely drives what car, and I noticed that even though you can't see the room, you sat so that your back is as close to the wall as it can get with everyone else either in front of you or to your side.”

”You're touchy.” He taunted her with her earlier words. ”I'm not arguing that you're observant, but like most seeing people, your sight is a handicap for you whether you realize it or not. You see what's on the surface, missing the undercurrents of the environment you're in.”

”Don't get p.i.s.sy again, but how would you know what I missed?” No way was she handicapped. She would let him speak, but she wouldn't allow him to go on thinking she was lacking.

An attractive waitress stepped up to their table and sat two gla.s.ses of water down. ”Sorry for the wait. My name's Lisa. What can I get you to drink?”

Kieralyn smiled, though she really wanted to get back to the debate with Ian. He was mentally stimulating, if a bit irritating. ”I'll have a gla.s.s of your best Riesling.”

Lisa nodded and smiled at Ian. A glint of appreciation lit her eyes. ”And you, sir?”

Ian smiled up at Lisa. The scars at the edges of his eyes crinkled and added to his appeal. ”A Coors would be great.”

”I'll get those drinks right over and take your food order.” Lisa strode away.

Kieralyn turned back to Ian. ”All right. Out with it.”

”First, I'm sorry for being touchy. Your reaction got to me more than I'd thought it would.” He put his arm around her at the waist and leaned close. ”Now, for what you've missed.”

”We'll start with the man talking to the bartender. He's the owner and shows it off by wearing a well-cut, high quality suit and an expensive watch. He's right handed and wearing a gun under his left arm. He's not afraid to do his own dirty work. He's trained himself to speak and move as if he was born to wealth, but there is an almost imperceptible layer of the streets beneath his veneer.”

If he was the owner, was he involved in the case? Something from her recording had sent Ian here. If the recording had been made at the club, the owner would know. Wouldn't he? If that was the case, he'd know about Lana. Or had something else tipped him off to her? ”I'm going to get tired of asking, but how do you know that?”

”Fabrics are no different than places. They each have sounds that are as distinct as their weights and textures. His suit whispers.” Ian rested his hand on her knee and ran it up her thigh where he fingered the edge of her skirt. ”Like these stockings you wear beneath this skirt. Both are silk, but the skirt's fabric is woven with a poly blend to give it more weight than the spun silk of your stockings.”

Kieralyn swallowed the desire bubbling up and resisted the urge to s.h.i.+ft in her seat. Her body pulsed and tightened in awareness. ”And the watch and gun?”

”The second hand on the watch sweeps rather than ticks. It's almost soundless. The holster forces him to hold his arm a little differently, which in turn makes the lining of his jacket rub less evenly than, say, Taylor, who is unarmed.”