Author's Note: Sorry this chapter had taken me so long to upload – real life has been presenting me with unwelcome distractions. However, I hope you enjoy this latest instalment.
Cooking dinner to an audience was a new experience for Jackie. The mere presence of Robbie drove her to distraction, let alone when he was perched at her kitchen counter, joking with her as she chopped vegetables. She marvelled at how at home he managed to look, quaffing a beer and recounting amusing anecdotes from past cases. As he casually leant back in his seat, chuckling about the antics of a constable, her grip loosened on the cutting knife. She jerked her hand away as the blade sliced into her palm, rendered immobile by the searing pain. Robbie was by her side in an instant. Taking her hand tenderly in his own, he dabbed at the gash.
"You're supposed to chop the vegetables, not your hand, Jacks."
She gave him a gentle smile, enjoying the warmth of his caress. Robbie wrapped her hand tightly in gauze, fastening the end.
"Do you need me to kiss it better?"
Her gaze flicked to his face, searching it for mocking. Robbie's expression was one of utmost sincerity as he raised her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her upturned palm. Heat radiated through her veins and Jackie felt a flush creep up her cheeks. Robbie cleared his throat, before pulling a chair out from the counter.
"You sit down, sweetheart and rest that hand. I'll finish dinner."
Jackie slowly took a seat, unable to meet Robbie's eyes. He mightn't know his way around a kitchen, but he certainly knew how to stir up perplexing emotions. She unconsciously shook herself, before striking up a conversation on a safe, more familiar topic. Perhaps if she ignored them, the intensity of her emotions would diminish.
Robbie tipped the vegetable pieces into the frying pan, trying to ignore the cloud of confusion that was settling on his brain. Cooking dinner for the two of them again felt intimate and domestic, sensations which ordinarily caused Robbie to run a mile. In this case, however, he knew this was exactly where he wanted to be, notwithstanding any psychotic serial killers and directives from his boss. He hadn't wanted to admit it to himself, but seeing her in distress when she had sliced her hand had stirred up unknown sensations in his chest. That sensation hadn't dissipated, even as they conversed on a mundane topic neither of them had any real interest in. He wished he could put a name to what he was feeling, to alleviate his confusion. He was afraid he might say, or do, something stupid because of it.
Dinner turned out to be more enjoyable than Jackie had first anticipated, given that Robbie had taken over chef duties. She offered to help clean up, but he insisted she rest, so she settled in front of the television, switching on something cheesy and cliqued. As he dried the plates, Robbie cracked jokes about the program, getting a kick out of making Jackie laugh. As he replaced the tea towel on the rack, his mobile rang, and he stepped out onto her front porch to answer it after glancing at the caller ID.
"Hey Stuart, find anything?"
"Sergeant Malcolm Copeland," Matt's voice boomed down the line, before Stuart took over. "The duty sergeant on night shift. Bit of an enigma, really. The computer records show he was signed onto the desk computer at the time the call was made. The records show he's searched through Jackie's background and current information, as well as watching all the security tapes from our squad room."
"He phoned in sick for his shift this evening," Matt broke in. "We're on our way. Stay with Jackie until we get there." The connection cut out, and Robbie glanced cautiously up and down the street before stepping back inside the house. Locking the door behind her, he moved to join Jackie on the lounge chair, but hesitated when he observed her curled up, asleep. Her face was arranged in a peaceful expression and a strand of her hair had fallen over one of her eyes. As he placed a blanket over her sleeping body, he brushed that strand of hair behind her ear. At that moment, the confusion lifted and that unknown sensation in her chest became clear to him. His knees gave out, and he knelt beside the lounge, filled with a potent mixture of fear and delight. How should he tell her? How would she react? Would she believe him?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
He wished he could have spent more time getting to know her. He had thought she was pure, but her relationship with that skirt chaser painted her otherwise. He hardened his heart, and rang the bell. He was determined that the last words she heard would be his.