"So what did you find out?"
Nancy, wrapped in a towel, stood over her lingerie drawer. Her hair was still dripping wet, but if she wanted Bess to do anything with it, and it was looking more and more like she'd have to, Nancy needed lingerie.
Listening to the internal debate over what to wear was making her conversation with her father a thousand times harder.
"I..." Nancy tugged a black lace cami and matching shorts out, then made a face. No lining.
No lining might be a good thing...
Shut up!
"I sweet-talked the phone company into giving me his records, and he was making a lot of calls to the bar Celia visited the night he was killed. A lot of calls. I checked his employment history and he's worked for another club, owned by the same company. It fits the time frame of two weeks ago."
"Did you do any work today?" Carson chuckled.
"Everything I just told you? Took a ten-minute computer search and then five more before I had the phone records faxed over."
"And that, my dear, is why I leave the legwork to you."
"Because I'm good," Nancy smiled. Everything in her lingerie drawer was black. She pulled out a buff-colored demi bra and white cotton panties.
Yeah, he'll love that.
At least if I wear this, there's no way I'd let him see me in it.
Wonder if Bess still has those fishnets...
"So what's the next move? Do I need to call my guys and get someone to go out there and ask questions?"
"I had something different in mind," Nancy admitted. "I'll let you know tomorrow. If he's been calling the club, someone there has to know him, and they might have some ideas about who would have done this. And if Celia's known him for two years, she has to know who some of his friends are."
"The attack was pretty violent."
"But it was someone he knew," Nancy replied, searching a pair of opaque black tights for runs. "There wasn't any sign of a struggle. Maybe Celia's wasn't the only lover's quarrel that night."
"How about I check on the neighbors. Sounds like you have enough on your plate."
"Thanks, Dad."
"Do I need to be worried about you tonight, or get you to call me at midnight so I know you're safe?"
"I'll be fine," Nancy sighed, rolling her eyes a little. "I'm going to take a little break from the case, so you don't need to worry about me."
"So I can call you later if I think of anything else."
"How about if I call you."
Nancy scooped the entire contents of the drawer into her arms and dumped it on the bed, then crossed her fingers.
"Where are you going to be tonight, Nan?"
Dammit. "Ned and I are having dinner."
Carson chuckled. "If I hear his name five more times, you have to bring him down to River Heights so I can meet him."
"Says who?" Nancy teased.
"Says your lawyer. You sure he's not mixed up in this?"
"He's never met Celia or Jack, so no. I doubt that he's in any way involved. Why would you think that?"
"Because I remember quite a few times when you showed me pictures of yourself on cases, and there were always rather handsome men you met..."
"Have you been talking to Bess again?" Nancy demanded. "They were nothing."
"Mmm," Carson replied, neutrally. "I talked to Fenton this morning."
Nancy closed her eyes and sat down on the edge of the bed, slowly, not saying anything.
"He does still miss you."
"Yeah, well," Nancy replied, then cleared her throat, but she couldn't continue.
Carson was quiet for a minute, too. "Have a good night, Nan," he said finally.
"You too," Nancy replied. "Love you."
After she hung up, Nancy swept a black push-up bra and a pair of tantalizingly brief panties up, savagely.
George was standing over the stove, checking on the crock of soup that had been simmering all day. "You look pissed," she commented, as Nancy walked in, still in her towel, curlers in her hands.
"Shouldn't there be a rule that your father is no longer allowed to talk to your ex's father?"
"Oh," George said, sympathetically. "Yeah, there should be. Has Frank been talking smack about you?"
"The opposite," Nancy admitted. "Well, as far as I know, the opposite. God. I really didn't need this tonight."
"Hmm," George said, looking Nancy up and down. "So I guess you'll have the soup for lunch tomorrow, and I have Ned to thank for this."
"If I'd known you were making soup, I would've invited him over," Nancy apologized. "Besides, it's not fair that you can lay around the apartment all morning, throw some things in a pot, and by the time we get off work, voila."
"And you get to take 'business trips' all over the freaking world," George said, making quotes in the air with her fingers, smiling. "Given that choice? I don't know what possessed me to check off 'physical therapy' when declaring my major."
"Bess?" Nancy called, leaning out into the hallway, holding up an index finger to tell George to wait.
"Be right there, dammit!"
Nancy clicked back over the floor in her stilettos, disappeared into the pantry, and came out with her hand in a box of Special K.
"It's just cruel and unusual of you to do that," George protested.
"If I promise to have a cup before I go, will you let me off the hook?" Nancy munched thoughtfully on a handful of flakes. "You think we should try to find a bigger apartment once our lease is up?"
George chuckled, stirring the soup a few times before putting the lid back on. "What brought this on?"
"Jack—Celia's ex—his apartment was huge. And he'd been living there even before he met Celia."
"You don't want us to move into some dead guy's apartment."
Bess came in, in time to catch George's last words, and she turned to Nancy with her mouth open. "What? I am so not moving into some dead guy's apartment."
Nancy's furrowed brow cleared. "No. No, really."
George sat down at the kitchen table, next to Nancy, while Bess spread out her cosmetics on top. "Dinner in thirty minutes," George told her cousin, who nodded, then turned back to Nancy. "Let's be realistic here. By the time our lease is up, you'll have moved in with Ned, and Bess, well, I don't know what she'll be doing, but she practically lives over at Kent's anyway."
"Do not," Bess protested, with absolutely no heat, her voice flat as she set to combing Nancy's hair.
"And I'm not moving in with Ned," Nancy returned.
"Oh, Miss Stilettos and Black Underwear?"
Nancy pulled the towel a little tighter around her. "He's just so much fun to tease," she confessed. "But, no. We aren't moving in together. Anytime soon."
"Suit yourself," George shrugged, then headed for the refrigerator. "But I'd be willing to put twenty bucks on it."
"Me too," Bess said, through a mouthful of bobby pins.
"You two are terrible," Nancy announced. "And if Dad calls her later, don't you dare give him Ned's number. I know where you two sleep."
"Never would've thought of that," George said, a note of wonder in her voice, then ducked, laughing, as Nancy hurled a curler at her.
--
"I'm almost done. Go ahead and sit down."
Ned smiled and gestured Nancy to the table she'd never seen him use, and she smiled as he pulled her chair out for her. "Is it okay if I admit I'm a little nervous?"
"About my cooking?" Ned went back into the kitchen.
"Didn't you say something about considering popcorn a major food group?"
Ned laughed. "Probably," he called back. "Don't worry. You're special, so you get pancakes."
"From the Happy Pancake?"
"I'm going to come back in there and kick your ass."
"I'd like to see you try," Nancy called back, unfolding a napkin and draping it over her lap.
Two minutes later Ned came in carrying a pair of white bowls. "Don't start yet, I'll be right back," he warned, and Nancy laughed as she saw that the bowls were full of soup.
"Is something wrong?"
"No," Nancy managed, through her laughter, but didn't elaborate. Ned vanished into the kitchen again, returning with a basket of sliced french bread.
"No, really, is there something wrong?"
Nancy took pity on Ned, the naked concern on his face. "George made soup tonight too," she explained. "So I'll be eating a lot of soup the next few days."
Ned gave her a little half-smile. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Really. Don't." Nancy tasted it, then glanced up at him. "I mean it. This is great, and nothing like what George makes."
"Soup is soup," Ned dismissed, but she could tell by the look on his face that he was pleased.
After dinner they went to the kitchen together and washed dishes, and she watched him ladle the remainder into containers and seal them while she dried, and her heart beat a little more forcefully while she thought of how good this seemed, how right, to be doing something so domestic and normal with him.
Frank never cooked me a meal. Unless we were camping. And making s'mores doesn't really count, does it.
It rose to her lips but she didn't say it. Instead she put the last dish away and walked past Ned, trailing her fingers over the small of his back, pointedly not looking at him, as she headed to the living room.
She had almost made it to the couch when he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her backward, her back to his chest. She put her hands over his and closed her eyes, sighing.
"So, we doing some more spying tomorrow?"
"You want to?" Nancy turned around in his arms to face him, and met his eyes. "I mean..."
"I'm here for whatever you need," he said, leaning in, and she put her hand on his cheek as he kissed her. They moved together, his hand sliding over her hair to cup the back of her head and keep her mouth pressed to his, until she backed into the arm of the couch, and then she fell backward, her legs still draped over the arm, her back against the seats. He half-followed, his knee sliding up between her legs, and she blinked and then he was staring at her, his eyes wide.
"God, I'm sorry."
He pushed off her and Nancy pushed herself up on her elbows, her heart still a little fast, and peered at him from beneath her blackened lashes. "If you wanted me on my back, all you had to do was ask."
His mouth dropped open a little, but then he came back to himself and sat down beside her. "I thought all I had to do was steal your keys," he teased back.
"Or that," she agreed, pushing herself all the way up. "Dinner was really good. I take all those horrible things I said back."
"Heck yes you do," Ned said, sliding his arm around her shoulders and reaching for the remote. "Or I'll never cook for you again."
"I can't have that," Nancy chuckled. "Look..."
"Hmm?" Ned turned to gaze at her.
"I know it probably feels like you've been doing this all day, but... would you mind going over the case with me? It helps to tell everything to someone else and hear it out loud, get a second opinion."
"Sure," he said easily, holding her gaze steadily with his. "I guess I'll save the liquor until we're done, huh."
"It's a work night," she protested, but only mildly, with one eyebrow raised.
"So you think we should start drinking now?"
She smacked his arm, lightly. "No play."
"Play?" Ned's eyes lit up and he started tickling her, and she started shrieking, and then he was half-pinning her under him, and she was gasping for breath.
"Hey, if you don't want to talk about the case, just say so," she forced out, keeping her voice light, her face flushed as she searched his eyes.
"You're my girlfriend," he said softly. "I know, you're different, just give me a little time to get used to it."
"Ease you in, huh."
His mouth curved up in a lopsided smile, and with her hands pinned, all Nancy could do was lean up and kiss him, hard. "You have a dirty mind," she murmured against his mouth.
"I was just agreeing with you," he protested, kissing her again.
"I'm an acquired taste."
"Then I must have acquired you in record time."
She sighed against his mouth when they kissed again, and when he loosed her hands, she ran her fingers through his hair. "Look, just..." He cut her off with another kiss, and she met it eagerly. "How about we just... just have a drink and then we can talk about it, and..."
"Yeah," Ned replied. "Let's have a drink."
Then he kissed her again, slowly, deeply, and Nancy stopped thinking about drinks or the case or anything beyond the feel of his mouth, his weight on hers.