Page 35 of Drunk In Love
“Prepare to make a feast!” the male instructor says a little too loudly to the small room.
“You ever had cacio e pepe?”
“I love it! This is my first time making it,” I respond. I think back to the last time I had the pasta at Milano’s with Max. I couldn’t seem to get him off my mind.
“It’s my favorite too. Tried making it once and the sauce came out disastrous,” Zach says.
While the pasta continues to boil, Zach chops fresh parsley. “I know we shouldn’t talk shop while on our date, but I will admit that not knowing what’s happening has been driving me crazy. How has it been going with the FJ leak?”
I don’t mind talking about the assignment with Zach. Unlike Max, I tended to see the best in others.
“One of your former employees we looked into wasn’t very helpful, but Max and I are hoping he’ll come around.”
“You spoke with Franco? What did he say?”
Zach stops his ministrations and looks up at me with, dare I say, panic in his eyes. I’d never seen that expression before, and Zach continues to stare back at me expectantly.
I answer carefully.
“Max and I met with Franco. He didn’t know much and maintained his innocence,” I finally say. I move to turn the pot down and drain the water for the pasta. While draining the pasta, I’m stalling. Why was Zach so interested in Franco now? He should be trying to get to know me better away from our workplaces.
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be surprised if Franco is behind all this. Sometimes people can’t be trusted, Kamaya. Not you though. I think you’ll see that I’m right about him.”
A weird chill goes through me despite the warmth of the room. How did we get on this subject, and why did his words feel like a threat? This was supposed to be a cute date night, for God’s sake.
“Yeah, well, as I have mentioned, we’re still working on it,” I stammer out, laughing to cover my apprehension.
“Cecily is anxious for this all to be resolved and so am I,” he says, returning to his normally affable disposition.
“What else have you found out?” Zach asks.
I go into detail about Harry and City University as well, as well as the abrupt phone call with Charles Dennis. Zach listens patiently while I explain what Max and I have found.
“Sounds like everything is going according to plan. I knew Cecily and I made the right move coming to you all,” he says, smiling, but it looks hollow and is not meeting his eyes.
Disingenuous.
“We just have to mix in the cacio e pepe sauce, and soon we’ll be ready to eat,” I say. I couldn’t name the strange feeling that overcame me, but I was ready for this date to be over.
I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling of being with Zach tonight. Under normal circumstances, a date night with a cooking class would be a fun activity that I would have relished instead of the routine dinner and movie. The handsome, charming guy I’d grown to like now made me apprehensive. It was difficult at times not to talk shop, but using our date as an interrogation about the case gave me bad vibes.
Was Maxwell right about Zach?
Tonight more than ever gave me probable cause that he might not be as innocent as I had assumed. Was Zach asking those questions out of genuine concern, or because he wanted to know if Max and I had somehow connected the case to him?
I finally make it back to the PATH station at Journal Square and head directly to my car, thankful that there is a small crowd moving so I’m not completely alone. I always park my car near the north entrance, even when Maxwell is with me, because this area of the garage is well lit.
Looking around, there are now only a few people on this level of the garage. I’m almost near to where I parked, and I hear footsteps increasing behind me. I keep moving, but I slide my hand into my bag for my taser in case I need to take it out and use it.
I’m only a few feet away when the steps behind me get faster.
“Kam?” asks a deep voice behind me. The sudden loud timbre scares me, and I whirl around with the weapon in my hand.
“Whoa,” the older man says, stopping with his hands up. “I was just trying to return this to you. You dropped it back there.” He points towards the door that led from the station to the garage.
I look at his proffered hand. He’s holding the pink KAM keychain from the Jersey Shore that Maxwell bought for me last summer when we spent time with my family. I didn’t even hear it slip from the key fob.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! Thank you,” I say, taking the keychain.