Guilt By Degrees - страница 30

I hated to break up this lovefest, but nothing lasts forever.

“Hey, guys,” I said.

Graden gave me an appreciative smile.

“Hey, Rache,” he said, and gestured to the passenger seat.

I patted Angel on the arm as I got into the car. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good, Rachel,” he said. He tipped his hat to Graden and closed my door with a loving care that I knew had nothing to do with me.

Graden slid in and pulled the car around the circular driveway to the street. As he paused for oncoming traffic, he turned to me and said, “You look lovely, as always.”

I smiled and squeezed out a thank-you with as much grace as I could muster. Compliments always make me uncomfortable.

“You too,” I said, and meant it.

With his dark navy blazer and French cuffs, I knew that women’s heads would be swiveling from the moment he entered the restaurant.

He’d been busy with what he’d briefly dismissed as “administrative matters” for the past few days, and I’d been pretty swamped myself, so we hadn’t had a chance to talk.

“You want to tell me what’s been on your plate at work this week?” I asked.

He sighed. “Maybe later. Right now I’d just like to forget about it for a while, if that’s all right.”

Having been in that head space myself, I didn’t question him further. He’d tell me, if he wanted to, in his own time. We chatted about mutual friends, including Toni and J.D., but I broke off to enjoy the view when Graden turned up the narrow drive above Franklin Avenue and headed into the hills that would take us to Yamashiro. At the top of the hill, we entered the parking lot that wound around behind the famous restaurant and ended in front of the huge pagoda-style building that had one of the best views in town.

Yamashiro was an atmospheric landmark and a paean to old Hollywood. The dining room to the left of the entrance was formal yet lush and cushy, with white-tableclothed circular banquettes that gave views overlooking the city. The bar on the opposite side was romantically situated at the front of the restaurant and took advantage of the panoramic view with wall-to-wall windows that looked down on all of Los Angeles. Between the bar and the dining area there was a huge, high-ceilinged room decorated with waterfalls, gardens, and quaint red-painted bridges that spanned ponds of roaming brightly colored koi. Kitschy but charming.

The hostess took us to a table next to the window. I sat down and looked out at the glittering lights, neon signs, and vibrantly lit skyscrapers that outlined downtown L.A. From here, even the traffic looked beautiful, a moving river of red-and-white glowing beams. I exhaled with pleasure and saw that Graden too was entranced by the view.

“May I interest you in a cocktail?” asked the waitress, who appeared at our table within seconds.

Graden and I were both a little slow on the uptake, but the mention of drinks brought us back to earth. He looked at me.

“I’ll have a Ketel One martini, very cold, very dry, straight up with a twist,” I said. It didn’t matter what the weather was like; there was only one way to have a martini, and that was icy cold.

“I’ll have a Ketel One and soda with lime,” Graden said.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said when the waitress left. “I’ll have the vodka soda and drive tonight. It’s only fair.”

Graden waved me off. “I’m being impressively gallant,” he said with a grin. “Now tell me what’s going on with you.”

I started to tell him about the John Doe case. But I’d gotten only a few words out when the waitress returned with our drinks. We gave her our dinner order: salads for starters, and a shared steak served on a heated salt plate. It’s an Asian restaurant, but their steak is amazing. Then we toasted to ourselves and an amazingly clear night.

Now that we’d relaxed into the evening, I told him the story of my John Doe case.

Graden sighed. “I guess there’s no such thing as an escape,” he said.

I looked at him quizzically.

“That DA, Brandon Averill, beefed Stoner to the skies,” Graden explained. “The whole chain of command is on the alert.”