Page 13 of Watching You
‘Damn. If I’d known you were an expert, I’d have suggested a macramé class instead. I might have stood a chance at that,’ Beth joked, picking up a smaller axe, more like an ice pick, and lobbing it at the far end of the lane. It bounced against the target but didn’t take. ‘To be fair, I’m better at precision work with blades,’ she said. ‘You got a bull’s-eye first time. I guess that’s the police training.’ She took a sip of a non-alcoholic cocktail and grinned at him. ‘I don’t know whether to feel safe with you or scared of you.’
Lively thought the jocular smile she gave him didn’t quite reach her eyes, and wondered if she’d ever had a reason to be afraid of men. It was far too early to ask such a personal question, but she’d made a point of not drinking alcohol and had arranged their date in a crowded, public place from which she could easily get a cab home. It was the sort of sensible advice for meeting a relative stranger that he’d give any woman. Faith in police officers to be decent human beings had reached an all-time low, a fact that hurt Lively’s soul more than he wanted to admit. Personally, if he ever came into contact with a fellow officer who thought it was all right to put his hands where they weren’t welcome, he’d rip their head off first and worry about what his defence was later.
‘You all right?’ Beth asked. ‘You were a million miles away.’
‘Sorry, this place has got my reactions all messed up. For the last thirty years, if I’ve seen anyone throwing anything with a passing resemblance to a weapon, I’ve tackled them to the floor and bundled them into a police van.’
‘We can go if—’
‘Absolutely not,’ he said. ‘I’m going to book the place out for my squad to let off steam. Besides, it looks like you need the practice.’
‘I’m just getting warmed up,’ she grinned. ‘Step aside and let me show you how it’s done.’ She threw again. Lively took the opportunity to stand back and look at her.
Dr Beth Waterfall wasn’t traditionally pretty. Lively’s mother would have called her handsome, but that wasn’t fair and it wasn’t accurate. Her hair, when it wasn’t restrained by a surgical cap, was greying at the roots but still brunette laced with red where it reached her shoulders in a practical bob. She had an angular jaw leading to a square chin, deep-set eyes and a straight nose that in profile made her appear both no-nonsense and chiselled. When she smiled, though, her eyes crinkled in a way that made Lively feel disorientated and vulnerable. He hated and loved feeling that way. It was a sensation from his teenage years, when girls had been mystical creatures that were terrifying and alluring in equal measure. The years and the job had desensitised him, he knew that. But then Beth Waterfall had smiled at him across … well, across a bleeding body, if he was being accurate … and if he was ever going to meet a good woman, wasn’t that the only way it was ever going to happen for him?
The only mystery left was that she’d looked back at him the same way. A doctor – a surgeon no less – with all those years of book-learning behind her and all those letters after her name, had smiled at him as if they’d known one another instantly. Two days after Archie Bass’s death, they’d met again at the mortuary on Cowgate to discuss his injuries. Dr Waterfall had listened to Lively asking endless, probably very stupid questions, and smiled at him through it all. Afterwards, they’d found themselves pausing outside a café without thinking about it, him holding the door so she could go ahead, then perching on tall stools to consume their drinks minus the awkward consideration of whether they wanted to dash off to their respective jobs or homes. It hadn’t been a date, but it hadn’t been work exactly, because when they’d concluded their coded, careful public chat about the body they’d just seen, they’d talked about themselves just enough for the other to know a few key things: they were both single, they were both workaholics, they were both people who found themselves living outside of social norms, and they liked each other.
‘Your turn,’ she said, offering him an axe, handle first.
‘Okay,’ he said, taking the axe and getting into position. ‘But if it’s another bull’s-eye, I get to ask you a question. Still want to play?’ The flirting felt clumsy, like wearing shoes several sizes too big, but he figured if he didn’t at least try it, he’d be headed directly to what the younger officers called the friend zone.
‘Deal,’ she said.
Lively’s aim was true. Beth folded her arms and gave him a challenging smile.
‘Make it count,’ she said.
‘Fine. I guess my question is, are we two people who’re involved in a case together and who’re now passing a bit of free time together or is this—’ The words croaked in his throat and he was reminded of all those painful school days when his voice was breaking. He tried again. ‘Or is this what you might call an actual date?’
‘Well, I guess it’s only a date if we both think it’s a date, although I’m out of practice so I could be wrong. I think the last time I went on a date was, um, maybe twenty-eight years ago with the man I ended up marrying. He left me after a decade, moved abroad and I almost never hear from him. My turn,but you have to answer my question if I get this within twenty centimetres of the board.’
Lively was grinning before she picked up an axe to throw. She managed to wedge it in the lower edge, and it stuck there for a few seconds before tumbling to the floor.
‘It still counts,’ she said. ‘So what about you? When was your last date?’
‘Depends what you think of as dating. I was married too, a very long time ago. I wasn’t the best husband and I don’t blame her for leaving me. Young police officers have a way of getting caught up in the job, the squad, and in the immediacy of it all. I didn’t make enough time for the home stuff. Nobody tells you that’s all that matters at the end of the day when you’re busy living for the moment.’ He shrugged. ‘After that I had … I guess you’d call it a fling … on and off for a while with someone at work. No dating. She and her husband had an understanding. I was convenient for her and she was an excuse for me not to have to meet anyone in the real world. I didn’t expect to be doing this again.’ Beth offered him another axe that he took from her but laid back down on the weapons table. ‘I’m glad I am, though.’
‘I am too.’ She smiled at him and bit her lower lip.
Lively’s breath caught in his throat and he found himself unable to say a word.
A man brushed Beth’s back from behind and she pulled away, shoulders up.
‘Sorry love!’ the man called.
Lively stepped forward and reached for her. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just, er, not used to so much noise and so many people. Ignore me.’
‘Of course,’ Lively said. ‘How about we get out of here? We’ll call it a draw.’
‘That’d be good.’ She grabbed her coat and bag.
Lively offered her a hand to lead her through the crowd that stood between them and the door, and when Beth Waterfall took it, he could have sworn that hers was shaking.
Chapter 13
Three Years Earlier
Molly Waterfall, Mol to her friends – and that accounted for almost everyone she met because life was fun and people were generally lovely – had started an online account selling her oil paintings. It had taken her a long time to overcome impostor syndrome but when she finally figured out that if no one wanted her art then no one had to buy it, nothing could stop her. She found an app, designed her sales page, settled on a price point that made her feel valued while remaining affordable, and went live.
