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D.b. Hayes, Detective
Dani Sinclair
RISKY BUSINESSSo what if my two biggest clients were a known mobster and a ten-year-old kid looking for his cat–business was business. Until Brandon Kirkpatrick walked into my life and made business murder.The sexy detective was officially my competition, but when our cases crossed paths both our lives were suddenly dangerously in the red. Murder and mayhem were multiplying faster than the stray cats in my apartment. Working together was going to drive me to distraction, but it was the only way to figure out which one of our clients was telling the truth…and how far the other client would go to cover it up.



“I’m a private investigator, pal. People pay me for information.”
He reached in his hip pocket and produced a leather wallet. Taking some bills from inside, he laid them on the desk and stared at me with a questioning lift of his brows.
“You don’t have enough money. Get out of here.”
He reached into his wallet once more. This time he handed me a small white business card.
“You’re Brandon Kirkpatrick?”
“You weren’t what I expected, either,” he admitted. “I assumed D.B. Hayes was a man. What does the D.B. stand for anyhow?”
“Dangerous when bothered.” I was still angry.
He grinned. The man was gorgeous even when he was angry, but when he smiled he was downright lethal.
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
It might be warm outside, but our June lineup will thrill and chill you!
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* Last, but definitely not least, is Jessica Andersen’s The Sheriff’s Daughter. Sparks fly between a medical investigator and a vet in this exciting medical thriller.
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This month, and every month, we promise to deliver six of the best romantic suspense titles around. Don’t miss a single one!
Sincerely,
Denise O’Sullivan
Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue

D.B. Hayes, Detective
Dani Sinclair


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For all the caring volunteers who work with strays
and abandoned and abused animals every day.
You understand that the world is a richer place
when we open our hearts and our lives to
these intelligent beings covered in fur.
And to Roger, Chip, Dan and Barb, as always.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An avid reader, Dani Sinclair didn’t discover romance novels until her mother lent her one when she’d come for a visit. Dani’s been hooked on the genre ever since. But she didn’t take up writing seriously until her two sons were grown. With the premiere of Mystery Baby for Harlequin Intrigue in 1996, Dani’s kept her computer busy ever since. Her third novel, Better Watch Out, was a RITA
Award finalist in 1998. Dani lives outside Washington, D.C., a place she’s found to be a great source for both intrigue and humor!

CAST OF CHARACTERS
D.B. Hayes—At age twenty-four, Diana Barbara “Dee” Hayes has a lot to prove as a woman and as a private investigator. She hopes not to get killed in the process….
Brandon Kirkpatrick—The former-cop-turned-investigator has a knack for getting into Dee’s business…and under her skin.
Hogan Delvecchi—He looks like a boulder and is known to do all Albert Russo’s dirty work. How dirty is he willing to get?
Lacy Dunning and Trudy Hoffsteader—Dee’s aunt and her business partner have owned and operated Flower World ever since Dee can remember. Luckily they’re willing to share their space with Dee’s detective agency.
Brenda Keene—Dee’s father’s next-door neighbor insists that Dee find her mysterious stalker.
Mickey—The desperate ten-year-old comes in to hire D.B. Hayes—to find Mr. Sam, a geriatric cat….
Mr. Sam—The cat eludes D. B., but his look-alikes are taking over her apartment!
Albert Russo—The business entrepreneur and possible mobster is willing to give Dee her first big case, but does he have ulterior motives?
Elaine Russo—Is she simply tired of being a trophy wife, or is she playing a far more deadly game?
Nicole Wickley—The actress bears a striking resemblance to Elaine Russo—so striking there’s some question as to whether they’re really the same person.

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One
Okay, so maybe my father was right. Being a private investigator can be a little dangerous.
I stared up at the mountain of flesh in front of me—six feet four, three hundred seventy pounds of masculine flab, and all of it quivering in a drunken rage. Another time I might have been fascinated by that rippling effect, but at the moment I was mesmerized by the enormous knife he was waving in one meaty hand. The only thing standing between the two of us was a rusting old porch swing, and that was one wicked-looking knife.
Lyle Arrensky was his name, and he wasn’t dressed unless you count a pair of grungy boxer shorts with—so help me God—blue and green rabbits against an angry orange background. I did not want to count those shorts. Heck, I didn’t even want to think about those shorts.
“I tole that bitch once,” he slurred, his glazed piggy eyes unblinking, “I tole that bitch twice. She ain’t gonna get that bowl back unless she comes here and asks me nice. You got that?”
Oh, yeah. I got that. I couldn’t miss that. The words came accompanied by beer fumes mixed with the sour odor of unwashed flesh. And to reinforce the smell, Lake Erie sent a tepid puff of wind blowing in my direction.
It wasn’t a real breeze but enough to stir the stench of traffic fumes, stale food and a whole host of other smells best not specifically identified. I began breathing through my mouth while urging the contents of my stomach to stay with me a little longer. This was not the time for a rebellion.
Keeping the porch swing between him and me, I edged closer to the steps and freedom.
“I promise. I’ll pass on your message, Mr. Arrensky.”
My tennis shoe found the top step, and I backed down as quickly as humanly possible without taking my eyes off the hand waving the knife. It was broad daylight. Where were all the nosy neighbors? People around here called the cops over dogs pooping on their browned-out lawns.
Not that I was anxious to deal with the police right now, but I did want out of here without bloodshed—especially mine. Susan Arrensky had hired me to obtain proof that her soon-to-be-ex-husband had physical possession of a hideously large silver-plated loving cup that had once belonged to her late grandmother. I’d managed to snap several photographs of said loving cup through the open living room window before Mr. Arrensky realized I was standing on his porch. If I hadn’t gotten greedy and tried for that final photo, he’d have never noticed my hand sticking in through his window.
Someone else had put that large hole in his screen, not me. Given the way it was ripped and the knife he was holding, I’d hazard a guess that Mr. Arrensky himself had something to do with the torn screen. He seemed to like the idea of putting holes in things—or people.
“You do that,” he yelled, menacing me with the long, hairy arm clutching the knife. “You tell that worthless little bitch she can crawl back here on her hands and knees if she wants the damn thing. You tell her that.”
He swayed dangerously in my direction.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be sure and tell her that.”
I felt the cracked and broken sidewalk under my foot. Turning, I sprinted across the yellowed grass with more speed than I would have thought possible in this heat. The August sun was blistering more than just the city streets around Cleveland, Ohio, this afternoon.
Binky, my ancient VW Bug, started with a grinding noise I’m certain he wasn’t supposed to make. For once I wasn’t concerned about his health. My health was far more important. I left four feet of precious tire tread pealing away from the curb, but at least I made my escape without any new body piercings.
In the rearview mirror I saw Mr. Arrensky standing on the sidewalk scratching his considerably rounded belly while shouting curses in my wake. A scruffy-looking white poodle trotting down that same sidewalk prudently crossed the street to avoid him.
It was sort of sad to think that poodle was a whole lot smarter than I was.
The one good thing about returning to my office was that it was blessedly air-conditioned. Sadly Binky wasn’t, and I couldn’t afford a car that was. Sitting back carefully, I gazed around the converted closet and sighed with relief.
Okay, it wasn’t really a closet. The space had always been a tiny office, just not my office. It was actually the office that came with my aunt Lacy’s flower shop. I work for her and her partner when I’m not on a case. Unfortunately that’s a little too often for comfort.
Aunt Lacy and Trudy Hoffsteder have owned and operated Flower World for longer than I’ve been alive, which is to say more than twenty-four years. Their shop is in a building on the corner of Detroit Avenue, down the street from the hospital.
Not exactly the high-rent district, but as Aunt Lacy is fond of pointing out, it’s a perfect location for a flower shop. It’s not a bad location for me, either. The price is certainly right.
I tried living in New York City after I got out of college and earned my investigator’s license, but working for an established firm meant I spent most of my time in front of a computer screen running background checks and fetching coffee for the senior partners. Of course, I do a lot of that here, as well, but Trudy and my aunt are much nicer, and the background checks are for my clients.
Not that I’m exactly buried in cases in this quiet Cleveland suburb, but I grew up in this area. I know people here, and word of mouth is important for a private investigator starting out. Overall I’ve been doing fine—or I was until Brandon Kirkpatrick set up shop across the bridge in Rocky River a few weeks ago.
He’s a male, so naturally he’s getting all the really good cases. Already his name has made the local papers—twice! The first time was when he unfairly got credit for breaking up a stolen-car ring. The second time was when he located the mayor’s missing sculpture. That one really ticked me off.
The car ring had been a fluke. Kirkpatrick caught the guy trying to steal his car, and because the little twerp wanted to cut a deal with the district attorney, he talked his head off, cracking the ring wide open.
As for the missing sculpture, that turned out to be nothing more than a high school prank. I could have figured that one out in half the time. Aunt Lacy and Trudy have a communications network that would make Homeland Security envious, and I mean, who else in their right mind would take such an ugly piece of glass and metal?
What really stuck in my craw was that the mayor hired Kirkpatrick when she lives three doors down from my brother and his family!
Brandon Kirkpatrick isn’t even a native Ohioan. He grew up in Pittsburgh, for crying out loud! I know it’s petty, but I couldn’t help wishing he’d stayed there. Why did he have to come and set up shop on my turf?
I finished downloading the pictures of Mr. Arrensky in his oversize recliner watching a wrestling match while tossing peanuts at the loving cup, and sent them to print. Susan Arrensky would be happy, and I was comforted knowing she was good for my fee. After all, her dad is a vice president with the local bank where my family has done business for years.
“Excuse me, Dee,” Aunt Lacy interrupted from the doorway. “Would you have time to finish the Martak arrangement for me? I have a dentist appointment in thirty minutes, and Trudy went home to check on Clem.”
Clem is the parrot Trudy inherited from her mother. I suspect her mother inherited it from her grandmother, who probably got it from her mother. No one seems willing to guess exactly how old that bird is, but from some of the phrases he knows, I suspect he once traveled with pirates. He’s mean and he knows more swearwords than a drunken sailor.
“No problem, Aunt Lacy. I can finish the arrangement right now.” Leaning forward carefully, I stood up. There were times when the swivel chair seemed to have a mind of its own. “I’m finished working until tonight.”
“Oh. You took Mr. Russo’s case then?”
Aunt Lacy could convey a lot of emotion in a few short words. She was in accord with the rest of my family when it came to my career choice.
“Really, Dee, I don’t see why a beautiful young woman like you wants to spend your nights outside some sleazy motel room taking pictures.”
“I’m not fond of divorce work either, Aunt Lacy, but it pays the bills.”
Tonight wouldn’t be the first time I’d been asked to follow someone around and take pictures of the people they met. However it was the first time I was working for a client who made me nervous.
Albert Russo is considered by many to be a successful business entrepreneur. He’s well connected down at city hall, but according to one of Trudy’s sources, if Russo doesn’t work for organized crime, he has all the right connections. Tall, thin, balding, he looks more like an accountant than someone who owns a string of nightclubs and pricey restaurants and he has the coldest, most disturbing blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
I tried to shrug nonchalantly at the worry underscoring my aunt’s tone. “I can’t afford to turn down a paying client.”
A frown creased her forehead. Aunt Lacy has delicate features and gorgeous peaches-and-cream skin. Her short hair is a pretty shade of brown a bit darker than my own. Our features look quite a bit alike overall, which gives me hope that I’ll age as gracefully as her. At fifty-five, Aunt Lacy can easily pass for forty.
“I don’t know what your mother would think of you skulking about in bushes and associating with known criminals,” she said with a genteel scowl.
“First of all, I do not skulk in bushes.” At least, not very often. “And second, no one has ever proved Mr. Russo is a criminal.”
Pink tinted her cheeks a becoming shade.
“Perhaps, but my sister is probably rolling in her grave at the very idea of you being in the same room with some of these people you call clients.”
Fortunately Aunt Lacy was in too big a hurry to pursue the topic any further. She patted her pockets, located her keys and settled for shaking her head.
“All right, Dee. You’re a grown woman and you have to follow your own path. Trudy will be back in about fifteen minutes. I have to run.”
And of course she meant that literally. Aunt Lacy is big on running. She enters races. She practically lives in jogging outfits. What she lacks in speed she makes up for in determination and endurance. I waved her off and headed for the workroom, where a partially assembled arrangement sat waiting on the counter.
The shop is always slow at this time of day, so I changed the radio station until I found one that suited me better and started singing along. I was doing a little dance around the table in time to a classic rock song when a young voice penetrated both the radio and my off-key singing.
“Hey! Lady, do you work here?”
I stopped moving and looked up from the fern I was tucking into place. Only I had to look down to find the originator of the question. A kid of about seven or eight stood there. He was a skinny little boy in a bright red T-shirt, navy shorts and dirty tennis shoes. His sandy brown hair needed combing and there were beads of sweat on his shiny red face. He had the most gorgeous chocolate-brown eyes I’ve ever seen. I would have killed for the thick black lashes that framed them. This kid was going to be a real heartbreaker in a few years.
At the moment those expressive eyes were regarding me with an extremely adult expression.
“Sorry,” I apologized, snapping off the music. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I’m not surprised.”
That made me blink. “You’re kind of young for sarcasm, aren’t you?”
“I’m ten.”
I’d guessed younger, but then I haven’t had a lot of dealings with kids other than my infant niece since I’d stopped babysitting and started dating around age fifteen. The boy was watching me closely, so I tried for a sage nod.
“Ten’s a good age. Can I help you with something?”
His expression said he doubted it, but his head bobbed.
“I’m looking for D.B. Hayes.”
Not what I’d expected. My mouth fell open, so I filled it with a question. “Why?”
“I want to hire him,” the kid explained as if I were a moron. “There’s a little sign out front that says he works here. The phone book listed this address, but this place is filled with flowers. Did he move?”
Now, the sign out front next to the door is on the small side, but do you know how much a sign costs? Besides, this is my aunt’s shop and that means she gets the big billing. But geesh. Who needs to be patronized by a ten-year-old?
“D.B. Hayes is a private investigator,” I explained to him.
“I know. That’s why I want to hire him.”
“You want to hire a private investigator?” I couldn’t keep the skepticism out of my voice.
He shuffled his feet and looked down at his scuffed tennis shoes. His body was so tense, it made my muscles ache to look at him.
“I have to find Mr. Sam,” the boy said. “See, he’s old and I was supposed to keep an eye on him so he didn’t get out and wander away, like he does sometimes, but I was playing a game and I forgot to check the screen door after my mom left.”
He got it all out in one long breath, and I wondered what sort of people would make a little kid like this responsible for some old man with Alzheimer’s. The boy was far too young for that sort of responsibility.
“If he gets hit by a car or attacked by dogs, it’ll be all my fault.”
I put down the fern and tried frantically to think of something comforting to offer. “I don’t think you have to worry about him getting attacked by dogs.”
He looked up at me, then gave a nod as if that wasn’t a perfectly stupid thing to say.
“I guess so. He chases old man Roble’s Doberman all the time. But if I don’t find Mr. Sam before my mom gets home, she’s going to be awful upset.”
“I’ll tell you what, why don’t we call the police and…”
“No!” Panic filled his expression. “I want to hire D.B. Hayes! I can pay him.”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of grungy dollar bills.
“I’ve got forty-two dollars saved to buy the Glimmer Man game. It’s coming out next month, but this is more important. Do you think it’s enough to find Mr. Sam?”
The kid was so pathetically earnest, I wanted to hug him and promise everything would be all right. “Look, I’ll tell you what we…”
“I mean, he’s just a cat. Anything could happen to him.”
My mouth dropped open again. “A cat?”
The kid nodded solemnly. “D.B. Hayes has to help me find him. My uncle says that’s one of the things detectives do. They find things for people.”
Faced with that adorable, earnest expression, I swallowed several inappropriate responses while he waited in silence for me to say something.
“Let me get this straight,” I stalled. “You want to hire me to find your cat?”
“Not you,” he scoffed. “D.B. Hayes. And it isn’t my cat, he’s my uncle’s cat. I was just watching him.”
Why me?
“Look, I hate to tell you this kid, but I’m D.B. Hayes.”
“No, you aren’t. You work in the flower shop.”
The tone and his assumption stung my pride. I tugged my identification folder from my hip pocket and flipped it open, holding it out for his inspection.
“See,” I told him. “D.B. Hayes. Diana Barbara Hayes.”
The little squirt actually took the folder and examined it, comparing me to my picture. While it wasn’t a particularly flattering picture and my hair was shorter back then, my features were clear enough to satisfy him.
“You don’t look like a private investigator.”
“I get that a lot.” Unfortunately it was true. “That’s what makes me good at my job,” I added, giving him my stock response. “Look, kid…what’s your name anyhow?”
“Mickey.”
“Okay, Mickey,” I said, replacing the folder. “I’d really like to help you out, but I don’t know anything about cats. Your best bet…”
But the kid had come prepared for a brush-off. He whipped out a bent photograph of himself holding an indistinguishable blob of gray fur. He thrust it in my hand before I could finish my suggestion.
“Here’s his picture,” Mickey said in a rush. “His name is Mr. Sam and he’s seventeen. That’s old for a cat. The screen door doesn’t latch so good, so he musta got out between nine and ten this morning. I searched the whole neighborhood, but I can’t find him. We live right near the park, so I bet he went there to chase birds or something, but I can’t search the whole park by myself. And I have to get home before my mom finds out I’m not at the pool with Ray and his mom. See, my mom’s kinda nervous on account of my dad getting killed. Mom’s been under a lot of stress.”
That put the brakes on my objections and captured my full and complete attention. “Your dad was killed?”
He nodded gravely. “That’s why you have to find Mr. Sam. I don’t want my mom to cry anymore. She’ll be real upset when she finds out he’s gone. I was supposed to watch him.”
I had so many questions jamming my brain, I couldn’t decide what to ask first. Unfortunately the kid moved a lot faster than my thought processes. He plopped the wad of crumpled bills on the work counter and sprinted for the front of the shop before I could blink.
“Hey! Wait!”
“You can keep the picture,” Mickey tossed over his shoulder.
“Wait! Mickey! Wait! What’s your last name?”
I chased him out the front door, but he was already astride a fancy red bike.
“Where do you live? I need more information!”
“I gotta go!” he shouted. “I’m late! Keep Mr. Sam when you find him. I’ll come back tomorrow to get him.”
The bike turned the corner and sped off down the sidewalk.
I started to run after him before I remembered that I was alone in the store. I couldn’t leave until Trudy returned.
Blast! How humiliating to be caught flat by a ten-year-old kid. Since standing there wasn’t going to do much good and the afternoon heat was sucking my lungs dry, I returned to the chill air inside the store. I stared at the grungy heap of crumpled dollar bills sitting on the counter in the back room. Now what was I supposed to do?
I’m a dog person. I don’t even like cats.

Chapter Two
Finding a gray cat is not like looking for a needle in a haystack. It is the haystack. The world is full of gray cats—at least, Lakewood Park was on this particular day.
There were dozens of small parks in and around town, not to mention the valley, a system of parks that twisted around a good portion of Cuyahoga County. But using my deductive abilities, I took the direction the kid had headed and his comment about the pool and chose Lakewood over Madison Park, since they were the only two that had pools nearby.
Searching for a cat is a job for Animal Control, not a private investigator, but the kid had hooked me with those sad eyes. And I admit the whole bit about his father being killed had dangled a carrot I couldn’t resist. It could have been a traffic accident. Heck, it probably had been a traffic accident. But I wanted more information.
Besides, the kid had given up a Glimmer Man game—whatever that was—to hire a detective to find his uncle’s old cat so his mom wouldn’t cry anymore. Heck. I didn’t have any choice. Not when he’d paid up front.
I had no intention of keeping his money, of course. I’d locked it away in my aunt’s desk drawer and I’d give it back to him as soon as he picked up his cat. And hopefully one of the two beasts I’d managed to catch would turn out to be Mr. Sam.
Not being totally stupid, I’d stopped by a pet store on my way to the park to pick up a few things I figured I was going to need to trap and hold Mr. Sam. Silly me. I should have added bandages, iodine, even tourniquets, to my list of necessities. Blood still trickled down my hand, squishing between my fingers and smearing the steering wheel with sticky residue. I should have remembered that cats come with claws. Nevertheless I had two mostly gray cats that sort of matched the picture Mickey had given me. One of them had better be Mr. Sam.
As far as I’m concerned, one gray cat looks pretty much like another. Even though the first one was a darker gray and had white under his chin and the second one had a patch of white on his belly, either one could be the cat in the picture as far as I could tell. The two nasty-tempered little monsters were in my car yowling at the top of their considerable lungs. They’d been friendly enough when I was petting them and offering them treats, but once I’d put them inside, all hell broke loose.
Sam One was inside the box a stock boy had given me. Since I hadn’t planned on finding more than one cat, I didn’t have a second box, but Sam Two had come willingly into my arms until I’d tried to add him to the same box. Hence all the blood. Sam Two was now crouched on the floorboard in the narrow backseat after tearing strips of skin off my hand.
Driving with a cat loose in the car made me nervous, but I wasn’t about to try picking the beast up a second time. And short of putting him in the trunk, there was no other option. To make matters worse, I’d spotted a third gray cat right before leaving the park. By then my need to help the kid was waning big-time. It was growing late and my stomach was grumbling over the small salad I’d had for lunch, and where would I have put a third cat anyhow? As it was, I was going to have to smuggle the two beasts into my apartment without being seen and I doubted they were going to cooperate.
I debated blowing my diet by stopping for a fast-food hamburger on my way home, but given my luck, Sam Two would prefer fast food to the kitty tuna I’d bought. He’d probably have it eaten before I got it out of the car. He’d certainly eaten the treats I’d offered him as if he’d been starving—which, from the paunch on that cat, was a big, fat lie.
I figured my best bet was to go straight home and change into something more appropriate for tailing someone who lives in the Shaker Heights area. I could get fast food on my way to the assignment. Besides, I needed to call Aunt Lacy and remind her I wanted to borrow her car tonight. I could hardly drive around on the east side of town in an antique VW Beetle painted mostly in primer-gray.
My cell phone rang as I pulled onto Lake Avenue coming out of the park. I dripped a splotch of blood on the seat cover while reaching over to answer the summons. I wouldn’t have bothered except that my cell phone is listed on my business cards and I can’t afford to ignore a possible client.
“D.B. Hayes,” I snapped out, hoping for a red light so I could use a tissue to mop the blood before it stained. Between the rivulets of sweat dripping down my body, the throbbing gouges on my hand and the noise emanating from both cats, I was not in the best of moods.
There was a pause on the other end that made me regret my tone. Then a familiar voice—one that sounded as if the speaker had swallowed gravel shards—spoke in my ear.
“Ms. Hayes, this is Albert Russo.”
I cringed. Clenching the cell phone against my ear, I prayed he wasn’t calling to cancel tonight’s job. The rent was due next week and I’d counted on that money.
“Mr. Russo!” I exclaimed, trying to infuse my voice with enthusiasm. “What can I do for you?”
This time the pause was enough to send my heart in my throat.
“Have I called at a bad time, Ms. Hayes?”
“Of course not.”
Sam Two contradicted me with a plaintive yowl. The sound filled the interior of the car. I grimaced.
“Sorry about the noise, Mr. Russo. I’m transporting a pair of unhappy cats, uh…for a friend.”
What else could I say?
He sniffed. “Nasty creatures, cats.”
I wasn’t about to argue the point. At the moment they didn’t rank high in my esteem either. I only hoped they had all their shots. And why hadn’t I thought of that before I’d gone and picked them up with my bare hands?
“Ms. Hayes, I’m wondering if you could see your way clear to start the assignment a bit earlier this evening than we agreed?” he went on. “It seems my wife made dinner plans with some acquaintances and just communicated this information to me. I’m sorry for the short notice, but she intends to leave the house a little past six. You will need to be in position before then.”
I glanced at the dashboard clock. It was a few minutes past five already. Rush hour. And his address was clear across town in an area I wasn’t familiar with. There was no way I could go home and change clothes and still make it to Shaker Heights before six. I glanced down at my shorts and stained blouse and bit my bottom lip.
“Is your wife going somewhere fancy for dinner?” I asked. If so, I was doomed.
“I believe she mentioned Bergan’s in Legacy Village. Is that a problem, Ms. Hayes?”
His cold tone indicated it had better not be a problem.
“Of course not,” I lied. “I’m on my way.”
“Excellent. I’ll send someone by your office tomorrow morning for a copy of the pictures and your report.”
“Ah, that’ll be fine, Mr. Russo, but, well, there isn’t anyone at the shop before nine. If you like, I can bring everything by your office earlier than that.”
“Nine o’clock will suffice, Ms. Hayes. My associate will call on you then.”
“Okay, if that’s your preference.”
“It is. Good evening, Ms. Hayes.”
“Too late for that,” I muttered at the sound of the click on his end.
Actually I could have gotten to the shop earlier than nine, but I’m not a morning person. Besides, I didn’t want to risk any flower shop customers coming in when I was there alone with a client. Or in this case, a client’s representative.
The cat in the box on the seat beside me was scrabbling furiously at the cardboard and swearing at me in cat. The one in the back had settled for piteous mews of unhappiness. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
“Look, guys, let’s just make the best of this, all right? Whichever one of you is Mr. Sam is going back home tomorrow. The other one gets to go to the animal shelter to find a nice new home, so let’s be quiet and let me drive, okay?”
Not a chance. Time stretched unbearably between the cats and rush-hour traffic. All in all I made decent time to Shaker Heights, but then I got lost on the side streets trying to find the address.
I was sweating profusely by the time I stumbled on it through sheer dumb luck. The sweat was only partly due to frustration. Mostly it was a result of the lack of cool air in the small car. I didn’t dare open the windows, even the wings, more than a crack, for fear Sam Two might prove suicidal.
The east side of Cleveland is different from my part of town. Binky wouldn’t raise eyebrows on the west side, but here he stood out like hot pink at a funeral. Somehow I was pretty sure no one in this neighborhood was apt to mistake him for one of the trendy reissued Bugs that had come out a couple of years ago. Binky made no pretenses about what he was. His numerous rust spots had been sanded, filled in and painted with primer, but I’d broken things off with Ted Osher again before the mechanic got around to putting any paint on Binky for me. Bad timing on my part.
I’ve known Ted since high school. We graduated together. He’s a nice enough guy when he isn’t being a jerk, but our relationship is not exactly the romance of the century. More like a comfortable habit when we’re both at loose ends. Ted’s happiest when he’s covered in grease, with auto guts spread all around him. Whatever our relationship at any given moment, I have to give him credit for keeping the important parts of Binky running all these years past their prime.
As I drove past the address I’d been given, I wondered what it would be like to live in a place this fancy. Somehow I didn’t think I’d be comfortable behind an ornate fence in a neighborhood where even the houses managed to look snobbish.
Since there was nowhere I could park and look inconspicuous, I pulled to the side of the road a few houses down and spread out the map I’d been trying to read when I’d gotten lost. I had the perfect cover story ready in case someone came along demanding to know what I was doing here. I’d tell the curious that I was trying to deliver a pair of lost cats to their owner. I’ve found it always pays to use what you have to hand.
Besides, I wasn’t the only car parked along the street, even if the other vehicle was a burgundy Honda that looked far more presentable in this neighborhood than Binky. Tough cookies, as Trudy liked to say. I was here and I was staying here until my quarry appeared. I had her picture, her license plate number and a description of her car. All I had to do was wait and pray Elaine Russo hadn’t left before I’d found her house.
My hand had stopped bleeding, so I used tissues and spit to clean up as best I could. I was running out of saliva when I realized the car had grown ominously silent. No sound came from inside the box. Worse, there was nothing from the backseat.
My shoulders tensed. My neck prickled. Was Sam Two preparing to spring over the seat and attack me? Or worse, had he died of asphyxiation back there? The last thing I needed was a pair of dead cats. I hadn’t thought to poke any air holes in the box since I hadn’t expected him to be in there for any length of time. But cats like heat, right? They were always pictured curled up in front of a roaring fire.
I lowered the windows as far as I dared and opened the wings to the extent where I was pretty sure the cat’s head wouldn’t fit through. Then I debated lifting a flap to check on Sam One. Except things would be worse if he got loose in the car with the other one. I was twisting to peer over the backseat to check on Sam Two when movement over near the burgundy Honda caught my attention.
A man appeared between some tall hedges. Not just any man. This was a delicious hunk of serious eye candy. He strode toward the car with the assurance of someone who knew where he was going. A sporty white shirt, open at the neck, over neatly tailored black dress slacks gave him a suave, debonair look that captured my full attention—and my imagination.
Yum. He was gorgeous. Even his dark hair, curled slightly against the nape of his neck and in need of a trim, didn’t diminish his appeal. He carried his tall, lean frame with comfortable authority. His features carried a trace of ruggedness that kept him from being too pretty, but it was a face no sane woman would mind waking up beside. The man exuded raw sex appeal.
I sighed wistfully and decided I needed to get out more. My love life was nonexistent. Since moving back to Ohio, the only guys I’d dated on a regular basis had been Ted Osher and Billy Nugent. Billy was my aunt’s accountant. A freckle-faced strawberry-blond, he was another nice guy, but he saved his passion for neat little rows of numbers and football. Put him in a crowded stadium with a group of men wearing shoulder pads and the transformation was downright scary. The meek accountant turned into a raging maniac.
Now, I like football as well as the next armchair quarterback, but it’s a game! Billy took every bad play as a personal affront. He’d actually thrown a ledger through his mother’s television set one time when the Browns missed a field goal. With the season about to begin again, I knew it was time to start looking around for someone else to date.
Ted and Billy are okay to look at, steadily employed, good to their mothers and…well, frankly, boring. The man sliding into the Honda did not look the least bit boring. I couldn’t speak to the rest, but it was too bad I hadn’t been hired to tail him.
I looked back toward the driveway just in time to see a gleaming white Jaguar glide through the open gate of the Russo’s driveway. Elaine Russo was leaving.
Her car turned right onto the street. The opposite direction I was facing, naturally. The handsome stranger’s car fell in several car lengths behind her while I had to shoo Sam Two back over the backseat and start Binky.
Putting him into gear, I made a tight U-turn on the narrow street as the burgundy car disappeared around the corner at the end of the street. Both animals protested loudly as I hurried to close the distance. Sam One went back to desperately clawing the insides of the box while Sam Two tried to drown him out with sheer volume right behind my seat.
I turned on the radio in self-defense and hung back as far as I dared as soon as I spotted the white Jaguar some distance up ahead. There was no way I was inconspicuous if she was watching for a tail. I blessed the burgundy Honda’s presence in between us until it turned off onto a side street and left me the only car on the road behind her.
Apparently Elaine wasn’t paying attention to her rearview mirror. While she might not be concerned if she did notice me back here, that would change if she continued to see my car everywhere she went. If only there’d been time to borrow my aunt’s light gray Buick.
Fortunately Elaine didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Everyone had heard of Legacy Village, but I’m a west-side girl. The east side of Cleveland isn’t my territory, so I wasn’t sure how to get there from here. My map was so old, it didn’t even show the development. That meant I had to stay close enough to the Jag that Elaine didn’t lose me.
I was concentrating on maintaining the proper distance when it suddenly occurred to me to wonder why Albert Russo had selected me to tail his wife. I mean, there had to be other female private investigators he could have hired. Ones that lived on his side of town. They would have been more familiar with the area and no doubt would have blended in far better than I was doing.
When Russo had called and asked for a meeting, I’d simply been grateful for the work. Now I started wondering. They say you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but, as Trudy liked to point out, how else are you going to determine how sharp the teeth are?
Both cats continued making a ruckus as I pulled into the shopping center two cars behind the Jag. The village concept for housing tracts is all the rage right now, even though I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that Walt Disney pioneered the concept long before I was born. The problem is, with land being at such a premium, the builders make their money on retail spaces, not parking spaces, so they don’t bother planning for adequate parking.
The Jaguar had no problem, of course. Cars couldn’t get out of its way fast enough. Those same cars sneered at Binky. I lost two parking places to vehicles that cost more than the contents of my entire apartment before I got lucky. A Lexus started pulling out four cars down from me. I had to beat out a jerk with a dark-tinted SUV to claim the spot, but Binky’s tight turn radius outmaneuvered him, and I zipped in with ease. Not only that, but it was one of the few spots completely in the shade. I thanked the fates as I climbed out of the car, taking care that I was the only one who got out.
Fortunately my camera was in the trunk. The last thing I wanted to do was dispute territory with the angry animal on the backseat. The box on the front seat gave me pause. I was pretty sure Sam One couldn’t eat his way through the heavy cardboard, but it sounded as if he was giving it a valiant try.
There was no time to worry about that now. I grabbed my camera and set off after Elaine Russo before I lost her in the crowd. A tall, leggy blonde with short swingy hair and an aristocratic bearing, she strolled along as if she owned the place, looking neither left nor right.
If her husband had thought this dinner was a cover for an assignation with a lover, he was going to be sadly disappointed. I was in a good position to watch her meet with three women close to her age—twenty-eight, according to what her husband had told me. Elaine was obviously a trophy wife. Albert was close to seventy if he was a day.
I snapped several good shots of the women while I pretended to photograph the area. Elaine had her back to me the whole time. I willed her to turn around to no avail. I figured it didn’t matter since Russo knew what she looked like. It was the people she met with he wanted pictures of.
The restaurant was surprisingly crowded for a Monday evening. People stood inside and outside talking in clusters. The four women were standing outside. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be able to get inside with them, but I decided it didn’t matter as long as I didn’t miss Elaine when she left. Besides, I felt self-conscious dressed the way I was. There were plenty of other people wearing shorts and T-shirts, but theirs hadn’t come from a discount store, nor were they stained with blood and smudged with dirt and cat hairs.
At least the crowds offered plenty of cover for me. I stood wilting in the sun, trying to appear as though I belonged there and was waiting to meet someone. And as I was looking around for a place with a view to wait while they ate dinner, I glimpsed a dark-haired man moving away from me. Something about him reminded me of the sexy stranger with the Honda. To my profound disappointment, he stepped inside a store before I could get an unobstructed view of him.
I shouldn’t really be wasting time ogling sexy strangers anyhow. My job was to keep my eye on Elaine, and it was a good thing I did. We’d only been standing there a matter of minutes when she did the unexpected. She left.
With a wave and a smile she sauntered back to the parking lot, nearly catching me flat. Maybe Albert Russo hadn’t misread his wife after all. It appeared that this dinner with friends was nothing more than a setup for her real assignation.
I felt a hum of excitement. I had no idea where she was going next, but this was bound to be the reason Russo had hired me. If she lost me now, my client would be most unhappy.
The idea of a man with possible mobster ties being unhappy with me started a thread of tension mingling with my excitement. Tension quickly turned to panic when I nearly lost her coming out of the parking area. There was some sort of fender bender two rows over that caused enough confusion that she made the traffic light and I didn’t.
I spent several minutes sweating buckets and muttering incoherently before I was able to charge down the road in the direction she had taken. I didn’t slow down until I came up on the white Jag driving at a leisurely pace a short distance in front of me. Breathing a considerable sigh of relief, I noted Elaine was talking to someone on her cell phone as she drove. The boyfriend to tell him she was on her way?
Elaine was a careful driver. That came as something of a shock because the perky blonde didn’t strike me as the slow and methodical type. Still, I was deeply grateful as she all but led me by the hand, using her turn signals well ahead of time as we headed into downtown Cleveland near the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I was on more familiar territory now, but my relief was short lived. I was seriously underdressed for her next stop.
Scarpanelli’s is a new Italian restaurant with a commanding view overlooking Lake Erie near the Burke Lakefront Airport. I wasn’t sure, but I thought it might be one of the places my client, Albert Russo, owns. I’d heard the food was superb if you didn’t mind dropping close to a hundred dollars on a meal. I minded. I didn’t even date guys with that sort of money.
Assuming I could get the hostess to let me inside dressed in shorts, I still had a problem. I couldn’t afford an appetizer, let alone a meal in there. The restaurant was busy but not yet crowded. That would come later. Right now it was mostly wealthy families and the blue-rinse walker-and-cane crowd. Elaine would stand out in that mix. Too bad I wouldn’t be able to see who she was standing out to meet. This was not good. In fact, this was very bad.
I debated calling Russo on the number he’d given me to explain the problem, but I couldn’t see him being particularly sympathetic. He was attending some important business dinner tonight and he’d hired me to do a job. He wouldn’t want excuses as to why I couldn’t do said job.
From now on, I vowed, I’d keep a couple of outfits in the trunk for emergencies like this one. In the meantime I was stuck. I couldn’t follow her inside, so I’d have to see if I could find a place outside where I could peer in.
No such luck. The entire back wall was elevated and composed of tinted glass. Patrons could see out over the lake, but I couldn’t see in.
I was making my way around the building when I surprised a young man near the kitchen entrance. He was puffing a joint in a secluded nook near the trash bins. His body jerked, sharply startled when I appeared around the corner.
“Hey. What are you doing here? You aren’t allowed back here.”
At a guess, he was about seventeen. Based on his dark pants and white shirt I figured him for a busboy. I offered him a friendly smile.
“You aren’t allowed to smoke weed either, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping you. Look, I’m not interested in your drug habits, I’m a private investigator,” I told him before he could get bent out of shape.
“Yeah, right.”
Whipping out my ID folder, I offered him proof. He studied it almost as carefully as Mickey had.
“Hey, cool. You want a hit?”
“No, thanks, but I could use your help.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s a woman inside the restaurant. Tall blonde, short hair with bangs. She’s wearing a pale blue skirt and a matching silk blouse.” I pulled out the picture of Elaine Russo and gave him a look. “She went in alone a few minutes ago. I need to know who she’s meeting in there. There’s a twenty in it for you if you can help me out.”
Which would leave me exactly three dollars in cash until I found an ATM. But, hey, I’d get the money back under expenses.
The kid smirked. He looked me up and down curiously. I could see he was intrigued.
“How come you want to know about her?”
I shrugged, trying for blasé. “It’s my job. Her husband hired me to see if she’s meeting another man.”
“I thought P.I.’s were guys like they show on television.”
“Lots of them are,” I agreed, trying not to grit my teeth. “Haven’t you ever heard of Charlie’s Angels?”
His eyes lit. “Like the movies?”
“Less death-defying action but the same concept.”
“Yeah? That’s cool. You carry a gun?”
He seemed to be trying to decide where I was hiding one under my snug white shorts and thin pink T-shirt.
“Not at the moment. This is a simple tail job. No guns required. Think you can help me out?”
He finished his joint and nodded. I could see the questions bubbling up inside him, so I was surprised when he glanced at his watch and straightened.
“I’ll check for you, but you’d better wait around the corner over there. Benny’ll be dumping trash pretty soon and he won’t like you hanging here.”
“Thanks. That’s fine.”
“I’ll be back, but it might be a while.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Unless Elaine decided to leave here all of a sudden, too.
I tried not to feel conspicuous as I moved to stand near the corner of the restaurant where I could keep an eye on the parking lot. The day’s heat was finally melting away. There was even a welcome breeze coming in off the lake. Unfortunately I was too nervous to be properly appreciative. The luscious smells wafting from the kitchen were making me drool. I wondered if they fed strays at the kitchen door. I’d willingly sit up and beg for a taste of what I was sniffing. The longer I stood there, the louder my stomach complained. I fervently wished my busboy would return and tell me what was going on inside.
After what felt like I’d been standing there for hours, he scooted out the back door and rushed over to where I was waiting.
“I can’t stay,” he told me breathlessly. “Your woman’s in there, all right. Table thirty-two. She ordered the French onion soup with tonight’s special, the lobster fettuccine—”
“Did she meet anyone?” I interrupted before he could give me any more details. Visualizing food when my stomach was knocking against the back of my ribs was sheer torture. “Has anyone approached her table?”
“Nope. As far as I can tell, she’s completely alone. Kinda surprising. I mean, she’s not bad looking for an older woman, you know? She just ordered coffee and the white-chocolate-mousse cake, so she’ll probably be in there for another half hour or so. She doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.”
I fished out my twenty and watched it disappear into his hip pocket. “Thanks. I appreciate your help.”
“No problem. Want me to bring you something from the kitchen while you’re waiting?”
More than anything in the world. With extreme reluctance I shook my head, reminding myself I was supposed to be on a diet anyhow.
“Thanks, but I have to be ready to roll when she is. What’s your name, anyhow?”
“Rob. Rob Deluth.”
I stuck out my hand. “Dee Hayes,” I told him as we shook. “Thanks again for your help, Rob. If you ever need a P.I., look me up. I’m in the phone book. I don’t have any cards on me at the moment.” The new ones I’d printed were still sitting on my desk in the office back at the flower shop. I’d forgotten to stick them in my folder again.
“Cool. Thanks. I gotta get back before they miss me.”
As he ran back to the kitchen entrance, I hurried across the parking lot to the Jaguar. There were a lot of people moving about now, but no one gave me a second glance. I’m not sure why I went over to her car, really. I wasn’t looking for anything specific, but since I had time to kill, checking out her car seemed like the natural thing to do.
Elaine hadn’t struck me as a careless person. She certainly didn’t drive like one, yet she’d left her driver’s door unlocked. The temptation was irresistible. This was probably the only opportunity I’d ever have to sit in a Jaguar. Besides, there was a sheet of paper lying on the passenger’s seat. I needed to check it out. It could be a clue.
The plush leather seat cocooned me the moment I sank down. The opulent interior still retained a trace of coolness from the air conditioner. Reaching for the paper, I saw it was a set of hand-printed directions to a piano lounge downtown called Victor’s. I’d never heard of the place, but the directions were straightforward and it wasn’t far from here. Tuesday, 8:00 p.m., and a phone number had been printed across the top like an afterthought.
This was almost too easy. Fate seemed to be nurturing me for once. I blew it a mental kiss and made a note of the phone number. I wondered if the number went with the lounge or the person she was supposed to meet. Since it looked like a cell phone number, odds were it was the latter, but I wouldn’t know for sure unless I gave the number a try.
The car itself was so pristine, it could have just come from a car wash. Heck, it probably had. Binky hadn’t seen the inside of a car wash since…come to think of it, he may never have seen the inside of a car wash. I decided to make it up to him first chance I got while I continued to search the interior of the Jag. I didn’t expect to find a thing.
Certainly not the .38 revolver she had tucked up under the driver’s seat.
That gave me serious pause. Why was someone like Elaine Russo carrying concealed? I guess it made sense if her husband was a mobster. And I suppose it was possible she had a permit. Still, that heavy lump of metal made me very nervous. It implied a whole lot of things and none of them were good. People with guns have a bad habit of firing them.
I own a gun, but I’ve only ever used it on a firing range. It isn’t something I carry around, even though I have a permit. I replaced the weapon carefully back under the front seat. A strand of blond hair on the carpeting caught my attention.
Interesting. Either Elaine had extremely dry, coarse hair or she liked wigs. Wearing one in this heat didn’t seem likely unless she had some sort of a physical problem requiring one.
Tucking the hair in my pocket, I stepped from the car and crossed the lot to where I’d parked Binky. Sam Two sat on the driver’s seat scratching at the box on the passenger side. The minute he saw me, he leaped onto the box and over the seat into the back once more.
Binky was warmer inside than the Jag had been, but the temperature wasn’t too bad anymore. That breeze coming in off the lake through the windows had cooled things down considerably, and it probably helped that I was parked in the shade. Still, I was worried about the cats.
“Sorry, guys. I should have asked Rob for some water. I could use a drink myself, but we’ll have to wait until I get you home.”
Neither of them made a sound as I reached for my cell phone and punched in the number printed on the paper I’d found.
“Hello?” A decidedly delicious voice answered.
Deep, rich, sexy and male, the sound washed over me. Definitely not Victor’s Lounge unless this was Victor himself.
“Sorry,” I told the voice. “I must have the wrong number.”
“Who were you trying to reach?”
There was a sudden edge to the voice. It was still a great voice.
“Sharon Armstrong,” I told him. I pulled a friend’s name off the top of my head and read him back his number, transposing the last two digits. He corrected me immediately.
I could have listened to his voice forever, but my quarry chose that moment to leave the restaurant, so I apologized and hung up. I wondered if the man matched his voice. Then I wondered if I was about to find out. Was she on her way to meet the man behind that voice?
There was enough traffic on the street that I didn’t have to worry about being spotted now. When I felt certain Elaine’s destination was the address on the paper, I decided to take a chance. I turned off, took a shortcut that would bring me up on the street behind Victor’s and parked the car where I’d have no trouble getting out in a hurry. I walked around the block and stood across the street in the doorway of a closed shop. It afforded me a good view of the parking lot as well as the front door of the lounge while keeping me relatively concealed.
Elaine pulled in even as I slipped into position. She stepped from the Jag and flashed a look around as if she was expecting someone. After a few seconds, she frowned and headed for the entrance.
I decided to give her ten minutes to get settled before going inside myself. I was regretting my generosity with Rob. Since I only had three dollars left, I couldn’t go sit at the bar. The best I could do was have a quick peek inside to see who she met. I might be able to snap a picture unobserved, but it wasn’t likely. I’d have to try for the man’s picture when they came back outside.
And I was fairly sure it would be a he. A woman doesn’t go to a place like Victor’s alone unless she’s meeting someone or trolling. Either way I needed to capture the moment on my digital camera.
Since I couldn’t read my watch in the growing darkness, I had to guess at the time. I was about to make my move when there was a movement near the back of the lounge’s parking lot. Someone had stepped out of a car that was already parked back there. The car was a burgundy Honda. It must have been sitting there before Elaine arrived or I would have noticed it pulling in. Given that I don’t believe in coincidence, I knew who the driver would turn out to be even before he came into view.
My heart skipped a beat, then started thumping like a wild thing. I almost forgot to bring up the camera. I was right. The zoom lens wasn’t necessary to tell me that this was the same man who’d been parked on Elaine’s street earlier this evening.

Chapter Three
Didn’t it just figure? The first interesting man I’ve seen since moving back home turned out to be the lover of the woman I’d been hired to follow. I shrugged philosophically. If he was the sort who had affairs with married women, he wasn’t my type anyhow.
I let some time elapse before crossing the street. Instead of following him inside, I headed straight for the burgundy Honda. Unfortunately Elaine’s boyfriend wasn’t as accommodating as she’d been. He’d locked his car and its insides were anything but pristine. I couldn’t see much besides fast-food wrappers, empty paper cups, CD cases and a paperback whose title I couldn’t make out. Somehow that the handsome man was a bit of a slob made me feel a little better.
As I moved around the car I discovered the Honda had a broken taillight and a dent in back on the left-hand side. Since I’d followed that car when we’d left the Russos’ place, I knew that dent hadn’t been there earlier. Though I hadn’t noticed his car there, I was guessing he’d been part of the accident in the parking lot at Legacy Village that had nearly caused me to lose Elaine. That meant he’d been following her, too, which didn’t make a bit of sense. What was the point if they’d been scheduled to meet here anyhow?
I didn’t like this, not even a little. I was feeling very edgy as I noted the time and took down the plate number before heading for the main entrance. Victor’s was nothing more than an upscale bar that showcased a baby-grand piano. This being a Monday night, there was no one at the keyboard. A player piano along the far wall was belting out an old rock-and-roll tune.
There were only a handful of customers inside and most of them were sitting at the bar itself. I nodded to the bartender, ignored the other stares and strode toward the back as if I knew where I was going. Turned out I did. The restrooms were back there and so was my quarry. They were sitting in a booth conveniently close to the ladies’ room. The man glanced my way as I strode past, but I didn’t look in their direction. I didn’t think he would recognize me. How could he?
Setting my camera down on a shelf, I washed my cuts in the cracked but surprisingly clean sink. I wanted to give the couple time to forget about me. The scratches were red and angry looking, not to mention painful, but they didn’t look infected and I figured they were my own fault. The cats had only been fighting for their freedom. I couldn’t blame them. After all, I was a stranger and only one of them was Mr. Sam.
By cracking open the bathroom door, I had an unobstructed view of the couple’s table. I was glad now that I’d gone to the expense of an infrared lens for my camera. A flash would have been a noticeable problem. As it was, I snapped several pictures of them with their heads together before striding back past them. It was probably my imagination, but I felt his eyes on my back all the way to the door.
There was an ATM on the corner of the building next door. I figured I had time to use it if I hurried. As it turned out, I hadn’t even needed to hurry. They took their time inside. I got several good shots of them coming out, still looking extremely cozy. The hunk helped her inside his car while I sprinted back to Binky.
Sam Two was sitting on top of Sam One’s box. I think he’d been trying to let the other cat out. Fortunately he hadn’t succeeded. He jumped over the backseat the minute he saw me coming. I scrambled inside and started the engine.
“Okay, guys, I’m really, really sorry. Honest. We’re on our way to a motel unless I miss my guess. Once I get there, I’ll see what I can do to make things better for you. I’ll scrounge up some water and give you something to eat, okay?”
From the grumbling, it was less than satisfactory. Guilt gnawed on me as we made our way onto the highway. I like animals—sometimes more than people. I didn’t want anything to happen to these little guys, even if I wasn’t a cat person.
Since I was worried about the hunk spotting a tail, I hung back as far as I dared. Once seen, Binky was somewhat unforgettable. I really was going to have to get him painted one of these days, even if I had to buy a spray can and do it myself.
It wasn’t until the Honda headed for the Ohio Turnpike that I got worried. Were they running away together? Not that I blamed Elaine, mind you. Sexy young hunk versus balding old man with scary eyes wasn’t even a toss-up in my book. Heck, I’d be tempted to take off with the hunk, too, and I didn’t even have to go home to someone like Albert Russo. The problem was I couldn’t follow them forever. Binky wasn’t used to traveling any distance or at speeds over forty miles per hour. I had no idea what his top speed was, but I knew it wouldn’t be much before he blew something critical.
Not so the Honda. I got on the turnpike with extreme misgivings and had all I could do to keep the other car in sight. The hunk drove as if he didn’t have a second to spare.
Sweat was dribbling down my face and it had little to do with the temperature, which was cooling off even more as night claimed the sky. Getting on the turnpike for a simple tryst seemed a bit extreme.
Where the devil were they going?
If they were running away together, I was in deep trouble. After a while Binky’s oil light began flashing intermittently. Binky craves oil the way I crave diet soda, and I was pretty sure I didn’t have a can of either one in the trunk. If he broke down out here, I was in for it. Time to turn around.
Unfortunately I’d run out of exits by the time I firmly came to that decision. We’d come to the end of the Ohio Turnpike and I spotted the Honda near the head of the line to pay their toll.
I snapped a couple of quick pictures as I waited to one side of them, much farther back in my own line. As they went through, heading into Pennsylvania, I debated my options. The next exit was Beaver Falls. I had no choice. I’d have to turn around there and stop for oil so I could make it home. Even Albert Russo couldn’t expect me to follow them clear across Pennsylvania.
Could he?
Probably, I decided fatalistically, but that was too bad. He should have hired someone else. I had Binky and two cats to think about—not to mention forty-three dollars minus the toll left in my wallet.
To my surprise, the Honda turned off at Beaver Falls. I urged Binky to close the distance, hoping he wouldn’t blow a gasket or something even worse. My curiosity was going nuts, especially when they pulled into a jazzy-looking motel unit right off the highway. This was just too bizarre. They’d driven all the way into Pennsylvania for a quickie? What was wrong with the motels in Ohio? Admittedly this place looked brand new, but even so, traveling all this way for a little slap and tickle made no sense.
The hunk was inside getting registered when I pulled up with my camera and found a strategic place to park. I got some quality shots of the two of them in front of the motel, then going inside a room. Mr. Russo was going to be extremely pleased with the pictures, if not their content. He’d probably like a few more intimate shots, but I draw the line at voyeurism, even if I could have seen in around the heavy drape they pulled across the window.
It was a safe bet they’d be busy for the next half hour or so. I made a note of the time, left the car and the now silent cats and walked to the gas station on the corner for a can of oil for Binky, some water for the cats and a candy bar and a can of diet soda for me. I ate the candy on my way back and wished I’d bought more than one. I was starving.
Having dated a mechanic off and on, I’d learned more than I ever wanted to know about car engines. Replenishing the oil was child’s play. Except that sometime during my ministrations apparently my quarry split.
I couldn’t believe it. When I closed the hood and glanced over at their parking space, the Honda was gone and the room was dark. I looked at my watch and blinked. Good grief. He might look like a hunk, but he was definitely no stud.
Maybe they’d gone out for something to eat to recharge. Except that Elaine had just finished a full-course meal including dessert. As I hurried to the driver’s side and got in, I wondered if they’d had a fight and changed their minds. That’s when I realized I had a second problem. Sam One had escaped.
Oh, he was still in the car—unless he’d been able to squeeze himself through one of the side vent windows. And I sincerely doubted that, even if he was the thinner of the two cats. I peered over the seat and four green eyes peered back at me from the floor.
“You helped him get out, didn’t you?”
Neither of them so much as blinked.
“Okay, fine. If you want company that bad, you can have it. As long as you both stay back there and out from under my feet, we’ll get along fine. I’ve got some water for you, but I guess it had better wait until we stop again. We’re going home, so hang on.”
Binky started with a grinding noise I knew he shouldn’t be making. But he did start and that was what counted. So, unfortunately, did the cries from the backseat.
“Knock it off, you’re giving me a headache.”
Obviously they didn’t care.
Since there was no sign of the Honda in either direction, I decided there was little point in driving around aimlessly looking for it. I should have enough pictures to satisfy Mr. Russo for one night.
It was an uneventful trip back to Ohio if you didn’t count the ruckus the cats made. I counted it. Particularly when they started hissing and snarling at each other. One of the Sams nearly gave me a heart attack when he leaped back over the passenger seat, bounced off the box and landed on the floor beside me.
“Hey! Beat it! I’m trying to drive here.”
He hunkered down on the floor and hissed at me. It was a fun trip. Mickey had given me forty-two dollars to find the cat, but there wasn’t enough money in the world to put up with this. At least they stayed out from under my feet while I drove, but I lived in fear the whole way home.
I’d never been so grateful to park in my life—until I remembered I was going to have to find some way to smuggle the two cats inside without being seen. My apartment doesn’t allow pets. They barely allow humans.
When I reached for the nearest cat, it drew back and took a swipe at me. Since my hand was still throbbing, I decided not to argue without protection. I hurried inside the building, dug out my winter leather gloves and a jacket and went back to the parking lot to play big-game hunter.
I’m sure it looked vastly entertaining to anyone watching—as long as that anyone wasn’t the super. I hoped that nosy woman was absorbed in her television at this hour, because she and her husband lived in the building and they didn’t miss much.
Sam One was actually a pretty easy catch. He struggled briefly but almost seemed to welcome being dumped back inside the box. Maybe Sam Two had scared him. As long as he wasn’t hurt, that was fine with me.
I carried the box inside and set it on the living room floor while I went back outside for the litter, litter pan and food I’d purchased and put in the trunk. Sam One seized the opportunity to escape the box and disappeared behind a chair. Fine with me. It’s a small apartment. There weren’t too many other places he could go.
I got a dish of water and set everything on the bathroom floor before I went back out to try and catch Sam Two. He had no interest in letting me near him again, treats or not. He didn’t intend to be taken without a fight. The little beast put a hole in my jacket and ruined my gloves before I got him out of the backseat and into the box.
If there had been anyone in the lobby or on the steps as I ran upstairs with my yowling prize, I’d have been given an eviction notice on the spot.
The moment I plopped the box on the living room floor, the ungrateful little beast pushed up the flap and took off down the hall to disappear inside my bedroom. Not good. I did not want that cat in my bedroom. But after peering under the bed and being stared down by a pair of defiant green eyes, I decided he could stay. I wasn’t up for another battle.
After zapping a frozen dinner to fill my stomach, I decided I’d better download the photos before calling it a night. There was an especially good one of the hunk. I framed out the face and blew it up for a closer look. Despite the grainy texture his features were clear. He had light-colored eyes, probably blue, and rugged, sharply defined features.
I traced the square face on the screen with a fingertip. It was a strong face and very symmetrical—the face of a man who took charge and got things done.
“In a hurry,” I added aloud with a snicker as I remembered how short a time he’d spent in the motel room. “So much for gorgeous hunks. You really should get a haircut, you know.”
But instead of deleting the picture, I printed it out along with the others and set it to one side before I carefully marked and stored the memory stick. By the time I’d typed up my notes into a report, I was yawning. There hadn’t been a sound from either of my unwanted guests, so I went in search of them.
One was still under my bed. The other was squished behind the blue hand-me-down sofa in the living room. I worried that he might be stuck back there, but when I would have moved it out from the wall, he proved me wrong by wriggling even farther back from the end.
“Fine. You want to spend the night back there, be my guest.”
I wasn’t quite as happy about the one under my bed, but as long as he stayed put, we’d be fine. I set my alarm so I wouldn’t oversleep and got ready for bed.
I needn’t have bothered with the alarm. The catfight woke me before eight. Even I’m not enough of a zombie to sleep through noises like those, especially when the sounds were coming from the foot of my bed.
“Knock it off!”
The sudden silence was almost as loud as the fight had been. I swung my legs off the bed and one of the Sams streaked out of the room. The other one must have gone back under the bed because there was no sign of it.
Great. It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning and I was wide awake. My body clock doesn’t normally start until mid-morning, after a couple of diet colas. Obviously this was not going to be a normal day. I’d be very happy when Mickey claimed Mr. Sam so I could take the other cat to the animal shelter.
By the time I was dressed and ready to leave, I decided I was risking all-out war by leaving the two of them together unattended. I made a second makeshift litter box out of the cardboard box by cutting it down and lining it with aluminum foil. I left it in my bedroom with Sam Two and a second bowl of food and water.
I actually got to the shop ahead of my aunt and Trudy and utilized the time by setting up for the morning. I had coffee brewing and had started on the first of the day’s arrangements by the time the pair arrived.
“Well, you’re here bright and early this morning,” Trudy greeted in surprise.
“How did your evening go, dear? I thought you wanted to borrow my car last night,” Aunt Lacy added.
“The evening was…interesting,” I told them, “and it turned out I didn’t have time to borrow the car, but it worked out okay. Mr. Russo is sending someone over to pick up his report first thing this morning. And if a young boy named Mickey shows up looking for me while I’m busy, keep him here at all costs.”
“A young boy?” Trudy said, raising one eyebrow in question.
I hated when she did that. I’d been trying to do it ever since I can remember, but my face just isn’t built right.
“He’s ten,” I said to head off the direction her thoughts were taking.
It was part of a grand conspiracy, of course. My entire family figured if I got married, I’d give up this silly nonsense of being a private investigator. And what their matchmaking lacked in subtlety, it made up for in sheer volume. Any male in the right age bracket was considered fair game.
“Dee,” Aunt Lacy said in an urgent whisper. “There’s a man standing at the front door. I think it may be Mr. Russo’s, uh, person.”
Her alarmed expression brought me around the counter in a hurry. The man standing on the other side of the glass door didn’t move. I had the sense he was prepared to stand there indefinitely, like the boulder he resembled. Solid, unmovable, timeworn yet sinister in a way I didn’t want to define.
A craggy gray face perched over a gray silk tie on a gray silk shirt under a light gray pinstripe suit. If he had a neck, it wasn’t obvious, but then boulders rarely have necks. Central casting would have loved this guy. Even his hair was turning gray at the edges. The only part that looked alive was a pair of incongruous light brown eyes, and they didn’t miss a thing.
He’d seen me, so there was nothing for it but to open the door and let all that sinister gray inside the colorful shop. He was going to look out of place. If that man had ever been inside a flower shop in his life, I’d eat the daisy in my hand.
“Ms. Hayes,” he said when I unlocked the door, “I’m Hogan Delvecchi. Mr. Russo sent me.”
A nervous giggle tried to break free. I suppressed the urge—barely. This was too much like some bad television show—a softly spoken gangster with an Italian last name. And Hogan? Was he kidding? No, I could see he wasn’t. There was certainly nothing humorous in his expression. And he seemed to have only the one—a blank stare that absorbed the details of everything around him without revealing his thoughts. I was pretty sure his face was incapable of smiling. Human boulders don’t have a sense of humor.
Everything about the man gave me the creeping willies. I worked hard not to let it show.
“Come in, Mr. Delvecchi. I’ve been expecting you.”
Well, not him. No one in their right mind would expect him. And the thing was I wanted him gone as fast as possible. I would never doubt Trudy or my aunt’s sources again. If this guy didn’t have underworld connections, no one did.
“I’ll just get my report.”
My heart hammered its way up my throat when he followed me back to the office. He closed the door as I reached for the folder on the end of the desk. I caught him staring at the scratches on my hand.
“Did you have any problems?” he asked.
“N-no.”
I was not going to explain about the cats, nor would I think about how the couple had left the motel when I wasn’t looking. It was all in the report. I knew it made me look bad, but what could I do? I wasn’t about to lie to a mobster. On the other hand, I wasn’t going to mention my failings to this guy if I didn’t have to.
“Good. Mr. Russo would like to have the picture of his wife back.”
That surprised me, but I pulled it from her file. Hogan Delvecchi reached a broad hand inside his suit jacket. My breath caught in the back of my throat. With slow deliberation he pulled out a slim piece of paper and extended it to me. A check, I realized in relief.
I tried not to shake as I took it from his hand, but my legs were emulating gelatin just like my insides. He knew it, I was sure. It probably gave him some sort of salacious thrill to go around scaring people by being polite. Let it. I just wanted him gone.
Less than a minute later he was.
“Well,” Trudy said, coming to stand in the open doorway. “He wasn’t much for conversation, was he?”
I sank down in the swivel chair and it tilted precariously until I readjusted my weight.
“Is everything all right, dear?” Aunt Lacy asked, coming into view, as well.
“Terrific. He even paid me.”
Except, how had he known what to pay? For the first time I really looked at the check in my sweaty palm. Once again my heart began to pound.
“He overpaid.”
“That’s nice, dear.”
“No it isn’t. It’s terrible. Now I have to call Mr. Russo and return the extra three hundred forty-seven dollars he overpaid.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, dear. A man like Mr. Russo can afford to tip generously.”
“Tip? You think it’s a tip?” When he read my report and saw I’d lost them at the motel, he’d want more than his “tip” back.
“At least he didn’t shoot anyone,” Trudy said glibly as the two of them moved out into the workroom.
No. That would come after Mr. Russo read the report. I’d placed an itemized bill right on top. He’d know exactly how much he’d overpaid. I closed my eyes and groaned.
“Dee?” Trudy called out. “There’s a young man up front to see you.”
Now what? I wasn’t sure I could put on a friendly, professional face right now. I felt sick. It wasn’t wise to mess with gangsters. I should have listened to Aunt Lacy and Trudy right from the start and turned the job down.
I stuffed the check inside the desk drawer and squared my shoulders before going out to meet the newcomer. Once again I had to look down before I spotted him.
“Mickey!”
He was dressed in green shorts and a striped top today, but other than that he looked exactly the same. The same amazing chocolate-brown eyes looked up at me with an expression of hope mixed with fear.
“Did you find him?”
“I think so,” I told him. “Actually I found two cats. I’m not sure which one is Mr. Sam.”
“I gave you a picture,” he said, sounding disgusted.
“Yeah,” I said trying not to be defensive, “but he’s gray. So are these two guys.”
He looked around the shop and started toward the back. “Where are they?”
“At my place. Come on, I’ll give you a ride over and take you home afterward.”
Doubt filled his expression.
“I’m not allowed to ride in cars with strangers.”
Great. A kid who actually listened to his parents.
“You’ll have to bring them here,” he told me, sounding extremely adult.
I didn’t even have to think about that. The back of my hand was still smarting from the last set of scratches.
“How old did you say you are?”
“Ten.”
Going on thirty, I decided uncharitably.
“If you’re ten then you’re old enough to understand the difference between getting in a car with a stranger and getting in a car with me. I work for you, remember?”
He thought about that before standing a little straighter.
“Okay, but what about my bike?”
“Trudy, would it be okay if I take the van over to my apartment for a few minutes? My client and I need to pick up a cat.”
“No problem. We don’t have any deliveries until later this afternoon.”
“Thanks. This will only take a few minutes.” To the boy I asked, “How were you going to get him home on your bike?” If those cats had seemed frantic in a car, I could just imagine their reaction to a bicycle.
“I attached a basket to my handlebars and brought the cat carrier with me,” he explained.
Reaching down, he picked up a small carrier that had been on the floor at his feet, out of my line of sight. Based on its size, Sam One was the missing cat. Sam Two would have needed a shoehorn.
I secured the bike in the back of the van and drove the short distance to my apartment. I’d be glad to have those animals gone before the super realized they were inside the building.
“What happened to your hand?” Mickey asked.
“Mr. Sam. He doesn’t like cars.”
“Most cats don’t,” the kid said philosophically. “I hope you put something on that. Cat scratches can be dangerous.”
“Dangerous how?” I asked nervously.
“You know, germs and stuff.”
“Right.” Germs and stuff. No good deed goes unpunished, as Trudy is fond of saying. In this case, I devoutly hoped she was wrong. If I got an infection because of that stupid cat, I was not going to be happy.
Mickey tensed a little as we started walking into my building a few minutes later. I hated to go against the smart conditioning his parents had put on him, but I was not going to go up there and try to cage that little monster by myself. He’d had all the skin he was going to get off my body.
I unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door carefully. No blur of gray came running out to greet us.
“Where is he?” Mickey demanded.
“I’m not sure. One of them is in my bedroom. The other one was hiding behind the couch the last time I saw him.”
The kid whipped out a bag of treats. I wouldn’t have thought he could have stuffed something that size into the pocket of those shorts.
“Here, Sam. Here, Sammy.”
He got down on the floor and rattled the bag. Nothing happened.
“He always comes out for treats,” Mickey said plaintively.
“He’s probably nervous. This is a strange place for him.”
I walked over and tugged the couch out from the wall. A gray streak whipped past me to cower behind the potted palm frond near the window.
“It’s okay, Sammy, it’s me.” Mickey walked over toward the plant, and the cat scooted around the chair and took off toward the kitchen.
“That’s not Mr. Sam,” Mickey said.
“How can you tell?”
He gave me another of those disturbingly adult looks that said plainly what he thought of my inability to distinguish the difference between the picture he had given me and the cat now hiding somewhere in my kitchen.
“Okay,” I said, “then it must be the one in the bedroom.”
Mickey had to crawl under the bed with a flashlight to see Sam Two. He crawled back out in disgust.
“That’s not Mr. Sam either.”
My stomach churned. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am.”
Of course he was. I remembered the other gray cat I’d seen as I was leaving the park and my heart plunged to meet my roiling stomach. I was going to have to go back to the park.
“We’ve gotta find him. My uncle’s coming for dinner this week. We hav’ta find him before then.”
Of course we did. The kid looked ready to cry. I had no idea what to do if he started crying. He looked so upset, I heard myself telling him about the other cat I’d seen and agreeing to help him try and find it.
It was those darn eyes of his, I told myself half an hour later as we scoured the park for gray cats. I’m a sucker for soft eyes like those. But the word had gone out. Avoid the crazy lady at all costs. We didn’t even see a cat, let alone a gray one.
“I hav’ta go home,” Mickey told me, looking pathetically discouraged. “My mom’s picking me up to go shopping.”
He made it sound like a surgical ordeal.
“All right. I’ll run you home and come back. I can keep looking for a little while longer.”
Hope replaced his despair.
“Thanks! You can keep the carrier. I’ll take my bike and come to the store as soon as I get back.”
Wondering when my brain had turned to fuzz, I agreed and got his bike from the back of the van. “Where do you live, Mickey?”
“On Broadhurst.”
Two streets away.
“Maybe I should concentrate on some of the side streets between here and there. He’s probably hiding in someone’s bushes.”
“Okay. Just find him.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Only, after walking four blocks in both directions, I decided to call it quits. The cat could be anywhere. He was probably up some tree laughing at me as I trudged past making kissy noises at the bushes. The day was heating up in an effort to top yesterday, and I was wilting faster than cut flowers left out of water.
As I crossed to my car, I spotted a little gray cat trotting across the parking lot. This one had four white paws. Looking at the picture Mickey had given me, I realized the paws didn’t show. I’d forgotten to ask the kid if the cat was all gray. How could I have forgotten something so basic?
The little guy came willingly when I called him Mr. Sam. He was much smaller than the other two cats and his hair wasn’t as long, but he was mostly gray and that was good enough for me. He even went into the carrier without a fuss. Elated, I headed back to the shop with my prize.
Trudy and Aunt Lacy had to hear the entire tale once I got back. They fussed over the small cat like a pair of broody hens. Mr. Sam seemed to enjoy all the attention—a refreshing change from the first two.
Trudy and my aunt sent me down the street to pick up more cat food and litter, even though I explained we wouldn’t have him more than a few hours, but when I got back, they were looking at me with the same sort of expression I’d come to expect from Mickey.
“Didn’t you say this cat was called Mr. Sam?” Aunt Lacy asked.
“Wrong sex,” Trudy said.
“What?”
“She’s a she, and if she’s over a year old, it can’t be by much.”
I groaned. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” my aunt told me. “You’ll need to make signs.”
“Signs?”
“Well, you can’t turn the poor little thing loose on the street,” she objected.
“But that’s where I found her.”
“Use your camera to take her picture and make some Found signs so we can find her owner,” Aunt Lacy insisted.
There was no arguing with that tone of voice. I went and got my digital camera. I was printing the Found Cat signs when I heard a commotion out front.
“I said you can’t go back there! Sir! You can’t go back there!”
I didn’t even have time to get up before a large shape filled the office doorway. Elaine Russo’s lover stood framed there. His eyes were a brilliant blue, I discovered, and they could shoot invisible flames. Those flames ignited a heat that started low in my belly and spread outward at an alarming rate.
“What did you do with her?” he demanded.

Chapter Four
Okay, my hormones were thrilled to have such a fantastic-looking man standing in my office, but no one is that good looking, and I’m not such a wimp that I cave to my body’s hormones. I put on an indignant face and started to get up. The stupid chair seized the moment of inattention and rolled backward. My head met the wall with an audible thunk.
I lunged forward out of the miserable piece of junk to avoid falling flat on my back along with the chair. Somehow I managed to land on my feet and, with great restraint, kept my hand from rubbing the sore spot on the back of my head. Thank God he didn’t laugh.
“Aunt Lacy, call the police.”
He turned to give Aunt Lacy a cold look. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said with a quiet firmness that sort of scared even me.
“Fine,” I said with false bravado. “I’ll call them.”
His hand covered mine as I reached for the old black rotary-dial phone on my desk. Sexual chemistry was all well and good, but this was the sort of man I’d feel a whole lot safer adoring from afar. With that warm, firm hand swallowing mine, I felt the surge of attraction clear to my toes. A tingle worked its way up my arm from the point of contact and short-circuited my brain.
“You followed us last night,” he stated.
The closet-size office shrank away until there was nothing but him and me. My stomach did one of those quick roller-coaster dips, and somehow I found my voice even as I pulled my hand out from under his.
“That’s quite an ego you carry around,” I managed. “But as a pickup line, it’s original.”
I wouldn’t have thought his eyes could harden any further. I would have been wrong. Adrenaline was sending me all sorts of mixed messages. Chief among them was the urge to run.
He rocked back on his heels to study me. I was suddenly all too conscious that my hair was in its usual disarray and both my navy linen slacks and my light blue blouse could have used the help of an iron this morning.
Not that I own an iron or would have been inclined to use it if I had one, but this man made me abruptly, stunningly aware that I was a woman facing the most fascinating man I’d ever seen.
“You told Russo where she was,” he added without inflection.
I wanted to deny that charge, but of course I couldn’t—any more than I could admit that I was both drawn to and intimidated by this gorgeous male.
“Go away.”
“How does it feel to know you conspired to murder someone?”
That sent a punch of a whole new sort to my insides.
“Whoa! What do you mean murder? Who’s been murdered?” My intestines did a quick roll while my heart rhythm went staccato.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
Maybe the bump on my head had scrambled my hearing. I shook my head and focused on his lips.
“Okay, I think we need to back up here,” I told him. “Who are you?”
He looked genuinely surprised. “You don’t even know that?”
Now that really stung. “I didn’t bother to run your plate,” I admitted. “And that really is some ego you’ve got.”
He might be great eye candy, but I’d about had it with him and his gibes. He shook his head.
“Russo must have loved your report if you left my name out. Unless… Of course. You took her, didn’t you? Convinced her to go back with you as soon as I left.”
He’d pushed all the right buttons. Now I was angry, as well.
“Get out!”
He placed his hands flat on the desk and leaned in toward me. “Not going to happen Ms. Hayes. You’re going to tell me exactly what you said to Elaine.”
I came around the desk to get in his face. Unfortunately I hadn’t taken into consideration the difference in our height. He straightened up. At six feet, he towered over my five-foot-one-inch frame, giving him the advantage. Unfortunately I was angry enough now not to care. I jabbed a finger in his chest, taking him by surprise.
“You don’t come waltzing into my office throwing your weight around. I’m not afraid of you,” I lied. “You want to have sex with a married woman, you take the consequences, buster.”
“Sex? You think we were…” He swore.
“Right back at you.”
I was quaking inside, but I’d die before admitting it. Though I’m licensed to carry a gun, I never do. Guns scare me—but not nearly as much as he did.
He looked down at my hand, and I realized my finger was still pressed against his crisp white linen shirt. Aware of the scratches, I dropped my hand and fought an urge to take a quick step back. Instead I opened my mouth and more words came tumbling out.
“Why would I think the two of you were getting it on?” I asked to cover the flush I could feel stealing up my neck. “Oh, wait. Could it be because you drove the very married Elaine Russo across the state line to some sleazy motel? So sorry. I’m sure it was for an innocent, if illegal, poker game.”
His eyes went flat. There was something very scary about the banked anger I read in his expression. I found myself taking that step back after all until my posterior came up against the edge of the desk.
In an instant all that scary anger disappeared. He regarded me with something that looked suspiciously like grudging respect mingled with humor.
“My cousin will not be happy to hear you think his motel is sleazy.”
My knees felt disturbingly wobbly.
“Your cousin?”
“Vinnie and his wife just sank their life’s savings into building that ‘sleazy’ motel.”
Oh, boy.
“You’re not the least bit afraid of me, are you?”
If he only knew. I swallowed, grateful for the acting classes I’d taken in high school, and tried for a sneer.
“I didn’t know fear was a requirement.”
More of his tension eased. He tipped his head to regard me. It was all I could do to keep my hand from straying to my hair in a vain attempt to control the loose curls. If only I’d gotten up when the alarm clock went off so I could have worn it up, like I usually do when I’m working. It makes me look older.
He definitely seemed amused now, and I didn’t like that reaction any better than his anger. Having a gorgeous man regard me with humor is not my idea of a compliment.
“We’ve strayed from the point,” I told him in annoyance. “I’d like you to leave.”
“Yeah. I got that. Did you talk to Elaine and convince her to leave or did Russo send someone after her?”
“I’m a private investigator, pal. People pay me for information.”
He reached in his hip pocket and produced a leather wallet. Taking some bills from inside, he laid them on the desk and stared at me with a questioning lift of his brows.
That fanned the flames of more anger. “You arrogant—”
“Not enough?” He started to take out another twenty.
I was so furious, I was starting to shake.
“You don’t have enough money. Get out of here. I’ll see you in divorce court. I’ll be the one pointing a finger at you and telling the judge you’re the man who was having the affair with Elaine Russo.”
“Then you’ll be lying,” he said calmly. “Elaine isn’t my lover, she’s my client.”
That pricked my anger and filled me with confusion.

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