The Catspaw Collection

by Anne Stuart

  He should have known it would be a waste of time. “Oh, I can be discreet, Blackheart. I just want to warn her about you.”

  “She doesn’t need a warning. She already knows.”

  Wrong again. His ex-fiancée’s smile was bitter indeed. “I’m so glad to hear you confide in someone. I still intend to talk to her. See you.”

  She left without a backward glance. He watched her go, then turned to meet Regina’s stern gaze. “Patrick, my boy,” she said, “you blew it.”

  “Regina, my girl,” he responded wearily, “I’m afraid you’re right.”

  FERRIS DIDN’T KNOW who told her Danielle Porcini was looking for her. A clown passed a message from an acrobat who’d gotten it from an elephant handler who’d gotten it from a seamstress. But Mrs. Porcini was down near the cages that held the big cats, waiting for her.

  If Ferris hadn’t been still shaken by her encounter with Blackheart, she would have been more observant. If her mouth weren’t still tingling from the feel of his kiss, if her knees weren’t weak, if her bra weren’t hooked awry . . . If only her brains didn’t fly out the window the moment that man touched her—the moment that man even looked at her.

  If onlys were a waste of time. And she wasn’t jealous of Danielle Porcini, truly she wasn’t. If the lady was unencumbered, she’d be only too happy to hand Blackheart over to her. But the lady came equipped not only with a large husband type—even if Blackheart said they weren’t really married—but that police detective, McNab, had been far too interested in her. He already had reason enough to want to nail Blackheart. It certainly wouldn’t be too smart to add sexual jealousy to the potent mix.

  The early-morning sun had just hit the lions’ cages, and the stench, even in the vast green outdoors of Regina Merriam’s south lawn, was almost overpowering. She wasn’t too happy with the noise, either. It seemed as if all the circus people were busy someplace else. She could clearly hear cute little kittylike purrs, nasty little kittylike growls, and the ominous sound of claws clicking on a metal floor.

  “Mrs. Porcini?” she called. Her voice came out with just the tiniest bit of a tremor. “Danielle?”

  The Porcini Family Circus has too many big cats, she thought nervously, edging around one of the cages. She could see at least six lions, two tigers and a couple of pure white cats she couldn’t even begin to identify. They were watching her just as she was watching them, and they all looked very hungry.

  “Danielle?” she called again, her voice now absolutely wobbly. Her shoes were silent on the soft, squishy ground as she turned another corner, but her heart was beating loudly enough to alert even the sleepiest tiger. It was a lucky thing the cages were locked. There was no one close enough to come running if she called for help, and the huge white cat in front of her looked as if he was positively clamoring for a taste of Ferris Byrd.

  She heard a noise behind her and whirled, but there was nothing, just the back of another cage. “Danielle?” she tried once more, her voice a plaintive whisper this time.

  Then she froze. Slowly Ferris turned to her right, telling herself that it could only be Danielle Porcini.

  She was wrong. Standing there, its evil, colorless eyes trained on her defenseless throat, was the hungry white beast she’d been eyeing warily just moments before. It had made no noise in the wet grass. Huge, clawed paws were just as silent on the damp earth as Ferris’s sneakers. It didn’t growl. It didn’t have to. The cage door was open, and the cat was moving slowly, inexorably, toward its breakfast.

  Chapter Ten

  Dial M for Murder

  (Warner Brothers 1953)

  FERRIS CONSIDERED screaming. Considered, then rejected the notion. She had seen no one anywhere near the animal cages. The pure white cat was moving steadily closer, but if she startled it there was no telling what it might do. One shriek, one leap, and Ferris Byrd would never have to worry about John Patrick Blackheart again.

  “Nice kitty,” she said, surreptitiously taking a step backward. The nice kitty growled low in its throat.

  Ferris considered crying. Considered, then rejected the notion. She didn’t want to die a coward. When they found her, she wanted her expression noble and unblemished by tears.

  The early-morning sun had risen higher in the sky, burning through the cool damp mist and beating down on her head. Ferris shivered, wondering if she dared run for it.

  “Don’t move.” The voice came from directly behind her, and Ferris swiveled her head to look into Danielle Porcini’s pale, sweating face. The hungry cat growled again. “I told you not to move!” Danielle snapped.

  Ferris turned back to look at the animal that was still moving slowly toward her. “What the hell am I supposed to do?” she muttered under her breath. “Stand still and become this lion’s Big Mac?”

  “Tiger,” Danielle corrected. “Albino tiger.”

  “Just tell me one thing.” Ferris’s normally husky voice had risen several octaves. “Is it going to eat me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Some help you are.”

  “We have two albinos, Simba and Tarzan. Tarzan’ll tear your throat out as soon as look at you—he’s a born killer. Simba is a sweet old pussycat.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Ferris begged. “You don’t know which one this is.”

  “I don’t spend much time around the big cats.”

  The albino tiger certainly looked ferocious. It was yawning, displaying a very nasty set of teeth, one that made Jaws seem nothing more threatening than a grouper with an overbite. A few more steps, a very few more steps, and he’d be within touching distance. In chewing distance.

  “Big cats?” Ferris echoed, resigned. “Unfortunately I have. At least the human variety. I don’t mean to sound hysterical or anything, but don’t you think you might go for help?” There was just the trace of an edge in her voice.

  “I don’t want to make any quick moves, in case it’s Tarzan. The wrong move, and it’ll be all over.”

  “You’re so comforting,” Ferris said feelingly. “So we’re just going to stand here like this?”

  “I don’t think so. He’s getting closer.”

  Ferris looked directly into a pair of colorless feral eyes. “Well, if you aren’t going to help me and there’s no knight in shining armor nearby, it’s up to me.” Slowly, carefully, she held out a shaking hand. “Nice kitty,” she whispered, her voice a raw croak. “Nice kitty.”

  The tiger took another step closer, opening its massive jaws. Ferris shut her eyes, unable to watch as she held out her trembling arm. “Nice kitty,” she said hopefully. “Nice Simba.”

  The jungle cat growled deep in its hairy throat, moved closer and sent his long, wet tongue lapping against Ferris’s hand.

  “It’s Simba,” Danielle announced, her voice rough with relief.

  “Nice kitty,” Ferris said again, this time with real enthusiasm. “Want to go back into your nice cage?”

  He was still licking her trembling fingers with the air of a connoisseur, and Ferris thanked heaven she hadn’t taken the time to wash her hands after she’d given Blackie his herring in sour cream. If she could just get this oversize alley cat back into his cage, she’d bring him a whole case of the stuff.

  Danielle moved into view, and Ferris noted with distant surprise that she looked just as shaken as Ferris felt. “Come on, Simba,” she said, giving a huge shoulder a push. “Back into your cage.”

  The tiger allowed himself a snarl, then ignored the rude interruption as he sought out Ferris’s other hand. There was a limit to her self-control, as well as to her ability to keep standing. She wasn’t going to be able to remain a salt lick for a jungle cat for much longer, and as innocent as Simba appeared, she wasn’t too sure how he’d react if she landed in a dead faint at his feet.

  “Simba,” she said, pulling h
er hand away from his voracious tongue and holding it out in front of him like a carrot before a horse. “Into your cage, Simba. Good pussy, come on. Come with mama.”

  “Ferris—” Danielle interrupted.

  “Shut up,” Ferris murmured in a low, throaty growl meant to appease the hungry beast in front of her. “Come on, pussy. Come get breakfast.” She backed toward the empty cage, and Simba followed, eyeing her fishy hand with feline determination. She had no choice but to back up the ramp, back into the awful-smelling cage herself.

  It was a horrifying moment; her back was against the bars as Simba filled the doorway, blocking any chance of escape. In the meantime, though, Danielle had found something foul-smelling and particularly destined to appeal to animal appetites, and was busy dumping it through the bars into his dish. Simba ignored the shaking hand of his captive, and sauntered past her to the dish of rancid red meat, swishing his tail as he went.

  In two seconds Ferris was out of the cage, the door locked and barred behind her. She slid down the ramp and collapsed onto the wet grass, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths as reaction set in. Her skin felt too tight, prickling all over her body, her heart was too big for her chest, and her breath was strangled in her lungs. A small, strong hand reached behind her neck and shoved her head down between her knees. “Calm down,” Danielle said briskly. “It’s over.”

  Ferris considered throwing up in the grass. The smell of the animal cages wasn’t contributing to her peace of mind or the state of her stomach, but she hadn’t the energy to move. She just sat there, her head between her knees, and breathed through her mouth.

  It was a long time before she could lift her head. Danielle Porcini was kneeling in the grass beside her, her own face pale. “Feeling better?”

  “A little bit. What are you doing here, anyway? Just come to watch the results of your little ambush?”

  “My ambush?”

  “You set me up. I was told you were waiting for me down by the big cats. Instead, I find I’m about to be first course.”

  “I didn’t even know you were here on the grounds. Why should I want to meet you down here? Why should I want you dead?”

  “You tell me. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I know you from someplace.”

  If Danielle had seemed wary before, it was nothing compared to her expression now. “I’ve never seen you before the party two days ago.”

  “Maybe. And maybe I’ve never met you before. But there’s something about you that’s driving me crazy. Maybe I saw your picture in the newspaper. Maybe you remind me of someone. Maybe I saw you someplace where you shouldn’t be, and you need to get rid of me before I remember where it was.”

  Danielle’s laugh was cool enough to be believable, if Ferris’s instincts hadn’t been razor sharp after what she’d just been through. “That’s all very interesting. But I didn’t know you thought I looked familiar. You hadn’t bothered to mention it to me, had you? Even if I had a deep dark secret to hide, there’s no reason for me to try to kill you. And if it was me, why didn’t I lock the cage behind Simba and leave you two alone? He’s a nice cat, but even the nicest ones get hungry.”

  “Maybe you thought it would take too long.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question. Why would I try to kill you if I didn’t know you thought I looked familiar?”

  “Because I was stupid enough to tell someone else.”

  She flinched, an expression so brief Ferris almost thought she’d imagined it. “Well, if I really am an international terrorist or a murderer or something, then it must be my accomplice who tried to kill you. Who did you tell?”

  For a moment Ferris thought she might really throw up. Sickness washed over her as she remembered her words to Blackheart, taunting him with having seen Danielle Porcini before. He couldn’t have, he wouldn’t have

  The sickness vanished. She might have been weak-minded, besotted and foolish on many accounts, but she couldn’t have been that far-off. She couldn’t have fallen in love with a man who was capable of murder.

  And then she remembered the other person. “Actually I did say something to the man pretending to be your husband. And he certainly showed a great deal more distress than you do.”

  “Marco wouldn’t feed you to the tigers,” Danielle scoffed, her blue eyes worried. “He’d be more likely to seduce you into silence.”

  “That’s what he was trying to do. Although seduce might be too polite a word for it. When I mentioned you looked familiar, he let go of me immediately.”

  “Marco is impetuous. Aren’t you going to ask why we pretend to be married? You see, I’m being perfectly honest with you—I won’t try to deny it.”

  “Perfectly honest,” Ferris echoed. “I’m sure you have a wonderful reason all ready.”

  “It makes the red tape easier when going from country to country.”

  “Does that mean your passport identifies you as Danielle Porcini?”

  “Don’t be so eager to find trouble where none exists. Women keep their maiden names in Europe as well as the States, Ferris. My passport is legal.”

  “What is your maiden name?”

  “Thatcher.”

  “And Maggie’s your mother?”

  “She was a little strict, but very loving.”

  “I thought you were going to be honest with me,” Ferris shot back.

  “I will. I’ll warn you away from Marco. I don’t think anyone let the tiger out of the cage to kill you. If anyone wanted to, they’d have the sense to release Tarzan, not Simba. Maybe someone wanted to have you keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you. But for your own sake, keep away from Marco. And if you have any sense of self-preservation at all, I’d keep away from Patrick Blackheart, too, if I were you.”

  A blinding, jealous rage swept over Ferris, one that left her feeling stupid and shaken. “You want them both.”

  Danielle smiled. “In a manner of speaking. They’re nothing but trouble, but it’s trouble I can handle. I gather you broke your engagement to Blackheart. It was the smartest thing you could have done. Keep away from him.”

  “I was thinking of taking him back,” Ferris drawled, her face bland, her eyes filled with rage.

  “You’re too smart for that. You wouldn’t want a man who didn’t want you. Don’t go looking for any more heartbreak, Ferris. I give you a friendly woman-to-woman warning. Go for that nice politician that hangs around you. But keep away from my men.”

  Ferris rose, brushing the grass from her jeans. Her hands were still trembling, though this time it was from fury rather than fear. “I’ll keep your warning in mind. Thanks for the help with Simba.”

  Danielle rose also, her smaller, lithe body incomparably graceful. “I was going to say anytime, but I trust there won’t be another chance. You strike me as a woman of sense. Use it, and pay attention to my warnings.”

  “What are you doing down here, Danielle?” A blond, scantily dressed giant with a Teutonic accent strolled into view. Walking beside him, placidly enough, was another albino tiger, a twin to the beast now safely locked in the cage.

  Danielle was eyeing the cat warily. “Just talking with a friend, Franz. What’s Tarzan doing out without a restraint? You know as well as I do how dangerous he could be.”

  Ferris stared at the white beast, at the colorless eyes and sleek body. She knew before Franz opened his mouth what he would say.

  “I’m not an idiot, Danielle. I wouldn’t let out a killer like Tarzan. This is Simba.” And he rubbed the friendly tiger behind the ears.

  FERRIS SANK INTO the soft leather seat of her Mercedes, shutting the door behind her. She managed to get the key into the ignition, but that was where her energy failed her. There was no one in the parking area in front of Regina’s mansion. In the long walk from the animal cages, with a h
undred curious eyes following her calm, measured stride, she had held her head high and her shoulders back. Now, for the first time, she had no audience. With a low, miserable moan she let her head fall onto the steering wheel and shook.

  She heard the rattle at the passenger door and looked up—into Blackheart’s angry face as he tugged at the locked door. “Go away,” she said, loudly enough for him to hear it through the closed windows. And she locked her own door for good measure. She dropped her head back onto the steering wheel, hoping for once he’d do as she asked, but it was a vain hope. She heard the rasp of metal, and looked up again to see him calmly inserting one of his new picklocks into the passenger door lock.

  She should turn the ignition and roar away from there, leaving him in the dust. She even managed to reach out her still-shaking hand to do just that, then let it drop onto her knee. She had no energy for a confrontation, but even less for a wild ride home. She wasn’t calm enough to drive yet. She had no choice but to put up with Blackheart.

  The door opened, and he slid in beside her. It had started to rain again, a steady drizzle that obscured even the house directly in front of them, and his dark hair was beaded with drops of rain. In the murky light she could see the tenderness in his eyes, the gentleness in his demoralizing mouth, so before she could give in to the comfort she so badly needed, she went on the attack.

  “It’s reassuring to see you carry your burglar’s tools wherever you go.” She tried for an arch tone, but it was somewhat diminished by the raw shakiness that lingered. “You still want to tell me you’re retired?”

  “I don’t want to tell you a damned thing. Come here.” He didn’t even give her time for a protest, but simply reached out and hauled her shaking body into his arms, over the gearshift and the emergency brake, over the half-filled can of Diet Coke and the crumpled bag of Mrs. Field’s Cookies. He wrapped his long, strong arms around her, shoved her face against his shoulder and held her there, one deft hand stroking her long hair.