Peter’s response was restrained, but hungry, relishing her suppleness. She pressed her lips eagerly to his, demanding a longer, deeper kiss.
Throwing caution to the wind, Peter kissed her with a devouring need. A quick memory of his first sight of her came back to him. She was standing in his examining room, black cat in her arms. He’d wanted her then. When he’d examined her face, he’d been drawn to her eyes. Brown and wide, they’d surprised him with their innocence. He’d been sure she was trying to set him up. He smiled slightly, and Eleanor drew back.
“What is it?” she asked, breathless.
“Sometimes I amaze myself with my cynicism,” he murmured. “I saw many things I admired when I first met you. Yet I couldn’t accept that right away. It took time for me to believe you were real.” He closed off further conversation with another kiss, one that grew quickly to an unspoken agreement. He helped her to her feet and they walked to the bedroom.
The moon was a silent witness as Peter removed her clothes. When she was nude, the red dress a shimmer of fallen stars around her feet she began to unbutton his shirt. His hands explored the contours of her back as she worked quickly.
Stepping free of the last restraints of his clothing, he pulled her into his arms yet again and kissed her with a possessive force that tipped back her head against his arm. Locked in an embrace, they moved to the bed.
Later, lying in the silvery light that filtered through the blinds, she kissed his cheek. The moon was high, unblinking. Her voice was barely louder than a sigh when she spoke. “When did you make me fall in love with you?”
“Oh, about two hours ago. It was the magic of my kiss.” He grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers. “Up until that time, you were only moderately interested.”
She laughed at him, kissing his nose and chin and chest The dark hairs were soft and cushiony to her fingers. She traced patterns through them.
“Are you sleepy?” she asked.
“I’m too satisfied to sleep.” He kissed her neck. “Why don’t we finish that wine?”
He rose, taking a moment to give Familiar, who was curled at the foot of the bed, a friendly stroke before he went to the living room and retrieved the wine and glasses.
“Do you think Familiar is jealous?” Eleanor asked. She meant the question to be a joke, but Peter gave her a long look before he poured the wine.
“Don’t take it too lightly. He might be. So we’ll just have to give him some extra affection and reassurance. Remember, you belong to him. I’m a visitor, until he comes to accept me into his family. And I believe he will. Familiar is a smart cat, and animals often understand the dynamics of a relationship long before the people involved do. Familiar has been aware of my evil intentions to seduce you.” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned.
Eleanor lifted the cat into her lap, adding another contrast to those of the blue sheets around her legs and the pale ivory of her skin. “I can’t believe the way this rascal has won my heart,” she said. “I must be a real soft touch for hairy mammals.”
“And I can’t believe the way you’ve won mine,” Peter- answered, handing her a brimming glass. “I have to tell you, Eleanor. I’ve fallen deeply in love with you. I want to become a part of your life.”
“Peter,” she said, suddenly overwhelmed by what he was saying. “This is happening so fast.”
“Take your time. We have the entire future to work it out. But know that I love you, and that I want to share my life with you. There’s no obstacle we can’t overcome, if we attack it together.”
Eleanor stroked the purring cat. Peter’s words affected her deeply, touching a place in her heart that she’d never allowed anyone else to touch. She’d never had a real marriage. She and Carter had been at odds from the first. But now she felt the pull of Peter’s love.
“We’ll talk. Tomorrow,” she said, her voice husky with emotion. “I have to ask Familiar what he thinks.”
“You’ve got it,” Peter said, sitting on the bed. “Now drink your wine and tell me when you’ll be free of all university obligations this coming spring. I want to plan a trip. We’ll go somewhere with sun and sand and water. We’ll put all of this behind us and simply relax.”
“I could learn to love this way of life,” Eleanor told him, snuggling into the covers. She sipped her wine and let her hand scratch and tickle the sleeping cat. “I have this feeling that life with you could be close to perfect.”
They talked for another half hour, finishing the last of the wine. The intimacy, the physical release and the wine began to act on Eleanor like a powerful potion.
“I feel like Sleeping Beauty, ready to go down for the thousand-year count,” she declared, sliding farther into the bed.
“I feel absolutely drugged,” Peter answered. His wineglass rolled from his fingers and fell to the carpet. He made an effort to grab for it, but fell back half a foot short “I can’t even judge distance anymore,” he said, amazed.
Eleanor reached for file bedside light switch, but her hand struck the table with enough force to bruise. Oddly enough, she didn’t feel anything. A singing wire of panic flashed through her brain.
“Peter!” She spoke aloud, but the word came out as a whisper. “What’s happening to us?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “I feel...helpless.”
She tried to struggle from the bed, but her limbs refused to cooperate. She had to get up, to move. She felt as if her life depended on it, but her body refused to budge. Turning to Peter for help, she found him already asleep, his dark head pressed deep in a pillow.
“Peter!” She shook him. “You have to wake up!”
He flailed at the bed, but his eyes never opened.
“Peter!” Hysteria grew in her, but she could barely move.
“Peter!” She cried his name as if she could pull him from his deep sleep by her need.
“Eleanor!”
The voice came from somewhere outside the bedroom. “Yes, Eleanor, it’s me. Peter can’t help you now, you’re mine!”
It was impossible. Evans was behind bars and Carter was dead! She struggled against the sheets and blankets. They pressed on her like some constricting device. She had to get up, to save Peter and herself.
“Don’t struggle, Eleanor. There’s nothing you can do. I’ve come for you, to take you back with me. Back to the grave.”
Carter Wells’s body materialized in her bedroom doorway. Backlighted by the lamps in the hall, he was as tall, as broad-shouldered as she remembered. His facial features were once more shadowed by the wide-brimmed hat. The reek of his cigarette made her want to choke.
“Carter,” she cried, “leave me alone!” The nightmare sensations so well remembered from the garage spun across the room, trapping her in a web of fear. No matter how often she told herself that Carter was dead, he was standing before her. No trick this time. Carter was real and he was angry.
“Eleanor, you’re my wife.”
“I’m not. You died. And I made a new life. Leave me alone!”
“I’d like to, Eleanor. But you have to give back what you took from the lab. Give back the microfilm that your lover took from the cat, and I’ll leave.”
The figure stepped closer to the bed. It was indeed Carter Wells. He’d fooled everyone, including his own enemies.
“No!” Eleanor tried to rise from the sheets, but couldn’t force her body to move. She knew she was drugged. The wine! How could she have been so stupid? Beside her, Peter, who’d drunk more than she, was deeply under the influence of the drug.
“Give it to me, Eleanor. Or I’ll have to hurt your lover. I have a perfect right to kill you both.”
“Leave us alone, Carter. I don’t have any microfilm. Peter must have given it to one of the CIA agents.”
“You have it!” The figure turned on her, an angry finger jabbing in the air in a long-remembered, authoritative gesture. “Otherwise, they’d be looking for me already. You see, that little bit of film can implicate me. I foolishly
put my code on it. It’s so much more convenient when people think I’m dead. I don’t want them to know that I’m actually very much alive.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A tiny portion of her brain was struggling to function clearly. She had to pay attention. The figure rushed to the bed, lifting her by her hair into a sitting position.
“Don’t tempt me, Eleanor!”
She struggled to free herself, but still couldn’t make any of her limbs obey. The smell of Carter’s favorite cologne made her twist away from him. Beside her, Peter lay as if he might be dead.
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll give you the microfilm.” She had to do something to make him leave. “Peter hid it in his clinic. He said it was in a file. My file,” she amended, trying to make it sound convincing.
“You’ll come with me to get it,” he said. “Get dressed.”
“Yes,” she agreed. Her hair felt as if it were being pulled from her scalp.
“Don’t try anything stupid.” He reached down and jerked the phone from the wall.
“I promise,” she said. She fell to the mattress when her hair was released. “Wait for me in the living room.”
Carter hesitated a moment in the doorway—was he reconsidering? Eleanor wondered—then disappeared down the hall. As soon as he was gone, she fought her way to a sitting position. The drug was powerful, but she managed to hold herself erect.
“Peter?” she called.
There was no answer, only the darkness.
WHO THE HELL is this guy, rummaging through here? He had a key to the door, and he came in like he knew where he was going.
Thank goodness, I’d taken a little run to the kitchen to see if Eleanor left anything good to eat on the counter. No dice on the food, but it gave me the drop on the guy when he zipped through the door. A healthy human specimen, I have to give him that. Not as big as Dr. Doolittle, but the two of them would be a match. Somehow I get the distinct impression that they are adversaries. I’d better follow this guy to see what he’s up to.
The guy moves like he's upset. He’s headed straight for Eleanor’s bedroom, and he’s no friend! Who the hell is he? Eleanor knows him! She’s talking really strange, but she knows him! Rat litter! She’s afraid of him, and he’s not doing anything to remedy that situation. He’s pulling her hair and threatening her! I know him now! He’s been lurking around here like somebody’s lost shadow!
Hey! Dr. Doolittle! Snap out of it and defend Eleanor! What’s wrong with the two of them? She sounds like a record on 78, and the good doctor is out cold. From one bottle of vino! What panty-waists! They’d never make the Washington party circuit that I grew up in. But all of that aside, I have to do something to get the tall, blond stranger out of here. It’s just that my resources are limited in this apartment. Give me a dark alley and I’d have that sucker on his knees, begging for mercy. But, hey, I’ve got to work with what I’ve got.
Wait! Here he comes! He’s striding out of her bedroom like a king. Now it’s time for a little fancy, furry footwork, if you don’t mind unnecessary alliteration.
A direct attack is too risky. Don’t ask me how I know this guy’s here because of me, but he is. Following the example of the best fighters ever known, I’m going to initiate the old ambush plan.
Timing is all in this situation. Timing and an intense desire to inflict pain. I do believe he hurt the dame. Not bad, but nobody hurts my Eleanor and gets away scot-free. So here goes!
Eleanor was pulling on a pair of sweatpants when she heard the enraged scream of the cat. She staggered down the hall, leaning against the wall for support, then hit the light switch and flooded the room with brightness.
In her living room, Carter was spinning in a circle, Familiar riding his head, clawing and biting with every ounce of his twelve pounds. Calling on her last reserves, Eleanor picked up a lamp and swung it sideways into Carter’s face. The lamp shattered, and the man fell to his knees, then crashed into the wall. Familiar leaped to the safety of the sofa. For a moment there was silence. A tiny trickle of blood oozed down the wall and into the fibers of the milted gray carpet.
Familiar sat on the arm of the sofa, his golden-green gaze focused intently on the unconscious man. He seemed to take in every detail of the man’s features. Only a few feet away, the hat had fallen against the wall.
Eleanor stumbled closer. Something was wrong. It wasn’t Carter. With the hair slicked back, a fake nose and a little makeup, he resembled him a lot, but it wasn’t him.
“Alva Rousel,” Eleanor said, standing over the unconscious form. “All along it was you.” A very distant memory came back to her of a tall, blond man who’d come to her home the day Carter died. He’d said he was there to inspect the swimming pool, and she’d left him unattended in the yard. He’d borne a simple resemblance to Carter then, something she’d noted but never thought about again. Strange coincidence, she thought, recalling that she’d learned Carter’s brake line had been cut. She’d never connected the two until now. So Carter had been involved in the CIA plot with Rousel, and then Rousel had killed him. While they were working together, Rousel had gotten to know Carter well enough to imitate him perfectly.
“Meow,” Familiar said as he sprang from the sofa. He brushed against her leg, using his soft claws to nudge at her feet.
Eleanor responded, moving to the telephone and dialing 911. Then she went back to the bedroom and this time managed to rouse Peter.
“He was terminated in 1982, or at least that’s what we thought,” Charles Breck said, shaking his head; the police were leading Rousel away in handcuffs. “Our last report was that he was killed in Beirut, in an attempt to provoke some international trouble there.”
“Terminated?” Eleanor asked. Her head was pounding from the aftereffects of whatever drug Rousel had put into the wine, but she had to know the truth.
“Our reports indicated he was blown to bits by a faction of Black September. We heard that he betrayed the wrong people, and they killed him. Even though we tried to find his CIA credentials, we never did. We thought he was dead.” Breck ran a hand through his hair. “Now that I’m going to be director, I promise you such slipshod methods won’t be tolerated.”
“Spoken like a true politician,” Peter said, but there was more humor than malice in his words. “So Rousel was actually the brains behind the whole plot. Evans was simply a tool. Incredible.” He shook his head. “All of this was designed to ruin Sam Nottingham.”
“Because Nottingham blew the whistle on Rousel in Central America,” Breck told them. “I don’t believe Rousel intended to kill Nottingham, but it was the perfect setup for revenge on you, Peter. Evans was out of control.” He sighed deeply. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this business, after all.”
“Poor Betty,” Eleanor said, thinking of the way her colleague had been tricked by Rousel. Peter’s arm circled her shoulders.
“You’ll be relieved to know that there are no official charges against Dr. Gillette or Magdalena Caruso,” Breck told them. “Maybe a few stern lectures, but no charges. And our people are now thoroughly checking the trade in research animals. As we’ve discovered, a lot of information can be illegally passed in innocent cats and dogs. Those Swiss bank accounts were very lucrative.”
“Thanks,” Eleanor said as she and Peter walked Breck and the policemen to the door.
“And Merry Christmas,” Breck wished them in farewell.
Peter closed the door and locked it. His strong arms reached out for Eleanor and drew her close. “If it isn’t too late to make a special request to Santa, I know what I want this year.”
“What?” She held back the laughter that tickled her throat.
“I have her right here in my arms. So that part is simple. But I want her for the rest of my life.”
“And her little cat, Familiar, too.”
“This ain’t Kansas, Dorothy.”
“Meow!” Familiar interjected from his perch on the mantel.
AREN’T HUM
ANS RIDICULOUS! I just hope with all of this mooning around, they don’t forget to leave a good snack out for old Saint Nick. Something along the line of tuna or sardines. After all, if it wasn’t for me taking care of them, where would those two be now? Ah, well, time for a nap. It never hurts to be good and rested, because we know a human may toil from sun to sun, but a cat’s work is never done. Good night, Clotilde, I’ll see you in my dreams.
About the Author
Carolyn Haines is the USA Today bestselling author of over 70 books. She was the recipient of the Harper Lee Award for Distinguished Writing and the Richard Wright Award for Literary Excellence, as well as the "Best Amateur Sleuth" award by Romantic Times. Haines writes in a number of genres, from cozy mystery to horror and short fiction. She got her start in publishing in romantic mysteries with one savvy black cat detective called Familiar. She's delighted to bring back the first Familiar stories--and to introduce Trouble, son of Familiar, in a delightful new Familiar Legacy series which will feature a number of talented authors (and cat lovers!)
Be sure to visit the Familiar Legacy Fan Page and the Familiar Legacy Blog to get the very latest black cat detective news.
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Bonus Excerpt from Too Familiar
She looks dead slumped over the steering wheel.
Hard to say from my vantage point on this bluff. My body feels like a punching bag, but I guess I’d better mosey on over to her car and take a peek. Snazzy little red convertible, a sign that she’s got a bit of class. She hit the bank pretty hard, and for no apparent reason. Not another car in sight. She just swerved and slammed on the brakes. Almost as if she fainted or something.
Fear Familiar Page 23
