"I don't know anything about that."
"You didn't have sex with your wife at work?"
"No." He shook his head, scrunching his nose like the idea really was repulsive. "Look, I know you have every reason not to believe me after what I've put you through, but I promise you, I don't know. Pumpkin, there hasn't been anyone but you. I swear it. Please, believe me. I need you."
I need you. Not I love you, I've missed you. I need you.
And I realized he really did need me. He was up shit creek and I was the only one in the world who might lend a paddle.
Only—did I need him? I looked at the man across from me. He didn't seem like a Ken Doll now. He'd been stripped of his shiny veneer and I was getting a glimpse of the man inside. The man that might have taken me years of fancy dates to the Hollywood Bowl to uncover in any other circumstances. And under the lawyer veneer, I had a sinking feeling there wasn't much left.
I'd spent the last week desperately wanting to find Richard. Thinking that if Richard was here, then suddenly I wouldn't be going through this whole possible pregnancy thing alone. That if I saw that pink line and freaked out, at least I'd have Richard to fall back on. Only I had the idea now as I sat here looking at the man I'd spent the last five months of my life with, that even if he tried, Richard might not be strong enough to catch me. Instead of falling back on him, would I be the one holding the both of us up?
Suddenly all I wanted to do was let him have it. To scream and yell and take out all my frustrations on the man that was single handedly ruining my life. I wanted to let loose and have a crying, girly breakdown to end all breakdowns right here in the prison visiting room.
He was still waiting for me to say something. "I need you to believe me." He lifted my hand to his lips and gently kissed the back of my knuckles. "Please, pumpkin, you're all I have."
Ugh. If I ever contemplated getting involved with a man again, I made a mental note to shoot myself first.
"Fine. I believe you." Maybe.
Richard did a little half smile, his hand still covering mine. "Thanks, pumpkin. I knew I could count on you."
I walked out with an odd feeling in my stomach. Hollow. Nauseating. Painful. I think it was that damn pride again.
* * *
After my brush with prison life, I stopped in at a Taco Bell and ordered a big greasy plate of nachos, smothered in gooey cheese and jalapeños. Comfort food. I ate the entire thing before going back to my apartment.
I tried not to think about my conversation with Richard as I pulled up to my studio. The awful thing was, I really kind of did believe him. I didn't think Richard was capable of leading a double life, and I could see him buying Cinderella off with a car only too well. In fact, when I'd wanted him to come with me to my cousin Shannon's confirmation last month, he'd put me off with a sparkly pair of 24 karat earrings. His story fit with his MO. Which left me where? With a boyfriend? Without? I wasn't sure. I wasn't even sure it was about me anymore. I glanced down at my belly. I made a mental note to go out and buy a new pregnancy test in the morning.
I slowly trudged up the stairs, so lost in my thoughts that I didn't even notice anything was wrong until I reached the top step.
And saw my front door gaping open.
Cold fear prickled up my spine, my feet freezing in place. Maybe it was just Dana. Maybe she'd had a fight with Sasha and had come over looking for a shoulder to cry on. Maybe Ramirez was back. Maybe he'd just let himself in.
Only I didn't see a black SUV or Dana's tan Saturn on the street.
I slowly crept forward, one step at a time, my ears pricked for any sound. All I heard was the slight hum of my neighbor's TV and the street traffic from Venice. Gingerly I pushed the front door open on its hinges.
"Hello? Dana?"
I stifled a gasp when I saw my apartment. It looked like the Big One had hit. Every cupboard was open, the meager contents of my kitchen in a broken pile on the tile floor. My futon was on its side, cushions tossed across the room. My pens were scattered across the floor mingling with shoes, clothes, and makeup into one big mess.
Fearing the worst, I took a few steps toward my drawing table. I sucked in a quick breath, biting back tears. Someone had taken a big black marker and written across my Strawberry Shortcake shoe design. "Back off bitch."
The words swam before my eyes and I felt dizzy. I was still staring at the ruined designs, realizing I had to start all over on the damn thing now, when I heard a noise behind me.
I spun around.
But not quickly enough. Before I could see what had pricked my ears, I felt an explosion behind my temple. Then the drawing table, the ruined designs, and the entire mess that was my life faded and everything went black.
Chapter Nineteen
Slowly I blinked one eye open. Then the other. My vision was fuzzy but as I continued the painful practice of blinking, objects slowly came into focus. One emerald slingback. The Purple People Eater across the room. My pens, lipstick, purse. Slowly the room materialized in front of me. I moved my head and felt carpet beneath my cheek. What was I doing on the floor? I slowly sat up, putting one hand to my head as a jackhammer began to pound at my temple.
Then it all came back to me. My open front door, the ruined designs. The whack on the head. My eyes whipped wildly around for a sign of my attacker. None.
I grabbed my purse where it had fallen beside me and quickly dialed 911. I stood up shakily and half ran, half fell out the front door with one slingback on, down the stairs to my Jeep, where I locked myself in until I heard the police sirens approaching.
Two uniformed cops were the first to arrive. It only took them a couple minutes, but it was long enough for me to work myself up into a state of unhinged hysteria. I was crying and babbling and I'm not entirely sure the bump on the head hadn't knocked what little sanity I had left right out of my brain. One called for an ambulance and pretty soon my block was full of flashing sirens. I was impressed. Usually we didn't get this kind of law enforcement turnout unless there was a gang shooting.
The police officers searched my apartment and, predictably, found no one. The paramedic gave me a pack of ice and wrapped me in one of those ugly green blankets even though it was nearing ninety outside. He said I was in shock. I didn't disagree.
By the time the black SUV pulled up to my building, I'm happy to say I almost had myself under control again. My breathing had slowed to a near normal pace, the nice officer had retrieved a pair of fuzzy pink slippers from my closet, and my nose had almost stopped running. Almost.
I sniffed as Ramirez got out of the car, his poker face in place. He was wearing those worn-in-the-right-spots jeans again with a navy T-shirt that highlighted his dedication to the gym. I hugged the green blanket around me to keep from throwing myself into his arms.
Ramirez sat down beside me on the steps, blowing out a long breath as if I'd just tried his last nerve. "Are you okay?"
"I think so."
He reached his hand to the back of my head and carefully felt the lump. His hands were warm and gentle and I resisted the urge to lean in to his touch.
"That's quite a lump."
"Thanks."
The corner of his mouth quirked. "That wasn't exactly a compliment."
I bit my lip. "Right."
His hand moved lower, caressing the back of my neck. I think I let out a little happy groan.
"So what happened?" he asked.
I drew a shaky breath and proceeded to relive what were quite possibly the scariest moments of my entire life. Something about the idea of being attacked in my own home, a place I'd always associated with coziness and safety, shook me harder than a 7.2. When I finished my eyes were getting watery again, and I was sniffling like the guy in the Allegra commercials.
Ramirez stared at me, his hand still gently kneading my neck.
"Just say it," I said.
One eyebrow quirked. "Say what?"
"I know you're dying to say, 'I told you so.' To tell me that I sho
uld have listened to you and left this whole thing alone. That I have no idea what I'm doing and I'm only going to get myself hurt. Just say it. I know you'll feel better if you do, so just get it over with, and—"
Ramirez silenced me with his finger on my lips.
I froze. His touch soft. The look in his eyes dark. Oh God, was he going to kiss me? Here? Now?
But he didn't. Instead he said, "Just promise me you'll leave it alone now."
I swallowed hard as Ramirez brushed his fingertips over my lips before drawing them back into his lap. I was trying really hard not to think inappropriate thoughts.
"But isn't the fact that someone broke in proof that Richard's innocent?" I protested. "That the real killer is out there somewhere?" I was aware I sounded frighteningly like O.J.
Ramirez just shook his head. "No, Maddie, it proves you've pissed someone off. And I'm frankly not surprised. You go nosing into people's private lives and someone's bound to get upset."
I hated to admit he had a point. Any one of the loony Los Angelinos I'd encountered in the last week could have found out where I lived. I wasn't exactly the world's best undercover agent.
"I don't want to hear your name on the police scanner anymore. Promise me you'll leave it alone?"
I nodded meekly. Even though I was crossing my fingers under the green blanket.
"Good." He paused. "The medic says you might have a slight concussion. You shouldn't be alone." His dark eyes met mine. "Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight?"
I gulped. The smoky look in his eyes hung in the air between us. I'd like to attribute it to the shock that my mind instantly began undressing Ramirez right there on my front steps.
I swallowed hard. "I'll, um, I'll call Dana."
I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, too, but it was so quick I might have imagined it.
"Good." Ramirez got up and spoke to the uniformed officer who'd first encountered me. The uniform did a lot of wild hand gestures, pointing at me, then miming hysteria. Great. Now Ramirez was really going to think I was girly. One bump on the head and I turned into Cybil.
I pulled my cell out of my purse and dialed Dana's number, praying she picked up. She did, and I quickly explained the situation. She said she'd be right there and I hung up.
Ten minutes later her tan Saturn screeched to a halt behind the black and whites, and Mod Squad Girl came running at me. She was wearing the go-go boots and a bright pink and lime green dress that just barely covered her derrière. Especially since she was running full tilt toward me. I saw two of the uniformed officers staring after her, their tongues dragging on the asphalt as they caught the rear view.
"Ohmigod, ohmigod, are you okaaaaay?" Dana reached me and wrapped her arms around my middle, hugging me so tightly I thought my eyes might bulge out.
"I can't breathe."
"Sorry." She backed away. "What happened?"
"Somebody broke in. They trashed my place and then hit me on the head."
"Oooohhh, honey," she wailed, hugging me again.
"I'm okay," I protested, wriggling from her iron grip. "I just need somewhere else to stay tonight. Can I come home with you?"
"Of course! I'll pull the sofa bed out. And we'll make cocktails, it will be like a sleepover."
"No cocktails." Ramirez came up behind us. To his credit, his eyes didn't even linger on Dana's peek-a-boo hemline. Much.
"She's got a possible concussion. So no alcohol."
"Right. Got it." Dana nodded, as if taking notes. "No booze."
"And she shouldn't go to sleep for more than two hours at a time. She needs to be woken up to make sure she's not nauseated or disoriented."
"Right. No sleep."
Ramirez slid me a sideways glance. "And no more sticking her nose in other people's business."
I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him. Under the circumstances, I thought it was very mature of me.
"Right. No nosing," Dana repeated.
"I'll make sure they lock up when they're done." Ramirez gestured up toward my studio door, still standing ajar. "Let me know where you're staying and I'll have someone drop the keys off."
Dana gave him her address and phone number, which Ramirez wrote down in his little notebook. Then Ramirez got back into his SUV and drove away, leaving Dana and me both fanning ourselves as we stared after his denim clad butt worthy of a GAP commercial.
"That man is Alabama in August hot," Dana said. "Did you see those glutes?"
I sighed. "I know."
"You sure you don't want to make him your detective?"
No. I wasn't sure. Just like I wasn't sure if I was experiencing actual morning sickness or just reacting to the nauseating state of my love life in general. All I knew was concussion equaled whopper of a headache and my brain hurt all the way to my ash blonde roots.
"Dana, please tell me you have some Advil in your purse?"
Dana reached into her Spade knockoff while eyeing my temple, where I could feel a goose egg slowly rising. "You know, I hate to say it," she said, "but maybe Ramirez is right. Maybe you should just leave this all to the cops."
Et tu, Dana?
Only I kind of agreed with her. I had tons of suspects, motives galore, and more outrageous theories than an X-Files fan. But what I didn't have was any real evidence that anyone other than Richard had actually killed Greenway and his wife. And I was beginning to think that maybe Chesterton was right, that Richard's best bet at that get out of jail free was an undotted "i" or misscrossed "t" in the legal system. Maybe I was just making things worse. Maybe it was time to consider a career in cheerleading after all.
Trying not to feel deflated, I downed two Advil, shrugged off the green blanket, and got into Dana's Saturn. I spent most of the ride into Studio City with my eyes closed, trying not to think about how my life had suddenly become something out of a B-movie.
When we pulled up to the Actor's Duplex I flickered them open to see a blue Trans Am parked outside the building.
Dana parked behind it. "Uh-oh."
"Uh-oh? What uh-oh?"
She bit her lip and turned to me. "You're not going to like this."
Great. "Then you better tell me quickly while my head still hurts too badly to strangle you."
Dana looked from the Trans Am to me. "I kind of told Sasha and Micha to meet us here for our double date tonight."
"Dana! I told you 'no.'"
"I know, I know. But I thought you'd change your mind. I mean your boyfriend is in prison."
Like I needed reminding.
"I'm sorry. I was so freaked when you called I totally forgot to call Sasha and cancel."
"Dana, I'm so not in an Energizer Bunny place right now."
"Look, let's go in, and I'll explain that you're not feeling well and we'll have to double date another time."
I gave her a dirty look.
"Okay, okay. No double date. Geez. You know, I've only got your best interests at heart here. When was the last time you even had sex?"
I did not dignify this with an answer. Mostly because I couldn't remember.
When we walked in the door, Sasha and another dark haired man were seated on the living room sofa. No Neck sat in the La-Z-Boy across from them, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring.
"Sorry we're late," Dana trilled, plopping her purse down on the kitchen counter. She gave No Neck a cursory glance, then deposited a kiss on Sasha's cheek.
No Neck's eyes narrowed.
"We are waiting with roommate. He let us in. We wait a long time for you," Sasha chided. Then he looked down at Dana's higher-than-a-kite hemline. "But is worth the wait."
No Neck's eyes narrowed further.
"Sorry, we had a little emergency. Maddie," she said, dragging me into the room by the hand. "This is Micha, Sasha's friend."
Micha stood up to shake my hand. I felt a bubble of laughter escape my lips. The top of his head only came to my chin.
Micha stuck out his hand, and smiled until h
is face was all teeth. "I do it on top."
I blinked. Okay, way too much information for a first date. I looked from Dana to the overly friendly midget. "Please tell me he didn't just say what I think he said."
"Micha's the top of the pyramid," Dana quickly explained.
"Yes." Micha nodded. "I do it on top."
Uhn. Mental forehead smacking.
Micha sat back down, patting the sofa beside him. I sat down, sliding as far to the other end as possible.
"I like new dress you wear," Sasha said, still eyeing Dana's outfit like an Atkins dieter with a Krispy Kreme.
"Oh, thanks, honey." She glanced in No Neck's direction. "The old ball and chain dresses up pretty nice, doesn't she?"
Sasha nodded, his neck getting all veiny again. "Is good. Make boob look very curvy."
No Neck's eyes became tiny slits.
"So, Micha, Maddie's a shoe designer," Dana said, still obviously trying to play matchmaker to my underfed libido.
Micha looked down at my fuzzy slippers.
"Not these," I clarified. "Children's shoes."
"Ah." He nodded.
"Only the Strawberry Shortcake high tops I was working on say 'bitch' all over them now, because Greenway's mistress broke into my apartment and hit me on the head, so they're not really child friendly anymore." For future reference, I apparently tend to babble both when I'm nervous and when I've suffered a concussion.
Micha gave me a concerned look. Then scooted further toward his end of the sofa.
"Dana," I prodded. "Didn't you have something to tell them?" I gestured to the pyramid twins.
"Right." She cleared her throat. "Guys, Maddie's not really feeling well tonight, so we're going to have cancel. Sorry."
Sasha's face fell. Micha looked a little relieved, still glancing at my fuzzy slippers.
"When I see you again?" Sasha asked. "You come out tomorrow night? We have date then? Go very fancy restaurant?"
"Aw, isn't that sweet," Dana said. "I love how some men," she glanced in No Neck's direction again, "aren't afraid to commit to a relationship."
Spying in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries #1) Page 22
