By the time I’m done, it’s evening and my body tingles at the thought of seeing Suds again.
I think about propositioning him. Sex without strings has a nice ring to it.
Joey calls up the stairs, “Yo, Sammy. Someone wants to take you to dinner.”
“Be right down.” My heart pounds as I look for something to wear suitable for chasing cats through alleyways and yet sexy enough for a man to take me to bed.
No cat woman costume readily available, I opt for black cotton-spandex jeans and a t-shirt tight enough to see my bra lines and show off my cleavage.
I put sneakers in my huge purse and don three inch heels so I will be closer to his mouth when he kisses me.
There’s no time to do a full application of makeup but I do my eyes sultry and smoky. One last look in the mirror, I put an elastic tie around my wrist for later and fluff out my hair.
My clit quivering next to skin-tight pants, I work my way down the stairs. Not having worn heels for a while, I’m out of practice and catch a heel in the carpet at the bottom and fall right into the arms of…
Petey?
Oh, hell, no.
“You look great.” He giggles and I close my eyes, trying to think of anything but the Pillsbury Dough Boy playing the part of Michael Corleone in The Godfather.
“Thanks, Pete.” I climb out of his embrace and glare at the smirking Joey who obviously knew what he was doing when he called up to me.
“I, ah, am so surprised to see you. I thought we said next week?” I glance toward my room wondering how to politely change my clothes.
“Me too, but when Joey called, I was free so I thought, what the hell, why not?” He takes my arm and I mouth to Joey over my shoulder, you are dead meat.
“Have a good time you two.” When my cousin quietly snickers and slinks back into the kitchen, I shoot him the finger behind my back.
Paybacks are a bitch, Joey.
“You looked shocked to see me.” Outside, Pete slides his hand to my waist, then to my ass, which I promptly slap away.
“Ah, yeah. About that. I can’t stay long. I still have to find Frankie’s cat tonight.”
“His mangy yellow monster?” He shudders. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting it back. So anyway, I thought we could go to Nonna’s Cucina.”
“Sure.” Hopefully, everyone will see us, tell Vinny, and get him off my case.
Pete looks down at my shoes. “Maybe you should change those.”
“Nope, nope, I’m good.”
Making sure to keep at least six inches between us, I wobble down the few blocks to the neighborhood’s favorite Italian restaurant.
“Hello Pete, Sam.” Sadie seats us near the front window and hands us menus. “Welcome back Pete. Hey Sam, I heard the FBI fired you. So, youz know what you want already?”
According to the salon ladies, my middle school nemesis is divorced with two kids and working on husband number three. I’d feel bad except for how she stole my gym sneakers and other mean shit too numerous to recall.
“I’ll have soup and salad.” I hand back the folder, not bothering to look.
No way am I ordering a pricey meal and setting up Pete’s expectations. Even though he smiles lecherously, my clit shrivels at the thought of having sex with him.
The image is so disturbing, I may need therapy for life.
When he orders an expensive Cabernet with a six course meal, I moan and curse Joey. He knew I didn’t have time to ping Rose or Mia to set up a rescue.
Pete, wearing a designer suit big enough to fit three of me, makes a toast. “To new beginnings.”
I clink. “To fond friendships.”
He beams like I promised to sleep with him and I struggle to keep from puking.
Dear God help me.
Appetizers arrive, Pete settles back with his fried calamari, and begins to expound upon his net worth in excruciating detail. After thirty minutes, I excuse myself to the ladies’ room and text my cousin.
Me: 911. Trapped in Pete hell.
Rose: How many courses?
Me: Six!!
Rose: U have to stay for three
Me: Kill me now.
Rose: Are you allergic to shellfish?
Me: No
Rose: U could pretend to choke
Me: He’d probably try the Heimlich and cop a feel. I need help.
Rose: Don’t panic. I’ll come by in about an hour and get you out.
Me: TY. I owe you.
Much relieved, and yet wondering how I can handle another hour, I head back to the table where our salads have arrived along with another bottle of wine. He’s so huge he probably doesn’t feel the effects of the first.
Pete, after reciting his list of 401K plans pauses to ask me a question. “So, do you honestly want to be a private investigator?”
Bored into a stupor, it takes a while for my brain to engage. “Yeah, absolutely.”
“Do you like that sort of thing? Taking pictures of naked men cheating on their wives.”
I choke on my soup and spit it out into the bowl. Then, I fold my napkin, place it neatly next to my plate and stand.
“I had a lovely time, Pete. Thank you so much for the meal.” I glance down at my phone. “My mother just had a heart attack. I need to go.”
I muster the politest smile I can, turn on my heel, and stomp to the door.
Leaning against the nearest brick wall, I pull my hair and hiss under my breath. “Jesus H. Christ. I am a grown woman. This is ridiculous!”
Chapter 9
Suds
Not wanting her driving around in that old Impala, I’d arrived at her apartment early, only to learn from her cousin she’d gone out on a date.
He wouldn’t tell me where, but while we were arguing, an olive-skinned beauty had walked halfway down the stairs and shouted, “Nonna Cucina. Pete takes all his dates there.”
She’d stuck her tongue out at the fuming man, ran back upstairs, and laughed hysterically with another woman, no doubt her other cousin.
Shaking my head, I got back in my SUV, Googled the directions, and stopped a few blocks away.
The front glass windows make her easy to spot. I grin as she rolls her eyes, checks her phone and studies her nails.
I circle the block, find a place to park, and settle down with a novel while she finishes her meal.
“What an ass.” At the sound of her snarky tone nearby, I close my book and start up my car.
“Hey beautiful, need a ride?” Grinning, I lean out the driver’s side window.
She tugs off her heels, runs barefoot to the passenger side door, and hops up. “Oh my God, thank you.”
Inside the restaurant, Pete sips on his wine, staring out the door, looking a bit stunned.
We both stare for a bit, then I pull away from the curb. “You went to dinner with him?”
“Yuppers.” She opens her giant purse, grabs sneakers, and stuffs in her heels.
“Huh.” I check her out from head to toe, a bit annoyed. “You look good. Too good for the likes of him.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” She mutters like this is somehow my fault as she ties her shoes.
Before I can ask, she pulls an elastic tie from her wrist and with elbows still up, begins to spout off. “Do you know he has exactly thirty thousand in his four-oh-one-k’s, twenty in his stock portfolio, and has one hundred in equity in the pizza parlor.”
I grin. “He sounds like a keeper.”
“Never again. Oh shit. Can you pull by my place? I have to pick up the cat carrier.”
“Sure.” I ease out into traffic. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“Why dress like that if you aren’t interested in Pete?”
“Fuck.” She shakes her pretty pony tail back and forth. “You might as well know. When Joey called up the stairs, he said someone wanted to take me to dinner. I thought it was you.”
I smile and my cock twitches. “So the shirt, those pants, the
heels?”
“Yes, yes. All for you. Okay?” Her mouth purses and her brows furrow so I don’t say anything but hell, it’s more than okay.
In fact, it’s perfect. Apparently she’s as anxious as me to get back into the sack. Time to find the stupid feline and call it a night.
Pulling into the driveway, she runs toward the house and shouts. “I will get you back, Joey.”
A moment later she exits carrying a plastic pet transporter and some green stuff in a plastic deli cup.
I flick my eyes at the container. “What you got there?”
“Broccoli.”
“You still hungry?”
“It’s for the cat.”
“Hmmm.” I pull out onto the BQE, get off in Staten Island, and head into Bayonne from there.
As dusk turns to dark, I hand her a coffee.
She smells good and looks even better.
I reach around to the back seat and grab my fast food. When I open the Chinese, her eyes glimmer and she salivates.
“Didn’t you eat?” I hand her some chop sticks.
“I didn’t want Pete thinking I owed him anything, not even a good night kiss.”
“That good, huh?” I hand her an eggroll.
“What is it about people, huh? I just want to run my own business, be my own boss. Does it make me a pervert?”
I make a noncommittal noise and assume Pete said something to push her buttons.
“Seriously.” She huffs, takes a bite, and talks with her mouth full. “I have no desire to take pictures of naked men through basement windows.”
“Good to hear.” I raise my brows and grin as my imagination takes hold of the imagery.
Licking her fingers, she glances at me out of the corner of her eyes. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“I’m guessing Pete doesn’t think highly of private detectives, as in you trying to become one.”
“You got that right.” She reaches over and grabs one of my barbecue wings. “Mmm. These are good.”
We eat for a while in silence, watching the cat door.
The gratifying noises she makes while she eats remind me of that night in DC and my stupid cock jumps to life.
Y’all need to settle down, dude. We got a cat-napping first.
“Can I ask you something?” She licks her fingers with little pops and hell if I don’t wish I could do it for her.
“Sure.” I shift in my seat and try to remember what Slate said about sleeping with her.
Was it should or shouldn’t?
Sam clears her throat. “I know I’m supposed to be off the Bannerman case but I got to thinking. I think the guy who planted the dandelion puller was the murderer. How else would he have the weapon?”
“The police will figure it out eventually, sugar.”
“Aren’t you even curious? Don’t you want to know who killed the congressman’s wife?”
“Of course I am and I do. But we’re not the Feds and we’re not the cops. We’re hired guns. If his defense team wants more from us, they’ll ask.”
“I’m not sure I like this.” She pouts.
“You’re going to have to face the same dilemma when you run your own business. You need to focus on what pays the bills.”
“Fine. I get it. Let’s get the damn cat. The sooner I get paid, the sooner I can find an apartment without a two-legged guard dog.”
I hand her some night-vision goggles I borrowed from Patten and put on my own. “Here. These my help.”
While we wait, we talk for a while about growing up in Brooklyn. It sounds more like a small town than what I imagined. “How did your mom and dad ever hook up, being on opposite sides of the law?”
“They met at a party. According to them, it was like Romeo and Juliet.” Her eyes get misty. Is it possible, under all that sarcasm, lives the heart of a romantic?
“How did your Uncle Vinny, feel about your dad?”
She shrugs. “By the time Mom came back from college, she was married and pregnant with me. Daddy went into the Navy and when he came home, he got a job with the police force and moved up the ranks. The rest is history.”
The lights in Mrs. Frankie’s house continue to flicker from her TV screen. A warm night, she must’ve opened the windows and is watching some kind of action adventure. Gunshots fire, the background music plays, and a garbled conversation takes place. Maybe I should cut the power to her house to get this show on the road.
“What about you?” Sam touches my forearm and lightning fast, neurons fire all the way to my groin.
“Huh? What about me?” I interlace our fingers and capture her gaze, willing her to acknowledge the sparks flying between us
“Where did you grow up?” The black centers of her eyes widen.
“The south.”
The moment is ruined when she snorts out her nose. “You so do hate coughing up information. Where in the south, pray tell?”
“North Carolina.” Smirking, I raise one brow.
“Parents?”
“Yes. Two.”
“Siblings?”
“One.”
“Jobs before Patten?”
“Assorted.”
She lowers the goggles I gave her and stares toward the door. “Privacy issues much?”
“Not at all. What makes you say that?”
“Nothing. Hold on. Here we go. Lights out.” Sam hops out of the car and grabs the cat carrier along with the ridiculous tub of broccoli.
The pungent cabbage-y smell wafts on the breeze as she opens the tub and places it on the ground.
My phone vibrates and I glance down.
Slate: Need you in the office. Bring Sam. Defense team wants us to investigate.
Me: On it.
Putting the phone in my pocket, we wait for the small swinging door to open. After a few minutes, two yellow paws appear followed by a head with glittering green eyes.
Sam scrapes the green goo on the sidewalk with her toe, the cat catches a whiff, and pads out onto the landing. She stares, yawns as if uninterested, and licks her butt.
My partner-in-crime pulls out a roll of duct tape and chews off a length with her teeth. “I’m going to circle around, scare it off the steps, and tape the door shut.
“Copy that.” Squatting by the bait, I grin as she slowly wiggles her sexy butt toward the stoop.
Suddenly, startled by Sam’s noise, the cat yowls, and zooms down the stairs. When it puts its nose in the broccoli, I grab it by the scruff of the neck.
Bingo! “Sam. I got her. Bring the carrier.”
It takes both of us to get the hissing, scratching beast into the carrier hole and snap it shut. After, we high five and head back to the car. Thank God. It’s still early. There’s still plenty of time for sex.
As I open the door to the back seat, a dreaded yet familiar ping hits metal and a hole appears in the door of the SUV.
“Bullet, babe.” Much like the cat, I grab her, pull her to the pavement, and keep her under me as we make our way to the opposite side of the vehicle.
“For cat-napping?” She shivers under me and I curse at how close a call we just had.
“Fuck if I know. They’re your relatives. Stay low.”
She dials nine-one-one and we wait. The silence is broken only by the cat’s yowling and the wail of sirens which grow louder until they turn down the street.
“Police! Hands over your head.” A plain-clothed cop jumps out, pistol pointed in our direction.
Neither Sam nor I want to risk leaving our cover so I shout, “Stay under cover. I’m Sebastian Sutcliff. She’s Samantha Russo. Shots were fired from the north. Not sure who the shooter was or if he’s still out there.”
“Copy that.” The officer squats at the south side of his vehicle and calls for more backup as porch lights come on. Pretty soon the neighborhood is as bright as midday.
Frankie’s ex comes out on the porch in a bathrobe, green mud mask, and matching soft green curlers. “They stole my cat!
Arrest them.”
At the sound of the woman’s screech, Chloe hisses in the back seat.
Sam gently calms her. “Don’t worry hun, we won’t send you back.”
“You do know she’s an animal, right?”
“She’s scared. Obviously, Mrs. Frankie is a bad cat mommy.”
Another cruiser rolls down the road and a man in a suit gets out of the car. He’s got his gun out of his holster and is looking straight at Samantha.
“Oh fuck.” She moans and rolls out from under me. “It’s my dad.”
“Sam? What the hell is going on, here? And who the fuck is he?”
I step out with my hands up, figuring it must be safe now the whole five boroughs are awake. In the back, the cat cries as if it’s being murdered.
Me and you both, kitty.
Her father keeps his weapon pointed at me. “Sam, is that Frankie’s cat?”
She mutters under her breath. “You got to be kidding me. Even he knows?”
Pitching her voice for him, she shouts. “Yeah, Dad.”
I pipe in. “We were taking it to the vet. It’s depressed. We figure it needs some kind of cat therapy.”
Frankie’s ex dashes out into the street with large slippers, shaped like crocodiles. “Arrest them. They took my dear, sweet Dinky.”
As Chloe hisses, I lower my arms, and her dad holsters his pistol. “Is it true, Sam? Did you kidnap her cat?”
I can’t help myself. “Actually sir, to be precise, it’s a cat-napping.”
He shares a short grin before nodding. “I see.”
“It’s my first job as a PI, Daddy. Frankie loves Chloe and she…” Sam points at the lady in green curlers. “…took her illegally.”
Sam’s father stares at Frankie’s ex. “You fired shots at my daughter for taking your cat?”
“I certainly did not.” She huffs, the green mask flaking off when she frowns.
“Someone did.” I point out the hole in the side of my SUV.
Rubbing his palm over his face, he motions one of the officers forward. “Get that vehicle down to the station and tell them to pull the bullet out ASAP and get it analyzed.”
His gaze narrows and I remember what Slate told me about her father and my chances of survival should he find out we were sleeping together. “And you are?”
Suds and Sam Page 5
