by JB Lynn
“You’re a pretty one, but not too much going on up here”.” Armani tapped her forehead. “I work for an insurance company.”
“Did you just call my son stupid?” Juana fumed. “You, you…”
Armani’s eyes narrowed, preparing to be insulted.
“Can I please have the name of the person who can help me find the damn cat?” Pete yelled, sensing his chance to get in Alyssa’s good graces slipping away with every inane comment made in the conversation.
Juana and Armani glared at one another for a moment longer. While they did, Mauricio turned and began walking away.
“Where are you going, mijo?” Juana called after him.
“Someplace sane,” he muttered, not breaking his stride.
“He needs a woman in his life,” Armani told Juana.
“I know.” Juana frowned after her disappearing son. “I try… but…”
“Can you help Mauricio with his love life after you’ve helped me with mine?” Pete practically begged.
“No problem,” Armani said. “It’ll be easy as pie.”
Even when she said the words, Pete knew they weren’t true, but he knew he had to try.
Chapter 5
Alyssa did her best to strangle her car’s steering wheel as she drove to the Michelman house.
She didn’t like that Pete had been doing research on her. There were doors to her past she wanted kept firmly locked. He shouldn’t be snooping. If he found out how she’d ended up here, Jane might not want anything to do with her. And really, Jane was her only friend. She had no family.
The newly familiar sense of loneliness filled her, but she gave herself a mental slap. There was no point in feeling sorry for herself.
Friends and family. Who needed them?
She forced her mind to focus on the current problem. Where was Mr. Burberry? And, more importantly, just how much danger was Mrs. M. in?
She parked in front of the mansion and bounded up the stairs. The door swung open before she reached the top.
“I thought I asked you to sit with her?” Worry made her voice sharper than she’d intended.
Roscoe Underwood shrugged meekly. A move that made him look more like a shy ten-year-old boy than a guy who could be a body double for a professional wrestler. “I heard you pull in.”
“Does she know yet?” Alyssa whispered.
He shook his head.
“Did you search the house again?”
He shook his head. “How? You told me to sit with her.”
“Oh yeah.”
Roscoe squinted at her. “Are you okay? You looked flushed.”
She knew he was asking, not because of her physical appearance, but because it was so out of character for her to ask a question she should have known the answer to. “You caught me mid-workout.”
He nodded, but she got the impression he didn’t quite believe her.
“I’ll take a quick look for him,” she continued, hoping to divert his attention. “Then I’ll tell her.”
The relief on the big man’s face was so intense she had to swallow a laugh. While Mrs. M. was a tiny, frail, old woman, her personality was intimidating.
Deciding to work her way from the top down, Alyssa ran up the middle staircase and began searching the bedrooms. The antique-filled guest bedroom didn’t offer a cat too many hiding places, so it was quickly obvious he wasn’t there.
He also wasn’t hiding in the lace- and doily-covered master suite that reeked of lavender, Mildred’s signature scent. He wasn’t under the bed or hiding in the tub or hanging out in the gigantic closet. Before she left the room, Alyssa’s gaze was drawn to the old framed photograph of a handsome young man on the night table.
Not for the first time, she wondered how Mr. Michelman felt having Mildred’s first husband watching over them. After all, she’d made a point of showing Alyssa the picture the first time she’d come to the house, speaking with great fondness and admiration of her long-deceased love.
She didn’t seem to be quite as enamored with Mr. Michelman, who Alyssa had yet to meet, since he was on the around-the-world vacation with Ralph, his son from his first marriage.
She didn’t seem to have any kind feelings toward Ralph, despite having been his stepmother for close to forty years.
But the cat, Mr. Burberry, she was pretty sure Mildred loved him most of all.
She continued her search down the hallway to another bedroom, this one done in a blue-and-white beachy décor that didn’t fit a house that was surrounded, not by sand or sea, but by an impressive garden. No cat.
No cat in any of the six bedrooms.
She moved her hunt downstairs, but couldn’t find him anywhere.
Sighing, she gave up the fruitless search and went to tell Mildred the upsetting news.
Mildred and Roscoe were in the library. While Mildred, reclining on an elegant chaise lounge, was absorbed in a phone call and Roscoe studied an antique cookbook, Alyssa took a moment to appreciate her favorite room in the house. Done in dark woods and subtle chintz, it felt like an extension of the garden it offered a stunning view of.
“Back already, dear?” Mildred asked, hanging up the phone. “I thought you were taking the entire afternoon off.”
“A bit of an issue arose.” Alyssa slid her gaze toward Roscoe who stubbornly kept his eyes glued to the yellowed page he read. Not that she could blame him. She really wasn’t sure how Brady had convinced him to help her out with this protection detail.
Mildred frowned. “What kind of issue?”
“I’m sure it’s going to end up being nothing, just like last time.” Alyssa knew her words were coming out too quickly to ring true, but she couldn’t slow them down. “Mr. Burberry seems to be missing again.”
Mildred frowned. “Oh.”
Alyssa was taken aback. She’d expected wringing of hands and accusations to fly.
“Maybe I should make you a cup of tea,” Roscoe suggested, getting to his feet.
“That would be lovely,” Mildred murmured.
Roscoe left the room.
“Has it arrived yet?” was all she asked.
Alyssa blinked. “Has what arrived?”
“The ransom note.”
Cold fear dripped down Alyssa’s spine. No wonder Mildred had barely reacted to the cat’s disappearance. Her husband was in danger. “You’re expecting a ransom note?”
Mildred nodded. “Of course we’ll need proof of life. I’ve spoken to a retrieval expert and was told that proof of life is essential.”
Alyssa jumped to her feet. She’d known Mr. Michelman was traveling in some remote areas, but she hadn’t anticipated him being kidnapped. She clenched her hands into fists, thinking the next time she saw Brady, she was going to kill him for getting her into a replay of her worst nightmare.
“Then again,” Mildred mused, “he is a very clever boy. Maybe he’ll escape on his own.”
Knowing the first few hours after a kidnapping were statistically very important in the safe return of a victim, Alyssa reached for her phone. She might no longer be a member, but she knew when it was time to call in law enforcement.
“Did you check the garage?”
“What?” Alyssa wondered if the old woman had cracked.
“Did you look for him in the garage? Maybe he hasn’t been kidnapped at all. Maybe he’s just hiding there.”
“Wait. Are we talking about Mr. Burberry being kidnapped or a human being?”
“Why Mr. Burberry of course.” Mildred looked at her as though she were the one being illogical.
Alyssa stuck her phone back in her pocket with such force she almost ripped the seams. Knowing it wasn’t safe for her to speak without getting herself fired and pissing off Brady, she clenched her jaw. Wordlessly, she pivoted on her heel and strode out of the room.
“Where are you going?” Mrs. M. called after her.
“To find out if Roscoe’s gotten a ransom note.”
Chapter 6
Pete swiveled in
his desk chair so he could take in the panorama of computer monitors on his desk. Each of the three screens featured someone he was researching.
The first was Amy Winn’s mysterious father, who Brady had asked him to look into. It looked like Brady’s suspicions that he was a shady guy were right on the money. He’d been a person of interest in a list of crimes dating back decades, but he’d never been officially charged with any of them.
The second screen featured Tara, the name Armani had given as someone who could help find a missing cat. She was a woman who made unfortunate choices with her makeup, if her DMV photo was to be believed, but who otherwise appeared to walk the straight and narrow. No criminal record. A steady work history as an animal control officer. An upstanding citizen.
Alyssa Montgomery was the subject on the third screen. Easy-to-find public records revealed the blonde beauty had majored in Criminal Justice before becoming a cop, but they didn’t tell him why she wasn’t one now. He’d have to dig deeper to find that information. He’d heard the panic and anger in her voice when she’d asked how he knew her middle name. He wondered if that was because she valued her privacy or because she was hiding something.
He spun his chair in a full circle trying to decide what to do next.
His doorbell rang, interrupting his thoughts.
Jumping out of his seat, he hurried to his front door. A quick glance through his peephole revealed his friend Jackson standing on his porch.
“What’s up?” Pete asked, opening the door.
“Heard you talked to Brady.” Jackson, carrying a pizza, strode in without an invitation.
“Uh-huh.” Pete’s nose practically twitched as he fell into step behind the bearer of food.
“He in trouble?” Jackson tossed the pie onto the kitchen table.
“He wanted some additional info on Amy’s father,” Pete replied, slowly taking plates and napkins from a cabinet. As good as the pizza smelled, he knew his friend was more concerned with their conversation than eating.
“And?”
“And not such a good guy.”
“That’s what Brady’s mom said.” Jackson grimaced. “She’s worried about him.”
“Brady’s not going to do anything stupid,” Pete soothed, pulling a couple of beers out of the fridge.
Jackson leaned against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck in worry. “Oh yeah? What would you call quitting his job and running to Europe with a girl he’d just met?”
Pete put the beers down on the table, sank into a chair, and opened the pizza box. “He hated that job.” Pete looked enquiringly at Jackson. “You gonna eat?”
Grudgingly, Jackson nodded.
While he sat down, Pete plopped a piece onto plates for each of them. “And I thought you liked Amy.”
“I did. The single time I met her. But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t some kind of master manipulator or something. I’ve been fooled before.”
Pete winced at the bitterness in Jackson’s tone. He knew its source. He also knew he didn’t want to rehash old news. He took a bite of gooey pizza and then changed the subject. “Jane’s friend Alyssa came into the gym today.”
“The Ice Princess?”
Remembering how she’d blushed twice in his company, Pete suspected a fiery woman lurked beneath her cold mask, but he didn’t tell his friend that. “Uh-huh.”
“Why?”‘
“She wanted to work out. Instead, Juana tried to set her up with Mauricio.” He chuckled at the memory.
“Geez, I know she wants grandkids, but she must be getting really desperate.”
A ball of annoyance lodged in Pete’s chest. “Not that desperate. Alyssa is a beautiful woman.”
Jackson shrugged. “I guess… if the idea of snuggling with a popsicle appeals… Personally, I’d worry about freezer burn.”
The pressure in his chest increased. Instead of leaping to Alyssa’s defense like he wanted to, Pete focused on eating his pizza, which now tasted like stale toast.
Sure, Alyssa had a pretty robust defense system going, designed to rebuff the average guy, but how could Jackson not see how gorgeous and vulnerable she really was?
Jackson chuckled low and deep. “Oh man.”
“What?” Pete glared at him, silently challenging him to put Alyssa down again.
Jackson, noting the challenge, laughed harder. “She really got under your skin.”
“What are you talking about?”
Jackson picked up his slice and used it as a pointer. “I saw you with her on the dance floor at Tommy’s wedding.”
“So?”
Jackson just chuckled and took a bite of his pizza.
“So you were just yanking my chain with the whole popsicle thing?” Pete asked finally.
Jackson grinned. “Mauricio told me you chased her into the parking lot.”
“I didn’t chase her.”
Jackson raised his eyebrows.
“I followed her in order to finish our conversation.”
“Oh. I see. And I guess she didn’t lay down rubber because she was speeding away from you?” Jackson teased.
Pete couldn’t help but chuckle a little too. “She had a work emergency.”
“If you say so.”
“She’s protecting the wife of Brady’s old boss.”
“Protecting her from what?”
Pete shrugged. “All I know is that it involves a missing cat.”
Jackson shook his head. “First Tom meets Jane because he was babysitting a dog, now you’re chasing after a woman with a cat thing.”
“I’m pretty sure Armani Vasquez would say she’s the reason Tom and Jane met. She stopped by the gym too.”
“Yeah. Mauricio might have inserted that little nugget within his rant about her.”
“She called him “‘sexy.’”” Pete laughed. “I thought his head was going to explode.”
Jackson grinned. “I think—”
“Hold that thought,” Pete interrupted, answering his cell phone which had started to vibrate. “Hello?”
“It’s Alyssa Montgomery,” the Popsicle herself said. “I need to invite you to dinner.”
“You need to invite me?”
Jackson took another slice of pizza, making no effort to hide the fact he was actively eavesdropping on Pete’s end of the conversation.
Alyssa sighed. “I could use your help finding the damn cat and my boss insisted I invite you to dine with us, so she could meet you.”
“By your boss, you mean Mildred Michelman? And the cat you’re referring to is Mr. Burberry, right?”
There was a long moment of silence. When Alyssa finally spoke, her tone was just as cool as Jackson had accused her of being. “Snooping like that is just plain creepy.”
“I told you, I’m good at my job. Besides, I wasn’t snooping. I was getting prepared in case you decided you need my help, which it seems you’ do.”
“Then I assume you don’t need Mrs. Michelman’s home address,” she snapped. “Dinner is in forty-five minutes.” With that, she disconnected the call.
Pete stared at his phone. “She hung up on me.”
“You do have that effect on women,” Jackson said drily.
Pete leapt his feet. “I’ve got to go. Let yourself out when you’re done?”
Jackson rolled his eyes, but kept his opinion to himself.
Pete raced around, gargling mouthwash, while he packed up his laptop and changed into a fresh shirt.
Jackson, still at the kitchen table eating his pizza, quietly suggested “Wine” as Pete hurried past.
Pete skidded to a stop. “Whine?”
“Maybe a glass or two will loosen her up.”
“Oh… wine.”
Jackson nodded. “That is what I said.”
“Great idea.” Pete hurried over to the small wine rack in the corner of the kitchen. “White or red?”
“Take both and cover all your bases.”
Pete grabbed two bottles. “Good idea. Thanks.”
He took off toward the door again.
This time it was Jackson’s audible sigh that stopped him in his tracks. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that Jackson looking at him like he was a lost cause.
“What now?”
“So it’s none of my business, but I gotta ask.” Jackson shifted in his seat uncomfortably, staring at a spot just over Pete’s shoulder. “Have you got a condom?”
“Ummm,” Pete didn’t want to say that he didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in hell that Alyssa Montgomery would have sex with him after one dinner. So he reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and peered into the billfold. He fished out a crumpled foil packet and waved it triumphantly. “Yup.”
Jackson groaned. “Just how long has your dry spell been?”
“Screw you.”
“Not me,” Jackson countered. “But considering they haven’t manufactured those since the decade started with a zero, I’m thinking you haven’t screwed anyone else either.”
Pete squinted at the package. “You think it’s expired?”
Jackson hung his head. “Center console of my truck. Help yourself to a handful.”
“You go through handfuls?” Pete asked, unaware of any special ladies in his friend’s life.
“Go,” Jackson growled. “Your dating-challenged self is making me lose my appetite.”
“Thanks, man.” Carrying the wine and his laptop, he hurried out to his car. Despite knowing that he wouldn’t need them, he dove into Jackson’s truck to grab a handful of condoms. Tossing them onto the passenger seat, he programmed Mildred Michelman’s address into his GPS system and sped away to find a cat.
Chapter 7
Alyssa prowled around the exterior of the Michelman house. She’d told Roscoe she’d do a security sweep. She’d left him in the kitchen, cooking up who knew what under Mildred’s watchful, some would say interfering, eye.
While she was grateful Brady had asked Roscoe to help her keep an eye on the old woman, she wasn’t sure how useful the big man was outside of the kitchen. When she’d asked him if he had experience acting as a bodyguard, he’d shrugged and said with a rueful smile, “Sort of.”
