by Margaret
Rachel froze. “Oh,” she said, staring.
“Hi,” he said, smiling. “Sorry, I thought you were Mike.”
“I’m sorry to bother you,” said Rachel, feeling her cheeks grow warm.
“What can I do for you?” Derek asked.
“Oh, um, I’m going out for the evening and I was feeling nervous about leaving my cat alone…”
“Cat?” said Derek, raising his eyebrows. “I did not know you had a cat.”
“I didn’t until a couple of hours ago. I was on my way home when I found him. He’d been abandoned and he was so wet and cold and hungry—you could see his ribs, Derek! Anyway, I picked him up and brought him back. He’s not quite used to things yet, so I was wondering if…someone could take care of him for me while I’m gone.”
He was staring at her. The smile was no longer on his face. “You are going out with Zanus, aren’t you?”
“Derek, don’t start!” Rachel returned, irritated. “I have a perfect right to go out with anyone I choose. Have Mike or whoever is on duty walk my cat, please. Anytime this evening and around noon on weekdays when I’m at work.”
She held out her spare key to him. The sight of him half-naked with water glistening on his bare chest and his wet hair falling over his face was doing terrible things to her composure. She had a sudden image in her mind of brushing up against his bare chest, kissing his lips that were still wet from the shower, brushing back the rumpled hair.
He didn’t take the key. He just stood there, regarding her with a grim expression on his face.
“You walk JoJo every day,” she said.
“That is different,” he said coldly.
“I don’t see how! Take my key! You’ll find the leash and the harness on the counter.” Rachel pressed the key into his unwilling hand, then turned and hastened away, almost running.
“You cannot walk a cat!” Derek called angrily after her.
“Yes, you can,” Rachel shot over her shoulder. “I used to walk my cat all the time. You just have to be patient. Sorry, I have to go. My ride is here!”
She hurried out the front door to where Zanus and the limo were waiting.
Derek stood there with Rachel’s apartment key in his hand, staring after her. Had she truly just asked him to walk her cat? Her cat! A blood vessel in his forehead started to throb and an uncomfortable warmth began to creep up the back of his neck. He was a knight, a holy warrior. He was here to guard and protect her. He was not Milady’s curly-haired page boy mincing down the castle halls with a cat on a leash! This was it! Derek was no woman’s cat-sitter.
He phoned his manager. “Sir, Rachel Duncan in twenty-two-fifteen just asked me to walk her cat. This will take me away from other more important duties here at the building.” Derek paused to listen. “Yes, sir. One of my duties. I know I am supposed to walk dogs, sir, but a cat—yes, I understand. Sorry to bother you, sir. Goodbye.”
He could have Mike do it. Derek was, after all, off duty this evening. Mike would probably welcome the task, for it would give him a chance to have a smoke. Derek didn’t trust Mike all that much. If Rachel lost her newfound cat, she’d blame him.
Sighing deeply, Derek thrust her key in his pocket.
Later that evening, Derek steeled himself to his new job and headed up to Rachel’s apartment. He unlocked the door and went inside. The first thing that struck him was the clutter and disorder. He himself lived with the Spartan simplicity of a soldier. Everything in its place and a place for everything. Rachel lived by a totally different philosophy—everything everywhere.
Her clothes were strewn around the living room, underneath and on top of charts, newspapers, books, and empty water bottles. Dishes were washed, but they’d been left stacked the sink. As he stood looking about, he had the feeling that something was missing. He couldn’t quite place it, and then he realized that there was nothing of Rachel. Nothing personal to her. No pictures decorating the walls—just an ugly cork board. No flowers in a vase. No comfy pillows on the sofa. In her way, she lived much like he did. She didn’t live here. She worked here. Which meant she didn’t “live” anywhere. Her life was her work. Just as his life—now long past—had been.
He shook away the thoughts that brought back bittersweet memories. He wanted to get this over with. Time to find the blasted cat. He found the leash and what he supposed was the harness on the kitchen counter. He eyed the harness contraption in disbelief and shook his head. What was the world coming to?
“Hey, cat,” Derek called irritably.
No response.
Seething, Derek looked behind chairs and under furniture, calling out, “Cat!” in increasingly annoyed tones. Then he glanced into the bedroom and there was the cat. He was curled up asleep on Rachel’s bed.
Derek had never liked cats. People back in his time had thought cats were wicked animals who consorted with witches and were used in black magic rites. He’d never believed such superstitious nonsense himself, but he didn’t like the way a cat looked you in the eye, as if the cat knew things about you that you didn’t.
Just as he was thinking this, the cat woke up and looked at him with unnerving intelligence. Derek glared back at the creature. He had no idea how he was supposed to put the harness on. Then he reminded himself that he had harnessed horses back in the days of his training for the knighthood. Certainly he could harness this fur ball.
Derek held the harness with his right hand and reached for the cat with his left hand. He thought it might run (Derek was actually hoping the cat would run, then he could tell Rachel he hadn’t been able to catch him). The cat stayed put on the bed, however, and Derek picked him up by the scruff of his neck. He eyed the cat and eyed the harness, then started to shove the harness over the cat’s head.
“You’re putting it on backward, sir.”
He didn’t hear the voice aloud. He heard it in his head. The voice had a familiar ring to it.
Derek stared at the cat.
The cat stared back.
“It’s me, Commander.” The voice sounded aggrieved. “Don’t you recognize me? Not the way I look, of course. But my voice. You should recognize my voice, sir.”
Derek looked at the cat, really looked at him. “I’ll be damned! Sampson!”
“Such language, sir. And you call yourself an angel. I’m your partner,” added the cat excitedly. “Angel William put in the request and Archangel Michael sent me to help you!”
A cherub! And, on top of that, he’d sent a cherub known throughout the heavenly halls to be scatterbrained and unreliable. Eager and enthusiastic, perhaps, but unreliable. Derek was livid with fury.
His new partner, now comfortably ensconced inside Rachel’s apartment, was a scrawny, orange-furred cherub, who winked at him with green cat eyes and talked to him in his head.
Of all William’s harebrained schemes, this was the worst.
Cherub were serene, joyful, adolescent angels, whose main duties consisted of opening the gates of Heaven and intervening gently in the lives of humans to increase their happiness. Over the centuries, humans had portrayed cherubim as fat cheeked, chubby little urchins armed with bows and arrows who shot darts of love into the human heart. Cherubim could assume that image, if they wanted to, though Derek couldn’t imagine why any of them would. They could choose any image, such as that of a cat. Their interactions with humans were strictly limited. Generally they touched human lives only briefly, doing small acts that left a smile or joyful feeling behind.
The situation in Heaven and on Earth must be very dire, indeed, if Archangel Michael had been forced to resort to using cherubs to help battle the forces of darkness. To Derek’s mind, cherubs were not equipped to handle such a dangerous job. They were not capable of comprehending such evil. This was one reason he’d never permitted Sampson to become a holy warrior, no matter how hard the young cherub had begged him.
He had first met Sampson when he was posted at the gates that led from Purgatory to Heaven. A heavenly doorman. Though Samp
son wasn’t supposed to leave the gates, he would often slip away from his position to watch the battles between the demons and the angels that raged throughout Purgatory. Derek was always having to send him back to his duties.
And now, young Sampson was his partner!
Derek was so angry he would have walked to the Fullerton Street bridge and personally throttled William, but he couldn’t leave his post.
Derek squatted down to look the cat in the eye.
“You go back and tell Archangel Michael I don’t need a partner. And, above all, I don’t need a cherub for a partner.” He stood up and started to walk out.
“Rachel’s with him right now, sir,” Sampson stated.
Derek stopped moving.
“Wouldn’t you like to know what happens tonight when she comes back, sir?” Sampson said, adding slyly, “She tells me everything. For example, she told me all about how much fun she had in the park today. I can tell you what she said…”
“All right,” said Derek grudgingly. “How the devil does this contraption go on?”
Derek wrestled the cat into the harness and they rode down the elevator and walked out through the lobby doors. A couple of guys playing Hacky Sack in the street snickered as Derek walked past with the cat on the leash. Derek glared at them and they wiped off their grins and went back to their game. He took Sampson to a small park nearby that was mostly empty this time of evening.
Once there, Derek found a bench that was out of sight. He picked up the cat, plopped him down on the bench.
“All right,” he said, “what’d she say about me?”
“Nothing, sir,” said Sampson, and if cats could grin, he was grinning. “I lied. Hey, I’m a cat. That’s what we do.”
“You’re also an angel,” said Derek dryly. “In case you’d forgotten.”
“It’s not easy being in this body,” Sampson said defensively. “Not all tuna and catnip. But then I guess you know how it feels to be a living being after all these centuries. Takes some getting used to.”
Derek could sympathize, but he didn’t want to discuss his human frailties with a cat. Plus he needed to know about Rachel. “So what did she talk about?”
“Zanus, Zanus, Zanus. That’s all I heard about today.” Sampson was suddenly serious. “He’s playing her, Commander. Using her.”
“Why? What for? What does he want with her?”
“Beats me, sir. That’s what we’re supposed to find out. Say, Commander, could you scratch me behind my right ear? I’ve got this itch…”
Derek regarded the cat in grim silence and made no move to scratch him.
“Come on, sir,” said Sampson, pawing at him. “You’ve got to admit that I can be useful to you. I can find out all sorts of things you can’t. She tells me everything. We’ll make a great team, you and I, sir.”
Much as he hated it, Derek had to agree. He reached out and gave the cat a quick scratch behind the ear.
“Ah, that’s the spot!” Sampson purred and began to rub his head against Derek’s hand.
Derek snatched his hand away. “Stick to business,” he ordered sternly.
“Yes, sir,” said Sampson, and he winked his green eyes.
Thirteen
Dinner with Zanus was fantastic as usual. He had rented a private yacht and instructed the crew to cruise around Lake Michigan so they could admire the city skyline. After dinner, they had their brandy on the aft of the yacht outside. Zanus fetched a blanket for Rachel and draped it over her legs.
“Do you like the view?” he asked.
“It’s wonderful,” she said.
“We have champagne.” Zanus gestured for the waiter to pour her a glass. As he arranged the blanket, he took hold of her foot and slowly and sensuously slid off her shoe. He then began to massage her foot. Rachel squirmed. His hands were cold and he was really very bad at giving massages. He probably didn’t realize it, but he was hurting her. She managed to draw her foot away, tucked it under the blanket.
“Okay, now the other shoe.”
Rachel forced a laugh. “If I’d known you were going to be giving me a foot massage, I would have gotten a pedicure.”
She drew this foot in, too, under the blanket.
“What? You don’t need a pedicure.” Zanus didn’t press her, however. He added teasingly, “Your foot is perfection. There is no improvement needed. It is said that feet are the windows to the soul. And Rachel dear, you have a beautiful soul. No pun intended.”
Rachel shook her head. “I think the quote goes ‘eyes are the windows to the soul.’”
“What? Eyes, no that’s wrong. It’s feet, I know it,” Zanus said gallantly. He paused, then added, “Rachel, I know I promised I wouldn’t talk business, but I can’t thank you enough for all the work you’ve done for me these past few months.”
“Oh it’s nothing—”
He cut her off with a shake of his head. “Without your skill and expertise, I would have failed miserably trading on my own. You’ve made me a lot of money. But there is something better.”
“Better than money?” She laughed.
“I’m serious.” He gave her hand a playful swat. His eyes, looking at her, were warm and soft. “You, Rachel. I’ve enjoyed working with you. You are the perfect mix of intelligence and radiant beauty.”
Zanus reached up with his hand and stroked her hair. Then he gently took hold of the back of her head and pulled her into a kiss. She tried to tell herself she felt something for him, but his lips were as cold as his hands.
When he pulled back from the kiss, Zanus looked into her eyes.
“Just imagine the things we could do together.” His voice was gruff, low.
Rachel smiled at him. “Just what kinds of things are you imagining, Mr. Zanus?”
His answer was unexpected. “I’m imagining the two of us as the most influential people in Chicago. The city is yours, you know. You and I together will make it ours. It’s all there for the taking.” He looked at her and smiled. “Did Freeman talk to you?”
“Oh, yes,” said Rachel. “I meant to tell you. That was quite clever, the way you handled things. I’ll be able to spend time with you and no one will think anything of it.”
“So we can start those trades on Monday, the ones you agreed to make,” he said quietly.
Rachel started to laugh, but his expression stopped her. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I am always serious about business, Rachel,” he said. “I didn’t rise to where I am by being timid—in business or pleasure.” He touched her hand again, running his fingertips up her arm, then sliding his hand back down.
But she didn’t feel any pleasure in this. She had the sudden impression that this evening had been staged for one purpose, to get her to perform the trades.
“And you are not timid either, Rachel. I know that you didn’t get to be one of the best traders on the floor by being a delicate flower, did you, my dear?”
“Well, no, I suppose not,” Rachel agreed. His ambition was becoming infectious.
“I imagine a pent house with a spectacular view, lavish weekends in Paris, Christmas on St. Thomas. And I imagine you sharing them all with me.”
He paused, regarded her intently. “You are the key to the plan, Rachel. I can’t do this without you. I don’t have your knowledge. All I have is money. I need your knowledge of the markets and your ability to make trades.”
“Just what exactly are you proposing?” Rachel asked.
“Don’t look at me that way, Rachel. What I’m asking is not illegal. Just some convenient swapping of trades with a friend of mine.”
“Meaning your friend would trade through me? Zanus, I can’t do that. It’s against the rules.” She wanted to put him off this subject for the last time, not because she didn’t want to do it. It was because she did want to make the trades. He’d sent her the information last week and she’d ignored it, hoping he’d would drop the subject. It seems, though, he wasn’t going to, and Rachel always felt like s
he had no will of her own in his presence.
“He wouldn’t be trading through regular channels. He would be using the Globex trading system. He would be someone who is silent and faceless. The exchange would never know.”
Rachel found herself actually considering this deal and she was shocked. This wasn’t right. She knew it. Her actions at work had always been above reproach. Oh, she’d heard plenty of stories of corrupt activities on the floor. She knew that the offenders were rarely caught. Unethical deals such as the subtle one he was proposing took a long time to be discovered by the exchange officials—if they ever were.
The Globex electronic trading system offered computerized order entry and trading virtually twenty-four hours a day to people around the world. It was extremely fast. In the ordinary way of doing business, a client usually phoned a broker, who then called the order desk at the Merc where a phone clerk took the verbal order and then entered the order into an electronic order routing system and from there to the pit. Globex bypassed all that and went straight to the trade, which could happen in as little as five seconds. But you had to know what you were doing, which was one reason why Zanus needed her help. Rachel had heard of Globex traders who accidentally hit the wrong key and lost millions.
Not that you needed computers for illegal or unethical practices. Those had probably been around since 1898, when the Merc was the Chicago Egg and Butter Board. Trades were handled so rapidly now that by the time the illegal traders were discovered, people had made their fortunes and gotten out. Either that or they’d gone bust and jumped off the top of a high-rise. Rachel was still haunted by the tale of a young woman who had done just that. She and Rachel had not been friends, but they’d say “hi” to each another in the ladies’ room and sometimes saw each other in the bars after the close of the market. The news of Belinda’s tragic death had come as a shock to Rachel. Still, scared money never wins, as the saying went on the poker tour.
“I suppose we could discuss the quantities and details,” Rachel said, stalling. She still felt uncomfortable about this. That was one reason she hadn’t brought up Freeman’s talk with her.
