Rick

by Peggy Jaeger

  “It would.”

  Abby folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. She may not like his proposal, but he knew her analytical mind would decide it was the best option. Abby wouldn’t want her older, heavily pregnant sister worrying. She had enough on her plate with a two-year-old at home, a baby due to arrive any minute, plus all the responsibilities of her cooking empire. Adding an unnecessary concern about her sister’s safety was something Abby could prevent.

  The sigh she heaved bolted up from the tips of her stilettoed toes. “Fine.” She uncrossed her arms and walked toward the elevator bank. Rick bit back a self-satisfied grin. She was already pissed. It wouldn’t do to rub it in.

  Although imagining all that fire and passion spewing out and over him did make for an interesting elevator ride.

  Chapter Four

  Afternoon dragged into early evening.

  Abby’s nerves, already raw with concern about Lila and her son, frayed incrementally every time she glanced over at Rick. Yards of legs sprawled out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, while he played with his phone. Well, playing wasn’t the correct term. She knew he was working since he’d made a quick call to Josh to ask for some case information. He hadn’t mentioned he was with her, for which she was thankful.

  Lila’s sister Maria arrived, tearful and terrified, her three young children in tow. Abby had done her best to calm the woman and explain what had happened. Maria, lapsing between English and Spanish, questioned where Michael was. The young woman collapsed when Abby informed her he’d been taken by his father. Rick caught her before she hit the ground.

  The arrival of the thoracic surgeon had thrown Maria into a crying jag again as he explained how much damage Lila had experienced and how her prognosis was critical and guarded.

  “These first forty-eight hours are crucial,” he told them. Lila was being kept in the cardiac intensive care unit with a private nurse watching over her and a uniformed police officer at her door, ordered by the NYPD detective in charge of finding Genocardi.

  “God bless Tony,” Abby said when she and Rick finally left the hospital. “I don’t think Joseph has the nerve to come here, but all the same, it never hurts to be proactive.”

  Fatigue seeped through every pore. She rubbed her eyes with the pads of her fingers after buckling herself in, sighed, then closed her eyes.

  What a day.

  She had a million things to do once Rick dropped her off, but all she really wanted was some hot food, a tall glass of wine, a relaxing bath, and then bed. Verna had rescheduled all her afternoon appointments, but Abby had to be in family court at ten the next morning and needed to prepare. So the wine, hot bath, and bed fantasy was put on the back burner.

  She opened her eyes and stared out the window.

  “This isn’t the way to my apartment.”

  “We’ll get there,” Rick told her. “I need to get a few things first.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The side glance he shot her had her spine bolting upright in the seat again. “Where are we going?”

  “I need to stop by my place for a few minutes, get some essentials.”

  “What essentials?”

  “Change of clothes, my Dopp kit. Some files I’ve been working on.”

  “Why?”

  He flicked his gaze at her again. “You know why, Abigail. I’m not leaving your side until this guy is caught. For the foreseeable future, we’re roomies.”

  “What?”

  “There’s no need to deafen me.”

  “What do you mean roomies? Like, you’re staying at my apartment? With me?”

  “That would be the definition of roommates.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes, way.”

  Abby gaped at his profile, astounded by his arrogance. Even for him this was too much. “Bannerman, there is no way in hell you’re staying in my apartment.”

  “Don’t argue with me about this, Abigail. I promised I wouldn’t tell Kandy about Genocardi. Do you want me to renege on my promise?”

  Anger poured through her. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “That’s just…just…low. Even for you. And mean. And spiteful.”

  “Call me whatever you want, the end result is the same. You’re stuck with me until I’m certain there’s nothing to worry about from this guy. Get used to it.” He pulled into an underground garage and parked. “Come on,” he said, holding open her door.

  “I’ll wait here.”

  His sigh was deep, long, and irritated. “Abigail, despite what you think, I’m not stupid. If I leave you here, your cute little ass will be in a cab before I get upstairs.”

  Because it was exactly what she’d been planning, her exasperation grew.

  “Now, come on. This won’t take long.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he reached in and around to her seatbelt latch. His face was a mere inch from her own when he turned to face her.

  For the thousandth time since they’d met, she thought how gorgeous the color of his eyes were. A deep, rich brown, like tempered chocolate infused with a splash of caramel and lashes so naturally long and thick a bead of jealousy burst within her. On any other man, those lashes would be considered effeminate. Not on Rick Bannerman. They only served to increase his hotness quotient.

  Her gaze ran down to his mouth, her breath going a little shallow when the corners pulled up and two dimples winked back at her. The simple notion to lean forward and run the tip of her tongue into those little mind-blowing indentations made her stifle a gasp. His lids went to half-mast, the knowing smirk making those delectable hollows deepen.

  The last time she’d given into the urge to touch him, she’d been left frustrated and mortified on a hotel terrace. No way was she going through that again.

  Anger burned through the lust when he effortlessly unbuckled her belt and offered a hand to help her from the car.

  “Come on.”

  “Bossy, much?” She slapped his hand away. “I can get myself out of a car, Bannerman. I don’t need your assistance.”

  They rode the elevator in silence.

  Until this moment she hadn’t a clue where he lived. Not knowing what to expect, she was pleasantly surprised when he opened the door and flicked on the wall switch.

  Subtle hues of tan and green covered the entryway. The apartment opened from a long hallway into a spacious rectangle. Facing the living room, she spied a small, tidy kitchen to her left and another hall to her right with two opened doors. A sectional sofa in a deep, rich chestnut covered with earth-toned throw pillows took up most of one wall, and a gigantic flat-screen television the opposite one. There were no photographs, or fussy extras like artwork or knickknacks anywhere. Nothing personalizing the space.

  “Pretty spartan surroundings, Bannerman,” she said to his retreating back.

  Before disappearing through one of the hallway doors, he glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve got everything I need.”

  Abby moved to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and frowned. Four Chinese takeout boxes and two covered Styrofoam trays filled the mostly empty space, a twelve pack of beer neatly arranged on the top shelf next to a half gallon of milk. No condiments, sauces, vegetables, or even a carton of eggs. The lack of food hit her as sad. Her own fridge was packed with enough fresh ingredients to feed a family of four for a week, in addition to the copious marinades and sauce bottles lining the refrigerator door. Even if she hadn’t been the one to grocery shop, she knew Kandy would have made sure she was stocked with food provided from her restaurant or home. No one in her sister’s realm ever went hungry.

  It was obvious Rick had no one in his life to cook for him or make sure he ate well, the commercial takeout evidence of it. For a brief moment, she wondered about the reason.

  “All set,” he said from the living room, pulling her out of her musings. “Taking inventory?”

  She closed the refrigerator. “You eat a
n awful lot of takeout.”

  “It’s easy and fast.”

  “A vegetable or a piece of fruit wouldn’t kill you,” she said, walking through the door he held open. “Your diet doesn’t exactly scream healthy.”

  “Worried about me, Abigail? That’s so”—his gaze dropped to her mouth then shot back up to her eyes—“sweet. I didn’t know you cared about my health.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest after walking into the empty elevator and took a breath to calm her nerves.

  ****

  “I’m starving,” she said the moment they came through her front door. Rick chuckled behind her.

  When she flipped the light switch, a bundle of faded gray and soft white galloped awkwardly toward her from the depths of the apartment emitting a low, erratic grumble.

  “What the hell is that?” Rick stared down as the mass wove itself between Abby’s ankles.

  Abby kicked off her shoes, groaning in relief once her feet were bare. The quick jab to his abdomen from the erotically raw sound was as arousing as her continued irritation with him.

  The way her hips and sexy butt swayed in her well-fitted dress when she scooped up the bundle and brought it to her face added to his heightened arousal.

  “Hey, baby,” she cooed to the furry blob. “I know I’m late. Sorry. You must be hungry.”

  “That thing is alive?” Rick moved in closer for a better view of the mass.

  “Of course she’s alive.” Abby pressed a kiss to what must have been the thing’s head.

  “What is it?” Cautiously, Rick stretched out a finger to rub the same spot as Abby. He was surprised to find the texture incredibly soft and light. The noise increased.

  “You’ve never seen a cat before, Bannerman?”

  “That’s not a cat. There’s too much fur for it to be a cat. It’s a small bear or something.”

  She held the animal up closer to his face. “She’s a Maine Coon mix, and yes, they tend to be furry. She doesn’t like to be clipped, though, so I let her fur grow naturally and brush it when she lets me.”

  “Looks like a dust mop and sounds like a rocket engine,” he said. “She always this loud?”

  Abby walked to the kitchen with the cat secured in her arms. Rick followed behind them, once again admiring the view of her lower back.

  “She’s louder when she’s hungry. You get used to it.” She placed the cat on the floor, pulled a box from an overhead cabinet, and then filled an empty bowl. The cat immediately began eating.

  “Jesus. The thing is louder when it eats.”

  “The thing has a name, you know.” She slid a heated glare toward him and pursed her lips.”

  “What? Howler?”

  “Very funny. No.” Abby crouched and rubbed her finger across the cat’s neck. “I named her Moonlight because of her coloring.”

  He stared down at the noisy animal. After a moment, he lifted his gaze back to hers. “That’s actually pretty good. She does kinda resemble the moon.”

  Abby smiled.

  “A full one. Round and fat.”

  Her smile ebbed. She stood and lifted her chin to regard him through eyes that had turned cold and foreboding. He imagined when she used that piercing glare in court a defendant would spill every secret in his soul.

  “Just calling it like I see it.” He quirked an eyebrow and slipped his hands into his back pockets. “How come I didn’t know you had a cat? When did you get her?”

  “Right before I moved into my new offices, and why would you know? It’s not like we’re friends or anything.”

  The cat continued eating, the noise emanating from its throat steady and loud.

  “No, but it’s odd I hadn’t heard about it from anyone in your family. I do see your favorite brother-in-law every day, you know.”

  Abby rolled her eyes.

  “What made you want a cat? Why not a dog? Dogs are fun. You can take them for runs and play Frisbee and stuff with them.”

  “Not a cat person, Bannerman?” Her eyebrows rose as she peered over at him.

  Moonlight finished eating and then wound herself awkwardly around Abby’s ankles again. Abby bent, lifted her back in her arms, and nuzzled her neck.

  “Why does she move so weird?” He reached out a hand, let the cat sniff at him and then accepted a sandpapery tongue swipe in acknowledgement.

  “She only has three legs. When I got her from the shelter, they told me they think someone hit her with a car. They had to amputate her right back leg.” She kissed the tip of the cat’s nose. “Nobody wanted to adopt her because she wasn’t perfect, but they were wrong, weren’t they, baby?” The nuzzle she gave the cat’s neck had the animal purring loudly again. “She is perfect. The moment I saw her I knew she had to come home with me.”

  Oddly touched, he gave the cat’s neck a rub. Who knew under Abby’s cool, professional polish lurked a mushy heart? “To answer your question, I like cats,” he said. “I like all animals. I just think dogs are more fun.”

  “And yet I didn’t see any furry friends in your barren apartment.”

  With a quick shake of his head, he explained, “That one’s easy. I’m gone so much on surveillance, and my hours aren’t exactly on-the-clock. A dog needs to be walked, needs stability, to know you’re coming home every night at pretty much the same time.”

  “Which is why I have a cat. Same thing applies to me.” She put Moonlight down. The cat sat, lifted a furry paw, and began washing herself. “I don’t get home sometimes until late. Cats are independent creatures. They love you, but they like being left alone, too. Unlike dogs, who do need frequent attention.” She stretched and scrubbed her hands down her face. “Look. I need to make a few calls. Then, since you insist on being here, I guess I have to feed you.”

  “Don’t go to any fuss on my account. We can order in something. It’s what I’d be doing if I wasn’t here.”

  “Yes, I saw your refrigerator.” She shuddered. “No. I had a miserable day, and I don’t want take out. I’ll make something. Give me a few minutes.”

  She reached down and petted the cat, then walked out of the kitchen toward what must have been her bedroom. After a heartbeat, the cat waddled after her.

  Rick took the opportunity to do one of the things he usually got paid to do—snoop.

  The apartment was an awful lot like the woman who lived in it.

  Sleek lines and classic textures, mixed with some flashes of bold color. A sectional couch in a deep green microfiber was bracketed by two end tables topped by frosted-glass, art deco lamps. A flat-screen television perched atop a mahogany stand across from the couch. From her wall-wide windows, he had an unobstructed view of the Hudson River. Scattered photographs of family topped the furniture. One entire wall was taken up by a bookcase lined with leather-bound law books and hardback fiction. Each shelf was perfectly aligned, the books running from left to right in height order, smallest to tallest. They were alphabetized as well.

  “A little OCD, Abigail?” He pulled out a law tome and thumbed through the pages.

  “Thinking about studying law, Bannerman?”

  He slammed the book closed and turned. Gone was the polished, coolly put-together barrister of a few minutes ago.

  Completely gone.

  She’d replaced the A-line sheath with a threadbare black T-shirt. Trust me…I’m a lawyer was written over the bodice. He was sure she had no bra covering her breasts. Baggy gray sweatpants rode low on her hips and draped down her mile-long legs. She’d traded her three-inch footwear for fuzzy pink socks and twined her hair loosely on top of her head in a sloppy, uber-sexy knot. Black-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of her nose.

  “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

  “Why would you?”

  When she shrugged and the thin material of her T-shirt pulled against her torso, that swift stomach jab hit again.

  “Too much computer screen time,” she said, moving into the kitchen. “I need to giv
e my eyes a rest at night, so I take my contact lenses out as soon as I get home. Since I’ve got a ton of prep work for tomorrow, I need these”—she tapped one of the bows—“so I can see what I’m reading.”

  He leaned his elbows down on the counter while he watched her move about the kitchen. She was obviously used to cooking because she went from cabinet to cabinet with ease, reaching in and grabbing an item she knew sat in precisely the spot she expected it to be.

  “From the contents in your fridge, I’m assuming you like Chinese food.”

  “It’s a food group, isn’t it?”

  The way she tried not to grin warmed his insides.

  “What are you making?”

  She’d pulled an electric wok from a cabinet. “Cashew chicken. I was going to make it for myself tonight anyway, so since you’re here”—she glanced up at him over the rim of her glasses—“it seems like an appropriate choice.”

  “A made from scratch meal. Impressive. And here I thought Kandy was the only cook in your family.”

  “Who do you think taught me? Most adults don’t survive on takeout, Bannerman.” She filled a saucepot with water and placed it on the ceramic-topped stove, jacking the heat up. “I like knowing how my food is prepared, what ingredients are used, and which spices are flavoring it. Eating out all the time is a crap-shoot when it comes to nutrition, and from what I saw in your fridge, nutrition is something you’re lacking.”

  “I’m not malnourished or falling over in a faint.”

  She regarded him over the tops of her glasses again, and when she ran her gaze along his torso, he had the sudden urge to flex his arms and pecs.

  “You work out to keep fit and you’re outdoors a lot, so those are the main reasons your body’s not a pasty blob of flab. But I bet if Ellie drew a blood sample from you, your values wouldn’t be where they should be for a guy your age. You’re pushing forty.”

  “Hey. That’s a little insulting.”

  She grinned.

  “I’ve got a few more years before I hit my forties. I’m in my prime.”

  She added oil to the wok and then swiped it along the sides with a paper towel. “Keep telling yourself that. I survived for years on Ramen noodles and yogurt when I was in law school. I wonder sometimes how I didn’t die from starvation. It’s a pleasure to use all the prep skills Kandy taught me, now that I can afford to.”