Catnapped! (A Matchmaker Mystery Book 3) (11 page)

“Stop!” Pete called, momentarily distracting her from the guy on the ground. She glanced over to find him standing a few yards away, holding his phone and what looked like a rock.

“Call 9-1-1, Hanlon.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Pete said. “Meet Ralph Michelman.”

Gritting her teeth, Alyssa lowered her weapons.

The ruddy-faced man on the ground glared up at her, defiant now that he was no longer afraid of getting beaten up. “Who the hell are you people?”

“What were you doing skulking around?” Alyssa countered as he got to his feet, and tried, ineffectively, to brush the dirt off himself.

“I wasn’t skulking.”

“Then why not ring the bell?”

“Because I have a key.” He held one up, waving it like it was a winning lottery ticket.

“You would have set off the alarm,” she told him coolly.

“I know the code.”

“Really?” she arched an eyebrow.

“Really.”

She let out a low whistle. “Impressive.”

Ralph blinked, confused.

“Especially considering I just changed the code an hour ago. Plus, considering the heightened security, I’m pretty sure I would have been told to expect you. So frankly, I’m going to stand by my skulking assessment.”

“When I tell my father about this,” Ralph blustered.

“I don’t work for your father,” she snapped.

“Brady isn’t going to get away with this.”

Alyssa glanced at Pete again. He’d dropped the rock and was watching the exchange between herself and Mildred’s stepson as avidly as he would a tennis match.

“What do you want to do?” Pete asked.

“Why don’t you go to the library? That’s where Roscoe has the Michelmans holed up. Ask them what they want to do about sonny boy here.”

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” Pete asked worriedly.

She half-raised her knife and mallet in response.

“You’re the boss.” Pete hurried past her into the house.

“Why were you sneaking in?” she asked Ralph.

He frowned. “I
wasn’t
sneaking.”

“Do you usually go in the back door?”

He nodded.

She got the impression he was being honest. “Really?”

“I do it to avoid
her
.”

“Mildred?”

“Is there another her?” There was no mistaking the animosity in his tone. Apparently, he felt the same way about his stepmother as she did about him.

“And yet you have a key.”

“It’s the house I grew up in.”

He glanced up and she suspected he was looking at his childhood bedroom. She felt a surge of sympathy for him, realizing it must be hurtful to know he wasn’t welcome in his family home. Not knowing what else to say, she murmured, “I’m sorry about your clothes.”

“My own fault for being a klutz,” he assured her easily, surprising her with the easy forgiveness. “Why don’t we start over? As you know, I’m Ralph Michelman, and you are?” He extended his hand.

Carefully transferring the meat mallet to her knife hand, she shook his hand. “Alyssa Montgomery.”

“Beautiful name. Beautiful woman.”

Alyssa stared at him, wondering what had happened to the overgrown, petulant child she’d been talking to minutes later. The man being presented to her now had more than a modicum of charm. Some might even call him slick. His mercurial personality had her on high alert.

“Much too beautiful to work a security detail for a cat,” Ralph continued in a totally mesmerizing, but completely creepy voice.

“I’m not here for the cat,” she corrected automatically.

“They asked that you bring him in,” Pete said from behind her, his voice deeper than usual.

She snatched her hand back from Mildred’s stepson.

Looking back to smile her appreciation at Pete she was disappointed he was gone from view already. “I guess we should go.”

“Ladies first,” Ralph offered.

Alyssa wasn’t fooled by his act. She knew he did it so that he could ogle her butt while she climbed the stairs.

He was definitely creepy.

She was glad to enter the kitchen so she wasn’t alone with him.

Roscoe fussed with something on the stovetop; Gerald, seated at the island in the center of the room, studied his phone; and Pete lounged against the back wall, arms folded across his chest, watching them.

“They’re in the library,” Gerald said without looking up from his phone. “Mrs. M. wants to see you.”

Unsure of whether Gerald was referring to her or Ralph, she accompanied him to the library.

Mrs. Michelman paced nervously while her husband sat in a high-backed chair, nursing a snifter of amber liquid.

“What the hell happened to you?” Mr. Michelman boomed. “Was this
her
doing?” He pointed at Alyssa with a bony, accusing finger like he was calling out a witch in Salem.

“I—” Alyssa began to explain.

“I tripped, Dad,” Ralph inserted smoothly.

His reaction was a far cry from the blustering outburst he’d made outside. Alyssa frowned, wondering what kind of game he was playing.

“Are you hurt?” Mildred asked worriedly.

Alyssa looked at her sharply, surprised that she’d show concern for someone she seemed to disdain.

“I’m fine.” He stepped toward his stepmother. Taking her hands, he asked, “The important question is, how are you holding up?”

Mildred frowned at him. “I wasn’t talking to you, you nincompoop. I was worried about Alyssa.”

Alyssa bit back a chuckle. That reaction was more of what she’d come to expect from the feisty old lady.

Ralph’s face contorted into a mask of rage, despite the smile he tried to force. “Nice to see you too.”

She arched an eyebrow. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to discuss with Ms. Montgomery.”

He dropped her hands and stepped back. “Of course.”

Mildred pointed at a leather gym bag tucked into the corner of the room. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Alyssa hurried over, grabbed the heavy bag, and followed Mildred out of the room.

Beckoning for her to follow, Mildred led the way to her office, closing the door behind them, so they’d have privacy. “So you’ve met my stepson.”  Once again her voice dripped with dislike for the child of the man she’d chosen to spend her life with.

Alyssa, unsure of the way to proceed, said nothing. Instead, she put the gym bag down at her feet.

Settling herself behind the antique desk, Mildred eyed her shrewdly. “What do you think of him?”

Choosing her words carefully, Alyssa said, “He seems to be a bit of a chameleon.”

“That’s putting it kindly. You weren’t taken in by his charm, were you?”

“No, ma’am.”

Mildred nodded her approval. “Good. Perhaps you do see what’s right in front of you.  Maybe you’re smarter than I thought.”

Alyssa blinked, fairly certain she’d just been insulted.

“The ransom money is in there.” Mildred pointed at the bag. “All I care about is getting Mr. Burberry back. You understand that, don’t you?”

Alyssa’s heart broke a little at the way the older woman’s voice cracked. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You’ll bring him home?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Mildred nodded. “I’ll be waiting. Shut the door behind you.” She waved for Alyssa to leave.

Picking up the bag, Alyssa left Mrs. Michelman in her office and headed back to the kitchen.

A quick glance at her watch told her they’d have to leave soon to make the swap.

Pete leaned against the kitchen wall, lost in thought. He was mad because he’d made a fool of himself chasing down Ralph Michelman. He’d hated the way he’d held Alyssa’s hand—and she let him. He was an idiot for the way he’d treated Geoffrey. Basically, he was a world-class screw-up.

“You okay, bro?” Roscoe asked, interrupting Pete’s silent fuming.

Tearing his gaze away from the ceramic tile he’d been glaring at, Pete looked to the man at the stove. Roscoe was watching him like one might watch a rabid dog.

“I’m fine,” Pete assured him, but even to his own ears the assertion sounded hollow.

“It’s probably the adrenaline,” Roscoe replied.

“What?”

“Adrenaline. Yours has to be pumping. I mean, you spot someone you think is an intruder, you follow him, that kind of thing gets your adrenaline pumping… the whole fight-or-flight thing.”

Pete nodded, realizing the big guy was probably right. Some of his internal churning was just a chemical reaction brought on by his run-in with the younger Michelman. But that wasn’t the only reason he was still upset.

“Then again,” Roscoe teased gently. “Maybe it’s just because you’ve got it so bad for a certain blonde.”

Pete shook his head.

Roscoe chuckled at his denial.

Gerald glanced up from his phone. “You do?”

“He does,” Roscoe confirmed.

Feeling like a teenager in a locker room, Pete felt compelled to lie, not because he was ashamed of how he felt about Alyssa, but because he wasn’t ready to share it with two guys he barely knew. “I don’t,” he thundered forcefully.

“Don’t what?” Alyssa asked strolling into the kitchen, carrying a leather gym bag.

He shot the other two men a warning look.

Gerald ducked his head and began fiddling with his phone.

Roscoe just shook his head and turned his attention to whatever he was ladling into bowls from the pot on the stove.

Alyssa hesitated and Pete could tell she knew that there was a secret in the room that she wasn’t privy to.

“I’m sorry I overreacted to Ralph,” Pete said quickly, wanting to change the subject before she got suspicious.

“Don’t be.” She put the bag in a corner. “He shouldn’t have been sneaking around. If it had been anyone else, you would have saved the day with that caveman act of yours.”

“Caveman?” Roscoe asked curiously, a devilish glint in his eye.

“He was waving around a big rock,” Alyssa said.

“I didn’t have a weapon, so I improvised,” Pete said defensively.

“Smart. I’d take brains over brawn any day,” the former football player opined. “Wouldn’t you, Alyssa?”

She glanced over at Pete, her blue eyes assessing. “Maybe.” Her tone was cool.

Pete’s heartbeat sped up and it had nothing to do with the remnants of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He wanted to shatter that icy veneer of hers and reveal the fiery woman he knew lurked beneath the surface.

“Give me a hand with these trays, Gerald?” Roscoe asked.

The bowtie wearer hopped out of his seat, stowing his phone away. Together they carried two trays loaded with pungent stew and homemade bread out of the kitchen, leaving Pete and Alyssa alone.

“That smells delicious,” Alyssa murmured.

“He’s a man of many talents.” Pete pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning against and walked toward her. “As are you. You handled Ralph well.” She’d lived up to her Ice Princess nickname with how coolly she’d dealt with the Michelman’s son.

“He’s a blowhard,” she muttered, her eyes widening as Pete stepped into her personal space.

“He’s a blowhard. I’m a caveman.”

“I didn’t mean—”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish. Instead, he bent to whisper in her ear, “I’ve got to say that the idea of playing caveman with you, throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you away to ravage you, has its appeal.”

He’d said it to shock her, shatter that frozen wall she hid behind, but he hadn’t anticipated her reaction.

With a quick twist of her head, she found his mouth with her own and claimed it in a kiss that caught him off guard. While her lips worked their magic on his mouth, her hands made mischief of their own, one slipping into the “V” of his shirt, stroking the exposed skin, and the other slipping behind him to playfully swat his butt. A move that caused him to rock forward so that their bodies pressed together momentarily.

Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close, delighting in her curves, her warmth, her scent, as she looped her arms around his neck, pressing herself even closer. Holding her tight with one arm, he explored her body with the other, wanting to touch her everywhere. He traced his way down her side, reveling in her gasps as stroked the side of her breast and then her hip.

He shifted so his need pressed against her center. Her whimper almost made his knees buckle.

Forgetting where they were, he slipped his hand beneath her shirt, needing to feel her soft, silky skin.

He groaned his frustration when she gently shoved him away, tearing her mouth from his. She looked like he felt, eyes glazed with passion, lips bruised, chest heaving.

The part of his brain that hadn’t been overridden by the consuming lust he felt for her knew she was right. This wasn’t the time or place for this, but damn he wanted to kiss her senseless.

With his blood rushing to a lower extremity, his head buzzed.

Then he realized it wasn’t his head. It was the doorbell.

It was the doorbell that brought Alyssa out of the sensual haze she’d been lost in.

“It’s probably her.”

Pete’s voice, heavy with arousal, felt like another caress.

What had she been thinking kissing him like that? Here? Now? She had a job to do. She couldn’t afford to be distracted.

He cleared his throat and walked past her, his gait awkward. “I’ll get the door.”

What did he think of her behaving the way she had? It was one thing for him to verbally flirt with her, but she’d had no right to make things physical. Hell, she’d practically mauled him.

Slapping her hands over her suddenly burning cheeks, she forced herself to focus on her breathing as she straightened her blouse, remembering how her skin had burned as he’d slid his hand beneath the fabric.

Gulping, she staggered over to the kitchen’s sink and splashed some cold water on her face, hoping to extinguish some of the fire burning deep in her belly.

“Are you sick?” Roscoe asked, coming into the kitchen behind her.

Not turning around, she joked weakly, “If I was, it would be because of your cooking.”

When he didn’t respond, she risked at a glance at him, worried he’d taken her seriously.