Dangerous to Touch (10 page)

In the middle of the bed, the cat was stretched on its back, spread-eagled, tied to the wrought-iron posts with black thread. Its coat was dark with congealed blood, and it appeared to have been disemboweled.

“Oh my God,” she repeated, nausea rising to her throat.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Marc pushed her back against the open door, putting his body in front of hers protectively. “Go outside,” he said after looking into the bedroom. “I’ll check the rest of the house.”

She nodded, tearing her eyes away from the mutilated cat. Above the bed, a newspaper clipping was pinned to the wall with a large kitchen knife. She didn’t need a closer look to know what it depicted. Shuddering, she navigated the stairs on weak, rubbery legs.

Marc waited until she was safely outside before moving. Feeling numb, she closed the front door behind her and hugged her arms around herself until he came out again.

“It wasn’t your cat,” he said.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to see the horrifying image.

“Your cat is under the bed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Grumpy-faced little calico, right?”

“Tortoiseshell,” she corrected, intensely relieved.

“I have to go.”

“You-what?”

“Lacy and some others are on the way.”

She blinked at him in confusion. “Aren’t they close by? Watching? How could they have let this happen?”

“Your lawyer’s cease and desist order put a halt to surveillance this morning.”

“I didn’t know.”

His expression indicated he thought otherwise. “Don’t go back inside until they get here,” he suggested, then got in his car and drove away, his tires making slick tracks in the dark, still-wet street.

Detective Lacy and two uniformed officers gave her house a perfunctory search, using the bare minimum of effort, resources and congeniality.

Sidney gathered that Greg’s oh-so-helpful interference had not endeared her to the Oceanside Police Department.

The newspaper, knife and thread the perpetrator used were hers. Other than the dead cat, there was no evidence of a break-in. One of the officers took a few photographs, another dusted for prints, and after Sidney offered to take care of the carcass, they left.

As soon as they were gone, Sidney locked and relocked all the windows and the doors, checked and rechecked them, ran her hands over every edge and corner, searching for the point of entry. Finding nothing, she also felt around, groping furniture and rummaging through shelves, looking for an impression of the cat-killing vandal.

If he’d worn gloves, that explained the lack of fingerprints, but had he also done it to thwart her? Then again, how could he know she used her sense of touch for psychic readings?

The newspaper article had maligned her character and attacked her integrity, but it hadn’t revealed that particular secret.

Sidney secured Marley in a pet carrier, afraid she would try to hide again or run away, and went about the unpleasant task of dealing with the remains. She cut the makeshift bonds and folded the limp, lifeless body into a heavy-duty garbage bag, then stripped the bed. Into another bag went the sheets, pillow covers, mattress pad and even her beloved chenille blanket. Thankfully the mattress itself wasn’t damaged.

The bag of linens went in the trash, the cat in her freezer. It would have to keep until tomorrow when she would drop it off at Vincent Veterinary Clinic.

That done, she decided to clean and sanitize every square inch of her house. She felt dirty, just standing inside it, almost as if the villain had soiled her belongings the same way he’d soiled the ladies’ room at Guajome Lake Park.

She scrubbed down the floors, walls, bathrooms, windows and countertops. She sprayed the mattress, pillows and couch cushions with disinfectant. When the doorbell rang she was dusting the top of the bookshelf. Sidney was so startled by the sound she almost fell off the chair she was standing on.

It was Marc. Folding her arms over her chest and tapping her foot, she made it clear his presence was unwelcome.

He took in her frazzled appearance, from the dusting rag in her gloved hands to her hair, covered by a hillbilly handkerchief, and had the nerve to smile. “How’s your cat?”

“Which one?”

“The live one.”

“She’s edgy. Like me. What do you want?”

“I’ve been assigned to protect you.”

“Spy on me, you mean?”

“No. That would be grounds for a lawsuit.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Look, Sidney, I can make sure anyone who comes in here has to get by me first, but I can’t do it from outside.”

“And if I refuse?”

He sighed. “Then I guess I’ll wait for you to go to sleep, jimmy that loose latch again and come in anyway.”

“What loose latch?”

He winked at her. “Let me in, and I’ll fix it.”

God, he was infuriating. And so charming, when he wanted to be, that she felt some of her anger seep away. “Where will you sleep?”

He breezed by her. “I’ll take the couch.”

She shut the door behind him. “I was going to sleep there. My bed is…” Her throat closed up around the words.

His eyes wandered over her face. “Have you eaten?”

She shook her head, swallowing back tears.

“You need to,” he decided, striding into her kitchen and browsing the fridge. “What have you got?”

“There’s some fresh meat in the freezer,” she said, unable to stop the hysterical laughter bubbling up inside her.

He looked. “Very funny. Why is it in there?”

“I’m taking the body to Bill tomorrow.”

“For an autopsy?”

“Just a disposal,” she said, coming up behind him. “Why? Do you think he could find out something?”

“It’s worth a try.” He transferred the plastic-wrapped body from the freezer to the refrigerator. “Freezing can alter the evidence, disrupt the consistency of the organs, change the weight of body fluids.”

She suppressed a fresh wave of nausea.

He slammed the fridge shut. “Let’s go out to eat.”

M
arc awoke with a start, momentarily disoriented. His hand was reaching out to pick up his Glock before he knew what he’d heard to alert him.

The sound of an intruder outside reminded him where he was. At Sidney’s house, playing bodyguard. Stokes would have a conniption if she found out.

Rolling off the couch, he made his way to the kitchen window and crouched under it, staying low. Sure enough, someone had removed the screen and was trying to wiggle the window until the faulty latch disengaged.

They didn’t know he’d already fixed it.

From his vantage point, he could see the glint of blond hair and hear muffled curses. Lowering his weapon, he stood and flipped on the backyard lights.

Samantha Parker jumped sky-high.

“You scared the hell out of me!” she shrieked when he opened the door.

“Sorry,” he lied. “Someone broke in today. I thought you were a burglar.”

Her glassy eyes slid down the length of his body, pausing on the gun he held at his side. “Sid was robbed?”

“Nothing was taken, that I know of.”

“Thank God,” she said with a wicked smile. “I was going to ask her for a loan.”

Sidney’s sister was spoiled, self-absorbed and drop-dead gorgeous. She was also clever enough to know her own faults, and unpretentious enough to laugh at herself. Against his will, he liked her.

“Ah, Detective, you’re a heartbreaker when you loosen up,” she said as she passed by.

“Lieutenant,” he corrected.

She arched a sultry glance over her shoulder. “Look good in your boxer shorts, too,” she said. “Are you screwing my sister?”

“Not yet.”

She laughed. “Still working on it, huh? She’s a tough nut to crack.”

He gave the patio a once-over before he turned off the light and locked the door. “That’s what your husband said.”

Her spine stiffened at his words. “Oh really?” she asked. “And when did the two of you have the pleasure of meeting?”

“The other day, when you dumped off your kids with Sidney and disappeared. He came by looking for you.”

She whirled to face him, her blue eyes icy. “I’ve been going through some emotional turmoil lately,” she defended. “Why should Sidney be the only one who gets to act loony?”

“Does it run in the family?” he asked, intrigued by her admission.

“Mental illness? Sure it does. Mama’s
Southern.
” Rearranging her features from snow queen to sex kitten, she settled herself in the spot where he’d just been sleeping. “Daddy met her in Lafayette, Alabama, on leave. Whatever she had must have been contagious because he’s been crazy in love with her ever since. Or-” lowering her voice, she slid her hands over the rumpled sheet in the guise of smoothing it “-just plain crazy.”

“He was in the service?”

“Bomber jet pilot,” she said, her tone softening with pride. “Won a medal in Korea, another in Vietnam.”

Marc was surprised. “You two were Air Force brats?” he asked, setting his Glock down on the empty chair.

“Oh, no. Mama made him quit. She blamed him for the way Sidney turned out, too. Said Agent Orange mutated her genes.”

Marc couldn’t tell if she was serious, or if Samantha was one of those women who told wildly exaggerated stories just to get attention. “Where are they now?”

“They have a condo in Miramar, close to the base. He watches the jets fly by every day. It’s the saddest thing you’ve ever seen.” She tilted her head to one side, assessing him. “If you’re looking for a way to get to Sidney, asking about Daddy is a good start. She was the apple of his eye.” Her lashes fluttered. “It’s
so
Elektra.”

“Were you jealous?”

“No, but Mama was.” Her gaze traveled over him again, lingering on his bare chest. “I’d love to talk all night, sugar, but I’m wore out. You wanna share this couch with me, or go upstairs to work on Sidney?”

He tried not to react to the provocation. “I’m not here to work on her. There’s a killer out there somewhere, in case you haven’t been keeping up with the news.”

With a wide yawn, she unsnapped her designer jeans and pushed them off her hips, revealing a tiny pair of black lace panties.

Marc wondered why Sidney’s plain cotton briefs turned him on more.

“No man would rape me.”

His eyes rose to her face. “Why not?”

“’Cuz I’m easy.” Stretching out on her belly, she smiled.

“Tempted?”

“I’d have to be dead not to be,” he said, although he wasn’t having any trouble resisting her. Samantha was just his type: sexy, blond and available, in a no-strings-attached kind of way. But when he looked at her, he saw her only as Sidney’s troubled sister.

Gathering up his clothes, he went to the woman he really wanted, instead of staying with the one he could actually have.

Sidney stretched like a cat, reveling in the sound of raindrops hitting the windowpane and the smell of freshly washed sheets.

She loved sleeping in on a rainy day.

The weather had broken. A cool, misty breeze drifted through the open window, and it was a welcome respite from the stifling heat of the past week. Snuggling deeper into the covers, she let herself doze off again, knowing the alarm would wake her in time for work.

In her dreams, Marc was there with her, a tantalizing warmth against her back. She arched against him, wanting to feel more.

He slipped his arm around her waist, smoothing his palm over her belly and brushing his lips across her nape. Her nipples tightened with arousal and heat pooled in her lower body. Encouraging him, she covered his hand with hers, pushing her bottom against his erection. With a low groan, he drew her even closer, sliding his naked thigh between her bare legs. The skin-on-skin contact was shocking; the hard pressure of his muscular thigh nudging the sweet ache between her legs, exquisite.

The hand on her belly moved up under the hem of her T-shirt. He cupped one breast, then the other, teasing her taut nipples with his fingertips until she moaned her pleasure. When that hand wandered down beneath the waistband of her panties, her eyes flew open.

This was
way
too real to be a dream.

Sidney scrambled off the bed, taking the sheet with her, clutching it to her tingling breasts. Too late, she realized the error of her ways.

She should have left the sheet with him.

Marc was stretched out on her bed, mostly naked, a devastating image of masculine perfection. He was all sinewy muscles and dark skin, the thin cotton boxer shorts he was wearing showcasing rather than concealing his heavy arousal.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh…” He followed her gaze to his erection. “Getting you off?”

She threw the sheet at his chest. “Getting yourself off, more like.”

“That, too,” he admitted with a wince. “Your sister came in last night and stole my spot on the couch.”

“And that gives you the right to touch me?”

“No,” he said, pushing the sheet away and rising to his feet.

“When you started rubbing your sweet little ass all over my hard-on, I considered it an invitation.”

“I was asleep!”

He located his pants on the floor and jerked them up his hips.

“Some parts of you were awake,” he said, glancing at the points of her nipples, poking at the front of her T-shirt.

She flushed darkly.

“I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” he continued. “The other day you were panting for it.”

“That was before…” She gestured to the middle of the bed, where the cat had been. “And then you just took off afterward, with no explanation.” Her eyes narrowed. “If anyone’s been running hot and cold, it’s you.”

“I couldn’t stay,” he said, pulling his T-shirt over his head. “Don’t you get it? I can’t be seen with you.”

“But you said-” She broke off. “Who assigned you to protect me, then?”

“I assigned myself. No one else believes you.”

“You believe me?”

His gaze moved from her bare thighs, and the pale blue panties peeking out under the hem of her T-shirt, to her face. Instead of answering, he collected the rest of his belongings, slipping on his shoulder holster and pocketing his keys.

“I can’t stay here with you again tonight,” he said.

“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn’t need a bodyguard. Or a babysitter.

“I’ll pick you up after work,” he added.

“Why?”

“You’ll have to spend the night at my house.”

Marc left Sidney’s, bagged cat in hand, and drove to Vincent Veterinary Clinic. After the late dinner last night, he’d slept very little, and knew from the restless sounds Sidney made upstairs that she’d had similar trouble.

Her futon couch wasn’t comfortable, but he’d slept in worse conditions, on cots and in chairs and atop the desert sand with only his fatigues between him and the sun-baked ground.

The problem wasn’t physical comfort, but his own hyperawareness of her. Every time he heard the bedsprings shift, he imagined her long, silky legs, kicking off blankets. He wondered what she was wearing and ached to know how she smelled.

He hadn’t meant to touch her this morning. Hell, he’d been half-asleep himself, and fully aroused by the time he knew what he was doing. The hand he’d reached into her panties still itched to test her heat, but he hadn’t felt anything more than her silky pubic hair under his fingertips before she pulled away. A mere wisp of a touch, the memory of which was powerful enough to make him hard all over again.

He pulled into the parking lot at Vincent Veterinary Clinic, shelving his bedroom fantasies. A glance in the mirror before he left Sidney’s showed a shadowed jaw, wrinkled clothes and bloodshot eyes. He already looked like he’d been on a bender; he didn’t need to walk in with a stiff cock, too.

Inside the clinic, Bill was as sunny and insincere as ever, chatting with a pair of pretty receptionists who gazed up at him through worshipful eyes. When he saw Marc, his expression cooled. “Lieutenant Cruz,” he said. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Dead cat,” Marc replied, setting it down on an aluminum examination table with a thud.

“How delightful. Did you run it over with your car, or did your personality kill it?”

One of Bill’s girls giggled uneasily, not sure of the joke.

“I found it on Sidney’s bed, actually,” Marc said, watching the other man’s face for a reaction. “Tied up on its back. Guts all over the place.”

“Go on up front, ladies,” Bill murmured, dismissing his receptionists. With businesslike concentration, he let the cat out of the bag. “Refrigerated?”

“Overnight.”

His eyes raked over Marc’s unshaven face and disheveled clothing. The implication that he’d been with Sidney all night did not appear to sit well with Bill. “She’s not one of your two-bit bimbos, you know,” he remarked as he examined the remains.

“I defer to your greater experience with bimbos,” Marc replied, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“I mean it,” Bill said, looking up. “If you hurt her-”

“You’ll what?”

Bill’s face flushed an angry red. He was much too reserved to engage in a fistfight.

Marc wasn’t. At that moment, he would have gone a round in the parking lot with the smarmy vet, for no greater reason than he didn’t like picturing Bill with Sidney.

“I care about her,” Bill said defiantly, gaining more respect from Marc than if he’d rolled up his cuffs.

“Speaking of bimbos, Sidney’s not really your type, either, is she?” He lowered his voice. “And let’s not pretend we don’t both know exactly what your type is.”

Bill took out a scalpel, cutting into what was left of the cat’s stomach cavity.

“Did she discover you had a secret life, Vincent? Follow you to one of those late-night, underground clubs, catch you out on the prowl?”

His mouth thinned with displeasure.

“She didn’t have to, did she? All she had to do was touch you to know where you’d been.”

Bill’s patience broke. “And what will she find out about you, Cruz? How will you feel when she touches you and recoils, when her face goes pale as she unearths your dirtiest secret? Mommy never loved you? Daddy was never around? The neighborhood priest took you into his rectory for a private confession?”

“Don’t get my lurid past confused with yours, Doc. I’m sure you were every padre’s favorite altar boy.”

Bill lifted his chin a notch, maintaining a thread of dignity. “We all have skeletons, Lieutenant. That’s why Sidney’s not for you. You can’t compartmentalize her, keep her out of your personal life, hold her at a safe distance. It’s all or nothing with her.”

Marc resented being told how to treat Sidney by a man who couldn’t possibly have handled her well. “Tell me what you know about this cat,” he said, changing the subject.

Bill sighed, giving him a brief overview. “It’s emaciated. Not spayed. Nothing in the digestive tract but plant material and mouse bones. Just your basic barn cat, I’d say.”

“Why not a city stray?”

“Teeth are worn and stained. With the coyote population around here, most strays don’t live long enough to get this old.”

“A pet, then?”

“Not one that was well cared for.”

Marc nodded. “What else?”

“Died from blood loss, as far as I can tell.”

From the amount of it on Sidney’s bed, that much had been obvious. The man had killed the cat inside, but had he drugged it first? “Do you know anything about the effects of marijuana on animals?” he asked, thinking aloud.

Bill raised his brows. “Sure. I get a client in every few months with a dog that ‘ate the neighbor’s plant,’ or a cat who ‘got into something.’”

“Doesn’t anyone ever tell the truth?”

“No. It’s silly, because I have no legal obligation to report them to the ASPCA or the police. Nor would I, if asked to,” he added, letting Marc know his patients were granted confidentiality. “The effects are varied, from excitability to extreme lethargy.”

“Loss of consciousness?”

“In extreme cases.”

“As a sedative, how effective would marijuana be?”

Bill shrugged. “Unreliable, in my opinion, but I’m no expert. There aren’t a lot of clinical studies on accidental ingestion of illegal drugs.”