Never Say Sty (17 page)

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Authors: Linda O. Johnston

BOOK: Never Say Sty
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“I’d love it.”
I promised to be in bright and, for me, early tomorrow morning. It would be Friday, my last official law practice day of the week, although I always brought stuff home on weekends when necessary.
Nothing especially eventful occurred with any of my afternoon’s animal charges. Of course Lexie and I took our time visiting and entertaining each, as well as feeding them. And after I entered each visit in my pet-sitting journal, we headed home.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised at seeing a silver Mercedes parked at the side of my driveway, on the garage side of the wrought iron gate. But Rachel was undoubtedly at home, and she’d have let Dante in, though I’d chided her slightly the last time.
This time, I’d be more forceful. Maybe.
Once again, Dante sat on the top step to my apartment along with Wagner.
“We just saw each other this afternoon,” I reminded him. “Is my company so addictive that you couldn’t wait to call and set up another time to get together?” I was jesting, of course. And I certainly had no intention of suggesting that he ask me for a date. Even though I hoped he would.
“Yes,” he said, so seriously that I stopped climbing the stairs to stare. His face appeared utterly solemn. Which somehow made him seem all the sexier, even more than some of those winsome smiles he sometimes focused on me.
Or maybe this man would look sexy even with a ferocious frown creasing his gorgeous face.
“Well, come inside.” I maneuvered around Wagner. “Give me time to say something nasty enough to make you want to run away.”
“That won’t happen, Kendra.” This time he did level one of those killer smiles on me. And I do mean level. He’d stood, and bent down just enough to plant one soft yet super scorching kiss on my lips. “I’m cooking dinner for you tonight.”
“Wh-what?” That kiss had obviously messed up my mind. “You cook?”
“Gourmet,” he asserted, gesturing grandly toward the rear of the small porch outside my apartment door. Several plastic bags from Gelson’s, an upscale supermarket chain, were aligned there. “I hope you like things a little spicy. I’m going to make my famous chicken and sausage jambalaya for you.”
“I love spice,” I said truthfully as my mind momentarily lighted on the Thai foods I’d often shared with Jeff. Pad thai has a definite kick. And somehow it had acted as an aphrodisiac. . . .
Well, that had nothing to do with the spiciness of the food. And I had no intention of jumping into bed with Dante.
Even though the thought made my blood start to simmer . . . along with the water that started to boil to make the jambalaya’s rice.
As he began sautéing the ingredients, his back was toward me. Not a good time to start a fascinating conversation, since I couldn’t see his face. He could be smirking as he shot fibs at me, and I’d never know.
Even so, I needed to talk. “You never told me how you knew Brody before—only that you worked together once. Where was that?”
“Nowhere around here.” Dante’s tone was so casual he might have been describing his recipe. Or not. If he was truly a gourmet cook, his recipe might be even more of a secret.
“I didn’t literally mean what location. What did you do together?”
He turned to face me, his expression as heated as the pan on top of the stove. “Did anyone ever tell you that you ask too many questions?”
“That’s what good lawyers do.” My voice came out in a throaty croak, especially when I realized I could not draw my eyes away from his.
“And you’re most definitely a good lawyer. I’ll bet you’re good at everything you do.” Talk about huskiness sounding sexy. . . .
“So I’ve been told.”
He had to maneuver around our hounds, who lay on the floor between us, imbibing the luscious aromas from the jambalaya ingredients. Suddenly, I found myself in Dante’s arms.
“Prove it,” he whispered.
Our kiss was long and absolutely lusty. I thought what I heard was my skin sizzling . . . until I realized the sound came from the stove. I reluctantly pulled away. “Dante—”
“Yes, I know. Dinner is served.”
What? He wasn’t going to suggest turning down the heat—under the food? Hurrying off to the bedroom?
Instead, he did as he’d said: served our dinner. It was luscious. And spiced with the taste of what else could have been. Might still be, once we were done eating.
Only, then he said, looking me straight in the face with his deep, dark, delicious eyes, “I want you, Kendra.” The words made me shiver all over. “I think you know that.”
“Er . . . really?” My voice squeaked, and he laughed as my insides did a combined volcanic eruption and earthquake of nerves.
“When we make love—and we will,” he said, “I want you to have anticipated it even more than the way I’m already obsessing over the idea.”
Hell, I already was . . . well, if not anticipating, at least obsessing. I suspected that making love with Dante could be addictive, and might be the most foolish thing I’d ever do.
If
I ever did it. The man was way out of my league, in terms of power and finances. And there was still so much about him I didn’t know. . . .
“Talk about having an ego,” I blurted. “What makes you think—”
“I understand that who you are involves asking questions,” he interrupted. “Maybe because you want to make sure your friend Ned Noralles isn’t falsely accused of killing Sebastian. Just understand that I’ve taken steps to ensure that even if I’m considered a suspect, I won’t be arrested for the murder.”
That made me blink. “What did you—?”
“Let’s just say I’ve got a perfect alibi,” he said. Yeah, right. If he did, why didn’t he use it before? And just like that, he’d distracted me from sex to murder investigation. “All I have to do is ensure it works. For now . . . well, let’s both look forward to the time in the future when we’ll make love together, shall we?”
Which knocked me off balance all over again.
“In your dreams,” I said. And my own, although I merely scowled at his sexy smile.
Lexie and I trailed Wagner and Dante down the steps a short while later. He was leaving. He’d also left me a lot of delicious leftovers, so, like it or not, I’d be thinking of him even more over the next few nights as I savored his food . . . and the—maybe—unwanted memory of this night.
“What an ego,” I said to Lexie for the hundredth time as we entered the apartment after she’d had her evening evacuation outing. The place was filled with the spicy aroma of recently cooked jambalaya. And with memories of sexy suggestions that still got me all steamy—and steamed up—inside.
As I sat down on my sofa, about to turn on the TV news to move my mind away from Dante, my cell phone rang. Was it Dante, calling to say good night? No. The number on my caller ID wasn’t familiar.
“Kendra, this is Matilda Hollins.” The female
Animal Auditions
judge whom I hadn’t yet interviewed.
“Hi, Matilda,” I said. “When can we get together to talk? I’m sure a veterinary psychologist like you has lots of ideas I can pass along to my law client whose dog has separation anxiety.”
“Please come to my office at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. There’s something about Sebastian I want to discuss with you.”
“Sure,” I said, wondering if I’d get any sleep that night while I considered what she had in mind.
I needn’t have worried that anticipating my meeting with Matilda would keep me awake that night. Of course it did.
But so did my rehashing in my head of what Dante had said. Stuff that neither my mind nor my body could discard.
The thing I realized was that, with all Dante had said about his alibi, he’d never once said he was not guilty. In fact, he’d seemed to talk all around that most important statement of all.
So now my thoughts kept racing around all those I considered suspects . . . and Dante DeFrancisco was quickly hurtling toward the top of the list.
Chapter Fourteen
NEXT MORNING, I asked Lexie, as soon as we rose, if she was ready for another fun day at Doggy Indulgence. She wagged her tail excitedly, so what could I do?
Even though Darryl gave me a good rate for Lexie’s frequent stays at his facility, the cost was adding up. I should slow it down . . . soon. But Lexie and her well-being—especially now that she didn’t have the daily company of Odin—absolutely came first.
Better yet, I needed to stop squandering money on rental fees and buy a new car, but that meant incurring the additional long-term commitment of an auto loan.
In any event, I was pleased to see that Darryl was signing in doggy visitors that day. “Lexie’s joining us again?” he said as soon as he saw us. “Excellent!”
“I thought so,” I agreed. “So . . . when will I hear who your new ladylove is?”
“You never stop, do you, Kendra?” My tall friend was obviously irritated as he stared at me over his specs. “What makes you think it’s your business?”
That hurt. Of course it was my business. We were buddies. Buddies shared important bits of info like who they were seeing seriously. At least I did, with Darryl.
“Never mind,” I muttered. I bent to cuddle Lexie. At least she loved me. Only, after giving my cheek a lick, she dashed off to her favorite Doggy Indulgence play area where a few other pups were already relaxing on human-type sofas. She grabbed a nylon bone and started settling down on a seat.
“See ya,” I called to neither of them in particular as I stomped out the door alone and in a snit, ready to give whoever I saw next a hard time.
That happened to be a profusion of pet-sitting clients. Since they needed human attention and affection, it made no sense for me to act anything but adoring. Which was absolutely how I felt about each of them—even if my caring for them did nothing to soothe my injured psyche.
Nor could I take my bad mood out on the effervescent and adorable Mignon when I reached the Yurick firm. Instead, I slammed my office door shut and started revising a miserable motion to dismiss that I had already begun drafting for a contracts case—an elder law matter I’d taken on for Borden.
As if I could concentrate.
Thus, I was pleased when ten-thirty rolled around. Time to keep my appointment with Matilda Hollins.
Her office was in Eagle Rock, a moderately nice residential area with some commercial parts that seemed to be undergoing significant redevelopment. I therefore had to navigate my way around several partially closed streets before I could figure out where to park as well as how to get into her two-story office building. Down below was a veterinary clinic, and her practice was located upstairs.
I sat down in her waiting area but didn’t have to amuse myself long with her selection of animal-care magazines. A middle-aged lady leading a prancing Chihuahua left with tears in her eyes, and Matilda followed her into the anteroom.
“Hi, Kendra,” she said cheerfully, as if oblivious to the sorrowful state of the person who had just left. “Come on in.”
Matilda was maybe mid-forties, dressed more professionally here at her place of practice than she’d been at our TV show. There, she seemed to favor flashy pantsuits with glittery blouses. Here, she wore a conservative blue suit with a skirt.
“I don’t want you to breach any confidentiality,” I said as I settled onto a nondescript beige sofa in her office. “But what was going on with the woman who just left with the Chihuahua? The dog looked happy enough, but the lady looked miserable.”
Matilda’s face was round, her short, bleached hair forming a starchy cap around it. When she pursed her lips, wrinkles formed around them like pleats. “I can’t get into details, of course, but sometimes people act like their pets are their kids.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” I said, waiting for the punch line.
“They’re animals,” she said in apparent exasperation, sitting down beside her perfectly clear desk. “They need to be taught rules. That’s why
Animal Auditions
is such a good idea. The contestants are trained in scenarios that make sense for their kind.”
Uh-oh. For a veterinary psychologist, Matilda seemed much too vehement about treating pets like animals instead of family. If ever Lexie needed psychoanalysis, I’d find someone more simpatico to treat her. But of course my pup was absolutely well adjusted.
More important at this moment, would I get any practical suggestions about how to deal with poor Princess’s separation anxiety? Well, I’d just have to see.
Since that was one reason I’d come, I started there. “I have a law client,” I began, “whose Brittany spaniel cries pitifully outside each time she’s left home alone. They’ve tried closing her doggy door, but then she has accidents in the house and is still heard outside. They’ve tried a trainer and other advisers already. Do you have any suggestions?”
Her possibilities ranged from harsh punishment, to leaving around puzzle kinds of toys like treat-filled rubber balls that required some time to empty and eat the contents, to not leaving the pup on her own. Then there were the high-tech ideas, like placing microphones and cameras with the pup, and scolding severely when the wailing began. Our discussion went on for ten excruciating minutes before she understood I wasn’t hearing what I’d hoped for and wanted to move on.

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