Texas Hold 'Em

by Christie Craig

  Austin’s gaze moved to a white, fluffy-looking blanket resting on top of the unmade bed. On the corner of the bed rested a silky-looking rose-colored nightshirt.

  He moved farther in and stared at the piece of soft-looking fabric. His hand, without permission, reached out and touched it—slid his glove-covered fingers over what looked like a low-cut neckline. An image of her wearing it filled his head.

  Realizing his behavior bordered on perverted, he pulled his hand back. Moving to the head of the bed, he got on his knees and stuck the bug at the bottom of the bed frame. Then he heard it. A loud half moan, half cry. Still on his knees, he glanced back.

  The gray cat stood between him and the door. It arched its back in an unnatural way, its neck extended, its tongue hanging out as weird noises spewed from its mouth. Austin bolted to his feet. Was this an attack warning, or was the animal convulsing and about to die?

  Before Austin could decide which it was, the animal bolted forward. Austin lurched back and hit the side of the bed.

  As if the sound was an alarm, the other two cats came running through the door. Holy hell. Three of them—all looking at him as if they were hungry and he was a salmon.

  Grabbing his water gun, prepared to shoot, he watched as the gray cat suddenly went from howling to hacking. A projectile spew of fluid came from the animal’s mouth, and then the most disgusting three-inch tubular thing shot out behind the water and landed right beside Austin’s shoe.

  “Gross.” He’d heard of hair balls, but never believed they were that big, or that… disgusting. Why would anyone own one of these creatures?

  Staring at the hairy glob of goo, his stomach turned. And wouldn’t you know, that was when the fourth cat, another gray one, came shooting from under the bed, hitting Austin’s ankles. Austin shot forward. The black cat, positioned a few feet in front of him, hissed.

  “Friggin’ hell!” He leaped onto the bed. The back of his head hit the ceiling fan blade, and he took several steps back on the mattress.

  His heart pounding in his chest, he pointed the gun—daring one of them to try anything. Then with his other hand he rubbed the back of his head. The cats didn’t move. All four sat glaring at him. This was absolutely his worst nightmare.

  He shifted his eyes from one to the other. And that’s when he noted the hair ball was no longer on the floor. He looked down. The disgusting ball of hair clung to the side of his shoe. But even worse were the footprints he’d made on the pristine white comforter. Footprints Leah was bound to notice.

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

  In spite of the cats, he jumped down. They scattered. Two out the door, one under the bed, and the orange one landed on top of the dresser. He pointed his gun at Big Orange. “Don’t mess with me.”

  He looked back at his friggin’ footprints on the comforter and then at his watch. He didn’t have time to take it to be cleaned.

  Her clinic closed at five. Which meant, in less than two hours, if she didn’t stay late, she could be strolling home.

  His heart thumped with indecision. If she thought someone had been here, she’d call the police. If she called the police, they might find the bugs.

  He was screwed.

  “Damn it!” He took a deep breath. He could do this. He had an hour and a half. Tucking the water gun back in his waistband, he paced out into the hall. Maybe she had some spot cleaner and he could manage to get the footprints off the damn thing and make it look like the cats threw up on it instead. Or maybe… His mind stopped working. The creak and clink of Leah’s door opening echoed in the silent apartment.

  Oh, damn! Had she left work early?

  Okay, he wasn’t just screwed. He was screwed, glued, and tattooed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BREATH HELD, HE eased into the washer and dryer closet and closed the louvered doors enough that he couldn’t be seen. This wasn’t by any means the answer to his dilemma, but a temporary reprieve. Because the way his luck was running, the first thing she’d do was start a load of laundry. Or decide to change the litter box. And from the smell of things, it needed it.

  He heard footsteps in the living room. Damn, this was bad.

  He leaned forward to peek through the slats in the door. The only thing he saw was Big Orange slinking toward the louvered doors.

  The door creaked and a paw poked inside the opening of the door. Austin’s breath caught again. He watched in horror as the animal used his paws to open the door a few inches and slink inside.

  Big yellow eyes looked up at him, then the animal brushed between Austin’s legs and went inside the litter box. He cringed when the sounds of litter being tossed around filled the small space. Would she hear it? Come check on her shitting cat?

  The sounds stopped, but what came next was worse. Much worse.

  Damn, he was going to have to apologize to Bud, Dallas’s dog, for saying his farts were unbeatable. This was much worse. His gag reflexes start to quiver.

  Putting his hand over his mouth and nose, he wondered how long he could hold his breath. A sudden hiss echoed from the living room, and two cats came hauling ass into the hall and darted into the bedroom. So focused on not breathing the aroma of cat shit, it took a second to realize that wasn’t right. Leah’s cats wouldn’t run from her. Tilting his head, he concentrated on the sound of the footsteps. Heavy footsteps. That wasn’t Leah. Who the hell was there?

  Through the slats, he spotted a man in the living room. A supersized man with a gun. He reached for Marilyn—and pulled out the water pistol. Okay, he wasn’t just screwed, glued, and tattooed.

  He was fucked.

  Sara Clare gave the injured kitten a couple of swipes behind his ear. “You’ll be all better in a few days,” she cooed.

  Leah, her boss and friend, popped her head into the room. “Hey, Evelyn’s here and there are no appointments for another hour. I’m gonna run to the grocery store. Do you need anything?”

  “A guy who’s mentally sound, no criminal past, preferably with a job, and doesn’t mind two-year-old boys,” Sara teased. “Oh, and make him a complete hottie.”

  Leah hugged the door frame and grinned. “Did you call him?”

  Sara rolled her eyes. “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “ ’Cause it’s awkward.” Sara closed the kitten’s cage but reached between the wires to offer the feline one last touch. She was a firm believer in the power of touch. Something she’d been missing lately, if you didn’t count it coming from her son.

  “Hey.” Leah drew Sara’s attention. Her boss nipped at her bottom lip as if thinking. “Why don’t you call and tell him we have an owner for Spooky. Tell him it’s our policy to make sure he didn’t change his mind and want the cat before we adopted him out.”

  Sara arched a brow. “That’s not a bad idea. I mean, I wouldn’t be calling to ask him out or anything.”

  “Do it!” Leah disappeared, her footsteps echoing on the tile floor. Then the footsteps came tapping back. She plopped a file down on the examining table. Spooky’s file with a certain tall, dark, and handsome’s telephone number in it.

  “No excuses. When I get back from the store, I want to hear how it went.” Leah started out, then turned back. “You sure you don’t want anything? I’m gonna be in the wine department.”

  “Wine?” Sara asked. “I thought you overindulged last night.”

  “Just three glasses. I’m a cheap drunk. Besides, this bottle isn’t for me. It’s for my neighbor.” She pushed away from the door frame.

  “Wait just a minute, Miss Reece.” Sara crossed her arms. “Which neighbor? The drool-worthy guy you’re after?”

  Leah frowned. “I’m not after him. I’m replacing the wine. It was his bottle I drank most of last night.”

  “What?” Sara gaped. “You two shared a bottle of wine? What else are you not telling me?”

  “We didn’t share it.” Leah backed up, clearly inching away from telling the truth.

  “Why do I think there’s a st
ory here?” Sara asked.

  “No story,” Leah said, but Sara smelled a lie. Leah continued, “I’m just wanting to soften him up so he’ll take Spooky.” She turned, took one step out, and then swung around. “Oh, I told Evelyn—but in case you pick up the phone—if Luis calls tell him to call my cell. ASAP!”

  “Is everything okay?” Every time the phone rang today, Leah had popped out to the front desk asking if it was Luis.

  “Fine,” Leah said again, and took off. And that smelled like another lie. She and Leah had become good friends since Sara started working here a year and a half ago. And while they shared a lot of things with each other—Leah’s disastrous marriage to Brandon, and her disastrous relationship with Brian’s dad—Sara always got the feeling that Leah had secrets.

  “Be sure you make that call,” Leah called back.

  Sara rolled her eyes but picked up the file. The idea of calling under the ruse of securing a home for Spooky wasn’t a bad idea. Or was it? She pulled her cell from her scrub uniform pocket.

  Damn it to hell and back! Austin needed a weapon, something other than a friggin’ water gun. He also needed clean air. He’d take Bud’s farts over this smell, hands down.

  The nearing footsteps brought Austin’s gaze up. Through the slats, he watched the gun-toting man walk past the opening in the hall as he made his way into the living room. Rummaging noises filled the apartment. Was he just the average burglar? Austin’s mind flashed with the image he’d gotten of the man. Big. Really big. A little older—wearing khaki pants and a dress shirt. He didn’t look like your average burglar.

  So who the hell was he? Could he be connected to DeLuna?

  The cat poked its head out of the box and looked up. Then it went back and started shoveling litter around. The noise seemed loud. The footsteps started moving his way.

  Desperate, he grabbed a toilet plunger from a shelf. Beggars couldn’t be choosy.

  Austin’s heart thumped against his chest bone as those steps neared. The cat hopped out of the box and slipped through the crack of the door.

  “Damn cat!” the intruder moaned. “You almost got your ass shot.”

  The man inched closer to the louvered doors, reaching for the knob. Austin bolted out, remembering his football-playing days. His shoulder rammed the man right in his gut. Austin’s water gun hit the floor. A gush of air left the man’s throat at the same time the bozo hit the wall. The intruder’s gun fell from his hand and skittered across the floor. As the man slid down the wall, out of breath, Austin tossed down the toilet plunger and went after his assailant’s weapon.

  Face it, gun trumped toilet plunger.

  When Austin turned around, the bozo was no longer trying to catch his breath. He was going for the toilet plunger.

  “I wouldn’t do that.” Austin pointed the man’s gun at him.

  He didn’t blink. He snatched up the plunger and swung. Hard. The bottom of the plunger might have been rubber, but it was hard rubber. And it didn’t feel good hitting the side of Austin’s face.

  “Shit!” He ducked the second plunger pass and put his hand on the trigger. “I swear I’ll kill you with your own gun.”

  “Go ahead!” the man growled. The plunger smacked Austin square in the face.

  Austin stumbled back. Pain throbbed against his lips and he tasted blood. Pissed, he lowered the gun toward the man’s legs so the shot wouldn’t be fatal and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened. The damn thing wasn’t loaded. Turned out plunger trumped gun after all.

  The second Austin took to even consider shooting and not killing the bastard cost him another blow to the face, not even the plunger this time, but a fist. He ducked the direct blow, but the fist got him in the corner of his eye.

  Falling against the louvered doors, he heard several of the paneled slats cracking. The man bolted out the hall. Austin dove after him and tackled him to the ground. They rolled on the floor, hitting end tables and bringing a lamp down on top of them.

  Austin threw a couple of good punches, one to the man’s gut and one to his face. It might have taken a lesser man down, but not this hulk. Nevertheless, the asshole had to be hurting, because even through the gloves, Austin felt the man’s teeth cut into his knuckles. The man’s shoulders collapsed back on the floor. Austin thought his assailant had passed out.

  He went to get to his feet, but the big bastard must have been playing possum. Austin barely saw the lamp coming at his head. And it didn’t miss. A thud sounded and caused a ringing in his ears. Momentarily stunned, he fell back against the end table. The blow hadn’t been that hard, but his vision swirled. He rose to his feet again but kept one hand on the wall to avoid falling. When his world stopped spinning, he saw the man hauling ass out the apartment door.

  Austin shot after him. The man was gone. Austin made a complete circle. Had the bozo entered one of the other apartments? A light click filled the hall. He spotted the door to the stairs slipping closed.

  He went after him. The man’s labored breathing echoed below, followed by the sound of a slamming door. When Austin made it down and outside the apartment, he saw a black Ford truck racing down the street. He recognized the monster of a guy driving the truck but caught only the first two letters of the license plate.

  Wiping the blood that ran down his cheek from his temple, he grunted a much-felt string of four-letter words.

  “Are you okay?” A hot blonde wearing a skimpy sports bra and tight stretchy pants ran up to him.

  On a normal day he might’ve considered letting her play doctor, but there was nothing normal about this day.

  “I’m fine.” He turned back to the building. Adrenaline coursed through his body, so instead of waiting for the elevator, he shot up the stairs.

  Rushing back into Leah’s apartment, he slammed the door. He looked around, praying her cats hadn’t escaped. Although, after seeing the hair ball incident and smelling the cat shit, it’d be doing her a favor to lose one or two.

  He let out a frustrated moan. What the hell happened? He spotted the gun on the floor. The unloaded gun. What kind of criminal carried an unloaded gun? What kind of idiot left without his gun?

  Maybe the same kind of PI who brought a damn water gun with him instead of a real one.

  He stared at the weapon. What were the chances of its being registered? Low. But the man hadn’t been wearing gloves. He might be lucky and get a print.

  Wiping another stream of blood, he noticed the mess in Leah’s apartment. His phone tucked inside his pocket vibrated. He ignored it and walked into the hall. The louvered doors hung off the hinges.

  The lamp lay broken on the floor. He glanced inside the bedroom, frowning at the bed with his footprints—which were the least of his problems now.

  His phone vibrated again. Knowing it was probably Dallas, he yanked it out of his pocket.

  “You get the bugs planted?” Dallas asked.

  “They’re planted.” But probably not for long. “Gotta go.” He hung up. Dallas would be pissed, but Austin didn’t have time to explain. He had to come up with a plan. And fast.

  CHAPTER NINE

  LEAH SET THE wine in her floorboard for fear the bottle would break before she got it to its rightful owner. Why did he have to buy such an expensive bottle? She knew it tasted expensive. Or at least better than stuff she’d had lately, but forty-two dollars? Maybe she’d get an extra neutering in this week to pay for it.

  She’d slipped behind the wheel when her cell rang.

  It was her office. Had Luis called? “Hey,” she answered.

  “Hey,” Evelyn said. “You got a strange call.”

  “Luis?”

  “No,” Evelyn said.

  Rafael? Leah dropped her head on the steering wheel and fought back a moan. “What kind of strange call?” If Rafael didn’t stop calling, she was going to have to tell Evelyn and Sara everything. She’d probably have to explain that she’d lied about her dad being killed shortly after Luis was born.

&nb
sp; Not that it was completely a lie. The man was dead, only it didn’t happen until she was eighteen. Not that she’d cried or anything. When she’d seen his picture in the obituaries, she’d been emotionally baffled—unsure what she should feel. Especially after she read the two little paragraphs naming all the loved ones he’d left behind.

  It’s official. Leah had come running into her aunt’s house that night. Luis and I don’t even exist.

  “It was your neighbor,” Evelyn said, drawing Leah away from the past.

  “Who?” Surely he wouldn’t be calling her. Had she even told him where she worked?

  “An Austin Brookshire.”

  She must have told him. “What did he want?”

  “He said…” Evelyn paused. “He said someone broke into your apartment.”

  “Crap,” she eked out.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Damn you, Rafael,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” She remembered finding Snowball those years ago, and instant panic filled her chest. “Are my cats okay?”

  “He didn’t mention the cats.”

  “Did he leave a number?” Leah’s heart raced.

  “Yup.”

  Leah dug in her purse for a pen. She pulled one out along with a small pad. Holding phone to ear with her shoulder, she said, “Give it to me.”

  Leah jotted down the number. “Thanks. Bye.”

  She dialed, praying and hoping with everything she had that her cats were okay. Unfortunately, she knew what Rafael was capable of.

  Austin had removed the bugs. He didn’t see any other option. He’d also hidden the assailant’s gun in his apartment, and as soon as he was done with Leah, he’d call Dallas about having it checked.

  Now, while waiting for Leah to call him back, or to show up—he didn’t know which she’d do—he pressed two fingers to his swollen eye and went into her bathroom mirror to check out the damage. He looked like shit.

  He’d gotten in a couple of good licks on the attacker and could only hope the bozo looked worse than he did.