by Marie Celine
Ted was lucky to be alive – lucky that Howie had shown up when he did. Lina was an expert at Krav Maga, a self-defense system used by the Israeli Defense Forces. She had spent seven years in the Israel military where she had become skilled at hand-to-hand combat. Vic had never stood a chance.
After his own near-death experience, Howie was now grumbling about getting a real gun but Kitty was certain Rick would never allow it.
Kitty herself vowed to work on her gullible nature. She’d actually bought Ted’s tale about grieving over his previous dog. She couldn’t believe how easily she had fallen for the story and how sorry she had felt for him. Of course, she also thought at one point that he might be a killer – especially when she’d seen him stalking Lina on the trail.
At least Jack had understood when Kitty explained why every time he happened to call her room, Ted picked up the phone.
That could have been a disaster.
As for Chef Moutarde, he’d simply turned out to be a jerk. What was the word Lina had used? Oh, yeah, shmendrik. If Victor Cornwall was the king of all jerks then Henri Moutarde was the prince of all jerks. She’d be glad to leave them all behind. That included Deputy Nickels, who she’d heard was still trying to get Chief Mulisch to charge her with interfering with a police investigation. That guy had real problems. With all the medications at his disposal as a part-time pharmacist, maybe he should write himself a prescription or two for something to stabilize his mood.
Steve burst through the door and into her thoughts. He took one look at Kitty and clapped his hands to his face. ‘Kitty, look at you!’
‘Hi, Steve.’ She waved toward her fiancé. ‘You remember Jack.’ Jack rose.
‘Of course.’ He pushed Jack out of the way and leaned over the hospital bed. ‘Tsk-tsk.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re a mess. This won’t do. It won’t do at all.’
Kitty frowned. ‘Gee, thanks.’ She could see Jack smothering a laugh over Steve’s shoulder and shot him a dirty look.
‘No, really. You look like … like …’
Kitty sat straighter. ‘Like I fell off a mountain? Wrestled a crazed killer to the ground?’
Steve twisted his neck and tapped his index finger against his cheek. ‘I was going to say like a train wreck.’ He took a step back and assessed her for a moment. ‘But, yes!’
‘Maybe it would be best to let Kitty rest, Steve,’ said Jack, laying a hand on Steve’s shoulder.
Apparently he’d finally gotten those get this guy out of here signals that Kitty had been shooting him. Maybe she was getting the hang of this psychic stuff after all. But her signal sending must be still in need of some fine tuning, otherwise Jack would have punched Steve in the nose by now.
‘Of course. Rest is what you need.’ Steve stopped at the door. ‘You’ve got to be in the studio tomorrow to film two new shows. And a new promo for the network.’
‘What?’ Kitty jumped from the bed and Jack pushed her back down. ‘No way,’ she said, her arms folded.
‘Of course, with all those cuts and bruises …’ Steve was shaking his head and didn’t appear to be listening to a word Kitty was saying.
His eyes narrowed as he seemed to study her face.
Kitty squirmed, feeling like she was under a microscope.
‘Say what you will about Fran but she does know her way around a makeup brush.’ He often had lots to say about Fran. None of it good. ‘I’m sure she can make you—’ He paused, one hand on the door. ‘Presentable?’
Kitty gaped. Had he really just used the word presentable? ‘I’m not ready to go back to work, Steve.’ She refolded her arms over her chest as if preparing for battle. ‘I need at least a week off.’ She looked to Jack for support.
‘I agree.’ Jack nodded. ‘At least a week.’
Steve didn’t even pause to consider. ‘Impossible,’ he said, snapping his fingers. ‘Time is money and the network is waiting for product.’
‘One week,’ said Kitty ominously, ‘or I tell everyone, and that includes the crew, that you take a needlepoint class with a bunch of old ladies every Sunday morning.’ She had recently been made aware of Steve’s predilection for needlepoint but hadn’t realized how she might be able to use that bit of juicy knowledge to her advantage. Until now.
‘But—’ Steve was actually blushing. He turned to Jack and pointed his finger. ‘You heard her. That’s blackmail, isn’t it?’
Jack shrugged.
‘But you’re a police officer. Can’t you do something?’
A trace of a smile showed across Jack’s lips. ‘What can I do? There’s no crime in Kitty telling everybody you do needlepoint. It does seem a little odd, though.’ He winked at Kitty. ‘I mean, a grown man and all …’
Steve chewed his lower lip. ‘Fine.’ He raised his hand. ‘Three days.’
‘Seven.’
‘Four.’
‘Five,’ said Kitty, running her hand over the bed sheets. ‘And that’s my final offer.’
Steve sighed heavily. ‘Fine. I don’t have all day to argue with you. Roger’s waiting in the car with the babies.’ He pointed his finger at her once more. ‘You’ve got five days.’ He seemed to do some mental math. ‘Dad’s not going to be happy.’
Kitty didn’t care. She’d finally be getting a real vacation and some time alone with Jack. She’d deal with Steve’s dad when the time came. Until then, she was on vacation. She fluffed her pillow and looked at the plastic cup of banana pudding the nurse had brought her with renewed interest. She picked up her spoon. ‘Want some?’ she asked Steve and Jack. Both declined.
Jack walked Steve to the door and held it open.
‘I’ll call you in a couple of days,’ Steve said.
‘Nice try,’ replied Kitty. ‘I’ve got five days off. You’ll see me day six.’
‘Fine,’ Steve relented. ‘Day six.’
Her neck twisted and her lips turned up at the corners. The spoon hovered near her lips. ‘There is one more thing.’
‘Yes?’ said Steve, his voice flat.
‘I want a dressing room for me and Fran.’
Steve glared at her but she didn’t back down. When Steve looked at Jack he merely shrugged again. ‘Consider it done. Are we finished here?’
‘Yes,’ replied Kitty, fluffing her pillow.
‘Good luck,’ Steve said.
‘Thanks,’ Kitty replied.
One of Steve’s brows went up. ‘I was talking to your fiancé. He’s going to need it.’
Kitty grabbed the water pitcher beside the bed with both hands and took aim. Steve ran from the room.
Jack snatched the pitcher from Kitty’s hand. ‘Careful with that,’ he said, setting it down out of reach. ‘You could hurt somebody.’
‘I wasn’t really going to throw it, Jack.’ Kitty kissed him hard. ‘But don’t ever tell Steve that.’