Mad About You

by Bond, Stephanie

  Feeling a tiny burst of affection for the clumsy man, James said, "Detective, I have every confidence that you will apprehend the criminal. And when you do, give him a punch for me over the trouble he caused Ms. McKray."

  The detective smiled wide, snapping his gum. "You got it bad for her, don't you?"

  "I'm not familiar with the term, but if you mean am I attracted—"

  "Nah, son, it's more than that, ain't it?" Snap, snap. "Ever been married?"

  "Er, no."

  "Never been in love before, huh?"

  James sighed, unwilling to discuss his private life with the man. "That's not the sort of thing I'd do."

  Tenner cackled. "Son, you're in big trouble if you think it's something you can control. You can wear a bulletproof vest to protect your heart from guns and knives and such, but there ain't nothing in this world that'll keep a woman from getting in."

  As Kat's face appeared in his mind, James's chest tightened and he felt the beginning of a headache in his temple. He shifted, feeling tired and itchy. If being in love felt this bad, it couldn't be good.

  Tenner rubbed his chest, dislodging a belch. "Yep, ain't nothing to do but lie down and take it like a man."

  Chapter Thirteen

  "KAT!" ANDY WHARTON’S face lit up and he clasped her in a rocking bear hug. "Thank God you're back. I told you we couldn't do the open house without you."

  Guy snorted. "Andy's just glad his load will be lightened."

  Andy lowered his voice as Guy walked out of hearing distance. "Napoleon is so worried about the open house, he made everyone come in over the weekend. Guy says you're going to be here through Friday?"

  "Right. Just to tie up loose ends."

  "You're leaving at a good time," he said. "I hear we're being audited again and you'll be safely out of range."

  Kat frowned slightly. "Out of range?"

  "Well, you know how it was last time—answering questions, interruptions all the time. Besides, I'm sure it would bring back sad memories for you."

  She nodded, touched by his concern. Her dad had liked working with Andy, and she was grateful for his friendship.

  "Listen, Kat… I know you always said you wouldn't date a coworker, and now that you're leaving, well..." His smile was shy. "I'm in L.A, occasionally—can I call you sometime?"

  She suddenly realized that Andy was a cute guy, with a fresh face and large, expressive eyes. And she had always enjoyed his company. Maybe he wasn't her dream man, but he might be just the friend she needed to get over James. Her smile was wide and sincere. "I'd like that very much."

  "Really? Great. That's...just great." He lifted his hand in a pleased wave and backed away, nodding.

  Kat laughed to herself, feeling good about making plans for her new life in L.A. Her friend from college, John Cloff, said he could use her at his folk art gallery for as many hours a week as she wanted to work until she found a place to open her antique-furniture store.

  Kat inhaled deeply. Things were definitely looking up—Officer Raines had even arranged for her van to be towed back to the gallery parking lot. She'd come by to pick it up, along with a copy of the contract she'd signed with Guy and her notebook of caterers, florists, musicians, and dozens of other service people who needed to be contacted with last-minute instructions before Thursday.

  She grabbed her purse and turned to leave, shuddering slightly when she remembered that the last time she'd left the gallery, she'd been handcuffed. Over a single long weekend, her life had changed so much, it was scarcely believable. She'd been arrested, freed, prompted to take an overdue step in her career, and in between, she'd managed to fall in love.

  She tried to be glib about her feelings for James because it helped her deal with the hurt. People fell in love every day—she was realistic enough to know that a happy ending did not necessarily follow. Besides, James didn't feel the same way about her...and even if he did, it took more than love to make a relationship work. So the sooner she forgot about him, the better.

  "Hallo, Pussy-Kat."

  She jerked her head up, her heart jumping at the sound of his voice. He stood beside Detective Tenner, his brows knitted into one long, dark line. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

  "I was preparing to ask you the same question. Clearing your desk?"

  After ordering her pulse to slow, she smiled brightly. "Not exactly—Guy needs my help for the rest of this week, and he's making it worth my while."

  "I sincerely hope so," James said, his voice dubious.

  "I didn't realize you were coming with Detective Tenner," Kat said. If she had, she might have taken the time to change from her old jeans and paint-splattered sweatshirt. She'd planned to simply run in and get the notebook, return home to make her business calls, take a shower, and then, like a lovestruck teenager, wait for him to drop by to say goodbye.

  "I had a few hours to kill," he said with an easy shrug. "I was planning to stop by your place to say so long, and to see if your locks have been changed."

  "Oh, um, yes, they've been changed." She squeezed the notebook to her chest and laughed cheerfully. "Now you won't have to stop by and you'll have more time to get to the airport." She'd given him an out if he wanted to take it.

  He was silent for a few seconds, his eyes unreadable. "I suppose you're right."

  Tenner coughed. "Want me to go ahead and get started, Donovan?"

  James kept his gaze locked on her. "Sure, Detective, I'll catch up with you in a few minutes."

  She watched Tenner leave, then shifted her heavy notebook to her hip.

  "Why did you come back?" he asked, his voice resonating with anger.

  Tiny hairs rose on the nape of her neck. She jammed her glasses higher on her nose and lifted her chin. "James, it's only for a few days and I need the money."

  He strode toward her, then wrapped his hand around her wrist. "I will give you the damn money to get you away from this place—how much is the little weasel paying you?"

  She fumed at his reaction, then pulled her arm away. "I don't want your money."

  "James," came a silky voice from the doorway. "Since when do you have to get rough with your women?"

  Kat turned to see what could only be described as the most gorgeous woman she'd ever seen standing with her hand on one slim hip, her perfect eyebrows in the air, her stunning gaze directed at James.

  "Tania?" His eyes were wide with surprise.

  "In the flesh," she said with a honeyed smile, and Kat had to agree, since so much of it was showing. She wore the briefest of minis and a loose crop top in taupe linen with a jacket to match slung over her shoulder. The bag and shoes alone probably cost more than Kat's entire wardrobe. And the flat little outie belly button...well, even if Kat won the lottery, that fixture was a pipe dream.

  Flipping her chic, precision-cut hair, the woman walked toward them with such smoothness, Kat wondered if her pointed-toed, crocodile stilettos were equipped with rollers. Her gaze flicked over Kat in quick dismissal. From her accent and her bearing, Kat guessed the visitor's identity, which James' introduction verified.

  "Katherine McKray, this is Tania Mercer."

  Kat conjured up a smile and extended her hand, which still bore the slight yellowing stains of wood dye. "How do you—"

  "James," Tania said, turning away, her eyes wide. "Tell me this isn't the woman who stole my letter?"

  His mouth quirked. "No, Tania. The charges against Kat have been dropped."

  She glanced back to Kat warily. "Are you quite sure she didn't do it?"

  "Yes, Ms. Mercer," Kat said distinctly, dropping her hand. "Quite."

  Lady Mercer narrowed her eyes, apparently unconvinced.

  "Tania," James said evenly, "what are you doing here?"

  She flashed him a brilliant smile, and laid a manicured hand on his arm. "Darling, instead of meeting you in New York, I thought I would come and release you from this nonsense, then we could fly out together. Are you surprised?"

  Kat gave him cre
dit—he certainly looked surprised.

  "I didn't realize we had decided you would join me in New York."

  "Oh, James," she said with a laugh and a wave. "We really should try to talk more when we're together. I'm starving—let's get a bite to eat, shall we?"

  Her feelings smarting, Kat began to back away quietly.

  "Tania, you must not have received my message—I was planning to leave for New York tonight anyway."

  She frowned beautifully. "No, I didn't. I've been pining away for you at the London cottage and decided to come straight away. Poor Mary doesn't even know I'm here."

  When Kat felt safely out of range, she turned and hurried down a long hallway toward the back exit, then pushed the release bar and stepped out into the parking lot. If that was the kind of woman James wanted, he'd probably been laughing at Kat behind her back. When she heard James call after her from the doorway, she quickly blinked away hot, absurd tears.

  "Kat," he said loudly, striding up behind her and touching her forearm. "We weren't finished talking."

  "Yes, James, we were."

  He frowned. "I don't like the notion of you coming back here—doesn't it bother you knowing the person who stole your things and planted evidence could very well be employed here, or perhaps signing your paycheck?"

  She chewed on the inside of her cheek during his speech, then brushed back a wild strand of hair the wind had caught. "Sure it does, but whoever it was got what they wanted—the letter—and the charges against me have been dropped. I've been working in a near-hostile environment for years, four more days isn't going to kill me."

  Kat turned and marched in the direction of her dilapidated van, which had been pulled to the farthest corner of the long parking lot and left at an odd angle. Suddenly she felt a shove against her chest, as if a wall had walked into her, followed by a horrific explosion that rocked the ground where she'd been thrown facedown. Instinctively, she covered her head with her arms, and felt debris raining down around her. A piercing wail, like an unrelenting dog whistle, whined in her ears, blocking out everything else. She lay frozen, not sure what had happened, but very sure it was bad.

  Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and rolled her over, and she struck out wildly, terrified. But the hands subdued her arms and held her still. James came into focus, faded, and came back His mouth moved and he looked angry—no, not angry… scared. She blinked hard, trying to read his lips, trying to comprehend what had happened. At last, his voice came to her in muffled syllables, still unrecognizable, but blessed confirmation that she was not deaf.

  She concentrated on his wide, searching eyes, and tensed her limbs, one by one to see if they were still attached. When she realized that he was desperately trying to get her to respond to him, she nodded slowly, and his face relaxed in relief. He yelled something to someone behind him, but Kat's head felt too heavy to lift and look around.

  The fact that an explosion had occurred leaked into her brain. From the gallery? A neighboring building? A gas line perhaps? Other faces appeared over hers, some distantly recognizable.

  James waved everyone back and hovered over her, stroking her hair back from her face. His hair was tousled and his impeccable clothes disheveled, which struck her as funny for some reason, and she smiled up at him. He leaned closer, tilted his head and winked at her, but his eyes were still clouded with concern.

  The paramedics arrived and shuffled her onto a stretcher, then rolled her into an ambulance. She wasn't sure if James had accompanied her until she felt his hand on her socked foot. Where were her shoes?

  Then they were moving and she could make out the lower pitch of the siren through the shrill hum drilling through her head. A blue-coated paramedic leaned over her and said something once, then twice, but she didn't understand him. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, sounds around her began to filter in—the bass of the ambulance engine, the muted voices of James and the paramedic talking. She grunted to see if she could hear herself, a noise that brought James and the paramedic back to her side.

  "James?" she yelled—at least it sounded like a yell, except hollow and echoing. His lips moved, then his face blurred as darkness crept over her, and he slipped away.

  *****

  Tenner's face was grim as he walked into the deserted waiting area where James stood fidgeting, pacing—anything to keep from screaming in frustration.

  "It was a pipe bomb in the van, wasn't it?" James asked from across the room.

  The detective nodded and expelled a noisy breath, dragging his hand through his sparse hair. "How's Ms. McKray?"

  "Lots of cuts and bruises and a mild concussion, but the doctors say she'll be fine." James massaged his neck, then rolled his shoulder. "A few steps closer to the van and she would’ve been—" He stopped, unable to say the word.

  "How about you?" Tenner asked. "Looks like you got nicked yourself."

  James touched the bandage at his temple and scoffed. "It's just a scratch—I let them dress it to be near Kat."

  "What the devil happened?"

  The fury and helplessness he'd managed to hold at bay ballooned in his chest, threatening to break him apart. "Bloody hell, man, she was almost killed right in front of me, that's what happened!" Then he turned and slammed his hand into the wall and leaned against it as the blessed, comforting pain subsided.

  He heard the detective walk closer, then the creak of a chair being filled with a big body. "Won't do her no good if you go bustin' yourself up, son."

  James closed his eyes, then sighed and slowly turned around, massaging his knuckles. "I did that for myself, not for Kat."

  "I need to file a report," Tenner said gruffly.

  Lowering himself into a vinyl seat across from Tenner, James nodded.

  "A woman called a local newspaper and claimed responsibility for the bomb."

  Astonishment washed over him. "What?"

  "The guy said she sounded Asian—maybe Chinese. Some rambling message about abortion clinics—there's been a rash of small bombings lately...no fatalities, though."

  James frowned in confusion. "This was some kind of random political statement?"

  Tenner frowned. "In my opinion, no. I'd say someone wanted to kill Ms. McKray and made the phone call to throw us off, or some nut took it upon herself to claim the bombing. Now, tell me what happened."

  James took a deep breath and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and repeated every detail he could recall from the time Tenner had left them alone in the gallery to the time of the explosion.

  "Did you see anyone hanging around the parking lot?"

  "No."

  "How about anyone pulling away in a vehicle when you came outside?"

  "No."

  Tenner grunted. "You're both damned lucky, if you ask me."

  "How could someone plant a bomb in her van—wasn't it searched when they towed it in?"

  "Yep, clean as a whistle."

  "How about before it was towed back?"

  "Can't be sure, but anyone who would sneak into a police impound lot and plant a pipe bomb has got gonads the size of my bowling ball."

  "So the bomb was planted after the van was returned to the gallery?"

  "That'd be my guess."

  "Has the area been sealed and everyone questioned?"

  Tenner nodded. "Yep, but now the case has been handed over to the bomb squad, and the FBI will probably step in. My squad car, along with every other car on the lot, was confiscated for evidence. That security guard Carl Jays had come by to pick up his paycheck—his Lexus was carrying a high-priced cargo."

  "Drugs?"

  "Yep. Did all his dealing at night—working midnight shifts at art galleries was the perfect cover."

  "So he didn’t have anything to do with the break-in?"

  "Looks that way."

  "So we’re down one suspect."

  Tenner exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. "I'm just glad this isn't a murder investigation. When I heard that boom, I nearly pissed my pants."

&nbs
p; James lifted his head and smiled, appreciating the man's attempt to lighten the mood for a moment before he turned serious again. "Why would someone want to kill her, Tenner? The charges have been dropped, so the police were already looking elsewhere for a suspect. What could possibly be gained from getting rid of her?"

  The detective sighed and scratched his belly. "That's a good question."

  Watching him squirm, James knew the man was holding back a theory. His heart skipped. "What is it, Tenner? Is she involved in this somehow—have I missed something because I'm...because I'm too close?"

  Frowning, Tenner grimaced. "I don't know, Donovan, but there's only one reason to get rid of her—she knows something she hasn't told."

  James pursed his lips, his mind racing. "Or she knows something she doesn't realize is important."

  "Right," Tenner said, leaning forward. "And it's our job to find out what it is."

  "Mr. Donovan?" a nurse asked as she walked in with a chart.

  He jumped to his feet. "Yes?"

  "Ms. McKray is ready to go. Will you sign her out and be responsible for her?"

  To James, the question touched something deep inside him. The idea of not being responsible for Katherine was unthinkable, and a revelation that would have to wait for closer scrutiny. "I will," he said, reaching for the papers.

  *****

  "I can walk," Kat protested when James swung her into his arms.

  "I know, but it gives me an excuse to put my hands on you," he whispered close to her ear.

  She smiled, secretly glad to be carried into her apartment. Her face and arms felt tight from many tiny cuts, and she was still a little light-headed. Tenner had driven them to her apartment in his newly acquired squad car, and brought up the rear carrying James's suitcase and the figurine boxes.

  "Are you staying?" she asked, her eyebrows lifted.

  His nod brooked no argument. "And Officer Raines was so shaken up, I believe he's going to keep an eye on things outside."