MAKE ME A MATCH (Running Wild)

by Hutchinson, Bobby

  Sonny looked at him and nodded, blowing out a long breath.

  Eric couldn’t remember when he’d ever looked fully and at length into his father’s eyes. He realized they were the same color as his own, but faded.

  Sonny smiled at him, and then he shook his head and spread his hands wide. “What can you do?” He started to laugh.

  After a moment, Eric laughed, too, and Tessa lowered herself to the ground beside him. He wrapped a dripping arm tight around her.

  “About those babies, Tess. How many did you say you wanted?”

  “I think we’ll start with one,” she said. And then she kissed him.

  *****

  Excerpt from Book 1

  (RUNNING WILD SERIES)

  STAND BY YOUR MAN

  Being a private detective in a city the size of Seattle and spending most of her time on divorce work had ruined most of Maddie Bertusso’s girlish illusions about relationships, which was only one of the reasons she was twenty-eight and still single.

  Statistics indicated that over 60 percent of weddings were going to end up with lovebirds sitting right here in her office begging her to come up with evidence that would prove their spouse was a lying, cheating, no-good jerk. Maddie, ever practical, figured it would be a lot cheaper if they’d take their time, give the whole thing some thought, and hire her before the nuptials, but nobody wanted to hear the nasty facts of life when they were in love.

  Certainly Francie didn’t. Maddie was being a responsible sister, trying to keep Francie from becoming a statistic, because the term no-good jerk exactly fit Sebastian Fisher. Maddie had irrefutable proof that he was a small time felon, but would Francie even glance at the police printout Maddie was holding?

  “Why would I want to look at that stupid thing?” Francie tilted her cute little nose in the air and sat further back in her chair, crossing her long, bare legs.

  Maddie’s basset hound, who had a weakness for leather, made it plain whose side he was on. He waddled over, collapsed on the carpet, put his head on Francie’s high-heeled, size six, secondhand Italian sandals, and snuffled in ecstasy.

  Francie leaned over and scratched Watson’s ear. “Sebastian’s been perfectly honest with me. Why would I check up on him?”

  Trying to hold on to her patience, Maddie shoved her glasses up her nose and tried again. “It’s in your best interest to know what’s in this report. It’s plain as rain that the guy’s bad news, Francie. If you’d just take a look at this, you’d see what I mean. There’s a definite pattern here.”

  “I suppose Dad got that from one of his police buddies. You do know that’s an invasion of privacy? Sebastian could sue Daddy for that.”

  “Not when it’s a matter of public record, which it is. And if you know already that you’re mixed up with a small-time punk, why would you go on dating him? It doesn’t make sense.”

  But Maddie also knew that logic wasn’t part of Francie’s vocabulary. Reason had never worked on her younger sister, and it didn’t look as if there was going to be a miracle in that regard on this shining June morning. Which was a miracle in itself because it had been raining for over two weeks. Not an unusual thing in Seattle but not something residents bragged about, either.

  Maddie looked at Francie and was reminded all over again how gorgeous she was. They didn’t see one another all that often. Marple Investigative Services ate up most of Maddie’s life, and Francie’s romances and her handmade-card business consumed most of hers—in that order.

  Besides having a definite resemblance to a blonde Barbie, her baby sister had a childlike enthusiasm that Maddie envied and a disregard for reason that scared her spitless, like this refusal to look at the facts about Sebastian Fisher.

  Part of Maddie wanted to give up, crumble the report, and toss it in her trash, but over last night’s Sunday dinner with their parents, she’d promised she’d speak to Francie, and Maddie always honored promises. It was one of her failings.

  “Can’t we drop the lecture?” Francie pleaded. “I came by to show you my new haircut and lure you down to Lulu’s for a cappuccino. It’s too nice a morning to sit up here in this stuffy little office. Or we could go shopping.” Francie rummaged in the bag at her feet and pulled out a scrap of electric blue Lycra that didn’t look big enough to cover anyone’s essentials.

  “Deluxe Junk had two of these; there was one in cocoa that would look fabulous on you; it exactly matches your eyes. I’d have bought it for you but the haircut put my charge card over the limit.”

  “You just gave me that purple Lycra number for my birthday.” Which she would never wear. Boob wise she and Francie were about the same, 36B, but when it came to butts, Maddie and Jennifer Lopez had the most in common.

  “I love your haircut.” Maddie shoved her glasses up her nose again and studied it. “How’d they get it to go all streaky like that?” Her sister’s blonde head was a seemingly artless riot of gleaming curls that looked as if they’d never need anything except a rapturous moment under the shower with that orgasmic brand of shampoo.

  “Reggie did it; he’s a genius. Go see him and get yours styled for the summer; curls are back in. I’ll give you his card.” She rummaged in her straw handbag.

  Maddie shook her head. “I can’t do high maintenance. This way, I just pull it back and forget about it. And I can cut the ends myself.” Her nut-brown, stick- straight hair was shoulder length, secured with a banana clip at the crown of her head. No fuss, no muss, no bother. Why couldn’t her family be like her hair?

  “You want my opinion, it looks like you cut it yourself. Not good, Maddie. And you’ve had it that way for ten years now.”

  “It’s my comfort zone. And speaking of comfort zones, this perp you’re dating makes everybody nervous. If the future is anything like the past, Fisher is well on his way to a small cell for an extended holiday. And visiting guys in jail is not romantic.”

  “Sebastian is not going to jail.” Francie sighed and examined her nails. “Do we really have to talk about this? You’ve got the worst one-track mind I’ve ever come across.”

  “Thanks. That’s probably what makes me a good investigator.”

  “I hate to break this to you, but it’s not attractive. And you’re not gonna shut up about this until you repeat everything Mom and Dad told you to say to me, right?”

  “I don’t take orders from our parents.” Maddie tried for huffy and sounded defensive instead. And she hated lying, even though she seemed to have to do it on a regular basis. Being a detective forced one to be devious. But she wasn’t bending the truth one bit when she said, “Sebastian Fisher is heading for jail, Francie.” She’d skimmed the list of arrests and misdemeanors and realized that, for once, their parents weren’t overreacting. “Bad checks, drunk and disorderly, attempting to steal a statue from Volunteer Park, taking a cop’s horse while the cop was having a pee, for God’s sake, and then riding the animal down Denny Way in rush hour. Eight outstanding parking fines, twelve speeding offenses, one charge of public endangerment for riding a motorcycle up the steps of the courthouse. Trust me, Francie, if you stick with this dude, you’ll never get into Canada again.”

  “You memorized his rap sheet.”

  “You would too if you had any sense.” Another salient fact occurred to her, and she tapped the paper with a gnawed fingernail. She had to stop biting her nails; it was a filthy habit. She’d managed not to touch her thumbnail for two weeks now, and it was actually almost past the end of her thumb, a milestone in Maddie’s fingernail history. But when she didn’t chew her nails, she ate too much, so it was six of one and five pounds on her rump of the other.

  “There’s one charge here I really don’t get. Why would any sane person try to liberate a sea otter from Seattle Aquarium?”

  “She was pregnant.” Francie managed to look outraged and virtuous at the same time. “How would you feel, having a baby with half of the Pacific Northwest watching you deliver? Sebastian figured she had a right to privacy and the fr
eedom of the open ocean when her time came.”

  “How altruistic of him.”

  “You don’t need to be sarcastic. You’ve never even met him, you’re just doing this hatchet job because Patrick and Bernice told you to.”

  Maddie didn’t bother denying it again; it took too much energy. “Mom and Dad happen to want the best for you. Me, too. Getting mixed up with this Fisher person is really not a good romantic option, sis. The guy’s a big-time loser.”

  Francie rolled her eyes and leaned over to pat Watson again, who hadn’t budged an inch from her legs. He looked up at her and moaned in ecstasy.

  Maddie felt betrayed. You’d think your own damned dog would have some loyalty, but no. With two people to choose from, Watson invariably chose the one who hadn’t rescued him from the city pound.

  “Like you’re an expert on guys, Maddie. No offense, but I personally don’t think Victor Spivik would qualify as a candidate on The Bachelorette.”

  After two months of dating the guy, Maddie had to agree. But she was sort of fond of him, which is what made her defensive.

  “Yeah, well, at least Victor doesn’t have a rap sheet.”

  “He’s a cop, Maddie.”

  How could Francie make the word cop sound like pederast?

  “Victor doesn’t have the imagination to step outside the rules and regs and do anything remotely creative or exciting. Booorrring. You know what cops are like, God, we grew up with Daddy. ”

  “Yeah, and some days I feel like I’m still living with him.”

  “That’s because you won’t tell him to get a life and stop hanging around here. Just because he’s retired now, there’s no reason to adopt him. And I still can’t believe you let him bully you into dating Spivik in the first place.”

  “It wasn’t bullying. It was more like water dripping on stone. I wore down. And Victor has his good points; he understands when I have to do surveillance at three in the morning. He’s like Dad in that he’s simple, straightforward, and dependable.” She racked her brain. “And kind, he’s a really kind man. Those are qualities I value in a guy.”

  Francie giggled. “What ever happened to hunky and hot and hard? Now those are qualities I value.”

  Maddie wondered why she always ended up sounding like a Victorian virgin aunt when she talked to Francie. Probably because when it came to experience with the opposite sex, Francie was way beyond her, even though she was also five years younger. Maddie remembered the day her fifteen-year-old sister had told her, in graphic detail, exactly how to give a guy a blowjob, a lesson Maddie hadn’t had the chance to practice a whole lot lately. Victor had a thing about oral sex.

  “So Victor’s got vast areas that could use improvement,” Maddie admitted. “I’ve never met a single man who was perfect.”

  “A married one, either,” Francie purred, and they laughed. “Victor is like Dad, long and straight and dusty to the grave. It’s one of the few things Dad and Mom have in common.”

  “I guess when you’re a judge you have to set an example,” Maddie said. There she went again, defending her mother. And forgetting what else she wanted to say to Francie. “So we’re clear on your opinion of Victor; give me a couple good reasons why you find this Sebastian Fisher attractive?”

  Francie’s eyes shone and her voice dropped several decibels.

  “Maddie, he’s so hot. He’s smart and funny and outrageous and sexy. And gorgeous.” She waved a small, paint-stained paw at the yellow paper Maddie was holding. “You can see from that he’s never really done anything remotely serious; he’s not into drugs, or prostitution, or hit lists, or extortion. He doesn’t even own a gun. Which Victor Spivik does, I might add.”

  Maddie was losing her cool. “For heaven’s sake, Francie, Victor’s a policeman, of course he owns a gun. So did Dad, while he was a cop. So do I, for that matter.” Not that she’d ever had to use it, but being a private investigator had landed her in situations where the small .38 automatic in her purse made her feel more secure. “Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it, as that popular ad for condoms claims,” she recited. “And as for serious, Fisher’s into car theft; that’s pretty big-time in my books. He stole a vintage Thunderbird just two weeks ago. Fortunately for him, the charges were dropped. If the complainant had gone ahead, Fisher would almost certainly have done jail time.”

  Maddie could tell from her sister’s expression that she hadn’t known about the car theft thing. Instead of feeling vindicated, Maddie felt downright mean as Francie’s pretty features registered surprise and shock.

  But Francie recovered fast, you had to hand it to her. Her chin went up. “Like you said, the charges were dropped. Somebody must have made a mistake. So it doesn’t count, right?” Her husky voice took on a pleading tone. “Maddie, when you meet Sebastian, you’ll understand what a great guy he is. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for this car theft thing. I’ll ask him; he’ll tell me the truth.”

  She fondled Watson’s ears and he put his paws in her lap and looked up at her as if she was sirloin. “The cops just have it in for him, you know how that works. We’ve both heard Daddy talk often enough about personal vendettas, about how a bunch of vindictive cops go about nailing some poor schmuck. They get a hard-on for somebody, and it doesn’t matter whether the guy is innocent or not, they’ll make sure he’s hauled in on every little teensy thing. ” Francie fished in her purse and fed Watson a big piece of protein bar.

  “If that’s soy, it gives him bad gas,” Maddie warned.

  “He only had a tiny piece, didn’t you, honey? But if he’s gonna fart, let’s get him out in the fresh air. Besides, it’s hot in here, can’t we go for a frappe?”

  Maddie thought it over. She didn’t have any appointments, and she could keep an eye on the stairway if they sat at one of Lulu’s outside tables. “I guess so. I’ll forward calls to my cell. Hannah took Amy to the dentist, but she oughta be back soon.”

  Hannah Glaser, her only full-time employee, was a single parent with a sixteen-year-old kid, which meant that Hannah didn’t need a babysitter when there was surveillance work to be done at night. Financial hunger and reliability were powerful motivators, and Hannah also had a brand-new license as a PI, so Maddie didn’t have to pay extra for experience.

  Francie gently disentangled Watson and waited while Maddie programmed the phone and locked the door. She led the way down the steep flight of outside wooden stairs to the sidewalk. Watson waddled down after them.

  “Somebody’s gonna sue your ass off when they fall down these stairs, ” Francie grumbled, holding tight to the railing.

  “I’ve got insurance. And nobody but you wears heels like that to actually walk in. Besides, being on the second floor means the rent is doable.”

  “It also means you live with the smell of pizza all day.”

  “It could be worse.” Maddie waved at Edward, the Korean man who ran Mamma Mia’s Pizzeria in the store underneath her office. “It was a tattoo parlor before, and the clientele wasn’t half as classy.”

  “Honestly, Maddie, haven’t you thought of moving to a nicer location? Sure, stay here in Capitol Hill, it’s a funky area, but maybe somewhere not so close to the freeway?”

  “This place suits me fine.” Maddie hid a smile. Francie would slit her own throat at the comparison, but at times like this she sounded exactly like their mother, Bernice. “The rent’s low, there’s street parking, and some of the clients appreciate the fact that in this neighborhood they’re not likely to be recognized when they come to see us. Besides, one of the perks of a detective agency is not needing to impress people with a fancy address or luxurious offices.” “Nobody’s impressed, believe me.” Ignoring a young man with a nose ring who clapped a hand over, his heart and pretended to be love struck as she walked past him, Francie swayed across the street and into Lulu’s Emporium and Coffee Palace. They ordered frappes and took them to an umbrella-shaded table on the sidewalk. From here, Maddie could see if anyone
went up the stairs to MIS.

  Francie propped heart-shaped, pink-tinted sunglasses on her nose. “See that guy in the brown fedora over there in the alley beside your building? The one bent over rooting through the garbage bin. You know, his butt isn’t half bad.”

  “That’s Dumpster Dan. I’m surprised you haven’t met him before this.” Mattie glanced at her watch. “He’s right on time. He always does that one at ten in the morning; that’s when Edward tosses out the pizza that didn’t sell last night. After that he hits the bakery over on Bellevue. They throw out buns and leftover pastries, and Dan has brunch while he listens to Rock 101 on his radio.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Dan’s my friend. Well, sort of my friend. He has a few problems, but he’s basically a sweet guy.” He was, except he was totally paranoid, always thinking the feds were after him. Dan had told her in deepest confidence that he’d worked for the FBI and they were after him because he knew too much.

  “What’s his last name?”

  “I dunno, he never says.” Maddie always humored him, telling him she was keeping an eye out for anyone suspicious. She’d assured him that when they turned up, she’d keep them occupied while Dan made his getaway. Apart from that bit of nuttiness, Dumpster Dan was a good friend.

  “He keeps an eye on my office for me when I’m not around,” she explained to Francie. “He tells me what’s going down in the neighborhood. He doesn’t drink or use drugs; he says he kicked both habits when he was young, not that he’s that old now, but it’s hard to tell. And he reads—people throw all sorts of books away and he finds them. He gives the best ones to me. And he likes Bob Dylan.”

  Francie was regarding her with something near horror. “This is a street person, Maddie. Get a grip.”

  “Dan’s a very interesting man. We don’t do dinner or anything like that, but we talk.”

  It was more than that. Dan was her primary source of the Notes that Maddie taped to the bathroom walls at the office. Dan found them, she collected them. It wasn’t a hobby she really wanted to try to explain to Francie, although her sister had remarked on the unusual wall treatment in the loo. Notes and movies, those were her only hobbies. Besides her family. Which, when she thought about it, made sense out of Francie’s oft-repeated line, “get a life.”