by Lynsay Sands
Pet slowed to a halt at the bottom of the stairs as she took in the damage Santo had done. Good Lord, he’d smashed it to pieces. It now littered the floor in short broken slats, leaving a gaping hole where the door had been.
“This is my house.”
Pet glanced to Parker at that announcement and forced a pained smile to her face when the police officer blinked down at her nephew and then raised his gaze to her and arched an eyebrow in question. He was a nice-looking man. Tall and burly with dirty blond hair and clear blue eyes. His name tag read Cross.
“Thank you for coming, Officer Cross,” she murmured, moving to stand beside Parker. “My name is Petronella Stone and this is my nephew, Parker Peters. His parents own this house, but I’m watching him while they’re both away.”
Officer Cross nodded, and then his gaze dropped over her as he pulled out his notepad. When his movements stilled and his eyes widened suddenly, she glanced down at herself and nearly groaned aloud. She’d forgotten she was still in her nightwear. Pet had worn a cropped T-shirt and boxers to bed. The boxers were a pair an old boyfriend had left behind and never asked to have back. They were comfortable and large enough that they hung from her hips rather than at her waist. Her T-shirt stopped several inches above the boxers, leaving a lot of skin on display. It also clung to what little skin it did cover. It read simply:
You.
Me.
Bed.
Now.
The officer’s stern expression cracked into a smile that made her assume he approved, and then a low growl had Pet glancing over her shoulder to see that Marguerite and all four men were coming down the stairs. She couldn’t tell where the sound had come from, but did notice when Marguerite reached out to clasp Santo’s arm as if to soothe him.
Santo felt Marguerite’s touch on his arm but didn’t take his gaze away from the petite woman in the entry and the tall policeman looking her over so lasciviously. At least the man had been before Santo had growled. Now the officer had his cop face back on and was eyeing Santo and the others narrowly as he opened his notepad and retrieved a pen.
Forcing himself to relax, Santo frowned slightly at his possessive reaction to the officer’s obvious interest in Pet. It had caught him by surprise, coming on rather abruptly, and violently. He’d wanted to plow the man in the face and then pluck the eyes from his head for daring to look on her so.
But then, Santo acknowledged, he seemed to be having odd reactions to Pet as well. For instance, he’d been desperate to get to her when he’d spotted the man creeping around the house. And the scream he’d heard had scared the hell out of him. The second scream had just added to his concern. While his cousin, uncle, and Bricker had chased after the dark figure, he’d gone to the door and been about to crash through it when Marguerite had caught up to him and insisted he knock first. He’d reluctantly done so and then barely waited the length of a breath before knocking again. But that was all he’d managed before he’d sent a fist through the door, grabbed both edges of the hole he’d made, and literally torn the wood apart.
His relief on spotting Pet safe and well upstairs had left him weak and almost gasping. Or perhaps her outfit had been responsible for the breathless part. The woman was a sexy little bundle in the boxers and cropped T-shirt. The top clung lovingly to her skin and was so damned thin he could see the color and shape of her nipples through it. The saying hadn’t helped any. You. Me. Bed. Now. Good Lord! He’d been hard pressed to think of anything else after that and had stood there like a drooling idiot while everyone else had spoken.
Santo was distracted from his thoughts when a second officer appeared behind Cross and tapped him on the shoulder. They exchanged a few words and since he couldn’t hear them, Santo slid into Cross’s mind to read what they were talking about. It seemed Zani and Bricker had spoken to the men briefly before coming inside, and while Cross had come to the door, the second officer had gone around to the back of the house, taken the outside stairs up to the balcony, and checked all the windows. Finding one had marks on it as if someone had tried to force it open, he’d then used his flashlight and walked around a bit outside, scouting the area. There was no sign of the would-be intruder.
“Right,” Cross said suddenly and turned back to Pet to offer her a smile. “Petronella, you said? Can you spell that for me?”
Santo noted that the man still had his cop face on, but his gaze kept trying to skitter down over Pet’s body as he waited, pen poised, for her to spell her name. It was Parker who answered.
“P . . . E . . . T . . . R . . . O . . . N . . . E . . . L . . . L . . . A,” Parker spelled out, and then added, “S . . . T . . . O . . . N . . . E.”
“Thanks, little guy,” the officer said with a grin. “I figured Stone was spelled that way, but it’s good to be sure, and Petronella is an unusual name.” His gaze slid back to Pet as he added that, his grin widening.
“It is unusual but not unheard of,” Parker assured him solemnly. “For instance, there were six female babies named Petronella in 1924. There were 1,161,210 babies born that year, making it only one in 193,535 babies given the name. But it’s much more popular in Europe. There have been explorers, Olympic sailors, swimmers, a painter, a poet, a British journalist, and loads of other women with the name. There was even a Doctor Who character named Petronella Osgood.”
“My nephew; the walking dictionary,” Pet said. Her tone of voice was wry, and Santo noted that she took Parker’s arm to draw him in front of her so she could rest her hands on his shoulders. It also helped cover her skimpy outfit. At least it did in the front. He was still getting an unobstructed view of her from behind and found his gaze lingering on her lovely legs.
“Nobody uses dictionaries anymore, Aunt Pet,” Parker said, craning his neck to look up and back at his aunt. “They Google things . . . like I Googled your name one time because no one else seemed to have it.”
“Of course you did,” she said affectionately.
“So,” the officer said now, trying to get the conversation back on track. “You called 911 about someone trying to break into the house?”
Santo noted the way the man’s gaze slid past Pet to him as he stepped off the stairs to stand behind her. He was aware that the others followed him, and saw the officer’s eyes track that as Pet said, “Yes. Parker and I were both in our beds. I got up to go to the bathroom, and heard the cat hissing and growling, opened his door, and there was a man outside Parker’s window, trying to open it.”
“Can you describe this man?” Cross asked at once.
“No,” she said, sounding weary and apologetic. “He was just a dark shape with the moonlight behind him.”
Santo saw his own disappointment reflected on the faces of both officers at this news, but Cross made a note in his book, and then asked, “What happened next?”
“I grabbed Parker out of bed, took him into the bathroom with me, locked the door, and called 911.”
“She wanted to leave me in the bathroom and go see if the guy had got in, but I wouldn’t let her,” Parker announced, sounding upset that she would have left him alone.
“Good job, son,” the officer said solemnly. “You were both safer waiting in the bathroom for us to arrive.”
“Yeah, but we came out when Marguerite and Santo broke in and came looking for us,” Parker pointed out.
Both officers immediately turned their gazes back to Santo and his relatives. Pet glanced around as well, her eyes widening when she saw that they had all spread out behind her and Parker in the entry.
“I fear Parker is right, officer, we did break down the door,” Marguerite said smoothly. “We’re staying next door, you see, and while Santo and Zani were out in the backyard talking, they spotted someone on the second-floor balcony over here and then heard screaming. Well, we all rushed over to try to help. Bricker, my husband, Julius, and my nephew Zani all went after the intruder while Santo and I came to check on Pet and Parker. When they did not answer the door, Santo broke it down.”
She glanced at the pieces of wood all over the floor and then assured them, “We will of course, call and get someone in first thing tomorrow to repair it. And Pet and Parker can come stay next door with us tonight.”
“Oh, no, that’s not—” Pet began with a frown, but Officer Cross interrupted her, saying, “That would be a good idea. You can’t stay here without a door. Chances are it was just a Peeping Tom and your neighbors scared him off. But if he does come back . . .”
“He is right, dear,” Marguerite said, her voice solemn. “You cannot stay here without a door. Besides, we have the room. And Zani and Bricker can stay here and guard the house until the repairman comes tomorrow,” Marguerite assured her.
Pet opened her mouth, and Santo was quite sure she’d intended to refuse the offer, but then her gaze slid to Parker and she paused. The worry on his young face brought a frown to hers and she asked, “What would you like to do, Parker?”
The boy peered unhappily at the gaping hole that used to be a door and shook his head. “I don’t think we should stay here, Aunt Pet.”
“Right,” she breathed.
“It is all decided then,” Marguerite said cheerfully, moving past Santo to begin herding Pet and Parker toward the door. When she paused suddenly to frown at the cat and long blanket trailing behind Parker and then glanced to him, Santo uncrossed his arms and moved around Pet to scoop up the boy. He carried Parker out the door before Pet could protest, but knew she would follow. She was very protective of her nephew. Still, she must have hesitated, torn between following and staying to deal with the police officers, because he heard Cross say, “We just need to look at the boy’s room and question the men. We don’t need you for that.”
He could tell Pet was already hurrying after him as she called back to the officer, “Parker’s bedroom is the last door at the end of the hall on the left. The room I’m using is the last on the right just past it.”
Santo smiled with satisfaction and then quickly hid the expression behind a solemn look as she reached his side and tried to get a look at her nephew.
Her face full of worry, she said, “If Parker is heavy, I could—”
“He’s not,” he interrupted. “And you are barefoot. You need to watch where you are stepping. Carrying him would make that difficult.”
“Oh, right.” Pet sounded disappointed. Santo got the distinct impression she wanted to snatch Parker from his arms. He moved more quickly, to ensure she couldn’t.
Four
“I think we need some hot cocoa and cookies before bed,” Marguerite announced as she opened the door to the Caprelli house. She turned back to smile at Parker in Santo’s arms and added, “What do you think, dear?”
“Yes, please,” Parker said primly.
Pet managed a smile for the woman when what she really wanted to do was snatch up Parker and run back to her sister’s house. She wasn’t pleased at the thought of staying in the Caprelli house with these people. She’d rather stick Parker in her car and take him to a hotel for the night. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been quick enough to say that before Santo had scooped up the boy and carried him off. She supposed everyone had assumed her saying “Right” in response to Parker not wanting to stay at the house had been agreement to staying at the Caprellis’. Now she didn’t know how to get herself and Parker out of there without insulting their hosts or making them suspicious.
Sighing, she followed Santo into the house, aware that Marguerite was behind her.
The big man was very gentle with her nephew, Pet acknowledged as she watched him set the boy carefully down in a chair at the table. But when Santo stepped back and she saw the cat still in Parker’s clutches, Pet frowned slightly.
“Parker, whose cat is that?” she asked abruptly, knowing it wasn’t his. Her brother-in-law, Patrick, hated cats and claimed the only thing they were good for was oven mitts. He was also allergic to the felines. He wouldn’t even have allowed the cat into the house and would freak if he ever learned it had been there. Even if it had saved his son from an intruder.
“This is Mrs. Wiggles,” Parker said, stroking the animal’s head. He no longer had it bundled in the blankets to keep it still. It was remaining in his lap, on top of the blankets by choice.
“Mrs. Wiggles?” Marguerite asked with interest.
Parker nodded, and explained, “Mr. Purdy’s cat.”
“The home invasion cat?” Pet asked, recalling his earlier story.
“Yes.” He smiled, apparently pleased that she remembered.
“Okay,” Pet said slowly. “But why was she in your room? And just how did she get there? She wasn’t in your room when we were playing video games earlier in the evening. I would have noticed. And I didn’t see her anywhere in the house. Did you let her in the window after you went to bed?” The very idea terrified her. If he’d been letting Mrs. Wiggles in as the man had come up to the window . . .
“No,” Parker said quickly, apparently seeing her mounting alarm. “She was in the basement all day until I went to bed.” Looking guilty, he admitted, “I didn’t really go down to get a glass of milk, I—”
“Went to get the cat,” she finished, putting it together now.
Parker nodded. “I didn’t want you to know she was there.”
Pet tilted her head and eyed him with confusion. “Why?”
“Because you might have made me put her outside, or decided to take her back to Mr. Purdy yourself,” he admitted quietly.
Pet considered him briefly and then sighed and said, “And you’re right. I would have.” When his eyes widened with alarm, she added solemnly, “She’s not your cat, Parks. You can’t just keep her. And Mr. Purdy is probably missing her,” she added firmly.
“Yes, but—”
“And your father is allergic to cats. He won’t be pleased to know you had one in the house.”
“He knows,” Parker countered quickly.
“What?” she asked with disbelief. Knowing Patrick Peters the way she did, Pet was sure that couldn’t be true. Her brother-in-law would have thrown a fit.
“He does know,” Parker insisted. “He saw her in my room yesterday night when he came home. He was upset, but when I told him what had happened, and that I’d called 911 and—”
“You called 911?” Pet interrupted with surprise.
“Yes, but they thought I was making a crank call and wouldn’t do anything. When I told Dad that, he said Mrs. Wiggles could stay for the night, but he’d take her back to Mr. Purdy in the morning and check on him for me.” Scowling, he added, “But he didn’t. Instead, he flew off on business, and I’m kinda glad he didn’t because I was worried for him. But he didn’t check on Mr. Purdy, and the police wouldn’t do anything about it and I don’t know what to do, but I can’t take Mrs. Wiggles back and let his cousin break her neck.”
“Woah,” Pet said, moving to his side to rub his back soothingly. “Slow down, Parker. Everything’s fine. No one’s going to break Mrs. Wiggles’s neck.”
“Mr. Purdy’s cousin will if she goes back to the house. He said so!”
Astonished, Pet stared at her nephew and was about to reassure him that wouldn’t happen, when Marguerite spoke up.
“Perhaps you had best explain what makes you think that, Parker,” the woman suggested quietly. “Mr. Purdy is your neighbor on the other side, is he not?”
Parker nodded. “Yes. He’s our neighbor . . . and a really nice old man. I helped him out with his garden last summer as part of a school project and we became friends. I usually stop there on my way home from school and we play chess and have tea and stuff, but . . .”
“But?” Santo prompted when he hesitated and Pet couldn’t resist looking at the man. His voice had still been a deep growl, but it had also been softer than Pet had heard him use before. Almost gentle, she thought, and then glanced back to her nephew as he answered.
“But he has this cousin visiting and—” Parker paused and frowned briefly but then blurted, “He’s a real weirdo, and I’m wo
rried for Mr. Purdy.”
Pet smiled faintly with relief. Weirdo wasn’t so bad. Patting Parker’s back, she said, “I understand that, sweetheart, but I’m sure your Mr. Purdy is fine. Everyone has a weirdo in the family. I’m sure this Mr. Purdy wouldn’t let this cousin stay with him if he was dangerous.”
“But I don’t think he even wants him there,” Parker said fretfully, and then explained, “Like I said, I normally stop by Mr. Purdy’s on the way home and play chess with him. But then at the end of last week, I stopped and he answered the door but didn’t invite me in like usual. Instead, he looked real uncomfortable, and he said he had company. His cousin had shown up unexpectedly and it would be better if we put off our daily visits until after he left.” Parker paused briefly, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I was okay with that. I mean, I understood. I usually skip our visits when I know Aunt Petty is coming too.”
Pet smiled and nodded encouragingly when Parker glanced her way. “Go on.”
“I did understand,” he repeated for emphasis. “But Mr. Purdy was acting all weird.”
“Weird how?” Santo asked in a rumble.
“Well, kind of twitchy,” Parker explained. “Like he was afraid of his cousin or something. I mean . . . he was saying one thing, but his eyes were kind of rolling around and shifting from side to side, like they were trying to escape his head. It was really weird.”
Pet noticed the exchange of glances between Santo and his aunt, and strained to hear what Marguerite said when she leaned closer to the man and murmured. All she caught was something about new turns not recalling or not yet able to control the expression, the eyes, or both while controlling thoughts. She was puzzling over that when Parker started speaking again, distracting her.