If only he'd stick to that job and leave her alone. He made her feel...naked.
Putting a hand over the unease in her stomach, Pattie deliberately turned her brain away from the whole business. Ah, yes, she had to arrange a retraction of the rape story about Dale Gooden. Although she'd earlier called Bree, the editor of the Hollywood Rattler, Bree had yet to call back.
Pattie felt pleased as she reached for the kitchen extension. Dealing with Bree, despite the woman's idiosyncrasies, was way easier than dealing with Zane—and tons better than starting the dishes.
The Hollywood Rattler's sixty-something editor picked up on the third ring. "Pattie!" Her smoky voice made it easy to visualize her square-jawed face of cynical experience. Meanwhile, her tone was pleased, rather than embarrassed. "I've been up to my ears getting tomorrow's issue of the paper set up. You do know we're printing tomorrow, don't you?"
Oh, she'd been too busy to call Pattie back. The old lady was coming out slugging.
Smiling to herself, Pattie didn't return the obvious retort. If Bree wanted the newspaper printed, she ought to return phone calls from Pattie, who was footing the bill. But Pattie didn't want to antagonize the editor. It was essential the woman continue her job of publishing the newspaper. Pattie was sure the paper was key to flushing out Savannah's killer.
In fact, Pattie'd better be careful how she asked for Dale's retraction. "I...need a favor," she said slowly.
"A favor?" Bree sounded cheery, but Pattie could hear wariness beneath.
Briefly, Pattie described Dale Gooden's situation. "So now I need you to print a retraction," she added.
"A retraction?" Bree sounded as if she'd never heard of such a thing. "You gotta be kidding."
Closing her eyes, Pattie took a deep breath. Diplomatic, she remembered. "What the paper printed about Gooden was completely untrue. I promised him a retraction."
"Shit," Bree said.
"His wife left him over the newspaper article. I'd say he has damages."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Bree's sigh was bored. "We can't go around printing retractions. It takes away our legitimacy. Nobody will want to read the paper if we take back all the juicy tidbits we hand out." She made it sound like the Rattler was a public service.
Pattie rolled her eyes. "He could sue—successfully in all likelihood."
"Let him!" Bree's husky laugh danced down the airwaves. "A newspaper can't be afraid of lawsuits, kiddo. It's part of the cost of doing business."
The other woman's bravado was outrageous. Provoked now, Pattie said, "Is it? But that would imply there's a profit to be made, and I've yet to see the Rattler make any money."
The ominous pause that ensued told Pattie she'd strayed too far from diplomacy. Fortunately, when Bree spoke again she sounded more tired than pissed.
"Look. I've been in the business a long time, since before you were born. I've worked on papers from Florida to L.A. You remember I was at the L.A. Times, right?"
Silently sighing, Pattie assured Bree she hadn't forgotten her famous stint with the L.A. Times.
"So I know what it'll take to put the Rattler in the black," Bree claimed. "Namely, the story Savannah was working on right before she died. A big exposé, she told me. So big she wouldn't tell me anything about it, kept it completely under wraps so we wouldn't be scooped. Now if we could run that story..."
Pattie closed her eyes. The big exposé. This had haunted her dreams ever since Bree had mentioned it. A big exposé sounded dangerous. It sounded, in fact, a lot like the kind of thing that could get a person killed, especially if that person had been demanding blackmail in order to keep the matter out of print.
"All I need," Bree told Pattie, "are Savannah's notes."
Pattie suppressed a groan. "Too bad I don't have them." Though she'd looked for them. Of course she'd looked. She'd turned Savannah's things inside out in her search. "I haven't found anything even resembling those notes."
"Well, they have to be somewhere," Bree growled.
"I'm sure they are...somewhere," Pattie agreed. Damn Savannah. Damn her for being such a disorganized mess.
Damn her for dying.
Alive, Savannah had never prompted in Pattie this insistent urge to do right by her. Dead, the prompt was impossible to ignore. Pattie couldn't get past the fact that when it came to fate, she'd beaten her sister out. If Savannah had been a user, if Savannah had lacked proper morals, if Savannah had been weak—well, it all could have been Pattie in her place instead. In fact, one could say Pattie had profited from the damage done to Savannah.
During their childhood, their parents had focused like laser beams on Savannah, giving her all of their attention. Meanwhile, they'd treated Pattie with benevolent neglect, praising her in relief when she was able to take care of herself.
The result was that Savannah had ended up rootless, without a meaningful purpose in life or any true self-confidence, while Pattie had learned life's most valuable lessons in self-reliance and independence.
Apparently, a guilty conscience went along with that. Pattie wouldn't rest easy until she'd seen justice done for her mistreated sister.
For that, she was pretty sure she needed Bree. Taking a deep breath, she grasped back her diplomacy. Gently, she said, "I need you to print that retraction, Bree. On page one."
Bree hesitated. Annoyed? Regrouping? But she ended up caving in. "Of course. You're the boss. The name was Gooden?" she asked dryly.
"Dale Gooden. The original article was printed about four months ago."
"Sure, sure. I probably still have it lying around somewhere. Retraction you will have."
As she bid the newspaper editor goodbye, Pattie had the impression Bree was silently laughing at her. Independence personified.
Pattie replaced the phone in its receiver by the refrigerator and frowned. A sudden, unpleasant image popped into her head. Thirty years down the road, would she look like Bree, act like Bree? Would she become soured by too many years of celibacy?
No. Taking in a deep breath, Pattie assured herself this would not happen. For one thing, she wasn't going to be celibate forever. In fact, it hadn't been a pure three years since Nick. There'd been that guy—what was his name?—a few months after the big breakup. Right. She hadn't gotten turned off forever here or anything. She'd had that hot little affair right after dumping Nick. One day, soon, Pattie would jump back into the game. She'd be feel like she used to, happy to entertain a new man in her life every couple months, and with a healthy zest for hot sex. The fact that she hadn't felt the slightest interest in any man since what's-his-name didn't mean a thing.
She was not going to end up like Bree.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"You're in another world tonight," Zane's sister was at her kitchen sink, scrubbing a frying pan.
"Huh?" Zane blinked. It was only the two of them cleaning up dinner. Cassie's husband, Jim, was in his study working on numbers, Brittany was on a tween-length phone call, and Danny was useless in the kitchen.
Cassie smiled as her hands worked with the copper pad. "Like I said, another world." She threw Zane a glance. "I haven't seen you like this in a long while. Like you're actually thinking."
"I'm not thinking," Zane reflexively protested, then scowled at Cassie's laugh. "I mean, of course I'm thinking. Doesn't everybody?"
Cassie turned back to her pan. "Not the way you do. Deep. Like you're a million miles away."
"I wasn't thinking like that," Zane claimed. Anyway, he'd only been about fifteen miles away, in West Los Angeles.
He'd told Pattie he'd forget the whole thing, blackmail and murder. Honestly, he'd tried to do just that. After their talk, he'd taken Tristan out of the apartment so Pattie could entertain her client. The rest of the afternoon Zane had spent with the boy in Roxbury Park, climbing on the boat-shaped play structure and working out toddler issues with the other kids. Zane had tried with all his might to forget the information he'd wrung from Pattie about her sister.
But once he was alone
again on the way home, it had been impossible to put the lurid tale aside. All through dinner with Cassie's family, Zane had silently brooded over it. Now, picking up a wet casserole dish from the drainer, he continued to agonize over the whole intolerable mess.
Pattie was looking for her sister's killer. As if— As if— Oh, God.
"Uh huh." Cassie hefted the heavy fry pan and dumped it onto the drainboard. She reached for a dirty pyrex mixing bowl. "So, tell me. Is something going on with this latest job of yours?"
Zane's gaze shot to her. The urge to laugh was nearly overpowering. Was anything going on? Just a little thing like an amateur investigation—into a murder.
At Zane's silence, Cassie turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised.
Zane cleared his throat. "Well, uh... The job involves a strange situation."
"Strange how?"
A thousand excellent answers popped to Zane's tongue, but he couldn't tell his sister any of them. Mentally, he scrambled for the most mundane part of the business. "See...the kid doesn't have any parents. His aunt has custody of him, and she's never had children. Doesn't know a thing about them." Or about finding murderers—despite what she might think.
Cassie straightened and rinsed the pyrex mixing bowl. "Brave woman."
Zane grunted. Yeah. Too damn brave. Trying to do the right thing. That could land her in a heap of trouble.
Cassie placed the pyrex bowl on the drainboard. "I'll bet she already depends on you."
Ha! If only she did. If only Pattie were the kind of person to listen to a piece of advice from anybody. Zane twisted his lips. "I wouldn't say that."
"No?" Cassie held a paring knife up to the light and squinted at it. "Does she have a man in her life, then? Someone else who can help out?"
"Huh." Zane chewed the inside of his cheek. He wouldn't worry about Pattie so much if she had such a person. Unfortunately, he doubted it. He recognized in her another soul who'd sworn off the opposite sex. That meant nobody with influence was around to put the brakes on this crazy idea of hers to find a murderer.
On the other hand, maybe the idea wasn't so crazy. Maybe she did need to find the culprit. What if the killer assumed Pattie was just as responsible as Savannah for the blackmail scheme? Dale had.
The thought sent a chill through him.
"I'll take that as a 'no,'" Cassie said, with an odd, sarcastic tone. She shoved the paring knife into the basket on the drainboard.
"What?" Zane snapped back to the here and now. "What's your problem?"
"Zane." Cassie turned to look at him. "You aren't letting some helpless female get her claws into you again, are you?"
For a moment he could only stare at her, flabbergasted. "Helpless female?" he finally quavered. Pattie?
"Your weakness," Cassie informed him. "And I'm assuming she knows it."
"Um..." Zane barely kept himself from bursting into laughter. "You gotta understand—my current employer is no fainting flower. By a long shot."
"Are you sure? Because just yesterday you started this job, and today you're all restless—and—and down in the mouth. And I know the kind of woman you're a sucker for."
"Well—no, wait— " Zane started to laugh, after all. A nervous laugh. He wasn't being a sucker here...was he? Okay, every protective instinct he owned strained to pull him into Pattie's blackmail mess. But nobody was suckering him into that. In point of fact, Pattie would rather see him jump off a cliff than get involved in her business.
"Pattie isn't like that," he told his sister. "Nothing like Maeve at all."
Cassie peered at him. "But she's got you, hasn't she? How'd she do that?"
"She hasn't got me." Zane could feel his face reddening. Damn his sister. It was as if she knew all about Zane taking Nick to the men's room to complete Pattie's paternity test and the way he'd helped her deal with Dale Gooden.
"I'm not involved with her," Zane claimed, but the lie nearly made him choke so he added, "Romantically."
Cassie stared at him another long moment.
To Zane's chagrin, he could feel his face warming all over again. Was he uninvolved with Pattie, romantically? She was the only woman he'd even noticed in over a year, and the noticing had been vigorous. If he let himself think about her at all, his skin started to heat.
But that didn't mean he was involved. Wanting was different from having, and he could control his want. Would control it. He was not spiraling into a relationship here. He was done with those. No more risking his heart. And Pattie was a particularly bad risk. Definitely.
Her blackmail murder investigation was another matter altogether. Zane wasn't going to be able to ignore it, no matter what he'd promised. It was just too—big. Keeping his word to Pattie was not as important as making sure she was safe.
With a sigh, Cassie turned back to the sink. "I worry about you, little bro. You ought to have a job." She fished a carrot grater out of the dishwater. "A real one. So you don't get...bored."
Zane bit the inside of his cheek. Bored? In the past forty-eight hours he'd settled a potential paternity suit, disarmed a violent thug, and unearthed a murder.
Not to mention—
Zane's smile faded as he reached for the dripping paring knife. Slowly, he pulled the dishcloth over the knife.
Not to mention, he'd met a woman who could send his blood heating up to about a thousand degrees. Putting it all together, he couldn't recall having been so excited and alive in a year. Or maybe, to be perfectly honest...ever.
He only wondered if he didn't feel maybe too alive.
Swallowing, Zane examined the knife to check that it was dry. "You have my assurance, Cass, that I am more than sufficiently challenged, employment-wise."
~~~
Pattie might not have wanted to end up a dried-up celibate like Bree, but she was determined that Zane would not be the one to get her back in the saddle again. For example, her viscera had not taken a leap when she'd seen Zane's tough-guy face at her door first thing that morning. Not at all. Nor was she getting a charge from the sound of his male voice rumbling down the hall right now. As she leaned over the swarm of billing invoices set on the dining room table, she assured herself she was using Zane solely for the purpose for which he'd been hired: controlling Tristan.
On account of her new nanny managing this feat, Pattie had a chance to straighten out the financial chaos that had built since she'd taken on the guardianship of her nephew. She was completely consumed by the task. Zane did not distract her in the least.
She put an invoice for April on top of a bill from June, then swore when she saw, sifting through, that it wasn't the first such mistake she'd made. Breathing out through her teeth, she went back to the beginning of the pile.
It was while setting June on top of June that Pattie heard the television switch on in the living room. Frowning, she identified the sound of Barney the dinosaur just before Zane walked into the room.
Every cell in her body seemed to come alive and buzz. Damn. Damn it all to hell.
Slowly, she straightened to look at him.
If only he weren't so tall. Or if he didn't have this rugged, masculine way of holding himself. But the worst part was something she couldn't define. Something that seemed directed personally toward herself.
Making sure to show nothing of her disquiet, Pattie raised her eyebrows reprovingly. "Nine thirty? Seems a little early to resort to the TV."
Instead of answering, Zane closed the double doors of the dining room behind him.
The action made Pattie's simmering apprehension splash over, but she played calm. "What are you doing?"
Zane's lips pressed into a flat line. "We have to talk."
Oh, no. He'd said the exact same thing yesterday, right before extracting all that private information from her. Heck, he was supposed to have forgotten the whole thing. In fact, he'd promised to forget it.
"Excuse me?" She put a warning chill in her voice as she got to her feet.
Unheeding, he plodded on. "About your sis
ter. What you're trying to find out."
Crap. He'd done it. Broken his solemn word. Fear swirled in her chest.
The fear angered her. Why was she afraid? Surely not of him. He couldn't do anything to her, including get her to talk.
She put on an innocent look. "I don't recall telling you anything about my sister." She paused significantly. "Do you?"
His face tightened. "I know I told you I'd forget about it, but I can't." He huffed. "I don't think I should."
"You don't think you should?"
Sighing, he said, "It would be different if the situation wasn't so obviously dangerous. But it is."
Pattie stared at him. Was she hearing concern? No. Why would Zane, a comparative stranger, feel concerned about her? She shook her head. "This is so not your problem."
He scowled. "I'd like to believe that—but you obviously don't know what you're doing."
Pattie's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
He gestured with one arm. "Look what happened with Dale. You want to flush Savannah's killer into the open, but you don't have a plan for dealing with him once he's surfaced."
With her widened eyes, Pattie glared at him. Dammit, he had a point. When Dale had showed up and banged on her door, she hadn't even considered he might be Savannah's murderer, she'd only wondered how to get rid of him. She might have got rid of the very person she was looking for!
Admitting weakness to Zane, however, was out of the question. Trying to sound confident, she claimed, "I know what I'm doing."
Zane simply looked at her. In his eyes was every argument he didn't have to say out loud. She was gunning for a killer, while playing parent to a toddler. On top of that, she had no training nor, apparently, even an instinct for self-preservation.
The tiniest little bit, maybe, he was right. The fear lurking inside her, the fear that maybe she was in over her head climbed up her throat.
This was not allowed, neither the fear nor the implicit incompetence. Shame crept into the emotional mix inside her. Incompetence was never allowed; it was the ultimate sin.
If I Loved You Page 8