by Beverly Bird
He frowned after her as she rushed to the door. At the sound of the voice from outside, her features went soft with happiness. Her mouth seemed fuller when she smiled. That single dimple came back, winking at him. Raphael realized with a jolt that when she was relaxed, she wasn’t just pretty. She was knee-buckling appealing. He noticed that her turtleneck clung to small but uplifted breasts and her braided belt nipped a waist that his hands could probably span. She’d done something to her hair while he was in the shower, taming it off her forehead with a headband. Near-black curls fell to her shoulders.
He stared at it, wondering if he might like it better wild.
Then she threw the door wide and his heart caromed into his throat. He’d been standing there like a fool, staring at her, feeling as though he was seeing her for the first time. He wasn’t ready for whatever might happen in the instant the caller had access to her apartment. But it was only a woman.
With a dog.
Kate made one of her strangling sounds.
“Good morning,” Shawna said brightly, stepping inside. “Look who I found barking downstairs in the lobby! Isn’t this wild? Belle came home. She’s back!” Then her gaze fell on Raphael, and her eyes widened. “Who are you?”
“Uh…Rafe Monteil. PPD.”
The woman, a beauty with thick blond hair and warm brown eyes, shifted the dog to her left arm so she could hold her right hand out to him. “I’m Shawnalee Marsden.” Raphael shook the woman’s hand, careful not to get too close to the animal. It growled a little and showed its teeth.
“It’s that dog,” Kate said faintly.
“What dog?” Then Raphael understood. “The one from last night?”
Shawna looked at Kate. “You knew Belle was back and you didn’t tell me?”
Kate didn’t answer. She felt faint. Belle? Then Shawna thrust her face up close to hers.
“Do you have makeup on?” Shawna demanded.
“I—”
“You do. You never wear makeup to work.”
Kate flicked a gaze at Raphael and considered dying on the spot. Whatever had possessed her to put on lipstick and blush while he was in the shower? She wasn’t trying to entice him, though that was how Shawna made it sound. But she wasn’t without her share of vanity. She’d just wanted to be…presentable.
“I’m not going to work,” Kate said finally, hoarsely. “A few things have come up.”
Shawna sized up Raphael again and grinned. “Do tell.”
Kate felt her face heat even more. “It’s not what you think.”
Raphael finally got his wits about him. “Your friend witnessed a murder last night. I’m with Robbery Homicide. I’m here on business, not pleasure.”
Kate felt something wither inside her. Whatever notion she’d had that he’d been flirting with her a few moments ago scattered like autumn leaves on a cold wind.
Business.
“What are you doing here?” she asked Shawna a little too sharply.
“You haven’t called me in six days so I thought I’d drop by. Good thing, too.” Shawna held the dog out to her. “Here you go.”
Kate backed up quickly. “I don’t want her.”
“Of course you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“She really doesn’t,” Raphael said quickly. He knew a moment of abject horror as he realized where this was headed. The last thing in the world he needed right now was the stubborn and confusing Kate Mulhern, an ongoing murder investigation and a dog.
For once, Kate seemed to be in agreement with him. “That dog came back from New York looking for you,” she said to Shawna. Then she went into the kitchen and began loading the dishwasher. Plates cracked and pans clanged. “You lost her in New York in April. Four months ago. Obviously, it’s taken her all summer to find her way back to the last place where she was regularly fed. This apartment, where you lived at the time.”
Shawna frowned. “You’re so practical.”
“Animals do that all the time.”
“Belle is not just an animal.”
Kate considered the short time the dog had lived with them in April. Love, murder and mayhem. “Maybe not. Maybe she’s the devil incarnate.”
Shawna put her hands over the dog’s ears too late. Belle curled her lip and snarled. “Now see what you’ve done? You’ve hurt her feelings.”
Raphael watched Kate slam a plate into the bottom rack without answering.
“How did you know she was back?” Shawna looked at Raphael again. “Didn’t you say she actually came home last night?”
“Not here,” Raphael explained, his head spinning again. “She turned up at the house where Kate was working.” Scratch the idea that it was a setup, he thought. This pup was some kind of bad penny with a penchant for turning up unexpectedly.
“You see?” Shawna cried to Kate. “Why would Belle look for me at one of your jobs?”
Kate opened her mouth and shut it again. An odd sensation filled her stomach. There remained the fact that Belle had probably saved her life last night. “I don’t know.”
“Come with me,” Shawna said. “We need to talk.”
Raphael watched the blonde head toward Kate’s bedroom. Then something amazing happened. Kate followed without arguing. Apparently she had the capacity to follow orders some of the time.
“Don’t you see what’s happening here?” Shawna demanded when they were alone.
Kate pressed her fingers to her temples. “You’re going to do it again. You’re going to get all metaphysical on me. That dog is not an angel.”
“Then explain why she came back. That cop said you saw a man killed last night.”
“He’s not just a cop. He’s a detective. He gets a little testy when you don’t iron out the difference.” Kate sighed. “And I didn’t see the guy get killed. He was already dead when I got to the dining room.”
Kate filled her friend in on what was going on.
Shawna let out a shaky breath. “Wow. Raphael Montiel.”
“Why are you saying his name like that?”
“Don’t you get it? Gabriel—” Shawna spoke her husband’s name musically, enunciating carefully “—and Raphael.”
“Gabriel and Raphael,” Kate repeated. “So?”
“Archangels.” Shawna whispered it as though imparting the Holy Grail. Then she squeezed Belle happily, and the ugly little dog licked her cheek. “They’re both named after archangels. You’re a clever one, aren’t you, little Belle? It’s just like her to throw both of us at men named after archangels.”
Kate felt panic wrap around her windpipe. “You’re crazy. Nobody’s throwing me at him. He’s horrible. He’s rude. He was going to shoot you when you knocked on the door. He left my milk out!”
“It’s about time someone shook up your orderly life. You really need to flex more, Kate. You two are obviously meant for each other.”
Kate choked. “He doesn’t even like me! I could deck myself out like a cheap hooker and I wouldn’t appeal to that man!”
“I should hope not,” Shawna said, frowning. “That wouldn’t say much for his taste.”
Kate groaned inwardly. She did not want to have this discussion. It could only hurt. “I’m not beautiful.”
“Glamorous. You’re not glamorous,” Shawna corrected baldly. “You’re certainly pretty in a wild, down-to-earth kind of way. Besides, you’re just letting that fool Jeff get to you again.”
Kate flushed. But if she was, who could blame her? “He dumped me and ran off with the cupcake who danced at his bachelor party!” It had hurt, oh, it had hurt! She could still barely tolerate hearing his name spoken aloud. “He said I was everything he ever wanted. He said I’d make a great wife and mother. I was so organized, so capable, so efficient! Then he tossed me over for someone with a belly-button ring and ruler-straight hair, someone who couldn’t even spell her own name!”
Shawna stroked Belle’s head thoughtfully. “Let me tell you what I know about men.”
“You hardly dated befo
re Gabriel came along,” Kate scoffed, “what with law school and working to put yourself through it. This may not be your area of expertise.”
“My point,” Shawna continued, “is that men are like those Rorschach tests a shrink gives.”
Kate frowned. “Men are like Rorschach tests?”
“Exactly. They’re black-and-white blobs.”
“Blobs.”
“When you first look at them,” Shawna explained, “you think they look exactly like a cow. But what you’re really looking at is two minstrels holding hands. What you see isn’t actually what you get.”
“Your point?”
“Jeff acted like he wanted a quality woman. What he really wanted was belly-button rings.”
Kate stiffened. “That became apparent.”
“You don’t know yet what Raphael wants.”
Kate thought of his easy and familiar demeanor with Allegra Denise last night. She thought she had a pretty good idea. “You’re giving me a headache.”
“What I’m trying to say is that the only way you can ever really know what a man is thinking is to goad him into acting on it.”
Kate stared at her. She felt momentarily overwhelmed again. Whatever Raphael actually thought of her didn’t matter. Jeff Migliaccio and what he had done to her no longer mattered. The names of archangels didn’t matter, because she certainly did not want Raphael. Shawna was missing the point. He might look good—okay, yes, delicious—but she couldn’t think of one single thing she actually liked about him.
“Anyway, no matter what happens, you’re going to need Belle.” Once again, Shawna held the dog out to her.
Kate reached and pushed the dog back. Belle nipped neatly at her finger. “Ow!”
The dog began squirming. She was small and wiry. She wriggled free of Shawna’s arms, though Shawna didn’t particularly try to hold her. She hit the floor with a mild thud and yipped once. Then she trotted over to Kate’s bed and climbed the bedspread. She was too short to jump up on the mattress, so she took a mouthful of the spread and pulled it downward. Then, delicately, she ascended it. She went to the pillow and lay down, wagging her tail once when she saw them watching her.
It more or less defied gravity.
“I didn’t just see that,” Kate murmured.
“Sure you did. I’m telling you, Katie, this dog’s not of this world. If someone is trying to kill you, then I would very much recommend that you let her stay here for a while. Not to mention what she could do for your love life.”
“I don’t want a love life!” Kate took a step toward the bed and reached for the dog. Belle’s head shot up, and she showed small, sharp teeth.
“Keep me posted,” Shawna said, turning for the door again.
“No, wait—”
But Shawna was gone.
Raphael got up from the sofa and turned the television off when the blonde came back. The woman stopped beside him and looked over her shoulder in the direction of the hallway. Raphael followed her gaze. So far, there was no sign of Kate.
There was no sign of the dog, either. That worried him.
“Take care of her,” Shawna said in a conspiratorial tone. “She’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“Kate or the dog?”
Shawna gave a quick peal of laughter. “Both. But don’t worry about Belle. She can take care of herself.” She wiggled her fingers in farewell and sailed through the door.
Kate appeared in the hall a moment later.
“Where’s that animal?” Raphael demanded.
“Asleep on my bed.”
“Ah, no. Damn it, do you have any idea how this is going to complicate things?”
“So you go move her.” Kate held up her finger.
Raphael saw what he thought might be teeth marks. “She bit you?”
“She has a way of not doing things she doesn’t want to do. I remember that part very clearly. Actually, Shawna thinks she’s…never mind.” Kate sighed, then she went to the sideboard turned entertainment center. She pulled open a drawer and took out a black pouchlike purse—big, roomy and eminently practical. “Let’s go.”
Raphael narrowed his eyes. “I thought you called in to the diner.”
“I did. But now we’ve got to go to a pet store and buy a crate. If you think I’m going to let that little tyrant have free run of my apartment while you’re dragging me around playing Sherlock Holmes, think again.”
It was already nine o’clock. He should have been on the street an hour ago, Raphael thought, shaking down some of McGaffney’s men. But it had taken him three hours to convince her to call in sick to the diner—and to acquire a dog.
Raphael stuck the tape recorder and his cell phone in his pockets. Then, with a last unbelieving glance toward the hall and the Chihuahua who lurked down there somewhere, he followed her.
“You know, they make dog pounds for just this sort of eventuality,” Raphael said an hour later.
Kate glanced over at him as they left a pet store on the corner of South and Broad. A couple of cold fingers tickled the nape of her neck. “Not a good idea.”
He hefted the box that held the crate to get a better grip on it. Effortlessly, she thought, though she knew it was heavy. She had tried to move it herself. At least, she thought, he was good for manual labor when he decided to be a gentleman. But she’d practically had to kick him in the shin to get him to give the concept a try.
He stepped from the curb to hail a cab. When one slowed down near him, Kate quickly waved it on. Raphael looked at her disbelievingly. “What did you just do?”
“We’ve got another stop to make. We can walk. It’s not far.”
“What’s not far?”
“The Italian market.”
“We’re not going to the Italian market. We’re taking this crate back to your apartment, then we’re going to hit the streets.”
Kate bit her lip. He wasn’t going to like this. But hadn’t she called in sick to the diner? “We have to go to the market. I need prosciutto.”
“Prosciutto.”
“For the pear cornets.”
“What pear cornets?”
“Are you always this slow? I told you, I have a job tonight.”
He let the box go. It hit the pavement with a thud, the metal clanging inside.
“Of course,” she said quickly, “you can hit the streets while I go to the market.”
Raphael took a very deep breath. He kept his hands judiciously clear of the gun still tucked at his back. Ah, the temptation. “You’re my retribution, aren’t you?” He looked at the sky as though searching the heavens. “That’s it. You’re like my penance for every wrong turn I’ve ever taken in my life.”
Kate crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, I imagine there have been a few.”
“What do you know?” he growled. “You think a transgression is leaving milk out on the counter!”
“Not when some slob drank directly from the carton.”
“You don’t have any glasses!”
“I have a whole cupboard of glasses!”
“Where? You just tell me where I was supposed to find them!”
“Over the oven.”
“What, you bake with them?”
“The oven is right beside the sink. Ergo, when one wants a drink of water, they merely need to reach over their head and to their right.”
“Ergo? Ergo?” Raphael threw up his hands. “Go ahead. Go to the market and get yourself killed. Damned if I’m going to knock myself out over this. And take that crate while you’re at it. You carry it.”
He left her and started up Broad Street. In the instant he turned away, Kate felt a hundred guns aimed right at her back. Which was ridiculous. But her skin itched at a point halfway between her shoulder blades anyway.
“Come back here!” she shouted. He kept walking. “I’m sorry!” She had no idea what she was apologizing for, but panic was trying to crawl up her limbs. She looked around helplessly. For what? A gunman? Or would someone rus
h at her wielding a knife?
She was letting him get to her, and that angered her as much as anything. But then he stopped and looked over his shoulder at her.
“What? What was that you just said?”
The words tried to jam in her throat. Kate pushed them out again. “I’m sorry.”
He took in her stance. She stood with the crate at her feet, her hands planted on her hips. Her expression would have given an armed mercenary pause. “No, you’re not.”
“Let’s just talk about this.”
“You don’t know how to talk.”
“Please.”
And then, damn it, he thought he saw her chin tremble.
He’d become a cop for a very good reason. The world was full of women, kids, innocents who needed someone who cared enough to fight back on their behalf. And in that moment, she looked like one of them. Vulnerable. Scared. She looked left to right, those midnight curls swirling at her shoulders. Her arms came up to hug herself.
Raphael felt an almost painful rolling sensation in his chest, like his heart had suddenly taken it upon itself to change position. He walked to her.
“Okay,” he muttered, “calm down.”
“I’m calm.” She took in a long sniff this time, one that probably cleared out her nasal passages. “It’s just… I didn’t do anything.”
Raphael felt his temper spark again. “You’ve done plenty! It’s ten-thirty! I should have interviewed five guys by now! I should have a clue who ordered that hit last night!”
“But I didn’t do anything to Phillip McGaffney!”
Well, he thought, that was probably true. It wasn’t her salad that had done him in.
“And I’ve got a job tonight. I gave you the diner. I called in sick. But I can’t turn away business for Dinner For Two. I need that prosciutto, and none of this is my fault!”
“This is all about prosciutto?”
“It’s about my life!”
“Which, I might point out, I’m trying to save.”
“What’s it worth if I lose everything?”
Raphael scowled. He wanted to comfort her somehow, but he remembered her reaction last night when he had done just that. Not to mention the fact that he didn’t know who might be watching them at the moment—which killer, which scumbag, might glimpse a personal moment between them and decide to pluck her clean away whether she actually meant anything to him or not. “I might have had this guy by now if you hadn’t eaten up the whole damned morning being obstinate,” he complained instead. “You could have had your life back already.”