by Beverly Bird
She shot to her feet again and began storming around the apartment, trying to set it all back to rights. Most women would have come undone at this point, Fox thought, stumbling upon a relative’s body one day then finding her own home torn apart a week later. Yes, it was his nature to shield her from the cruel realities of what had happened here, but he watched her and felt only admiration. He bent for a lamp, knowing that straightening the place was her first act of fighting back.
Rafe swore. “Have you lost your mind? The techs haven’t even been through this room yet.”
“They won’t find anything,” Tara said shortly. “Just like they didn’t find anything at Stephen’s.”
Fox stepped between them. “I’ll hang around here for a while. Why don’t you go back to headquarters and go through the statements that will be coming in?” They had officers all through the building, talking to other residents, hunting for someone who had seen or heard anything unusual.
Rafe scowled and nodded. Then they both turned sharply as a cacophony of high-pitched yapping broke out from the area of the door.
The police officer who had chastised Fox for his choice of a parking spot stepped into the apartment. He was holding Belle. And Belle, Fox thought, was one happy mutt at the moment. It took him a moment to realize—to accept—that she was apparently glad to see Raphael.
The officer put her down and she raced to his partner. Her tail was beating so fast her whole skinny body seemed to bend with the motion.
“She was upset about being left in the car,” the cop said. “Nice car. I didn’t want to see her tear up the upholstery or anything.”
“Thanks,” Fox said absently. The Chihuahua was in Rafe’s arms now. Fox got the strong feeling that it was beneath her to lick the man’s face, but the dog definitely gazed at him adoringly. A thought occurred to him. “Hey, Rafe, she needs a home. Why don’t you take her to Kate?”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“What doesn’t?”
Rafe put the dog down and stepped into the hall. He left Fox staring after him. He was laughing again.
It was nearly ten o’clock before everyone cleared out of Tara’s apartment. Fox was more than ready to call it a night as well. He stepped into the hallway to turn the heating element to low. “Okay, that should do it.”
Tara crept up on him. “What did you just do?”
“I turned the heat down.”
“To what? Why?” She nudged him aside to look. “Are you crazy? I’ll freeze.”
It would serve her right, he thought, sort of a tit-for-tat experience for the night he’d sat on the park bench waiting for her until he’d been unable to feel his fingers or his toes. “There will be heat wherever you’re going.”
“Where am I going?”
“You know, I used to think you were eloquent.”
“I am when I’m dealing with intelligent life forms. You’ve obviously got a short circuit going on somewhere.” She tapped her temple for emphasis.
“Damn it, Tara!” How many times had he said those words today? “Just pack a bag and let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” There, she thought, the gauntlet was thrown.
She’d known all along what he was getting at. But the apartment was still habitable—after a fashion. Her bed was in pretty good shape. Someone had slashed clear through the comforter to the mattress but a new pad and fresh sheets would more or less hold things together for the time being. One of her pillows had escaped total disembowelment. The morning was going to be rough with no possibility of making coffee, but that notwithstanding…she couldn’t go.
Where would she go?
“Thanks for all your help,” she said quickly. “But I’m fine now.”
Something happened to his eyes. It was a new look, she realized. Their color went to indigo. And that felt…dangerous.
“You’re not fine,” he said.
“I’m completely, one-hundred-percent fine. Really.”
“Well, then, it’s a temporary state of affairs.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means maybe you won’t be so fine later on.”
“Hopefully I’ll be asleep ten minutes after you leave here, unless you’re planning to launch another midnight attack on my door.”
“I stop short of breaking-and-entering. Apparently Carmen’s killer hasn’t the same moral code.”
Tara fought hard against reacting to that. “We don’t know that it was Stephen’s killer who did this.”
“We don’t know that it wasn’t.”
She waved a negligent hand. “I’ll do the pots-and-pans thing.”
“The what?”
“Pots and pans on the floor inside the door.”
“What are you going to do, knock him unconscious with a skillet?”
She drew herself up, but her heart was hammering at her ribs. Not at the thought of confronting Stephen’s killer, but over this argument. She had to win this. “I’ll be in the bedroom behind a locked door. When—if—I hear the racket of anyone stepping on all that metal, I’ll call 911.”
His eyes got a little wild. “And by the time anyone gets up here, you’ll be dead. It will take ten minutes for anyone to get to the seventh floor to help you!”
“Honestly, you’re being paranoid.”
“I’m a cop, damn it! I know how these things work! Somebody wants you!”
Something started to shake deep inside her. “Not me. The ruby.”
“He thinks you have it!”
He looked as shocked as she felt at the way he’d raised his voice. “Quiet down before you wake up everybody on the entire floor.”
He set his jaw and his eyes glinted. “Been there, done that.”
Tara bit her lip. He wasn’t going to leave. That was bad, she thought. It was very bad. But having him drag her out of here was even worse. She had to take the upper hand and swing with it. She left him and went to her bedroom.
“Where are you going?” he demanded from behind her.
“I’m getting you a blanket if I can find a whole one left.”
“I have a whole closet full of perfectly decent linens at home.”
“Linens,” she said musically, matching his accent. “You know, I just love that…that Confederate twang of yours.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I haven’t. I’m not going anywhere,” she said again. “So if you’re that het up about leaving me unprotected, you’ll just have to sleep on the sofa and watch over the situation yourself.”
“Darlin’, you don’t have a sofa anymore.”
Something inside her tried to quake a little again at the truth of that. But Tara was winning and she knew it. She sneaked a glance in his direction.
He was looking back at the living room, frowning as though he was judging the possibilities for a decent bed. The dog was at his feet, watching them both, wagging her tail. What did she have to be happy about?
“Unless you’re Clark Kent, I seriously doubt if this is going to be resolved in a single night.” Tara came back to the living room and dropped the blanket she’d found on the one-cushioned sofa. “And I’m not moving out indefinitely. He’s not going to run me out of here, Fox. End of story. Good night.”
“Wait a minute! We’re not finished with this!”
She turned her back on him. A moment later, her bedroom door smacked shut.
Now what the hell had just happened here? Fox wondered dazedly. How had she won this? She hadn’t, he decided. She only thought she had.
Fox went to her telephone, on the carpet where that little glass table had been the night he’d taken her date book. He crouched and brushed shattered glass away to pick up the receiver. He’d replace the surveillance on her building, he decided, then he could go home and get a decent night’s sleep. He could put a man on her door right outside the hall and it wouldn’t be likely that anyone would get in here.
But that was a lot of manpower. Any time
now Plattsmier was going to start complaining about the overtime Fox was piling up on this investigation.
He replaced the receiver. He stood again and rubbed the bridge of his nose. When he opened his eyes again, the dog was at his feet, staring at him.
“Okay. You talked to Rafe. Talk to me. What do I do now?” He was losing his mind.
The dog trotted back to the sofa in response. She snagged the blanket in her teeth and tugged it onto the floor.
“That’s uncanny,” Fox muttered. Then, as he watched, the dog moved into the kitchen. She sat in the middle of the floor and began barking. When he joined her, she pawed at the refrigerator door.
Fox opened it. The intruder hadn’t bothered to ransack this, probably because there wasn’t much in it. What did the woman eat, anyway? She probably ordered out a lot. Classy, cold and cosmopolitan, he thought again.
Except when she fell apart.
He picked up a small plastic package. “Tofu?” he asked the dog.
Belle groaned and lay down on the kitchen floor.
“Orange juice then.”
Belle growled.
“Celery? Carrots? Yogurt? Hey, there’s half a bottle of wine here. If I know this lady at all, it’s good stuff. Want to share?”
There was no response this time. When he looked again, the dog had left in disgust.
Fox carried the wine back to the living room. He upended it and drank straight from the bottle. It was crass, but he was in that kind of mood. He sat down with his back against the living room wall and picked up the phone one more time. He called Raphael, but Kate answered the phone.
“’Lo,” she said in a sleepy voice.
Fox smiled instinctively. He’d liked Rafe’s wife from the first. This was a woman who knew the value of etiquette and she made a very, very good lemon meringue pie as well. “It’s Fox,” he said. “Sorry to wake you.”
“You didn’t. Not really.” He heard the smile in her voice.
“I’m still sorry. Listen, my cell phone is in my car and I don’t want to go downstairs to get it. Rafe won’t be able to reach me if he rings it so—” He broke off as he heard his partner’s voice in the background.
“He’s at Tara Cole’s apartment,” Kate told her husband, her voice distant as though she was speaking over her shoulder.
“Now how did you know that?” Fox demanded.
“Raphael said Belle was back.”
As though one had anything to do with the other, Fox thought. He frowned.
“By the way,” Kate said thoughtfully, “I’ve been meaning to ask you. What does the C in your name stand for? I don’t think you ever told us.”
What was this sudden interest in his name all of a sudden? “Cornelius!” he shouted, then he looked down the hallway quickly, wondering if he had woken Tara.
There was a beat of silence. “Really?” Kate asked.
“No. Of course not. I was trying to get you off the subject.”
“It wouldn’t be…like, the name of an archangel by any chance, would it?”
“A what?”
“An archangel. Belle has this thing about…well, men who are named after angels. It’s a long story.”
This conversation was becoming bizarre. “This pregnancy is affecting your mind, Kate. Kate?” There was silence. He was pretty sure she’d fallen back to sleep.
Fox hung up. He began gathering what cushions he could find in the living room, whole and torn, then he kicked debris away to pile them in the center of the floor. He laid down among them with the blanket over him. Somewhere in the darkness, he heard the dog grumbling in her sleep before she began to snore.
The whole damned world had gone mad, he thought.
Chapter 8
Normally, Tara had no problem falling asleep. Even the night Fox had banged on her door loud enough to wake the dead, as angry as she’d been, she’d dozed right off again once he was gone. Tonight, however, she listened to the gentle murmur of his voice in her living room and she tossed—again—to her other side.
Who was he talking to out there? A sudden, surprising thought made her sit up and rub her eyes. She really knew nothing about him, Tara realized. She didn’t know what kind of world he left behind in order to sit in the park beneath her window at night or to snatch her lunch away from unsuspecting delivery boys. Maybe he was out there talking to his lover. Or maybe, she thought, it was even his wife.
Tara’s belly did a slow, uncomfortable roll.
Of course there was a woman in his life, she thought. He was incredibly attractive. Irritating and doggedly persistent, perhaps, but attractive. Men who looked like he did had women falling at their feet. It was one of the truths of the universe. She’d just assumed he was unattached because he was always there. And because of the intent and thoughtful way he followed her with those blue eyes.
Tara threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood, suddenly irritated. Her hands fisted. She had a right to get some sleep, didn’t she? She went to the door to yell out to him to knock it off with the sweet-nothings. Then she heard him shout.
She grinned. Trouble in paradise, she thought, not sure why that pleased her so. Then she frowned. It sounded like he said…Cornelius.
Cornelius? He was talking to a man like that?
Tara turned and made her way back to bed a little unsteadily. She crawled in and tugged the pillow over her head so she wouldn’t have to listen.
It was the second good night’s sleep she’d cost him, Fox thought, turning onto his back at dawn. When he did, he rolled clear off the pile of cushions and onto the hard floor, cracking his elbow against the leaning brass hulk of the topless coffee table. He swore and sat up.
His foul mood was even further enhanced when he saw the dog. She’d taken off with the blanket Tara had given him. She’d wadded it up in the corner and now she was asleep on top of it.
Fox got to his feet, stiff and cold. He stalked over to the mutt. “We need to set some ground rules here. I’m the human. You’re the animal. Don’t overstep your bounds.”
He nudged her with his toe. She didn’t rouse. He caught one edge of the sheet and pulled it hard. The little dog went airborne, doing a somersault before she landed with an indignant yelp.
“Were you just talking to the dog?” Tara asked.
Fox turned fast at the sound of her voice. She was standing in the hallway wearing that Eagles sweatshirt again, and this time he wasn’t preoccupied with anger or irritation. Something hot slid through him at the sight of her. She held her hair back with one hand and stood with her hip cocked, one foot on top of the other. And she had miles of legs.
“You were,” she said. “You were talking to the dog.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Who’s Cornelius?”
“Who?”
“Cornelius.”
“I don’t—” Then he remembered his conversation with Kate last night and the way he had shouted. No way was he getting involved in another discussion about his name. “He’s my brother.”
“Oh.” He was lying, Tara thought. All the good ones, she thought dismally. She went into the kitchen and reached for the coffee carafe before she realized it didn’t exist anymore. “Damn it.”
“Hey, you could have been anywhere else this morning,” Fox said darkly, joining her. “Waking up here was purely your choice.”
“If that’s your way of saying you told me so, stuff it.” Tara turned and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re dressed,” she noted.
His eyes thinned warily. “All the more appropriate for sleeping on the floor.”
“There’s a croissant shop one block east, over on Twenty-ninth. Remember? You stopped there and bought some last week while you were stalking me.”
“I was surveilling you.”
She cocked her head to the side. “A rose by any other name…”
“And this has what to do with my attire?”
Tara grinned. She really did like that slow, proper, Southern slide he
gave to a conversation. Linens. Attire. “Well,” she murmured, “they’d have coffee.”
“Personally, I can live without it. I’ve never been a caffeine addict.”
“They have breakfast there, too.”
“I’ll grab something to eat at home before I show up at headquarters.” He wasn’t sure why he was being contrary about this, except for the fact that somehow or other he’d ended up sleeping on her floor last night and he figured that the experience ought to have taught him to be a little more emphatic where she was concerned. Then she looked at the door and sighed.
“What?” he asked warily.
“Last night you didn’t want me to stay here by myself.”
“I’ll leave the dog with you for protection.”
“Oh, sure. All five pounds of her. That’ll work.”
A squeaky, angry bark sounded from the living room. They both studiously ignored its timing.
Unfortunately, she was absolutely right about his plans for the day, Fox thought. He couldn’t leave her here alone. “Get dressed. You can come with me.”
“I don’t think so.”
He felt the quick little thump of a potential headache behind his eyes. “Why not?”
“I have a business to run.” At his blank look, she added, “You know, clients? Employees? That sort of thing. Although I think I’ll work from home today. But either way, I can’t trail around after you.”
“Someone is after you!”
“We’ve hardly ascertained that.” Tara grinned. Ascertained. That was a good one, she decided. It was right up there with attire and linens. And she was winning—again. She could tell because his eyes were getting a little wild. She moved past him in the doorway and headed for the living room.
That was her mistake.
She had the sleeves pushed up on her sweatshirt and his were rolled up as well. Skin touched skin as she passed him and they brushed together as softly and quickly as a breath. Gooseflesh skittered up her arm.
“I’ll put an officer outside the hall. I’ll explain the OT somehow.”
“What?” Tara asked vacantly, looking back at him. Then his words registered and she rallied, not sure why she felt so let down that he was no longer going to be watching over her himself. “Will this police officer bring coffee?”