Catnapped

by Gabriella Herkert

  “I don’t know, Connor.”

  His zero-to-sixty change of direction was scaring me. I hated being scared. I pulled my arm away and he let go. I tried to figure out a way to get some clothes on without either walking naked across the room or stripping the sheet from Connor so he’d be back to his birthday suit. Naked seemed . . . well, really naked right then.

  “To me, marriage means commitment,” Connor said.

  I turned to find him staring at me. I stared back.

  “Commitment. That sounds right.” I searched his face, but I didn’t have a clue about where he was going. “Are you talking about moving? Living together? Is that possible with your job? You’re not going to give up the SEALs, are you? You love the navy.˝

  “It’s not about my job.”

  I was confused for a moment before panic set in.

  “You’re not expecting me to move, are you? I’ve got a whole life here, Connor. Friends, a job, a Starbucks on every corner.” The thought of leaving everything I had in Seattle settled into my stomach like a stone.

  “It’s not about any damn job,” Connor said. He flung back the sheet and strode across the room. He paced to the bathroom door, then back. He ran his hands through his hair, completely oblivious to his own nakedness. I wouldn’t be that oblivious if the building fell down. I twined the sheet around me and went to the dresser, turning my back on Connor as I pulled a T-shirt, underwear, and shorts from the drawer. I gritted my teeth and dropped my cloth shield. Slowed by fumbling fingers, I dressed before turning back to him.

  He seemed . . . calm. Not frustrated or even mildly irritated anymore. Left behind was a determined expression and controlled patience. I’d rather have him explode than humor me. Finally he pulled his jeans on, without bothering to button them. I did my best not to let my eyes trace the pattern of hair as it disappeared beneath denim. What was wrong with me? Focus, Sara.

  “Are you committed to me, Sara? To our marriage?”

  “Yes.” I braced myself against the dresser. “We can work it out, Connor. Lots of people do the long-distance thing.” Even I was surprised to hear me say it. Great sex had me addled. “We can work something out.” His silent regard unnerved me. I was starting to sweat, my heart hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it across the room.

  “Forget logistics. We’ll figure them out later. Right now let’s stick to the basics.”

  “Basics?”

  He walked slowly across the room to stand directly in front of me. My hands tightened their grip on the dresser before he reached out and touched my arms, sliding his hands down and tugging until his hands were holding mine tightly. His emerald eyes bored into me. “Where is your wedding ring?”

  “My, um, wedding ring?” When had I gone stupid?

  “You know, the symbol of our love and fidelity.”

  “I’m allergic.” I pulled my hands free, stooping to pick up the discarded sheet and moving back toward the bed.

  “You’re allergic?”

  I threw the sheet across the bed, smoothing it into place before tucking it in.

  “Yeah. Pretty much to all metal. Well, maybe I wouldn’t be to the really good stuff.” Mortified, I kept my eyes fixed on the pattern of the sheet. “I’m not implying my ring wasn’t good or anything. I just meant . . . Oh, Christ, I can’t really wear jewelry; that’s all.” I moved to the other side of the bed, smoothing nonexistent creases.

  “And that’s all?”

  “Of course that’s all. What did you think?” I did look at him then.

  “You seem a little unsure, Sara. And I clearly came as a surprise to your friend Russ. I guess I’m just wondering if you’re not wearing your ring because our marriage is some sort of secret you’re keeping from the people close to you.” Connor stood quietly, his face composed.

  “I haven’t been scouted by the CIA. If I’d tried to keep a white dress and afterglow to myself, my head would have exploded. And I did tell Russ. Well, sort of.”

  “What did you sort of tell him?” A red heat showed itself along Connor’s cheekbones.

  “Well, um.” There was a right answer here but I doubted I was overwhelmed by lust was it. I couldn’t say that. I’d sound like a slut.

  The phone rang.

  Chapter Three

  After taking the phone call and tossing a vague explanation about a break in an important case in Connor’s direction, I raced out of the apartment as if fleeing Alcatraz. I definitely need to work on my casual act. Mr. No Divorce didn’t break a sweat.

  Connor hadn’t tried to stop me. He hadn’t yelled or sulked or any of the things any normal human being would have done. Wasn’t he mad? He’d been . . . I don’t know . . . calm. Controlled. Creeping me out.

  Jeff Randall opened his front door as I stepped from my car. “I didn’t really expect you to come out here this late.”

  “It’s no problem, Jeff.” And you’ve got really good timing.

  “Please, come in.”

  I followed him to the living room, sitting on the couch while Jeff dropped into an armchair.

  “So what’s up?” My mind was still on Connor. Guilt at my own cowardice chewed at my conscience. Life had suddenly gotten very complicated.

  “Sara?”

  I shook my head, bringing my attention back to Jeff. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I just wanted to tell you about a phone call I got earlier. He said he had information about Flash, but if this is a bad time . . .” There was definite puzzlement in his blue gaze.

  “No. It’s nothing. Did this man give you a name?” I reached for my notebook before realizing I’d come out of the house in just my T-shirt and jeans.

  “No. He just said he knew something about Flash and that we should get together to discuss it.” Jeff crossed his legs, letting his hands rest along the arms of the chair.

  “And did you agree to go?”

  “He wanted to meet in Pioneer Square at midnight. It seemed rather odd to me.” He shrugged. “Still, if he knows something, I didn’t want to just dismiss it. I called you to ask your advice. Actually, I thought I’d be able to tell you all of this over the phone, but you didn’t really give me a chance.”

  I tucked my hair behind my ear, feeling my face heat with embarrassment. I could hardly say I’d needed a reason to get out of my own place. I crossed my legs.

  “Yes, um, well, where exactly were you supposed to meet this guy?”

  “Pioneer Square. An alley on the south side of the square, off Yesler.”

  “Did the caller ask for money?”

  “He said we could come to an arrangement, but he didn’t mention any figure.”

  “Okay. I appreciate the call, Jeff.” I stood up and he did, too, following me to the front door.

  “Are you going to this meeting?”

  “I’m just going to go and have a look.”

  “It’s a rough neighborhood. Maybe you should reconsider. It’s probably a wild-goose chase, anyway. Someone looking for a reward because of the flyers.”

  “You’re probably right.” I patted him on the upper arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Like I said, I’m just going to have a quick look.” And put off going home for a little while longer.

  “You’re the expert. Be careful, Sara.”

  “I always am.”

  I parked under a streetlight across from the alley in Pioneer Square, the windows rolled three-quarters of the way up despite the still-stifling temperature. What could this guy possibly have to say that required meeting in an alley in the dead of night? Still, if I solved this case in a day, even Morris would be impressed. Then maybe I’d finally get some real casework instead of all this stupid paper-trail stuff. And it beat the heck out of going home to explain my sexual addictions to Connor. Carefully surveying my surroundings, I took note of the only other person in the square, lying on a bench not three feet away, one fist wrapped around the leg of a shopping cart. Another five minutes; then I’d go. As anxious as I was to fin
d the cat, I wasn’t going to sit out here with a bull’s-eye on my back, even if it did mean I wasn’t at home explaining myself to Connor. Geez, what a mess.

  A knock on the window and I screamed, nearly hitting my head on the roof. After a quick look, I rolled the window down.

  “Do not scare me like that.”

  “You?” Russ scoffed. “That scream nearly gave me a heart attack. Besides, you called me, remember?”

  “Get in.”

  Russ went to the other side of the car and I reached over to unlock it. He slid into the passenger seat.

  “Where’d you park?”

  “Right behind you, Marlowe. I switched off the headlights a block back, just like you asked. For which you owe me combat pay, which I will forgo only in favor of lurid details of your marital reconciliation.”

  I slapped him on the leg.

  “Why are we here when you could be there? Discord already?”

  “I’m working a case.”

  “So why did you need me, Tonto? Wouldn’t the navy have been a smarter call?”

  “The navy . . . well, don’t go there. Besides, haven’t we always done the real crazy stuff together? For the last eight years, anyway? You wouldn’t want me to hurt your feelings by excluding you from situations where bail might prove necessary. You’d do the boo-boo-lip thing, and you know I can’t take that.”

  “You’re babbling.”

  He was right. I was babbling. Nerves or marriage. Probably both.

  “As entertaining as I am finding it,” Russ said, “I have to be back to the station in fifteen minutes or that idiot engineer will start playing ‘Feelings.’ I’m pretty sure he’s on Prozac.”

  “You’re Tonto. I’m the Lone Ranger.” I went back to scanning the street.

  “Keep dreaming, kemo sabe.”

  “Right. Anyway, I just need you to watch my back if this guy shows up.”

  “What guy?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, he picked a really nice place to pick up women.”

  I stared at him. “It’s . . . atmospheric.”

  “So was the Bates Motel. This is a stupid idea, Sara.”

  “It’s not a big deal. I’m just going to talk to him.”

  “Is he just going to talk to you?”

  I sighed. Russ was right. This was universally stupid. I wouldn’t even have considered it if I hadn’t been so eager to get out the door before the heart-to-heart got ugly. I was not good with the Hallmark moments.

  “You’re right,” I told Russ.

  “Oh, my God. You didn’t just say—dare I believe it—‘You are right, O magnificent one.’ ”

  “Good thing you were sitting down,” I said dryly.

  “Absolutely. I could have bruised myself with a swoon.”

  I laughed. He would swoon, too. “Okay, buddy, we’re calling it a day.”

  “Thank goodness. The FCC has really been cracking down on felony Muzak.” Russ reached for the door and hesitated. “Seriously, everything okay at home?”

  “It’s a work in progress, I guess.”

  “You okay?”

  “Sure. I’m tough.”

  “Yeah. You and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. I’m on the air until six a.m. Call me if you need me.”

  “You’re a pal.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Russ got out. I reached across and locked his door, watching him get into his car. He pulled around me and tooted his horn. I watched him go. I had to go home. Eventually. What the hell was I going to say?

  My peripheral vision caught a faint red glow. A cigarette, maybe? I leaned forward, arms resting on the steering wheel, trying to pick it out of the darkness. Was that him? Jeff had said the alley, and I’d assumed he meant out in the open. Maybe this guy really was the shy type. I looked for Russ’s taillights but he was already gone. Stupid. This was really dumb. Of course, it did put off going home for another few minutes. It would take ten seconds. And I was already here.

  I checked the sleeping homeless man, then the street. Only the glow of the cigarette disturbed the night. I got out, carefully relocking the car. The quiet click reassured me as much as the hard press of my keys as I laced them between my fingers. I crossed the street, angling toward the alley opening. I caught the faint, acrid smell of a cigar as I neared the alley, hesitating for a moment before stepping under the streetlight. A dim bulb glowed above a hulking Dumpster halfway down the alley. Who did this guy think he was, Deep Throat?

  “Hello?” Adrenaline made my scalp tingle as I wrapped my hand more tightly around the keys. Sane people did not wander down dark alleys at midnight. I didn’t even have a damned flashlight. I made a deal with myself: I’d go as far as the lightbulb I could see halfway down the alley. If I didn’t find the guy, I’d do the sane thing and get the hell out of Dodge.

  “Hello?” I took two steps into the gray of the alley, away from the security of the streetlight. Another drift of cigar smoke assaulted my senses, mingling with the smell of rotting garbage. My good angel was whispering, Don’t be a fool—get out. My bad angel yelled, Chicken. Keeping my back against the wall, I edged down the alley. I reached the Dumpster, carefully skirting its hulking mass.

  “Is anybody there?”

  Two more steps and I reached the end of the trash container, stepping into the weak light provided by the bulb. I nearly stepped on him. Him. Holy shit.

  The tepid light barely managed to illuminate the circle at my feet beyond the fuzzy gray of ashes. The man was behind the trash container, out of view from the street. He was faced away from me, lying on his side, one arm stretched in front of him, the other hidden from view. Nausea rose in me. I brought my hands up, covering my mouth, my keys digging deeply into my left hand. I bolted upright at a sudden scurrying beneath the trash can. I shuddered at the thought of rats. It took all my will to sidle closer to the man. A trail of sweat rolled between my breasts, chilling my entire body. Despite the lingering heat, I shivered. I should help him. He could be drunk or sick or injured, needing help. I should do something.

  I straightened, peering around the Dumpster toward the streetlight, moving a step closer to the body. Without taking my eyes from the alley in front of me, I reached out with the toe of my new running shoes and touched him. He was stiff. Oh, God. What the hell was I doing here? I forced myself to look at the man; then I couldn’t look away. My feet remained frozen, refusing to move, to help me escape. Queasiness came in waves, and my hands began to sweat. I took another small step before kneeling behind him, tugging at the silken cloth of his shoulder, turning him toward me. Dark purple made a bold statement against his white shirt. The underlying coppery scent cloyed at my throat. It was the genetic equivalent of the inkblot test.

  My scream echoed in the alley as a new fear struck: The killer could still be out there. Waiting for me. I stayed low, frantically searching the deep shadows. A crash erupted behind me. My feet finally received the message from my sluggish brain and I was running for my life. I didn’t look around. My blood pounded in my ears. My legs churned. I glanced over my shoulder and the lights went out.

  Chapter Four

  I woke up with the worst hangover of my entire life. In that first instant I couldn’t remember having had anything to drink. Then my surroundings started to sink in. I was lying on my back in the middle of the cold street. Three distorted faces peered down at me as if I had been dropped down a well. Emergency vehicles were parked in a scatter pattern, their headlights creating the illusion of daylight. The raging sirens and strobing red lights made me my stomach heave, and I closed my eyes as I fought the need to be sick.

  “Hey, try to stay with us now,” a calm male voice said as a hand lightly patted my cheek. “Stay awake. I’m a paramedic. You’ve hit your head. Can you open your eyes?” The voice and hands prodded simultaneously.

  I blinked up at him, then squinted to avoid the flashlight the sadist shone in my eyes.

  “Okay,
can you tell me your name?”

  “Sara.”

  “What’s your last name, Sara?”

  “Townley.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Seattle. Downtown.”

  “When were you born?”

  “None of your business.”

  “That’s fair.” His inflection never changed. “You were unconscious for a couple of minutes, Sara. That means a probable concussion. We’re going to put you into the ambulance and ride you downtown so the doc can have a look. Is that okay with you, Sara?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “On my count, one, two, three.”

  The chatty paramedic and a silent companion slid me onto a gurney, covered me with a sheet, and pushed me to the back of the waiting ambulance. Another man appeared, grabbing at the arm of the first paramedic.

  “I need to talk to her.”

  “At the hospital. After the ER checks her out.” The medics lifted me into the back of the ambulance.

  “What about Bridges?”

  “Chipped tooth, split lip, and a foul mood. We’re not even going to take him in.”

  “Meet you there after I finish with the crime scene unit.”

  “Right.”

  The paramedic climbed in beside me and slammed the door, muffling the blare of the siren. I moved my head from side to side, trying to clear it.

  “The guy. The one in the alley. He’s dead, isn’t he?” I asked, dreading the answer. I turned to look at the paramedic, who’d perched himself next to me. “Do you know who he was? What he was doing there?”

  “The police are going to come by the ER and talk to you after they finish downtown.”

  Police. Oh, holy mother. The police. Of course. A dead body meant the police. They probably thought I killed him. Maybe they were going to arrest me. I’d lose my job. Morris would probably fire me personally. I’d have mug shots worse than Nick Nolte’s. My head pounded.

  “Sara. Hey. Open your eyes. You can’t sleep now.” The paramedic spoke into my ear.

  I flinched, the pounding in my head picking up speed.

  “Tell you what, Sara. How about if we do a little paperwork on the way? Fill in some forms. Keep you alert.”