Catnapped

by Gabriella Herkert

“Nothing. He went back to work.”

  “So where did the gay thing come in?”

  “Later. He asked if I meant it about getting married. Then he said it.”

  “Oh.”

  “What’s ‘oh’?”

  “I never thought you were gay. A repressed white woman, to be sure, but never a member of the tribe.”

  “What did you mean by ‘oh’?” I repeated.

  “You have secrets, Sara. Things you don’t talk about. Subjects that close you down. It’s not subtle, honey. That’s all I meant. Joe sensed the secret. He just guessed wrong.”

  “I talk about things with you,” I defended.

  “Not everything. Not even with me.”

  I squirmed uncomfortably. He was right. He knew it and I knew it.

  “So are you going to tell me or do I have to ask?”

  I choked a little on my juice. I just couldn’t get myself to speak.

  Russ took a long swallow from his own drink, his brown eyes fixed on my face.

  “What about the dead guy?” Russ’s voice boomed, startling a couple of secretarial types moving past. They were middle-aged, dressed in frumpy suits, one gray, one blue, with low-heeled pumps and purses the size of grocery carts. They stopped to look at him, then me, then back at him, tentative smiles draining from their faces as they shared a quick look between them. Russ’s megawatt meeting-the-public grin failed to thaw them. It was a rare day when that look didn’t work on every female within range. The women went to a nearby table and sat, whispering and gawking.

  “Keep your voice down,” I whispered, exchanging darting glances with our neighbors, who continued to stare.

  He rolled his eyes, leaning forward, hands wrapped around his drink, elbows on the table.

  “Sor-ry. So what happened with the dead guy?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged.

  Russ sat back, surprise touching his features.

  “C’mon. You mean to tell me you found a body in an alley last night and you didn’t do anything today to try to find out what happened? You? Liar.”

  “Okay, so maybe I did check around a little. I still don’t know who he is or why he was there. And that’s off the record.”

  “Of course.” His brows rose in indignation.

  “There’s no ‘of course’ with you. You’re as discreet as the local tabloid.”

  “There’s no reason to be rude.” He leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest and adopting a haughty expression.

  “Rude is the only thing that works with you.” I out-stared him.

  He chuckled. “You know me so well. So what’s next?”

  “I don’t know. Go home, I guess.” I shrugged, the late night and my lack of progress during the day weighing me down.

  “Too bad Connor’s not there. It would make going home a lot more fun.” Russ wiggled his eyebrows lecherously.

  “What do you mean, he’s not there?”

  “He went to talk to the cop. Didn’t he tell you?”

  “No. He didn’t tell me.” My hackles rose, indignation straightening my spine. “He most certainly did not tell me.” How dared he interfere? I hadn’t asked him to talk to Sergeant Wesley. It didn’t have anything to do with him. “I’ve gotta run.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me about my day?”

  “Did something big happen?”

  “Well, nothing to compare to an estranged husband and a corpse.”

  I caught a hint of something in his expression. Used to being the center of attention, he seemed a little put out that the ritual Thursday coffee break hadn’t focused on him. I didn’t usually have much to share other than paper cuts and office gossip. On any other day I would have made time to listen to his stories. Today, however, I had a husband to yell at.

  “I really have to go, Russ.”

  He rose, reaching out to catch my arm.

  “Wait, Sara, I wanted to tell you about—”

  “Take your hands off her, you creep,” the gray suit muttered between clenched teeth, pushing her bulky frame between Russ and me. The blue suit hovered beside me, chewing at the nails of one hand.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. Do I know you?” Russ dropped his hands to his sides, looking from one woman to the other before shifting his glance to me with eyebrows arched in silent inquiry. He looked back at the woman, a friendly smile lighting his golden features.

  “No. And you’re not going to, either, mister.” The gray suit spun around, thrusting balled fists onto her hips. She took a step closer to me, and I took one back, bumping into her companion. The aggressive woman’s faded blue eyes snapped with indignation, and red flames lit her pale cheeks.

  “You don’t have to take it from him, honey. No woman does.”

  “Excuse me?” A glance at Russ revealed a hurt expression, his smile tinged with pain.

  The avenging angel reached into the depths of her black leather purse, digging for a moment before pulling out a dog-eared card. Handing it to me, she turned and threw a glowering look at Russ before hustling off, her mute blue twin following closely behind. I looked down at the card, gasping. Russ reached out and I gave him the card, watching as he read the name of a local shelter for battered women.

  He sighed, sober-faced. “Yesterday I was Prince Charming; today I’m the frog.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Connor was leaving the Department of Public Safety building just as I walked up. I stopped three feet from him, my temperature spiking beyond the level induced by my dash across town in ninety-degree heat. I’d been too mad to wait for the bus. My pulse pounded in my head, and the heavy computer case cut into my shoulder.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I puffed.

  Connor stopped short, raising his eyebrows at my greeting. He looked good—calm and cool, and in that moment I really hated him.

  “Whatever happened to ‘hello’?”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I raised my voice a notch, wincing at the shrillness, my vision blurring a little around the edges.

  “I had to get information somewhere.”

  “I didn’t ask you to . . . Oh, man.” Really dizzy now, I reached out to support myself against the building’s exterior. The shoulder strap fell and the computer hit the ground with an ominous thud, before I slid down the rough brick and sat on the sidewalk. I closed my eyes, letting my head droop, shutting out the curious looks of the people hurrying past.

  “Hey.” I could feel his hands in my hair, lifting the crushing weight away from my head and neck. One hand moved to my chin, tilting my face back toward the burning bright sunlight.

  “Sara, open your eyes.”

  I ignored him, concentrating on taking deep breaths and praying the sudden nausea would pass without embarrassing me.

  “Sara, open your eyes.” His voice was insistent, calm but determined. I forced my eyelids up, trying to bring his face into focus. He was crouched before me, his big body blocking out the worst of the light.

  “Okay, that’s good. Do you know where you are?” His cool hand seared my cheek before rubbing gently up and down my arm.

  “That’s a stupid question.”

  “But do you know?” The nausea faded and my vision cleared.

  I pushed him away. He dropped his hold on my hair and managed to crab-walk back without landing on his butt, which just figured. I pushed myself back up the wall.

  “Wait a minute.” Connor rose with considerably more grace, reaching out to help me. I shrugged his hands away. He took a step back.

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “Why don’t you just sit here and I’ll flag a cab.” Connor turned to scan the flowing traffic.

  “I don’t need a cab. You need to start explaining.” I leaned over, reaching for my crumpled jacket before thinking better of it as dizziness descended again. Straightening, I blinked the waves away.

  “You’ve got a concussion. We need to get you back to the doc.” Connor turned back to me.

&n
bsp; “We don’t need anything of the kind. I’m fine.”

  “You are not fine.” He shook his head.

  “Did I ask you?”

  “You shouldn’t take chances with concussions.”

  “You’re going to get a concussion of your own if you don’t start explaining what the hell you were doing down here.”

  “Let’s at least get you out of this heat.” Connor reached down, grabbing my jacket and computer in one hand before steering me toward the Starbucks two doors away. He reached past me to pull open the heavy door, and a wave of frigid coffee-scented air blasted me. Connor swept me along, seating me at a table next to the window in the nearly deserted shop. He put my things on the table and headed toward the bored teenage girl standing behind the counter without even asking me what I wanted. Men.

  He returned in an instant, unscrewing the cap on a bottle of water and handing it to me. I rested the cold glass against one cheek while Connor returned to the counter.

  Setting the bottle down, I fumbled through the pockets of my computer case, finally coming up with the bottle I had snagged before leaving my office. I pried the lid open and freed two tablets, washing them down with a gulp of icy water. Connor chatted with the girl, who seemed in no hurry to lose his company by doing anything as mundane as actually working. I drank the rest of the water before putting the aspirin away, closing my eyes and rubbing at my throbbing temples.

  “Here. Drink a little more. You’re probably dehydrated.” I opened my eyes. Connor had returned with a plastic tray loaded with two tall, ice-filled glasses, two bottles of water, and a selection of pastries. I reached for a bottle, unscrewing the lid and taking another long drink. Connor moved the computer and jacket to an empty chair and placed the refreshments on the table. Taking a glass, I poured the rest of the water over ice. Connor drank slowly, assessing me. Suddenly I remembered my black eyes and wild hair. God.

  “Well?”

  “You seem better now.” He took another swallow.

  “That’s not what I meant. Well, are you going to explain what you were doing at the Public Safety building? I know it has to do with last night, so don’t try to deny it.”

  “Why would I try to deny it? I went to see the cop in charge of the case.”

  “What did you think that would accomplish?” I set my glass down with a clunk.

  “Well, among other things, I wanted to make sure I got the full story. I was worried, Sara.”

  I was a little fuzzy about the sequence of events last night, but I was pretty sure I had filled him in on the relevant details. I knew I’d told him about the body. Maybe that was this morning at the Masterson estate. God, was that just this morning? Did I tell him the rest at the hospital? When had I told the cop? I could swear the cops were there when Connor arrived, but maybe it was just the starstruck nurse, the bigamist, and me. The Three Stooges of Pioneer Square.

  “I told you about the body this morning. You didn’t seem mad then. Why are you now?”

  “Let’s just say that between Sergeant Wesley’s fuller recitation of the facts and your near miss with the pavement just now, I’m losing my mellow.”

  I wasn’t buying it. His voice was the same even tenor, his body leaning back in the chair, completely relaxed. So I’d told a couple whoppers in the last couple of days. Big deal. I wasn’t the one meddling where I didn’t belong. No, I was the injured party—bad phrase—and here he was trying to distract me with . . . I don’t know . . . some sort of man logic.

  “When you mentioned a body this morning, I thought you must have been in the emergency room when they brought him in, or maybe you’d overheard the staff or something.” He shrugged. “I was a little distracted at the time.”

  “I thought I’d told you.”

  Connor sipped from his water, his eyes steady on mine.

  “I really did,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah. This time.”

  I faked a laugh. “Hey, my next dead body, I’m getting a billboard.”

  “No next time.”

  I sobered. “It doesn’t explain what you were doing going to see Sergeant Wesley behind my back. I didn’t realize I hadn’t told you all the details. You deliberately lied.”

  “I didn’t lie.”

  “You didn’t know you intended to see Wesley this morning?”

  “I knew.”

  “A lie by omission. Same difference.”

  “No, it’s not. You’re my wife.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I won’t be on the outside of your life looking in.”

  I stiffened. Connor’s face was composed, his hands loose around his glass. The tingle along my spine told me he wasn’t as calm as he looked. I didn’t know how to deal with him. I let my gaze wander while my mind whirred. Except for us and the fresh-faced, ponytailed barista behind the counter, the place was deserted. Sighing, I turned back to him.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I’d love to hear, ‘Yes, Connor. It won’t happen again, Connor. Please can I tell you everything, Connor?’ But since I haven’t completely lost my mind, I don’t actually expect that.”

  “That’s good to know.” I took a quick drink, crunching a piece of ice and trying to buy some time. What the hell do you want from me? seemed like the wrong tone. Part of me was dying to know what he really thought. The other part of me wanted to scream, Mind your own damn business. This marriage stuff was tricky.

  Connor set his glass down, his gaze never leaving my face. I felt like a bug on a pin. It was as if he were trying to reach inside my head. I squirmed as the silence dragged.

  “I give up. I have no idea what you want from me.”

  “I want you to invite me in. But since you’re obviously not ready for that, I’ll settle for being in any way I can.”

  “In where?”

  “In on whatever is going on with you. Your job, your friends, your life.”

  “You can’t just come here and demand total access.” I plopped the glass on the table in emphasis. It really was sweet in a three-hankie-movie kind of way. Not that I would ever admit that. He’d take it the wrong way. I needed to start as I meant to go on, which definitely didn’t include checking in with him every time I went anywhere.

  “Sure I can. I’m your husband. Why do you think we had to get married?”

  “We didn’t have to get married. You make it sound like a shotgun wedding or something. And keep your voice down.” I glanced over at the girl behind the counter, who didn’t even try to hide the fact that she was eavesdropping. I glared at her. She colored and scurried back behind the relative safety of the coffee grinder.

  “We did have to get married.”

  “We did not. We got married because great sex impaired our better judgment.”

  “Speak for yourself. There was nothing impaired about my judgment.”

  I leaned back and folded my arms.

  “Amazing sex notwithstanding”—he smiled slowly—“I knew that if I left it up to you, we’d be old before we got this far.”

  “And where exactly are we?”

  “Together.”

  “You’re making absolutely no sense. And none of that has anything to do with your going behind my back and sticking your nose into my case.”

  “Our case. Community property.”

  “Are your missions our missions, too? Because I don’t exactly remember you sharing the details of your last little work-related adventure. Or even where you were for the last four months.”

  “I’m not choosing to keep you in the dark. I’ll tell you everything I can. And everything I’m thinking is yours for the asking.”

  “Nice little double standard you’ve got going there.”

  “Yeah. I’m sharing and you’re still shutting me out.”

  “That’s not what’s happening.”

  “That’s what it looks like from here, Sara.”

  He was ir
ritating. He was also incredibly sweet. And I didn’t feel up to arguing with him. I usually enjoyed a little verbal tussling. Somehow he managed to take all the fun out of it. I picked up a muffin and stripped the paper wrapper, more to give my hands something to do than because I really wanted it. The muffin was dry against my tongue. I glanced up at him, but his attention hadn’t wavered. Quickly, I dodged the pressure from his eyes by looking back at the muffin. Without realizing it, I’d managed to reduce it to a pile of crumbs. I dusted my fingertips with the napkin.

  “What are you thinking right now?” Connor’s deep voice lured me.

  “I can’t do this,” I whispered.

  “Sure you can. You tell Russ. Tell me.”

  I knew I could never explain about Russ. Russ was a good friend who listened if I wanted to talk, but rarely asked about the things that were important to me. I didn’t mind. Russ always called me Miss Low-maintenance. But low-maintenance didn’t mean no-maintenance, and sometimes I resented his self-absorption a little. Russ never pushed his way into places he wasn’t invited, and when I said I didn’t want to talk about something, that was it. Connor was different. I wasn’t sure I could cope with different.

  Connor reached across and took my hands, ignoring the crumbs still clinging to my fingers. His thumb rubbed slowly along my knuckles, gently soothing. But I knew he was waiting. I pulled my hands away, for once seeing his touching as the trap it was. If I was going to be the one drawing lines around what was and wasn’t his business, I’d need my wits about me.

  “I’m not a sharer.” I cleared the lump from my throat before lifting my head and staring defiantly at him. He refused to take up the challenge. I pushed my chair back a little from the table, feeling the bulwark of the wall behind me. A minute passed, then another. Connor steepled his fingers and continued to wait. I finally had to look away. When it came to the waiting game, Connor made me look like an amateur. That Connor’s determination came wrapped in desire and affection scared me. If I gave him an inch . . .

  “All you need is a little practice. I figured we could start with your job.”

  “Oh, you figured, did you?”

  “Yeah. It seems like that’s the biggest part of your life. Besides, it was either your job or the reasons you felt compelled to invent a husband, or maybe how eager my parents are to meet you. I thought you’d prefer starting with your job.”