Читать книгу The P.I. - Cara Summers - Страница 8

“I… MAYBE , I SHOULD …”

She was going to turn and run. Pure panic shot through him and brought Kit out of his daze. He didn’t trust himself to take a step yet, but he managed to speak. “Don’t go.”

She glanced down at a card she was clutching in one hand, then at Ari. “That’s a very big dog.”

“He won’t move unless he smells food on you.” In which case, Ari would definitely leap on her and she was such a bit of a thing that he figured the dog might just topple her over. Worrying about that brought the rest of his thoughts into focus. “You don’t have any on you, do you? Food, I mean?”

“No…but…” She glanced uncertainly down at the card again. “I think I might be in the wrong place. I’m looking for…”

“Me.” She was what he’d been waiting for all day. He was absolutely sure about that. And he was pretty sure the blood on her suit wasn’t hers since she’d evidently gotten here under her own steam. So the tiny blonde with the bottle-green eyes was a damsel in distress of the first order. Her heart-shaped face and that perfect mouth might have been carved on one of the cameos his aunt Cass kept in her jewel box.

She was poised for flight. And no wonder. His office looked as though it had just been attacked by the same tornado that had carried Dorothy off to Oz. There was a dog the size of a small bear cub lounging on the floor, and he…well, he just wasn’t presenting his best professional image.

“Why don’t you come in?”

She took one step and then paused again as if to gauge the response of the dog. In one quick glance Kit cataloged details, taking in the bruise that darkened the otherwise perfect skin near her left temple and the silky-looking hair that fell in tousled layers to just beneath a stubborn-looking chin. Last, but not least, he noted the first-rate legs and the designer open-toed shoes. Her other features remained hidden behind the dress bag and tote she was holding on to for dear life.

Kit had an overpowering urge to go to her, to press his hand to the small of her back and guide her carefully to one of his two client chairs, but he sensed that the slightest move on his or Ari’s part would make her bolt.

“How can I help you?” he asked in a calm voice as he settled his hip firmly on the edge of his desk.

“I’m not sure you can.” Her voice was stronger now. While he’d been studying her, she’d glanced warily around the room, her gaze settling on Ari twice. She met his eyes, then frowned down at the card in her hand. “I’m looking for Mr. Kristophe Angelis.”

“You’ve found him.” Kit sent her what he hoped was his most charming smile. Of the three Angelis brothers, he’d inherited the dimples. Most of the time he could have done without them, but every so often, especially when women were involved, they served him well. “I go by Kit. Kit Angelis.”

She transferred her frown from the card to him, and this time when he looked into those green eyes, he felt a little punch right in his solar plexus.

“Have we ever met before?” she asked.

“No.” Kit was absolutely certain of that—in spite of the fact that what he was feeling bordered on recognition.

“It says on this card that you’re a private investigator.” Her tone held a note of accusation—as if the card were lying.

“I am,” he explained, “during the days. On my free nights, I write crime fiction.” As he gestured around the room, a breeze sent more papers scattering to the floor. “You’ve caught me in my writing mode.”

“I’m interrupting, then.” She didn’t appear to be at all reassured by his explanation. If their positions had been reversed, Kit wasn’t sure he would have been, either.

“Not at all.” It wasn’t a lie, really. She hadn’t interrupted. He hadn’t even gotten one word down. Something she saw on his face must have reassured her—perhaps the dimples had finally kicked in—because she took a few steps forward. Good, he thought as he willed her to take a few more. He sat perfectly still while she did. Experience had taught him that luring a woman wasn’t a lot different than reeling in a fish. Patience and persistence usually paid off.

She was close enough now that he could reach out and touch her. Kit had to suppress a powerful urge to do just that. He wanted very much to trace his finger along her jawline, to find out if that porcelain-delicate skin was as cool as it looked. He thought not, but a good investigator always tested his theories.

“You do investigate crimes, then?”

“Hmm?” Kit reined his thoughts in from the little detour they’d taken.

“You investigate crimes, right?” She was studying his face very closely.

He finessed his wallet out of his pocket, flipped it open and handed it to her. “I’ve been licensed by the state of California to do just that. I’m even allowed to charge for my services.”

She glanced down at the wallet, then back at him. “Could you find out if I’ve committed a crime?”

He noted that her knuckles had turned white on the strap of the tote. He wanted very much to take that hand in his, but he kept himself very still.

“Probably.”

“How?” she asked.

“My brother Nik is a cop. If a crime has been committed and the police are involved, he would know. I also have friends at the newspaper and TV stations. What kind of a crime are we talking about?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe a robbery. Maybe worse. That’s what I need you to find out.”

He said nothing, but he noted the way her grip tightened on the dress bag and the tote.

She held out his wallet to him, and when he took it, his fingers brushed accidentally against hers. Well, perhaps not accidentally.

The effect of that casual touch shocked both of them. She snatched her hand back as if it had been burned. And he knew exactly how she felt. The brief contact had sent a little current of electricity zinging along his nerve endings, and the knowledge that she’d been affected, too, had desire twisting his stomach into a hot, hard knot.

“I—” She faltered as if she’d lost her train of thought. He’d better damn well gather his own or he was going to lose her. He could read it in her eyes. She was still thinking of bolting.

Suppressing panic, he summoned up a businesslike tone. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me who you are and what happened?”

She pressed her lips together firmly, drew in a deep breath and met his eyes. Beneath that fragile-looking exterior was an inner strength that he couldn’t help but admire. “Are you any good at what you do?”

Considering the first impression he must have made, Kit couldn’t fault the skepticism in her tone. He sent her another smile, again putting his faith in the dimples. “I’m the best.”

She studied him for one more moment, then nodded. “I want to hire you, then.”

Relief streamed through him. “Fine.” He’d made the decision to take her case the moment he’d set eyes on her. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she spelled trouble. But he was Greek enough, curious enough, not to turn his back on what fate dropped smack in his path. The twenty pages would have to wait. So would his fishing trip with Theo and Nik, if necessary.

“To make it official, I’ll need a retainer. Do you have a dollar?” he asked.

“You’ll help me, then?”

“Yes.” Kit tried to ignore the feeling that he was agreeing to a lot more than a case.

She let out the breath she was holding and, for one brief moment, he thought she might lose that iron grip she seemed to have on her control. His admiration for her shot up a few more notches when she didn’t. Finally, she set the leather tote on a chair, opened it and dug out a twenty. “I don’t have anything smaller.”

Kit took the bill she offered and placed it next to his closed laptop. “Neither do I so I’ll have to owe you nineteen.” He met her eyes steadily. “Will you trust me?”

There was an instant of hesitation before she nodded. “Yes.”

A careful lady, he thought as he smiled at her. This was a woman who preferred to test the waters before she jumped in. That wasn’t his particular style, but he could admire it in others. “Good. Now, you said, “maybe worse.” Can you be more specific?”

Drawing in another deep breath, she finally let go of the death grip she had on the dress bag and draped it carefully over the back of the chair.

Then she stepped to the side and pointed to the stains on her skirt. “It’s blood, I think. I don’t believe it’s mine. I checked, and I’m not bleeding anywhere. But I don’t know how it got there. I can’t remember what happened.”

“You can’t remember?”

“I don’t remember anything before the accident. I was in a taxi that was in a collision just a few blocks from here.” She gestured at the bruise on her temple. “I must have bumped my head during the impact, and I don’t remember anything before I came to in the backseat. I don’t know my name, what I do or what may have happened before I got in that taxi.”

Kit glanced at the tote. “What about a wallet? Do you have some ID in that bag?”

She shook her head. “I checked. And I couldn’t find my purse in the taxi. Everything’s a blank. And…there’s a wedding gown in the dress bag. I don’t know why I’m carrying it around. I could be on my way to my wedding or running away from it. I don’t remember.”

There’d been a thread of panic building steadily in her voice, and Kit felt some of it move through him. In sympathy? He might have accepted that explanation if he hadn’t tasted something bitter when she’d mentioned she might be on her way to her wedding.

“If I was getting married today, if I loved someone enough to…make that kind of commitment, wouldn’t I remember that?”

He sure as hell hoped so, just as he hoped that particular scenario had no basis in reality. “Perhaps you couldn’t make the commitment. Brides and grooms get the jitters. A lot of them have second thoughts.” A scenario he much preferred in this case.

He reached for her left hand. The little current of electricity zinged through him again, but this time he didn’t allow her to snatch her hand away. “You aren’t wearing an engagement ring, and there’s no sign that you’ve been wearing one. No indentation, no telltale white mark even though you have a slight tan. I’d say you’re probably not the bride.”

“Why would I have the wedding gown?”

“Could be you’re a relative. A sister—or a member of the wedding party.”

She curled her fingers around his. “Right. I hadn’t thought…or maybe I’m a wedding planner. That might explain why I have the dress?”

“There you go.” The relief Kit heard in her tone was all the more recognizable because it matched exactly what he was feeling. Which was ridiculous. He had to get a grip. He’d met this woman…what? Five minutes ago? Even setting his physical attraction to her aside, he’d never before met a female who’d drawn so many emotions out of him in so little time.

He’d taken her on as a client, Kit reminded himself. She was in trouble, and the least she deserved from him was some professionalism.

That was what his mind was telling him. Still, he didn’t let go of her hand. He wanted to hold on to it. On to her.

She frowned suddenly. “That still doesn’t explain the blood. Or the rest of it.”

“The rest of it?”

Squaring her shoulders, she pulled her hand out of his and drew in a deep breath. “There’s a gun and a lot of money in the leather tote. Maybe…” She paused to moisten her lips. “I can’t help thinking that maybe I stole the money at gunpoint and shot someone. I could be more than a thief. I could be a killer.”