Читать книгу Dangerous to Touch - Jill Sorenson - Страница 9

Vincent Veterinary Clinic was less than a mile from Pacific Pet Hotel. Sidney often took dogs and cats there if they became sick while boarding. In turn, Dr. Vincent recommended her facility to clients, so the business relationship between them was mutually beneficial.

If only the personal relationship had been.

Lieutenant Cruz and Detective Lacy met her there, along with another young woman in a white van that said LabTech on the side. While Lacy helped her unload some kind of specialized equipment, Sidney studied the easy interactions between the two women.

Detective Lacy was petite and compact, with shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose. The lab tech was taller, but curvy. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail and her uniform neatly pressed.

Both of them were pretty, smart-looking and confident. Sidney didn’t need to glance in her rearview mirror to know that she didn’t match up.

She got out of her dusty pickup, a flustered breath ruffling her bangs, and climbed into the back to get Blue. Lieutenant Cruz watched her from a safe distance, and the dog came out readily, allowing her to slip a nylon leash over his head. When he saw Lieutenant Cruz, he growled.

“Easy, Blue,” she chided, hopping off the tailgate.

“How did you know his name?” he asked.

Sidney fumbled for an explanation. “I must have heard it on the news.”

His gaze caressed her face, reading the lie more easily than she’d told it.

“Sidney!” Bill exclaimed from the open doorway, saving her from any more awkward questions. “What are you doing here?”

Bill Vincent was tall and handsome, about ten years older than Sidney, with thinning blond hair and a whipcord build he kept in shape by bicycling on the weekends. He looked casual in a short-sleeved shirt and tan slacks, and he smiled, as if pleased to see her.

Blue lunged at him, barking.

“Whoa,” he said with a jittery laugh. “You’ve got a live one there.”

“Hush,” Sidney ordered.

Blue sat.

“We’ll have to sedate him,” Bill remarked to Lieutenant Cruz. Because no introductions were made, Sidney surmised that the two men were already acquainted. Judging by the way they were staring each other down, they weren’t friendly.

Sidney was surprised. Bill was an easygoing, sociable kind of guy, especially with people he considered influential. He went out of his way to ingratiate himself to others.

“I’d like to get a blood sample first,” Lieutenant Cruz said. “In case he’s already been drugged.”

Bill’s lips thinned. “Are you volunteering to hold him for me, Lieutenant?”

“I’ll hold him,” Sidney offered, knowing it was the only way to get the job done. “He was acting sluggish when I first found him.”

“Sluggish?” Bill eyed the dog warily. “He’s certainly up and at ’em right now.” Seeing the stubborn tilt of her chin, he said, “Come on in,” making a show of checking the time on his watch. Either he billed the police department for emergency hours, or he was implying that he had better things to do.

“I’m Gina, by the way,” the lab tech offered.

“Sidney,” she replied, using Blue as a convenient excuse not to offer her hand. Bending down beside him, she hooked her left arm around his neck, securing his head against her chest. With her right thumb, she held off the vein in his forearm. It was the basic position for drawing blood, and she had a good grip on him, but as soon as Bill came close, the dog exploded.

“That’s it,” he said, backing away. “I’d like to keep my face intact, if you don’t mind.”

Sidney fought the urge to smile. Bill’s face was a matter of great importance to him.

“Let Gina try,” Lacy suggested. “The dog doesn’t seem to like men.”

Bill handed off the syringe. “It’s your funeral.”

“He won’t bite you,” Sidney said to Gina reassuringly.

“How do you know?”

“She just does,” Bill said, rolling his eyes heavenward. “She always does.”

Sidney ignored him in favor of rearranging her hold on Blue, murmuring words to comfort him. When Gina kneeled to get the sample, he was docile as a lamb.

“Good dog,” she praised, patting him on the head.

Gina gave the dog his sedative as well, a quick injection to the flank. Blue tensed at the sharp sting, but took the pain with neither a whimper nor complaint. In moments, he was weaving on his feet. Soon, he laid his head down and slept.

“That went well,” Gina said, smiling at her.

When Sidney smiled back, Lacy stepped between them.

“Thanks for the help,” she said, indicating her presence was no longer necessary.

Feeling rebuffed, Sidney glanced at Lieutenant Cruz. Again, he was watching her. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to follow you. To check out…your place.”

“Okay,” she mumbled, unable to think of a reason to refuse.

“Doing investigative work now, Sidney?” Bill asked, looking back and forth between them. “What an accommodating little citizen you’ve become.”

Sidney felt the blood drain from her face.

Lieutenant Cruz noted the exchange with interest. “If not for her, I doubt we’d have been able to get near that dog,” he defended.

Bill didn’t care for the mild reprimand, or the reminder that he’d been intimidated by Blue. “I’ll call you later,” he said to Sidney, as if they were still involved. She would have laughed at his ridiculous posturing if the situation weren’t so tense.

“Ladies,” Lieutenant Cruz said, leaving Detective Lacy and Gina to their work. He didn’t bother to say goodbye to Bill, but neither did Sidney.

“You dated that guy?” he asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Is that pertinent to the case, Lieutenant?”

“Marc. And probably not.”

Annoyed with all men in general, she turned to glare at him. Then she sucked in a breath, because he was standing very close.

His eyes trailed down her body. “Did he hurt you?”

She pressed her back against the side of her truck, anxious to put space between them. “No. I was like this before.”

He must have accepted her answer, because he stepped back. “Meet you over there,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

Pacific Pet Hotel was a small white stucco building on Oceanside Boulevard, in an industrial area populated with offices, warehouses and construction supply companies. It was a convenient location for dropping the pooch off on the way to work, or while heading out of town.

Marc let Sidney attend her duties while he cased the perimeter of the building. Other than a few glass shards, and the stainless steel bowls she’d used to offer the dog food, he didn’t find anything noteworthy.

Standing on the blacktop parking lot with the hot sun beating down on his head, staring out at the desolate landscape, he began to sweat. He’d already discarded his jacket and loosened his tie. Beads of perspiration dried on the back of his neck before they could trickle.

Studying the area, he analyzed her description of the dog’s physical condition. His paws were wet, she’d said. The San Luis Rey River was at least a mile to the north, through a thicket of weeds, sagebrush and eucalyptus trees.

Wet paws after that journey? Not bloody likely.

Another detail of her account bothered him. He knew damned well she hadn’t heard the dog’s name on the news. He’d watched the only televised segment himself, with his usual disdain for Crystal Dunn’s salacious reporting style. Crystal would sell her soul for a story, and she wasn’t above making one up, so it wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d let the dog’s name slip. But she hadn’t. He was sure of it.

Whistling a vague tune, he wandered out back to see what the strangely sexy Miss Morrow was up to.

She was hosing down outdoor kennels. Dogs of various breeds and sizes were barking happily, pacing in runs, leaping up and down, or putting their faces in full bowls of food or water. Her short black hair clung to her forehead, and a damp spot was visible between her shoulder blades. This was not a woman afraid of hard work, he thought with reluctant admiration.

Definitely not his type.

Neither did she seem a likely murder suspect. As she worked, she chatted with the dogs around her, taking the time to give each one a piece of her undivided attention. She was unusual, no doubt about that, but she was also kind.

The kennel area was small, well-maintained and clean. The dogs didn’t appear to be wasting away or suffering unduly, not that he was any expert in the care of animals. When she turned to wheel a loaded cart of empty dishes back inside, she startled, noticed him standing there for the first time.

The precariously loaded tray wobbled, and several stainless steel bowls came crashing down. As he bent to help her pick them up, his fingertips grazed across hers when they reached for the same bowl.

She froze. Having taken off her gloves, for reasons unknown, the contact with her bare skin seemed to jolt her.

To be honest, he wasn’t immune to it, either. The quick flash of heat, and matching spark in her eyes, made sensual awareness sizzle down his spine. Never had he experienced such a strong reaction to a fleeting, purely innocent touch.

Maybe that was why she wore latex—the slightest brush against her flesh had the power to bring a man to his knees. He’d figured her for an extreme germaphobe, an obsessive-compulsive, or just a kooky, off-center chick.

“Sorry,” he said, because she seemed affronted. She thought he’d done it on purpose, he realized. Straightening, he set the bowl atop the cart.

Without a word, she pushed the cart into the back door of the facility and dumped the dishes into an industrial-size sink. Grabbing a pair of yellow rubber gloves from a drawer, she shoved her trembling hands into them and hit the faucet handle.

“Do you know Candace Hegel?”

“No,” she said, adding a stingy amount of dish soap to the rising water.

“What about the dog? Did he come here for boarding?”

“No.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I know my clients.”

“You remember every dog who’s ever come in here?”

“I’d remember that one,” she said, shutting off the faucet.

He conceded her point. “The news report didn’t give his name.”

She began scrubbing furiously, drawing his attention to the way her breasts moved beneath the soft cotton T-shirt. “That dog is a blue roan. It’s an obvious choice.”

With some effort, he lifted his eyes to her face. “What’s a blue roan?”

“The color of his coat. It’s like calling a black dog ‘Blackie.’ An easy guess.”

Marc was annoyed with himself for asking an important question while he was distracted. He couldn’t tell if she was lying. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?” he asked, crowding her a little. Sure enough, that got her attention.

“Back off,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

He didn’t move. “I’d be a fool not to consider your behavior suspicious.”

She was breathing heavily, from the exertion of her duties, which she performed with brisk efficiency, and the implied threat in his words. But what he saw in her smoky-gray eyes wasn’t just guilt or fear. It was desire.

As her chest rose again, his gaze dropped to her breasts, and the hard points of her nipples, jutting against the soft cloth.

In that moment, he felt very masculine and very powerful.

“Oh, get over yourself, Lieutenant,” she said, disgusted, shoving away from the sink. “Just because I look like—” she gestured to herself “—this, and you look like—” she waved her hand at him “—that, you think I’m going to fall all over you?”

He opened his mouth to protest then closed it.

“Go dominate one of your dumb blondes,” she added, leaving him standing there.

Marc couldn’t decide what astounded him more: her low assessment of her own attributes, or her scathingly accurate critique of his.

Following her, he started to ask how she knew him before he realized it was an admission. Shaking his head, he tried to get back on track. “Why do you wear those gloves?”

“Because I work with animals,” she said. “It’s very unsanitary not to.” Proving it, she removed a litter box from a roomy cat cage.

“You weren’t wearing them outside.”

“I don’t wear them when I hose down kennels. Water is clean enough.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Dr. Vincent,” he said softly.

“Go ahead,” she said, the panic in her expression belying her bravado. “I’m eccentric. It’s not a crime.”

“We’ll see,” he promised, pleased to have regained the upper hand.

After parking in the covered garage all the units on the block shared, Sidney trudged down the sidewalk to her house, feeling defeated, confused and exhilarated.

Her life must have been getting particularly monotonous lately for her to enjoy any part of being a witness and suspect in a kidnapping-murder case.

Guilt was a major factor in her unease. If she’d been completely honest, she might have been able to help the investigation. To do so would have made Marc Cruz even more suspicious. He had disbeliever written all over him.

Throwing herself down on her green futon couch, she considered the handsome detective. When he’d touched her, she hadn’t been swept away by a tidal wave of psychic impressions; she’d been completely distracted by physical sensation. His hand on her bare skin was like a match striking flame.

Then she’d noticed him studying her clinically, assessing her reaction, and she was taken back into her own memory, to a time when boys at school had poked and prodded at her just to watch her squirm.

Reaching into her back pocket, she found his card. It was a simple, cream-colored rectangle with black lettering, offering only his name, rank, department and phone number. Tracing her fingertips over the surface, she couldn’t get more of a read on him than she had before, a vague feeling that she wasn’t his type. The insulting remark she’d made about him preferring biddable blondes was an educated guess.

And a direct hit, judging by his expression.

She never knew when a psychic flash would hit her. Every time she reached out to touch someone, or something, she did so with trepidation. Usually the insights revealed to her were as mundane as a mental grocery list, and often she saw nothing at all, but every once in a while she was assaulted by ugly thoughts, dark musings people hid from others and words better left unsaid. The experience was discomforting, to say the least.

It was kind of like shaking hands with a clown and getting zapped by one of those gag buzzers. The anticipation of the shock left her on pins and needles.

Sidney tossed the card on the coffee table, rested her cheek on a throw pillow and wondered what to do with the rest of the afternoon. She kept the kennel closed on Sunday, and although she went in twice to feed and clean, it was her lightest day. Sometimes the free hours loomed rather than beckoned.

Marley jumped on her back and began a vigorous kneading, cheering her. At the same time, she became aware of a strange sound emanating from the kitchen.

“What’s that?” she asked, lifting her head.

Marley kept digging her soft paws into her back.

Sidney clambered off the couch, sending the cat sprawling. It was the answering machine. She pushed the blinking button with relish.

“Sid? Are you there? The kids are driving me crazy about going to the beach. Call my cell when you get this. Bye.”

Her sister hardly ever brought her daughters over to visit. It was one of the great sorrows of Sidney’s life. Picking up the phone, she dialed Samantha’s number from memory.

“Hello?” her sister answered in a low-pitched voice.

“It’s me.”

“Sidney?” The sultry tone disappeared. “Are you home?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God. We’re parking right now. The girls are wild today.”

Sidney couldn’t hear any background noise to corroborate that statement. Taylor and Dakota were the most sedate children imaginable.

With no further explanation, Samantha hung up.

Sidney raced upstairs to change, giddy at the prospect of spending time with her nieces, the last of her close relatives who didn’t cringe away from her touch. On impulse, she rummaged through her bedroom closet until she found the bikini her sister had given her as a birthday gift last summer.

Tearing off the tags, she shimmied into it, checking her reflection in the mirror to make sure the fabric covered all of the required parts. The bikini showed a lot more skin than the serviceable black Speedo she usually wore, in a way that was far more flattering.

It was a perfect fit, actually. Stylish and sexy, like the clothes Samantha favored. So why had Sidney never worn it before?

When the doorbell rang, she ran downstairs to greet the girls with open arms. They hugged her dutifully, with a lack of enthusiasm that was more a product of their raising than a reflection of their true feelings for her. She hoped.

“Hey, sis,” Samantha said, gracing her with an air kiss and a wooden smile.

Sidney tried to ignore the painful twist in the middle of her chest. Her sister’s rejections weren’t personal, but they hurt all the same.

The girls fawned over Marley for a few moments before returning to their mother. “Can we go to the beach now, Mommy?” Dakota asked, tugging on the edge of Samantha’s gauzy skirt. “Please?”

“You see how they are?” Samantha said, taking off her designer sunglasses. Beneath the lenses, her vivid blue eyes were bloodshot.

“Sometimes I can hardly catch my breath.”

At seven and eight, the girls required a lot of attention, no matter how quiet and well-behaved they were. Samantha relied heavily on the help of a live-in nanny, as her husband, Greg, was almost never home.

She was still recovering from the ordeal of having two babies in rapid succession.

Sidney winked at Taylor, who giggled. “Why don’t you girls grab a drink from the fridge before we go? I have lemonade.”

Dakota blinked up at Samantha. “Can we, Mommy?”

When she waved them away, they both squealed, more excited by the prospect of refined sugar than an outing with their Aunt Sidney.

“I’m off to the loo,” Samantha said, sashaying toward the bathroom, a sleek leather clutch clasped in her expertly manicured, expensively jeweled hand. Sidney didn’t need any special abilities to predict her sister was going in there to pop another pill.

On the beach, Sidney made sandcastles and frolicked in the waves with her nieces for an hour before joining her sister to sunbathe on the sand.

“You’re good with them,” Samantha said with a drowsy smile.

Sidney warmed at the unexpected praise. “They’re angels. You’re incredibly lucky.”

“Where did you get that suit?”

She glanced down at the blue and white bikini. Under the relentless sun, her tan lines were embarrassingly apparent. “You gave it to me.”

“I have excellent taste,” she murmured.

“Yes,” Sidney agreed. Samantha looked marvelous in a tiny black two-piece, her subtle, sculpted curves displayed to perfection.

“I forget you have a great body,” she said. “You’re always covered up.”

Sidney was surprised by her sister’s faintly envious tone. She often felt like a lurching shadow next to Samantha, who was petite and feminine. Fashionably thin, achingly beautiful and gorgeously blond, men stared at her sister wherever she went. And she stared right back.

“So what have you been up to?” Samantha asked, rolling over onto her flat stomach.

She hesitated. “I met someone today.”

Samantha looked over the rims of her sunglasses. “Oh really?”

Pushing aside her misgivings, Sidney told her sister about this morning’s strange events. True to character, Samantha was more interested in the man than the fact that her little sister’s life had been turned upside down. She’d always been boy-crazy.

“A cop, huh? Is he hot?”

“Yes,” Sidney admitted.

“Mmm. What does he look like?”

“Dark. Hard. Well-built.”

“Hard? How delicious.”

“Not like that,” she said, her cheeks heating. “Tough, kind of. You know.”

Samantha smiled wickedly. “Was he in uniform?”

“A suit.”

“Did he have a gun?”

“Probably.”

“And cuffs?”

“I didn’t frisk him, Sam.”

“Oh, well. Did he frisk you?”

“No,” she said, smiling back at her.

“Ah, but you wanted him to. Right?”

When she shrugged, Samantha ran with it. “I always wanted to do a cop,” she mused. “Something about being overpowered. Or maybe it’s just the handcuff thing.”

Sidney didn’t doubt that Lieutenant Cruz would be willing to oblige her sister on that front. Samantha’s bored, sophisticate attitude and golden girl good looks were probably right up his alley. She wasn’t a bimbo, but she played the part well. And she played men, her favorite game, like a pro.

“He considers me a suspect,” she reminded her sister, and herself.

Samantha was silent for a moment. “Greg and I are getting divorced.”

Sidney laid her head back on the towel, annoyed with Samantha for changing the subject and always putting her own problems first. She and Greg had been getting divorced for years. Sidney hoped they would stop torturing the kids and get on with it.

“It’s for real this time, Sid. I think he’s cheating again.”

Sidney shifted uncomfortably, wishing she could make herself scarce.

Samantha straightened. “You already knew? How could you? I haven’t even touched you today.” She looked down the beach, where her daughters were playing in the sand. “Son of a bitch,” she said between clenched teeth, her blue eyes hard as ice. “He brings that slut around my kids? What does he do, bribe them not to tell?”

“I don’t think they understand. So he doesn’t have to.”

“Son of a bitch,” she repeated. “If I wasn’t sleeping with his business partner, I’d take his ass to the cleaners.”