No Such Thing as a Lost Cause (23 page)

“Donte?” I did a quick timeline of events. “That doesn’t make sense, Nick. Why would
Donte disappear after the dog fight and then show up a week after Doyle’s cooked body
is discovered in his home, cruise down my block, in his own car, in broad daylight
and attempt to kill me? And why would he leave Cal sitting in his basement anyway?
That’s just plain stupid, even for Donte…unless…”

“Unless someone was setting him up?”

“Exactly.”

“You may be on to something, there, Angel. Listen, I don’t mean to rush you off the
phone, but I’ve got to get back to work. By the way, this is inside information. So
act surprised when DiCarlo tells you.”

“How did you—”

“Hear about it? Can’t say, Darlin’ I wouldn’t want to lose all my mystery.”

Like that could happen.

I disconnected from Nick and sat staring at the phone.

“What’s going on, Sunshine?”

“Not sure yet.” I cradled the phone in my hand for a beat, thinking. Then I punched
in Mike Mahoe’s number.

“Yo, Brandy.” Ever since I fixed him up with Janine, Mike has been decidedly happier
to hear from me. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Mike, I have a favor to ask you, and please don’t feel obligated to help me just
because I arranged for you to go out with Janine.”

There was a long pause. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding less happy. “What do you need?”

“A little information.” I did not buy into the idea that Donte had set Cal on fire
and then left him in his basement. It just didn’t jive with what I knew about the
man. But it fit Torch’s M.O. perfectly. What if Cal hadn’t died at the scene? What
if his body was taken to Donte’s after the killing occurred? That would lend more
credence to the idea that Donte was being set up.

“I need to know if Calvin Doyle was killed in Donte Lewis’ house or if his body was
transported there afterwards.”

“Why? Why do you need to know this? Ah, shit. Doesn’t do any good to argue,” he said,
more to himself than to me. Fine. I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks, Mike. I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t really important.” But he’d already
hung up.”

*****

John threw me out at ten. “Some of us have jobs, Sunshine. I’ve got to be up at 4:30
for an early morning photo shoot.”

“But it’s still early. C’mon John, don’t be such a wuss.”

“Do you really think resorting to name calling is going to get you what you want?”
He cast a wary eye in my direction. “Unless, this is about you not wanting to be alone,
in which case, I’m still going to bed, but you can crash here on the couch.”

It was a tempting offer. I didn’t know when Nick would get home, and, no matter how
safe I felt at his place, the fear button in my brain was on permanent press. I didn’t
relish the idea of going back to an empty apartment. So, of course I told John, “Don’t
be ridiculous. I love my alone time.”

“Uh huh,” he said, and rolled his eyes.

John insisted I take home the leftovers, labeling the containers with
use by
dates and instructions to freeze them if I didn’t eat it within the next few days.
Knowing John, he would call to make sure they’d been properly refrigerated.

“You sure you’re going to be all right?” he asked as he walked me to the door. His
pixie face, framed in unnatural curls, was earnest, and a wave of gratitude washed
over me.

“Absolutely. And call Carla. She’ll work wonders with the hair.”

After a mini debate with myself (the advantage of which is either way I can’t lose)
about whether I’d come across as horribly intrusive and needy, or spontaneous and
fun, I called Nick from the car.

“Hey, Darlin’. “What’s up?” He sounded distracted.
Crap. Intrusive and needy.

“Oh, hi. It’s nothing. I just thought I’d stop by and uh, give you some leftovers,
but it sounds like I caught you in the middle of something. I’ll catch up with you
later at the apartment.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Nick replied, as if he believed every word of bullshit
I’d just uttered. “We’re on a short break, and then I’ve got thirty more minutes of
this session. Another client is scheduled after that. But if you can give me about
half an hour I can let you in, and you can hang out in my office while I do my last
training.”

“If you’re sure…”

“You’d be doing me a favor, Angel. I haven’t had a chance to eat yet, and I’m working
up an appetite.”

Typical of Nick, letting me save face. God, I loved this man.

*****

I got to Nick’s studio with twenty minutes to spare and pulled in behind a new, red,
Audi Spider. “Wow, somebody has the big bucks,” I sniffed. “Still, it doesn’t have
the leg room of my La Sabre.”

I sat in the car while he finished up with his client. The neighborhood wasn’t the
best, but there seemed to be an invisible “No kill zone” surrounding his place that
the
boyz in the hood
took seriously. I kept my windows rolled up, the doors locked, and my cell phone
handy, anyway.

While I waited I pulled out the leftovers container and popped the lid. John probably
hadn’t counted on me getting hungry on the way home in the car, so he hadn’t included
any utensils. Not a problem. I picked at the contents with my thumb and forefinger.

After a short while the studio door opened. Nick held it ajar and a woman exited the
building. With a distinct lack of precision, I popped some dangling fettuccini strands
into my mouth and scooted forward in my seat for a better look.

She headed toward the Audi with Nick close at her heels. Her incredibly toned body
was encased in a black unitard, giving her a sexy, feline look. Her long, dark hair
was pinned up in a bun. When she reached the car she undid the clasp. Her luxurious
tresses tumbled free like she was the star of a shampoo commercial or a porno film.
And to cap it all off she was a dead ringer for a young Angelina Jolie.

My stomach churned, and I wrestled with the urge to jump out of the car and knock
her on her perfectly formed ass—just for being that beautiful. But, for once, common
sense prevailed. I took a deep breath and gave myself a stern talking to… something
about trusting Nick and blah, blah, blah… I wasn’t really listening. I was too busy
watching him drape his arm around her shoulder.

Shit! I leaped out of the car and immediately tripped over the curb. Down I went,
Fettuccini Bolognese flying everywhere. I think a little landed on Catwoman’s unitard.

She jumped back. Nick casually undraped his arm from her shoulder and helped me to
my feet.

“Hello, Darlin’. I’ll be with you in a minute.” He turned to the woman in the unitard
and again settled his arm across her shoulder. I watched this chummy tableau with
growing agitation, when Nick—suddenly and inexplicably—grabbed her by the throat.

In the split second it took for me to process what was happening, the woman thrust
her arms upwards between Nick’s and broke his hold. Before he could recover his advantage,
she delivered a lightning fast punch that stopped just short of his larynx.

Nick reeled back and smiled. “Nice.”

My heart resumed beating as they bowed to each other and stepped away.

After Nick finished congratulating his star student, I waited patiently for an introduction.
Only I must have suddenly become invisible because nobody stepped up with a “Hi, how
are ya?” Just as well, I supposed, seeing as when I tripped I’d ended up wearing most
of the leftovers.

Nick and the woman walked around to the driver’s side of the Audi and she waited while
he opened the door for her. “You displayed excellent technique tonight, Azure. We’ll
work on increasing your reaction speed in our next session.”

Azure? Oh, Puh-leeze. I’ll bet her real name’s Nancy, but after getting in touch with
her true self through a weekend course in “How to pretend to be evolved by changing
your name to something metaphysical sounding,” she found her “inner Azure.” Maybe
I should start calling myself Magenta, or Puce.

As I was pondering this, Azure and Nick hugged and did the French kissy face thing.
(I’m beginning to hate the French. Way too much kissing.)

Nick watched her drive off. I hung back on the sidewalk and fought down the slow burn
that rose up from my belly. It was a tough job, so I didn’t notice him until he was
right there beside me.

“You’re awfully quiet, Angel. What’s up?”

“Not a thing,” I said cooly. “Sorry about your dinner. Guess I’ll see you back at
the apartment.” I cast my eyes downward to my shirt. There were red, wormy stains
where the fettuccine had landed. I brushed the remaining strands off and turned to
leave.

Nick caught me by the wrist and spun me around. "Not so fast, Darlin.’ You’re upset.
We’re going to talk about it.”

"Fine," I muttered, only it really wasn’t, because I had no idea in the world what
to tell him. I scanned my list of acceptable excuses. I’m tired…I’m hungry…I’m…

“I’m retaining water.”

Nick’s mouth twitched, but at least he had the good grace not to laugh. “I’m sorry
to hear that. So, is that it, or is there perhaps something else on your mind?”

Oh, where to begin?
“Nope. I’m good.”

He cocked his head, eyebrows arched. “Why don’t we finish this conversation inside?”
He spoke quietly, but his tone said that there was no room for argument.

I hated to admit it, but I was relieved to know he wouldn’t stop asking until I told
him the truth. Because that’s what we always did in the end. We told each other the
truth.

Taking me by the hand, he led me through the door, past the studio and into his office
in the back of the building.

The red velvet chair beckoned me and I sat in it, tucking my feet beneath me.

Nick sat on the couch opposite me and leaned slightly forward. I could smell the pheromones
wafting off his body.

“So,” he said, “What’s really going on?”

“You didn’t introduce me.” Oh, man. It sounded even stupider out loud than it did
in my head.

“That was thoughtless,” Nick admitted. “I’m sorry.”

It would have been so easy. All I had to do was open my mouth and say, “That’s all
right,” and I could have walked away with a shred of dignity intact.
But nooo.
“I got jealous, okay?” I continued in a rush of words, and once the truth train had
left the station I couldn’t shut up for love or money. “I mean she’s so beautiful,
and…well, competent. And then I come along, tripping over my own two feet, and I thought
you might be ashamed of me—and really, who could blame you? Food falling from the
sky and…and…stop laughing. That’s not even the worst of it.”

The worst of it was
why
I wanted him to introduce me. The fact is I needed clarification. As in, “Catwoman,
I want you to meet Brandy, the love of my life and my future bride.” Or even, “Unitard
Lady, this is my girlfriend, Brandy, with whom I have an exclusive relationship.”
Really, any variation of the theme would have sufficed.

“So, what is the worst of it, Darlin’?”

I dropped my head into my hands. Nick gently pulled them away and lifted my chin until
our eyes met. “Tell me.”

Well, here goes nothin’. “Are you seeing anyone else? Or planning to? Because it’s
fine if you are…no, wait, that’s a big fat lie. It’s not fine at all. But we never
said we’d be exclusive, and I just want you to know I’m not seeing anyone else, and
I’m not planning to. But if you are I’ll deal with it because I love you. But I need
to know—”

“I have no interest in seeing anyone else, Angel.”

“Really?”

“Why are you so surprised?”

I sighed. I would have to explain it to him. “Nick, you and I both know you could
have anyone you want. I’m just…ordinary. But any woman in her right mind would want
you. And most of the crazy ones, too.”

Nick stared at me with such intensity it made my knees weak. He leaned in so close
I could feel his breath on my lips. “Brandy Alexander, you are so far from ordinary,
words fail me. If I’ve made you feel less than cherished, that is my deepest regret.
I don’t know what I can offer you beyond that, Angel, but you are my heart.”

Oh. My. God.
“How long until your next client arrives?”

“About Fifteen minutes.”

I unfolded my legs and joined him on the couch.

*****

On the 1800 block of Kensington Avenue, a large, black and gold banner stretched across
the roof of a low slung, steel-gray building, home of K-9 Security Services. The same
ultra alpha dogs pictured in their on-line ad glared down at me as I maneuvered Nick’s
truck into a parking spot right out front.

The Le Sabre was temporarily out of commission. When I’d started it up in the morning,
the engine groaned as if it were about to give birth, coughed up a dying breath and
refused to turn over. Nick offered to have it towed to his mechanic and he lent me
the truck.

Janine, riding shotgun, raised a shapely, perfectly tanned leg and planted her bare
foot on the truck’s dashboard. Her toe nails glittered with frosty pink polish. She
had agreed to accompany me on a mission to glam up my wardrobe, a prospect that delighted
her no end. But I had some business to take care of first.

“How long do you think you’ll be?” She dug into her pocket book and took out a half
empty bottle of nail polish, opened it, and inspected a chip on her little toe.

“Not long. I just want to ask a few questions about that guy, Doyle. Turn the air
on if you get too hot, and try not to spill anything, okay?” Franny had gone into
labor in the back of the truck the month before. The miracle of birth aside, it was
a real mess to clean up.

I hopped out and made my way to the metal door facing the street. There was an intercom
on the wall. I pressed it, and a moment later, a thick, Philadelphia accent popped
up on the speaker. “Can I help you?”

“Hi. I was wondering if I could speak to the owner.”

“That would be Wade Stoller, only he don’t
tawk
to solicitors, hon.”