Kate Collins - Sleeping with Anemone

Abby didmind because she was tired. But that was okay. Family matters came first, and Marco’s family had certainly had its share of problems with the youngest Salvare. Rafe had left college one semester shy of graduation, deciding he needed to find himself, but then he somehow kept forgetting to look.

His mother had put up with his laziness for a few months, then brought him with her on a visit from Ohio to see Marco and his sister Gina here in New Chapel. Ultimately, Mama Salvare left Rafe with Marco in the hopes he could straighten out his brother. Marco, being a dutiful son, had put Rafe to work at his bar doing menial labor, hoping to prove to Rafe that he needed to finish school and find a career. So far, though, Rafe seemed content to bus tables and do kitchen duty.

What he didn’t like was being questioned. “Chill out, man. I have a new job, a real job. I start tomorrow. I was going to tell you this evening, but you left before I had a chance.”

“That’s great, Rafe,” Marco said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Congratulations, man! Where?”

“Hooters.”

I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t laugh.

“Doing what?” Marco asked.

“I’m learning how to bartend,” Rafe said. “I hear the tips are awesome. I even get some benefits.”

With his looks, I was betting on it. I glanced at Marco and saw the great effort he was making not to snap something like, You can learn bartending at Down the Hatch!

“Well?” Rafe asked. “Aren’t you proud of me?”

“Yes,” Marco said slowly. “Yes, I am. You got out there and found something on your own.” Marco gave him a smile-at great effort-then rose. “Look after things here, okay? I’ll be staying at Abby’s apartment. I just stopped to pack a bag. And by the way, I wouldn’t tell Mama about your new job.”

“Not a problem. And I wouldn’t tell Mama about your new living quarters.” Rafe flicked the TV on and flopped back on the sofa. “You kids have fun.”

Marco grumbled all the way to my apartment, until I woke up enough to grumble back, “If you don’t want Rafe working at Hooters, just say so. He should know how you feel.”

“I can’t rain on his parade.”

“Is his parade made of sugar? You’re supposed to be his mentor.”

“He needs my approval right now. I have to be supportive.”

Marco called it supportive, but I called it being dishonest. If I hadn’t been so spent, I would have told him so.

When we pulled into my parking space at the apartment building, Marco scanned the area before he let me get out of the car. Then, keeping a sharp eye on our surroundings, he hustled me into the building. Once inside the two-bedroom apartment, we were greeted by our furry white beast, who came galloping up the hallway, excited to have playmates.

“Are you going to keep me company tonight, Simon?” Marco asked, crouching to scratch the cat behind his ears. Marco was the only male Simon trusted. The furball had disdained my former fiancé, Pryce, which he demonstrated by puking on Pryce’s loafers. It wasn’t the main reason Pryce broke our engagement, but it probably came in a close second.

“Simon isn’t allowed into my bedroom anymore,” I said. “He snores.”

“I thought I’d camp out on the sofa tonight,” Marco said, reeling me in for a kiss. “It’s a better defensive position if someone breaks in.”

“I’ve got some great defensive positions myself,” I murmured between kisses.

He tilted my head up. “I thought you were exhausted.”

“I am. So maybe you can sing me a lullaby before you hit the sofa?”

The corners of Marco’s mouth curved up in that sexy way of his. “I might be a little off-key.”

“No, Salvare, you always hit the right notes. Let’s get you set up out here first.”

While I pulled an extra sheet set, pillow, and blanket out of my closet and made up his bed, Marco unpacked his shaving kit and toothbrush, and set his bag at the end of the sofa.

“Do you want to put your duffel bag in my room?” I asked.

“Nope. It’s fine there.”

Well… it wasn’t fine there. It protruded into the hallway, which anyone could plainly see. But I let it go. Marco was there to protect me. If he wanted his duffel bag close by, then that was where it should be.

We tiptoed past Nikki’s door and quietly closed my bedroom door so she wouldn’t hear us… singing. We made beautiful music, after which I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

I woke up the next morning to Nikki screaming.

My first thought was that someone had broken into the apartment, overpowered Marco, and entered Nikki’s room by mistake. I threw back the covers, grabbed my hand mirror from my dresser to use as a weapon-Seriously, take a look at yourself, felon! Do you like what you see?-and flew into the hallway, nearly colliding with Nikki, who was standing in front of the closed bathroom door, trembling all over.

“Why didn’t you warn me Marco was here?” she shrieked loud enough to make my ears ring. “I thought he was an intruder!”

“I’m sorry, Nik,” I said, following her up the hallway. She had on her purple robe and furry purple slippers and was shaking her hands as though trying to fling water off them. She tripped over Marco’s duffel bag and landed on her hands and knees.

“We came in really late last night,” I said, helping her up, “and I forgot to leave a note. Besides, you’re not usually up this early.”

“Well, I am today-thank you very much for the near heart attack. I have an eye doctor’s appointment in an hour. Does that bag have to be in the middle of the hallway?”

I pushed Marco’s belongings to one side with my bare foot. “I’m really, really sorry.”

Note to self: Duffel bag is going into the hall closet. My apartment; my rules.

Still griping, Nikki stormed through the living room with me right behind. She wasn’t normally a grouch in the morning; then again, she rarely rose before ten. She worked afternoon shifts as an X-ray tech at the county hospital and usually didn’t get home until close to midnight.

The bedsheets, I noted, had been folded and stacked at one end of the sofa.

Nikki opened the front door and picked up the newspaper, then unfolded it and headed into the kitchen. She stopped with a gasp. “Tara was kidnapped? From the concert?”

She held up the newspaper, whose big bold headline screamed the news: ONE DEAD IN TEEN KIDNAPPING.

I snatched the paper from her, scanning the article for information. Included in the piece was a photo of a female with short auburn hair, with a caption underneath that identified her as Charlotte H. Bebe. If that was the blond kidnapper, Tara had been right about the wig.

Nikki grabbed the paper from me. “Would you tell me what happened?”

I really wanted to read the article, but Nikki’s exasperated expression changed my mind. “If you’ll make coffee, I’ll give you the entire story.”

“Deal.”

While Nikki measured out the grounds and filled the coffee machine with water, I gave her the rundown, slipping over to the fridge for the coffee creamer. Then, over cups of freshly brewed java, I read the newspaper article, giving Nikki the main points.

“It says the dead woman has been positively identified as Charlotte H. Bebe, thirty years old, and police are searching for her boyfriend, Dwayne Hudge, who is being called a person of interest.”

Marco came in, freshly showered and shaved. “Sorry, Nikki. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No harm done,” she said pleasantly. “Want some coffee?”