Kate Collins - Sleeping with Anemone

“Just say the word.”

“Let’s not bother Marco with the details of our evening, okay? I can tell him Nikki provided the information, but he doesn’t need to know we left here to get it.”

“Kind of a quid pro quo deal, then, right?”

“What do you mean?”

Rafe twisted the cap off a bottle and took a swig. “I mean, I’ll keep quiet, but then you owe me a favor.”

Great. Another payback. I tossed my car keys on the counter. “What’s the favor?”

“I met this awesome girl at Hooters, and I want to take her out Friday night, but I don’t have wheels, so…” He picked up my car keys and dangled them, smiling.

My stomach sank. The speed demon wanted to use my Vette? I’d walked right into that one. It was fair punishment, I supposed, for going behind Marco’s back.

I took a deep breath and blew it out. “Okay. Sure. If you-”

“Awesome.”

“Hold on. I was about to say if you promise to keep the speed below thirty-five, park far away from other cars, and not bring any food or drink inside the vehicle-or make out in it. Because if you put one dent, nick, stain, scratch, or smidge of yucky DNA matter in it-”

“Be cool, Freckles. I’ve never had a single car accident.” He sat down at the desk and logged on to the Internet. “Give me that phone number. I’ll do a reverse lookup.”

As Rafe worked at the computer, my home phone rang, reminding me that I hadn’t checked for messages. What if Marco had called while I was out? How would I explain neither of us answering? As I dashed to get it, I glanced at the red light on the machine, and was relieved to see it wasn’t blinking. Whew. He hadn’t called. He would have left a message. I’d have to be more careful in the future.

“How’s it going?” Marco asked.

“Everything’s fine here.” I nibbled my lip, hoping he wouldn’t question me about my evening. “What’s going on there?”

“I’m just finishing up my ledgers; then I’m going to head out to do some surveillance. So Rafe’s behaving himself?”

“Yes, he’s behaving.”

“I found the address,” Rafe called.

I motioned for him to be quiet.

“What’s happening?” Marco asked. “What did Rafe just yell?”

“He’s playing a game on the computer. How late do you think you’ll be?”

“Let’s see. It’s seven thirty now… I’m sure it’ll be well after midnight.”

I heard the weariness in his voice and felt guilty once again for being partly to blame. “That’s a long day for you, Marco. I wish you didn’t have to get up early to take me to work.”

“It’s for a good cause. That’s you, in case you forgot.”

I was going to have to tear up that chart. This man was all pluses. “Have I told you lately how much I appreciate you?”

“I’d rather you showed me,” came his sexy growl.

“Anytime, Salvare. Good luck with the surveillance.”

“Thanks. I’ll call you later.”

Eek. What if I was out? “Marco, use my cell phone if you need to reach me, okay?”

“Sure. Are you still having trouble with your landline?”

“Well-”

“You have to keep on the phone company, Abby.”

“Okay.”

“Love you, babe.”

“Love you, too, Marco.”

I hung up and unplugged the phone from the jack, then looked at the address Rafe had printed out. “Sixteen forty-three Gray Heron Drive, New Buffalo, Michigan. Can you pull it up on a Google map?”

In a few keystrokes, Rafe brought up a map, and I leaned over to study it. “Looks like about an hour’s drive from here.”

“I say we go check it out,” he said, starting to rise.

I pushed him back down. “Marco gave me firm instructions that I was not to let you talk me into leaving the apartment.”

“But I thought-”

I put my hand over his mouth. “Wait for it… Okay. I say we go check it out.”

“If you insist.”

This time, I drove the Corvette, but I took the precaution of wearing my black wool cap with my hair tucked up beneath it. I wasn’t about to take any chances of being spotted. With my hair color, it was like waving a red flag.

We headed north toward Lake Michigan, then took Route 20 around the bottom of the lake and crossed the Indiana state line into Michigan, following the Red Arrow Highway up to New Buffalo. Using the map Rafe had printed out, we located a development called Heron Cove, where hundreds of identical town houses were situated cheek by jowl on looping streets with a golf course at the center.

Deep into the development, I finally found Gray Heron Drive. The mailboxes were at the curbs, with brass numerals running vertically down thick wooden posts to indicate the addresses. I slowed in front of the mailbox marked 1643 and studied the two-story brick and cedar town house it belonged to.

“No lights on inside or out,” I said. “Either the owner isn’t home or is asleep.”

Rafe checked his watch. “It’s not even nine o’clock yet. I’ll go with not home.”

I parked in a visitor’s parking area down the block, and sat in the car, deciding what to do. Did I ring the bell and see if anyone answered the door? Talk to neighbors to find out the identity of the town house’s occupants? What would Marco do?

Rafe opened the door and got out.

“Where are you going?” I called.

“To see who lives at that address.”

I jumped out of the car, shut the door, and hurried after him. “We need a plan.”

“I don’t know the person who lives there,” Rafe called over his shoulder, “and she doesn’t know me, so what’s the harm in knocking on the door?”

“But the person might know me, and that might not be a good thing.”

“Then stay out of sight.”

Rafe was not a chip off Marco’s block; that was certain. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to talk to the neighbors first?”

“That’s the girly way to do it.” He started up the sidewalk to the front door of 1643, so I dashed for a nearby shrub and crouched behind it-in two inches of snow.

Rafe knocked, waited, rang the bell several times, and waited some more.

“No one’s home,” I called. “Let’s go.”

“What do you know?” he said. “It’s not locked.”

Unlocked door? No one answering? I knew what Marco would do. He’d phone the police. I peeked around the shrub and saw Rafe step inside the house.

Exactly what I would have done.

I jumped up and ran after him. “Wait, Rafe! Don’t touch anything!”

“Hello?” he called. “Anyone home? I’m coming in now.”

By the time I stepped inside, the younger Salvare was checking out the living room of the narrow, two-story home. “Look at that giant TV,” he said. “Someone has some big bucks.”

I left the door partway open in case we had to make a run for it. “Don’t touch anything with your bare fingers. You don’t want to leave prints.”

“I have a delivery,” Rafe called, standing in the kitchen doorway.

He used the edge of his jacket to flip the light switch on. I peered under his arm and saw a kitchen filled with high-end appliances-Bosch, Viking-with lots of black marble counter space and tall, cream-colored cabinets. On the island sat a glossy red dinner plate containing a half-eaten pork chop and a mound of mashed potatoes, with an open beer bottle beside it.

“Looks like someone didn’t clean his plate,” I said. I pulled up my coat sleeve and used my wrist to test the temperature of the bottle. Warm. I touched the potatoes with a knuckle. Cold.

Rafe used his jacket again to open a door and peer through the doorway. “One-car garage, no car.”

Front door was open, car was gone, and dinner was half eaten. “We’d better leave, Rafe. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”