Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In An Alien X-Ray

“‘The robber knocked out Kinsella before escaping without any ill-gotten goods. While police investigate, we can speculate. According to Barr, the men had been visiting backstage with local headliners into the wee hours and surprised the miscreant when they finished their tour at Kinsella’s home. Let’s hope this is the start of a beautiful friendship, if not a performing alliance.’”

Matt lowered the pages. “This implies a whole lot of stuff.”

“I was saying, you’ll want to marry Temple ASAP, just to quash the rumors about ‘us.’”

“I want to marry her ASAP anyway.” Matt groaned. “This is worse than getting shot.”

“No, the worst thing will be telling Temple you’ve been dating Kathleen O’Connor for the past couple weeks.”

Matt felt his stomach knot up tighter than the pain had accomplished so far. “It was the only way to keep that psycho from going after Temple.”

“It’s not what you did and why you did it; it’s that you didn’t tell her. Secrets are not a healthy foundation for a marriage.”

“You’re telling me that, Mr. Professional Prevaricator? You kept her in the dark about your counterintelligence activities for more than a year.”

“And I’m not the one marrying Temple.”

Matt sat up in bed and put his head in his hands.

“And,” Kinsella said, “ you ’re not the one with a fresh head injury on top of a brain crash.”

The guy’s rueful good humor was grating on Matt. “Kathleen told Temple about our enforced ‘trysts’ while she held us all at gunpoint. The big shock is already over. And where is the gun anyway? You and I were hauled out of there plenty fast by the ambulances.”

“Back in its safe hidey-hole in the house,” Kinsella said. “I was more mobile at the time than you.”

“I still can’t figure how Kathleen got the gun away from you.”

Kinsella shook his head, and then winced. “I’m not one hundred percent, Devine. And I never was invincible. I’m not sure how she did it, either, but I’m not worrying about it. Her next moves are worth worrying about, but I think she’ll be dealing direct, now that she’s finally found me.”

“‘She’s finally found you.’ Funny, that could be the title of a romantic ballad instead of a stalking song.”

“Speaking of which,” Kinsella said, sitting up in bed. “Temple has finally found you again.”

The sound of hurrying high heels echoed in the hall. Temple appeared around the corner, a burst of color and energy.

“You can come home, Matt,” she announced joyfully. “You’re released. I’ve brought your clothes and have extra tote bags for the flowers—oh, there are more—we can hang the totes on the wheelchair that’s coming.…”

“I’m released and I need a wheelchair?” Matt sat up, his legs dangling off the high hospital bed like a child’s. “How come he’s not getting out? I had the more serious wound.”

“Hospitals kick women out a day after childbirth nowadays,” Temple said, nodding at Kinsella. “Max will be released soon too. Thanks for the quick defensive motion in my behalf, Max.” She aimed a smile Kinsella’s way before stretching up to pull Matt’s bed curtain closed.

She turned and beamed at Matt without waiting for Kinsella’s acknowledgment. Her voice went low and intimate. “And now I get to undress you and dress you and undress you again.”

Obviously, Matt realized with relief as she kissed him long and deep, the talk they needed to have about his devil’s deal with Kathleen O’Connor was not the first thing on Temple’s wish list.

Chapter 54

Cat and Mouser

Once the happy couple had wafted away in a halo of triumph and heady scent, Max sat up in bed himself. He leaned out to yank Matt’s curtain back to its mooring and morosely eyed the empty bed and flower shelf.

His hands worried at the gauze head wrappings until they were a pile on the sheets. Maybe he could shape the unshaved hair and bald spot into a weird punk Mohawk.

He plucked at the dippy hospital gown and wondered where they’d hidden his clothes, although they were likely as bloody as Devine’s. He didn’t have a personal sprite to play wardrobe mistress and caretaker, so he’d probably have to wait until the release papers came.

Max hated being hemmed in by bureaucracy.

Measured footsteps sounded in the hall. Maybe the hand and foot of hospital authority was heading his way with his walking papers.

Someone tall and authoritative rounded the doorjamb.

“Lieutenant,” he greeted C. R. Molina. “Have you come to ‘undress me and dress me and undress me again’?”

“Hell no.” She frowned at his head and face, then eyed the empty bed. “I see I’ve been spared the mawkish departing dialogue of your likely coconspirators.”

“You’ve got that right.”

“So,” she said, “we can have a private sickbed tête-à-tête. Don’t tear up at a possible sympathy visit. I came to find out what really happened and consult on our mutual projects.”

“What?” Max asked. “You didn’t see the online digital news item? Gossip-a-Go-Go has the whole scoop ready to go into print.”

“I don’t rely on Internet little nothings. I saw the police report, and my suspicions stirred instantly.”

“What tipped you off?”

“You and Matt Devine. Together at five in the morning? You taken by surprise and conked on the head like a bloody amateur? Matt taking a gunshot, possibly in your defense? Simply not believable.”

“Granted that Devine and I were rushed off untimely on stretchers, but the police officers present seemed satisfied by our account of an armed robber surprising us.”

“They don’t know the cast list like I do. Now, I can see a certain other someone on the scene. I could maybe believe the two of you mixed it up over the affections of the ubiquitous Miss Temple Barr. Yet that’s too melodramatic. Instead, I could see you both protecting our heroine. I smell the blood of a celebrated but elusive psycho on the scene.”

By then she had paced past the foot of his bed and was at the flower shelf on Max’s side, reading the accompanying cards. “Purple and red and yellow. Rather lurid. Tony Valentine, hmm. He’s the big-time agent.”

“You make that sound like an accusation,” Max objected. “He is an agent. Mine, in fact.”

“And Matt Devine’s. My, my, my.” She bent to sniff the roses. “From a woman, of course. The intriguing Revienne Schneider you don’t trust? ‘Forever.’ And to think she just met you weeks ago. You certainly are the versatile Romeo.”

Max shrugged helplessly.

“And you succeed better with … foreign females.”

The name of Kathleen O’Connor seemed to be on the tip of her tongue, which her speculative expression had just exposed. Max had to admit he found her interrogation techniques stimulating, especially when unconscious.

Would she or wouldn’t she bring Kathleen openly into the matter?

She put the “Forever” card down on the shelf and circled his bed again. “The crime scene techs reported an odd … element in your house.”

Max raised his eyebrows.

“A number of paw prints were found in the dust atop several tables.”

“You’ve broken me, Lieutenant. I admit everything. My housekeeping skills are nil. I haven’t dusted the place since I returned from my sudden European sojourn, or even hired a service. Have mercy on me.”

She pulled the visitor’s chair from Devine’s side, sat, and folded her arms over her chest. “Additionally…”

This was interesting. Max assumed she’d now produce news that a third blood type had been spilled besides his and Matt’s. He had the common type O, but he had no idea what anyone else was.