Douglas, Nelson: Midnight Louie 05-Cat in a Diamond Dazzle

She couldn't help laughing, which was better than crying. Trying to convince Max not to go where he was not wanted was always hopeless. She shrugged, picked up her keys and her sunglasses and left the apartment.

Max followed, on silent cat feet.

Her last glimpse of Midnight Louie showed that he remained sprawled like a sultan on her sofa, but his eyes were narrowed, both possessive . . . and suspicious.

Chapter 2

Still the Same Old Story...

Temple felt like she was being escorted to her execution. Here she was, wearing some jailhouse set of baggy pajamas, in custody of a guard of sorts, leaving the shady security of the Circle Ritz for the brutal sunlight of the execution yard.

All she had to do was whip off the sash of her gi and tie it over her eyes. She wished she could, because then she wouldn't see Matt Devine's pale figure waiting under the soaring palm tree.

The military beat of some lines by Kipling even ran through her head, slightly amended: " Matt is Mattand Max is Max, and neverthe twain shall meet. "

Didn't she just wish! Didn't she just wish a sudden exit to China would open up before her feet?

Didn't she just wish the Wizard of Oz would swoop down in a balloon gondola to whisk her away, only she wasn't wearing the proper shoes for leaving Oz and how could she go home to Kansas when this--

however bizarre--was it?

The dolorous convict shuffle of her slip-on jute sandals over concrete made her glance down. A fate worse than death: facing the music in tacky footwear. Mata Hari would have hung her well-hatted head in shame if she had lived to see this.

Matt had been warming up with Oriental shadow boxing on the blue vinyl practice mats under the palm tree. He straightened at Temple's approach, looking beyond her with an expression of polite puzzlement.

Damn Max, here he was playing the professional magician again, the man holding all the cards, while other people tried to guess what number and suit was on them.

"Ready?" By now Matt sounded puzzled as well as looked it.

Before she could answer, Max stepped in, literally, moving between them. "Don't mind me. I'm just a spectator."

Matt's expression still interrogated Temple.

Might as well get it over with, she thought. Ready, aim, fire.

"This is ... Max Kinsella."

Max stood there grinning, his arms folded over his chest, but not concealing nearly enough of the obscene shirt.

Temple finished her unwelcome duties. "Matt Devine is the new neighbor in eleven." Not Temple had to give Catholic seminary discipline an A-plus. Matt didn't turn a gilded hair.

"You left before I moved in," he said calmly to Max, extending a hand.

Max uncoiled enough to shake it. "You're Temple's martial arts guru, I hear." He glanced her way.

"She never had much interest in breaking her fingernails before."

"That was before," Matt answered, perfectly cordial and perfectly calm, "she was assaulted by some nasty thugs."

Temple winced, but not at the memory of the attack.

That was nothing compared to the spot she was in now: caught between two men who didn't know one another, each suspecting he had good reason to distrust/resent/hate (take your pick) the guts of the other.

"Listen," Temple said, trying to be the good hostess and keep he guests from dismembering one another. "That was a happy accident. Every liberated female should learn how to defend herself.

Woman doth not live by Mace alone."

Max flashed her a knowing glance, but was not deterred.

"So you're a martial arts instructor?" he asked Matt

I'm a martial arts student," Matt corrected with his usual modesty.

Max did the Mr. Spock thing with his left eyebrow, and Temple ached to try her latest knee jab on him.

From the corner of her eye, she saw that Midnight Louie had bestirred himself and found his own mysterious way down. He sat in the shade of the palm tree, where he disciplined one apparently dirty paw. Things must be at a sad pass when even Midnight Louie was worried enough to play chaperone.

The silence prolonged past the comfort barrier as the two men regarded each other. Ooh, Temple hated being in the middle of unspoken man stuff! Why couldn't they just behave in a civil, amenable manner, instead of getting stiff and suspicious, with all the usual ugly undertones of possession and trespassing?

The tension in the air was still as electric as Max's shirt. Each man had taken upon himself the role of protecting Temple against the other. Didn't they get it? She didn't need protection against anything but the two of them !

"So when did Temple get mugged?" Max asked Matt.

Was she not supposed to be here, or something? Temple wondered. "A few weeks ago," she answered.

"It wasn't just a mugging." Anger tightened Matt's voice into a vocal cudgel. "It was a beating, a bad one. The creeps were looking for you."

Max forgot the other man and turned toward Temple with an expression Temple had never seen on Max's face: horrified.

"Temple? Are you all right?" From the urgency of his tone, her attack might have occurred just yesterday. She nodded quickly, but his questions continued. "Who were they? When--?"

"We kind of thought," Matt put in, "you might know who they were, since they sure knew who you were."

Max ignored him, thank God. He stepped closer to Temple, suddenly casting her in his shade. His hand lifted her face, as if searching for visible wounds.

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding it. "I didn't expect that. That's why I left, to--"

The intimacy level was like old times, just her and Max, and no one else in the whole, wide, wacky world. Matt wouldn't understand the power of such a pull. He must be thinking. . . .

"Yoohoo!" Electra Lark's fruity tones came caroling toward them from the Circle Ritz. "Max Kinsella, is that you in the King-Kong-in-Honolulu disguise? Come on, let me look at you, you devilish stranger, you."

Electra did what Temple could not do, what only a woman over sixty could do. She ran up and enveloped Max in a muumuu hug that competed with his shirt, then broke away to give him a piercing inspection.

Temple let the breath she had been holding ease out slowly, so no one would notice.

Matt, however, had. She watched his fists unclench.

Electra had rushed outside so fast she was panting. She was also patting at her pixie-length hair, dyed today a wholesome persimmon color.

"I'd know you anywhere, you rascal," she told Max. "What a fab surprise. I'm sure you want to inspect the Hesketh Vampire, to make sure that I'm not abusing it. Say, that is one slick motorcycle.

Come on back to the shed, and I'll show you how I've got it bedded down."

Max laughed at her excitement, but eyed Temple over Electra's spikey waves of magenta hair.

"We haven't had much chance--"

"Go ahead," Temple said. "We'll talk later. I want to run up and change anyway."

"No lesson today?" Max asked sardonically.

"Not in martial arts," she answered flatly enough that it stung.

"Max!" Electra urged. "Shake a leg. It's been so long and I know you have a million questions."

He allowed himself to be led off, recognizing Electra's unspoken promise to fill him in on what had happened since he left. Now was Temple's chance to bring Matt up to date. Divide and conquer.

She turned to him.

"Let's go in."

Matt was no readier than Max to move. His head had followed Electra's fading chatter as she and Max vanished around the cedar fence. Now he turned back to Temple.

"Aren't you afraid he might disappear again?"

She shrugged. "No such luck for any of us, I fear. Okay. It's my turn to say, 'Shake a leg,' before both of mine collapse."

He fell into step with her as they edged into the unfiltered sunlight by the pool.