Sure, Fox said. Something about her knickers.
Thats a crock.
It is. He wanted to ply her for information about what Charlie Eagans boys have been up to. We know that. But well never get her to say so.
Raphael flicked on the kitchen light. He opened Kates refrigerator, then stared.
You still there? came Foxs voice.
Shes got her leftovers labeled.
He saw a plastic container that said Beef. Raphael grabbed it and pried the lid off. Red and rare. He found bread, then horseradish sauce in a small glass jar that said Horseradish Sauce. He made himself a sandwich. As an afterthought, he grabbed a carton of milk from the refrigerator, as well. He opened a cupboard door. Where the hell were her glasses? He found metal utensils that looked like they could have been used in the Inquisition, but nothing resembling an object that one might drink out of. Disgusted with Kates orderliness, he swigged from the carton.
Did Allegra mention a dog? he asked, swallowing.
A what?
A dog.
No, Fox said slowly, I cant say that she did. Why?
There was one there tonight. Seems it wandered in through the back door while the lady was cooking. It stole a steak off one of her plates and beat it.
A dog, Fox repeated.
Right.
Youre thinking that it was some kind of a setup to divert the caterers attention?
Well, its weird, what with the timing and all.
Weve come across some far-fetched things over the years, but I think thats reaching.
Fox was probably right. Damn, this is good. Raphael swallowed another bite of the sandwich and marveled. Then his voice darkened. Lets wrap this thing up, pal. I dont know how many days of Betty Crocker I can stand.
Ill make the rounds of Eagans men in the morning.
Ill take McGaffneys boys and see what I can find out there.
Not to bring up a sore subject, but what about the caterer?
Raphael licked the last crumb of sandwich from his finger. Shes coming with me.
Sounds like a plan.
Damned right it is.
Suddenly, the last of the caffeine rush from her coffee left him and Raphael was bone-tired. Ill check in with you at midday, he said and disconnected.
He hit the light switch in the kitchen and flopped down on the sofa again. He stuck the whisper-thin pillow beneath his backside to provide some minimal padding against the torture spring. He covered his eyes with his forearm to shut out the pulsing yellow light, then, instantly, he slept.
The next thing he heard was her screeching.
Kate had not ever known that a man could snore in such a fashion. Oh, shed heard it spoken of, joked about. But the constant, deep sound that came from her living room all night was beyond the realm of her wildest
imagination.
Sometime just before dawn she got up to stuff an extra blanket against the crack beneath her bedroom door to buffer the sound. It helped a little, but she was still agonizingly aware that he was out there. He was invading her life, her world, her plans. Pervading everything that was precious to her, making her stay home from work. Or at least he was trying to. It remained to be seen who would be the victor in that little battle.
Damn you, Phillip McGaffney, she muttered just as the alarm went off.
Kate rolled over and slapped her palm down on top of it. Then she was instantly contrite. Phillip McGaffney was dead. What kind of problems did she have compared to that?
Then a particularly resonant rumbling came from under the blanket beneath her door. At least McGaffney had not been forced to spend the night with Raphael Montiel chainsawing away on his living room sofa, Kate thought sourly. It was just possible the man had gotten the better end of the deal.
At least Montiel had left her alone. He hadnt
Hadnt what? A thin laugh escaped Kates throat. He hadnt been suddenly overwhelmed with lust for the single woman just beyond the locked and blanket-bulkheaded door? Not likely, Kate thought. Hed spent most of their interview the night before watching her with those green eyes squinting ever so slightly. Like she was a bug or a microbe on a slide, something he couldnt quite identify. He had not once glanced at her with anything resembling a gleam in those eyes.
It doesnt matter, she muttered, getting to her feet, swaying slightly from fatigue.
Kate knew her assets, and she also knew that a man like Montiel would never appreciate any of them. Shed tangled with his type beforea man with that same lazy, confident sense of powerand she had been left almost literally at the altar by him in favor of a flighty, vapid, though admittedly physically perfect exotic dancer. She swiped a hand over her head to smooth her wild curls. Then she went grimly to the closed bedroom door.
The problem was that she knew relatively little about men, she realized. Shed been engaged for those six short months and had come out of that experience even more perplexed by the species than she had been before. She did know, however, that men didnt have to be particularly swept away by attraction towell, towant it. And morningswell, men often felt particularly amorous in the morning, and it was not so much desire that got them that way but testosterone.