Catnapped! (A Matchmaker Mystery Book 3) (3 page)

She was intrigued, but didn’t want him to know that, so she turned back to the bag, delivering a quick sidekick with a satisfying smack.

“Hey. It’s me,” Pete said into the phone. “Remember the hot, icy blonde from Tommy’s wedding?”

Alyssa shot him a dirty look. She hated when people mistook her self-control for emotional distance.

Pete stared back, unscathed by her look. “She’s working for Brady, right?” A beat, and then, “Any idea what she’s doing?”

The corner of his mouth lifted as he listened to the person on the other end of the call.

Alyssa returned her focus to the bag. Jab. Jab. Hook.

“That explains her mood,” Pete said. “Thanks, buddy.”

She knew he’d ended the call, but she refused to look in his direction. Right cross. Duck. Left hook. Weave.

“So you’re protecting the wife of one of the partners of the firm Brady just left?” Pete asked mildly.

Knowing she’d lost this round, Alyssa sighed and turned to face him. “Something Mrs. M. harps on. Every. Single. Day.”

“It’s not your fault he quit.”

“You misunderstood. She’s thrilled he quit. Insists that chasing after Amy is the best thing he’s ever done.”

“Have you met her? Amy?”

Alyssa nodded, remembering the other woman’s scream as someone had tried to kill her in Mrs. M.’s garage.

“Like her?”

Alyssa shrugged. “Only met her once.”

“Jackson really liked her,” Pete offered. “Said he’d never seen Brady like that before.”

“And who’s Jackson?”

“One of our friends and family. He was at the wedding. You’d remember him if you saw him. So what do you say, dinner?”

She had to admire the guy’s persistence. Somehow he managed to keep asking without coming across as creepy. “You think the third time asking will be the charm?”

“If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”

Her cellphone vibrated in her pocket. It was her turn to hold up one finger to him as she answered it. “Hello?”

“He’s gone,” a panicked male voice blurted out.

“Roscoe?”

“The cat’s gone.”

Frustrated, she shot a back kick at the heavy bag. “Mr. Burberry? Does she know yet?”

“Not yet. She’s on the phone with some charity, telling them what to do.”

“That damn thing is going to be the death of me,” she complained.

“I swear,” Roscoe told her. “I haven’t opened a single door or window.”

Alyssa frowned. She’d said the same thing the first time Mr. Burberry had disappeared, the night Amy Winn had almost been killed in the garage.  “I believe you. Do me a favor and go sit with her, in the actual room she’s in until I get there.”

“What should I tell her?’

“With any luck, she won’t shut up long enough for you to tell her anything. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

“Something wrong?” Pete asked as she disconnected the call.

“Just a missing cat.” Alyssa rushed past him toward the locker room.

He fell into step beside her. “Sounds serious.”

She knew he was making fun of her reaction. “You don’t understand how nuts this woman is about her cat. Most parents worry less about their kids. I’ve got to go.” She burst into the locker room, leaving him standing outside.

She changed back into what she considered to be her uniform, gathered her stuff, and rushed out the door.

He was still standing there. “Want some help?”

“Finding a cat?”

He shrugged. “If that’s what you need.”

She shook her head and headed for the exit.

He followed closely behind. “It’s part of the whole friends-and-family thing. We help each other out.”

“Like I told you,” she told him gruffly, remembering how others had let her down, “we’re not friends.” She pushed through the door, out into the parking lot.

He stayed with her. “Is it chipped?”

She pinpointed her car’s location and made a beeline toward it. “Is what chipped?”

“The cat. If it’s microchipped and someone finds it, they could take it to a vet and get it scanned and voila, through the wonders of technology, you’d know where it was.”

“Really?” She opened her trunk and threw the bag in.

“Really. Here, take this.” He held out a scrap of paper. “It’s got my cell number. If you decide you could use my help… or dinner, give me a call.”

She reached for the paper.

He caught her hand and raised it, examining her knuckles, slightly bruised and swollen from their match with the boxing bag.

She had the crazy thought he was going to kiss the back of her hand and her insides did a little swirly dance.

Instead, he looked her in the eye. “You’re an unusual woman, Alyssa Kiersten Montgomery. Call me.”

With that, he released her and walked back toward the gym.

“How do you know my middle name?” she called after him.

He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m good at my job.”

She frowned, wanting more information, but needing to get back to Mrs. Michelman. Her sense of responsibility won out over her worries about what he knew of her. She got in the car, gunned the motor, and took off to search for a cat and protect an old woman.

Pete watched Alyssa peel out of the parking lot, leaving a cloud of exhaust in her wake, with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

He now had no doubt that, despite her refusal to have dinner with him, she felt the same attraction between them. What he’d experienced at the wedding, holding her in his arms, hadn’t been a result of too many drinks and the party atmosphere. He truly was hopelessly attracted to her, and she felt something in return. Something other than the icy revulsion she’d shown when he’d tried to compliment her about her blush.

That knowledge should have made him ecstatic. Instead, his gut churned. He’d overplayed his hand, letting on that he knew her middle name.

A woman as smart she was would know he’d researched her online. A woman as guarded as she was wouldn’t appreciate the invasion of her privacy.

He frowned. He hadn’t looked any deeper into her history than the average Joe could with a basic search engine inquiry. He’d just wanted to know more about her.

Now that he’d gotten to spend a little more time with her, he wanted to know everything about her.

But she wouldn’t want that, so he decided to figure out how to help her instead. He’d find the cat.

Mauricio was waiting for him when he re-entered the gym.

His old friend studied him for a long moment before saying, “I have the distinct impression, I should be shouting, ‘Iceberg ahead’ at you.”

Although he kept his tone light, Pete saw the concern on his friend’s face. “She’s not that bad.”

Mauricio shook his head. “Not that bad?”

“Stay out of it,” Juana interrupted, marching between them.

“I thought you’d left,” her son griped.

“He,” Juana said, pointing at Pete, “is not you. He’ll make his own mistakes, not yours.”

“A ha!” Mauricio cried, like a detective in a third-rate movie. “So you agree that it’s a mistake.”

Pete was about to tell them both to mind their own business when Juana shook her head.

“Did you see the way she looked at him?” Juana asked.

Mauricio shook his head.

“How did she look at me?” Hope and curiosity warred in his voice.

Juana smiled kindly at him. “The same way you looked at her.”

Some of the trepidation coiled in his gut loosened. “I have to find a cat,” he announced, like it was the most important thing in the world.

Mother and son stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

“Does anyone know how to catch a cat?” he shouted, so that everyone in the gym could hear.

Most people ignored him. A few shook their heads.

“I might know someone who does,” a female voice said from behind him.

He whirled around to find Armani Vasquez, the matchmaker who’d set up Tom and Jane, and by doing so, inadvertently brought Alyssa into his life, watching him. “Armani!”

She blinked surprised. “Have we met?”

“At the wedding. I’m Pete.”

Her gaze flicked from him to Mauricio. “Sexy there, I remember,” she said, jutting her chin in Mauricio’s direction. “You? Not so much. But don’t take it personally. I had so many people there trying to get in on my whole matchmaking biz, that if you weren’t bothering me, I wouldn’t remember you.”

“I didn’t
bother
you,” Mauricio interjected, incensed by the suggestion.

“No, sexy. You didn’t.” She grinned at him naughtily.

Pete watched with fascination as a muscle jumped in Mauricio’s clenched jaw. Other people found Armani oddly charming, but it was clear Mauricio wasn’t one of them.

“You’re a matchmaker?” Juana inquired, not bothering to hide her curiosity.

“A psychic matchmaker.” Armani tossed back her hair proudly. “And I have the successful track record to prove it.”

Juana’s disbelief was evident.

For a long moment, the two women stared at one another, each sizing the other up.

Finally, Mauricio cleared his throat. “You said you know someone who can catch this cat Pete’s after?”

Armani nodded enthusiastically. “That’s why I’m here. To deliver her name.”

Pete got a sick feeling in his stomach. “Please don’t tell me you’re trying to set me up with her.”

“Oh no,” Armani assured him. “She’s another one of my success stories. She married my boss.” She rolled her eyes skyward and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess you could say it was my friend Maggie who put it together, but I gave her all the clues. Teamwork. It was definitely a joint effort.”

“You work for
another
psychic matchmaker?” Mauricio asked, disbelief making his voice crack like a teenage boy’s.

“You’re a pretty one, but not too much going on up here”.” Armani tapped her forehead. “I work for an insurance company.”

“Did you just call my son stupid?” Juana fumed. “You, you…”

Armani’s eyes narrowed, preparing to be insulted.

“Can I
please
have the name of the person who can help me find the damn cat?” Pete yelled, sensing his chance to get in Alyssa’s good graces slipping away with every inane comment made in the conversation.

Juana and Armani glared at one another for a moment longer. While they did, Mauricio turned and began walking away.

“Where are you going, mijo?” Juana called after him.

“Someplace sane,” he muttered, not breaking his stride.

“He needs a woman in his life,” Armani told Juana.

“I know.” Juana frowned after her disappearing son. “I try… but…”

“Can you help Mauricio with his love life
after
you’ve helped me with mine?” Pete practically begged.

“No problem,” Armani said. “It’ll be easy as pie.”

Even when she said the words, Pete knew they weren’t true, but he knew he had to try.

Alyssa did her best to strangle her car’s steering wheel as she drove to the Michelman house.

She didn’t like that Pete had been doing research on her.  There were doors to her past she wanted kept firmly locked. He shouldn’t be snooping. If he found out how she’d ended up here, Jane might not want anything to do with her. And really, Jane was her only friend. She had no family.

The newly familiar sense of loneliness filled her, but she gave herself a mental slap. There was no point in feeling sorry for herself.

Friends and family. Who needed them?

She forced her mind to focus on the current problem. Where was Mr. Burberry? And, more importantly, just how much danger was Mrs. M. in?

She parked in front of the mansion and bounded up the stairs. The door swung open before she reached the top.

“I thought I asked you to sit with her?” Worry made her voice sharper than she’d intended.

Roscoe Underwood shrugged meekly. A move that made him look more like a shy ten-year-old boy than a guy who could be a body double for a professional wrestler. “I heard you pull in.”

“Does she know yet?” Alyssa whispered.

He shook his head.

“Did you search the house again?”

He shook his head. “How? You told me to sit with her.”

“Oh yeah.”

Roscoe squinted at her. “Are you okay? You looked flushed.”

She knew he was asking, not because of her physical appearance, but because it was so out of character for her to ask a question she should have known the answer to. “You caught me mid-workout.”

He nodded, but she got the impression he didn’t quite believe her.

“I’ll take a quick look for him,” she continued, hoping to divert his attention. “Then I’ll tell her.”

The relief on the big man’s face was so intense she had to swallow a laugh. While Mrs. M. was a tiny, frail, old woman, her personality
was
intimidating.

Deciding to work her way from the top down, Alyssa ran up the middle staircase and began searching the bedrooms. The antique-filled guest bedroom didn’t offer a cat too many hiding places, so it was quickly obvious he wasn’t there.

He also wasn’t hiding in the lace- and doily-covered master suite that reeked of lavender, Mildred’s signature scent. He wasn’t under the bed or hiding in the tub or hanging out in the gigantic closet.  Before she left the room, Alyssa’s gaze was drawn to the old framed photograph of a handsome young man on the night table.

Not for the first time, she wondered how Mr. Michelman felt having Mildred’s first husband watching over them. After all, she’d made a point of showing Alyssa the picture the first time she’d come to the house, speaking with great fondness and admiration of her long-deceased love.

She didn’t seem to be quite as enamored with Mr. Michelman, who Alyssa had yet to meet, since he was on the around-the-world vacation with Ralph, his son from his first marriage.

She didn’t seem to have any kind feelings toward Ralph, despite having been his stepmother for close to forty years.

But the cat, Mr. Burberry, she was pretty sure Mildred loved him most of all.

She continued her search down the hallway to another bedroom, this one done in a blue-and-white beachy décor that didn’t fit a house that was surrounded, not by sand or sea, but by an impressive garden. No cat.