Fear Familiar Bundle (3 page)

Since she'd left his office, his thoughts had returned to her several times. He didn't believe in coincidences. When she walked into his office with a lab cat bearing the too recognizable mark of Arnold Evans, every one of his senses had hit red alert. But then she hadn't behaved as he'd expected. She was so open-acting and-looking. She was intelligent, well-spoken and humorous. All good qualities. And with that dark hair and ivory skin she was sexy as all get-out.

He sighed and knocked louder. If some animal liberators were trying to enlist his sympathetic assistance, they'd certainly used the best method of persuasion. He had to find out if that was what put Eleanor Duncan in his office, or if she was trying to set him up. He'd been unable to discern any trace of ulterior motive in her behavior. Maybe it was just his nerves working on him, or the magazine article on Arnold Evans. He was overly sensitive about the man, but then he had a right to be.

Maybe it's because too much time has passed and Evans is still on the loose, and you feel guilty about it
, he thought.

He knocked for the third time and looked at his watch. It was shortly after noon. He always closed his office after half a day on Saturdays. He'd hoped to spend some of the bright December afternoon in Eleanor's company.

"Who is it?"

The voice coming from behind the door was tense, wary. Peter's senses grew alert.

"Eleanor, it's Dr. Curry. I've come to return your checkbook. With your arms full of cat, you left it on the reception counter."

There was a long silence. "Just leave it in the hall," she finally said; there was a trace of anxiety in her tone.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"

He remembered the cut and bruises on her face. Maybe it wasn't the attack of a stranger. Maybe it was a boyfriend or spouse. Or worse. Maybe she really had stolen the cat from a laboratory. "Open the door, Eleanor. I'm not leaving until I know you're okay."

He heard the rattle of locks and bolts, and the door finally swung open a crack. She thrust her face at him. "I'm fine, Dr. Curry. I'm just not feeling well. Thanks for bringing the checkbook." Her hand reached for it.

A streak of black shot through the narrow space, ran between Peter's legs and hurried down the hall.

"Familiar!" Eleanor cried, now opening the door wide to chase the cat. Behind her, Peter saw the destruction of her apartment.

"What happened?" he asked.

A short distance away, Familiar stopped and sat down to clean his front paws.

Realizing that Peter had seen the worst, Eleanor left the door open while she retrieved the cat. "Let's go inside," she suggested. "I don't want the whole building to know I've been…trashed."

"Were you robbed?" Peter closed the door behind him, still surveying the damage.

"Nothing I can find missing," Eleanor said. "There's not a lot of value, as I told you earlier. My books, some research. As you can see, the television and stereo are still here. I don't think robbery was the motive."

Peter picked up the cushions from the sofa and put the undamaged ones back. "If not robbery, what?"

Standing by the kitchen door, she stuck her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "I don't have the faintest idea." She shrugged. She'd pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and a curl had escaped to touch her cheek. "Last night that man. Today, this." Her lips tightened into an angry line as she brushed her face with the back of one hand. "I haven't done anything to anyone. I don't understand."

Peter squelched the urge to ask her directly what she was involved in. It wouldn't do a bit of good. If she was part of some illegal scheme, she'd never admit it. Not knowingly. Animal liberators were dedicated to the bone.

"I'm not much of a detective, but I am a darn good listener," he said. "How about I make some hot tea, grab a broom to help out, and you can tell me everything that's happened to you in the last week? Maybe you saw something or bought something in a store or checked out the wrong book at the library. Together there's a chance we can find out what's going on."

Together.
The word seemed to echo in Eleanor's head. She'd been alone for the last nine years. Completely on her own. The very idea that someone might share her fears was unique, even a little frightening. But Peter Curry already had her broom, and he was making a successful effort to gather up the feathers that covered the living-room floor.

"My life is as boring as reading a text on insomnia, but I'll try and remember the past week," she agreed. "You and Familiar are the only two unusual things that have happened to me in the last year! Except for the obvious, of course."

"A cat, a vet and sudden suspense," he said, leaning against the broom and giving her two raised eyebrows. "Diagnosis— you need more pets!"

Eleanor's laugh was soft, but heartfelt. The cloud of depression and fear began to lift. She put the water on to boil for tea and began helping Peter with the cleanup.

Two hours later they were sitting on the sofa in a rearranged living room. With the broken dishes, plants and trash cleaned away, the damage wasn't as bad as it had first appeared. In fact, Peter was taken with the muted mauves and aquas, the subtle but rich decor. Though he'd tried every possible approach, he'd been unable to link her directly with the cat's escape or any knowledge of Evans. He was beginning to wonder if he'd been completely off base with his suspicions. But he didn't believe in coincidences like the cat, her attack, and now her apartment.

Slightly uncomfortable with Peter's helpfulness, Eleanor had told of her life in Tennessee, her parents, her friends, the fun she'd had growing up near the Great Smoky Mountains. She'd carefully avoided all mention of her years with Carter Wells— her disastrous marriage to a gambler, gangster, liar and cheat. She'd played down the destruction of her apartment as another coincidence, another loop in a string of bizarre and unrelated experiences. She wasn't certain he believed her, but he was gentleman enough not to show too much doubt.

He was, in fact, a witty conversationalist who made it easy to talk and listen. He'd shared anecdotes from vet school with her and amusing stories about animals he owned and treated.

As he squeezed a lemon into another cup of hot tea, he continued with his easy banter. "While you were studying the fine points of language, I was up to my ears in fur, feathers and flea shampoo." He stood, stretching tall. "When I was a kid, I always thought I'd live a life of adventure. You know, James Bond, solving crucial secrets, that kind of stuff. Haven't you wanted to be involved in some secret mission?" He'd dangled the bait skillfully, he thought.

"Never." Eleanor looked up at him. Physically he could have passed as a superspy or professional athlete. He was lean but powerful, with the deadly grace of a man who knew how to control his body. He oozed charm. But it was tempered with compassion, and a genuine tenderness that extended to every creature he touched. She'd watched him work on Familiar. It had been her experience that men who lived lives of danger seldom had time to concern themselves with the needs or feelings of other creatures. "You probably would have made an excellent 007," she said, "but I'm glad you decided to be a vet. And so is Familiar."

"Meow!" Familiar remarked. He got up from his nap on top of the television set and went to the front door. He waited, tail twitching just at the tip.

"Company's coming," Peter said.

"I never have company," Eleanor pointed out. "Well, hardly ever."

"Familiar hears them," Peter said. "Cats, in fact most animals, have hearing more sensitive than ours. Or at least they employ it better." He gave Eleanor a hand and drew her to her feet. "Want to make a bet?"

The flash of pain that crossed Eleanor's eyes was almost undetectable, but Peter saw it.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Not at all," she answered smoothly. "What are the stakes?"

"Dinner tonight?"

The tension changed, but never left her face. "Well, that seems pleasant enough. Okay, if someone comes to my door, I cook. If not, I take you out." She forestalled his complaint. "After all of this help I'd like to treat you to dinner."

"Agreed," Peter said, taking her hand for a shake just as the knock vibrated against the wood.

"I'm particularly fond of seafood," Peter whispered into her ear, letting her hand go so that she could answer the door.

"You probably arranged this," she challenged. But when she opened the door, she knew immediately that the woman who stood there was not an acquaintance of Peter Curry.

"I have a report on a cat in this apartment."

Eleanor stared at the short, red-headed woman who was glaring angrily at her. There was no masking the hostility in the green eyes, or the contempt she obviously felt for Eleanor.

"Excuse me," Eleanor said at last, "why are you here?"

"Magdalena Caruso, SPCA-ARSA. I got a report that you've been supplying cats for animal research. I'm here to confiscate any cats you have in your possession. Come, Bowser!"

An ancient white poodle emerged from the folds of the long black coat. "Aarrrf," he said, then ducked back again.

"Bowser, how can we stage a raid if you act like such a ninny!" She stooped and took the dog into her arms. "Well, do you have cats or not?" she demanded.

Eleanor cast a look behind her, but Familiar had vanished. Standing near the sofa, Peter waited with a blank expression.

"You're with the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals?" Eleanor inquired.

"In a manner of speaking," the short woman answered. She brushed past Eleanor, bumped the door wide open with her hip and sailed into the apartment. "Cat, Bowser!" she commanded, putting the dog onto the floor.

"Hey!" Eleanor protested, but it was too late.

Tottering and snarling, the little poodle shot across the living room, down the hall and into her bedroom. A din of barking followed, then a yowl of pain.

"One way or the other, Bowser always gets his cat," the little woman said, hustling toward the bedroom.

Eleanor and Peter were close on her heels. At the bedroom door, Peter finally snared the woman's arm. "Mrs. Caruso, you can't come barging into someone's apartment and set your dog loose."

"You'd be surprised what I can do if it's necessary." Magdalena Caruso matched his look without flinching. The fire of a revolutionary burned in her eyes. "There's an animal here that's been reported as mistreated. I came to get it, and I mean to stay here until I do."

"Mistreated!" Eleanor felt her temper begin to flare. She turned on the bedroom light. Familiar was sitting on the end of the bed, perfectly poised. Bowser was cowering on the floor, whining. As soon as the cat looked away, the dog jumped and snapped. Familiar, with one graceful move, raked his claws down the dog's nose. Bowser howled and fell back.

"Get that dog out of my house," Eleanor told the intruder, iron in her voice. "If anything is mistreated, it's that stupid poodle."

"Oh, dear," Magdalena said, her breath coming in short gasps as she went after the quivering dog. "Poor Bowser. He can sniff the cats out, but he's never quite acquired the art of holding them at bay."

She scooped the poodle into her arms once more and stroked him until he stopped shivering. "That's the boy," she whispered. "Such a good sniffer. You found the kitty."

Eleanor's quick flash of temper disappeared at the sight of the little woman worrying over her poodle. Eleanor caught Peter's attention. "I owe you a dinner," she said, "and after this, I think even a homemade dessert should be included. I've never— "

"So you did have the cat," Magdalena interrupted rounding on her as soon as the dog was quiet. "My sources are never wrong."

"Ms. Duncan never denied that she had a cat," Peter interjected softly, "but as the animal's veterinarian, I can assure you that he's received only the best and kindest of care." Was Magdalena Caruso the person he needed to watch?

"You're a vet!" Mrs. Caruso looked him up and down. "Don't tell me you were here making a house call." Her voice was loaded with sarcasm.

"You, madam, are a hard case," Peter said, grabbing the older woman's arm again and propelling her out of the bedroom, down the hall and to the front door. "Leave immediately, or Ms. Duncan will press charges of unlawful entering, assault with…a deadly poodle, creating a public disturbance and whatever else it takes to get rid of you."

The short woman drew herself up indignantly. "I'm not afraid of the law— I've been arrested before. Sometimes when you believe in something, you have to pay a price. You haven't escaped without suffering, have you?" Her green eyes shot like a laser into Peter.

"You, lady, are a nut case," Peter said, easing her into the hallway. He had to get her out of here, there was an off chance that she might remember him. "Take your poodle and be gone. I have a lot of sympathy for the SPCA, but zealots can be very dangerous, no matter how worthy their cause."

"Are you really a vet?" Magdalena asked. There was a new hint of softness in her tone.

The suddenness of the question stopped Peter. "Yes," he said. "My clinic is over on Pitchton Road, about twelve blocks from here." He couldn't afford to appear ill at ease.

"And you guarantee that the cat isn't being injured?"

"Ms. Duncan found the cat with a catheter in his leg. She brought him in to my clinic this morning and had it removed. We believe the cat might have escaped from a research lab, but we have no intention of using him for any experiments."

The brightest of smiles touched Magdalena Caruso's face. "Once I saw the two of you, I couldn't believe that you'd use an animal inhumanely. I'm seldom wrong about people, you know. But I had to check it out. I must say, the cat looked fine and all. So glad when a mission turns out this way. God bless you!" She started down the hallway, her short, plump body moving with great speed and determination.

In the apartment again, Peter closed the door, leaning against it as he threw the lock. "Eleanor, you need a bodyguard." He couldn't swear that the little scene hadn't been deliberately constructed for his benefit, but had been unable to detect any hint of a relationship between the two women. He thought about confronting Eleanor with his questions outright, but decided that time was his best ally. If she was a member of a radical animal group that went around robbing labs and freeing animals, he'd find out soon enough. And if she had news of Arnold Evans, well, that would make his future that much easier. He had only to watch and wait.