Never Say Sty (20 page)
Authors: Linda O. Johnston
“Granted,” Dante said. “And that’s my motive because . . . ?”
“Because you’re backing the show,” Brody interjected, and I nodded my agreement. “The more it makes, the more you make.” His smile was filled with irony as he stated exactly the point I’d been about to make about Dante’s possible motive. “Kendra, the thing is—” He looked at Dante as if asking permission. For what?
Dante gave a slight nod, which surprised me.
Especially when Brody made his big revelation. “I can’t elaborate for reasons of security, but let’s just say that Dante and I have experience unraveling mysteries, too.”
“Really?” Interesting. “How, when, and where?” I asked. “Not to mention why.” Corina the reporter would be proud of me.
But Brody’s response remained oblique. “I’ve done some preliminary checking, and have reason to believe this isn’t a situation where an amateur ought to be involved. Even one as skilled as you at solving homicides.” His expression suggested that he was more than a little impressed, and I smiled modestly at him, even as my mind churned.
“And a film star who plays at being a hero would be better at it?” I asked.
“Enough,” Dante said softly.
Brody glanced toward him with a shrug that suggested submission, even as his grin widened. “Well, what do you know?” he asked rhetorically. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“What day?” I demanded. But whatever the hell they were talking about was now clearly between these two men only. They stared expressively at one another before both looked back at me.
“Today.” Dante suddenly appeared more relaxed as he lifted a forkful of salad to his mouth. “Today is the day you’ll back off a bit in the Sebastian matter.” He seemed to hesitate, then added almost through gritted teeth, “Please.”
I laughed. “Look,” I told them both, “you better believe I never set out to be a murder magnet. But I seem to be one anyway. And although it doesn’t make complete sense to enumerate our respective reasons to get this solved fast, I’ll do it anyway. Dante, you have a big financial interest.” Not to mention the remaining possibility that he was a serious suspect. “It’s unclear whether that interest will be helped or harmed by determining who killed Sebastian.”
He gave a small and somehow sexy nod of acquiescence.
“Brody, I’m not sure what your interest in solving the murder is.” I studied him carefully, wondering about what he had more than hinted at before. Something about security prohibiting him from giving more details. What kind of security? Security for the show?
National security?
I was really letting my imagination run wild . . . wasn’t I?
“Curiosity,” Brody responded. “And self-preservation. The man was my predecessor judge, after all.”
“So tell me this,” I said. “Why is an actor more qualified than an attorney to investigate a killing on an amateur basis?”
“Depends on the actor,” Brody said. “Some have past lives that may mean they’re not quite amateurs.”
“Some like you?” I glanced at Brody, whose expression had become absolutely blank. Dante’s seemed more open, so I addressed my next inquiry to him. “Dante, you told me you knew each other previously. Did Brody work for you in some security capacity before he went into showbiz?” I remembered my speculation that they’d been in military special ops together, since Althea had unearthed that tidbit about Dante’s past. That might make sense in this context.
“As a litigator, you should be wary of compound questions,” Dante responded silkily, which absolutely irked me. But when I attempted to qualify my queries, all either would admit to was knowing the other before.
“Where?” I demanded again. “And how?”
“Compound again,” Dante said, and as our dinner was served, I got no further.
I pondered my position as I took a delicious bite of chicken tetrazzini to die for. As I did in court, I queued up the questions I intended to ask. Was Brody’s prior relationship with Dante, whatever it was, a reason to add him to my suspect list?
But before I could start my inquiry, Dante’s hand slinked across the table and took one of mine.
“I’m not being officious here, Kendra,” he lied softly. “The thing is, I really care about you. Don’t want you to be hurt, if I can prevent it. Let’s just say that Brody and I go back a long way. We were in the military together and have a history of doing things in the interest of our country.” Aha! I’d been right! As far as it went . . . “We learned a lot that can be translated to solving situations like this. And I really want to do that. For me, sure. But also for you. I know you have things at stake—your interest in the show, and in helping your friend Ned. Will you let me take care of this for you, Kendra?”
Well, hell. I’d grown teary-eyed, an emotional reaction I rejected . . . almost. I responded, “Thank you, Dante. But let’s all work on it together.”
I saw irritation shadow his face, but to his credit he didn’t argue. Neither did Brody.
I almost started to relax as the three of us talked about all kinds of things during the remainder of our meal. Much revolved around pets—unsurprising as to Dante, whose thriving business empire was animal-related.
With only a little urging, he regaled us with tales of wild animals whose lives were saved by HotWildife, the rescue organization he funded, and visited often, just north of L.A.
“It’s really something,” Brody agreed.
“You’ll have to come and see it with me soon, Kendra,” Dante offered, and I jumped at the possibility. Of course he’d offered a visit there to Corina Carey, too.
Then there were the movie experiences Brody shared with us. I had the impression that the high jinks surrounding the evolution of a hit film were even more enjoyable than the film itself, even to its famous stars.
“I don’t have anything lined up for a few more months,” Brody said to us, “but you’re both invited, whenever I do, to come watch us film. I won’t schedule anything that could conflict with
Animal Auditions
.”
Animal Auditions
.”
All too soon, we were finished eating. Though each of us eschewed dessert, we sat around for a while with our coffee. And then it was time to go.
Why wasn’t I surprised when Dante apologized for not accompanying me to dinner? Or when he insisted on following me home? Maybe it was simply delight at his ongoing attentiveness.
When we reached my wrought iron gate, I left it open long enough for his Mercedes to trail my rental up the drive. I invited him in for a nightcap.
Lexie was excited to see us, and Dante joined us on a brief and productive doggy walk on my narrow, hilly street.
“Will Wagner be okay alone this long?” I asked.
“He’ll be fine. My personal assistant will have let him out in the yard several times by now.”
I nodded, unsurprised that Dante had full-time help. I was curious about what kind of mansion he must live in, especially as we sat in my small, nondescript living room, sipping an okay but not especially elegant wine. Lexie lay snoring slightly on the floor near where I’d curled my feet up under me on my sectional sofa. Dante watched me with an enigmatic expression so sexy I wanted to jump his bones.
Okay. Eventually, the inevitable happened. Can’t say who moved first, but I was soon in Dante’s heated embrace. His kisses were indescribable, his touches electric . . . and his suggestion that we move to my bedroom absolutely appropriate.
Our lovemaking was every bit as extraordinary as everything else about Dante DeFrancisco.
Much later, as I lay bare beneath my sheets, my breathing heavy and my body hot, Dante nuzzled my neck. “I really care about you, Kendra,” he said.
“Ditto, Dante,” I responded lazily.
“So you’ll back off a bit on your investigation of what happened to Sebastian?”
My whole body suddenly chilled. “Over your dead body,” I said.
Chapter Seventeen
IT WASN’T EXACTLY easy having a disagreement like this with a guy with whom I’d just made love. Especially one with whom I’d exchanged sentiments about caring for one another. If I’d been clad, I’d have jumped out of bed and harped at him with my hands on my hips. I considered it anyway, but figured I’d look a bit bizarre. Besides, both of us might wind up distracted, and the inevitable could happen again.
So, instead, I stayed snuggled close as we sniped at one another. Talk about a bizarre way to quarrel. . . .
“I promised to help Ned Noralles,” I reminded Dante irritably, attempting to ignore his nearby warmth.
“You could always let the police handle their own business.” Dante sounded not at all sympathetic, and a lot like the cops who’d also pointedly warned me off. I didn’t know where Dante had rested his hands, but happily—or unhappily—they weren’t on me.
“They may already think they have a suitable suspect. Two. Ned and Nita. But I disagree.” I didn’t mention that I wondered whether Ned suspected his sister.
I
didn’t . . . did I?
I
didn’t . . . did I?
“For what it’s worth, I disagree, too. But Brody will look into it. Back off, Kendra, and let us handle it.”
“And he’s qualified because of some mysterious connection you two had in the past?”
“Exactly.”
“And you expect that’s enough to convince me to rely on you and back off.”
“You got it.”
“I got nothing, Dante. Except maybe a headache.”
He started to gently massage my temples, and I began nearly to purr as contentedly as some of my feline pet-sitting charges.
He was attempting to distract me. And almost succeeding.
“That feels good,” I allowed. “But it doesn’t change anything.”
He stopped stroking, which made me feel bereft all over again. He backed away from me in my queen-size bed. “Has anyone ever told you how difficult you can be?” he demanded.
“Often,” I said with a smug smile.
He laughed. And then grew so solemn that I blinked as I watched the sudden sorrow in his eyes.
“I was serious when I told you that I care for you, Kendra. That’s not something I say to women easily. In fact . . . it’s been a long time since I’ve said it to anyone. I lost the last woman I said it to. In a way that made me think I’d never say it again. And to know that someone I feel about this way is throwing herself into a potentially dangerous situation just because it’s there—”
“I’ll be careful, Dante. I always am, you know.”
“I know that too often you find yourself a ‘murder magnet. ’ Apt expression, by the way. But do you know any genuine self-defense tactics? Have you ever been trained in authentic investigation techniques? So far you’ve been lucky. But . . . I don’t want you to be hurt.”
I nearly melted with emotion. He actually did seem to care. And I was filled with curiosity about the mysterious woman whom Dante had cared about and lost. “Tell me about the lady you referred to.”
He smiled sadly, reached out and pulled me against him. “Maybe someday.” His kiss wasn’t the fuel of passion that we’d shared previously, but more of a fond farewell. Sure enough, he untangled himself from my embrace and sheets, and stood.
I was filled with a combo of sexual admiration and sorrow. He started to get dressed. “Sorry I can’t stay the night,” he said. “I have commitments first thing in the morning, so I need to go. If I stay here, I won’t get any sleep.”
I didn’t consider contradicting that. He was right. Of course, I wouldn’t sleep whether he stayed or left, so his staying seemed smarter from my perspective.
“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” I reminded him. But I didn’t really believe that in megamoguldom like his, he could relax on weekends.
“I know,” he said. “But I have commitments.”
I didn’t attempt to dissuade him. Genuine business commitments or not, he had the right to exit when he pleased. Just as I had the right to do whatever
I
pleased, including investigate murders.
I
pleased, including investigate murders.
I did, however, stand up and seek out a robe. I could at least see him to the door. Plus, I’d need to ensure he could drive out my gate, since I’d no intention of handing over one of the automatic controls. Of course all the motion woke Lexie, and she bounded from one of us to the other, demanding explanation. Better yet, a treat.
She got neither, not then.
“Promise me one thing, Kendra,” Dante said as we reached my apartment door.
“What’s that?” I inquired noncommittally.
“If you won’t keep your lovely nose out of looking into what happened to Sebastian, then you’ll at least stay in touch with me. Preferably close touch. If I can offer any suggestions, any help at all, I want to be there for you.”
He bent down, kissed me, and was gone before I could rustle up a clever retort. So all I whispered was “Thanks.”
AS WITH DANTE, despite its being Sunday, it was a work-day for me. The pet-sitting, at least. And although I groaned when my alarm went off at six, I dragged myself out of bed—trying hard not to stare at the spot where he’d been only hours before.
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