Not For Sale (7 page)

“Are you a friend of Ms. Hamilton’s, Mr. Vieira?”

Caroline turned against him and buried her face in his shoulder. Lucas nodded again.

“I am a very good friend of Ms. Hamilton’s, Officer.”

“And you’re here because…?”

“I’ve answered all the questions I intend to answer until you tell me what happened.”

“Someone broke into Ms. Hamilton’s apartment.”

The other policeman stepped aside, revealing what had been a window and was now an empty frame for the rusted iron fire escape that clung to the building’s exterior wall.

Glass littered the linoleum floor.

Lucas’s vision reddened, narrowed until he could see only the broken window. He felt rage like none he had ever known before.

“Caroline.” He clasped her shoulders and looked at her pale face. “Tell me who did this.”

She shook her head. “I never saw the man before.”

“What did he do to you?” She didn’t answer and he knew he was nearer the total loss of the civilized man he was supposed to have become than he had ever been in his entire life. “Sweetheart.
Querida,
did he hurt you?”

She drew a long, tremulous breath.

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because if he did—”

“He didn’t—he didn’t touch me. I screamed and—and—”

Her breath hitched. Her face was turned up to his; her lips were parted. He fought back the desire to gather her against him and kiss away the terror in her eyes.

“I was—I was just coming out of the shower. I thought I heard something break. Glass, I thought. In the kitchen.”

She nodded toward a wall where a refrigerator that would have looked at home in one of the better Rio
favelas
leaned drunkenly against an ancient stove.

“So—so I came out of the bathroom. I wasn’t expecting to see anything but broken glass on the floor, you know, something the cat knocked over, and—”

“The cat,” Lucas said, because he had to grab on to
something simple or the fury inside him inside him would surely explode.

“Yes. My cat. Well, he’s my cat now. I mean, I found him yesterday. Sunday, when I went down to get the paper, just sitting huddled by the stoop, and—”

“Caroline.” Lucas cleared his throat. “What happened?”

“I saw the broken glass on the floor. And—and I saw the man. He was coming through the window. I screamed. And it must have been a really loud scream because Mr. Witkin, who lives next door, he banged on the wall the way he does if I play my CDs too loud except I don’t, I don’t ever play them loud at all—”

She began to weep. Soundlessly, shoulders shaking, which somehow turned Lucas’s hot rage to icy fear. He gathered her into his arms again and held her close.

“The intruder took off. Ms. Hamilton phoned 911,” the taller cop said.

“The police came right away,” Caroline whispered.

Lucas looked at the two officers. “Thank you,” he said, and meant it. “Thank you for everything.”

Both of them nodded.

“Yeah. We just wish we could have caught the bas—the guy.”

Lucas would have preferred catching the bastard himself, but he thought it best not to say so.

“There’s been a rash of break-ins on this street the last couple of weeks,” the smaller policeman said. “Same M.O. Guy breaks a window, comes in, takes whatever isn’t nailed down…”

“Lately,” the other cop said, “he’s upped the ante.” His eyes darted to Caroline, who was trembling in Lucas’s arms. “He’s been targeting apartments where women live alone, you know.” He paused; clearly, there was more, but he wasn’t about to say it.

“The lady better get that window fixed,” the smaller officer said. “Have a grill put in. Should have had one there all along. Windows that lead out to fire escapes are bad news.”

“Yes,” Lucas said, half-amazed he could say anything at all. He cleared his throat. “Are you finished speaking with Ms. Hamilton?”

The cops nodded. “We might need to get in touch with her again, but for now—”

Lucas let go of Caroline, got out his black leather business card holder and a pen, scrawled his home address on the back of a card and handed it over.

“You can reach Ms. Hamilton at that address,” he said, putting his arm around her again, “should you need her.”

“No,” Caroline said quickly. “You can reach me right here. I’ll get the window fixed and—”

“That is incorrect. Ms Hamilton will be staying with me.”

“Lucas.” Caroline looked up at him, calmer now, her voice steadier though she was still trembling. “I couldn’t possibly—”

“Let me see you out, Officers,” Lucas said politely, as if there were a formal hallway before them rather than a door.

He held out his hand; both men shook it. He watched them start down the stairs. Then he closed the door, took a breath and swung toward Caroline, all the while telling himself to be calm. He knew she was going to argue about going with him and that he would tolerate no argument, and he knew, too, that the last thing she needed was to have him snap at her.

Or have him take her in his arms and kiss her until color returned to her face.

And what kind of nonsense was that? He’d come here for closure. Just because he’d found not a brittle, defiant Caroline but a fragile one, just because some faceless monster had come within inches of doing God only knew what to her…

None of that changed anything.

Of course, it didn’t.

He didn’t feel any differently toward her. He was just doing what any decent man would when he saw a woman in a difficult situation.

There was nothing like regaining perspective.

“All right,” he said evenly. “Here’s what is going to happen. You’ll pack a few things, only what you think you’ll need immediately.”

“Thank you for your concern. It’s very kind, but—”

“My driver will pick up the rest later.”

Caroline stood a little straighter. “You’re not listening. I appreciate your offer, but—”

“It isn’t an offer. It’s what you’re going to do.”

She looked at him. The color was coming back into her face. It hadn’t taken his kisses to get it there, after all.

“If I decide to leave here,” she said carefully, “I’ll stay with a friend.”

A muscle knotted in his jaw. “What friend?”

“I don’t know. Someone. It isn’t your problem.”

She was right. Nothing about her was his problem. Wasn’t that what he’d been telling himself for the past hour?

“What friend?” he heard himself say again.

“I just told you—”

“Jack Gordon?”

“I already told you, I don’t know any Jack Gordon.”

Lucas looked at her. “Dani Sinclair, then. Will you stay with her?”

Caroline’s eyes flashed. “Dani and I are in the same graduate program. She’s not a friend.”

No, he thought coldly. The Sinclair woman was a business associate. But this wasn’t the time for that.

“So, what friend will you stay with?”

“Goodbye, Lucas.”

“Goodbye?” He moved toward her even as he asked himself what in hell he was doing. “A few minutes ago, you were so glad to see me that you threw yourself into my arms.”

“A few minutes ago, the only people I’d seen today were a burglar and two cops.” She stood even straighter, as if her spine had turned into steel. “I’d have thrown myself at Bozo the Clown, if he’d walked through that door.”

“Such a compliment,
querida.
I am flattered.”

She folded her arms; he folded his. It occurred to him that they probably resembled a pair of fighters, squaring off at a weigh-in.

“Once again,” she said, “thank you. But—”

“You are coming with me, Caroline.” He smiled grimly. “One way or another.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” She stalked toward him, chin lifted, eyes defiant, more beautiful than any woman had a right to be, and jabbed a finger into the center of his chest. “Listen to me, Mr. Vieira. I make my own decisions. Understand? And I am not going anywhere with you!”

“Your choice,” he said calmly. “On your own two feet, or slung over my shoulder.”

She stared at him, her breasts rising and falling in the quick measure of her breath. Good, he thought. At least he had chased her fear away.

“You,” she said coldly, “have not heard anything until you’ve heard me scream.”

“And you,” he said, just as coldly, “have not heard anything until you’ve heard me explain to your Mr. Sitkin—”

“Witkin,” she said, through her teeth.

“Until you’ve heard me explain to Mr. Witkin why I, as your
nuivo,
cannot possibly—”

“My what?”

“Your fiancé,
querida,”
Lucas purred. “I’m sure Mr. Witkin will be most sympathetic after I explain that what happened
to you a little while ago has left you somewhat unstable and that I can use his help opening doors for us as I carry you downstairs so I can put you in my car and take you to my physician’s office.”

“He’d never fall for that!”

Lucas flashed a smile. “Want to bet?”

“Damn you, Lucas Vieira!”

“Damn me, indeed. But that’s how it’s going to be. You’re coming with me, Caroline. Your only choice is how.”

She glared at him. Despite everything, he wanted to laugh. Such fire in her. Such defiance.

“Very well,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’ll do this. For one night. But I warn you, I am not interested in having you—in letting you—”

“In letting me what?” he said, and he reached for her, took her in his arms and kissed her the way he’d wanted to kiss her ever since he’d come through the door.

She stiffened. Then she gave a little sigh, leaned into him, kissed him back.

“Yeow!”

Sharp, hot knives dug into Lucas’s leg. He jumped back, looked down, saw an emaciated thing the size of a Cocker Spaniel attached to his leg.

Caroline looked down, too. And laughed.

“Oh my goodness! Oliver!”

She bent, snatched the creature into her arms and stood up. An enormous, bony, painfully ugly cat glared wildly at him through malevolent yellow eyes.

“Merda,”
he said, “what is that?”

“It’s Oliver,” Caroline crooned, burying her face in the animal’s fur. “My cat.” The cat turned its big head toward her, purred and butted its jaw against hers. “Poor baby. He’s terrified.”

Rabid, seemed more like it. No blood, Lucas thought,
dragging up his cuff and checking, but what did that matter when what had to be the most mangy creature in cat-dom attacked you?

“Oliver,” he said flatly, as it all fell into place. “The cat you found yesterday?”

“In the street. Yes. Dirty. Half-starved. Scared to death of everything.”

“It’s still dirty,” Lucas said, narrowing his eyes.

“He. Oliver is a he. And he’s not dirty anymore. I gave him a bath last night.” Caroline nuzzled the animal again. “He just has a splotchy coat, that’s all.”

“He doesn’t look scared, either. Not scared enough to want to let me live.”

Carolyn giggled. It was so unexpected, all things considered, and such a lovely sound that he had a difficult time not smiling.

“He’s wary around people, that’s all.” The cat made a delicate sound, a meow that should have come from a purebred kitten instead of the bedraggled beast in Caroline’s arms. “But not me, because I saved him.”

“How fortunate for you both.”

“You may find this amusing but I promise you, it isn’t. I’m Oliver’s person. The one he’s always going to love. He must have thought you were trying to hurt me.”

Lucas nodded. “And, of course, you’re not going to want to leave him here.” The look on Caroline’s face was all the answer he needed. “Okay,” he said briskly, and took out his cell phone. “I’ll make a couple of calls. The first to my driver, so he can pick us up. The second to a guy I know on the board at the ASPCA—”

“What?”

“The American Society for the Protection of An—”

“I know what the initials mean but if you think I’m going
to give Oliver to a place that will put him in a cage and—and destroy him—”

“They’ll put him in a foster home,” Lucas said, though he couldn’t imagine anyone insane enough to give shelter to the creature. “And he won’t be destroyed.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Oliver goes with me.”

“Caroline. Be sensible. That cat—”

“He goes with me or I stay put.”

“Damnit, woman—”

“And why did you come here today, anyway?” Her chin rose. “That last time I saw you, in Dani’s apartment, was more than enough for me.”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“It has everything to do with it! You acted as if—as if I were dirt under your feet and now, here you are, playing at being a knight come to rescue a damsel in distress.”

“Look, maybe I overreacted that last time, okay?” Hell, maybe he had. He’d hired Caroline to do a job. And she’d done it well. If anyone were to blame for what had happened, it was Jack Gordon for not telling him, up-front, that Caroline was—that she was more than a translator.

And why was he letting her take this conversation offtrack?

“Very well,” he said brusquely. “You can bring the cat. Go on, pack what you need. I’m tired of wasting time.”

“Good. So am I. And just so you know, if you’d tried to drag me out of here, if you’d lied to Mr. Witkin, I’d have screamed so loud the cops would have come back!”

They glared at each other. Then Caroline thrust the cat at him.

“Here. Well, go on. Take him. I can’t pack and hold Oliver at the same time!”

The skinny, writhing denizen of hell landed on his chest and inserted all its claws into his suit jacket. Lucas looked at
the cat. The cat looked at him. A demonic sound vibrated in its throat.

One last attempt at sanity, Lucas thought, and made a wild grab at anything that seemed reasonable.

“I’m not sure pets are permitted in my building.”

Caroline laughed.

He couldn’t blame her.

She knew, as well as he, that whether pets were permitted or not would never matter to him. If he wanted to house a Martian with two heads and six tentacles and Martians were not allowed in his building, he would simply get himself a Martian and march it straight through the lobby.

The thing was, he didn’t understand why people had pets. Get attached to something, it dies on you. Or walks away. Even if it didn’t, anything you developed affection for demanded a lot of time and care and he could not imagine what it would give in return.