Double Dog Dare (20 page)

And did those disloyal dogs come to sit beside me and offer affection, compassion, and understanding?

No! They took their excited places around the man who plopped down on the other end of the couch. Considering the condition of his ratty clothing, that same sofa, at least at that end, would soon be
formerly
white.

“Okay,” I said, oh so snidely cheerful after many long moments of staring in his direction, “care to tell me what’s been going on, Jeff? I mean, that poop-scooping outfit is certainly a charming costume, and the way you’ve camouflaged yourself by graying your hair and wearing hats and slathering on that swarthy makeup—I was aware you were one great P.I., and I know now that includes being a master of disguise.” He opened his mouth as if to respond, but I raised my hand to restrain him for one more minute. “It’s great, Jeff. Honest. Whatever’s gone on . . . well, how about explaining it to me? No matter what it is, I’ll handle it. All I want to know is . . . why?”

To my utter horror, I suddenly realized that my voice had risen several octaves and was headed into hysterical mode. That was coupled with the torrent of tears that flowed unchecked down my cheeks. Attempting to get control of every aspect of myself, I shut up and covered my face with the palms of my shaking hands.

Which made me utterly oblivious when Jeff rose and drew near. Suddenly he was kneeling on the floor before me, gently removing my trembling extremities from my face.

I stared through the stream from my tear ducts. He’d removed his dark shades so I could see his deep blue, sympathetically damp eyes. His complexion still seemed overly dark despite the bathing his skin was taking. His cheekbones remained higher than those of the Jeff I knew, and the flesh of his cheeks was sunken, as if he had sucked it in.

Maybe he had. This was, after all, a disguise, probably complete with prosthetics—wasn’t it? Or had I lost my mind altogether, assuming this fellow who’d somehow, possibly coincidentally, hung around in several neighborhoods with me, and who’d just saved my life, was the man I wished he was?

Bullshit. This was Jeff.

Well, hell. I suddenly found myself engulfed tightly in his familiar and comforting arms. Felt him raining kisses on my mouth. I had an immediate urge to tear his clothes off. Mine, too. Whatever was going on, he was alive . . . and so was I.

Damn, but it felt good to be touching him.

But before we got too far into our mutually hedonistic hug, I stiffened. So did he, and not only in his most sexually strategic locale.

What the hell had been going on with him? And did I really want to leap into bed with him without further explanation?

No!

I pulled back. “Okay, Jeff.” I attempted in vain to rein in my heavy breathing. “Explanations first. Sex later. Maybe.”
No way!

“Damn it, Kendra,” he responded in Jeff’s familiar tone, except a whole lot huskier, “there’s stuff I can’t tell you. Some I don’t even understand—at least not all of it. Just know that one reason I started What’s the Scoop so fast and hired a few guys I knew to help out was that I was worried about you. Wanted to keep an eye on you. Protect you. But the thing is . . . that doesn’t mean I can trust you.”

“What!” I all but shrieked. “What are you talking about? Why in heaven’s name would it even cross your mind for a split second
not
to trust me?” I suddenly had a nearly irresistible urge to kick this incomprehensible and frustrating man right in his formerly beloved balls.

The dogs obviously sensed something seriously wrong with their dearest humans, and they crowded around Jeff on the floor, as if to protect him. From me.

Well, hell. He’d given himself reason not to trust me at this particular moment . . . by accusing me of not being trustworthy.

“Okay, Jeff,” I continued more serenely, “sit down.” I patted the nearest section of the sofa without grimacing at all at the sorry state of his poop-scooping outfit. So what if the upholstery wound up needing to be cleaned or replaced? I’d touched him and his clothes, and survived without showering . . . yet. “Let’s discuss this rationally.”
Like, where the hell have you been, you big jerk? And not trusting me . . .

“Okay.” He sat where I’d indicated, and the traitorous dogs leaped up beside him.

“So,” I started once more, assuming a completely false conversational tone, “how about beginning with telling me why you initially disappeared, and where you were before you showed up to pick up pet feces?” There was a lot more I needed to know, but we had to begin this disturbing discussion somewhere.

“I won’t tell you everything, Kendra, so don’t press me. But . . . tell you what. Did you get the package I sent?”

I suddenly smiled sappily, notwithstanding my irritation. “You mean that sweet note? It helped me get through the time you were missing.”

“Good. And the other thing inside. Did you examine it?” He regarded me so suspiciously that my smile evaporated like ice tossed on a sizzling grill.

“Your speaking schedule? It was interesting, but I’m not sure why you wanted me to hold on to it for you, since by the time the package reached me the dates had passed.”

“The other item in the envelope!” he exploded. “The one the schedule was wrapped around, to protect it. That’s what’s important. As if you didn’t know.”

“If there was anything else,” I said as reasonably as I could despite my increasing ire, “it must have fallen out before delivery. The envelope was a mess, the address all scratched out with mine scribbled on top, and it wasn’t entirely sealed. What else was supposed to be in there?”

“If you didn’t receive it, why do you care?”

I felt as if he’d slapped me square in the face. Who was this unmasked man? Not the Jeff I thought I’d known. But there was something strange in his altered attitude, and I needed to understand everything.

I made my mood chill once more. “Let’s start with this whole trust issue, then,” I said with utter calm. “You won’t tell me everything because you’ve somehow lost confidence in me. Please explain.” As if he could.

“I’ll tell you two things,” he said in a voice as remote as Antarctica. He lifted his hand. Now, on second scrutiny, I realized it looked similar, but was unidentical to Jeff’s. Makeup made his skin darker, and areas that had formerly been smooth seemed calloused—presumably because of the unfamiliar tools he’d used to scoop poop. “First, I have reason to believe at least one person I trusted betrayed me. Second, I don’t know everyone involved—or much of anything else. I was injected with something. Ketamine, probably—or another one of those designer or date rape drugs. Or maybe a combo of some kind that included ketamine. Some was found in my system when I finally got myself into an emergency clinic under an alias. I was all scratched up from going out the car window, too.”

I nodded, knowing what he meant . . . and hiding my horror. Not that I thought he’d been assaulted in a sexual way. But Althea’s and my research had revealed nasty things about that ketamine stuff.

It was the same drug believed to have been used to murder Earl Knox. Jeff could have been killed.

At least the blood inside his Escalade had been explained.

“Whatever it was left large gaps in my memory. Plus, I know who drugged me and tried to drown me, but I don’t know who was conspiring with him.” His eyes met mine once again and didn’t let go. That clearly meant he hadn’t dismissed me from that particularly nasty list, at least not the last part.

Well, screw you
, I thought.
And I don’t mean sexually
.

Even as I admitted to myself that his attitude honestly hurt like hell.

A LITTLE LATER, we sat at the round wooden table in Jeff’s tiny kitchen. He intended to depart shortly after eating. Though this was actually his home, he had appearances to maintain.

What if a neighbor saw him shove me out of the way of that speeding car? Sure, I might be freaked enough to invite the most lowly of yard care helpers into the house while I regained my composure and sense of safety. Might even feed him dinner as part of my thanks for his help.

Which I did with Jeff, by the way. Fed him, I mean. No Thai takeout, of course. Nothing to stoke any sensuous feelings toward him—as if I could work up any such sensations under these circumstances. Not this night. Not anymore.

Not with a man who’d recently claimed to love me, couldn’t quite keep his disguised and arguably disgusting hands off me, but apparently couldn’t clear me of involvement in a plot to dispose of him in an aqueduct canal.

I thawed and cooked frozen chicken breasts, and dished out a premade salad—all fare I’d fed myself lately when I’d come here with the dogs. Not gourmet, but good enough to feed a pseudo poop scooper. Plus, I had a bottle of inexpensive but still tasty wine I’d bought a few days back to drown my sorrows, then hidden so I wouldn’t imbibe unwisely. I opened it right now and poured us each a small libation.

Jeff puttered about the house as I prepared our meal. I was extremely conscious of his presence, even when I couldn’t see him. And full of anticipation for our impending conversation.

Was he about to reveal anything useful? Something to make these past weeks comprehensible? Diminish my awful agony?

Soon I served dinner. Jeff sat and started right in to eat. I took a few bites, too. Sandpaper. Sawdust. Chili peppers. No, I hadn’t used any of the above as seasonings, but I might as well have. I didn’t taste a thing, and what I swallowed abraded my throat and settled hard in my suffering stomach. Wine helped to smooth the path, but I wasn’t about to drink much and mess up my mind before I got some answers.

“Enough, already,” I finally said. “Tell me what you do recall, or make up a story. Whatever. Let’s start at the beginning. Do you remember leaving L.A. on your trip?”
After all but finally convincing me to move in with you . . . ?

His nod barely budged his artificially silvered hair. “Of course. That was before I was drugged. I had a couple of assignments out of town. One was to supervise installation of a nice security system in a new state government building—in Pennsylvania. I arrived there and saw things get started, but then got a hysterical call from Lois—I know you’ve met her now.”

I nodded, forbearing from berating him for not introducing me before to someone who obviously meant a lot to him. Or even mentioning her—at least I still didn’t recall that he had.

“She was so upset and said she needed me to conduct an investigation right away. A confidential one.”

I nodded sagely. “She’s told me about her internal conflict between The Clone Arranger and her church connections. ”

“She did?” He appeared surprised. “Well, okay, that opens up some of what I didn’t think I could say. I figured I could come back here, talk to her, then dash to handle my second assignment, a seminar in self-defense and company security in Phoenix.”

“And you didn’t tell me you were back in town because . . . ?” I didn’t intend to sound so huffy, but, hey, the guy had claimed to love me. Wouldn’t it have made sense just to give me a hint he’d be around, even if all I could do was blow him a kiss from a distance?

His eyes locked on mine, and he gave an ironic shrug. “Easy answer? As I said, I’d promised Lois confidentiality, so I didn’t figure on telling anyone, even you or my own employees, that I was here. I didn’t intend to stay long anyway, but to learn what was really wrong and assure Lois I’d handle it when I got back.”

“I’m a lawyer, among other things,” I informed him unnecessarily. “I understand confidentiality, and wouldn’t have dug for details if you’d told me to butt out. And you know that, so I gather there’s also a not-so-easy answer.”

“Well, yeah, and your attitude right now shows me I was right.” I opened my mouth, but he didn’t allow me to voice even a syllable of contradiction before he pressed on. “The biggest reason I didn’t tell you was that I was sure you wouldn’t be thrilled to know I was around and didn’t have time to see you. I figured that what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you.”

“But it did hurt me,” I shot back in painful protest. “And you, too, I gather.”

“Maybe.”

“So, okay,” I said in an attempt—futile, I figured—to see his side of things. “You didn’t tell me for a reason.” Right. “But what about your own employees—Althea? Buzz?”

“I did talk to Althea early on, on my cell, though I didn’t tell her everything. No need to explain where I was or what I was up to, or so I thought. I felt a little dumb, actually, for getting involved in what I figured was a fool’s errand for family. Sort of family. I checked in, said I’d seen things start off okay in Philadelphia, and was working on my seminar presentation. I had no idea then that I wouldn’t show up there.”

“I see,” I said slowly, because I didn’t exactly see at all.

He scowled beneath his poop-scooper makeup, as if reading my irritated thoughts. “Like I said, I felt dumb. Anyway, this is where things start to get . . . well, difficult. ” He laid his fork so loudly on the plate that both pups stood and wagged, assuming he had purposely sought their attention—possibly for tossing them a treat. He smiled as if happy for the distraction, and did indeed find small pieces of chicken to drop into the two eager mouths.

“Enlighten me as easily as you can,” I said dryly, taking a substantial sip of wine.

He did—sort of. Surreptitiously, at least with respect to the rest of us who cared about him, he’d visited Lois and learned the reason for her plea of confidentiality because of her cherished church affiliation. He listened to her tale of how she’d wanted a duplicate of her almost-Akita Flisa and had gone to The Clone Arranger. Something hadn’t worked, and while they’d been trying, Flisa died. She was certain it hadn’t been natural causes.

Despite his generally good powers of persuasion, Jeff hadn’t convinced her to wait till his return to start his investigation into the outfit. Giving in to her pleas, he agreed to spend just one day taking a peek. He’d assumed he still had an extra day available before he had to head off to present his seminar.