Tempted by Fate (25 page)

A
doorbell woke Ramirez a short while later.

No one ever came to his door, and Lita had a key. Figuring it was someone’s TV, he checked the time and mentally groaned. It was after noon. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so late. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such fantastic sex, either.

He spooned Willow closer, knowing he should get up, but he was unwilling to disrupt the peace. Or would-be peace, if the doorbell would just stop buzzing. That’s when he realized it was his door. It had to be a Jehovah’s Witness or salesman. He usually wasn’t home during the day, so whoever it was would get the idea and move on.

Willow rolled toward him, her eyes wide open. “I think you have a visitor.”

He grunted, gathering her onto his chest.

A slow smile curved her lips. “Again, Starsky? Aren’t you afraid it might fall off from overuse?”

He started to answer, but the person laid on the buzzer, continuous and annoying, until Ramirez was forced to
push the covers back. “Who the hell is it? Not even Taylor drops by without calling first.”

“Uh-oh.” Willow’s eyes grew distant for a moment before she snapped back to herself. “I think I know who it is.”

Grabbing his boxers, he gave her a dark look. “It’s not a disgruntled husband, is it?”

“Of course not.” She glared back at him as she swung her legs out of bed and reached for his shirt. “You can’t seriously think I’d be married.”

“I know nothing about you,” he said as he walked out of the room.

“You know enough.” She buttoned his shirt that she wore as she followed him downstairs. “You wouldn’t have let me in your house if you didn’t trust me a little.”

He rounded on her, causing her to walk into him. He held her hips to steady her. Hell, he held her hips because he wanted to keep her close. He glanced at her eyes, her lips, swollen from their lovemaking, and was overcome by some piercing emotion he had no time for. “Maybe I was thinking with my dick. Any guy would, around you.”

She studied him unwaveringly. Then she shook her head. “No, your grandmother is right. You’re not just
any guy.
”

He wanted to rail at her for thinking that but still not trusting him enough to be completely honest. He could tell there were things she was still hiding from him, but the buzzer began an obnoxious staccato. He growled and strode down the hall to answer it.

As he swung the door open, the person standing on his stoop looked up with big Betty Boop eyes. She had a mop
of springy curls tied back in a ponytail. She wore jeans, an asymmetrical jacket that hit her midthigh, and army green tennis shoes. Around her shoulder hung a laptop bag, and she held in her hand a small overnight bag.

She blinked her thick-lashed cartoon eyes as she looked him up and down. Her gaze darted beyond him to Willow, her eyes widening impossibly. “Um. Okay. Of all the scenarios I imagined, this wasn’t one of them.”

Ramirez glanced back at Willow. “You know this person?” he asked.

“Unfortunately. Although I’m not entirely certain how she found me.”

“The GPS transponder in your phone.” The woman shook her head. “Duh.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Let her in, Starsky. We can discuss everything over breakfast.” She turned and headed into the kitchen.

Ramirez and the woman on his doorstep watched her walk away. Then the woman said, “You must rate.”

He glanced at her. “What?”

“Willow hardly ever cooks. She must like you if she’s willing to cook for you.” She smiled like a demented pixie. “But then based on your attire, I’d say you two like each other a lot.”

Not willing to comment on that, he took her overnight bag and stepped aside to let her in.

“Thank you, Inspector Ramirez.”

“Have we met?” he asked as he closed the door, knowing that they hadn’t.

“Nope, but I’ve done some research on you.” She held out her hand. “Morgan, Willow’s office manager.”

“Willow has an office?”

She shrugged. “Metaphorically speaking.”

He set the bag by the stairs and ushered Morgan into the kitchen, where Willow stood at the refrigerator. In a flurry of motion, she extracted an armful of ingredients and set them on the counter.

“Oh, boy.” Morgan rubbed her hands together. Setting her laptop bag on the floor, she pulled out a chair from the table and sat, eagerly waiting. “She hasn’t cooked for me in ages. You’re in for a treat.”

Willow’s movements were confident and quick. It shouldn’t have surprised him that she’d be as expert in the kitchen as she was fighting on the street, but it did. She looked at home, dicing vegetables while wearing his shirt. It rode up her thighs whenever she reached for something, and that turned him on. He should have nibbled her there, too.

Feeling as though he were being watched, he found Morgan’s eyes on him with narrow suspicion. Acutely aware he wore only boxers, he excused himself to get dressed. He quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, returning to overhear Willow and Morgan talking. He stopped in the hallway, out of sight, to listen.

“—can’t believe you’re getting it on with a Homicide detective.” Morgan placed extra emphasis on
homicide.

“They’re inspectors in San Francisco. And you yourself said he was hot.”

“Well, duh. He’s totally hot, but that doesn’t mean I’d do him. Does he know who you are?”

A pause. “Not yet.”

Ramirez felt his gut churning with unease. Who was she?

“
Not yet?
” The leg of a chair scraped on the hardwood floor. “You’re actually considering telling him?”

“I need him in order to get to the Bad Man. I’m out of choices, Morgan. The police confiscated everything, and I’m wanted for questioning in three murders.”

“Yeah, but that would never have made you tell someone who you are.”

In the long pause, he heard something sizzling on the stove.

Then Morgan spoke again. “Are you in love with him?”

“That would be stupid, wouldn’t it?” was Willow’s calm answer.

He released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. She hadn’t denied it, and he found that surprisingly important.

“Because I shouldn’t have to tell you, this is an impossible situation.” Morgan’s voice sobered, the sadness in it loud and clear. “Someone like you would never be able to hook up with a cop. It just wouldn’t work.”

The thud of the oven door banging shut was followed by Willow’s angry voice. “You think I don’t understand that?”

“I’m just checking.”

Having heard enough, Ramirez strolled into the kitchen.

Both women looked up, Morgan blinking guiltily and Willow watching him with her steady gaze. “It smells good,” he said mildly, getting water glasses out of the cabinet.

Neither woman said anything, and he felt a surge of satisfaction that he had them guessing. The kitchen door opened and his grandmother walked in. She gave Willow a handful of fresh herbs before turning to inspect Morgan.

“Morgan, my grandmother Elena. Lita, this is Morgan, Willow’s
office manager.
” Somehow he managed to say it with a minimum of irony.

His grandmother eyed the young woman and then said, “Your rival is also your greatest ally. Don’t let your pride keep you from realizing true happiness with the one person who would appreciate your worth.”

“Um.” Morgan blinked. “Okay. Thanks. I think.”

Lita went to inspect the skillet that Willow had pulled out of the oven. She nodded in approval and pulled four plates out from the cabinet. Without looking at him, she said, “Business after sustenance, Ricardo. Your woman hasn’t eaten. I know I taught you better than that.”

Ramirez exchanged a look with Willow, who smirked a little.

Morgan had the good sense not to comment. She rubbed her hands together. “I’m so starving. Airplane food sucks.”

“Where did you fly from?” he asked, getting out the silverware.

That instantly sobered her. “Paris,” she answered cautiously.

“Careful, Morgan,” Willow said, setting the pan on a trivet on the table. “The inspector won’t hesitate in resorting to subtle torture to get answers out of you.”

He cocked his brow, taking a seat. “Is that all it’ll take? Subtle torture?”

“I’m not sure subtlety is your forte.” She sat next to him, angling the serving utensil to his grandmother, who served a portion to Morgan.

“You didn’t complain last night,” he said softly.

“Jesus Christ.” Morgan let her fork clatter onto the
plate. “The table is
not
the place for foreplay. And there’s a grandmother here, for Christ’s sake.”

“That’s all right,
linda,
” she said, taking a portion for herself and passing the spatula to Willow. “They need to work it out of their systems.”

“They keep this up and they’ll be working it out on the tabletop,” she muttered.

Not the table, the counter,
he thought. Glancing at Willow, he was surprised to find her cheeks turning pink.
Good.
He’d hate to think he was the only one affected here, because every time he washed dishes, he was going to remember her offering herself, her beautiful legs splayed open for him.

Morgan waved her fork. “Will, this is awesome. You make the best omelets.”

“Frittata,” Willow corrected halfheartedly.

“Whatever. The point is, I’ve missed the rare occasions you cook for me. Since you’ve been trying to track down—” Morgan blinked and then quickly shoved a large forkful of food into her mouth.

Willow shook her head. “He knows. Not all of it, but that much.”

Morgan choked. She slapped the table, trying to control her coughing.

Ramirez kept an eye on her—as long as she was coughing, she was okay, but he didn’t want her to asphyxiate on his watch. “Why don’t you finish eating, and then we can hash everything out?”

“Good idea,” she said hoarsely, clearing her throat.

Morgan was right—the frittata was excellent. He ate another piece, despite his impatience to discuss the situation. By the way her foot tapped on the floor, he knew
Willow wanted to get it over with just as badly—also in the way she jumped up to clear the table when his grandmother finished eating.

“
Mijita,
I’ll clean,” Lita said, waving her away from the sink. “You have important matters to discuss.”

Willow frowned at the plates. “If you’re sure.”

“Your fate lies in the balance.” She smiled gently. “A few dishes are a small price to pay to make sure your path is secured.”

Willow didn’t look pleased by Lita’s statement. He prepared himself to defend his grandmother, the way he always had from people who disrespected her talents. But Willow quietly thanked her and led the way out of the kitchen.

“
Hijo,
” Lita called as he went to follow.

He turned. “Yes?”

She hesitated, something so rare for her that he frowned. Finally she said, “Sometimes gray can be washed away to reveal pure white.”

He mentally sighed, not needing a PhD to figure out what his grandmother meant. So he just nodded and went to find Willow.

Willow sat cross-legged in the window seat of Ramirez’s office, waiting for him to follow. Her stomach fluttered. Nerves, she realized, tucking his shirttail demurely under her. Ramirez strode into the room and came to an abrupt stop when he noticed Morgan on all fours under his desk.

Willow couldn’t help but be amused. “She’s checking out your computer.”

“I see,” he said, even though he sounded like he didn’t.

Morgan turned and scowled at him. “I can’t believe the city’s finest has such a poor excuse for a desktop. Jesus. No wonder crime’s on the rise. How can anyone be expected to fight villains with machinery built in the Stone Age?”

“The machinery doesn’t actually do much,” he pointed out.

“No kidding. It’s like a square wheel. Totally useless.” She got up, dusting her hands on her jeans. “Okay, what’s going on here? I thought Will was on the run from the fuzz, but I come here and find her shacked up with one, instead.”

“The police want me for questioning in the murder of three men.” She paused, glancing at him to see if he would offer anything. He remained impassive, so she continued. “They’ve confiscated everything in my motel room.”

Morgan’s face fell in dismay. “Including the lappie I gave you?”

She nodded. “Including the laptop.”

“Aw, man.” Morgan dropped heavily onto his office chair. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you with it.”

“We need to start at the beginning. I need to know everything.” Ramirez crossed his arms and stared at her with his cop’s steady gaze.

She pushed aside the fleeting thought that it was a shame he’d put clothes on and got to the crux of the matter instead. “I told you I believe the man who killed my mother is the same one who killed the three you think I offed.” She frowned. “At least I’m positive he killed Quentin. I only strongly suspect he killed the other two.”

“Why are you positive about Quentin?”