Chapter Four

Afternoon dragged into early evening.

Abby’s nerves, already raw with concern about Lila and her son, frayed incrementally every time she glanced over at Rick. Yards of legs sprawled out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, while he played with his phone. Well, playing wasn’t the correct term. She knew he was working since he’d made a quick call to Josh to ask for some case information. He hadn’t mentioned he was with her, for which she was thankful.

Lila’s sister Maria arrived, tearful and terrified, her three young children in tow. Abby had done her best to calm the woman and explain what had happened. Maria, lapsing between English and Spanish, questioned where Michael was. The young woman collapsed when Abby informed her he’d been taken by his father. Rick caught her before she hit the ground.

The arrival of the thoracic surgeon had thrown Maria into a crying jag again as he explained how much damage Lila had experienced and how her prognosis was critical and guarded.

“These first forty-eight hours are crucial,” he told them. Lila was being kept in the cardiac intensive care unit with a private nurse watching over her and a uniformed police officer at her door, ordered by the NYPD detective in charge of finding Genocardi.

“God bless Tony,” Abby said when she and Rick finally left the hospital. “I don’t think Joseph has the nerve to come here, but all the same, it never hurts to be proactive.”

Fatigue seeped through every pore. She rubbed her eyes with the pads of her fingers after buckling herself in, sighed, then closed her eyes.

What a day.

She had a million things to do once Rick dropped her off, but all she really wanted was some hot food, a tall glass of wine, a relaxing bath, and then bed. Verna had rescheduled all her afternoon appointments, but Abby had to be in family court at ten the next morning and needed to prepare. So the wine, hot bath, and bed fantasy was put on the back burner.

She opened her eyes and stared out the window.

“This isn’t the way to my apartment.”

“We’ll get there,” Rick told her. “I need to get a few things first.”

“What are you talking about?”

The side glance he shot her had her spine bolting upright in the seat again. “Where are we going?”

“I need to stop by my place for a few minutes, get some essentials.”

“What essentials?”

“Change of clothes, my Dopp kit. Some files I’ve been working on.”

“Why?”

He flicked his gaze at her again. “You know why, Abigail. I’m not leaving your side until this guy is caught. For the foreseeable future, we’re roomies.”

“What?”

“There’s no need to deafen me.”

“What do you mean roomies? Like, you’re staying at my apartment? With me?”

“That would be the definition of roommates.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way.”

Abby gaped at his profile, astounded by his arrogance. Even for him this was too much. “Bannerman, there is no way in hell you’re staying in my apartment.”

“Don’t argue with me about this, Abigail. I promised I wouldn’t tell Kandy about Genocardi. Do you want me to renege on my promise?”

Anger poured through her. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“That’s just…just…low. Even for you. And mean. And spiteful.”

“Call me whatever you want, the end result is the same. You’re stuck with me until I’m certain there’s nothing to worry about from this guy. Get used to it.” He pulled into an underground garage and parked. “Come on,” he said, holding open her door.

“I’ll wait here.”

His sigh was deep, long, and irritated. “Abigail, despite what you think, I’m not stupid. If I leave you here, your cute little ass will be in a cab before I get upstairs.”

Because it was exactly what she’d been planning, her exasperation grew.

“Now, come on. This won’t take long.”

Without waiting for a reply, he reached in and around to her seatbelt latch. His face was a mere inch from her own when he turned to face her.

For the thousandth time since they’d met, she thought how gorgeous the color of his eyes were. A deep, rich brown, like tempered chocolate infused with a splash of caramel and lashes so naturally long and thick a bead of jealousy burst within her. On any other man, those lashes would be considered effeminate. Not on Rick Bannerman. They only served to increase his hotness quotient.

Her gaze ran down to his mouth, her breath going a little shallow when the corners pulled up and two dimples winked back at her. The simple notion to lean forward and run the tip of her tongue into those little mind-blowing indentations made her stifle a gasp. His lids went to half-mast, the knowing smirk making those delectable hollows deepen.

The last time she’d given into the urge to touch him, she’d been left frustrated and mortified on a hotel terrace. No way was she going through that again.

Anger burned through the lust when he effortlessly unbuckled her belt and offered a hand to help her from the car.

“Come on.”

“Bossy, much?” She slapped his hand away. “I can get myself out of a car, Bannerman. I don’t need your assistance.”

They rode the elevator in silence.

Until this moment she hadn’t a clue where he lived. Not knowing what to expect, she was pleasantly surprised when he opened the door and flicked on the wall switch.

Subtle hues of tan and green covered the entryway. The apartment opened from a long hallway into a spacious rectangle. Facing the living room, she spied a small, tidy kitchen to her left and another hall to her right with two opened doors. A sectional sofa in a deep, rich chestnut covered with earth-toned throw pillows took up most of one wall, and a gigantic flat-screen television the opposite one. There were no photographs, or fussy extras like artwork or knickknacks anywhere. Nothing personalizing the space.

“Pretty spartan surroundings, Bannerman,” she said to his retreating back.

Before disappearing through one of the hallway doors, he glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve got everything I need.”

Abby moved to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and frowned. Four Chinese takeout boxes and two covered Styrofoam trays filled the mostly empty space, a twelve pack of beer neatly arranged on the top shelf next to a half gallon of milk. No condiments, sauces, vegetables, or even a carton of eggs. The lack of food hit her as sad. Her own fridge was packed with enough fresh ingredients to feed a family of four for a week, in addition to the copious marinades and sauce bottles lining the refrigerator door. Even if she hadn’t been the one to grocery shop, she knew Kandy would have made sure she was stocked with food provided from her restaurant or home. No one in her sister’s realm ever went hungry.

It was obvious Rick had no one in his life to cook for him or make sure he ate well, the commercial takeout evidence of it. For a brief moment, she wondered about the reason.

“All set,” he said from the living room, pulling her out of her musings. “Taking inventory?”

She closed the refrigerator. “You eat an awful lot of takeout.”

“It’s easy and fast.”

“A vegetable or a piece of fruit wouldn’t kill you,” she said, walking through the door he held open. “Your diet doesn’t exactly scream healthy.”

“Worried about me, Abigail? That’s so”—his gaze dropped to her mouth then shot back up to her eyes—“sweet. I didn’t know you cared about my health.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest after walking into the empty elevator and took a breath to calm her nerves.

****

“I’m starving,” she said the moment they came through her front door. Rick chuckled behind her.

When she flipped the light switch, a bundle of faded gray and soft white galloped awkwardly toward her from the depths of the apartment emitting a low, erratic grumble.

“What the hell is that?” Rick stared down as the mass wove itself between Abby’s ankles.

Abby kicked off her shoes, groaning in relief once her feet were bare. The quick jab to his abdomen from the erotically raw sound was as arousing as her continued irritation with him.

The way her hips and sexy butt swayed in her well-fitted dress when she scooped up the bundle and brought it to her face added to his heightened arousal.

“Hey, baby,” she cooed to the furry blob. “I know I’m late. Sorry. You must be hungry.”

“That thing is alive?” Rick moved in closer for a better view of the mass.

“Of course she’s alive.” Abby pressed a kiss to what must have been the thing’s head.

“What is it?” Cautiously, Rick stretched out a finger to rub the same spot as Abby. He was surprised to find the texture incredibly soft and light. The noise increased.

“You’ve never seen a cat before, Bannerman?”

“That’s not a cat. There’s too much fur for it to be a cat. It’s a small bear or something.”

She held the animal up closer to his face. “She’s a Maine Coon mix, and yes, they tend to be furry. She doesn’t like to be clipped, though, so I let her fur grow naturally and brush it when she lets me.”

“Looks like a dust mop and sounds like a rocket engine,” he said. “She always this loud?”

Abby walked to the kitchen with the cat secured in her arms. Rick followed behind them, once again admiring the view of her lower back.

“She’s louder when she’s hungry. You get used to it.” She placed the cat on the floor, pulled a box from an overhead cabinet, and then filled an empty bowl. The cat immediately began eating.

“Jesus. The thing is louder when it eats.”

“The thing has a name, you know.” She slid a heated glare toward him and pursed her lips.”

“What? Howler?”

“Very funny. No.” Abby crouched and rubbed her finger across the cat’s neck. “I named her Moonlight because of her coloring.”

He stared down at the noisy animal. After a moment, he lifted his gaze back to hers. “That’s actually pretty good. She does kinda resemble the moon.”

Abby smiled.

“A full one. Round and fat.”

Her smile ebbed. She stood and lifted her chin to regard him through eyes that had turned cold and foreboding. He imagined when she used that piercing glare in court a defendant would spill every secret in his soul.

“Just calling it like I see it.” He quirked an eyebrow and slipped his hands into his back pockets. “How come I didn’t know you had a cat? When did you get her?”

“Right before I moved into my new offices, and why would you know? It’s not like we’re friends or anything.”

The cat continued eating, the noise emanating from its throat steady and loud.

“No, but it’s odd I hadn’t heard about it from anyone in your family. I do see your favorite brother-in-law every day, you know.”

Abby rolled her eyes.

“What made you want a cat? Why not a dog? Dogs are fun. You can take them for runs and play Frisbee and stuff with them.”

“Not a cat person, Bannerman?” Her eyebrows rose as she peered over at him.

Moonlight finished eating and then wound herself awkwardly around Abby’s ankles again. Abby bent, lifted her back in her arms, and nuzzled her neck.

“Why does she move so weird?” He reached out a hand, let the cat sniff at him and then accepted a sandpapery tongue swipe in acknowledgement.

“She only has three legs. When I got her from the shelter, they told me they think someone hit her with a car. They had to amputate her right back leg.” She kissed the tip of the cat’s nose. “Nobody wanted to adopt her because she wasn’t perfect, but they were wrong, weren’t they, baby?” The nuzzle she gave the cat’s neck had the animal purring loudly again. “She is perfect. The moment I saw her I knew she had to come home with me.”

Oddly touched, he gave the cat’s neck a rub. Who knew under Abby’s cool, professional polish lurked a mushy heart? “To answer your question, I like cats,” he said. “I like all animals. I just think dogs are more fun.”

“And yet I didn’t see any furry friends in your barren apartment.”

With a quick shake of his head, he explained, “That one’s easy. I’m gone so much on surveillance, and my hours aren’t exactly on-the-clock. A dog needs to be walked, needs stability, to know you’re coming home every night at pretty much the same time.”

“Which is why I have a cat. Same thing applies to me.” She put Moonlight down. The cat sat, lifted a furry paw, and began washing herself. “I don’t get home sometimes until late. Cats are independent creatures. They love you, but they like being left alone, too. Unlike dogs, who do need frequent attention.” She stretched and scrubbed her hands down her face. “Look. I need to make a few calls. Then, since you insist on being here, I guess I have to feed you.”

“Don’t go to any fuss on my account. We can order in something. It’s what I’d be doing if I wasn’t here.”

“Yes, I saw your refrigerator.” She shuddered. “No. I had a miserable day, and I don’t want take out. I’ll make something. Give me a few minutes.”

She reached down and petted the cat, then walked out of the kitchen toward what must have been her bedroom. After a heartbeat, the cat waddled after her.

Rick took the opportunity to do one of the things he usually got paid to do—snoop.

The apartment was an awful lot like the woman who lived in it.

Sleek lines and classic textures, mixed with some flashes of bold color. A sectional couch in a deep green microfiber was bracketed by two end tables topped by frosted-glass, art deco lamps. A flat-screen television perched atop a mahogany stand across from the couch. From her wall-wide windows, he had an unobstructed view of the Hudson River. Scattered photographs of family topped the furniture. One entire wall was taken up by a bookcase lined with leather-bound law books and hardback fiction. Each shelf was perfectly aligned, the books running from left to right in height order, smallest to tallest. They were alphabetized as well.

“A little OCD, Abigail?” He pulled out a law tome and thumbed through the pages.

“Thinking about studying law, Bannerman?”

He slammed the book closed and turned. Gone was the polished, coolly put-together barrister of a few minutes ago.

Completely gone.

She’d replaced the A-line sheath with a threadbare black T-shirt. Trust me…I’m a lawyer was written over the bodice. He was sure she had no bra covering her breasts. Baggy gray sweatpants rode low on her hips and draped down her mile-long legs. She’d traded her three-inch footwear for fuzzy pink socks and twined her hair loosely on top of her head in a sloppy, uber-sexy knot. Black-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of her nose.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“Why would you?”

When she shrugged and the thin material of her T-shirt pulled against her torso, that swift stomach jab hit again.

“Too much computer screen time,” she said, moving into the kitchen. “I need to give my eyes a rest at night, so I take my contact lenses out as soon as I get home. Since I’ve got a ton of prep work for tomorrow, I need these”—she tapped one of the bows—“so I can see what I’m reading.”

He leaned his elbows down on the counter while he watched her move about the kitchen. She was obviously used to cooking because she went from cabinet to cabinet with ease, reaching in and grabbing an item she knew sat in precisely the spot she expected it to be.

“From the contents in your fridge, I’m assuming you like Chinese food.”

“It’s a food group, isn’t it?”

The way she tried not to grin warmed his insides.

“What are you making?”

She’d pulled an electric wok from a cabinet. “Cashew chicken. I was going to make it for myself tonight anyway, so since you’re here”—she glanced up at him over the rim of her glasses—“it seems like an appropriate choice.”

“A made from scratch meal. Impressive. And here I thought Kandy was the only cook in your family.”

“Who do you think taught me? Most adults don’t survive on takeout, Bannerman.” She filled a saucepot with water and placed it on the ceramic-topped stove, jacking the heat up. “I like knowing how my food is prepared, what ingredients are used, and which spices are flavoring it. Eating out all the time is a crap-shoot when it comes to nutrition, and from what I saw in your fridge, nutrition is something you’re lacking.”

“I’m not malnourished or falling over in a faint.”

She regarded him over the tops of her glasses again, and when she ran her gaze along his torso, he had the sudden urge to flex his arms and pecs.

“You work out to keep fit and you’re outdoors a lot, so those are the main reasons your body’s not a pasty blob of flab. But I bet if Ellie drew a blood sample from you, your values wouldn’t be where they should be for a guy your age. You’re pushing forty.”

“Hey. That’s a little insulting.”

She grinned.

“I’ve got a few more years before I hit my forties. I’m in my prime.”

She added oil to the wok and then swiped it along the sides with a paper towel. “Keep telling yourself that. I survived for years on Ramen noodles and yogurt when I was in law school. I wonder sometimes how I didn’t die from starvation. It’s a pleasure to use all the prep skills Kandy taught me, now that I can afford to.”

“Nothing wrong with Ramen noodles.”

“Nothing right with them either. Here.” She handed him a knife. “Earn your keep. I need these sliced to one-inch lengths and then separate the white from the green colors.”

She pulled a rubber band off a bundle of scallions, ran them under the faucet for a moment, then gave him a cutting board and the bunch.

While he got to work, she added chicken pieces she’d pulled from a container in the refrigerator into the wok. The immediate sizzle and then the pungent punch of the cooking fowl had his mouth watering for more than just the sight of her.

“You look pretty domestic right now, Abigail.”

She added some spices on top of the chicken. Without glancing up from her task, she said, “Why does that sound insulting? And I hate when you call me Abigail.”

“And still…”

Another glare over her glasses had him biting back a grin. “Why don’t you give me an update on your client.” He separated the scallions, dividing them between two bowls she’d given him. Done, he moved to the sink to rinse the knife.

“Maria told me Lila is still sedated, but the nurse said her vitals are stable, so that’s a good thing. Two of the stab wounds came so close to vital organs they could have killed her. Another one was skirting next to a major artery.”

She reached into the refrigerator, took out two bottled waters, and handed him one.

“She definitely had some angels on her shoulders today,” she said after taking a sip. “I wish her son could be at the hospital with her. I’m so worried about him. About what his father could be doing to him.”

Rick’s stomach clenched. “Do you think he’d hurt the kid?”

“He has in the past. That’s what finally prompted Lila to leave. For a reason I will never understand, she tolerated being hit by her husband, but the moment he laid a hand on their child, she knew she had to leave. Why she bore being abused is beyond me.”

“Maybe as an adult, she figured she could take it. Not so her kid.”

Abby shook her head as she stirred the contents of the wok. “You can hit me but not my child? That’s convoluted thinking and shows how little we’ve really evolved as a society. Unfortunately, I see too many instances like this in my practice. Women, who for whatever reason, are convinced they deserve to be treated abominably, that a marriage license gives their husbands the right to hit them. The legal right.” She shook her head again. As she stirred the chicken around the wok, it popped and sizzled over the heated oil.

A flash of himself at eight, his parents’ screaming voices above him, pushed to the front of his mind. The resounding thwack of the back of his father’s hand striking his mother’s cheek was as loud and terrifying to hear in his head now as it had been then. Rick took a deep breath and shoved the memory back down.

He took a large swig of the water. “Any calls from your cop buddy? Updates?”

“I checked when I was getting changed. Nothing.” She sighed and then tossed two wrappers into the now-boiling pot of water. “In a minute, everything will be ready,” she said. “The rice needs to set.”

“That’s rice? It’s the wrong color.”

“You’ve never seen brown rice before?”

“Seen it. Had it. Just didn’t know it came in wrappers.”

This time she didn’t try to hide her grin. “If you tell Kandy, I’ll deny it until my dying breath.”

“Tell her what?”

With another subtle eye roll, Abby said, “That I take shortcuts. If Kandy was making this meal, the rice would have soaked in warm water for an hour, then would have been cooked in a rice steamer for another. I don’t have two spare hours. This”—she pointed to the pot—“is quick rice. Something I don’t think my darling chef sister has ever prepared. You know Kandy. She never uses commercial products. Everything is fresh, raw, and unprocessed.”

“Truth. And don’t forget delicious.”

“To use your word, truth. But cooking is what she lives for. I cook so I won’t starve, and most of the time I’m in a time crunch. So”—she waved a hand—“shortcuts.”

“As long as it tastes good and I didn’t have to make it, I don’t care how long it took to prepare.”

“Which is why takeout was invented for people like you. Here we go. All set.”

She spooned the chicken mixture onto a serving plate and, using tongs, pulled the rice from the pot, sliced the sides open, and poured the grains into a bowl.

“Take these to the table.” She handed him the food. “I’ll get plates and utensils.”

Once they were settled, Rick dug in.

After eating in silence for a few moments, he said, “This is good. Really good.”

Abby laughed. “Surprised, are you?”

“Impressed. This tastes like our favorite chef-lebrity made it.”

“She hates being called that, you know.”

“And still…” He lifted a hand.

“God. You’re such a pain.”

He could see the humor skirting in her eyes. “You’ve called me that before. Several times over the years, including on Kandy’s wedding day.”

The moment he said it he knew her mind traveled back to the same memory of the day as his did: their kiss. Her beautiful blue eyes widened, then narrowed, a thin worry line creasing the spot between her sculpted brows. The little flush of heat pinking her cheeks was the same color as her fuzzy socks.

Who knew she was so easy to tease? And why did it give him such a kick to see the nervous little shake of her head when he did?

“You were being an exceptional pain in the butt that day. If I remember correctly you called us minions. Not exactly a flattering phrase, Bannerman.”

He leaned back in the chair and took a chug from the water bottle. “Just calling it like I saw it. What description would you have preferred?”

“Attendants is the appropriate term. Bridal attendants. Calling us minions made us seem like mindless…lemmings.”

He laughed out loud. “From where I was standing, that’s exactly what you all were, although I wouldn’t call you mindless. You were all dressed identically, did everything together as a unit, and were at Kandy’s beck and call. She said jump, you all asked how high.”

“That’s what we were supposed to do. Our job was to make sure Kandy’s day ran smoothly, with no worries. Haven’t you ever been in a wedding party?”

“Nope. I’ve been lucky to miss that experience so far.”

Her mouth pursed around her fork. “Do you even have friends?” she asked after swallowing.

“ ’Course I have friends. What kind of a question is that?”

“Aside from Josh.”

Well…

“You don’t give off a ‘let’s get together and have a beer’ vibe, you know.”

Intrigued, he asked, “Really? What kind of vibe do I give off?”

When she didn’t respond, he pressed. “Come on, Abigail. You can’t leave me hanging.”

“Right there.” She aimed her fork at him as if it were a spear. “Perfect example. You know I hate being called Abigail. I’ve lost count of the hundreds of times I’ve told you and you still do it, knowing it pisses me off. And”—she cut him off before he could speak—“your usual response is to lift your hands and say ‘and still’ when you’re called on it. Who does that? What kind of person persistently and purposefully annoys people?”

“So you’re saying I’m intentionally annoying?”

“Persistently, so. Yes. Makes the lawyer in me wonder why.”

Just the lawyer? “Any answers come to mind?”

“Plenty.”

“Care to share?”

She placed her fork down next to her plate and regarded him across the table. “You really want to hear this? Because if you know anything about me, you know I’m truthful. I don’t hold back.”

Oh, he was sure she didn’t. And wouldn’t. Her tenacity was one of the things he’d first been drawn to. That and her fabulous ass.

“I’m a big boy,” he said with a grin. “I can take it.

She took a sip of water first, her eyes trained on him the entire time. “Okay. If you really want to hear this.”

He waved his hand for her to continue.

“I think you use your cocky, aren’t-I-simply-too-witty attitude to keep people at a distance. You’re guarded. Emotionally. Like you don’t want to get close to anyone. You don’t want people diving in too deep, digging under the surface to see the real you. You don’t allow people to get to know you. Really know you.”

Because she came a little too close for comfort, Rick reached for his water.

“You never talk about yourself. Ever. Every time I’ve been in your presence at any function, barbecue, whatever”—she swiped a hand in the air—“you’re always the one asking questions. Probing. Being nosy. But when you’re asked a question, a personal one, you deflect and redirect.”

It was true. He never talked about himself. The army shrink he’d been forced to see had told him point blank he was fearful of rejection, afraid if people knew the real him, they’d run for the hills or in the opposite direction and want nothing to do with him. She hadn’t been too far off the mark.

“Did you ever think it’s because I feel people are more interesting than I am?”

“I’m calling bullshit, Bannerman.”

Again, because it was true, he had no real response.

She cocked her head and pierced him with what he was now and forever going to call her lawyer death stare. “I don’t know anything personal about you,” she said. “We met four years ago, have been together dozens of times over the years, yet until today I didn’t even know where you lived. If it weren’t for Gemma, I wouldn’t know you’d been in the army.”

“You’ve discussed me with your sister?” Why did knowing that give him such a rush of delicious pleasure?

Abby waved a hand in the air again. “She mentioned it one night after she’d done some photography work for you on a surveillance job. About how you were much better suited to the boring wait-around-for-something-to-happen of surveillance work than she’d ever be because you were—her word—stealthy. It was probably because you’d been a sniper in the army, she said.”

Rick shook his head. He’d forgotten he’d told Abby’s younger sister about his army stint. It came out one day, unbidden, when he’d taken her target shooting at the practice range.

“I would never have known if she hadn’t told me. I didn’t even think to ask if you’ve got a gun with you.”

After a few moments, he nodded. “It’s in my duffle. But don’t worry. I don’t need the gun to protect you.”

“Duh. The gun business aside, you’re partners with my brothers-in-law, but I don’t know if you’ve ever been married or divorced. If you have any kids. Living parents. It’s as if you don’t want people to know anything about you. To know you. Or to like you. Almost as if you go out of your way to make sure they don’t.”

This conversation was getting entirely too close for comfort. He wished he’d never pressed her into explaining.

From the corner of his gaze, he saw the cat hobbling into the room, beelining for her mother. He reached a hand down as she skittered by and grazed her fluffy back. Moonlight stopped, turned, and moved as his fingers trailed across her back again. When she did it a third time, Rick smirked across the table.

“Well, your cat likes me, so I can’t be all bad.” He reached over and single-handedly pulled the animal up to his lap, surprised she was so light. From the girth of hair on her, he figured she’d be heavy. “You really are a furball, aren’t you?” The rub of his finger across her neck had the cat running like a motorized propeller again.

He glanced across the table. “What’s the look for?”

She immediately blanked her face, grabbed up the last bits of her chicken with her fork, and shoved it through her lips. “What look?” she asked from the corner of her mouth.

“Typical lawyer, answering a question with a question.”

“Well, I am a lawyer.” She pointed a thumb at her T-shirt. “See? That’s what it says here.”

His gaze dropped to her chest and lingered on the printed words a bit longer than was proper. When two hardened pebbles pushed against the material, he fisted his hands so he wouldn’t reach out and caress them.

Abby dragged in a quick, shallow breath, the gasp audible even above the cat’s purring. In opposition, Rick stopped breathing. All he could do was stare like an inexperienced teenage boy getting his first glimpse of a desirable female form.

The cat might not weigh much, but her solid little body settling on top of what was a rapid and full-forming erection grew uncomfortable. He knew Abby couldn’t see what was happening to his body, but he continued to use the cat as a shield until he could figure some way to calm himself.

As his fingers continued to scratch Moonlight’s neck, the feline pleasure pouring from her had him wondering if the cat’s owner would be as receptive and loud if he ran his fingers all over her, too.

Abby’s big blue eyes were wide, and the subtle flush on her cheeks had deepened. When she swallowed, the urge to slide from his chair, pull her into his arms, and relive the kiss they’d shared slammed through him so fast his entire body reacted to the jolt by stiffening. Moonlight responded by extending her claws through his trousers, their sharp kneading motion stabbing through his skin.

“Ouch.” He flinched. “That hurt.” He lifted the cat and brought her to eye level.

The cat’s eyes were mostly hidden behind a swatch of thick fur, but they were half-closed as she regarded him. Her tiny nose wiggled, the whiskers swishing back and forth, and Rick swore she was laughing at him.

“You need to clip her nails,” he told Abby, his gaze shifting to her.

She’d stood, her empty plate in her hand, and moved back to the kitchen.

“I’ll clean up,” he told. When she turned around to him, he stood, the cat cradled in one of his arms, his dish in the other. “You cooked.”

“I won’t argue,” she said, taking the cat when he offered her. “Cleanup is the chore I loathe.” She nuzzled Moonlight’s nose. “I’ve got prep work to do for tomorrow, and I need to get started, so, thanks.”

She looked like she wanted to say something else, so he waited her out. Abby kept things pretty close to the vest, but he was starting to recognize subtle tells, like the one right now. She was biting the inside of her cheek, her head bobbing a little as she regarded him.

“You’re really going to spend the night? Here?” she finally asked.

“And every other night until Genocardi is caught.”

She went stone still. “He doesn’t know where I live.”

“You can’t be sure of that. Neither can I, so…” He lifted his hands, palms up.

It was a wonder blood wasn’t seeping through her lips from the intense way she was biting down on her cheek.

“Look.” He leaned a hip against the sink, folded his arms across his chest. “I know you think there’s no worry or danger to you from this guy. But in my professional opinion—and please remember what I do for a living—you can never underestimate someone who’s gone off the deep end like this guy has. He may not be targeting you, may have forgotten all about you, but I seriously doubt it.”

She sighed, snuggled the cat closer, and buried her face in its fur.

“Josh can assign someone who’ll keep you as safe as I can. But do you really want someone you don’t know following you around all day? Possibly for several days?”

“God, no. I’d hate that.”

“Then isn’t it better I’m the one? You know me. You can trust me. You do trust me, right?”

Without hesitating, she replied, “Of course I do.”

He nodded again, relieved by her answer. He pushed off the counter, took a few steps toward her, and then reached out a hand to rub the cat’s neck as she was doing.

“I know this is hard for you,” he said, hiking his voice to be heard over Moonlight’s thunderous vocal vibrations. “Being invaded, having your privacy and your quiet life infringed upon. I’d be mad, too.”

“I’m not mad,” she said. “Just…inconvenienced.”

“Yeah, I get that. It won’t be for long, though, I’m sure. Your cop buddy will find Genocardi. As soon as the threat is gone, I’ll be out of your hair.”

She stared at him for a moment over the cat’s head. “You might want to grab my law book again, Bannerman.”

“Why?”

“Your argument’s pretty solid on all levels. Almost lawyer-worthy.”

“Now, there’s no need to be insulting, Abigail.” He pulled himself up to his full height and glared down his nose at her.

He was pleased when she laughed, since it had been his intent. “Go on and do whatever you need to do. I’ve got stuff to do as well,” he told her.

With one final glance at him, she moved from the kitchen, the cat still in her arms.

Rick made quick work of the dinner cleanup. Settled on her long, comfy couch, he pulled out the Castle file, determined to find something he’d missed.

Some time later, he heard the cat’s awkward footfall plodding from the bedroom. When he looked up, Abby was in the kitchen. A quick glance at the kitchen clock told him they’d both been working for over two hours.

“I’m making a cup of tea. Do you want anything?”

He closed the file he’d been reading. “I’m good. How can you drink tea at this hour and get any sleep?”

“It’s decaf.”

She set the filled teakettle and asked, “What are you working on?”

“The Castle case.”

“Oh. With everything that happened today, we never finished our discussion.”

“You got a few minutes now? ’Cuz I’ve got some questions.”

She came around the kitchen counter and dropped down into the chair opposite him. “Sure. Shoot.”

“Do you remember anything special about her? Erratic behavior? Mood problems? Stuff like that.”

“Honestly, I didn’t have much interaction with her. I mostly did the grunt work for petitions for custody or home removal. We did some pro bono work for the city and family court. That’s why I recognized her name.”

“From what I’ve seen, your firm did a ton of pro bono work.”

“It did. The partners were adamant about giving back. Luckily, they had the ability to because of all the high profile cases they’d been involved with. Marty Fields is a marvelous lawyer and an all-around great guy. I loved working for him. He was the one who pushed me so hard to go to law school.”

The kettle whistle blew. Back in the kitchen, a tea bag steeping in a mug, she asked, “Why are you so convinced something happened to her other than what the official report says?”

“Too many inconsistencies. People say she didn’t drink, yet an empty bottle of whiskey was found in her car. Her alcohol level was nil, so why was the bottle there? She hadn’t been depressed or worried. Her bank account was full, and her bills were all paid. Apparently, her work was her life. Everyone I’ve spoken to has told me she loved what she did and probably wouldn’t retire until forced to. People don’t change overnight, and I can’t find anything to indicate she was going through some kind of crisis. So.” He lifted his hands. “If things don’t add up, I tend to be unconvinced by the party line.”

She took a sip of tea and glanced at him over the rim of the mug.

“What?”

“Josh told me once you’re like a hungry dog with a steak bone when you’re on a case. I think it’s an apt description.”

Rick sat back on the couch and twined his hands behind his neck. “First Gemma, now Josh. You seem to talk about me an awful lot, Abigail. Kinda makes me wonder why.”

Her quick snort made him grin.

“Remember the cocky attitude I alluded to earlier, Bannerman? Here’s the proof.”

His grin widened as he lifted his hands again.

With a shake of her head and hiding her own grin behind her mug, she returned to her bedroom, her constant companion skipping on three legs after her.

Later, when his eyes began to droop and the words started to run together across the screen, Rick yawned and stretched.

Time to call it a night.

The light from Abby’s bedroom was still lit. Moving soundlessly across her plush carpet, he peeked through the open door.

Cat and lawyer were both sound asleep. Abby was propped up on two pillows, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose, an open file in her hand. Her laptop sat on top of her thighs, the black screen indicating it had fallen asleep along with its owner. The cat sprawled against her hip and thigh, blowing rhythmic snores.

Carefully, Rick slipped the file from Abby’s hand and placed it on her bedside table. He did the same with the laptop. The glasses required a little more finesse. The moment he started to slide them off, she shifted and rolled onto her side. He’d pulled them off right before she settled. The cat groaned once, flicked her tongue across her whiskers, and squinted up at him through fur-covered eyes.

Rick let her sniff his hand and was rewarded with a another sandpaper tongue swipe.

Hands pillowed beneath her chin, Abby relaxed in sleep. He dragged the comforter up over the two of them, shut the light, and then went in search of his own blankets and pillow.