D.b. Hayes, Detective. Dani Sinclair

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СКАЧАТЬ the cat’s head wouldn’t fit through. Then I debated lifting a flap to check on Sam One. Except things would be worse if he got loose in the car with the other one. I was twisting to peer over the backseat to check on Sam Two when movement over near the burgundy Honda caught my attention.

      A man appeared between some tall hedges. Not just any man. This was a delicious hunk of serious eye candy. He strode toward the car with the assurance of someone who knew where he was going. A sporty white shirt, open at the neck, over neatly tailored black dress slacks gave him a suave, debonair look that captured my full attention—and my imagination.

      Yum. He was gorgeous. Even his dark hair, curled slightly against the nape of his neck and in need of a trim, didn’t diminish his appeal. He carried his tall, lean frame with comfortable authority. His features carried a trace of ruggedness that kept him from being too pretty, but it was a face no sane woman would mind waking up beside. The man exuded raw sex appeal.

      I sighed wistfully and decided I needed to get out more. My love life was nonexistent. Since moving back to Ohio, the only guys I’d dated on a regular basis had been Ted Osher and Billy Nugent. Billy was my aunt’s accountant. A freckle-faced strawberry-blond, he was another nice guy, but he saved his passion for neat little rows of numbers and football. Put him in a crowded stadium with a group of men wearing shoulder pads and the transformation was downright scary. The meek accountant turned into a raging maniac.

      Now, I like football as well as the next armchair quarterback, but it’s a game! Billy took every bad play as a personal affront. He’d actually thrown a ledger through his mother’s television set one time when the Browns missed a field goal. With the season about to begin again, I knew it was time to start looking around for someone else to date.

      Ted and Billy are okay to look at, steadily employed, good to their mothers and…well, frankly, boring. The man sliding into the Honda did not look the least bit boring. I couldn’t speak to the rest, but it was too bad I hadn’t been hired to tail him.

      I looked back toward the driveway just in time to see a gleaming white Jaguar glide through the open gate of the Russo’s driveway. Elaine Russo was leaving.

      Her car turned right onto the street. The opposite direction I was facing, naturally. The handsome stranger’s car fell in several car lengths behind her while I had to shoo Sam Two back over the backseat and start Binky.

      Putting him into gear, I made a tight U-turn on the narrow street as the burgundy car disappeared around the corner at the end of the street. Both animals protested loudly as I hurried to close the distance. Sam One went back to desperately clawing the insides of the box while Sam Two tried to drown him out with sheer volume right behind my seat.

      I turned on the radio in self-defense and hung back as far as I dared as soon as I spotted the white Jaguar some distance up ahead. There was no way I was inconspicuous if she was watching for a tail. I blessed the burgundy Honda’s presence in between us until it turned off onto a side street and left me the only car on the road behind her.

      Apparently Elaine wasn’t paying attention to her rearview mirror. While she might not be concerned if she did notice me back here, that would change if she continued to see my car everywhere she went. If only there’d been time to borrow my aunt’s light gray Buick.

      Fortunately Elaine didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Everyone had heard of Legacy Village, but I’m a west-side girl. The east side of Cleveland isn’t my territory, so I wasn’t sure how to get there from here. My map was so old, it didn’t even show the development. That meant I had to stay close enough to the Jag that Elaine didn’t lose me.

      I was concentrating on maintaining the proper distance when it suddenly occurred to me to wonder why Albert Russo had selected me to tail his wife. I mean, there had to be other female private investigators he could have hired. Ones that lived on his side of town. They would have been more familiar with the area and no doubt would have blended in far better than I was doing.

      When Russo had called and asked for a meeting, I’d simply been grateful for the work. Now I started wondering. They say you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but, as Trudy liked to point out, how else are you going to determine how sharp the teeth are?

      Both cats continued making a ruckus as I pulled into the shopping center two cars behind the Jag. The village concept for housing tracts is all the rage right now, even though I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that Walt Disney pioneered the concept long before I was born. The problem is, with land being at such a premium, the builders make their money on retail spaces, not parking spaces, so they don’t bother planning for adequate parking.

      The Jaguar had no problem, of course. Cars couldn’t get out of its way fast enough. Those same cars sneered at Binky. I lost two parking places to vehicles that cost more than the contents of my entire apartment before I got lucky. A Lexus started pulling out four cars down from me. I had to beat out a jerk with a dark-tinted SUV to claim the spot, but Binky’s tight turn radius outmaneuvered him, and I zipped in with ease. Not only that, but it was one of the few spots completely in the shade. I thanked the fates as I climbed out of the car, taking care that I was the only one who got out.

      Fortunately my camera was in the trunk. The last thing I wanted to do was dispute territory with the angry animal on the backseat. The box on the front seat gave me pause. I was pretty sure Sam One couldn’t eat his way through the heavy cardboard, but it sounded as if he was giving it a valiant try.

      There was no time to worry about that now. I grabbed my camera and set off after Elaine Russo before I lost her in the crowd. A tall, leggy blonde with short swingy hair and an aristocratic bearing, she strolled along as if she owned the place, looking neither left nor right.

      If her husband had thought this dinner was a cover for an assignation with a lover, he was going to be sadly disappointed. I was in a good position to watch her meet with three women close to her age—twenty-eight, according to what her husband had told me. Elaine was obviously a trophy wife. Albert was close to seventy if he was a day.

      I snapped several good shots of the women while I pretended to photograph the area. Elaine had her back to me the whole time. I willed her to turn around to no avail. I figured it didn’t matter since Russo knew what she looked like. It was the people she met with he wanted pictures of.

      The restaurant was surprisingly crowded for a Monday evening. People stood inside and outside talking in clusters. The four women were standing outside. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be able to get inside with them, but I decided it didn’t matter as long as I didn’t miss Elaine when she left. Besides, I felt self-conscious dressed the way I was. There were plenty of other people wearing shorts and T-shirts, but theirs hadn’t come from a discount store, nor were they stained with blood and smudged with dirt and cat hairs.

      At least the crowds offered plenty of cover for me. I stood wilting in the sun, trying to appear as though I belonged there and was waiting to meet someone. And as I was looking around for a place with a view to wait while they ate dinner, I glimpsed a dark-haired man moving away from me. Something about him reminded me of the sexy stranger with the Honda. To my profound disappointment, he stepped inside a store before I could get an unobstructed view of him.

      I shouldn’t really be wasting time ogling sexy strangers anyhow. My job was to keep my eye on Elaine, and it was a good thing I did. We’d only been standing there a matter of minutes when she did the unexpected. She left.

      With a wave and a smile she sauntered back to the parking lot, nearly catching me flat. Maybe Albert Russo hadn’t misread his wife after all. It appeared that this dinner with friends was nothing more than a setup for her real assignation.

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