Authors: Alexa Grace
"So we add this hired protection to our research list. Once we start surveillance, we'll get a photo to run."
Spread out on Frankie's sofa, Lane peered over his laptop and looked at Frankie who sat with her own laptop in a chair near him. "I can't find any criminal records for Eric Caine in NCIC."
"That's the National Crime Information Center, right?"
"Yeah, I want to look a couple more places until I give up. Do you have anything yet?" He grinned when he noticed a line of dried whipped cream froth from her cappuccino on Frankie's upper lip and decided not to tell her. He had the urge to pull her to him and lick it off. Definitely not a good idea and would qualify as a violation of Rule #1: Keeping things professional not personal.
"Yes, but I'm still looking. Did you know he has six adoption satellite offices with clinics in this state? It looks like the location in Indianapolis is the largest one. I wonder why he chooses to live in Bloomington instead of Indy?"
"No clue."
"Apparently, Dr. Caine is quite the social butterfly. I've got five articles with photographs from several Indiana newspapers. In each one, Caine is hosting or attending a charity event with women who look like models on his arm."
"No kidding." He drained his mug of the last drops of espresso.
"Nope. Evidently, the good doc is into blondes big time. This guy looks like a material-boy. He wears a lot of designer suits. My guess he's into money, fast cars, and image. I bet that's why he wants to be photographed at these charity events."
"I can attest to the fast car part. He drives a red Ferrari Enzo."
"No way! That used to be my dream car. Those things cost over six figures."
Lane just stared at her. She had the same dream car? What the hell were the chances of that? He shook his head and went back to his laptop. Soon he announced, "There's nothing in
ViCAP on the bastard either. He's squeaky clean so far."
"He's just flying under the radar. We'll get him, Lane."
She spent a couple more hours doing one Internet search after the other. Her back started to cramp so she stretched and checked to see what Lane was doing. He was lying on her sofa fast asleep with his laptop balanced on his chest. She watched him for a long time then quietly put her laptop on the ottoman and went to a closet for a soft blanket. She slowly removed the laptop from his chest and covered him with the blanket. He looked so peaceful with every muscle in his face relaxed. As tempted as she was to ruffle his hair and wake him with a kiss, she resisted. She wasn't going to be the one to break Rule #1. She turned off the lights and headed for her bedroom.
Frankie lay in her bed for the longest time unable to sleep because she was thinking about Mandy Morris. The poor girl was only nineteen and had already had to mourn the loss of both her parents, loved a man who didn't love her back, and bore his rejection of her pregnancy with his child. It was a lot of sorrow for someone so young to have had to experience. And that someone had snuffed out her life and dumped her young body like garbage made her furious. She agreed with Lane. They had to get justice for Mandy Morris.
Hours later Lane tossed and turned on the couch in the living room. Was he dreaming or was he really hearing a shrill screech outside the window? He put a pillow over his head, but he could still hear it. The sound was escalating and now added to it was a bumping sound that grew louder. He cursed and threw the pillow across the room before sitting up, at first wondering where he was. His gaze traveled over the living room that didn’t belong to him. Then he remembered being at Frankie's house working on his laptop which now sat on the coffee table. He yawned and stretched. He must have fallen asleep.
Something bumped against the front door again. Lane got up to check it out. He opened the door and a huge, bruiser of an orange cat raced inside and bolted into the kitchen. Frankie hadn't told him she had a cat. The thing must be hungry. He sleepily headed to the kitchen to find the cat food.
Once he flipped on the kitchen lights, he scanned the room for the cat but didn't see it. From the corner of his eye, something caught his attention. In an orange blur, the cat streaked from one end of the kitchen counter to the other propelling itself toward Lane like a missile. Suddenly, the cat was airborne, a hissing, spitting, and scratching demon that landed on his chest and clawed its way to the top of his head that it used as a springboard to escape to the living room. Lane stumbled, hitting his head on the kitchen cabinet. What the hell was that?
Rubbing his head, he stepped into the living room to look for the cat. Without warning, the cat launched himself from behind the sofa. This time he latched onto the zipper of Lane's jeans and hung on as Lane did a frantic dance to get him off. Finally, he was able to remove the cat then made a beeline for Frankie's bedroom.
Knocking wildly on her door, he shouted, "Frankie! Let me in!" He saw the cat crouched and ready to spring from the end of the hallway. Lane twisted the doorknob to her door and jumped in, slamming the door behind him.
"Oh my God, Lane. Can't you get through the first night without trying to break Rule #1?" She slid up to a sitting position, and then turned on the lamp on her small bedside table. “What’s going on? Why are you pressed against the door like that? Do we have a burglar?”
"Frankie, something's very wrong with your cat. I think he may have flipped out or something if cats do that. He may be completely insane. He was throwing himself against your front door so I let him in. He raced to the kitchen so I thought he was hungry so I went in there to get him some food. That's when it happened."
"Lane, there's something I need to tell..."
"Not now. You've got to hear this," he interrupted. "I was in the kitchen when suddenly he launched himself at me like an orange fur ball missile! I think he was aiming for my eyes. I could’ve been blinded!"
"Lane..." She got out of bed and moved toward him. His eyes were wild. She watched him as he turned and locked the door.
"No, it gets worse. I tried to find him in the living room. Like a flying ninja, he shot out from behind the couch and nailed himself onto my crotch. Once I fought him off, I ran to your door and started knocking. I looked down the hall. There he was, in a crouched position, ready to launch at me again. That's when I came in here. Like I said, something is very wrong with your cat."
Standing directly in front of him, Frankie gently rested her hands on his arms and said, "Lane, I don't have a cat."
"Then whose maniac did I let in?"
"I don't know." She examined his face. "Your face is really scratched up and bleeding. Sit down on my bed while I find my first aid kit."
"I don't need first aid. I need your Glock."
"No way. You are not shooting a cat in my house." She found a small first aid kit in a dresser drawer and opened it on the bed. She took out a couple of foil wrapped alcohol swabs."
"Frankie, I don't need you to do this."
"You don't want to get cat scratch fever, do you?"
"What's cat scratch fever?"
"I'm not sure, but every time I got scratched as a kid, my mom would talk about cat scratch fever as if it were the plague." As gently as she could, she swabbed the scratches on his face. "Are there any more scratches?"
"Check my chest. He landed there first," Lane said as he unbuttoned his shirt.
"Damn. He really scratched you." She opened up another alcohol swab and dotted each scratch. "Any more?"
He started to unzip his pants and she slapped his hand. "Seriously? You're hell-bent on breaking Rule #1, aren't you?"
A mischievous grin sliced across his face as he pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. "Just kidding, sweetheart."
Her brain told her to break away, but her body refused. She loved the feel of his strong arms holding her against the warmth of his body and a brief shiver rippled through her. She ran her hands up his back loving the feel of his hard muscles and the indentation of his spine. His closeness was so male and the scent of him, musk and man drove her crazy with need. She looked up into his eyes to see a flicker of desire as he bent to claim her lips in a kiss that was so hot and driving it took her breath away. He pulled way far too soon.
"I just had an ugly thought," Lane said.
"What?"
"Rabies." Yes, that was a word that could dampen the libido. "We've got to trap that cat."
With a blanket in hand, Frankie crept softly out of her bedroom with Lane close behind, moving toward the living room. They heard movement under the chair, and then the cat bounded toward the kitchen.
"I think that might be Miss Francis' cat. She lives down the street." She went into the kitchen to get a better look with Lane right at her side with the blanket. "It is. That's Fluffy."
"I can think of a better name for it like, cat-from-hell or Chuckie."
"I don't think Fluffy has ever been outside before. He's an inside cat. I bet Miss Francis doesn't even know he got out. I'm going to call her." Frankie ran back to her bedroom and returned with her cell phone.
"It's three o'clock in the morning. Aren't you afraid you'll give her a heart attack by calling this early?"
"I think she'll have the heart attack if she discovers Fluffy missing before we tell her." She punched her neighbor’s number in her cell phone.
"Frankie, about that kiss. Do you think we need to worry about that as a violation of Rule #1?"
"No. It was kind of an emergency situation and our adrenalin was spiking. It meant nothing to either of us." It was such a lie she almost choked getting it out.
The next day they sat in the sheriff's office at his conference table. They had briefed him on what they'd discovered about Dr. Caine. Tim had been staring at Lane and finally asked, "What in the hell happened to your face?"
When Lane hesitated, Frankie jumped in. "It's my fault, Uncle Tim. Near the front yard, I'm making a combination rock and flower garden. I'm not finished and I left a couple of large rocks out and last night Lane fell over them into my bushes." She glanced at Lane who wore a grateful grin.
"Well, I hope your face heals before you meet with the doctor. I have your identities," said Tim. He shoved two envelopes across the table; one to Lane, the other to Frankie. "In these envelopes are fake driver's licenses, social security cards, and a couple of credit cards. Your new names are Lane and Frankie Henderson. You're a married couple who just moved to Bloomington from Chicago. You've got money, but you don't have what you both want and that's a baby."
"What kind of work are we in?" asked Lane.
"Lane, you're a successful investor who buys and sells foreclosed properties. You moved to Bloomington because your wife, Frankie, is an I.U. grad who loves the area. You two can live anywhere you want because most of your business is done over the Internet."