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Maybe she wasn’t on the way to her wedding. She could be a runaway bride. That seemed a more plausible explanation for why she was alone in a taxi with her wedding dress. She’d had a case of bridal jitters.
But why was she running to a P.I.? Her gaze dropped to her suit again. A runaway bride with blood on her suit? That was not good. Her fingers tightened on the business card. Maybe this Kristophe Angelis would know who she was.
The sirens grew louder.
“It’s the ambulance,” the skinny man said.
“Naw,” her taxi driver corrected. “It’s the police. They’ll interview a few witnesses and find out you ran that red light.”
“I had the green.”
“ I had the green. My fare will tell the police that—as soon as she comes out of shock.”
Police. The word sent a chill through her, and she dropped her gaze once more to the bloodstains on her skirt. They’d want to know how the blood got there. How could she explain that to the police when she couldn’t remember?
Maybe she didn’t want to remember.
But she had to. Moving to the edge of the seat, she peered down at the floor of the taxi. She did have a purse, didn’t she? She’d glimpsed black leather when she’d moved the dress bag. Relief streamed through her. Surely, there’d be answers in there. It was heavy and it took some effort to drag it onto her lap. Opening it, she peered at the contents.
She hadn’t thought the knot in her stomach could twist any tighter, but she’d been wrong. Even in the dim light, she could recognize the gleam of metal and make out the shape of a gun. Beneath it lay bundles of bills. The ones she could see on top were twenties.
It was a lot of money. Doing her best to avoid touching the gun, she slipped her hand into the tote, sliding it down the sides of the stacked bills and trying to locate a wallet or anything else that might tell her who she was. But she came up empty.
“You remember anything yet?”
She started, clutching the tote closed before turning to see her taxi driver peering in the window. “No. Sorry.”
“Shit,” he muttered as he turned and walked away.
She could see beyond him to where two uniformed officers were talking to the tall, skinny man. A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. Even as she watched, one of the policemen pulled a notebook out of his pocket and started to talk to the bystanders.
This was her chance, she thought. If she stayed here, she was going to have to explain the blood, the gun, the wedding dress and the small fortune in money in a tote bag. And she couldn’t. She slipped one twenty out of a bundle and set it on the seat. The money might not be hers, but she didn’t want to leave the taxi driver without his fare. Then keeping her eye on the two policemen, she very carefully opened the door that hadn’t suffered damage from the accident. She gathered up the tote and the wedding dress and slipped away into the crowd.
2
S ETTLING HIMSELF at his desk, Kit Angelis opened his laptop and tried to ignore the tingling sensation at the back of his neck that always warned him something was about to happen. According to his aunt Cass, the sensation was a sign of Kit’s innate psychic ability, a gift of premonition that Aunt Cass believed could be traced all the way back to ancient Greece. While the idea appealed to his imagination, Kit wasn’t all that comfortable with the notion that he might be able to “see” into the future. He’d always preferred to take life as it came at him. It was challenging enough to deal with problems as they arose without having to handle the ones that were headed at him from the future.
Still, he took a moment to rub the back of his neck. The intensity of the tingling and the way that it had been building all day warned him that some significant event was looming on the horizon. In his opinion, these little premonitions didn’t prove he was psychic. After all, no one had labeled his friend, Roman, a “seer” when he’d claimed he had a “feeling” that something was going to happen the night he’d crashed his father’s car after Kit had talked his reluctant friend into taking it for a joyride.
Of course, his aunt’s counterargument to that would be that Roman wasn’t Greek. And Kit Angelis was—certainly enough to know that something was definitely coming tonight.
No matter that it was the last thing he needed. He already had plans for the weekend. He was going fishing with his brothers.
For one tempting moment, he considered turning off his computer and hightailing it out of town. But the escape attempt would be futile. Fate had a way of dogging a person’s footsteps. How often had Aunt Cass read the story of Oedipus Rex to him as a child? If good old King Oed hadn’t been able to escape what the Fates had in store for him, how in the world did Kit Angelis hope to do it?
With a sigh, Kit pressed the button that would boot up his computer. When his dog Ari echoed his sigh, he glanced over to where the large black animal was stretched out below the window. The dog gave him a patient, longsuffering look.
“Working on it,” he said as he reached into his bottom drawer and fished out a biscuit. “Twenty pages and then we’re out of here.” That was his goal—to get down the second chapter of his new novel. Then they’d leave. “I promise.”
Ari made a sound in his throat. The tone sounded skeptical.
Kit aimed the biscuit for a spot right between the dog’s paws and hit his mark. Ari would move for food, but not much else when the temperature was this humid, and Kit hadn’t the heart to make the dog run for a treat.
Then he turned his attention back to the computer. He’d set his goal and he was going to accomplish it. True, this was not the way he’d envisioned spending a Friday evening—especially not one that was kicking off a long holiday weekend that he still intended to spend fishing with his brothers.
It wasn’t merely psychic senses that ran strong in the Angelis family; he and his brothers had also inherited an affinity for the sea. His grandfather on his father’s side had been a fisherman in Greece. His grandfather and great grandfather on his mother’s side had been shipbuilders near Sausalito.
His oldest brother, Nik, especially loved the challenge of pitting himself against the elements, and so he’d be taking out his sailboat at some point this weekend. Theo would probably take the boat out, too, and he would definitely sit on the dock and throw his line in, but Kit sensed that Theo only participated in either activity because he just loved to be near water.
But for Kit, as well as for his father, the lure of the sea had always had to do with fishing. He just loved the game of it. In his mind, he pictured himself choosing one of the lures his father made, throwing his line out into the water and then waiting for that first tug that signaled the beginning of the battle.
Kit gave himself a mental shake. Twenty pages, he reminded himself. Of course, finishing them could mean that Theo and Nik would beat him to the cabin. He tried to ignore the stab of regret he felt about that as he opened up the file on his laptop. When the phone rang, he let the answering machine pick it up.
“Hey, bro, I know you’re there.”
It was Theo’s voice. Some people thought that he and his brothers sounded alike, but Theo’s drawl was unmistakable. His older brother always spoke slowly, the way he seemed to do everything else. Energy conservation, he called it. Whatever it was, his easy manner endeared him to juries and often deceived his opponents. Theo’s mind worked fast enough, and he could move like lightning when the need arose. Like today, Kit thought with a frown. He was certain that Theo was calling to gloat because he’d arrived first at the cabin.
“Just thought you’d like to know,” Theo continued, “I’m here. There’s an hour or so of daylight left, so I think I’ll get Dad’s latest lure and catch me some fish.”
Kit grimaced. He could picture his brother all too clearly in his mind, and it was just like Theo to mention the lure. Kit had been looking forward to using it. Theo knew that, just as Kit knew that Theo probably wouldn’t even get his line wet. He’d just sit there on the porch and commune with the sea gods while he plotted strategy for his next case in court.
“Drive safely. No need to rush.”
Kit stifled a sigh as he glanced at his watch. Theo must have clocked out at 5:00 p.m. on the dot. His only consolation was that his oldest brother Nik would be getting the same gloating message on his cell.
Ever since they were kids, they’d had an ongoing competition. Whoever made it through the cabin door first got their choice of poles and lures—and their father had quite a collection. When they were little, the race to the cabin had started the moment they’d rocketed out of the car. In the early days, Nik and Theo had had an advantage because they were older. As the youngest, he’d had to rely on wit and cunning. When he was six, he’d managed to tie their shoelaces together once. He could still recall the unadulterated joy he’d felt as he’d left them face down in the grass and sprinted for the cabin door.
Their dad still told that story in the restaurant he ran in the Fisherman’s Wharf area—The Poseidon. In the Angelis family, fishing had always been something the men of the family did together—much to the annoyance of Philly, their kid sister. Kit’s lips curved at the memory of the time that Philly had stowed away in the trunk of their father’s car so that she could be a part of a fishing trip. She’d gotten her way—but only after she’d promised Spiro that she’d never do anything that dangerous again. His father told that story in the restaurant, too.
Usually, their father joined them. But ever since Spiro had lured the beautiful Helena Lambis from Greece and convinced her to open an upscale dining room on the upper level of The Poseidon, he seemed to find it very difficult to get away from work.
Philly was sure the relationship between his father and Helena was a romantic one. Helena had been a five-star chef at a hotel in Athens. When Spiro had visited Greece six months ago, he’d stayed at that very hotel. To hear Philly tell it, the story had overtones of Paris snatching Helen and carrying her off to Troy.
Spiro’s version was less romantic. According to his father, his relationship with Helena was business. He’d been thinking for some time of opening a fine-dining restaurant on the upper level of The Poseidon and he’d convinced Helena to join him in that venture. But in the five months since Helena had established her restaurant, even their business relationship had become a bit rocky. The two had become competitors, each trying to outdo the other.
Whatever the true story was, Spiro seldom had time for fishing anymore. So Kit would be spending time with Nik and Theo, something that was becoming rarer since they all had very active careers.
Nik was a detective in the SFPD and on the fast track to becoming a captain. Theo had established a reputation as a top-notch criminal defense attorney in the area and, more recently, he’d been proclaimed one of the top ten most eligible bachelors by the San Francisco Examiner, something that had garnered him quite a bit of razzing from his brothers.
The article had also resulted in some “groupies,” who’d followed Theo around for a time. When one of them had turned into a stalker, Theo had handled the situation with his usual unruffled aplomb, but he’d taken a bullet for his troubles and Kit had a hunch that there was a lot about the experience that he hadn’t shared with them.
Kit glanced down at his laptop. His own career had taken off recently, too. For the past several months, he’d been juggling two jobs—his P.I. business, which paid the bills, and his new job as a published author. He’d signed a contract for two mystery novels just over a year ago. The first, which featured a Hitchcock-type hero with amnesia, had hit the bookshelves in the spring. The proposal and chapters for his second book were due in three weeks.
Nothing was going to keep him from achieving his goal. Not the images of his brothers arriving ahead of him at the cabin, not the soulful, pleading looks that Ari was giving him, not even the Fates, who’d thrown one obstacle after another in his path today.
First, there’d been a case that had dragged on late into the afternoon. He’d been typing up his report when a violent little summer storm had rolled through and driven his already ailing air conditioner into cardiac arrest. He’d jimmied open the window in the hopes that the storm had cooled the air, but it hadn’t. Now, thanks to the heat wave that had been holding San Francisco in a tight fist for the past five days, the temperature in his office resembled a steam bath.
To top it off, he couldn’t get the window to shut, so not only did he have to put up with the distracting sounds of traffic, but he was also being plagued by an occasional rogue breeze gusting in and scattering his once carefully stacked notes hither and yon.
Kit gave the mess of papers littering the floor of his office a considering look. Cleaning it up was probably a good idea. And he’d be more comfortable if he shed his blazer. With a sigh, he rose and stripped down to his T-shirt and jeans. As he toed his shoes off and peeled out of damp socks, he doggedly ignored the trickles of sweat rolling down his back. Moving to the center of his office, Kit squatted down and began to pick up papers and sort them into piles.
He could endure the heat. After all, the temperature hadn’t been much better before the air conditioner had given up its ghost. The good news was that now his miserly landlord would be forced to replace the unit.
The phone rang again, and the tingling at the back of his neck once more claimed his attention. He stifled the urge to reach for the receiver as he listened to his voice inviting the caller to leave a message. It was probably Nik calling to gloat, too.
“Kit?”
The female voice was breathless. And frightened, Kit thought as he tried to place it.
“This is Sadie Oliver. You may not remember me. I’m Roman’s—” A burst of static cut the last word off.
Though he’d only met her once, Kit remembered Sadie, all right. His friend Roman Oliver had two sisters. The younger one, Juliana, was about to start college. A year ago Sadie had graduated from Harvard Law School and come back home to work in her family’s business. She was an attractive brunette, nearly as tall as Roman, and if she hadn’t been his best friend’s sister, he might have called her for a date. But his bond with Roman dated back to their freshman year in college when they’d shared a room.
He’d even dedicated his novel to him. Who better, since his friend had provided a wealth of information on the inner workings of organized-crime families. Not that the Oliver family had any connection to crime anymore. Their business holdings in real estate up and down the California coast had been legitimate ever since Roman’s great-grandfather had moved to San Francisco and built his first hotel forty years ago.
But it had been the Oliver family’s long-established feud with the Carlucci family, dating back to a time in Chicago when both families had been involved in shadier business practices, that had sparked the idea for Kit’s first novel. The Montagues and the Capulets had nothing on the Olivers and the Carluccis. And although both San Francisco families were legitimate now, they were still bitter rivals when it came to business.
There was another burst of static. “…To talk to you. My cell is 546-2122.”
Even as he filed the number away in his mind, Kit rose and moved toward the phone. But the line had already gone dead when he picked it up. He stared thoughtfully at the receiver for a minute. Why would Sadie Oliver need to talk to him?
He was punching in her number when another voice grabbed his attention.
“Excuse me.”
The hoarse sound had him whirling, and as he did, he stubbed his bare toe on the leg of a chair. Swearing softly, he grabbed his throbbing foot and stumbled against his desk. The phone and the answering machine crashed to the floor.
In the midst of the chaos, all Kit could do was stare. Straddling the threshold between his office and his secretary’s was a beautiful waif who could have graced the pages of any P.I. novel, including his own.
Here she is. That was the only clear thought he had as the tingling at the back of his neck morphed into an electric current. The tingling he understood. He’d been expecting something all day and she was it. He also understood the tightening in his gut. He’d experienced it before—that instant sexual awareness of a woman. The sensation of the ground shifting under his feet? Now, that was tougher to explain. But, hey, this was San Francisco. It could be a tremor.
And then it finally registered. The suit she was wearing was stained with blood.
3
“I… MAYBE , I SHOULD …”
She was going to turn and run. Pure panic shot through him and brought Kit out of his daze. He didn’t trust himself to take a step yet, but he managed to speak. “Don’t go.”
She glanced down at a card she was clutching in one hand, then at Ari. “That’s a very big dog.”
“He won’t move unless he smells food on you.” In which case, Ari would definitely leap on her and she was such a bit of a thing that he figured the dog might just topple her over. Worrying about that brought the rest of his thoughts into focus. “You don’t have any on you, do you? Food, I mean?”
“No…but…” She glanced uncertainly down at the card again. “I think I might be in the wrong place. I’m looking for…”
“Me.” She was what he’d been waiting for all day. He was absolutely sure about that. And he was pretty sure the blood on her suit wasn’t hers since she’d evidently gotten here under her own steam. So the tiny blonde with the bottle-green eyes was a damsel in distress of the first order. Her heart-shaped face and that perfect mouth might have been carved on one of the cameos his aunt Cass kept in her jewel box.
She was poised for flight. And no wonder. His office looked as though it had just been attacked by the same tornado that had carried Dorothy off to Oz. There was a dog the size of a small bear cub lounging on the floor, and he…well, he just wasn’t presenting his best professional image.
“Why don’t you come in?”
She took one step and then paused again as if to gauge the response of the dog. In one quick glance Kit cataloged details, taking in the bruise that darkened the otherwise perfect skin near her left temple and the silky-looking hair that fell in tousled layers to just beneath a stubborn-looking chin. Last, but not least, he noted the first-rate legs and the designer open-toed shoes. Her other features remained hidden behind the dress bag and tote she was holding on to for dear life.
Kit had an overpowering urge to go to her, to press his hand to the small of her back and guide her carefully to one of his two client chairs, but he sensed that the slightest move on his or Ari’s part would make her bolt.
“How can I help you?” he asked in a calm voice as he settled his hip firmly on the edge of his desk.
“I’m not sure you can.” Her voice was stronger now. While he’d been studying her, she’d glanced warily around the room, her gaze settling on Ari twice. She met his eyes, then frowned down at the card in her hand. “I’m looking for Mr. Kristophe Angelis.”
“You’ve found him.” Kit sent her what he hoped was his most charming smile. Of the three Angelis brothers, he’d inherited the dimples. Most of the time he could have done without them, but every so often, especially when women were involved, they served him well. “I go by Kit. Kit Angelis.”
She transferred her frown from the card to him, and this time when he looked into those green eyes, he felt a little punch right in his solar plexus.
“Have we ever met before?” she asked.
“No.” Kit was absolutely certain of that—in spite of the fact that what he was feeling bordered on recognition.
“It says on this card that you’re a private investigator.” Her tone held a note of accusation—as if the card were lying.
“I am,” he explained, “during the days. On my free nights, I write crime fiction.” As he gestured around the room, a breeze sent more papers scattering to the floor. “You’ve caught me in my writing mode.”
“I’m interrupting, then.” She didn’t appear to be at all reassured by his explanation. If their positions had been reversed, Kit wasn’t sure he would have been, either.
“Not at all.” It wasn’t a lie, really. She hadn’t interrupted. He hadn’t even gotten one word down. Something she saw on his face must have reassured her—perhaps the dimples had finally kicked in—because she took a few steps forward. Good, he thought as he willed her to take a few more. He sat perfectly still while she did. Experience had taught him that luring a woman wasn’t a lot different than reeling in a fish. Patience and persistence usually paid off.
She was close enough now that he could reach out and touch her. Kit had to suppress a powerful urge to do just that. He wanted very much to trace his finger along her jawline, to find out if that porcelain-delicate skin was as cool as it looked. He thought not, but a good investigator always tested his theories.
“You do investigate crimes, then?”
“Hmm?” Kit reined his thoughts in from the little detour they’d taken.
“You investigate crimes, right?” She was studying his face very closely.
He finessed his wallet out of his pocket, flipped it open and handed it to her. “I’ve been licensed by the state of California to do just that. I’m even allowed to charge for my services.”
She glanced down at the wallet, then back at him. “Could you find out if I’ve committed a crime?”
He noted that her knuckles had turned white on the strap of the tote. He wanted very much to take that hand in his, but he kept himself very still.
“Probably.”
“How?” she asked.
“My brother Nik is a cop. If a crime has been committed and the police are involved, he would know. I also have friends at the newspaper and TV stations. What kind of a crime are we talking about?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe a robbery. Maybe worse. That’s what I need you to find out.”
He said nothing, but he noted the way her grip tightened on the dress bag and the tote.
