Cat Scratch Fever (10 page)

So far here, he’d seen dedicated, passionate employees struggling to keep an out-of-the-way, underfunded facility going. So far, he’d seen that the animals were well cared for. The cages might be a little bare, but there was a level at which things like murals and fancy shelters were for the benefit of the visitors rather than the cats themselves. The cats wanted a dark, quiet place – it didn’t matter if it looked like a natural stone cave or a big plywood box. The point was that they were well fed and properly looked after.

The vet, José, had been pleasant enough, but reserved. Again, Gabe could put it down to the usual resistance he encountered. If everything was fine, then José naturally would be defensive. If something was amiss, José was likely to want it covered up.

As far as Gabe could tell, the veterinary records were in order. José had shown marked reluctance to show him a recent injury report, although the injury itself seemed to have been a fairly minor one.

José’s distraction could have stemmed from the recent birth of Amur leopard cubs. He’d excused himself from their meeting several times to check on the mama cat and her babies, and he looked flat-out exhausted.

Still, Gabe had made note of the injury in question; something just didn’t seem right, and he wanted to give it a closer look.

If the Sanctuary were a child, he might have dubbed it ‘accident prone’. First there had been the false fire alarm – but there had been a horde and a half of children swarming around. ‘Don’t touch’ was the most powerful sign to encourage a child to put his or her hands on something.

Now there was a sewage leak. Again, something that could happen to anyone, anywhere. The same set of school kids could have shoved something down a toilet. The sewage system could be old and corroded. Whatever.

But coming on the heels of the fire alarm – and, for that matter, the ocelot injury a few days before that…Was a curious pattern emerging? Was it a random series of unfortunate incidents, or something more?

Unbidden, his mind flashed back to Felicia’s comment over dinner about the land being prime real estate, that someone had suggested selling the property and relocating the Sanctuary. There wasn’t enough to bring him to any obvious conclusions. It was all just something he’d keep an eye out for.

‘Hi!’ a voice said brightly.

He looked up to see the buxom blonde caterer smiling down at him.

‘Mind if I join you?’ she asked.

Gabe tipped his head so he could view her over his sunglasses. ‘Be my guest,’ he said, gathering in his paperwork.

She slid on the bench sideways, straddling it with just enough of a hip thrust to make her intentions clear.

She wore a pink sleeveless halter-type shirt with wide lapels, sort of funky and retro and stylish all at once. She obviously wore a push-up bra beneath it, because a crevasse of shadowed cleavage was apparent between the lapels. He’d noticed earlier that her jeans rode a little low and the shirt a little high, showing off the tattoo at the small of her back, although he hadn’t been close enough to make out what the tattoo depicted.

Felicia was also wearing a sleeveless, button-down top today, but revealing less cleavage. Hers had seams down the front to shape the shirt to her body without being clinging. It was elegant, professionally sexy, especially paired with the long, straight white skirt that had a high slit up the back.

Felicia, however, was off limits. It would compromise their working relationship and there was also the slightest niggle of concern that she might be involved with the problems plaguing the Sanctuary. Not that he could think of any reason to be suspicious except that, at this point, no one was ruled out and, knowing he was attracted to her, he had to go out of his way to be objective.

‘We didn’t really get a chance to chat the other day,’ Debbie said. ‘Talk about mayhem! Anyway, I just wanted to say hi again, and get out of the sun.’ She grabbed a file off the table and fanned her cleavage, which, he noted, glistened attractively with a fine sheen of sweat.

Debbie made it blatantly obvious that she was interested in him. He felt the first stirrings of arousal in his groin: a normal, healthy reaction to an outrageously sexy, confident, willing woman. He’d probably suggest drinks after work, see where the evening led, in the hope that it would lead back to his hotel room, where they’d share a fun sweaty, uninhibited time together.

‘I’m kind of stunned by the heat,’ he admitted. ‘I have to confess I thought California was all palm trees and inviting beaches.’

There was nothing wrong with blatant. With blatant, you knew where you stood. Women were finally admitting that sometimes what they wanted was a night of hot sex with no strings attached, that they didn’t always want or assume that a wedding dress and two-point-five kids would follow.

Not that there was anything wrong with a wedding dress, et cetera. Gabe figured he’d find Ms Right someday – in fact, he was looking forward to that. But Debbie Landstrom wasn’t Ms Right and, as near as he could guess, didn’t have any interest in being Ms Right. The option of Ms Right-Now, however, was something they could both agree on.

‘The café is air conditioned,’ Debbie said. ‘We could cool down.’ She leant forwards, allowing a greater view down her shirt, and batted her doe eyes at him. Her musky perfume insinuated itself into his nostrils.

He’d planned to stay here until the City Sanitation people showed up. But goodness knew how slow government employees could be. And it
was
really hot, and iced tea sounded wonderful. He shoved the files and phone into his briefcase and stood, a bit awkwardly in his condition.

It didn’t even occur to him until they were inside the building that it would be empty of both tourists, who’d gone home because of the sewage leak, and the now unneeded employees.

Oh, she was good.

She opened the ice maker and scooped out a sliver, popping it between her red lips and sucking on it suggestively.

The blood drained from Gabe’s head and pooled in his groin. He stuck his hand in the cold bin and found a piece of ice. Coming up behind Debbie, he lifted her hair and traced the ice along her neck. She squealed and backed into him, shimmying her hips so that her fine ass snugged up against his hardened cock.

Debbie’s squeal turned into a breathy, appreciative ‘
Hel
-lo’.

Creative foreplay be damned. He spun her around. She was already unbuttoning her shirt. Her lacy yellow bra was the kind that scooped low, and all he had to do was tug a little before her nipples popped out.

She hopped up on the counter and threaded her fingers through his hair, urging him closer even as he dove in, kneading and sucking. Definitely enhanced, but she made all manner of cooing happy noises, so it seemed to be a worthy endeavour. He imagined how it would feel to slide his cock, slick with her saliva, down the valley between her breasts, and his cock responded, pressing hard against the fly of his khakis.

He made swift work of his belt buckle and yanked down the zipper. Debbie joined in to help, tugging his trousers down so they pooled at his feet, and pulling down his underwear with only slightly less force.

At his feet now, she closed her hot mouth around his cock, taking him in with ravenous enthusiasm. Her long fingernails grazed his balls, and he groaned, close to the edge. Last night’s session in the shower – or the one the night before – hadn’t taken the edge off as much as he’d hoped.

Straightening, she shimmied out of one leg of her jeans. She wasn’t wearing underwear, and she obviously spent time at the waxing salon – a narrow strip of groomed hair was all that stood between him and her pussy. She perched back on the counter and spread her legs, sliding one hand between her thighs to massage her bare, glistening lips.

‘C’mon, baby, I need you inside me.’

Gabe didn’t need further invitation.

Hot, wet and tight. It was a cliché, but it was true.

He varied the length and speed of his strokes, gauging her reaction to see what gave her the most pleasure. Then he felt a stiletto heel press into his back as she clamped her legs around him, urging him on. Well, that answered
that
question.

She was already carrying on a litany of raunchy encouragement and, as he sped up, her moans increased. Reaching down between them, his fingers sought out her clit. There wasn’t much space for skilful manipulation, but his hips rhythmically bumped his hand and his fingers slid along her hard button, and it was enough. Her moans turned to shrieks, and she squeezed down around him, and her fingernails dug into his back, and he felt the come surge up inside him.

When he released his load into her, fast and hard, it was Felicia’s face that he imagined.

Curious.

Debbie released her death grip from his back and he disengaged from her, pulled up his trousers and held them together. He refrained from looking over his shoulder to see if she’d punctured his shirt, or, for that matter, his skin.

Debbie casually reached across the counter and pulled a handful of paper napkins from a metal dispenser. She swiped herself clean, dropped the napkins on the counter, and hopped down to readjust her clothes. In less than a minute, her jeans were fastened, her bra was back in place, her shirt was buttoned, and she was fluffing out her hair and dabbing a finger at the corners of her mouth to fix any smudged lipstick.

‘I hope they sanitise the countertop before they serve anyone food,’ she commented, flicking at the napkins with her forefinger.

He started to laugh, assuming she was making a joke, but then he saw her moue of distaste.

Shaking his head, he rummaged in the supply closet and found cleaning spray and rags. He dropped the napkins she’d used in the trash and wiped down the counter.

‘Seriously, I mean, jeez, isn’t that the type of thing you write places up for?’ Debbie asked.

‘No, generally I don’t write them up for my having had sex in their cafeteria,’ Gabe said lightly. As a food-service professional, Debbie had had safe food-preparation rules drilled into her brain. But she still seemed to be overreacting. As if it hadn’t been her idea in the first place!

‘Well,
I
wouldn’t want to eat there,’ she said. ‘I hope they scrub this place down before I have to use it to prep the fundraiser food.’

‘Then I assume you don’t have sex on your own kitchen counters?’ Gabe asked.

She stared at him for a minute, then smiled and batted her eyelashes. ‘Inviting yourself over already?’

‘I’ll take a rain cheque,’ Gabe said, grabbing his briefcase. The problem with fun, sweaty, uninhibited playtime was that sometimes the other person turned out to be someone you weren’t sure you wanted to spend time with again.

Once again, his obstinate brain flashed to Felicia, suggesting that she’d be as much fun after a steamy session in the sack as she was during it.

And once again, his obstinate cock, which really should have been sated, twitched in appreciation.

‘No sooner than that?’ A silence, during which Katherine fumbled with the clicker on her pen. Felicia, Mel, Gabe and Lance (who seemed to have decided the problem was partly his to solve since he’d discovered it), gathered around her desk, held their breaths – in part from politeness, in part because the offices were downwind from the leak and the A/C was being particularly uncooperative. ‘I know it’s Friday afternoon,’ Katherine responded to what she heard. ‘That’s why we need to get this fixed today. Weekends are our busiest time.’

It was clear from Katherine’s face that whatever she was hearing wasn’t good.

She got off the phone shaking her head. ‘It looks like someone – probably some bored junior-high kid – flushed an entire box of tampons and followed it with the box. The older parts of the pipe just couldn’t take the strain. The city only has a skeleton crew on over the weekend, so the repairs may not be finished until late on Sunday – and they’ll have to shut off the plumbing everywhere but the areas that are critical for the animals for the whole time. We’ll have a port-a-john within the hour for the essential staff, but we’ll be closed until Monday, and then it’ll be a mess. They’ll have to do a lot of digging in the main courtyard and one of the bad sections is under the garden outside the front gate, so we’re going to have to get new plants and re-landscape.’

Lance groaned – understandably, since he’d planted that bed, directed by a couple of seventyish volunteers who had the horticultural know-how but not the muscle.

Then he got what he clearly thought was a brilliant idea, because his usual James Dean sneer turned into an actual smile that made him look like a particularly eager (and very well-built) puppy.

He opened his mouth then fell silent, looking from face to face. Mel had said she’d got him to be chatty one on one, but, then again, Mel looked about his age; he still seemed intimidated by the senior staff, especially Katherine.

‘Please,’ Katherine said, evidently sensing his discomfort. ‘If you’ve got an idea, speak up. We need all the ideas we can get at this point.’

‘Can we move the plants before they dig there? It’ll be kind of gross, but we’ve got gloves and coveralls and sh-stuff,’ he corrected himself quickly. ‘And my sister’s seeing this guy who works for a landscaper. Maybe he can get us some clean dirt.’ He snorted. ‘Clean dirt. That sounds weird. But maybe they’d, like, give it to us. It’s just dirt, right? Can’t cost them a lot.’

There was a brief silence, during which Felicia kicked herself for assuming the bad boy had no useful connections. There were times a landscaper with a tie to SCCS could come in handy – and this was one of them.

Katherine nodded. ‘Thank you, Lance, but I really hate the thought of anyone doing too much in this heat.’

‘They’re saying the heat wave’s gonna break tonight. It’s just going to be normal hot tomorrow, not killer. So if I come in early tomorrow…If that’s OK, that is,’ he added quickly. ‘Saturday isn’t one of my days, but I don’t have anything going down so I could help.’

‘I’ll help,’ Mel said. ‘I was coming in anyway.’

‘I’ll help too,’ Felicia volunteered instinctively.

Katherine shook her head. ‘Thanks, but, if you’re working tomorrow, we’ve got that National Science Foundation grant to finish. Maybe it’ll actually be quiet enough so that we can get it done. People don’t usually call on Saturday.’

Felicia felt a brief urge to argue. While gardening wasn’t her thing, spending some time doing physical labour with Mel and one of the more decorative volunteers sounded like a good break from her desk. But Katherine was right. The grant had been on her agenda for the afternoon, but there was no way she’d get to it, not with trustees to contact about the leak, a press release to write and a list of phone calls about five miles long for the event.

Mel laughed. ‘Besides, Felicia, I know what happened to that aloe I gave you. We want the plants to live!’

‘If you need more hands,’ Gabe said, ‘I’m a pretty good gardener for a city boy.’ He smiled a little oddly and Felicia remembered how he’d supposedly done community service on a farm.

It wasn’t until the others left to go about their day that Felicia realised how quiet Gabe had been. He hadn’t said a word other than to volunteer, and hadn’t met her eyes for the whole discussion. And, since she’d been having trouble
not
staring at him, she was sure about that.

He’d been friendly earlier, if a little cautious. But that made sense. The whole not-exactly-a-date and caught-in-a-towel situation might make him unsure how to treat her, and they hadn’t really had a chance to talk since. Now, it seemed like he was ashamed of something.

And what was he still doing here anyway, let alone volunteering to help out on Saturday? Most of the real staff had gone home, except for the ones who might as well stop paying rent and move into their offices.

She didn’t like where her mind was going, but he’d said he was a former juvenile delinquent, a vandal. What if the damage to the pipes hadn’t been accidental? He’d been here at some mighty odd hours.

Was he staying on site hoping for a chance to make more trouble? Or at least to poke around and see how much more dirt he could unearth while things were quiet?

All she knew for certain was that it was going to be a long weekend. An even longer one, if Gabe was on site for all of it.

*   *   *

Alan walked carefully through the dark Sanctuary. At least they’d got a lot of the contaminated soil out of the way during the day, and a fresh breeze was picking up, cutting through the heat and dispersing the stench, but the work had left large holes behind. They were marked off by caution tape, but he still had this fear that the ground might open up under his feet. Strange shapes loomed in the darkness – just a backhoe and some other equipment the Sanitation Department team had left behind, but they looked like something out of a monster movie.

He glanced behind him at the machinery and swore he saw movement. ‘Who’s there?’ he yelled, and trained the beam of his Maglite on the destroyed courtyard.

Nothing.

And who the hell did he think would be there anyway? The Jolly Green Giant’s smellier cousin? He was looking at a hole that led down to the sewer pipe.

Still, he investigated, checking around the construction equipment.

Nothing. Not a sign of life, not even a footprint other than the baked ones left by the work crew.

Ever since that incident with the open cage, he’d been on edge. Too many weird things had been happening at the Sanctuary, enough that he was starting to see a pattern when maybe there wasn’t one.

Occam’s Razor, they called it: the simplest explanation was usually best. The simplest explanation was that they’d just been having a run of bad luck. All the equipment was old and most of it was jerry-rigged – no wonder things broke down.

But he’d been a cop for thirty years, and something stank here besides the sewage. Occam, whoever he was, was no doubt a smart guy, but Alan was keeping his eyes peeled, just in case.

And, if he jumped at shadows, well, there was no one here to see him.

After crossing the courtyard and cutting behind the buildings, he began to patrol the area along the back fence. Away from the road, it was blessedly quiet. He could hear insects whirring and the night sounds of the cats.

And a voice and some rustling.

Maybe he was imagining things again, but he didn’t think so. It sounded like they were coming from near the back corner, where the fence came close to a quiet cul-de-sac.

Cautiously, he approached, moving as quietly as a rather large older man could.

Yes, someone was definitely there. Maybe a few someones. They weren’t talking much, but he heard movement and what sounded like the clink of metal on metal.

He wheeled around the corner, regretting he only had a Maglite and a security guard’s uniform, not a gun and a whole department to call for back-up if he needed it. If the intruders were armed, it could be trouble.

‘Hold it right there, buddy!’ he said in his best cop’s voice, illuminating the area.

Two figures were fleeing. He tried to give chase, but in the dark lost them quickly. He hadn’t got a good look at the punks, but they’d appeared to be young guys, maybe Lance’s age, one white, one darker. And they’d left their wire cutters behind.

*   *   *

Lance stopped his work to watch Mel walk away, pushing a wheelbarrow full of plants. Sweet. That chick’s ass was just about perfect, and even her baggy khaki shorts and the smears of dirt on her legs didn’t hurt the scenic view.

He’d always had a thing for Asian girls, but he’d met two kinds: the snooty, college-bound type who didn’t have time for guys like Lance Boudreaux and the tough type who hung out with the Vietnamese gang members. Some of them were pretty hot, but he liked keeping his skin intact, thanks. Besides, they probably wouldn’t have time for him either. He didn’t have a fancy ride or money to spoil a girl. Maybe someday, but not now, and the guys who ran with the gangs already had it.

Mel was different. She talked to him for real and, what’s more, she listened. She was one of the smart ones – she’d gone to Stanford and you don’t get there by being dumb – but her family didn’t sound like rich snobs. More like normal people who’d produced some real brainy kids. And, smart as she was, she obviously didn’t care about money or expensive stuff or she’d be…oh, a lawyer or something.

Or a porn star. She could make a lot of money doing that. She was definitely hotter than Asia Carrera. Not as stacked, but what she had was obviously real, and that was nice. Oh yeah, he could picture her moaning and writhing before the camera…

No, actually he couldn’t. Despite the best efforts of what he liked to consider a pretty creatively dirty mind, he couldn’t convince himself it was Mel’s style, although some of the images he came up with in his efforts were worth remembering.

Now that blonde chick, the one he’d heard was the new caterer, he could definitely imagine
her
as a porn star. She had the awesome body, the big hair, and even the right ‘look at me’ attitude.

And he’d caught her looking at him like he was ice cream or something. He wondered if she was really interested or just a flirt. She’d be fun to do – too high-maintenance to date, probably, but definitely fun to do. He’d love to get his cock between those tits to warm up, and then let her wrap those mile-long legs around him and drive into her hard. Maybe he’d come on her tits and her face, a real money shot, because she really did remind him of a porn star and he could picture her grinning lecherously as her tongue darted out to catch a few droplets.

Now with Mel it would be different. He’d be gentle, take his time, lick her until she was babbling and begging for his cock. She’d probably like to be on top. It wasn’t his favourite position, but women seemed to enjoy it and, if you managed to get someone as special as Mel into bed, you’d want to make her real happy so she’d come back again. On the other hand, she was a little thing, but strong. They could try some exotic positions, standing up, holding her upside down, stuff like that.

Someone swatted him on the head. ‘Hey, anyone home?’

He looked up into two very familiar faces. Just (‘because Justin’s a wuss name’) and Dog were a couple of his oldest friends, but he hadn’t been seeing a lot of them lately. Not since he’d been given a choice between cleaning up his act and spending some quality time in jail. Just was small and scrawny, but wiry, with nocolour hair and almost colourless eyes. Like Lance, he was white trash to the bone and, unlike Lance, proud of it. Dog, by contrast, was about six foot three, a solid muscular dark mixture of, as far as Lance could figure out, every race that had ever set foot in North America.

‘Hey, guys.’ He realised he should probably sound happier to see them, but they’d interrupted a really sweet fantasy.

‘What’s on your mind, dude? We’ve been standing here for like five minutes trying to talk to ya,’ Just said.

‘Look at his boner, man. What do you think’s on his mind?’

‘Quit looking at my crotch, Dog.’ He glanced down, trying to be casual about it. Dog was always saying shit like that, so it was probably a lucky guess. How bad could it be under the baggy coveralls?

Oh.
That
bad. He felt his face getting red and decided he had to defend himself.

‘Do you think I’d be out here playing with flowers if there wasn’t a hot piece of ass involved?’ He felt bad calling Mel a piece of ass, but it was the way the guys always talked when there were no girls around. But Mel would probably be mad if she heard him talking about her that way. And he wouldn’t be surprised if she could kick his butt. He’d seen martial arts movies. It was the tiny pretty ones you needed to watch out for.

‘So there’s a hottie here?’ Dog, in keeping with his nickname, was always interested in the ladies.

‘Plenty of ’em,’ he bragged. The caterer definitely fitted into that category, and Felicia was good-looking too, even if she was a suit. Even the director was cute in her way, although she was old, at least forty, and he was pretty sure she was a dyke. ‘But one super-special hottie.’ He raised an eyebrow and grinned, letting them think she was special as in his girl, not special as in, well, special.

Dog nodded knowingly. ‘That explains it. We thought you’d gone all goody-goody on us or something. But, if you’ve got a new girl, maybe you’ve just been busy.’ He thrust forwards with his hips, making Just snort with laughter.

‘You might say.’ It wasn’t actually a lie. He had been busy, just not that way (which was a damn shame). It wouldn’t occur to those guys that he might be busy working. He actually had a job now, plus the community service here and the classes he was taking. But they’d probably laugh if he told them that.

They snorted again, giving each other high fives.

And, for the first time ever, Lance looked at his friends and thought, Get some class, assholes.

Did
he
sound that dumb sometimes?

Yeah, maybe. At least he used to. He’d been trying, listening to some of the guys who worked at SCCS and at the restaurant, hoping it would help him make a good impression on Mel. And now that he had some idea of how ignorant he sounded, he was almost scared to talk sometimes.