Southern Spirits (3 page)

Cliff's breathing quickened, and he hurriedly dressed, still trying to make eye contact and project some air of sincerity, or regret, or something else he didn't really feel. ‘Cat, I'm so sorry about this. I've been behind in my bills, I couldn't ask you for money –'

‘So you committed credit card fraud instead. Yes, that was a much better choice, congratulations,
idiota.
I explained the situation to them, and they've closed the account and started recovery proceedings.'

His face was ashen now, looking thoroughly stunned – at least, at having been caught out. ‘Cat, I swear to you, this was just the one time, and I'd have paid it all back. You have to believe me.'

‘I don't have to do a damn thing, Cliff. And it was no more a one-off than all the other times you've done this, with other women, in Virginia, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, using other aliases.' At his disbelieving expression, she dropped the paperwork on her desk and continued, ‘You may see me as just your “little accountant”, Cliff, but I'm more than that. I'm a
criminal investigator.
I deal with dishonest people like you all the time and I know all the tricks of the trade. I think it's that insult to my intelligence that hurts most.' She reached behind her again, produced his key ring and tossed it to him. ‘I've taken my key back. So, off you go, don't call and don't return.'

He swallowed again, his arms falling to his side. ‘Look, Cat, I know you have every right to be angry with me –'

‘That's just it, Cliff. I'm not.' In recent weeks, she had become more and more conscious of his many negative traits: his complacency, his laziness, his condescension. However, the sex had been great and she had been prepared to forget the rest because of it. Now, however . . . ‘I'd have to possess some remaining emotion to be angry. You're not worth that.'

He managed a self-pitying look, and then asked warily, ‘Then why did you . . . Why did we fuck? Why didn't you just throw me out?'

‘Because whatever else you are, you're a good fuck. Nevertheless, even the best fuck isn't going to help someone if he disrespects me as much as you have. So I thought I'd get some last moments of fun out this sorry relationship.'

She watched the disbelief, the disbelief that the user was used as well, boil – boil into resentment, and then anger. He drew closer. ‘Goddammit, you can't just –'

She held her position, her face taut, and her voice dropped low. ‘You take one more step, I'll knock you on your sorry ass. You know I can do it.' He stopped, but she continued, ‘Then I'll have you charged with attempted assault on a Federal officer. I'll use all my influence to make sure you end up in a cell playing the
puta
for some three-hundred-pound tattooed bank robber.' She nodded towards the front door. ‘Try to leave with some dignity, Cliff.'

Then she saw it: the acceptance that he couldn't salvage anything more, and it was best he moved onto his next victim. He departed; to his feeble credit, at least he didn't slam the door.

She stood there, staring at nothing in particular, almost sorry that she didn't mention she'd already alerted some local bounty hunter friends of hers to collect Cliff for his outstanding warrants.

Almost.
Adios
, Cliff.

She wouldn't miss him, just miss having her libido fed so much. She had a strong drive, but her luck with men was bad, and her work and attitude made it more difficult. But she'd rather stock up on some batteries for her vibrators than put up with the likes of him.

She heated up her takeaway and settled down on her couch, just in time for the midnight movie.

Cliff had gone, and in the following days, she had been able to put him out of her mind and focus on her work. In fact, such was her focus that she almost didn't respond to Hausmann's summons.

She entered to find Hausmann, and Special Agent Nathan Ames, sitting there grinning. Ames was older than Cat, not tall but broadly built, like some ex-football player who still kept in shape, with dark, flattering features and just a hint of grey at the temples.

Wary, Cat said nothing as Hausmann motioned for her to take the seat beside Nathan. When she did, their supervisor took his own. ‘You'll be pleased to hear that the department's approved the Wheeler investigation, and with you serving undercover.'

She nodded, still wary. ‘Thank you, sir.' She left it at that, waiting for the ‘however'.

‘However, we feel that this will require an additional agent and, with that in mind, I've asked Nathan to work with you, now that he's returned from leave.'

She tried not to show her displeasure. She failed. ‘Sir, with respect, I don't need any help with this case.'

‘And with equal respect, Cat, I disagree. Nathan has considerable field experience, and the threat assessment suggested on-site back-up would be prudent.' He paused and added, ‘This will still be your case. You've raised it, and you'll remain the primary.'

She felt like she was tumbling into a ravine, but grabbed hold of this assurance like a lifeline. ‘So, I will remain in operational command?'

‘Yes, ma'am,' Nathan interrupted with some amusement. ‘You will be in total command of the entire two-agent team.'

She ignored him. ‘Sir, this won't –'

‘Prepare the appropriate forms, Agent Montoya,' Hausmann concluded, in a tone that would brook no further discussion. ‘You'll need to make amendments for your new partner.'

Her face went taut. ‘Yes, sir.' She rose and departed, closing the door just a little too forcefully before returning to her own office and pacing around like a caged animal, her insides feeling like coiled springs.
Cabrón!
That bastard as much as said she couldn't handle the case alone! Even worse, he'd assigned Nathan Ames, of all people . . .

An unwelcome face almost immediately followed the knock on the door. ‘Can I come in?'

‘
Veta al infierno!

‘Been to hell, thanks: crap weather but interesting company.' Nathan stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him. ‘You'll be glad to know Hausmann's door is still on its hinges.'

‘
Hausmann es una grande puta.
'

‘Well, I'm sure his mother still loves him.' His expression sobered. ‘Cat, I want you to know I didn't ask for this assignment.'

‘Oh, really?'

‘Yes, really. What, you think I don't have cases of my own?'

‘No, I think you heard that this was taking place on a swingers' train, and you were jumping at the chance to get me alone in an environment like that.'

He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Sorry to burst your bubble, Kitten, but I didn't exactly retire my piece after the Christmas Incident.'

Cat was ready with an acid reply, but then thought better of it. Whatever had happened between them before, he was no liar. And in the cooler light of reason, it made sense to have back-up, especially if they were crossing state lines. She felt the tension in her muscles ease, a little. ‘Sorry.' She walked around to her chair, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

‘Listen, Wildcat.'

‘Don't call me that.'

Nathan smiled. ‘Well, we
are
supposed to be playing the part of a couple. Couples have pet names for each other, to demonstrate familiarity. I can call you Wildcat, you can call me –'

‘
Pajiero
?'

‘My Spanish is rusty. That means “handsome”, right?'

‘No, but a hand is usually involved.' She offered him a cocktail-shaking gesture with her fist, in case he still didn't get it.

He grinned. ‘See?
That's
familiarity. How else would you know that was one of my favourite hobbies?'

‘Because you're a man?' She set the folder down again. ‘I'll bring the copies over this afternoon –'

‘Tonight.'

‘Excuse me?'

‘Tonight. We'll discuss things over dinner.' He smiled. ‘I make a wicked seafood platter.'

She leant forwards, resting her chin on her hand as if regarding him for the first time. ‘Oh? Dinner at your place? Maybe with some soft lighting, music? And then we can pick up where we left off on that desktop –'

‘You know, for someone who wanted that matter buried, you keep reaching for the shovel.' He reached into his shirt pocket and produced a business card, then set it on the edge of her desk. ‘My address and number. I'll have dinner ready for eight. And just so you don't feel the need to strap on a chastity
belt, I'll make a gentleman's promise not to put any moves on you while on assignment.'

She raised an eyebrow as she accepted his card. ‘A “gentleman's promise”? How gallant. The trouble is, men make piecrust promises: they seem sound, but crumble easily.'

‘You're very young to be cynical.'

‘Must be the company I've been keeping.'

‘Maybe you need new company.'

‘Maybe.' Despite herself, there was something about his old-fashioned, persistent charm that was appealing. ‘Eight, then.'

Her headache worsened after his departure, and she rummaged through her desk drawer for her bottle of aspirin. She downed two without water and grimaced at the taste.

She was returning the bottle when she found the tightly rolled band of shocking-pink paper, torn, bound with elastic . . .

Last Christmas.

It was a tightly bound band of tissue in shocking pink, bound with elastic. However, Cat didn't have to unfurl it to identify it, so she set it down on the linen-clad table beside the plastic magnifying glass and tiny jumping frog, the other prizes she found in the gaudily wrapped cardboard tube. Christmas crackers were some British custom, and Hausmann's wife had brought back a load from a trip to London a week ago. Around Cat, her colleagues pulled theirs, wore the paper hats and read the terrible jokes, all of them enjoying the novelty.

She wished they'd taken to her with the same enthusiasm. She'd been in the department for four months now, and while people were friendly enough, it seemed like a polite friendliness, an acknowledgement that she was there and no more. No one had even asked her out, leaving that paranoid corner
of her mind to tell her that they had dismissed her as not even worth talking to, except on business.

It didn't help, she felt, that she was the only woman currently assigned there. The others had all brought women along tonight, wives and girlfriends who regarded her with varying levels of coolness. She felt alone as she stood apart, her third champagne – no, fourth – in hand, summoning up the courage to leave quietly. Maybe she'd been there long enough . . .

‘Hey, there, Catalina!'

She turned, encountered a smile that had more welcome than she'd expected. ‘Cat,
por favor
, Agent Ames.'

Nathan Ames sauntered up to her, clad in a handsome black and tan striped shirt, the sleeves rolled up almost to the elbows and the buttons undone to the top of his chest. He wore a baby-blue paper crown and his skin had the pinkened hue of a few friendly beers downed. ‘Hound,
por favor.
No need to stand on ceremony, it never stood on me.' He grinned. ‘Where's your crown?'

She had been attracted to him from her first day, though she saw very little of him as he had been off on more than one field assignment. He both interested and intimidated her, usually, but it wasn't so bad now, seeing him in his cups like this. Blindly she reached out and lifted her still-bound crown. ‘It's pink. Pink is for little girls.' She indicated her outfit for the night: an expensive black Melissa Massie sleeveless dress with a sharp V neckline, an indulgence from her first pay cheque with the department. ‘Do I look like a little girl?'

‘Nope.' He leant in closer, swayed slightly as his voice lowered. ‘You are very much a woman.'

It was both flattering and patronising, and as she swayed too, leaning in to catch and approve of his aftershave, she accepted it more for the former than the latter. ‘And you are very drunk.'

He pursed those full lips of his with mock indignation. ‘Darlin', you'd be surprised what faculties I still have.'

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that a challenge?'

He smiled. ‘Find out.'

And it went from there for the next couple of hours, the music and drinks consumed blurring the specifics of the conversation, like watercolours in a heatwave. Their hands touched, more than once, sometimes with the excuse of reaching out for another drink, or more snacks. Sometimes not, and then the touch would linger, his fingertips brushing along hers.

God, she wanted him. Wanted to feel those lips on hers and those hands on her ass and hear that voice grunt obscenities. But she was certain that he wouldn't take it that far. A moment later, when his hand moved behind her as if for a refill of his glass, reached down and squeezed one of her cheeks, she thought differently.

She glanced around, ensuring no one was watching, before she rose up onto her toes, tottering on the points of her new high heels, and whispered, ‘Let's find someplace quiet.'

He grinned, and then made a show of nonchalance as he started towards the corridor, Cat waiting a respectable minute before following him.

The corridors were dark except for around the elevators, but Nathan waited near the door for her, leaning against the wall for support. ‘Hey, thought you'd sent me out for a joke.'

She swayed into his arms. ‘I don't joke about some things.'

He seemed to tower over her, even more so as he lunged towards her and kissed her passionately, full on the lips, his hands moving up to touch her hair, which she had pinned up. A few deft moves and it tumbled free, his fingers through it. He pulled back to whisper, ‘It looks much better down.'

‘
Si.
' Then she ripped off his crown, tossed it aside. ‘And that
looks much better off.' Then, with a rush that ran through her like a wave, making her head spin, she was kissing him back as hard as he was kissing her, tongues caressing each other. The sensations shot down to her sex; this was spontaneous, rude, forbidden – and quintessentially delicious.