Leanne Banks - Hot Stuff

Cate stared openmouthed at the car in front of her.

“What?” Kellen asked. “Is something wrong?”

“This is your car?”

“Yeah, it’s a beauty, isn’t it? It’s a ‘65 Mustang, totally cherried out in its original black paint scheme. It’s got steel wheels and a K-code solid lift engine. And you don’t have to worry about Beast in the backseat. The leather is practically indestructible.”

It was a sign from God, Cate thought. Kellen McBride rode a black horse.

“It’s a great car,” she said.

Kellen smiled. “I got it as a bonus for a job I did last year.”

Kellen opened the door, and Beast climbed onto the backseat and hunkered down. Cate slid onto the passenger seat and cracked her knuckles.

“Want to tell me about the job?” Cate asked.

“No.”

“Just dandy,” Cate thought. Black horse, sexy smile, hot body, dreamy eyes, and he was probably a hit man for the mob.

“Was it illegal?” she asked.

“No.”

“Did it involve drugs?”

“No.”

“Okay then.”

Kellen stopped for a light and cut his eyes to her. “Are you worried about me?”

“Not anymore.”

He reached over and held her hand. “Good.”

“Maybe a little.”

Kellen blew out a sigh. “I’m a salvage expert.”

“What the heck is that?”

“I retrieve lost property.”

“A repo man.”

Kellen gave a bark of laughter. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but I guess it could apply.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Are you still worried?”

Cate had the cake on her lap, and under the cake she pressed her legs together. “No. Yes.”

“About my job?” Kellen asked.

“That too,” Cate said. “You aren’t one of those guys who go around breaking peoples’ knees, are you?”

“No. I hardly ever break knees.”

“That’s a relief.”

They were in a neighborhood of sturdy, modest homes on small lots. No garages. On-street parking. One block over was a street filled with small businesses, including the Madigans’ store.

“My parents live in the cream-colored house with the green door,” Cate said. “You’ll never find a parking place on the street, but you can park in the back. There’s an alley and room to pull in behind the house.”

Kellen drove to the back of the house, parked the Mustang, and reached for Beast’s leash.

“Are you nervous?” Cate asked Kellen.

“About meeting your parents? No.”

“If you had any intelligence at all you’d be shaking in your boots,” she said. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

“Is that why you brought Beast? To take the pressure off me?”

“No. I brought him because my brother Danny is going to turn green with envy. He’s always wanted a cool dog like this.”

Cate’s mother was at the back door, holding it open.

“This is Beast,” Cate told her mother. “And this is Kellen.”

“Good glory,” her mother said. “I was expecting a little dog, and I thought you were fibbing about bringing a man.”

“I’ll put the cake in the kitchen,” Cate said to her mother. “You’re on your own,” she said to Kellen. “It’s every man for himself from here on out.”

Danny was in the kitchen. He gave Cate a hug and a bottle of beer, and eyeballed Kellen and the dog.

“I don’t know about this guy you brought,” Danny said. “But the dog is excellent.”

Kellen stuck his hand out. “Kellen McBride.”

“You’re kidding,” Danny said, shaking his hand. “You made that name up, right? Only leprechauns are named Kellen McBride.”

“Behave yourself or there’s no cake for you,” Cate’s mom said to Danny.

Zoe and Zelda ran in and flung themselves at Cate. She bent and hugged them, and introduced Kellen.

“Mommy and Daddy sleep in the same bed,” Zoe said to Kellen. “Do you sleep with Aunt Cate?”

“Not yet,” Kellen said.

“People don’t sleep together until they’re married,” Danny said to the girls.

“Are you going to marry Aunt Cate?” Zoe asked Kellen.

“Maybe,” Kellen said, his eyes smiling at Cate, showing nice crinkle lines at the corners.

Danny looked from Kellen to Cate. “Black horse or white horse?” Danny asked Cate.

“Black. Mustang. ‘65,” Cate said.

Danny took a pull at his beer. “Huh,” he said, not looking entirely happy.

Beast was beside Cate, eyes bright, tongue out, sizing up Zoe and Zelda.

“This is Beast,” Cate said to the girls. “He’s a Bullmastiff.”

“He’s big,” Zelda said. “And he gots slobber on his mouth.”

“That happens when he gets nervous,” Cate said. “He’s very sensitive.”

“Why’s he nervous?”

“Everything is new for him here. I think he’s nervous about meeting you and Zoe.”

Zelda put her nose to Beast’s and looked him in the eye. “You don’t gots to be nervous, doggy. I’m going to take care of you. You can watch television with me.”

“He likes cartoons,” Cate said. “And nature shows, but he’s afraid of lions.”

Zelda wrapped her hand around Beast’s collar and led him into the living room. “I bet you don’t like when the lions go roar ‘cause it’s so loud,” Zelda said to Beast. “And the lions gots too-big teeth.”

“Do you come from a large family?” Cate asked Kellen.

“Four older sisters. Plus my grandmother lived with us.”

“Were your sisters overprotective?”

“No, but for a bunch of years I used the next-door-neighbor’s bathroom. We only had one in our house, and it was always occupied.”

Kellen looked around and knew he was going to like the Madigans. Their house was a little worn down at the heels in places, but only because it was well used. It was overflowing with life, love, and family. The way a house should be. It felt a lot like his parents’ house.

Margaret Madigan was working at the stove. She stirred a lump of butter into a pot of green beans and checked the two big deep-dish cast-iron fry pans in the oven.

“Biscuits are done,” she announced.

Everyone grabbed food and marched into the dining room.

Cate took a seat and looked around. “Where’s Amy?”

“She’s upstairs,” Danny said. “She gets sick when she smells food. She’ll be down for dessert. It’s the only thing she can eat.”

“Can doggy sit in Mommy’s chair?” Zelda wanted to know.

“He doesn’t know how to sit in a chair,” Cate said.

“He can sit on a couch,” Zelda said. “He puts his hiney on it like a person’s.”

Jim Madigan buttered a biscuit. “What sort of work do you do?” he asked Kellen.

“Salvage,” Kellen said.

“You mean like a junkyard?”

“No, sir. I work for banks and insurance companies and sometimes individuals. I investigate lost property.”

“Like a private detective?”

“Sometimes the work might be similar. But I’m not a private detective.”

A lightbulb suddenly blinked on in Cate’s head. Kellen was using her to investigate Marty. Marty had something someone else wanted, and Kellen had been hired to retrieve it.

“Omigod,” Cate said, turning to look at Kellen.

“Uh-oh,” Kellen said.

Cate narrowed her eyes. “I just figured it out.”

“Can we discuss this later?” Kellen asked, voice lowered.

“Absolutely,” Cate said. And she kicked him in the ankle.

Kellen dropped his fork and sucked in some air.

“Oops,” Cate said. “Sorry. It was an accident.” She kicked him again. “Oops, again.”

Kellen wrapped his arm around Cate and whispered into her ear. “Kick me again, and I’ll give Pugg your cell phone number.”

“Might be worth it,” Cate said.

“What’s going on?” Danny wanted to know. “Is there a problem?”

“Nope,” Cate said. “No problem. Just playing.”

“So tell us about your folks,” Jim Madigan said to Kellen.

“They’re dead.”

The table fell silent.

“I’m so sorry,” Margaret Madigan finally said. “And your sisters?”

“They’re dead, too.” Kellen cut his eyes to Cate, daring her to kick him again.

“Any dead dogs and cats?” Danny asked.

“A few,” Kellen said, almost smiling.

Cate was in the seat next to Kellen, arms crossed, eyes focused on a spot on the windshield. Beast was in the back, leaning forward, sensing impending doom.

“Not good body language,” Kellen said to Cate. “You look angry.”

“Madigan women don’t get angry. We get even.”

“Do I have more coming to me besides getting kicked in the ankle?”

“You have nothing coming to you. Ever.”

“We’re talking about sex, aren’t we?”

“It would have been good, too. I was going to show you wild woman. I was going to do it all.”

“All?”

“Almost all.”

“Gee, that’s too bad,” Kellen said. “I was going to do a lot, too. Want me to tell you what I was going to do?”

“No!”

Kellen turned the Mustang onto Mass Avenue. “I might as well try to explain this while I have you captive. I’m an independent recovery agent. It occurred to me when I was a cop that the police do an okay job of catching bad guys, but do a very poor job when it comes to recovering stolen property. There are a lot of reasons for this, not the least of which are budget and focus. Too much crime, not enough cops. And frequently the stolen item is immediately fenced and passed along without a traceable record.

“Sometimes stolen property can be easily replaced. Sometimes it’s irreplaceable. I go looking for the irreplaceable. Usually I’m employed by an insurance company that has taken a high-ticket hit. In this case, I’ve been retained by an individual who had a one-of-a-kind piece of jewelry stolen and wants it back.”

“And you think Marty’s involved?”

“If I run Marty’s history over the last two years I find seventeen instances of theft occurring at parties Marty has attended. Marty is the only person common to all seventeen.”

“Coincidence?”