I crumpled to the ground, my butt hitting the cold tile with a thud. I put my head between my knees to keep the room from spinning-or at least to keep myself from revisiting my lunch as dizzying fear washed over me in waves. I took deep breaths, having to concentrate on the steady in and out.
“You okay?” Ramirez asked.
“Yeah. Sure. Dandy, ” I said. Which might have been a whole lot more convincing if I hadn’t been wrapped up in a fetal position.
“Honey, you’re a terrible liar, ” he said, kneeling down beside me. He put one hand on the back of my neck and began gently kneading. I hated to admit how comforting the gesture was.
“I’ll be fine.” Just as soon as the urge to vomit passed.
Ramirez seemed to understand, wrapping one arm around my shoulders and hunkering down beside me. I’m not sure how long we sat like that, but finally the world stopped feeling like a Tilt-A-Whirl and I peeked my head up.
“Thanks, ” I said.
He forced a grin. It wasn’t very convincing. “Anytime. So”-he gestured up to the mirror-“maybe you should tell me again about the other threats you received.”
I took in a big gulp of air, letting it out on a breath that was shakier than I would have liked. “Okay. They started with the squirrel. Then the bird and the nasty note. Then he tried to run me off the road yesterday. Now this.”
“What? Wait, back up-run you off the road?” Ramirez blinked at me.
Oops. I bit my lip. I forgot I hadn’t told him about the whole road-rage thing.
“Uh, well, he kind of ran into my Jeep. A little. But Dana and I were fine. Just a couple bumps on the head and some minor whiplash. No biggie. Besides, I’ve got Mrs. Rosenblatt’s pepper spray now.” I said, trying to make light of the whole thing. Which, by the way, I think was very brave of me, considering my apartment had just been vandalized and I was fetal on my bathroom floor.
“And you’re just telling me this now?” Ramirez’s jaw tightened, and I could tell it took all he had to keep that vein in his neck under control.
“In my defense, this did happen during the we’re-not-speaking-to-each-other phase.”
“Please tell me you at least filed a police report.”
“Um, well…not really…”
Ramirez looked at the ceiling and muttered something in Spanish. I had a feeling the words blonde and last nerve were in there somewhere.
“You’re mad again, aren’t you?”
He gritted his teeth. “No, ” he lied.
“Then why is that vein bulging?”
Ramirez looked at me. His jaw clenched. His eye twitched. Then he consulted the ceiling again, blowing out a long breath. “I’m not mad at you, Maddie. I just…” He trailed off, shaking his head. His gaze rested on the death threat-via-Maybelline on my bathroom mirror. “I just sometimes wish like hell I had a normal girlfriend.” He stood up and brushed off the set of his jeans. “Look, I’m going to go call this in. Don’t touch anything!”
I watched him walk out into my living room and pull his cell from his pocket. But I honestly couldn’t have moved if I wanted to. I was staring after him, utterly stunned.
Did he just say girlfriend?
Fifteen minutes later my apartment was swarming with crime-scene guys taking photographs of my bathroom mirror, checking the window locks, and dusting my design table for fingerprints. I winced as black print dust settled on my pair of white leather Gucci boots. That stuff washed off, right?
It was after I told one guy with a bulging gut and a bulbous nose to please, please, please not spray any of that fluorescent body-fluid-magnifying stuff near my two-hundred-dollar Kors sandals that the police chased me downstairs and back out to Ramirez’s SUV. I was instructed to wait there. Which I did. Though the longer I waited, the more anxious I felt.
As glad as I was that Ramirez had taken this threat seriously enough to call in the big guns, the sight of said big guns turning my apartment into something out of CBS’s prime-time lineup was less than comforting. It was one thing to watch police gather evidence on TV. It was another when it was your trash they were pawing through for clues and your drains they were checking for hair and fibers. The fact that the place I’d always associated with safety and home was now being treated as a crime scene was a little unnerving. Okay-it was a lot unnerving. So much that I was back to doing the head-between-the-legs thing by the time Ramirez finally came down the stairs to check on me.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Uh-huh, ” I lied.
Ramirez lifted my chin with his finger, forcing me to look at him. He raised one eyebrow.
“I know, I know. I’m a terrible liar.”
Ramirez grinned and pulled me toward him. He wrapped both arms around me and planted a kiss on the top of my head. “Come on, ” he said. “Let’s go home.”
I gestured up the stairs. “Home’s currently being invaded by the LAPD.”
“I meant my home.”
I blinked. “Oh.” More blinking. “Okay.”
So, here’s the thing. I’d only ever been to Ramirez’s place once before, and, even then, I hadn’t actually made it inside. His pager had gone off while we were necking in the car, and he’d had to turn around and drop me off at my place on the way to a murder-suicide in the Hollywood Hills. Ramirez lived in a two-bedroom bungalow in West L.A. It was an older neighborhood that might have been advertised as “family friendly” back in the fifties when the little stucco structures had been built, but fifty years later it was bordering the fringes of neighborhoods where you didn’t walk alone unless you were carrying an industrial-size can of Mace. For a guy like Ramirez, this wasn’t a problem. He fit the neighborhood perfectly, just a little on the fringes of dangerous himself. But for a barely-tall-enough-to-make-the-height-requirements-at-Six Flags blonde wearing a cake-covered pink sundress and matching rhinestone-studded pumps, it was the kind of neighborhood where I wouldn’t want to loiter on the front porch.
But it wasn’t his shady neighbors that had me biting the traces of frosting off my lip.
First he showed up to take me to a family function, then he used the G-word, now he wanted to take me home? This was more attention than I’d gotten from Ramirez in weeks. Months. Maybe ever. The neurotic side of me started to wonder if it was because he liked me, or because I’d suddenly turned into a case.
Though I didn’t have time to wonder long.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice so close that his hot breath tickled my ear. My body responded immediately, sending a quiver through my belly that ended somewhere slightly lower.
I told Neurotic Chick to give it a rest. Haven’t-gotten-any-in-longer-than-Dana Chick needed a night out.
“Ready.”
Half an hour later I was standing in Ramirez’s living room wondering if everyone in L.A. had a nicer place than mine.
Heavy wood furnishings filled the room, along with overstuffed chairs and a dark leather sofa. A copy of the L.A. Times, opened to the sports section, littered the top of a maple coffee table, along with a remote control that looked like it could land the space shuttle. A big-screen TV took up one wall, while a fireplace with a thick wood mantel spanned the other. The walls were painted a warm coffee color and decorated with family photos, dozens of smiling, framed faces staring back at me. Overall, the room was cozy, yet completely guy. I’d never really pictured Ramirez as having a home, but now that I was standing in it, I realized it fit him perfectly.
“Nice place, ” I said, peeking down the small hallway to the right. I could see a couple of bedrooms and what I assumed was a bath at the end.
Ramirez took off his jacket, throwing it casually over the back of a La-Z-Boy pointed at the TV. “It’s old, needs a little work still. But it’s a nice place to come home to.”
“Well, it certainly beats my place at the moment.”
At the mention of my apartment-slash-crime scene, he got a slightly pained look, his eyebrows pinching together in concern. “Look, Maddie, I need you to promise me something.”
I licked my lower lip. “Okay…”
“Promise me that if you ever see this guy again, see his car, or see any more boxes on your doorstep-promise that you’ll call me first.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Ramirez talked right over me.
“Not call Dana to pull another Lucy-and-Ethel act. Not call Mrs. Rosenblatt to borrow a can of pepper spray…”
“She forced that stuff on me!” I protested. “I didn’t even want it!”
Ramirez crossed the room in one quick stride, standing just inches from me. “Please, Maddie, just promise me you’re going to keep me in the loop from now on. No more half-cocked, harebrained schemes, okay?”
I nodded. “I promise.” Honestly, his concern was touching. Even if the whole harebrained thing was a little uncalled-for.
“Thank you, ” he said, his voice softer. And lower. His eyes roved my face, the pleading look fading into something darker and a whole lot more inviting.
He leaned in, his breath hovering over my lips, his body pressing tightly against mine.
Yowza.
I felt my breath catch in my throat as evidence of Ramirez’s Mr. Haven’t-gotten-any-in-a-while pressed against me.
He reached one hand out and slid it around my middle, the scents of aftershave and leather warring together as he nibbled at my lower lip. He smelled good. Really good. Almost good enough to overpower the lingering smell of icing on my dress.
And then he really kissed me. Covering my mouth with his in a slow, sensual movement. Trailing his hand up my waist and inside my sundress.
I think I had an on-the-spot orgasm.
“But I’m covered in cake, ” I protested (feebly, I might add).
He got that Big Bad Wolf look in his eyes.
“I like cake.”
He leaned in and nipped at my ear. I shivered as his lips glided over my skin, licking a stray smudge of frosting from my cheek.
I sighed. Yes, actually out loud. He was that good.
He slipped one strap off my shoulder…then the other. And suddenly he was nibbling a whole lot lower. I groaned and refrained from pointing out that there wasn’t any cake there.
“So, does this mean all is forgiven?” I asked, going slightly light-headed as his hands slid up my thigh, taking my hemline with them.
He chuckled, his hot breath tickling the hollow of my throat. “Maybe.”
His mouth dipped lower, leaving a shuddering trail down the vee of my top. “Maybe? Anything I can do to convince you?”
He paused, then gave a big, wicked grin that was all teeth.
“Oh, yeah.”
In one fluid movement he wrapped his arm around my waist and lifted me off the ground, carrying me down the little hallway, where I got the close, personal tour of his bedroom.
All night long.
I awoke to the sounds of birds chirping outside the window and small children laughing.
Okay, so in reality, the children were more swearing at one another than laughing. And the chirping-bird thing was actually the sound of a garbage truck backing up down the block. But they all sounded pretty perfect to me. In fact, life was pretty perfect. I couldn’t honestly imagine it getting any perfecter. I was in Ramirez’s bed, sleeping on Ramirez’s sheets, basking in the afterglow of Ramirez’s seriously talented body. Life did not get any better than this.
And then, amazingly, it did.
“Morning, beautiful.”
I opened my eyes and looked up to find Ramirez hovering over me, a cup of coffee in one hand. His hair was wet and curling around his temples a little, like he’d just showered. He smelled of Ivory and aftershave, and was dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a white T-shirt that clung to his chest tighter than Saran Wrap. I licked my lips, going warm beneath his sheets again.
“Coffee?” he asked, handing me the steaming cup.
Was this guy good or what?
I took a sip. French roast. Just a little milk. Heaven.
“Get much sleep?” he asked, a glint of humor in his voice.
I couldn’t help the middle-schooler giggle that escaped me. “Enough.”
He reached one hand out and tucked a strand of what I feared was serious bed-head behind my ear. “You know, you snore a little.”
I gasped. “I do not!”
Ramirez’s mouth quirked up, hinting at that deceptively boyish dimple in his left cheek. “Relax. I thought it was kind of cute.”
I took another sip of coffee to cover my blush.
“Listen, the crime-scene guys called this morning. They analyzed the stuff from your apartment and kicked out a name.”
I sat up, propping myself on my elbows. “Oh, yeah?”
“Isabel.”
I paused, trying for a moment to place that name. Isabel…Isabel…I knew it sounded familiar…
“The Cabana Club?” Ramirez prompted.
Oh!
“You mean that crazy chick with the gun?”
Ramirez nodded. “That’s the one.”
I shook my head. “But why? What does she want with me?”
Ramirez sighed. “What I’ve gathered from the guys in vice is that apparently after her boyfriend, Snake, saw the club shooting on the news and found out she was talking to the authorities, he dumped her. She blames you.”
“Me? But I didn’t have anything to do with it!”
Ramirez gave me a look.
“Okay, maybe I had a teeny-tiny bit to do with it. But I’m sure she’s better off without him anyway. I mean, what kind of guy has a name like Snake?”
He cocked one corner of his mouth, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good point.”
“Thank you.”
“Anyway, Isabel isn’t the most stable, rational person I’ve ever met-”
“Understatement alert.”
His eyes crinkled again. “So, I think it might be safer if you stayed here for a while.”
I froze, coffee cup halfway to my mouth. “Stayed here?”
Okay, so, yes, waking up in Ramirez’s bed was heaven. And spending the night in it had been…well, heaven didn’t even begin to describe it. Let’s just say the words multiple and orgasm came into play. But that had been one night. Staying one night with someone and staying a while were two different things. A little snoring might be cute after one night. After a while it made you want to smother the other person with a pillow.
I blinked and realized Ramirez was still talking.
“…and we’ll stop by your place later so you can pick up a few things.”
“You don’t have to do this. I mean, I don’t want to intrude.”
Ramirez’s gaze lingered on the hem of the sheet, flirting with my barely Bs. “No intrusion at all.”
“But what about Tot Trots? I need my drawing table to design. I can’t do that here.”
“I thought you said you finished your last assignment?”
Oh yeah. Right.
“But what about my mother?” I said, grasping. “What will she say if I tell her I’m staying here? You know”-I gestured to the wrinkled sheets-“with you.”
Ramirez’s lips parted in a slow grin. “Honey, your mom offers me condoms every time I see her. I don’t think she’s exactly under the impression that you’re a virgin.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I took another sip of coffee to cover my rising panic. Hearing the G-word last night had been great. Wonderful. Terrific, in fact. But going from girlfriend to cohabiting was a big leap. We’re talking diving-off-the-110-overpass-into-rush-hour-traffic kind of leap.
Again I couldn’t help wondering if it was me or the case he was really interested in. What would happen when this was all over? When Isabel was behind bars and the Magnolia Lane killer was doing time in San Quentin? Would Ramirez still be Mr. Attentive, or was it back to canceling dinner plans and running out on me at the mere chirp of a pager?
I wasn’t certain. But since Horny Chick had had her fun, Neurotic Chick was back, and she decided the only way to know for sure was to call his bluff.
“Okay, ” I heard myself say. “I’ll move in.”
His face broke into a wide grin and he leaned in for a kiss.
“But”-I stopped him, carefully watching his reaction over the rim of my coffee cup-“don’t you think I should have my own key?”
Ramirez paused. “Key?”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded, bobbing my bed-head up and down. “A key to your place. My own key. You know, since I’ll be living here and all. That way I can come and go anytime I want.”
“I, uh, don’t have a spare copy, ” he hedged.
“No problem. I’ll make myself one.”
I saw him bite the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing at me.
I gave him my best wide-eyed-innocent stare.
We sat like that for an agonizing two seconds, until finally he stood and said, “Don’t worry about it. Just leave the front door open.”
Ahnt. Wrong answer, pal.
“But-” I was about to protest.
Only I didn’t get the chance, as Ramirez’s pager came alive on his belt. He looked down, a frown settling between his brows as he read the number.
“Work, ” he said, slipping his cell out of his back pocket.
I sucked on my lower lip, staring into my now-tepid cup of coffee, and tried to stave off the panic at the fact that my little game of chicken was backfiring miserably.
There was no way I could move in with Ramirez. I was so not ready for him to see the unbuffed, unpolished, drooling-on-her-pillow-at 3-A.M. Maddie who woke up with bed-head to rival Don King’s. And I seriously was not ready to have him see the parade of beauty products it took to keep up appearances. What would he say the first time he saw me putting on my pore-cleansing acne mask? Or antiwrinkle night cream? There were some things a man just should not know about a woman until after he’s married (i.e., legally required to love her despite her jumbo-size box of tampons sitting where his issues of Sports Illustrated used to be).
I had just about worked myself into a state of hysteria the likes of which I hadn’t experienced since the Black Friday sale at Macy’s last Thanksgiving, when Ramirez hung up the phone and turned to me.
The frown between his brows had worked itself into an all-out scowl.
“I have to go, ” he mumbled, standing up and throwing on his leather jacket. “Now.”
Uh-oh. I didn’t like that tone.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, unconsciously clutching my coffee cup tighter. “What’s going on?”
Ramirez didn’t answer, instead shoving a ring of keys into his pocket and slipping on his holster.
“What? What is it?”
He turned to face me, his Bad Cop look already firmly in place.
“Please?” I asked, really starting to worry now. “You know I’ll find out eventually anyway.”
I’d like to think it was the please that softened him, but more likely it was the fact that he knew I was right. “It was my captain.” He paused, rubbing one hand over his eyes and suddenly looking very tired. “They’ve found another body.”