Candid Camera Read online

  It was the truth that the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. She’d just been so incensed at the time that someone had broken into her house, that common sense had fled. “You know me,” she said sheepishly, “act first, ask questions later. Besides, I knew you’d call in the cops if things got out of hand.” It was just pure luck that she’d been sitting up in bed talking on the phone to Georgie when she heard the noise downstairs.

  “Oh yes, and did I mention how wonderful it was hearing you getting the crap beaten out of you while I was miles away? Some comfort that would have been if a gun had gone off. Hell, Crissy, any gray hairs I get, I’m naming them all after you.”

  Crissy glanced away, her gaze settling on the darkness outside the window, seeing beyond her own reflection, as if the shadows of the night held the answers to all the questions running through her mind over what had happened earlier. For some reason, there was a huge chunk of it that she just couldn’t remember. She recalled falling on the floor, but then a big block of nothing until the guy was staring at her, holding his throat with a panicked look on his face. She could just imagine what Georgie would do with that little bit of information.

  “Hello! You still with me?”

  Crissy turned and huffed at her cousin, disguising the disquiet that was plaguing her. “You’re exaggerating. I scared him off, and he ran. Pity you weren’t here, anyway. You could have flattened him with that Ti…tay… Whatever that thing is you do.”

  “Tae kwon do.”

  “Yeah, that’s it.

  “You’re hopeless.” Georgie rolled her eyes. “But seriously, you don’t think the two incidents could be linked?” Her eyes, now that she’d calmed down a bit and the agitated flush had faded from her skin, settled back into their normal greenish-hazel. “I mean, this is pretty high odds—two in one week.” Georgie linked her hands in front of her and leaned forward over the little round kitchen table, her expression intent and animated. Her little cousin was just getting warmed up. “It can’t be a personal connection. I mean, Neil’s a nice guy and all, but as boyfriends go, he makes a great accountant, if ya know what I mean.”

  “You saying Neil’s boring?” asked Crissy with a twinkle in her eye, relieved, for now, to have dropped the other subject.

  Georgie looked at her and grinned. “And you’re not? Gimme a break. I’ve seen more personality in a potted plant. I just can’t figure out what you see in him.”

  “I couldn’t either—most of the time,” agreed Crissy with a sigh.

  “That sounds like past tense. Since when?”

  “Last weekend. He was a sweet guy, but…”

  “No boom in the bang, huh?” She waggled her eyebrows.

  “Weeeell…” Feeling the color move up her neck to her cheeks, she turned away.

  Georgie coughed in disbelief. “You’re kidding me! You two hadn’t even done it yet? Heck, it was…how long?”

  “Two months.”

  “He didn’t… I mean…it wasn’t…you know…” Georgie illustrated by holding her index finger out straight and curling the tip down, “a little problem of his, was it?”

  Crissy had to stifle a chuckle at the look of consternation that crossed Georgie’s face. “No, not that I know of, anyway. He said he wanted to wait until we were both sure.”

  Georgie snorted. “About what? What color you were going to decorate the bedroom after the honeymoon? The man isn’t normal.” She shook her head. “Well if nothing else, I guess it made up your mind. You okay though?”

  To be honest, she was more relieved than okay.

  “Crissy honey, it was time to move on. You need to find a man who’s got a bit more get up in his go, ya know?”

  “Yeah, I know.” She’d cringed the last time she and Neil went out when he’d started hinting something more, something like…marriage. He’d whispered the word in her ear, at the end of a whole lot of other stuff she hadn’t even been aware she’d tuned out. But that word had made her tune right back in. And the shiver running down her body had absolutely nothing to do with excitement. Unfortunately. There was every chance being married to Neil would mean death by boredom. Wonderful, sweet guy, but dull. But it had been the wake-up call—she’d let him down as gently as she could and put an end to it right then.

  “Anyway,” Georgie waved her hand in the air as if that little problem was solved, “so, it’s obviously not a personal thing. Maybe it’s a professional link.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Crissy laughed and looked at her cousin as though she’d lost a brain cell or two. “Now you’re really stretching. I shoot pictures of charity events and society-dos, and oh God, let’s not forget the opening of new municipal buildings. Those shots of that new arts center last week could be worth big money on the black market…” she said dryly. “The most ‘controversial’ shot I’ve taken in the last six months was Judge Deparde with his shirt caught in his fly after a trip to the men’s room.”

  Georgie scowled and curled up her lip in disdain. “That’s right, joke it up, girl. But I’ve just got a feeling something else is going on here. What about that journalist you work with…what’s his name again?”

  “Jerry?” Crissy frowned and shook her head, as if dispelling the idea. “He freelances. Like me. He just tells me what to shoot, and I shoot. I get paid when he sells the story. But it’s mainly just nightlife, who’s hanging out where, the odd celeb shot…you know, simple stuff. Besides, the police don’t seem too concerned,” said Crissy. “They think like I do—just random acts, Georgie.” Random, her ass. But the last thing Georgie needed was encouragement.

  “The cops are too short-staffed to give it more than minimum attention, Cris. But it just doesn’t make sense. At least let’s talk to someone professional about it, okay? Get another opinion. Put my mind at rest. Deal?”

  The kettle squealed as it reached boiling point, and Crissy leaned over to click off the stove, the raucous noise decreasing to a soft steamy whistle.

  “Fine,” said Crissy, rolling her eyes. “If it will help you sleep easier at night—”

  “It will.”

  “—then call someone in the morning. Maybe then you’ll give me some peace.”

  Although somehow Crissy doubted it. Georgie was like a dog with a bone. Too many hours spent watching cop shows on TV. There was a frustrated little PI in there just busting to break free.

  “By the way, Cris,” Georgie glanced at Crissy with a bemused expression on her face, “what about the other guy?”

  Crissy looked at her blankly. “What other guy?”

  “There were two male voices. I heard another guy. Come on, you know what I’m talking about…the guy with the really deep voice—’You’re not going anywhere, scumbag’,” Georgie mimicked, trying to lower the pitch of her voice to a level it had no hope of reaching.

  Crissy frowned. Georgie’s words had hit on exactly what was bothering her, that there had been somebody else there. But it was all so fuzzy. “You must be mistaken. There was only the one.” Still, a feeling of missing something important, something she should remember, clung on and wouldn’t let go.

  * * * * *

  Randy pushed open the door of the office and grimaced when his head knocked the stupid little gold bell his brother had placed over the door to hear clients coming and going. He resisted the urge to rip the damn thing out of the woodwork. Either that or he had to remember to duck in future. He only just cleared the doorframe as it was.

  Instead of a stupid, pissy little bell, what they really needed was some office help. The way Were Watching, their fledgling security and investigation business, had taken off in the last twelve months had surprised them all. The idea for the business had been a perfect combination of their various talents—his brother Ziggy’s ex-Special Forces skills, Chad’s tracking abilities that still left Randy scratching his head in amazement, and his own six years spent as a detective. The best bit, as far as he was concerned, was that while Ziggy was left in the office all day running the s
how, he and his cousin Chad got to go out on the cases.

  Speaking of whom… Randy kicked softly at the sole of Chad’s outstretched boot.

  Chad glanced up at him with a soft “Hey!” and closed the girlie magazine he’d been flicking through, tossing it on the top of the stack on the unstable little table he had his other foot propped on.

  “‘Bout time you got here, man.” Chad stood and unfurled his full height so that his fingertips almost brushed the ceiling as he stretched his arms over his head and yawned, looking every bit like the big cat he was.

  Crazy screwed-up family, Randy thought, not for the first time, and shook his head. Who would’ve thought a werewolf and a werecat could be cousins? Thanks to their mothers, two sisters sharing a penchant for furry guys, the unbelievable had happened. Still, Randy had to admit that for a cat, Chad was about as cool as they came.

  “What’s happening?” he asked. “Things seem pretty quiet for a change.”

  Chad bumped the unsteady table with his shin as he stepped around it, and it started to totter. As he grabbed for it, a shiny curtain of long, jet-black hair fell forward and hid the lazy grin. Randy shook his head in amusement—the whole “Native American” look with the hair and the high cheekbones really worked with the chicks—Chad drew them in like bees to a honeypot.

  Restoring the table to its fine balancing act between semi-stable and total collapse, Chad let go of it and watched it warily for a moment before he straightened. “Sure, now it is. Zig’s been doin’ his usual rant, and I’ve been the only target for the last fifteen minutes.”

  “Why? What’s up his ass this time?” His brother always had some bone to pick with the two of them. The guy was just too serious for his own damn good.

  A chortle escaped Chad and he winked as he leaned in closer. “I think it may have something to do with ‘unprofessional conduct’.”

  “Again?” Randy winced.

  “Yeah, man, and this time it’s your fault.” Chad’s eyes were sparkling with familiar mischief, lightening the pale green color even further. “Does the name Luisa Santiago ring a bell?”

  Randy laughed. “A bell or two or three. Hot little tamale, that one. Why? She didn’t call and complain, did she?” Following a call to go and update the security in the sexy marketing executive’s condo, they’d had a nice little fuckfest that he’d recently ended. The casual sex had been okay. After all, what red-blooded guy could say no when a sexy lady had her hot lips wrapped around his cock within ten minutes of saying “Howdy”?

  But after two weeks, it just wasn’t doing it for him. Of late, one chick started to look the same as the next one. In a word—boring. God, he’d even had trouble getting it up more than once a night lately. And chicks like Luisa expected him to have a permanent hard-on—like he had shares in Viagra. Maybe he was getting old. Maybe his dick just didn’t want to play anymore. And maybe he needed his fucking head read!

  No, he knew what the damn problem was. Could even trace when it started. New Year’s Eve. A little bit of Auld Lang Syne that had gone on for the best part of an hour and nearly made him come in his pants like a young pup. The woman of his dreams had walked into his life and back out again, and he didn’t even know her name. Her face, her smell, the feel of her—the memory of what had passed between them that night drove him so crazy, at times he felt like a train wreck waiting to happen. Once upon a time a nice set of tits, a cute, curvy ass, and he was right to go. Now, though… All he wanted was her. He wished he could be more like Chad—his view on the opposite sex was purely visual and started at their breasts and ended at the notch between their thighs.

  His father had just laughed, and told him it was “nature’s way of telling you it’s time to settle down, boy”. He guessed it could be the mating thing. Every lupine he knew was hit with it at some point or other. That was something Chad wouldn’t have to worry about. With the exception of Chad’s dad, he’d never known a cat yet to settle down with one woman. And stay there. But then Chad’s mom, his Aunt Isabel, was the sort of lady who could definitely keep a man happy—and on his toes. Even now, approaching the big half-century, she could turn the heads of men twenty years her junior. Randy laughed to himself. Old George spent half his time hovering over her growling and hissing at any man who even looked her way.

  “Not complain, exactly,” replied Chad, breaking into his thoughts.

  “Huh? Oh, Luisa. So, what was her problem?”

  “Something about the…ah…unexpected cessation of ‘services’—stud. Zig feels you’re taking the ‘service with a smile’ thing a bit too far—especially the ‘service’ bit.”

  Further conversation was cut off when a deep voice bellowed from the inner office, “Get your asses in here, you two!”

  Chad waggled his eyebrows at Randy and grinned as he stepped around the little table. “Here we go.”

  Randy stifled a chuckle as they both headed into the chaos that his brother Ziggy called his office.

  At thirty-five, Ziggy was only a year older than him and five years older than Chad, but the frown on his forehead and the tiredness in his eyes had middle age written all over them. Ziggy was standing, leaning over his desk, his brow furrowed, a dark, long-suffering look on his face.

  “Pull up a pew.” He waited while Randy and Chad both took a seat. “Look, you two, I don’t care how many women you screw on your own time, but from now on, leave your dicks in your pants when you’re on a job. I’m sick and tired of explaining to our female clients why you two can’t pussyfoot around there whenever they get an itch that needs scratching. This is not a hunting ground so you two can get your rocks off, for Christ’s sake. Comprende?” He looked pointedly at Randy then at Chad. “You get my drift?”

  “Sure you’re not jealous, bro? Maybe you need to get out in the field every now and then and see what we have to put up with.” Personally, Randy thought Ziggy needed a damned good fuck. Kinda release some of that tension he was storing all over his body.

  “What? And leave one of you to run the office? God, we’d be out of business in a week.” He sat down again, his chair creaking ominously, and flicked through the clutter of papers on his desk until he pulled a yellow legal pad out from under a scatter of files. “Okay, let’s get to it. Had a call this morning from a lady by the name of Georgie Carter. Seems her cousin has suffered two muggings in the last week and they aren’t getting much help from the police. I want both of you to go out there and check it out. Chad, you can look at the security on the house, see what it needs and Randy, I want you to look into the muggings—see if you can find a connection.”

  “What info do we have so far?” asked Chad.

  “Client’s name is Crissy Carter. Freelance photographer. Lives over on Esplanade. Let’s see… Mugged one night last week coming home from a shoot. Not only was her camera stolen—estimated value three thousand dollars new, which it was apparently—but she was roughed up pretty badly when she tried to fight off her attacker. She reported it, but the police didn’t hold much hope of an arrest considering it was nighttime and she didn’t get a good look at the guy.

  “But last night she surprised a burglar in her house. Was on the phone to her cousin at the time, so Georgie Carter heard the whole thing. Lucky for Crissy the burglar ran off—right over the top of her to hear Georgie tell it. The woman must look black and blue and every color in between by now.”

  Chad and Randy both stood. “We’re on it,” said Randy, reaching for the address Ziggy handed him, winking at Chad as they headed out the door.

  “And no hanky-panky this time,” Ziggy called out to them. “We’re professionals, and don’t forget it.”

  As the door closed behind them, Chad grabbed Randy’s elbow. “What’s the address, man?” He took a quick glance at the paper Randy thrust under his nose. “Okay, I’ve got to duck home for a minute—I’ll meet you there in ten.”

  * * * * *

  Even though the hour was still early, the heat of the day was building as Rand
y pulled up in front of the cute little blue, wood-siding cottage and ran an experienced eye over the property. One of the older shotgun houses typical of the Quarter, single-story but with a camelback, sitting on a corner lot with a garage around the back. But if there wasn’t a security system installed, it was a burglary just waiting to happen. Just sitting in his truck he could see at least half a dozen easy entrances for a thief.

  The heat off the road hit him in the face as he climbed out of his pickup. Lifting his dark shades and squinting at the bright sun, he turned at the throaty gurgle of a Harley and watched Chad pull up behind him.

  Chad lifted his helmet off and shook his head, sliding his sunglasses up to hold back the thick, dark mane of hair. “You been in yet?” he asked Randy.

  “Nope. Just checking out the outside. Have a look and see for yourself. From here it looks like old Granny Trudeau could find a way through those front patio shutters without breaking a nail.” Chad nodded in agreement as they crossed the road.

  Randy grabbed Chad’s arm as they walked up the small set of stairs to the house, sniffing the air. He could feel the hackles rising on his neck. “You smell that?”

  “Sure do, man.” Chad frowned and sniffed the air again, turning his head to test the scent. “At least one furry, but something else… Shit, you don’t think a vamp was here too, do you?”

  “Can’t tell yet, but one thing is sure as hell, this wasn’t a simple B&E. We might need to get in touch with Marcus if this turns out nasty.”

  “Sure, no problem. Well, my job is to check out the house. Your job is to check out the client, yeah?” commented Chad as he pressed the doorbell.

  A petite and very curvy woman who barely came up to Randy’s chest, dressed in faded and torn jeans to match the fashionably faded and torn tank top, opened the door.