Fear Familiar Bundle (123 page)

"Did you find anything on the list?"

"Nothing. They all checked out, and the stores she listed all knew her as a good client, a chef who is particular about her ingredients." He shrugged.

"Don't make any more midnight calls." Gottard tried to smile but his face simply wasn't used to moving in that direction. "No point antagonizing her any more."

"Right."

"But you will watch her. Follow her wherever she goes. Find out what her assignments are, and we'll see that you get there in some capacity. She already knows you're an agent. Someone has to run protection for those events."

"Yeah." Daniel repressed a sigh. Of all the assignments he hated, attending government functions as a dark-suited bodyguard was the worst. He wanted to solve crimes and apprehend criminals, not stand around at cocktail parties with a microphone in his ear.

"Then you'd better book yourself into the gym for a couple of extra hours each week."

The remark was so unexpected, Daniel looked up, unable to frame a reply.

"All of that eating and drinking. I'm sure you'll pack on a few pounds. Can't get out of training trim, you know." Gottard's smile was a little more relaxed. "I understand she's a wonderful cook."

"I'll bring you some take-out," Daniel remarked as he stood and prepared to leave. "Aren't you from the North?"

"Pennsylvania. And we had our share of delicious dishes. It's just that fried chicken and those vegetables." He sighed. "I attended a dinner several months ago that Sarah Covington catered. It was some of the best food I've eaten."

"Maybe if we convict her of something, we can get her sentenced to cook for the FBI." Daniel's face was innocent as he watched Paul Gottard. Old Stone Face had a real hankering for Sarah's cooking. He actually looked hopeful for a split second.

"You're in the wrong line of work to be a comedian," Gottard said quickly. "Now, find some way to get yourself invited to that Southern governors conference at the Bingington place. Maybe valet parking." He grinned. "I'll make the arrangements."

Daniel was about to object, but he knew it would do no good. He'd tweaked and poked at his boss too much for one session. Now he was going to have to pay the cost. Parking duties. He almost groaned as he left the warren of government offices. His big mouth was going to be his downfall yet.

S
O
, D
OLLY HAS GONE
to work and left the big bad cat alone in her humble abode. I'd give anything for a prehensile tail and the strength to open that giant refrigerator door down in the kitchen. I only caught a whiff of possibilities, but I'll bet there's crabmeat, shrimp, cheeses, butter, milk, all the things a recuperating kitty needs.

Now where would I hide if I was something secret? Not a lot to discover up here in the living quarters. Dolly doesn't strike me as the type of girl who would have a safe in her wall. And she's not much of a housekeeper. She needs to get the dust bunnies out of the corners of her closet, and her desk is a mess. Books, papers, an address book, bills, all left out on top of the desk. This is all personal stuff. The catering bills will be downstairs. Seems to have an excellent method of keeping records. That should make her accountant happy. Not to mention the agents of the IRS. Well, it's not the tax men who are after little Dolly. It's another branch of the feds altogether. And I'd better get my sleek black butt to work or I won't have a thing to report to the White House.

Now for the interesting part. The kitchen. Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble. If there's ill deeds to be done by a chef, then it's the kitchen where the tools will be found.

And goodness gracious, there's plenty of stuff to poke around in. As I suspected, the refrigerator door will not yield to my paw. But what a lucky cat I am. There's a pedal-operated opener. What will they think of next to make the hardworking cook's life a little easier? If I jump up and down on this thing…Eureka! The door swings open, revealing a garden of kitty delights.

Lots of luscious goodies, but no time now to graze my way through them. Careful now, there are some of those tacky candid snapshots on the refrigerator door held in place by those gauche fruit magnets. What an ugly mug that guy has. Hope he's not a relative. No accounting for human tastes, that's for sure.

I want to check the spices. There's the usual assortment of fresh green stuff here. Nothing out of the ordinary. Now for the little bottles and cans. Everything is neat, orderly and scrubbed to a fare-thee-well.

And I do believe I hear the jingle of keys in the door. Best to scoot up the stairs fast and crawl back into my sickbed. Somehow, I've got to make an escape tonight and get back to Eleanor. She's going away for a few days next week, and I'll have more free time. For the moment, though, I don't want to worry one hair on her beautiful dark head.

S
ARAH'S HAND
was shaking so badly that she dropped her keys three times before she could fit them in the door. The pepper was tucked in her coat, a lump at her hipbone that mashed into her uncomfortably as she held her groceries in one arm and tried to unlock the door.

Once inside, she eased her groceries to the floor and turned all of her attention to relocking her door. No one had followed her from the Bingington house. She'd made certain of that by taking a roundabout way and turning sharp corners unexpectedly. There had been plenty of traffic, but no single car had followed her intricate pattern.

The men who'd entered the Bingington house were gone. She was safely home, evidence in hand. And her heart was about to beat out of her chest.

"Kitty, kitty." She called up the stairs, afraid to go up for fear someone might be lurking about, waiting to get her. But she had to check on the cat. What if he'd taken a turn for the worse?

"Meow!"

His reply was much perkier. The milk and egg must have made him feel better. Sarah felt relief as she hurried upstairs and found him just as she'd left him. He was a handsome creature and seemed to understand that she only wanted to help him. And if the truth was admitted, she needed him, too. It was nice to come home to something alive.

"Hey, kitty." She went to the bed and stroked his back. He was curled into a sleepy ball, as if he'd never moved.

"I got you some food. Hungry?"

His golden green eyes seemed to brighten.

"Well, come on downstairs." She was surprised when he sat up and stretched, ready to follow her. For a stray, he was certainly a well-mannered cat. If no one else claimed him, maybe she could keep him for her own pet. As she watched him stretch, his rear poked up in the air, she smiled. He was one hundred percent cat.

Together they strolled down the stairs, and Sarah picked up the groceries and the sack of pepper. She took them all to the kitchen and put everything except the pepper away. What was she going to do with all of the Bingingtons' pepper now that she'd stolen it? In the bright light of her kitchen, it seemed like a stupid thing to have done. What would she tell the Bingingtons tomorrow when she saw them? "Excuse me, I stole all of your pepper canisters because I heard someone break in, and I was afraid they were going to try to poison some of your guests."

Great! That would do the trick. She'd be labeled a crazy and no one in town would ever hire her again, no matter what magic Uncle Vince and Chef André were able to pull off.

She couldn't call the police. The reference to her father stopped her cold. Cal Covington had suffered tremendously in his last days. The accusations and rumors had killed him as surely as the bullet. Until Sarah could discover what door to her father's past had suddenly been reopened, she had no intention of involving the authorities. After all, she'd seen exactly how the FBI and other law officials worked. Her father had been guilty until proven innocent. And if someone had killed him, the FBI could very well have been involved!

But what to do about the pepper?

She would replace all of the canisters with brand new ones. Unopened. Untampered with. She lifted the lid of her trash can to throw the others away. The green eyes of the cat watching her every move made her stop. It was almost as if he willed her not to throw the pepper away.

What if someone was trying to kill the Bingingtons or their guests? If she didn't report what she'd heard, would she be an accessory to murder?

She closed the garbage can, the sack of pepper still in her hand. Putting her burden on the counter, she got out a handful of gourmet coffee beans and set about to brew herself a cup of coffee. Caffeine would clarify her brain. She was still a little shaken up by what had happened that night.

When she sat down at the big kitchen counter, the cat leapt into her lap and purred a kiss under her chin.

"What a fine cat you are," she murmured, stroking the sleek fur. He belonged to someone. She was going to have to put an ad in the paper. It wasn't fair to keep someone else's pet. Someone was probably looking for him, worried that he was injured or worse.

The black cat rubbed his whiskers along her jawline, tickling her neck with his whiskers.

"You won't let me feel sorry for myself, will you?"

"Meow." He put his paw on her wristwatch.

"It's nearly ten." She answered him before she blushed. She was actually answering the cat, as if he'd asked her the time. She needed a shrink, not a pet.

The black cat patted her wrist again, then hopped to the telephone. When she didn't move, he leapt onto her counter and knocked the pepper sack onto the floor. The metal canisters clanked and rattled while the glass clattered ominously.

"Get off that counter this instant." Sarah clapped her hands and the cat leapt down to the floor. In a moment he had one of the pepper bottles out and was batting it around. She'd never seen an animal make such a rapid change in personality. He'd been sweet, loving, docile. Now he was a hellcat, hopping and leaping on every flat surface and knocking things around the floor. He was acting like a kitten, and he was very much a full-grown cat.

"You act as if you're very familiar with my home, Mr. Cat."

At the sound of the word "familiar," he looked up and cried.

She said it again. "Familiar."

"Meow!" He stopped all of his frantic activity.

"Familiar."

"Meow, meow." He nodded his head once.

"Okay, I'll call you Familiar. You act like the best friend of a witch. But you have to stop tearing my kitchen apart."

Familiar batted a pepper bottle so hard it rolled into her feet. Then he jumped back to the telephone and lifted the receiver with his paw.

"You want me to call someone?" She felt stupid asking the question out loud. The cat was beginning to give her the creeps. He'd named himself and now he was demanding her action.

"Meow, meow." Familiar punched a few of the buttons.

"You're a pushy thing." She retrieved the pepper from beneath her feet. "I suppose I should call that arrogant agent." A smile crept over her face and she looked at her watch. It was going on ten. That wasn't exactly tit for tat, but it was close enough. He'd rushed into her house at midnight. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to give him a call late at night.

He'd given her a card, along with the stale admonition to "Call if anything develops." Like she was expecting developments. But the pepper was something…and it would solve a host of problems. She could report the break-in, have the pepper tested, and absolve herself of any responsibility for future events. And she didn't have to tell him anything about the bit of conversation she'd overheard. That could be her secret.

Before she could change her mind, she lifted the big telephone directory by the binding and shook. A dozen business cards fell to the floor, Daniel Dubonet's on top, face-up.

She picked it up and dialed his home number, her satisfaction and hesitation growing as she counted the rings.

"Hello?" Daniel had just fallen asleep. The day had been a bad one, and his mood was not improved by the ringing telephone.

"Mr. Dubonet. This is Sarah Covington. You asked me to call if anything developed. Well, it has."

Daniel sat up in his bed, realizing he'd fallen asleep with the light on and a book beside him. "Sarah Covington?" He was having a hard time adjusting to reality. He'd been dreaming about the blond chef. She'd been standing beside his bed with a tray of delectable desserts, ready to serve him. Except that he wasn't interested in any of the tempting pastries she was offering. He was tantalized by the sweep of her hair against her cheek and the display of long, long legs that showed beneath the imaginative white chef suit she wore. He swallowed.

"Mr. Dubonet? This is Sarah Covington, the chef." Sarah felt a moment's annoyance. He'd spoken with her the night before. Had he forgotten her so quickly? She certainly hadn't forgotten him. In fact, he'd deviled her thoughts constantly.

"Of course. I know who you are." He was irritated at his sudden desire for a woman he barely knew. The sound of her voice was enough to trigger the urge to see her. "I was asleep."

"I'm so sorry."

He could tell by her tone that she was not one bit sorry, and he smiled. She was not only lovely, but bright and spunky, too. He had that one coming. "What can I do for you at this hour of the night, Miss Covington?"

She heard the teasing note in his voice, and she couldn't suppress her own smile. He did have a sense of humor, after all. Maybe he wasn't quite as arrogant as she'd first thought.

"I ran into some difficulties tonight." She couldn't help the tremble in her voice. Even talking about the two men made her frightened.

Daniel heard the change in her tone. "Why don't I come over, and you can tell me about this?" He'd been given a direct order to work with her. His luck couldn't get any better.

"It's late. I can tell you over the phone. I have some things, some spices, that I'd like to have tested for…"

"For what?" Daniel felt a tingle along his spine, suddenly wondering if this call was good luck or not. Was she trying to set him up?