Sex, Murder and a Double Latte (10 page)

“Most women find it exciting.”

“Are these the same women who developed a crush on Steven Segal?”

Anatoly leaned back from the table and grinned. “You know, I never asked about that. I have been with women who’ve had a thing for Jean-Claude Van Damme. Is that the same thing?”

“Pretty much. Were you ever in a kill-or-be-killed situation?”

“No, never during my length of service was I in that particular situation. I was lucky.”

I had to think about the wording on that one. “What about
outside
your length of service.”

“I’ve never been in combat outside of Israel or Russia either.”

“But you have had some close calls here?”

“What makes you say that?”

I hate it when people respond to a question with a question. It almost always implies guilt. “Anatoly, I don’t mean to grill you, but I do have a few set standards when it comes to dating. They are as follows—I never date men who are con artists, murderers or spawn of the devil. I just need to know that you don’t fit into any of those categories.”

Anatoly’s body relaxed a bit as he leaned toward me. “I’m not a con artist. I have never committed murder. I’m a little murky on the devil-spawn part, but my mother decided to stay in Israel, so hopefully that will be a nonissue.”

“Well, two out of three ain’t bad.” I took another bite out of my celery stick. “So, what kind of close calls have you had outside of the army?”

“Does your family live here?”

“Gee, that was subtle.” I wanted to press him for more clear answers, but I could see his jaw tightening. Better to shelve the question for another day when I had more energy, patience, and a car to get home with. “My mom, my sister and her husband and baby. My father died eighteen years ago.”

“I’m sorry. Were you close?”

“Very. I think I take after him in a lot of ways. Of course, I’m close to my mom too, and my sister and I talk regularly, but she and I are just very different people. I’ve always looked for the road less traveled—she, on the other hand, married a CPA.”

“Got it. How long have you lived in Russian Hill?”

“I’ve been in the same flat for the last nine years.”

“I’ve never been in the same city for nine years. Are you friends with all the neighbors?”

“I hate them.” Anatoly stifled a laugh. “Fortunately the guy on the first floor is always out of town and the woman below me and I have an unspoken agreement to only acknowledge one another’s presence once every five years, so it works for me. In fact, she was the one to tell me about my car this morning, so with any luck, she’ll be giving me the silent treatment for the rest of the decade.”

“All right, I’m sure there are other benefits to staying in the same place for so long. Rent control for instance.”

“Oh God, yes, If it were to go on the market today the landlord would probably raise the rent by a good thousand dollars a month. Plus the landlord lets me do anything I want, as long as it brings up the property value. Hey, maybe you could do some remodeling for me. The timing’s perfect. I just finished my last book, so it wouldn’t be disruptive to my work.”

Anatoly rearranged his legs under the table. “My plate’s pretty full right now.”

“I thought you said you were between projects.”

“I am, but I expect that one of my bids is going to be accepted any day now. It’s a big job and I want to keep myself available for it.” He polished off the rest of his Pacifico. “Do you want another drink?”

“No, I think I’m done for awhile.”

“Good.” Anatoly signaled to the waitress that he wanted the check. “I want to walk up to Coit Tower. It’s one of the few San Francisco monuments I haven’t gotten around to visiting.”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful in a phallic kind of way, but you have to climb up a pretty steep hill to get there.”

The cocktail waitress came over with the check. I suppressed a little smile. There were definitely brown roots.

After sticking his wallet away in his back pocket, Anatoly’s focus came back to me. “I think you can make the walk.” His eyes ran up and down my body. “You look like you’re in very good shape.”

My cheeks heated up and I squirmed in my seat. My feminist side was telling me to be offended, but I couldn’t quite get myself to obey that particular dictate. I was too busy picturing Anatoly naked.

“Shall we?” Anatoly asked.

“Mmm-hmm.” Whatever he was asking me to do, the answer was yes.

He extended his hand to me. Was it normal to be turned on by holding a guy’s hand? Then again, this guy did have those mighty fine hands. He led me out of the restaurant.

My libido came back under control during the climb to Coit Tower. The road leading there wasn’t quite at a ninety-degree angle but it was about as close as you could get without making walking up it a gravitational impossibility. By the time we made it to the top I was a sweaty, puffing mess that even lipstick couldn’t compensate for. Anatoly wasn’t even winded, which did nothing to improve my spirits.

I sat down on the low concrete barrier that encased the bell-shaped parking lot. “Is there a reason we didn’t take your bike up here?”

“We wouldn’t have gotten the full experience.”

“Oh yeah. I wouldn’t want to miss the experience of having cardiac arrest or anything.”

Anatoly laughed and shook his head. “Do me a favor, shut up and enjoy the view.”

I responded by sticking my tongue out at him before turning my back on the white phallic-shaped monument to absorb the rest of my surroundings. It really was beautiful. From where I stood you could see both the Golden Gate and Bay bridges. The weather was perfect for sailing, so the water was decorated with little white triangles gliding over its surface. It wasn’t officially tourist season yet but there were still a fair number of men and women scattered around the monument snapping their cameras and speaking in foreign tongues. It was so peaceful and welcoming that any nagging fears left over from the morning’s episode seemed to just blow away in the breeze. No matter what awaited me at the bottom of the hill, I knew that as long as I was here I was safe. I greedily inhaled the fresh sea air.

“It’s spectacular, isn’t it?”

Anatoly turned his back to the Bay. “Yes, ‘spectacular’ is a good word for it.”

My breath quickened slightly.

“Sophie, there is something I’ve wanted to do all day.”

“What’s that?”

He answered by gently caressing my cheek. He leaned forward and touched my lips with his. It was gentle, tender and extremely hot.

He backed up just enough so he could speak. “More?”

“More would be good.”

Anatoly moved in again. This time the kiss was deeper. He parted my lips with his tongue as one hand held me tightly against him and the other hand moved forcefully up my back. He abandoned my mouth in favor of my neck, and I silently thanked God that I had tossed aside the turtleneck.

Anatoly released me, and it took every last morsel of self-control not to cry out in protest. “I think I’m done looking at Coit Tower,” he said. “Perhaps we could go somewhere a little quieter?”

You know, safety is overrated. It was time to leave this little utopia and start living dangerously…in my apartment. I ran a teasing finger down Anatoly’s arm until its path was stopped by his watch. “Wait a minute, is that right? Is it really five-fifteen?” I checked my watch for verification. “Shit. I’m supposed to be at that surprise party at six.”

“Surprise party? Do you really have to go?”

I bit down on my lip. My going to the party was really important to Marcus. Of course, getting laid was really important to
me.
“It’s for a sick friend of Marcus’s. He’s a big fan of my books and I promised Marcus that I’d show up as kind of a celebrity-guest type thing.”

“How sick is he?”

My shoulders slumped. “He has AIDS.” I reluctantly tucked my hands into my pockets. “Do you want to come with me?”

Anatoly sighed and shook his head. “I wasn’t invited, and you really should spend your time and energy on the guest of honor. I think it’s best if I don’t come.”

Well, it looked like I wasn’t going to get to come either. “Will you at least give me a ride?”

Anatoly draped an arm over my shoulders. “Your chariot awaits.”

CHAPTER 7

“‘I equate days to music,’ she explained. ‘Some play out like Pachelbel’s Canon performed by the New York Symphony Orchestra. Others are more like a badly composed Beatles medley that you’re forced to listen to while on hold for the dentist.’”

—
Sex, Drugs and Murder

T
he party itself was fun if not particularly memorable. I signed a few books and managed to enjoy myself, although I made a point of telling Marcus what I had sacrificed to be there. He showed his appreciation by cutting me an extra-large piece of chocolate cake that he personally dosed with brandy.

When the festivities were over he gave me a ride home and idled the car in front of my apartment. He turned the music down so we could hear ourselves talk over the Material Girl. “Thanks so much for coming, Soph. It just made Steve’s night.”

I nodded. “He’s a nice guy. He told me that when things get bad he escapes into one of my books. Considering what he’s escaping I think that may be the greatest compliment of my life.”

“Yeah.” Marcus pulled gently on one of his locks. “That boy has gotten damn skinny. The reason we wrapped things up at nine is that he tires out so fast. He did seem to be having fun, though, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he was having fun.” I covered Marcus’s hand with my own. “The party was perfect. You did good.”

Marcus smiled slightly and looked into the darkness.

I nudged him gently in the ribs. “Speaking of doing good, I didn’t expect to see Donato there tonight.”

Marcus’s smile became more animated. “Mmm-hmm, Donato and I are a thang. He’s fun, he’s romantic, and damn girl, you should see him when he starts working those hips—and I am not talking about dancing, okay.”

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. He’s kind of eccentric, isn’t he?”

“Greek gods often are.” I could see his eyes twinkle, despite the poor lighting. “He’s meeting me at my place in an hour for a private worship session.”

“Private worship session, huh? Well, far be it for me to keep you from your religious duties.” I kissed him on the cheek and gathered up my purse and coat. “Do you have time to give me a deep condition and trim on Tuesday?”

“Honey, for you I’ll make the time. Call the salon, they’ll pencil you in.”

“It’s a date, then.” I popped out of the car and watched as Marcus drove off.

“Hi, Sophie.”

I turned to see Andy smiling down at me. “Hey, Andy, what are you doing here?”

He shuffled his feet awkwardly. “I just helped Mrs. Murphy carry some groceries home.”

I noted the time. Nine-thirty, a bit late for a little old lady to be grocery shopping. Of course, for all I knew Mrs. Murphy could be some young socialite afraid of breaking a nail.

“Was that guy your boyfriend?”

“Hmm? Oh, Marcus? I wish. No, he’s just a friend. I don’t have a boyfriend.” As soon as I said it I realized my mistake. Andy was about to ask me out, and I had just ruined what would have been a perfectly good excuse to say no.

“Well, Andy, it was good to see you. I’ve got to get upstairs—my cat’s probably really hungry by now.” Where were my keys? I felt them at the bottom of my purse. Great, now if I could just get inside quickly enough…

“Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

Shit.

“I could take you somewhere really nice. I’ve been saving money from my paychecks.”

I looked at my keys hanging in the unopened lock. “Listen, Andy, I’m really flattered but—”

“But you don’t want to go out with a retard.”

“God, no! You’re not a retard.” Was he angry? I didn’t even know he had a temper. “It’s just that, well, I’ve got a lot going on right now and I simply don’t have any time, so I’ve decided to hold off on dating for a while.”

“So you’re not dating anyone?” The cloud that had briefly darkened his features slipped away and was replaced by befuddlement. He looked like a kid who had just discovered he’d wandered too far from his parents.

“Nope.” Not unless you’re tall, dark and Russian, in which case I’m all over it.

Andy shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I guess I understand that.”

I doubted that, but he was willing to accept it and that’s all I cared about.

“Well, like I said, I’ve got to go feed the cat.” It took concerted effort to hide my relief.

“Okay, Sophie. I’ll see you soon, right?”

“Of course, Andy, I’ll see you at the market.” I was so good.

I felt my guard go up the minute I got into the apartment. I turned on every light and spent about a half hour meticulously checking for broken glass or anything unusual, but everything was as it should be. I stood in the middle of the living room and scowled at my published novels neatly lined up on the top bookshelf. How sad was it that I had actually lost the ability to tell the difference between fiction and reality? Dena has always said that prolonged sexual abstinence leads to early senility. I bent down to scratch Mr. Katz behind the ears.

“I’d better get Anatoly up here fast before I hurt myself diving through a looking-glass trying to find Hogwarts.”

The next morning I let my fingers do the walking through all the emergency auto-window-replacement ads. The problem was that I didn’t consider my need for a new driver’s side window an emergency. It wasn’t a new car, and I was pretty sure that the insurance company was going to consider it totaled, so why should I care if some homeless guy wanted to take a nap in it?

I closed the phone book and relaxed back into the chair. It was a typical cold, foggy San Francisco day. Perfect for lighting up a fire, taking the phone off the hook and reading a good book. I looked over at the bookcase.

There was a book on the top shelf that was slightly out of place. Funny, it hadn’t been that way last night….

I mechanically rose from the chair. With every step toward that bookcase my heartbeat got a little louder. Without being able to see the title, all I could tell was that it was a novel from my series. I pulled it out.
Sex, Drugs and Murder.