We took turns being the one who leaned back on the kitchen counter and the one who knelt on the linoleum floor. When I found myself wondering at the taste of her douche and wishing she hadn't, I told the detective to go back to sleep. I was amazed by her passion—not so amazed that I questioned it, but enough that I commented on it. She said she hadn't fucked in months. I liked that, the combined suggestions that she recognized her needs and didn't give into them with just anyone.
We had each other first at the kitchen table, with her lying on her back, then with her leaning on her elbows with me behind her. Afterwards, we laughed and separated. I put the mugs in the microwave to reheat them, but we had begun again on the sofa before the timer sounded. Still joined at the groin, I carried her to my bed where there was more room to roll, and we took turns being on top.
I came twice in that hour, once in the kitchen and once in the bedroom. She was a screamer—by my count, she came at least three times. After her second, as I was doing my best to catch up with her, she said, "Thank you, O God of my Waking Dreams." All I could do was grin. Well, grin and keep doing the things that seemed to have inspired the comment.
When we took a break, I returned to the kitchen and re-zapped the chocolate that we had left in the microwave. Though I kept my belongings limited, I had a candelabra that I claimed was for power outages, but only came out when a woman I liked was in my home. I lit the candles and carried the reheated chocolate back to the bedroom.
She said, "You look like a man who isn't ready to sleep."
"I can always sleep."
"Is that all you can always do?"
"Gods, woman. You're insatiable."
"How would you know? You've barely tried to satiate me."
"Drink up. Then we'll see who satiates whom."
"What's the winner get?"
"The loser. And vice versa."
She tossed back her chocolate. "How about a back rub?"
"You do know how to treat a guy." My chocolate was too hot for my taste, so I sipped it and set it aside.
I nearly fell asleep in the soft rumpled bed in the glow of the candlelight with her hands firmly massaging the tight muscles of my back and the scent of chocolate and sex thick in the air. I said, "That's nice."
"Glad to be of service." She kissed the back of my neck. "In whatever way I can."
"I didn't know this was part of a bodyguard's job."
"Some bodies are better to guard than others."
"Mmm. You're good at your work."
"There are things you're good at, too."
"We aim to please."
"Max?"
I smiled into the pillow. "Kris?"
"Why did the cat hire you?"
Her strong hands continued to work on me while I lay there, trying to think of an answer that would end this line of discussion. The best I could do was a reminder that sex did not grant us total intimacy. "You know I can't answer that."
"You can if you think she's involved in a murder."
My obligation to my client made me ask, "Do you?"
"Try not to tense up."
It was too late. I rolled over and caught her wrists. "If you want to grill me, let's do it back at the precinct."
"Sorry. But as long as she has that earring, or anyone thinks she does, you're both targets. I'd hate to see you get hurt, Max."
"Is this an interrogation?"
"No." She slid her hands down my chest. "The precinct's a lousy place for what I have in mind."
She leaned down for a passionate kiss. After a long, lazy, tired, comfortable, almost painful time, we each added another Big O to our scores.
I fell asleep in her arms after blowing out the candles, and woke when she slipped from the bed. Moonlight silvered her limbs. She seemed so inhumanly beautiful then that I shuddered. I said, "You can stay, you know."
"People will wonder if I go to work twice in the same clothes."
"Tell them you got lucky."
She leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips. "I did."
"You can borrow some of my clothes."
"Now there's a helpful suggestion. Good night." She kissed me again and headed naked into the hall.
I got up and followed her into the kitchen, where she was pulling up her red lace panties. She looked at me and said, "You didn't have to get up."
"Hmm. Sleep, or watch you get dressed? That's not as nice as watching the reverse, but it's still a good show. Maybe when I remember this, I can play it in reverse."
She rolled her eyes. "Men."
She dressed much too quickly for my taste. When she finished, I applauded. "Encore!"
"Dream on."
"Want something to drink before you go?"
"I'm fine."
I didn't press her. We'd had great sex; we didn't really know whether we could stand to spend more time together. I was sleepy, and, since I hadn't bothered to put on a robe, cold. I kissed her goodbye at the door. Warmth alone might've explained why I felt so good in that embrace. "Kris?"
"Yes?"
I wanted to show her the earring, to get her help in learning what it was and why anyone wanted it. I said, "Don't be a stranger."
"I won't be. And, Max? If you happen to find that earring—"
"You'll be the next to know."
"Good."
She gave me a last cinnamon kiss, then strode into the night. I closed the door and headed for the hall, grinning sleepily with the warm glow of the well-laid. I didn't know whether I liked Kris Blake, but I knew I liked what we did together, and I sure wouldn't mind if we did a little more. All I wanted at that moment was to put on my robe, have a last smoke, and crawl back into that warm bed to fall asleep in less time than it takes to finish this sentence.
Something scratched at the balcony door, and a cat meowed to be let in. I muttered "What the hell—" and pulled back the drapes. Just beyond the glass, with an insufferable grin, stood Zoe Domingo.
Chapter Six
I yanked the drapes together, realized I couldn't leave the cat on the balcony, then wrapped the end of a drape around my waist and opened the door. She stalked into the middle of the living room, looked around, and shook her head sadly. Before she could comment on the decor, I said, "How long were you out there?"
"Long enough to wonder if you were ever going to stop. Is the girlfriend coming back tonight?"
"Kris?" It was too soon to think of Blake as a girlfriend, but I liked the possibility that I might someday soon. "Not unless she forgot something."
"Good."
"Why?"
"She smells funny."
"You don't like her because she smells funny?"
"I don't like her because she's a cop."
"Speaking of, where's your guardbot?" When the cat shrugged innocently, I could answer my own question. "Watching the wrong house. That was all your money. And you don't have any friends in town."
"Wow, you are a detective."
"Would you mind looking away? I want to get a robe."
"Afraid you'll blind me with your godlike splendor?"
"I should be so lucky. Turn around."
She sighed and started reading the spines of my disc boxes. "Are you ashamed because you don't have fur? The Wild Church says that's what God took from you, when he kicked you out of Eden."
I ducked into the bathroom and grabbed my robe off the back of the door. "I'm not ashamed. I'm cold."
"And how's that affect whether I see you naked?"
"Look, it makes me uncomfortable."
"Why?"
"I'm an old-fashioned guy, okay? If we were on the beach, I wouldn't mind."
"Are there any critter beaches in L.A.?"
"That was rhetorical. There's a mixed beach up past Malibu. I didn't think cats liked to swim."
"Why do you think zoo cats get ponds? And you're not the only one who can be rhetorical."
I decided that if she had been human, I still wouldn't like her. Which reminded me that the only reason I had to put up with her was business, and our dealings went much better when we focused on that. "When they notice you're missing, this is the first place they'll check."
"They shouldn't think it's odd if I sleep until noon. We'll be on the case well before then."
"I will be, anyway."
She frowned. "And I stay here?"
"Wherever you wish." I reached for the phone.
"What're you doing?"
"Calling information. There's got to be a decent hotel with a room for a chimera."
"I thought you were broke."
"Now that you're straight with the cops, you can use a credit card."
"Anyone who can reprogram copbots can track a credit card transaction."
If it'd been earlier in the day, I would've thought of that. I hung up.
She headed into the kitchen. "I guess you're stuck with a house guest."
I tailed her. "How'd you get a name like Zoe Domingo?"
"It was a twenty-six cat Sunday at the ol' in vitro lab." She opened the refrigerator and scanned the basics: soy milk, beer, soy cheese, hummous, tofu, orange marmelade, maple syrup, salsa, tomato-mushroom spaghetti sauce, spicy garlic and black bean stir-fry sauces, potatoes, broccoli, carrots. Her frown grew as she checked the freezer: onion bagels, corn, spinach, peas, soy beans. "No meat? Not even a pack of bologna?"
I shook out a cig from a pack near the stove and lit it on a burner. "No cat litter in the bathroom either."
"Very funny."
"I don't meat."
She stared at me in disbelief. "A vegetarian nicotine addict."
I took a deep drag on the cig, exhaled, and grinned. "I can quit any time."
"Uh huh." Her nostrils flared as she grimaced.
"But since you're not comfortable—" I stubbed out the cig in the sink.
"Thanks." She took out the package of cheese, sat on the counter, ripped the plastic open with a fingernail, and proceeded to break pieces off and eat them.
I said, "Help yourself."
She looked at the cheese as if she'd just realized what she was doing. "Well. Your three kings ate my lunch money."
Since we were staying up, I got a beer and opened it. "Want one?"
"Water'd be nice."
I pointed at a cupboard. "Glasses." As she filled one with tap water, I said, "What did you expect your lunch money to buy?"
"I told you. The earring."
I opened the Pocket. The earring shot into my hand. Viewed up close, its gold rectangles had patterns of tiny holes and indentations. The black opal flashed in rainbow colors. It was pretty, but people rarely kill for pretty. Being able to shut down copbots, that you might kill for. I set the earring on the kitchen table. "Sure you want me to start hunting?"
"Why not?"
"Because here's the story so far: Dr. Janna Gold, AI expert, is d.o.a. in L.A. Someone knew she was coming. Her companion escapes unhurt with a mysterious and valuable doodad that she hides from the police."
The cat set aside her cheese and water. "Meaning?"
"The companion could've set Gold up, double-crossed her partners, and hired a cheap detective to make her story look good. Or to be her fall guy."
The cat's claws extended as she bared clenched teeth.
I said, "That's high on the cops' list of possibilities. They have a dead body, and you. They have to start with you. So do I."
"I wouldn't let anyone hurt her!"
"Guess you fucked up then."
She reached for the earring. "You're fired."
I put my hand over hers to stop her. "Thought you said you wouldn't fire me."
"You've lucked out."
I kept the hand over hers. "Why'd you really hire me?"
"I want to know who killed Doc!"
"Why? What did a skin ever do for you?"
She kept the glare on me, full burn. "She adopted me. She was my mother." As tears formed in her eyes, she grabbed the earring off the table and turned to go.
I caught her shoulder. Her look said wise men don't do that. I said gently, "The cops didn't know that."
"The papers haven't gone through. Satisfied?"
I wasn't, not entirely. Still, I sighed and turned toward the hall. "The couch doesn't look like much, but it's comfortable."
"You'll help me find her killer?"
I looked back. She seemed very small and very alone under the kitchen light. "That's what you paid me for, isn't it?" I left her standing there.
I used the bathroom and put the seat down before I left, a gesture that I doubt she noticed. Bed wasn't what I'd hoped it would be. I couldn't sleep. I thought about Kris Blake, and I liked what I thought, but that kept leading me back to the cat and her case.
The only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted a smoke, but I couldn't think of a way to do that without her smelling it. Mind you, I couldn't think of a reason why she shouldn't smell it. She wouldn't think any less of me. Maybe that was why I didn't want her to smell it.
I studied the shadows cast by the street lights, finally muttered, "Oh, hell," threw the covers back and got out of bed. I tapped a cig out of the pack on the dresser, brought it to my lips, pulled out my pocket knife, snapped the lighter on, then stopped. I don't know why. She was just a chimera who would be out of my life in seventeen hours—sooner, if I found what she wanted.
I took the cig out of my mouth, scowled at it, and dropped it back on the dresser. I could go twenty-four hours without smoking. The next time someone said I couldn't, I would know they were wrong.
Warm soy milk seemed like a good idea. I threw on my robe and headed out.
I stopped at the archway into the living room. Street light through the front windows showed Zoe Domingo under a blanket on the couch. She was asleep, one hand under her cheek.
If I went any further, I would wake her. She was a damn cat with nothing on her conscience; she would go right back to sleep. I told myself to go ahead and get the soy milk. In the morning, she wouldn't remember I'd disturbed her.
Then I sighed, defeated. One day's work. I went into the bathroom. Tap water tasted good enough. Something wet must've been all I needed. I fell asleep easily after that.
The alarm was set for eight-thirty. The cat went off at eight. The knock at the door was easy to ignore. A shouted "Hey, Mr. Detective, I don't think there are any clues to my case in your bed," was not.