to scare you.” He lounged against the door frame, hard arms crossed over his deep chest.
“I had a cat like you once,” she grumbled, whacking his chest with the envelope. “His name was Shadow. Big and black, with a real attitude. I never knew when he’d come creeping up on me. I’d turn around and there he’d be. Watching me with a smirk on his face.”
Rio took the envelope. “So I remind you of your gatito….”
Phoebe realized she liked it when he spoke Spanish. It was a beautiful language, soft and musical, and it sounded real nice coming out of that sexy mouth of his—not that she was telling him that. “My what?”
“Your kitten.”
“Shadow was no kitten.”
“Gato, then. That’s good, right? A woman loves her cat.”
“You wish. I finally had to tie a bell around that cat’s neck so I’d know when he was nearby. He died a little over a year ago. Now and then, I think I see him, in the corner of my eye. But he is gone, gone, gone.” Just like you’ll be, soon enough.
“Hey,” Rio said again, too gently. He touched her chin. The contact was electric, sending little bolts of excitement zipping all through her.
She met his eyes and tried to pretend he didn’t thrill her in the least. “I put copies of Darla’s and Boone’s employment applications in there. Bernard’s, too.”
“Great.”
She wanted him to understand…what? She wasn’t quite sure. She said quietly, “I do want to know, Rio. I want to know how Ralphie died. Since we talked this morning, I’m only more certain about my priorities here.”
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