Undercover In High Heels

“Ow!”

“What the hell was that in there?” he asked, his dark eyes blazing.

I froze. I’d never seen him like this before. Sure, I’d seen him exasperated, frustrated, even a little peeved with me at times. But this was different. This was downright angry. There was no hint of humor glinting behind the fire in his eyes. This time he was serious.

I bit my lip to stave off the unpleasant emotion bubbling up inside me. If I had to put a name to it, I’d say it was somewhere between anxiety and all-out dread.

“You just don’t get it, do you, Maddie?” he continued. “This is a homicide investigation. And that was a homicide detective. This guy isn’t playing around.”

“But you’re a homicide detective, too, ” I squeaked out.

Again his eyes blazed, only this time I could see the exhaustion of the past week creeping into them. “No, I used to be a homicide detective. Now I’m a glorified security guard.”

“Thanks to me, right?” I finished for him. The dread was bubbling up so far it was stinging the backs of my eyes now.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Jesus, Maddie.” Ramirez ran a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you just tell Rodgers what you knew? Then you could have gotten the hell out of here.”

“They think Dusty did it!”

“Yeah, and now he thinks you’re covering for her. Does the word accomplice mean anything to you?”

Does the word girlfriend mean anything to you? I longed to retort back. But I was suddenly too afraid of the answer. Instead, I let out a feeble, “Dusty’s innocent.”

“Maybe.”

I shook my head. “No, you don’t know Dusty.”

“Do you?”

I bit my lip. “Maybe not. But why would she do this?”

“What about the argument she had with Mia?”

I shook my head again. “Dusty wouldn’t kill over that. Besides, Dusty must have known Mia was right. With her coloring, she really is a Spring.”

Ramirez narrowed his eyes at me. “That’s it? You believe her because some woman is a season?” He shook his head. “Jesus, Maddie, I don’t get you.”

“No, you don’t, ” I said, realizing just how true that was. Damn. The stinging was getting worse. Another minute of this and my mascara would be toast. “Look, Dusty’s my friend, and I know she’s innocent. And if you or your law-and-order posse have any more questions for me, you can ask them through my lawyer.”

I turned and tried to stalk out of the room, making a really dramatic exit. But the stinging behind my eyes had morphed into tears that were suddenly blurring my vision. I kind of stumbled instead, half running, half tripping down the hall and out the back exit onto the lot. I blindly ran through the Sunset city, not caring where I was going, just wanting to get away. Away from the accusations, away from the chaos of the set, and, most of all, away from the man who, instead of comforting me, was interrogating me!

Sure, Ramirez and I had had our ups and downs in the past. But this felt different. This felt like only downs. Where were our ups? Were we ever going to have one again? Not likely, the way things were going. Maybe Ramirez had been right all along-maybe we just weren’t relationship material. I’d known from the beginning that Ramirez was a cop first. But somehow in the back of my mind I’d always hoped that he’d wake up one day and realize how much he wanted to put me first.

Clearly today wasn’t that day.

I finally ran out of breath and sat down at a bus stop somewhere in New York. “Somewhere” being the key word here. As I wiped at my damp cheeks, I realized I had no idea where I was.

The fake city was eerily creepy in the fading dusk, the setting sun creating shadow across the New York skyline. I did a few unladylike hiccups, getting myself under control as I got up and walked down the street, half expecting a mugger to jump out of the dirty alleyway, even though I knew the dirt had been spray painted on by set dressers and the only rats on the lot were the agents.

But between the talk of murderous letter writers and even more murderous murderers, the empty buildings seemed to take on an ominous feeling.

And then I heard it. The sound that made my heart start pumping double-time.

Footsteps.

I paused, freezing in the middle of a street lined with brownstones (or, at least, brownstone facades). The footsteps continued for a beat, then stopped, too.

Okay, so maybe it was just a set dresser getting New York ready for that cop show tomorrow. Maybe it was a cleaning crew. Maybe it was an actor trying to soak up some of the East Coast atmosphere.

Maybe it was a homicidal maniac who strangled women in their trailers with panty hose.

I started walking again, briskly, in the direction of the set. Only, with the adrenaline-fueled fear pumping through my veins, I wasn’t sure which direction the set was.

I quickened my pace, almost jogging now as I rounded the corner and found myself suddenly on a tavern-lined street in Boston. The footsteps followed me, speeding up as mine did. I glanced behind my shoulder and let out a squeak. A figure loomed in the shadows just a few yards behind me. Clearly my imagination did not produce that. Frantically I tried the door to O’Shays Pub. Of course it didn’t open because, duh, it was freaking painted on. Nothing here was real!

Nothing, that was, except the murderer chasing me.

I was running now, trying not to trip over my feet as I heard the footsteps growing closer. I didn’t dare look back for fear he’d be right on top of me. I rounded another corner, onto a San Francisco street lined with Victorians, and started jogging uphill.

I could hear him closing in, his breath coming fast, as if he weren’t any fonder of San Francisco terrain than I was. I reached into my purse, grasping for anything that might be used as a weapon. Lipstick, tampon, change… pepper spray! I said a silent thank-you to my overly protective (though, in hindsight, genius) mother as my fingers curled around the canister. I felt around for the little button to push, still tripping uphill. I found it.

Just as I felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder.

Chapter 7

More out of instinct than anything else, I let out a bloodcurdling scream as I whipped around and shot the contents of the spray canister blindly at my attacker.

“Son of a…!” My attacker staggered backward, clawing at his eyes. “What the bloody hell did you do that for, Maddie!”

I blinked, the adrenaline slowly receding from my limbs as I took in the rumpled khaki pants, sneakers, and slept-in white button-down. Felix.

“Oh crap!” I dropped the canister on the ground. “Oh holy crap. I’m so sorry, Felix. Oh crap, are you okay?”

“No, I’m not bloody okay!” He was still rubbing at his eyes, his entire face turning redder than a Malibu sunburn victim. “What the hell was that?”

“Pepper spray.”

He dropped his hands, his eyes tearing as he stared at me. “Pepper spray? You bloody shot me with pepper spray?”

I felt myself blush. “Sorry. But in my defense, you did kind of sneak up on me.”

“I did no such thing. I was trying to catch up to you. You’re bloody fast in flats. Dammit, this stuff stings.”

“Water. We need to rinse it with water.” I led Felix, who was pretty much blind now, thanks to my blonde moment, through the streets until we found a drinking fountain in the Golden Gate Park that actually worked (as