Too Many Brothers

“What made you decide to try being a party clown, of all things? That seems like a job with built-in drawbacks. Kids bite, kick and spit. Mothers never believe their rug rats are at fault.”

“Oh, I’m only doing this temporarily while I wait to hear on a job at one of the movie studios. My family talked me into giving college another stab after the last disaster. They weren’t overjoyed when I chose to become a makeup artist. But I’m good at it, and I think it’ll be exciting and rewarding work. No two movies are ever alike. Plus, I’ll meet a lot of interesting people—including single men. But don’t you dare ask about my history in that department. I’ve spilled all of my life story you’re going to hear, Agent Grant. It’s your turn.”

“We’ll have to find a different subject, then. Damn, I see we haven’t lost our shadow. If I’m not mistaken, the next off-ramp is the one you need to take.”

“So it is. Does this mean you’re really coming to my apartment?”

“I’m afraid so,” Logan said slowly. He checked and re-checked the car following them without giving the appearance that he was doing so.

“Then you can tell me all about Logan Grant. Must be a fascinating life you lead, what with criminals chasing you around, driving you into the back bedrooms of virtual strangers.”

“It was my sister’s bedroom. She’s hardly a stranger. And that doesn’t happen often. Agents aren’t supposed to talk about their private lives,” he muttered. “However, I will tell you that drugs aren’t all we suspect these men of trafficking. Don’t worry, though, I’m not planning to trouble you for long. Just until I call my office.”

Daphne exited the freeway and took the surface streets three blocks west to her apartment. Spotting a sports car pulling out of a parking place, she zipped into it, causing Logan to bump his head against the curve of the windshield when she braked fast.

“Sorry. This parking space is directly in front of my entrance. It means we only have to walk a few steps to get inside. I don’t see any other opening. Your friends back there will either have to double-park or wait until someone leaves. This time of the afternoon, when everyone’s coming home from work, chances of that are slim to none.”

“Good. Hey, I didn’t think to ask. Is your main door keyed or do you have a doorman on duty?”

“No doorman. This is a low-budget part of town. Almost anyone who wants to enter the building can get someone to buzz them in. I hate that the people here aren’t more careful, but it’s mostly college kids and artsy people. Either they have lots of company or they’re all in the habit of forgetting their keys.”

“It’s too late to worry about changing neighborhoods now,” he said. “I’ll bring your beach bag. You run ahead and unlock the door. Act like we’ve done this a million times. Pretend this is your Oscar-winning performance.”

She stuck out her tongue. “I’m not a struggling actress. Name me one person who’s ever won an Oscar for makeup. Well, they do, but no one can name them.”

“If we pull off this scam, babe, I’ll give you a gold statue myself.” Logan scrambled out of the cramped space, retrieved Daphne’s bag and actually whistled as he bounded up the steps. When she bent to insert the key, he casually placed a hand on her hip, as if it was habit.

The weight of his palm and the warmth of his long body standing so close sent heat to the pit of Daphne’s stomach. She fumbled her key and would’ve dropped the entire ring had Logan not been agile enough to catch it. Smiling, he kissed her knuckles and left red paint from his mouth smeared across her white glove. Then he opened the door without a hitch.

She refused to meet his eyes, certain she’d encounter a satisfied masculine smirk on his cocky face. Just continue to treat him the way you treat your brothers. She chanted that over and over, even as her brain turned to mush. Damn, she didn’t need the complication of a man in her life. But then, she clearly wasn’t Logan Grant’s type. She knew that instinctively. So at most, she’d have to play hostess for an hour or so. Just until someone from his office figured out how to get here and pick him up.

CHAPTER THREE

THE FRONT DOOR CLANGED shut behind them. Daphne ducked out from beneath Logan’s hand without saying a word and raced up the stairs. She’d come inside in stocking feet. Logan was not only grappling with the awkward beach bag, but he still wore the oversize clown slippers.

He stopped on the first landing and pulled off the foam booties that tripped him up on every step. After that he moved better. But the woman leading the charge kept going higher and higher. “Hey,” he finally called, wincing as his voice echoed in the stairwell. “Which floor do you live on?”

“Eighth. It’s the top floor in this building. I started out on third, but I hated having people tramping around overhead. So the minute an apartment opened up on eight, I switched.”

“I can’t believe there’s no elevator.”

“It’s an historic building is why. I think the circular stairs are part of the charm.”

“Great! Who needs historic?”

Daphne had finally reached the last landing. She turned and headed down the hall, where she stopped outside the last door on her left.

Logan paused to check out possible exits. His hostess appeared to have a corner apartment overlooking the front of the building. The minute she opened the door and he walked in behind her, Logan saw with some pleasure that she also had a big corner window. He made a beeline over there to scan the street below.

Glad he was otherwise occupied, Daphne zigzagged through her living room, picking up items she’d strewn haphazardly about. She wouldn’t call herself a slob, exactly, but picking up never seemed a top priority, unless she’d arranged for company. Or if family members phoned to say they’d be dropping by, she made certain the place looked more presentable than it did now.

She hooked an arm around the beach bag Logan had set just inside the door, then threw it and a dirty T-shirt scooped off the couch, plus yesterday’s nightgown, into her bedroom. Quickly slamming the door on a rumpled, unmade bed, she hurried out to make a similar survey of the kitchen.

Ugh! Her kitchen was even messier. Daphne enjoyed cooking if she had guests. Otherwise, she’d never been able to work up much enthusiasm for fixing three meals a day. And doing dishes—well, last night’s microwave teriyaki rice bowl and her toast plate from breakfast still sat on the counter, along with glasses and an empty orange-juice container. She really ought to develop better habits.

Lord help her if Logan Grant took a notion to open her refrigerator. There was no telling what kind of flora and fauna he might find growing in there. She cast a sidelong glance at him. He was probably hungry, but she needed to shop for groceries because she’d stayed at Dane’s house all last week.

“Damn,” he muttered. “The car that followed us found a parking place right across the street from your VW. The occupants don’t seem in any rush to get out. But it doesn’t seem as if they’re set to leave anytime soon, either.” He sidled away from the window and walked to the front door.

Frowning, he turned. “What did you do with the bag I carried up? I’ll think better after I shower and change into my own clothes. Well, not mine but that stuff of Mike’s I asked April to pack. Mike’s heavier and a few inches shorter than me, but I’m sure his shirt will fit. I’ll have to make do with my jeans, though, no matter how grungy they are.”

Daphne looked stricken. “When did you ask April to pack some of her husband’s clothes? I saw her stuff your old clothes in a department-store bag she sent off with her friend who left the party early. She asked Mariel, I think her name was, to toss the bag in a commercial trash bin. I’ll look again, but I’m sure there are no clean clothes of yours in the bag.”

She hurried into her bedroom and pawed through the beach bag. She walked back out, shaking her head. “The only things in there are the costumes I took to the party. I’m sorry, Logan.”

While Daphne was in her bedroom, he’d removed the hat that had fuzzy white yarn sticking out wildly over each ear. He ran a hand through his own sun-streaked badly matted hair and tugged off the rubber band tying it back. “What was April thinking? I can’t go roaming around town wearing this.” He gazed helplessly at his wilted costume.

“April thought I was dropping you at your office. Since you’re planning on phoning your boss, have him bring some clothes so you can change before you leave.”

“Right. Good idea. That wig fit so tight, it must’ve shrunk my brain.”

“Gee, that’s reassuring, Special Agent Grant. You’re supposed to be our government’s finest protector.”

Logan delivered a dirty look. “Where’s your phone?”

Daphne went into her bedroom and came out carrying a silver cellular.

“I can’t use a cell. That group outside has ways of pulling cell waves out of the air. Did you see the array of antennae on the Mercedes? It’s set up with every kind of scanner known to man.”

“A cell is all I have. I canceled my land line after I lost my last job. I needed to keep monthly costs down.”

“So you don’t have a computer, either?” He acted as if no one could be that hard up.

“No. If I need one for any reason, I run by my folks’ or over to one of my brothers’ homes. They have all the latest high-tech toys.”

“Which does me no good. Hell, this paint you put on my face is starting to itch like mad. I’ll at least go wash it off, if you don’t mind.”

“There’s a half bath off the smaller bedroom down the hall on your right. I, uh, am going to shower in my bathroom. Sorry, but I have a closetful of clothes. None you’d want to share,” she said, grinning mischievously.

“Ha, ha. Well, maybe our shadow will give up and leave by the time I get this gunk off. How hard is it to remove? Will I peel off a layer of skin?”

Daphne’s smile broadened. “I happen to have this handy-dandy magic cream. Momento! I’ll go find you an extra jar.”

Logan cooled his heels and inspected her living room as Daphne disappeared again into what he assumed was her bedroom.

He stood in the center of the high-ceilinged space and swiveled in a slow circle. Nothing matched. Not woods, not fabrics, not colors. Oddly enough, the crazy mixture held a homey appeal. The potted plants everywhere added a natural charm.

Personally, Logan didn’t own much in the way of furniture or knickknacks. What he and Lizzy had bought during their brief marriage went to her in the divorce.