Heatwave: Venus & Mars, #2

By blaine kistler

 

Want to find a hot guy? Stall your train wreck of a car in the middle of the busiest intersection of the city during rush hour. It doesn't hurt if you have sea green eyes, a sassy mouth and can rock a bikini.

 

Want to meet the woman of your dreams? Try ramming your Mercedes into her stalled vehicle and take the blame when the PD issues a traffic ticket. What could go wrong?

 

Throw in the sexy ex-wife who's after your guy. The guy's mother who hates you on sight. Oh, and a crazed killer bent on revenge.

 

Disaster, right?

 

Fortunately, Max the cat is on the job.

• Language: English
• Publisher: blaine kistler
• Release date: Jun 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201690342

Book preview

Prologue

Ten years ago

Nickolas Keralis leapt up the steps to the fourth floor of the Junte al Mar and strode down the hall to Catalina’s apartment, eager to see his son. His ex had agreed to discuss Paul’s custody today, and if she signed the papers Nick carried, she’d be out of their lives. It was past time to end the impasse. Hopefully, the cashier’s check in his pocket would accomplish what reasoning had not. The amount had emptied the company’s cash reserve, and his partner, Skyros, had spat a pungent Greek curse at the total, but the cost was worth it to Nick. He’d just have to work harder to recoup.

No answer to his knock.

Pangs of unease hit him. Cat usually met him at the door with the boy, ignoring the child’s tears. How could he tell his son that his mother considered him an annoyance, rather than the precious gift Nick knew him to be? What did a five-year-old know about desertion and betrayal? As Skyros had pointed out, someday Nick would have to tell Paul the truth. Someday.

After the last visit, when the boy sobbed a tearful goodbye, the smirk she had directed at Nick was a bitter shock. He’d understood then that whatever the cost, he had to rescue his son. The check was for a hundred grand, and even Catalina would know a good deal when she saw one. He could make more money, but he only had one son.

The money meant twelve-hour days of sweat labor that he and Sky had put in for the last six years. Hours spent seeking out run-down property and restoring it with their own hands, hours spent badgering bank officials for leveraged loans to expand. The same bank officials who now greeted them with smiles and handshakes because Nikko Corp was evolving into a player in the Miami real estate market. For most of the past five years, Nick hadn’t known where Catalina was. It was only after she’d learned his business was skyrocketing that she had reappeared in Miami.

He rapped again. Something was wrong.

The unease changed to relief when the door flew open. She was clad in a clinging red robe that barely covered her breasts, the blonde thatch between her legs exposed through the transparent silk. The lush body that had been his undoing when he’d been a nineteen-year-old kid, held no appeal now.

You took your time. Where is Paul? He pushed his way in, eyes searching.

I fell asleep, she said peevishly. I’m entitled after he kept me awake half the night. Little brat had a stomachache.

What did you feed him? Pizza and soda again? Where is he?

He’s sleeping. Leave him be if you want to talk.

All right. Shouldn’t you get dressed?

Her mouth shaped a nasty smile. She stroked the silk caressing her hips. Why Nick, I didn’t think you’d notice.

I thought your current lover might object. Dress as slutty as you want, Cat. Come to think of it, I might as well enjoy the sights since I’m paying for it.

A red spot appeared in each porcelain cheek. That you are, sugar, she purred. But I want a better place, and my clothes are positively tacky.

All right.

Catalina narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Nick had never been open-handed. She’d had to fight, threaten, and bluster for every dime. And God knew with all the property he and Skyros owned, he could afford to keep her happy. If she’d known that the geeky kid who’d quit college to marry her would turn out to be one of the savviest real estate developers in Miami, she never would have left him. Not only that, but he’d filled out and matured into one sexy male body. She’d hoped the robe would do the trick, would lure him back to her bed. Maybe he’d turned gay, or something. No, she shivered, remembering. Not Nick.

I’m going to look for another apartment and send you the bill, she said. The judge won’t like it if you’re not providing a nice place for your son.

Go where you want, Cat. This should take you there.

He slid the check across the coffee table, and she picked it up prepared to throw it back. Never take their first offer; that was her lawyer’s advice. This amount made her heart pound. It was more than she would have dared ask, more than she had any idea he could come up with.

Well, she stalled. Interesting. Her flushed cheeks gave her excitement away. If he had this much, how much more could she squeeze out of him? The thought made her dizzy. She could restart her career, cut some tapes, hire a decent agent, and get her hands on music worthy of her talent. Who do I have to sleep with?

That’s up to you. Sign this and the check is yours. He pulled the custody surrender papers from his jacket pocket.

I won’t sign anything until I talk to my lawyer.

Okay, Nick agreed, retrieving the check. I’ll get Paul and leave. You know where to reach me. The offer’s good until I walk out the door. He stood, ignoring the contract on the table. He turned as if in afterthought. What kind of fee arrangement do you have with that smooth-tongued cobra? Other than sleeping with him?

She couldn’t take her eyes off the pocket where he’d stowed the check. She had no intention of sharing it with her lawyer. He would never know. I don’t sleep with Jim Wallis, Nick. She smiled, her lips puckered and moist with invitation. I’m sleeping alone these days. Waiting for you to come back to me.

His dark brows shot up. You were born the wrong sex, Catalina. You’ve got brass balls. He veered from his path to the bedroom that Paul occupied on his visits, and strode toward her bedroom, yanking open the door. She bounced to her feet intending to follow. Until she remembered the state she’d left the room in.

Nick, why don’t we use the couch? It’d be fun.

Too late.

Nick swung the door open to reveal a disheveled bed, yesterday’s clothing strung in disarray around the room, an empty tequila bottle on the dresser. The musky odor of sex wafted from the doorway.

Damn, the lying bitch. His lips drew back in a grimace. She’d always been a slob. It was then he saw his son, curled among the tumbled bedclothes, clutching the teddy he called Mr. Bear. The curses died in his throat. He whirled toward her.

Nick, she whispered, her hands going to her throat in a protective gesture.

I swear Paulie was sick.

The little boy whimpered and rolled over, still clutching his stuffed toy. Opening his eyes, he saw his father. And began to cry. Nick scooped him up with soft words and hugs. It’s okay, son. We’ll go home and see Grammie. Bring Mr. Bear. We’ll go for a sail today, would you like that?

The little boy would not be soothed. The sobs deepened. It hurts, Daddy.

He pulled down his pajama bottom and Nick’s body stiffened. Catalina, who had followed him and saw the livid welts, gasped. The pajamas reeked of urine.

Jesus, holy son of God! Nick cried, seizing the boy and running for the door. He turned at the last moment, his son cradled in his arms, as he shook in disbelief. You’ll fry in hell for this. Don’t try to run, I’ll find you.

She blanched at the look on his face. Nick, I swear! I didn’t know!

She was pleading with empty space.

---

Nick drove with efficiency, under the speed limit. It wouldn’t do to have a cop stop him. Nothing’s permanent, Sky, he spoke tersely into his cell phone. But he was savagely beaten. Doc Landor took x-rays, shot him full of antibiotics and gave him a mild sedative. She knows Paul’s your godson and we take care of our own, but she’s obliged to report the abuse. I’m going to bring charges against Catalina. Paul’s had enough trauma for a lifetime. We’re on the way home and Doc called a private nurse who’s good with kids.

He steered around a minibus lumbering along at twenty miles an hour, listening to his partner’s growl of distress on the other end of the line. Appreciate it, Sky, but no thanks, this is mine. As soon as Paul’s safe in his bed, my ex and I are having a talk. And don’t worry, I have the Keralis temper under control.

Which was only half true.

---

Nick again walked the path to Catalina’s apartment. He’d keep his fury at bay because Cat knew what Nick had to know, and he wasn’t leaving until he got it out of her. He wouldn’t give her a choice.

She opened the door, backing up. Only the threat of exposure had convinced her to let him in. She was dressed conventionally in jeans and a baggy sweater that hid her charms. The door to her bedroom was open. She’d made the bed and cleaned up. She’d obviously been scared shitless and had been nipping at the tequila for courage; he could smell it on her breath.

Catalina’s heart was palpitating. She’d never been afraid of Nick, but she’d never seen him like this. At six feet he towered over her, the muscles in his jaw and neck were corded; his dark eyes opaque with anger, and the pupils were red points of light. He was built lean and wiry rather than brawny, his game was tennis not football, but there was plenty of muscle in the grip he put on her shoulders.

Who did this? I want a name, Catalina.

I had nothing to do with it.

He hissed in his breath. A name, and don’t play games with me or you will be sorry. Paul said a man slapped him and used his belt. His voice broke, showing his struggle to stay in control. There were welts on his back and legs. One side of his face is swollen. God, he cried. What kind of whore are you to let your bedmate do that to a child! Any child, let alone your own son!

I swear I didn’t know, she whimpered. "Paulie was crying; he’d wet his bed. I just said, Oh, God, not again, and he said he’d take care of it, and that’s all I remember."

You passed out.

We’d been drinking, and I’d done a little coke, not much I swear.

You passed out. You were spaced on sex and booze and let that bastard beat our son, and you want me to fucking believe you didn’t know about it! Who, Catalina?

He left during the night! I heard Paulie crying, and I told him to bring his teddy and get in bed with me. He cried a little and went to sleep. I woke up when you pounded on the door. I didn’t know what happened, I swear.

He released his grip. It was enough like Catalina to be the truth. She’d doubtless been nursing a major hangover, and hadn’t cared why Paul was sobbing.

Was it Wallis?

No, she whispered, shaking her head.

He hadn’t thought so. He considered her lawyer contemptible, but not criminal, and certainly not stupid.

I’m waiting.

He’d know if I told you.

You’re afraid of him? When I get done, there won’t be much left to be afraid of. I take care of my own.

You stay away from him! He’s going to help me get a record contract! Give me the check. I’ll sign your damned paper and get out of Paul’s life. That’s what you want, isn’t it?

So that’s what this had been about. Cat had a pleasant voice, a small talent and a major ego. Which was why their marriage had been doomed; she’d had no interest in children or maintaining a relationship. She’d wanted the spotlight, show business and the glitz that went with it.

Six years ago, he’d wandered into the dive where she’d been performing, and she’d liked what she’d seen. She’d used him to scratch an itch and had ended up getting caught. Maybe it was his fault that the condom failed, but she’d sure as hell had done every gyration known to man to bring it on. The thing was he didn’t regret it, not the wretched marriage, not Catalina’s betrayal, not the hours spent caring for an infant when he’d been a kid himself. Because he had Paul, who was the most important thing in his life.

Let me guess. You need money. That’s why you came back, and that’s why this game, the dance for the courts. You’ll get what you want from me and desert Paul again, and this time he’s old enough to remember. This time you’ll break his heart.

She stuck her lip out. It’s none of your business.

He made one last attempt at reason. Catalina, this man is a brute. He could have injured Paul for life. I haven’t gone to the police, but I’ll do what I must. He will pay for this, and I swear he will never raise a hand to a child again.

Paulie will get over it, what with you and Grammie Irene and Skyros clucking over him. The kid is spoiled rotten. Rog said-- She hissed and bit her lip. He said the kid needed some discipline.

He held on to his slipping control. Rog, he said carefully. You and Roger Lupo are back together. Where is he?

I’m not saying one more word, and you can’t make me! Leave the check and I’ll sign the damn paper. I’m done with you and that bratty kid.

He stepped back. Did I ever abuse you, Catalina?

She met his scornful measurement with defiance. "All the time! Expecting me to give up my career to wipe that kid’s butt when I didn’t even want him in the first place, to take care of that crummy apartment like I was a slave. I never signed up for that."

He held up his hand to stop the torrent. The marriage was a mistake, something I shouldn’t have insisted on. God knows we’ve both suffered for it and so has Paul. But did I ever physically abuse you?

Her full mouth thinned. No.

I’d come home from a ten-hour day to find Paul starving, wearing the same diaper I’d put on him in the morning. The apartment a mess and the grocery money spent on booze, fast food and cigarettes. Did I ever put a hand to you?

She glared, not answering.

Twice I got home to find you gone, Paul parked at the neighbors. You showed up at midnight, soused and smelling of sex, but I refused to accept the truth. And I don’t abuse women, ever.

I was out having a little fun. You and that kid were a drag.

I was trying to hold our marriage together. Until that day I came home and found you shacked up with that fast-talking asshole, Lupo, who’d convinced you he personally knew the head of Atlantic Records.

You hit him and deserved the broken nose. He does have contacts. I just haven’t gotten the right break.

You absconded the next day, after cleaning out our bank account. I paid, and not just with a broken nose, but did I ever hit you?

Oh, shit, get to the point. I’ll sign the damn paper.

He unbuckled his belt, sliding it out of the trouser loops. The point is, Cat, that no matter how sorely I was tempted, I never laid a hand on you, but I’m going to now.

She gasped and stumbled backward, eyes wide with disbelief as he grasped the belt at both ends, producing an evil looking strap. Don’t you dare touch me! I’ll scream my head off!

Yes, you will. I want his address, Catalina, and I will have it. The welts put on Paul by your lover’s discipline? You’ll get the same until you cough up where I’ll find Lupo. I’m going to show you the same mercy than he did my little boy. So, you better stop me before I get started.

She gave one piercing scream as his hand clamped on her shoulder, roughly pulling her forward, raising the strap. Nick, no! I’ll tell you!

The strap lowered, but his hand didn’t ease its grip. He meant it, God how he meant it. Roger Lupo had never done anything to earn this kind of loyalty. She spilled her guts, giving up Rog’s address. She’d have sold what was left of her soul to avoid what Nick was about to dish out.

The key to his apartment, Cat. I want it.

She tossed her hair. I don’t have it.

Wordless, he raised the belt again.

All right, all right, she yowled, squirming in his handhold. It’s in my purse. I’ll get it.

He released her and when the key was in his hand, started for the door. She staggered behind him, still frightened out of her wits, but determined to salvage what she could. Nick, wait!

She grasped the back of the sofa for support.

He reached the door and slid back the bolt that he’d thrown when he’d entered the apartment, turning for a warning. If you use your cell, if I find him gone, I’ll be back. Do you understand?

Mutely, she nodded.

He won’t have a choice, Catalina, any more than he gave my son. Are we clear?

Again, she nodded, her mesmerized eyes on the leather.

Good. His mission accomplished, he stepped into the hall without a backward glance.

Nick, the check! You promised if I signed the papers.

I’ll see to it later, he grunted. Start packing.

He left the door standing open, still gripping the belt, his footsteps echoing down the hall. She wouldn’t have changed places with Roger Lupo at that moment for a check double the amount of the one she’d been promised. And God help Catalina Smith if Nick found out that she’d been beside Lupo, screaming at him to punish the brat for soiling her embroidered sheets.

Chapter 1

Present Day

---

Tia’s ancient Chevy gasped and died during rush hour at the intersection of Main and Grand. The venerable vehicle had given out before, but never at such an inconvenient place. She ignored the traffic backing up behind her, hit the starter and floored the gas pedal. That usually worked.

Not this time.

Cars, trucks and vans swung past her, horns blasting. She turned on the hazard signal and considered the options. She could abandon the car and risk being mowed down when she cut across traffic on foot, or she could stay behind the wheel and be broadsided from all directions. Neither a good choice. She’d rather not arrive at the hospital by ambulance.

Vehicles continued to shoot by. Motorists rolled down their windows and shouted insults with middle fingers raised. No one seemed inclined to stop and help. Tia couldn’t blame them. She heard sirens in the distance, the chaos around her grew and her options weren’t improving. If her sixteen-year-old Chevy survived, she take a sledgehammer to it. The green light changed to red. She’d have to make a dash while traffic was halted.

Before she could unbuckle and step out of the car, fate intervened.

Brakes squealed, followed by the clash of metal colliding with metal. The Chevy spun sideways, throwing her against the steering wheel; the airbags let loose and slammed her against the seatbelt, knocking her breathless. When her shock subsided and the airbags deflated, she unbuckled and opened the door, legs trembling, her heart doing double-time. White powder lingered in her nostrils. The traffic slowed and became cautious. No one wanted to add to the pileup.

A man climbed out of the other vehicle and started her way. Whipcord lean.

Dark-haired and frowning. Damn. More rotten luck. He carried a cell phone in one hand. At least it wasn’t a gun, always a possibility in Miami.

Are you all right? His voice was husky, either with anger or concern. She snapped her head up to the face behind the voice, a compelling face, a wide slash of mouth, a crooked Roman nose.

I’m okay. A little shaken. She rubbed her forehead where a migraine was threatening. The macadam underfoot oozed with the smell of melting tar. The afternoon heat was so intense it sucked the moisture from her eyelids.

His gaze raked the scene, encompassing her and the condition of her vehicle. Lucky I wasn’t going fast. You’re sure you’re okay?

I’m fine. My motor conked out. Sorry about your car.

His ride, a sleek, black Mercedes, was luxury on wheels. The front grill was crumpled, and glass from the headlight lay scattered on the street. The rear of Tia’s vehicle looked beyond repair, the bumper hanging by a fragment of metal. On the bright side, a sledgehammer wouldn’t be necessary to finish off her old family friend.

He pocketed the cell and shook his head. As much my fault as yours. Patience isn’t one of my virtues. Cars can be fixed easier than people. He grasped her elbow. We need to get out of here or be smeared into the landscape. Locals on their way to Happy Hour are dangerous, especially in this heat.

Tia’s sandals skidded across the softened blacktop as he hustled her across the throughway, his long legs stretching out. A horn blared, and a pickup ran them onto the concrete verge. She took a shuddering breath, her heart pounding. He gave her a quick glance and pulled out his cell.

Her hand grasped his elbow. Who’re you calling?

911. We need the police.

No! Please, we can work this out ourselves.

Looking puzzled, he turned the phone off. Lady, you stalled in the middle of one of the busiest intersections in the city and caused an accident. You’ll likely get a ticket for obstructing traffic, and I hope you have your insurance card. My repairs are going to be expensive.

It certainly wasn’t my fault. You hit me!

He stared at her, frowning. What would he do when he found out she had no insurance? She was a careful driver and dropping the insurance had seemed a way to cut corners. In retrospect it was stupid. If the police came, she not only faced a fine, she would have her license suspended. Nervously she flicked her tongue, smothered her dismay and went on attack. I thought so! You have nothing to say because you know I’m right.

He made a grumbling noise. Lady--

Tia. Tia Swan. Tell you what, Mr.—ah, your name?

Keralis. Nick Keralis. What the hell are you talking about? You were stalled in the middle of the crossway and the light was green. You’re lucky I was under the speed limit and you weren’t slammed from four directions.

A Greek surname. His heritage showed in the dark good looks and the superb body. He worked out, she thought abstractly. Lucky her. Greeks were notoriously hot-tempered. Mentally she clad him in breastplate and leg armor and had him stuffed for a museum display. He would fit in nicely.

No need to yell. I’m willing to take blame. Can we take care of our own repairs? The police would mean unnecessary paperwork.

He folded his arms and stared down at her. You don’t have insurance, do you, Ms. Swan? Do you have a license?

I have a license! Don’t worry. I’ll pay to have your car repaired. How, she had no idea. But she’d have to somehow.

Damn. I should have known when I saw that train wreck you drive.

She shook her finger. You hit me!

You’re lucky it wasn’t worse. My car is drivable but yours is going to sit there until it’s towed. His voice had dropped to a soft drawl that was more upsetting than his shouting.

Are you going to call the police? Their eyes locked. His frowned deepened. She allowed her chin to quiver as she blinked her eyes. Please. I promise to pay the damages. Won’t you trust me?

Tia studied him through shuttered lashes. Her eyes followed the open slash of the