“No,” he admitted.
She’d leaned forward to discuss Fargo but now settled back. “Besides, even if you weren’t persona non grata, even if you had tons of ID to show the consulate, which you don’t, which is your own fault, which they’ll think is hilarious—”
“I wouldn’t tell them the truth, duh.” God, what was it about the woman that brought out his inner middle schooler? He only used duh with Blake, and then only under enormous provocation. Like when Blake spoke. Or breathed. “I’d say I was mugged.”
“So your very first instinct, when dealing with the Italian consulate, is to lie like a rug. When you’re already in their black books for defiling—”
“Hey!” He nodded toward Lillith. A little respect, please, for the child who might have been conceived during the defiling.
“Fair point,” she said and, to his surprise, dropped the subject. Except not really, because the follow-up was, “And think about this: Even if you had lots of backup ID to prove you’re who you say you are, which you don’t, it would still take a while for them to get you a new passport. What would you do in the meantime?”
“Starve and die?” he guessed.
“Or work for your room and board, help me with Lillith, and help us figure out what’s going on. And if all three of those sound like too much, at least the first two.”
“Fine. I’m in.”
She smiled, an utterly wicked grin that was as charming as it was off-putting. Off-charming? “Wise choice. And I’ll tell you something else—you can use the shower first. In fact, I’m gonna have to insist on it.”
Lillith coughed politely. “Me, too.”
He grimaced. By now the vile water had dried and his hair was in clumps he was afraid to touch. The thought of a shower was almost enough to make him sob. Or shout—but a glance over at Lillith, who had somehow dropped off to sleep in the middle of the negotiating—put paid to that idea.
Poor kid, he thought, almost knocking Delaney over in his haste to get to the bathroom. Tough breaks. Tough life.
A sad story, sure. But hopefully not his problem. From a genetic standpoint, anyway.
Sixteen
Drunk Rake was annoying yet fun, and Canal Rake was smelly yet bitchy, and New Dad Rake was intense yet flighty, but Desperate Rake was adorably/selfishly clueless.
There had been, as her employer had warned, considerable whining. But not as much of it after the shower and new clothes, both of which had delighted him. The minute the shower spray hit him, she heard him let out a long, rumbling groan of pleasure, an amazing sound that she felt in her belly, of all places. Gotta give it to him, that voice was verbal velvet, and if his adventures that day had hidden his appeal, they hadn’t obliterated it.
When he’s on his A game, guy’s prob’ly a force to be reckoned with.
Good thing for me he’s not, then, huh?
And, of course, the night before he’d tried to help her, though he’d been falling-down drunk. Cripes, she wished she could get that out of her head. She was not a damsel, and certainly not in distress. And Rake Tarbell was no prince.
She dug up the clothes she’d brought for him, then went to the bathroom door and rapped on it.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhh myyyyyyyyyyyy Gaawwwddd that’s soooooooo gooooooooo—eh? Delaney?”
“I’ve got clean shorts and a T-shirt for you. Okay if I put them on the counter?”
“You’re an angel! Ahhhhhhhhh.” This followed by sputtering as he once again submerged himself. And he was also … gargling? Then: “You shouldn’t have to lend me your clothes.”
I’m not. “S’okay, they’re not mine.” Or his. Rake would probably catch on if the American stranger happened to have a set of his clothes on hand. On the other hand, it was Rake, so who knew? “You want some supper?”
“Ohhhhhhhh myyyyyyyy G—yeah, that’d be great.”
She heard the expected rap on her door and opened it to see Elena framed in the doorway. They’d been friends for years, but Delaney could never get over how Elena always looked sixteen. Odd enough when she was twelve, downright spooky now that she was in her twenties. But it came in handy when they needed to lure in a pedo, or a bully in search of prey. That was how they’d met, actually—Elena was fighting off the worst bully in the school, who was a head taller and had thirty pounds on her. None of which mattered after Delaney came up behind him and drove her foot into his balls.
So satisfying. Like punting a football.
“She’s asleep,” Delaney said, following Elena into the room.
“As expected, poor thing.” She scooped Lillith up and nodded toward the bathroom. “Ooof! How’s that going?”
Delaney made a face.
“It will be over soon.”
“It better. We’re on a tight deadline.” To put it mildly. This job had to go perfectly, which had sounded fine on paper, but Rake in real life was a walking, talking monkey wrench. She had exact parameters to stick to, and the family was counting on her. If she pulled this off, she’d have more money than she had made in the last ten years. If she pulled this off, the Big Pipe Dream was a certainty, and not only would they be safe, they could make others safe, too.
“It will be fine. And you’re not alone.”
You’re not alone. The siren song the Big Pipe Dream was based on.
But Elena chewed her lip when she said it, aware that well-meant platitudes weren’t a guarantee of a positive outcome. Delaney held the door for her—they’d agreed earlier that Lillith would sleep with the girls so she could have eyes on Rake—and out they went.
Fifty minutes later
(man am I glad we’re in a hotel; I would not want that water bill)
Rake emerged, dressed in the dark shorts and navy blue T-shirt she’d left for him and rubbing his dark blond hair with a towel. Clean underwear in his size would have been way too much of a coincidence, so she knew he was going commando. She also knew she should stop thinking about his commando charge, so to speak. And absolutely stop thinking about the dark blond treasure trail she caught a glimpse of before he’d tugged the shirt down.
Clean and sober Rake was thoroughly yummy Rake.
“Ah, man, I feel…” A pause while his face disappeared behind the towel as he rubbed. “… almost human, or at least a rough facsimile.”
“You look like a hedgehog.” And he did; his damp hair was standing up all over in wet spikes that somehow made his eyes even bluer.
He grinned, bent, and shook his head in her direction; she had to bring up her arm to block the droplets.
“Real mature. Gah, you got my forehead and my knees, how’d you manage that?”
“Don’t know, don’t care, and mock my hair and drying method all you like—”
“Great, thanks.”
“—because I don’t give a shit what I look like right now, clean, I’m clean!” He twirled around, channeling Mary “I’m gonna make it after all!” Tyler Moore, and she leaned back to avoid being inadvertently smacked; the room was jam-packed with junk from corner to corner. “Finally finally clean!”
“I’d hope so, you were in there almost an hour.”
“Where’s Lillith?”
“My friend Elena took her to her room.”
“Oh. Good.” Rake brightened. “Well, whatever you guys think is best, and have I mentioned how thrilled I am to be clean? Never did generic hotel shampoo make such a sensual, cleansing lather.”
“God, listen to you, I think you may have lost your mind—listen, if you want, I can send your old clothes down to the—”
“No! They must be burned,” he announced. “Then burned again. And then the ashes should be sprinkled on Blake’s morning oatmeal, which should also be burned.”
Her good humor at his antics vanished. Wow. Keep not learning, rich guy. It’s funny how this was exactly the kind of guy she’d hack and, if he didn’t fall in line, would put a hit on. But her employer’s instructions re Rake Tarbell were pretty clear. “You don’t want them back. Got it
.”
“No, I do not.” He was checking himself out in the full-length mirror hanging on the bathroom door. “Huh. These look like a pretty close fit.” He tore his gaze away from his reflection to look at her over his shoulder. “And you just happened to have them lying around?”
Excellent observation. She rolled her eyes. “I have a life outside of you, Rake, and I wouldn’t be the first tourist to hook up on vacation.” True, and true, and don’t notice that I didn’t actually answer your question. Don’t notice much of anything about me, really. Instead be a little abashed. Enough to offer up a small apology.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, turning back to check himself again. “I’m the last person who should be judging you on that one. It’s none of my business and I really appreciate it and whoever he is, he’s a lucky guy.”
Well, that would be the salesclerk at Kohl’s who sold them to me, so I’ll pass that on to her.
“So.” He tore himself away from his shiny clean reflection. “Now what?”
Now what turned out to be room service, and for a few seconds Delaney and the room service guy wondered if Rake was going to burst into delighted tears.
“I’ve—I’ve never been so happy to see a garden salad in my life,” he whispered, then fell to his meal with all the delicate finesse of a starving goblin. “Oh God, it’s even got cherry tomatoes in it! Beautiful, luscious cherry tomatoes! I hate cherry tomatoes!”
The waiter wasted no time heading for the door, and seemed disinclined to turn his back on Rake, and who could blame him? Rake didn’t seem to be eating so much as jamming the food into his yawning mouth hole at roughly the speed of light. She gave the waiter a tip she hoped would soothe his frayed nerves, then fell to her own supper: more bruschetta than you could shake a stick at, followed by a plate of melon and prosciutto and a big-ass glass of milk—the latter surprisingly hard to find in Italian hotels. Who knew that stint on a dairy farm her fourteenth year would lead to a lifelong love of dairy products?
She watched Rake eat, because looking away was not an option. If she only heard the noise and had no context, she might think he was strangling a dying pig. But nope—he just really, really liked lardo. Especially lardo wrapped around pork chops and snarfed down with green beans so thin, they looked like a pile of green Pick-Up Stix.
Later, when he’d collapsed into a delirious full-belly food coma, they discussed terms.
“So manual labor?”
“Yes.”
“For what charity?”
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not.” He settled on the end of the couch and fixed her with a dark blue gaze. “You must’ve been pretty upset when you heard Donna was dead.”
“We had grown apart,” she replied carefully. “But yes. It was terrible news.” Terrible. Yep. That was one way to understate it. Horrifying, that was another. Devastating, shocking, and, most of all, infuriating. She’d never get the chance to apologize. Donna would never get the chance to admit she shouldn’t have left the family.
“Went your separate ways after prison?”
What? Idiot. “No.”
“Oh. Um.” She could actually see him trying to cast around for another subject. “So how long have you known Lillith?”
“Not long.” Hell, it had taken her ages just to find Lillith. She hadn’t seen her since she was a baby, and tracking down an extraordinarily self-posessed girl with a mind like a razor and Donna’s eyes was … disconcerting. Donna had been in the ground less than a year, but Lillith kept her grief to herself for the most part. She got that from Donna, too.
“Well, she’s a helluva kid.” To his credit, Rake seemed genuinely admiring. “Smart and funny, and she doesn’t ever seem to lose any equilibrium.”
“Is this an attempt at a humble brag?”
“What?” he asked, astounded. “No! Even if it turns out I’m her father, I can’t take credit for her general awesomeness. And I’ve been wondering—if I’m not her dad, what’s going to happen to her?”
“Why d’you care?”
“Good God, I’m a jackass, not a sociopath. But I see by the look on your face that you’re reserving judgment.”
She laughed; she couldn’t help it. He’d caught her fairly.
“What I mean is, is there any family on her mom’s side? I hate the thought of her being alone in the world.”
Delaney shook her head. “No. Donna’s folks were only children and they died when she was a kid. No grandparents, aunts, uncles.” Just us. And if Donna’s fate is an example to go by, we’re not fit guardians. At all.
“Poor kid.”
“We all have that in common,” she said drily. “Literally and figuratively.”
“Well, I hope it works out for her,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “One way or the other.”
“It will.” She grinned at him, but it couldn’t have been a nice grin, given how his expression faltered. “One way or the other.”
Seventeen
At first, it wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t fun, exactly, but it wasn’t like he was expected to shovel shit, an idea he mentioned to Delaney, who just smiled and said, “I’ve shoveled shit. It’s not so bad. Second hour’s the worst.” In fact, the most innocuous comments he made would provoke the weirdest/coolest/what-the-hell responses from her. It could be addictive if he wasn’t careful.
She hadn’t been at all worried about sharing a hotel room with a stranger, for example. He’d heard about the Minnesota Nice thing, and it was apparently true, even if it meant putting their own safety at risk. She’d explained that there was a sofa bed under one of the piles of Peeps, and he was welcome to sleep on it once he cleared it off. And like every sofa bed ever engineered, the bar hit him square across the middle of his back, because furniture designers are psychopaths. Still, it wasn’t a park bench, which, while more comfortable, would have been much colder.
He’d liberated the spare blanket from the closet,
(“Ah-ha!”
“What? You thought it was a treasure hunt? Putting a spare blanket in the closet isn’t hiding it.”
“Don’t spoil it! This is all I have right now!”)
slid between the blanket and the bar, got comfy, then glanced over. “Delaney?”
“Hmmm?” She’d changed into a pair of tattered black cotton shorts and a purple T-shirt with the logo I JUST WANT TO DRINK WINE, SAVE ANIMALS, AND TAKE NAPS.* She’d climbed into bed ten minutes earlier and was working on a laptop. “What? You want another pillow? They gave me eight, I’ll never use ’em all.”
“No, I’m fine. Listen, you don’t, uh, have to worry. About anything happening. I mean, about my trying anything.”
“I’m not,” she replied without looking up from her computer. “At all.”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way—”
“Oh boy.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Here we go. No one ever says that and then doesn’t follow with something jerky.”
“—but why aren’t you worried?” He sat up, giving his back temporary relief. “You don’t know me, not really. I could be anybody.”
“But you aren’t anybody. You’re Rake Tarbell.”
“Well, yeah.” When did I tell her my last name? He tried to remember, but mostly the only thing that came to mind was the canal and being broke and the hangover and Delaney helping him and Lillith. He couldn’t remember when he’d introduced himself, but he must have. Probably while I was drunk. “But I could have any kind of background.”
“You conceived a child—”
“Maaaaaybe. We don’t have the labs back on that one.”
“—in a public park. And you had money until last night. And you can swim, apparently?” She smirked, and it had either been a long day or she was growing on him (or both), because the smirk was less aggravating. “And you hate vermouth, except when you’re getting crazy drunk on it. And your brother, pretty much all the time. And you’re a bewildered father—perhaps,” she added when he opened his mout
h. “That’s your background.”
“I don’t hate Blake, he just bugs the shit out of me, and you only know those things because I told you. It could’ve been all lies. Blake could be a lie. The vermouth thing has to be a lie,” he added in a mutter.
She laughed. “Who’d lie about that? Any of it?”
“Look, you’re missing the point.” He wriggled to get comfortable, which was exactly the waste of time he’d predicted. “What if I got up in the middle of the night and was craving a bed without a bar and sex without a condom and tried to start some shit?”
“I’d handle it,” she replied. It was a little startling how calm she was while they discussed her possible potential sexual assault, and his stealing of her bed. Not like she was in denial, but like she’d actually have no trouble handling it. Him. Like she’d weighed the variables and thought about the odds and found them decidedly in her favor. “It’d be fine, by which I mean I’d be fine.”
“But how do you know?” he persisted, even while his inner Blake voice was cautioning him to shut up already and stop looking a gift sofa bed in the mouth (bar). “You can’t know. Not really.”
“No, but I know myself. I had an eventful childhood,” she said with a small, strange smile. “Donna, too. And there’s nothing like an eventful childhood to prepare you for an eventful adulthood. I know you won’t try to rape me, Rake—that’s what we’re dancing around, right? So let’s just say it. I know you wouldn’t, but if you lost your mind and tried, you wouldn’t succeed.”
“Oh.” Now what to make of that? “Well. That’s good.” Puzzling and vague, but good. “Thanks, you know. For helping me.”
“You shouldn’t thank me.” She was still looking at him, her work forgotten for the moment, and she wasn’t smiling. “Because you don’t know much about me, either. We ran into each other last night and again this morning and that’s it, that’s all you’ve got. Maybe I’m a terrible person. Maybe I set you up so I can creep on you in the wee darkest hours.”
He spread his arms and flopped back. “Creep away, woman named Claire who calls herself Delaney. Consider me extremely open to creeping.” I’ve got no problem if a pretty brunette with wonderful eyes wants to get into my pants. Creep into my pants. Whatever. “You don’t scare me.”
The Love Scam Page 7