Wanna Get Lucky?

by Deborah Coonts

  Jeep held off Felicia for the moment, but she was getting angry, their conversation heated.

  “Fat man, I want my money—fifty grand. You said you’d have it tonight.” Felicia’s voice was shrill.

  I couldn’t tell whether she was just mad or starting to panic.

  “I’m a man of God—a shepherd of the people. I don’t have that kind of money. I’ll need more time,” Jeep pleaded.

  “A man of God! That’s rare!” Felicia scoffed. “You’ll be without a flock soon unless you give me the money now!”

  “Please, you must understand,” Jeep implored, his arms spread wide. “You’ll ruin me.”

  “I intend to, if you don’t pay up. Now!” Felicia gestured wildly as she shifted from foot to foot in front of him.

  Jeep shook his head. “I don’t have the money. I can’t get it until day after tomorrow.”

  Felicia glanced over Jeep’s shoulder and she froze—she’d caught sight of Dane advancing on her.

  A quick glance told me Teddie was in place, cutting off her escape route around the end of the pool opposite the one Dane rounded. Effectively, the two men had Felicia trapped in a chute between the pool and the fence separating the property from the golf course.

  Felicia glanced over her shoulder. She looked right past Teddie.

  Jeep grabbed her. They struggled. Felicia wiggled free and gave Jeep a huge push. Arms whirling as he fought for balance, Jeep teetered on the edge of the pool.

  Then he toppled over into the water.

  All heads turned at the huge splash.

  For a moment, no one did anything, then a “hooray” arose from the crowd and guests began darting for the pool and cannonballing in.

  “Shit,” Dane said, as he was caught in the lemminglike chain reaction. Fighting through the surge of people, he’d never reach Felicia in time.

  “Teddie—”

  “I got her.”

  Just as I thought she would get by him, he grabbed her arm, whirling her around.

  He reared back, cocked his fist . . .

  And hit her right in the face.

  She staggered back, then dropped like a heart-shot deer.

  Right into the Naked Mariachis.

  Men and instruments went flying—ass over teakettle—in an abundance of exposed flesh.

  Some women screamed. Some cheered.

  “Interesting party, don’t you think,” I said as Romeo and I ripped off our headsets and ran.

  FELICIA Reilly still lay on the ground, but was showing signs of life when Romeo and I pushed through the crowd. Teddie shook his hand, a grimace on his face.

  “You’re going to have to tell him about the elbow thing,” Romeo said as he dropped to his knee, rolled the good Miss Reilly over and clasped her hands in a pair of handcuffs.

  The crowd gasped as Teddie removed his wig and grinned at me. Several folks applauded.

  I looped my arms around his neck. “You did it!”

  He laughed as, a hand under each of my arms, he lifted me up, then let my body slide slowly down his—firing every nerve.

  “This is the first time I’ve been the heroine and gotten the girl,” he said just before his mouth closed over mine.

  Dane fought through the crowd, arriving beside us and cutting short a rather delicious kiss. He stared down at the now trussed Ms. Reilly, then at Teddie, his admiration evident. “Ted, you are my kind of gal!”

  I grabbed someone’s mug of half-frozen libations and tossed the contents in Felicia Reilly’s face. As she sputtered and spewed I felt a small sense of satisfaction. Teddie was right—letting go felt good—although I don’t think this was exactly what he had in mind.

  Romeo jerked her to her feet and escorted her toward the house. Teddie, my hand in his, Dane, and I followed.

  As we passed the hot tub, I noticed the occupants—still hard at it—hadn’t even noticed the commotion. “Would we still be considered voyeurs even though they don’t care if we watch?” I whispered to Teddie.

  He shot me a grin. “You are the most amazing woman,” he said, sending shivers down my spine. “Where do you come up with that stuff?”

  “Sorta scary, huh?” I returned his grin. “Living with me is a cross I bear.”

  “Why don’t you let me help you carry the load,” he whispered in my ear, breaking the tenuous thread of control I had over my imagination.

  A few moments alone with my imaginative wanderings and I needed a cold shower—or a locked room.

  Standing under the porte cochere, Teddie pressed behind me, his arms around my waist, his chin on my shoulder, Dane standing to one side, we watched Romeo stuff Felicia Reilly into the back of an unmarked squad car. He said something to the uniformed cops, then strode back toward our little group.

  “I don’t care if you have to use the thumbscrews and the water board, I need to know her story by ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” I said to Romeo when he was close enough. “I’m counting on you—everything hangs in the balance.”

  “I won’t let you down.” His intensity showed in his eyes, earnestness adding weight to his words.

  The kid would do his best. I only hoped it would be enough.

  LONG after Romeo had collected his equipment from room three and both he and the squad car had disappeared through the gate, the three of us stood there, lost in our own thoughts. Everything was out of my hands now. Either Felicia Reilly would give up Irv Gittings or she wouldn’t. I prayed for the latter, but The Big Boss and I had prepared for either. There was nothing more I could do.

  Leaning back into Teddie, I shut my eyes as he nuzzled my neck, sending delicious shivers through me. Almost gasping out loud, I smiled as a ball of warmth exploded inside me, invading every crevice. “Cut that out!”

  Teddie ignored me.

  I didn’t pull away.

  “You guys need to find a room,” Dane groused as he disappeared back inside the house, leaving us to ourselves.

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” Teddie whispered as he nibbled my ear.

  “I already have a room,” I whispered back. “But we need to get you out of that dress.”

  Chapter

  TWENTY

  Once inside room three—which, by the way, I now saw in a totally different light—Teddie dropped the pashmina in a chair, shucked the sundress over his head as well as his underpinnings, and dropped the whole mess on the floor en route to the bathroom. At the door, he turned, dressed only in his swing easies, and said, “Don’t move! I’ll be right back.”

  Was he kidding?

  Even I don’t have that kind of superhuman control.

  I followed him.

  His back to me, Teddie bent over the sink, washing the makeup off—an interesting pose, with a myriad of possibilities. Stepping in behind him, I pressed myself against him, running my hands along the muscles in his back.

  “Jesus,” Teddie swore under his breath as he glanced up at me and scrubbed faster.

  “Don’t hurry on my account,” I said as I slid my fingers under the elastic waistband, then slowly worked from back to front—teasing, tantalizing. “I’m having a great time.”

  Splashing his face quickly, he pulled me around in front of him. Face-to-face, I let my hands roam lower, as—one by one—he popped the buttons on my shirt. Wanting—needing—to feel his hands on me, I reached to help him.

  He shook his head and knocked my hands away. “My turn to play,” he murmured as he found the last button, then pushed my open shirt back over my shoulders, pinning my arms. His mouth closed over mine as his hands found my skin, taking the breath from me.

  Wallowing in the sensations of him, the feel of his hands on me, his mouth on mine, rational thought vanished like an early morning mist under the assault of the midday sun.

  Complete surrender was imminent. . . .

  My Nextel rang, shattering the moment like a hammer on fine crystal.

  “Damn,” I cursed as I wondered if the thing had a built-in blood press
ure monitor.

  Teddie sagged against me. “If I have to stop now, I’m going to explode.”

  “That’s an old wives’ tale.”

  Leaning back to get a good look at me, he arched one eyebrow and said, “I know I shouldn’t ask.” He paused while the phone rang a second time. “But what is an old wives’ tale?”

  “That men will explode if they don’t have sex, thereby doing damage to vital organs.”

  The phone rang a third time as Teddie stared at me. He looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. “Maybe so, but I’m going to have the damndest case of blue balls you ever saw.”

  Blue balls—that didn’t sound good. I decided retreat was the better part of valor—especially since I was already in over my head. “You’re going to have to answer the thing. I can’t seem to move my arms,” I calmly explained. “It could be about The Big Boss. If it’s not important, get rid of them . . . quickly.”

  He narrowed his eyes as he ripped the offending device from its carrier at my hip. “Gladly.” Flipping it open he said, “Ms. O’Toole is taking some personal time and unless you’ve nicked a major artery or body parts are falling off, she’ll have to talk to you later—much later.”

  Teddie listened for a moment and his grin vanished. “Oh, I see . . . Yes, sir . . . Right away.” Slowly, he closed the phone.

  My heart stopped at the look on his face.

  “That was Dr. Knapp. Apparently, The Big Boss had another incident during one of the tests. They had to use the paddles to bring him back.” Hastily, Teddie helped me shrug into my shirt and started closing the buttons as he talked. “They have him prepped for surgery, but he refuses to go. He’s insisting on talking to you first—face-to-face.”

  Finished with the buttons, I tucked in my shirttail and caught a quick glance in the mirror. Unfortunately, I looked like a woman suffering from coitus interruptus, but it would have to do. “For Chris-sake, he’s prepped for surgery? And he won’t go until he talks to me? Face-to-face? Is he crazy?”

  AT the wheel of the Ferarri, Teddie seemed intent on breaking multiple land-speed records as he turned north on Rainbow, a long stretch of straight road, and floored it. My fingers drummed on the armrest, my heart pounded. The night still held the warmth of the day, but my skin felt cold and clammy.

  In full coping mode, I asked myself what the worst-case scenario would be. If I could handle that, then I could handle the problem.

  Okay, worst case—The Big Boss didn’t make it.

  A few seconds of mulling that over and I realized I was up to my eyebrows in quicksand—I couldn’t handle a world without The Big Boss. Totally impossible.

  So he had to make it.

  “Can’t you go any faster,” I shouted above the whine of the engine, knowing Teddie was doing his best, but I had to do something.

  Instead of answering, Teddie reached over and squeezed my hand.

  I hated being out of control.

  Control? Who was I kidding? I couldn’t make The Big Boss healthy, I couldn’t force Felicia Reilly to roll over on Irv Gittings . . . hell, I couldn’t even find time between phone calls to have some meaningful sex. My life was running me—a sad state of affairs, yet I didn’t seem to be able to do anything about it.

  Dodging traffic and running a couple of red lights, Teddie flew up Rainbow, screeched around the corner onto Charleston, then hammered the last couple of miles to the hospital. The car had barely come to a stop when we both jumped out.

  “This way,” I shouted as I bolted through the front door. I turned and saw Teddie toss the keys to the valet, then run after me.

  Ignoring the stares of the people in the hallways, we ran, shoulder to shoulder. The elevator would take too long, so we hit the stairs. Out of breath and truly terrified as to what I would find, I stopped in front of the closed door of The Big Boss’s suite. Teddie beside me, I paused, summoning some semblance of composure. Taking several deep breaths, I settled my heart rate and cleared my mind.

  One last breath and I pushed open the heavy door.

  The Big Boss, his eyes closed, lay quiet and still in the dim room. The only sign of life was the machine beeping in time to his heart rate. He seemed to have shrunk inside of himself, as if his body, virtually devoid of its life force, had shriveled like a balloon after its air had escaped. His skin looked gray, almost translucent.

  Lowering myself into the chair next to his bed, I put my hand on his arm and whispered, “Boss?”

  Teddie perched on the arm of my chair, and we both watched as The Big Boss’s eyes fluttered open then came into focus.

  He turned his head, looked at me and smiled. “You came.”

  “As fast as I could.”

  His eyes wandered to Teddie. “Theodore.”

  “Sir.”

  The Big Boss licked his lips and looked around. “Would you mind pouring me a glass of water? I’d really like a stiff shot of single malt, but that seems to be off limits for me right now.”

  Teddie jumped up to find the water.

  “Help me sit up, will you?” He directed the question to me.

  I found the controls that lifted the head of his bed then helped him scooch until he found a comfortable upright position.

  “We got Felicia Reilly,” I said when he had gotten settled. “I don’t know yet if she’ll give us what we want—the police are questioning her now.”

  “Another nail in a particular someone’s coffin, I hope.” The Big Boss took the cup Teddie proffered, drinking the meager amount in two swallows. “But, however it turns out, I know you can handle it. The Babylon is in good hands.”

  Teddie again sat on the armrest. I sought his hand and held on tight.

  The Big Boss looked at our clasped hands and smiled. “I have a story to tell you, but I don’t quite know where to start.”

  His tired eyes met mine, holding them.

  “Remember when I was a kid and I’d screw up and my supervisor sent me to talk to you?” I said. “Remember what you always told me?”

  “The beginning is always a good place to start.” He smiled. “Those were great days . . .” He trailed off.

  For an awkward moment, nobody said anything then Teddie stood. “Look, why don’t I leave you two alone for a bit?”

  The Big Boss made a fluttering motion with his hand. “No, no. Sit.” He grabbed my free hand and squeezed. Looking me in the eye, he said. “This is a personal story. If Lucky wants you here, then so do I.”

  I grabbed Teddie’s hand, pulling him back down.

  There I sat, between the two most important men in my life—one had shepherded me through the first half of my life, the other I wanted by my side through the second half.

  For the first time it dawned on me that my name was no longer some kind of cosmic joke—I truly was lucky.

  “The beginning?” I encouraged The Big Boss. “And, please work quickly to the punch line. You’ve got me so worried, I’m going to stroke out right here if you don’t get on with it.”

  “No need to worry—it’s all good. Theodore, my wallet is in the inside pocket of my jacket over there.” He nodded toward the chair in the far corner of the room. “Would you be so kind as to get it for me?”

  “You want to do dollar-bill origami now?” I couldn’t contain myself. “You’re driving me nuts—”

  “Hush, child. You sound just like your mother. I never could get her to be quiet either.”

  “My mother?”

  The Big Boss took the wallet from Teddie, opened it and pulled out a small, tattered scrap of paper and extended it toward me. A tic worked in his jaw, his hand shook a little bit.

  I took the paper from him.

  “Recognize it?” The Big Boss asked, his voice a whisper.

  I looked down.

  It was a photograph, an old photograph—my favorite photograph.

  My mother, Sammy Davis, Dean Martin, and me, reaching for the person behind the camera.

  “Where did you get this?�
�� For a moment I stopped breathing, my chest tight.

  “I took that picture. That was one of the best, and worst, days of my life.”

  I sat stock-still, unable to move.

  The Big Boss’s face was taut with fear, but I saw the love in his eyes—it had been there all along.

  “It was me you were reaching for,” he said with a self-conscious shrug.

  My eyes welled with tears. I leaned against Teddie—he felt solid, strong.

  His arm circled my shoulders, pulling me tight as he angled his head to look down at me. “I’m a bit behind the eight ball here,” Teddie said. “Why are you crying? I don’t like it when you cry.”

  I handed the photo to him. “That’s me and my mother a long time ago.”

  “I’ve seen it before. Don’t you have a copy in your office?”

  I nodded. “My father took that picture.”

  “But I thought The Big Boss just said he . . .” Seconds ticked by. “You’re Lucky’s father?” he asked The Big Boss.

  “Yes.”

  I gasped as the whole truth hit me. This was the man Mona had waited all these years for. He’d been so close, almost within reach, yet a whole world away. Had he known how much she loved him?

  “My mother?” My voice sounded tight.

  “She’s the last person I talk to every night.”

  “Oh!” My heart broke for them. Tears chased down my cheeks.

  Teddie held me tight as sobs racked my body. “Why are you telling her this now?” he demanded of The Big Boss.

  “I died this afternoon. I could die again tonight.” He choked, then cleared his throat. “I needed to explain.”

  I squeezed his hand, fighting to get myself under control. “No need to explain. Mother was fifteen—even back then it was a felony to have sex with a minor.”

  “I thought—” The Big Boss started, but I stopped him short. I wanted to swipe at my tears, but I couldn’t let go of either hand I held—one gave me strength, one I hoped to give strength to.

  “I know,” I continued. “You thought she was twenty—that’s what she told everyone. I remember her twenty-sixth birthday. She thought it great fun that she was really only twenty-one and officially legal. I had to swear on a Bible I would keep her secret. She was taking a awful risk—I wasn’t yet six.”