Venus was a one-man woman, and right now Billy was her man.
* * *
“What sounds like a plan?” Kev asked, wandering into the kitchen.
“You listening in on my phone conversations?” Billy responded, shoving his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans.
“If it’s a private deal, you’ll tell me to bug off,” Kev said, helping himself to a cold beer from the fridge.
“Dinner with Venus, that’s the plan.”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to stay home tonight and watch the game on that frickin’ giant-screen TV you had delivered yesterday?”
“Yeah, that was the original plan,” Billy said, stifling a yawn. “But now Venus wants to go out to dinner.”
“How come?”
“Waddya mean, how come?” Billy said, frowning. “She’s my girlfriend, for chrissakes. Gotta do what the girlfriend wants.”
“How come?” Kev repeated.
“What’s up with you? Stop repeatin’ yourself like a freakin’ parrot.”
“Nothin’s up with me.”
“There’s something on your mind.”
“Maybe.”
“Spit it out, asshole.”
“It’s just that it gets on my tits seein’ it, that’s all,” Kev blurted.
“Seeing what?” Billy asked, exasperated.
“Y’know, seein’ you turning into one of those pussy-whipped dudes,” Kev said, taking a swig of beer from the can, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Me?” Billy said, outraged. “Pussy-whipped? You gotta be jerking me off.”
“Venus calls, you cancel everything an’ run. It’s all wrong.”
“So I’m missing the game, big freakin’ deal,” Billy said, walking into the living room.
“’S not the point,” Kev said, following him. “Guys gotta be in charge, otherwise girls trample all over ’em.”
“Since when did you become an expert on relationships?” Billy said, flopping down on the couch.
“I know what I see.”
“Screw you, Kev. I am in charge.”
“Yeah?” Kev said disbelievingly.
“Yeah,” Billy responded, wishing Kev would shut his big mouth.
“Then if you’re in charge, why doncha stay home an’ watch the game? Y’know it’s what you wanna do.”
“No, Kev, it’s what you wanna do.”
“Not me,” Kev said, shrugging. “I got a date. But if I did want to see the game, I’d cancel her ass so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her.”
“You would, huh?”
“’Course.”
“Then do it.”
“Do what?”
“Cancel her. I’ll do the same.”
“Yeah?”
“Pussy-whipped, my ass,” Billy muttered.
“You really want me to cancel my hot date?” Kev said, not quite sure he believed him.
Billy threw him a long, cool stare. “Do I look like I’m lyin’?”
* * *
First Venus tried on a slinky black Dolce & Gabbana dress, then she decided it was way too fancy for a casual dinner with her boyfriend. Jeans were more Billy’s style, tight low-slung jeans worn with high boots and a plain white tee. She put the outfit together and paraded in front of the mirror, immediately realizing it was too casual—more suitable for lunch at the beach. She’d had her assistant book a table at Giorgio’s, and although the Italian restaurant was near the ocean, it wasn’t beach style. Last time she’d been there she’d run into Tom Hanks, Charlie Dollar, and Steven Spielberg, so she had to look her best. That was one of the major setbacks of being a star: everyone was ready to criticize.
How was she looking? they all wanted to know. Old? Fat? Lifted? Botoxed? If she looked good she got accused of all of the above. And if she looked like crap she was accused of letting herself go.
It was a no-win situation. The perils of being a superstar.
She finally decided on black matador pants, suede boots, a red cashmere shell, and a short black Armani jacket. Casual but chic. Sexy but not over the top. Billy would like it.
Her cell rang. Private line. Billy.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she responded.
“Uh … would you be mad if we didn’t go out tonight?”
“What?” she said, shocked that he was obviously about to cancel.
“I’m still kinda beat up from that session with Alex, an’ I just got an early call for tomorrow, so…” He trailed off, waiting for her to say something.
She summoned her pride and put on an okay voice, although inside she was seething. “Fine,” she said, and then because she couldn’t help herself she added, “Do you want me to come over?” Oh God! How needy!
“That’s okay,” he said. “I’m gonna get an early night, catch up on sleep.”
“Then I guess we’ll talk later?” she said, realizing that begging him to call back was even more needy.
“You got it, babe.”
She put down the phone and let out a primal scream. “Son of a bitch!” she yelled. “How dare you treat me like this! How fucking dare you!”
And then a little voice in her head whispered, He’s treating you like this because you’re allowing him to. Cut your losses and end it while you can.
But she didn’t want to end it.
She was in love, and how sad was that?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Volvo broke down in the middle of nowhere. The engine spluttered and after a few moments the car shuddered to a halting stop.
Henry was nonplussed—he didn’t know what to do. First he checked the gas gauge. Almost a full tank. Next he got out of the car and inspected the tires. They were all in good shape. Gingerly he popped the hood to take a look. Not that he knew what he was searching for, the mechanics of how a car ran had never interested him.
Damn! This was not the way he’d planned it. After a smooth and uneventful drive he was supposed to arrive in Big Bear, find the girl, and take her to the old family cabin nobody had used since his father died. Nobody except him. Over the last month he’d made two daytime trips there. Best to be prepared, and once they reached the cabin he certainly was. After that it was anyone’s guess what would happen.
This was an exploratory trip to meet her, find out more information about her mother, and decide how best to pay back Lucky Santangelo for depriving him of the career he should’ve had—the career Billy Melina had stolen from him.
Now this unexpected setback.
He reached for his cell to summon the Automobile Club roadside assistance.
His phone flashed a No Service message.
Henry kicked the side of his car. He was filled with a burning sense of frustration.
It was fast becoming apparent that he was stranded and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
* * *
By three P.M. Max was thoroughly fed up. She’d explored the Kmart aisle by aisle, perused countless magazines, bought a couple of CDs, lingered by the makeup shelves, and now she was seriously thinking of getting in her car and driving back to L.A. because what was the point of being stuck in Big Bear with nothing to do and no Internet guy in sight?
How stupid they both were, she and Grant. They had not fixed an exact time and they had not exchanged cell phone numbers, so how were they supposed to communicate?
She tried to recall their last exchange of words. Meet me in the Kmart parking lot, he’d written. Stay in your car, I’ll find you.
Like exactly how was he supposed to find her when he probably didn’t even remember what car she was driving?
Dumb! Dumb! Dumb!
He’d mentioned that he drove a Jeep, and she’d told him she would be arriving in Big Bear in the afternoon. Maybe he wasn’t expecting her until four or five, and that’s why he hadn’t appeared yet.
She wandered outside and ran straight into Mister Hottie—the dude in the Lakers sweatshirt.
“Who
a!” he said, coming to a stop. “Still lookin’ for Grant?”
“Do you know Grant?” she asked suspiciously.
“No. But he’s gotta be some kinda dumb-ass if he’s standing you up.”
“Who said he’s standing me up?” she demanded, green eyes flashing.
“Gimme a break. He’s not here, is he? So the dude’s gotta be a loser.”
“No way,” she said, jutting out her chin. “He’ll be here soon.”
“Where’d you hook up with him anyway?”
“We met on the Internet,” she blurted. “We’re supposed to get together today. It’s my fault—I must’ve messed up on the time.”
“Are you tellin’ me you don’t even know this loser?”
“Yes, I know him,” she answered defensively.
“Seems like you don’t.”
“Yes, I do,” she said, checking out Mister Hottie for the second time that day. He was annoyingly argumentative, with dazzling blue eyes and an appealing cleft in the middle of his chin. Tall too, and major cute.
Once again she wished he was Grant. But no such luck, he obviously wasn’t.
“So,” he said, squinting at her. “While you’re waiting for loser of the year, wanna go get an ice cream?”
“Ice cream!” she exclaimed. “What are you, eight?”
He threw back his head and laughed, giving her a chance to admire his very white teeth. “Never too old for ice cream,” he said, “an’ you look like you could swallow something sweet.”
Was he talking dirty to her? She wasn’t sure, boys were always coming out with stuff that sounded vaguely rude.
“I suppose I wouldn’t mind a coffee,” she said guardedly, realizing that she hadn’t eaten all day, and coffee was hardly going to do it. She required a big, fat, juicy burger and a double-thick shake.
“I’ll buy you a coffee if you tell me your name,” he said, kicking a stray leaf into the gutter.
“Max,” she said, still sizing him up. “What’s yours?”
“Ace,” he replied, still checking her out.
“That’s an odd name.”
“An’ Max isn’t?” he said, rubbing his chin.
“Max is a perfectly normal name,” she said tartly.
“For a guy.”
“Well, here’s the thing,” she confessed. “I used to be Maria. Changed it to Max when I was nine.”
“How come?”
“Who wants to be reminded of The Sound of Music every time they hear their name? Not me. Changed it, and refused to answer if anyone called me anything else.”
“Your parents have anythin’ to say ’bout that?”
“They got the message.”
“So even at nine you had it goin’ on.”
She giggled. “I guess.”
He started to walk. “There’s a Starbucks down the street,” he said. “I’ll buy you that coffee.”
“Cool,” she said, following him because she had nothing better to do. Besides, there was something likable about him, and it wasn’t just that he was hot. He had a quirky attitude and plenty of confidence. In a way he reminded her of herself.
Hmm … maybe she should dump Mr. Internet and stick with this one.
She wondered if he had a girlfriend, if he was out of school, and what he was doing hanging around Kmart all day.
He walked fast on long legs, and she had to hop and skip to keep up. “You like the Lakers?” she asked.
“Somebody gave me the shirt. I’m not into following teams.”
“You’re not?” she said, slightly breathless.
“It’s a fat waste of time unless I’m playing.”
“What do you play?”
“Soccer.”
“Are you brilliant?”
“When I want t’be.”
“When’s that?”
“Jeez,” he said, shaking his head. “You sure ask a shitload of questions.”
“Oh, like you don’t,” she responded.
“Here’s a question for you,” he said, stopping for a moment. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” she lied. “How about you?”
“Nineteen.”
“So you’re out of school?”
“You too, right?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, adding another lie while staring at the cleft in his chin, wondering what it would be like to kiss him.
“I’m guessing you don’t live around here,” he said, starting to walk again.
“Do you?” she countered.
“Why d’you answer a question with another question?” he said, looking perplexed.
“’Cause I’m naturally curious.”
“Nosy is the word you’re searchin’ for.”
“How rude!”
“No, honest.”
“What are you doing anyway? I know why I’m hanging around. How about you?”
He stopped again, turning to face her. “You see that bank over there?” he said matter-of-factly.
She glanced across the street. “Yes.”
“Well … here’s the deal,” he said, taking a long beat. “I’m plannin’ on robbing it.”
* * *
“This is what I like t’do,” Gino announced, clearing his throat. “Haul my ass outta bed real late, take an afternoon nap, watch a coupla those cop shows on TV, suck down a few inches of Jack, have a fine meal with my old lady, an’ hit the sack nice ’n’ early.”
“It’s all about your bed,” Lucky observed.
“Yeah, kiddo, an’ when you’re ninety somethin’ it’ll be all ’bout yours.”
She smiled. “There’s a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in your room. And guess what? I’m cooking dinner myself—pasta and meatballs, your favorite.”
“What a girl!” he exclaimed, grinning. “If only your mother had lived to see how you turned out.”
Inexplicably her eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t a crier, but how often did she get a one-on-one with Gino, and how often did he talk about her mom? Practically never. She’d always figured it was too upsetting for him to reminisce about Maria, but since he was the one who’d brought it up, maybe now was the time to pursue it.
“I guess you’ve never stopped missing her,” she said softly.
“I miss her every single day,” he sighed. “My Maria was the best. Y’know, kiddo, I still think about her all the time.”
“So do I,” Lucky murmured. “I remember her skin, it was so smooth, and she always smelled like rose petals.”
“That she did,” Gino said, nodding.
“Every night she would read to me and Dario. She loved this English author—Enid Blyton—and she’d read these crazy stories about a magic faraway tree with special powers and strange lands at the top of the tree where you could run around doing anything.”
“Gave you ideas, huh?” Gino chuckled.
“Mama always told me girls can do anything.”
“An’ boy, did you follow her advice!”
“I was five when she was murdered,” Lucky said sadly. “Only five … but I’ve never forgotten her.”
“I know, sweetheart, I know…” he said, opening his arms.
Suddenly she found herself nestling close to the man she’d spent so many years feuding with, and now he was old—although he was still sharp. But she knew that one of these days in the not-so-distant future she’d have to say good-bye, and it broke her heart.
Gino Junior came barging into the room, interrupting their moment of closeness. “When’s dinner?” he asked. “Let’s go, Mom, I’m starving.”
Lucky broke away from her father and composed herself. “You’re not starving,” she admonished. “And since I’m heading for the kitchen, I could do with some help.”
“Mom…” Gino Junior groaned.
“You can learn to roll meatballs the Italian way. You’ll enjoy it, trust me.”
“Grandpa…” Gino Junior said, appealing to his grandfather to save him.
Gino Senior obliged. “Give the kid a break
,” he rasped. “Paige’ll help you. She’s always bin pretty adept at rollin’ balls.”
Lucky shook her head and tried not to smile. Gino was an original, no doubt about that.
* * *
Henry waved down a truck and slipped the driver a hundred bucks to find out what was wrong with his car.
He’d been attempting to wave cars down for two hours, and this was the first driver who’d stopped. Henry hadn’t given him much choice, he’d practically flung himself in front of the oncoming truck.
After the driver had finished bitching and complaining about Henry forcing him to pull up so abruptly, Henry had handed him the hundred-dollar bill, and the truck driver had done a full inspection. Finding nothing mechanical, he’d eventually discovered that the gas gauge was faulty—stuck on half-full, while the gas tank was actually empty.
“You’re outta gas,” the truck driver announced, scratching his hairy belly under an I DIG FAT CHICKS T-shirt.
Henry frowned. Damn Markus. The man was lazy. Surely he must have known the gas gauge was faulty? After all, it was his job to know.
Henry glared at the truck driver as if he was to blame. “What am I supposed to do?” he whined.
“For another hundred I can fix ya up with a can of gas,” the truck driver offered. “My emergency supply.”
Well aware he was being taken advantage of, Henry agreed. He had no choice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Anthony and Renee stood over Tasmin’s lifeless body, both of them gazing down at the naked girl, Renee in disbelief and shock, Anthony full of anger that this had happened.
“You broke her neck,” Renee stated.
“She fuckin’ attacked me,” Anthony responded. “For a moment there I thought she was gonna pull a piece on me.”
“The woman is naked, and you thought she had a gun?” Renee said, shaking her head in disgust.
“What the fuck was I supposed t’do?” he said, impatient to get the hell out of Vegas and far away from this situation, which was bugging the shit out of him. “Jesus Christ, Renee, this is your fuckin’ fault, you set me up with her.”
“You kill a girl and it’s my fault,” Renee said, stoney-faced.
“You’d better arrange to dispose of the body,” Anthony said flatly. “No way can I be involved in this.”
“Damn you, Anthony,” Renee said, her voice rising. “This isn’t some bimbo we’re talking about. This is a respectable woman with a high-powered job and a kid at home. How am I supposed to cover this up? You’re in big trouble, Anthony.”
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