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.
“Whoa!” 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 22
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.”
He turned to her, his eyes like two pieces of cold steel. “I’m in trouble? You think I’m responsible for this shit?”
“If you’re not, who is?”
“She acted like a fuckin’ lunatic,” he said, starting to yell. “An’ she ended up gettin’ what she deserved.”
“Sure,” Renee muttered, “and you’re just an innocent party.”
“What’s your fuckin’ problem?” he shouted, his face darkening.
“You were too rough with her, any fool can see that.”
“You gotta be fuckin’ shittin’ me!” he exploded. “The broad was a sex freak.”
“You’re a big boy, you could’ve handled yourself without killing her.”
“Let me tell you somethin’, Renee,” Anthony said, outraged that he was being forced to explain himself. “She wanted me to lick her fuckin’ pussy. Ya think there’s any way in hell I’d lower myself an’ do that shit?”
“Going down on a woman is a normal sex act,” Renee said, hating the very sight of him.
“Maybe to you,” he spat. “But there’s nothin’ fuckin’ normal ’bout you.”
“Is that why you broke her neck—because of some macho Italian code of ethics?”
“How many times I gotta tell ya?—she fuckin’ attacked me for no reason,” he said harshly, wondering why he was bothering to continue this conversation. “I hadda defend myself, she’s six feet tall an’ strong as a fuckin’ horse. You take care of it, Renee, like I took care of you when you had to get outta Colombia in a hurry. Remember?”
Yes, she remembered all right. He’d helped her leave, and he’d also helped himself to half the cash Oscar had stashed. Then when she and Susie had put together the money to build the Cavendish, he’d declared himself a silent partner. No paperwork involved, simply a monthly payout in cash.
“I take care of this and we’re even,” Renee said flatly. “Score settled.”
“What the fuck you so uptight about?” he demanded.
“Tasmin was a smart, beautiful woman. Look what you’ve done to her. Don’t you have any remorse?”
“For chrissakes!” he roared. “She was nothin’ but a crazy freak.”
“Your idea of a freak and mine differ,” Renee snapped.
“I bet,” he sneered. “You’d feast on pussy all day long if you had your way.”
“Nice,” Renee said coldly. “Real nice.”
“Don’t you forget who helped you when you needed it,” he warned. “Take care of this mess, use your most trusted people. I’m gettin’ outta here—deal with it.”
Anthony left the problem of Tasmin’s lifeless body with Renee and took off. He had no feelings of guilt. Renee owed him and now it was payback time.
The Grill drove him to the airport in one of the hotel’s cars. Even though he still had things to take care of in Vegas, he knew this wasn’t the time to linger. Best to distance himself and get out quickly.
Once he was safely on his plane and it had taken off for New York, he called his wife.
“What’s goin’ on?” he said gruffly.
“Where are you, Anthony?” Irma asked. “When will you be home?”
“I’ll let you know.” A long beat. “You miss me?”
Irma was shocked; it was so unlike her husband to ask her such a question. “Yes,” she said stiffly, hesitating for only a second or two.
He decided she didn’t sound like she meant it, and after he hung up, he got to wondering what Irma did all day. The kids were in Miami with their nanny and Francesca; the house in Mexico City was taken care of by his coterie of servants; so how did Irma keep herself occupied?
She probably went shopping, spent his money, and indulged in massages and manicures. Womanly pastimes, that’s all she was capable of.
For a moment he felt sorry for her. At least she was a normal woman who’d never requested any depraved sexual acts from him. Goddammit, she was his wife, she’d better not.
Next he phoned Emmanuelle. “What’s goin’ on, sweet-ass?” he asked, thinking of her undulating sun-kissed body and luscious lips, and wondering why he’d gone elsewhere when Emmanuelle was always available.
“I just finished shooting the cover for Crude Oil magazine,” Emmanuelle said excitedly. “Isn’t that the best!”
> “Yeah?” he questioned, not so sure he liked her posing for magazine covers where every asshole on the street could ogle her spectacular body. “What didja wear?”
“Veree short Daisy Dukes and kind of a skimpy bra,” she said, her voice low and seductive. “Veree sexy. You’ll love the photos.”
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