“You’ve lost a day.”
I processed that. “At least I got some sleep.” That made everyone laugh. And I took the time to think about what I wanted to share. Mona’s story was hers. “Really just a few things. First, Latham said he had dinner with Dora, but the kid at the steak stand put them there for a late lunch. Latham was the last to see her alive. Poppy said she saw him at the arena when Turnbull died, but he denied it. The rope in the back of his van—that had come from Huntsville State Prison. I had Jeremy run our list of suspects.”
“I thought she was daft when she was happy we didn’t get a hit,” Jeremy said, getting a chuckle all around.
“Dr. Dean, a vet in Reno who was helping Bethany and her grandmother, had a son, but nobody could find him.” I looked at Jeremy. “After this went down, did you happen to run Dean through the prison database?”
“Yep, got a hit. Stuart Dean, the missing son. And then, when Beckham called about his truck, I knew.”
“How so?” Mother asked.
“The coroner still had the keys to the van. If Latham/Dean needed a ride he’d have to steal it.”
“What about Turnbull?” my father asked.
“Collateral damage. Latham was trying to get Beckham off the warpath. Beckham’s scrutiny was threatening Latham’s big score. Turnbull stumbled on him trying to kill the pony and he got most of the dose.”
“Why the upside-down crucifixion thing?” Romeo asked, clearly still shaken by that. “He did it to the people closest to him—his father, Sara, Dora.”
I waited, letting him get there on his own.
“It was personal,” the detective said, answering his own question.
“Grasshopper, you just stole the marble from my hand.”
Someone told me once that a true psychopath could hide who they were, but not forever. Invariably, something would trigger their need again.
With her promise of Mona and the fact she too knew what he had done, Dora had triggered Latham.
“What about the letters shaved in the horse’s coat?” Bethany asked.
“Poppy had to have done it. Doc was in the hospital.” I reached out and took her hand. Her skin was cold. “She was protecting someone; you said so yourself.”
“But the doc?” She grimaced in revulsion.
“A father figure when her own father was lost in his own selfishness and pain.”
Bethany took that in, but I had a feeling it would be a long time before she truly understood. And she had yet to understand that Doc Latham had been her biological father. When the full load of that dropped on her, I planned to be close by.
“Justice was done, I guess,” Romeo said.
My mother’s look caught my eye.
We weren’t done yet.
We had one more slight issue to deal with.
A matter of attempted murder.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“WHAT time is it?” I still had no sense of day or time. Darkness had fallen. Everyone had filtered away—Mona had been the last, leaving Jean-Charles and me alone. He’d crawled into bed with me and pulled the duvet he’d brought from home over us both. His head rested near mine on the pillow, his breath warm on my cheek. Heat burned at each point our skin touched.
He’d curled in on my left—my right shoulder had taken that last bullet. Neither bullet had hit anything the least bit important—the doctor’s assessment, not mine. At the moment, it all felt important.
“Early. Just eight o’clock, a bit after.”
“What day?”
He kissed my shoulder. “Today.”
“Shouldn’t you be at the restaurant?” Dinner would be in full swing. The restaurant was new; diners would expect him there.
“No. For one night they will not die without me.”
“I believe this is the second night?” I snuggled in as much as I could without moving too much, although I was getting used to the constant sting of the pain.
“Now, this might be a disaster. Are you okay? Do you need something for the pain?”
“Just you.”
“But this will help, no?” He reached down beside the bed and came back up with a split of bubbles, really good bubbles. “I don’t have any glasses.”
“Is it cold?”
“That question offends me.” And he sounded like it did, which made me giggle.
I tried not to be disappointed in myself—I’d sworn on the altar of all smart women that I would not be one of those who giggled in the presence of an impressive man. Yeah, right.
He popped the cork—the sound reverberating in the small room.
“Are we supposed to have this in here?”
“No.” He handed me the bottle. I took a good solid slug, then handed it to him. “I like your style.”
He gave me a one-shoulder shrug. “But, of course. I am French.” He tilted the bottle, covering the smile he didn’t want me to see, and drank deeply.
“Hey, leave some for me. It’s only a split.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, which added a decidedly American je ne sais quois.
“Have you been hanging around the cowboys a bit too much?”
The innocent look made me giggle…again.
“Drink. It will help. I will get more.”
“You have more?”
“In France, it is bad form to run out of Champagne. I have more.”
“Where?” I moved to crawl over him to look. I didn’t get far.
“Stay. Tonight, be still, just this once. When you are still and your mind quiets, that’s where you meet yourself.”
“We probably should be acquainted, or at least visit every now and then, me, myself, and I.” I took another pull from the bottle, draining it. “One dead soldier.”
“The other bottles are in the nurses’ station. They have ice and are keeping it cold for me.”
“I’m sure.” I know he heard the tone in my voice—his ears turned red. Jean-Charles, like all Frenchman I’d ever known, wore charm like a birthright. I’d get used to it. “Will you have to move?”
“Yes, this would be so.”
“Then no, no more Champagne. Not right now.”
Contented, we curled into each other, enjoying the nearness.
Teddie found us exactly like that.
“Oh!” He hadn’t knocked, but the door was open. In one hand, he held a bouquet of purple and orange tulips—my favorite. Teddie could always do the grand gestures. But he failed to understand that love was in the daily details. “I’m sorry. I can come back.”
Jean-Charles stroked my arm, then brushed his lips against my shoulder. “I will go get some more Champagne.” He eased out of bed, straightening the comforter around me. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. You talk to your friend.” Then he walked out of the room without ever acknowledging Teddie, not overtly anyway.
“I think I just got a very classy French brush-off.” Teddie grinned from the doorway. “May I come in?”
I motioned to the chair. He pulled it next to the bed, laying the tulips on the windowsill. “I should’ve brought a vase, too.”
“The flowers are lovely, thank you.”
He looked like he was trying to find some new footing between us. I let him struggle. Helping him, enabling him, had only hurt both of us.
“Are you okay?” He settled on an obvious opener.
“They say I’ll be fine. Right now, I’m a bit tired, but things don’t hurt too bad.”
“The second day is the worst. Once you get past that, you’re good to go.” He’d just gotten past that with his own bullet to the thigh.
“You’d think a singer and corporate flunky would be the last people taking bullets; yet here we are.”
“Yes, here we are.” His hands dangled off the end of the chair arms, his fingers moving—a silent song only Teddie heard. “Is there any hope of us being who we used to be?”
“We’re not those people anymore.” I didn’t answer the question he asked—there was no answ
er. The future would bring what it wanted.
“You’re going to marry him?”
My breath hitched, then I calmed. “Yes.”
He nodded once, then forced a smile. “I’ll warn you, Jordan is fit to be tied. They wouldn’t let him come up since it’s after visiting hours.”
“A woman said no to Jordan Marsh?” If I could, I’d go down there and shake her hand.
“A dude. Big guy with hair growing in places it shouldn’t.”
“I know that guy! How’d you get up here?”
His momentary spark faded. “Mona told them I was family.” He gave me the big baby blues.
It didn’t work. Oh, maybe a slight flutter, but other than that I was numb to him. And, although I’d been asking my heart for that, I mourned what had been between us.
“They say you saved your mother.” He gave me a look that spoke volumes—he’d been witness to much of my recent history with my mother.
It struck me that the saddest part about a breakup was losing your history.
“I’m known to do stupid things every now and then.”
That got a smile, melting a bit of the hurt.
Jean-Charles returned with an ice bucket and several bottles of Champagne. “I hope I am interrupting.”
“Are we having a party?”
Jordan peeked around the door jamb. “Hell, yes!” His partner, Rudy, appeared around Jordan. “We’re going to kill that Champagne and then bust you out of here.” Smoldering and dark, Rudy with curls, Jordan with salt-and-pepper, they were two of the most handsome men I’d ever seen. Jean-Charles kept pace and, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, Teddie with his boyish blond could hold his own.
Multiple handsome men focused on cheering me up—just what the doctor ordered.
Corks popped. Laughter ensued.
“Did Teddie tell you the news?” Jordan asked.
My heart sunk a little—typical Teddie. He hadn’t, and there would be a reason—one I wouldn’t like. “No.” I kept the panic out of the one word but I didn’t trust myself to do that to any others.
“After our run at your place—and maybe one encore.” He flashed the smile that melted hearts around the world. “My agent has booked our show for France. JC tells us you guys might be there around the same time.”
Everyone seemed invested in that except me—since I hadn’t been consulted. Too tired and sore to be pissed off right now, I tabled it and simply smiled in answer. “Monte Carlo or Deauville?”
Jordan’s brows came together and his mouth puckered into a pout. “I’m not sure.” Then his face cleared. “But it’s France, so who cares?”
Right, who cared?
“JC, pop that cork and let’s get this party started,” Jordan ordered.
At the sound of the cork, a nurse came running. She skidded into the room, then got a good look. Her eyes bugged as she backed out and ran.
“If I’d known getting shot was this much fun, I would’ve done it more often.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BY the third day, I was feeling almost human and more than antsy to get back to life. After the Champagne party, the hospital had given me my marching orders early the next morning. While the administrators were happy to see us go—yes, all the men had stayed for an epic sleepover—a few of the nurses were very sorry to wave goodbye. The thought of all that male pulchritude draped around my room warmed my heart.
Since then, I’d been sentenced to interminable days spent by myself at home. Well, with two kids on varying schedules and Jean-Charles working nights and worrying over me the rest of the time, I wasn’t by myself often.
When I’d talked with my parents, they’d been circumspect. All in good time and all of that. I was dealing, but not particularly well.
This was that hair shirt of a problem I couldn’t fix.
Bethany was with them. Squash was sorting it all out. Once Mona was free to talk, she would. All very logical, but not the least bit emotionally satisfying.
Worse, sitting on the sidelines waiting for the coach to send me into the game stung like salt in a wound.
When my phone rang, I was happy to see it was Squash. “Please tell me you have some great case for me to get involved in? Some racketeers we can threaten? I have a new Louisville Slugger ready for intimidation training. Or maybe a wayward spouse we can scare straight?” I kept the obvious question to myself—if I didn’t ask, I wouldn’t be shut out one more time.
“Bored, are we?”
“If the asshole had shot me in my left leg, I’d be outta here.”
“You could call the car to come get you.”
“Tomorrow. I’m trying to be good and do what I’m told.” Frankly, healing sucked me dry.
“Right.” He knew but didn’t skewer me with the point of my denial. “Are you feeling up to a visit with your parents?”
“Stupid question.” My energy surged. “When?”
“Would twenty minutes work?”
Barely. Thankfully, I’d already washed my hair and made myself somewhat presentable. Jean-Charles had just left for work. Chantal would pick up Christophe. “I’ll clear you through the gate.”
As promised, precisely twenty minutes later, a late model 911 with its patented Porsche growl eased into the curb—a convertible, with the top down, white with a tan interior. Squash extricated himself from behind the wheel and rushed to help me as I hobbled down the steps.
“Still hurt like a mother?” he asked.
When he took my elbow, I let him. “Not too bad,” I said through gritted teeth as I landed heavily on my sore leg.
“Easy, these things take time.”
“And I have the patience of a hungry puppy.”
“And the nip, too.” He installed me in the passenger seat, then settled himself in the driver’s seat and turned the key. Everything about the car inflamed a need for another Porsche of my own. For the first time in a long while, I felt carefree, happy, and alive.
The cold air caressed my face and leaked in between the collar of my jacket and my neck, as refreshing as a cold washcloth on a hot day. Before I forgot, I texted Jean-Charles and Chantal to let them know where I’d be. That sort of accountability used to grate. Now, it made me feel connected.
And the Porsche made me feel like a kid. “To hell with growing up.”
“Highly overrated,” Squash said with a grin, knowing exactly what I referred to as he pulled away from the curb.
“You do know it’s winter?” I pulled my jacket tighter around me as the wind picked up with his speed.
He flipped the heater to high. “Your point?”
My laughter trailed behind us as we accelerated up the on-ramp to the Summerlin Parkway.
Laughter was indeed the best medicine.
When the elevator opened, I peeled myself off the back wall and stepped out into the middle of my parents’ great room. Squash stayed near, but sensed I needed to walk back into my life on my own.
“Lucky!” My father sounded happy to see me—I took that as a good sign. His smile split his face wide. His skin was ruddy with health, his hair neatly combed. And he was back in uniform, at least for a casual day: creased slacks, starched shirt, loafers, no socks. No hint of the worry that had recently creased his face remained.
The first sign that life was settling back to normal.
He gave me a gentle hug, avoiding my shoulder.
“How was Reno?” I assumed I’d been summoned for answers, so I asked. For the last two days, my parents had been there with Squash and Bethany. Frankly, with so many things to settle, I was surprised they were back so soon.
“Let me pour you a drink, then we’ll talk. Champagne?”
“Sure.” With his glow, I didn’t mind waiting.
“Squash. Your usual?”
“Yessir.”
“Go find your mother,” my father said. “You know where she is. Squash and I will be along in a minute.”
I wandered through the Great Room, heading for
the wall of windows. Before my mother had moved in, I’d loved this room. So many dinners I’d shared here with my father. The paintings by the lesser Masters dotting the leather upholstered walls, the furniture made of mahogany and hides of beasts from continents far away, the burnished wood flooring—the place was a testament to masculine good taste—an oxymoron when describing any man besides my father. The fireplace was mobile, within a certain perimeter, and he would position it for the desired warmth wherever we settled, usually on the couches in front of the wall of windows on the far side of the large room. From there, we could drink in the beating heart of the Vegas strip. I never tired of the view.
Mona had barricaded herself into the corner of one couch, her feet tucked under her, and surrounded by a wall of silk pillows in colors that matched the neon outside. She leaned across and patted the open section. “Come. Sit.”
Her dark hair trailed down her back in loose waves. Gray showed at the roots. Her skin was flawless, but I detected a loosening along her jaw I hadn’t noticed before. Her lack of sleep showed in shadowed half-moons under her eyes. Her robe was a threadbare, peach fleece number I remembered from my childhood. So, too, the shredded collar of a light blue t-shirt that showed where the robe gapped. Wise in the ways of seduction, she had much better boudoir attire. But now Mona needed comfort clothes—her version of comfort food. The past rushing back like it had left us all reeling.
I moved the pillows so I could snuggle up against her. It’d been years, and we didn’t fit together quite as comfortably as the younger me remembered, but we made do. “Tell me about your family.”
I stretched my legs out so I could work my hand into my pocket to extract the photo. Sitting up, I turned so I could see Mona’s face. The lights of the Strip played a kaleidoscope of color across her features, but I could still see the worry lurking there. Why was she worried? The worst was in the past.
And the wariness. What was it with me today? I should write a speech, “Give me your tired, your worried, your wary…” Or maybe not. Somehow it lacked the gravitas of the original.
Without a word I handed her the tiny bit of paper I’d been secreting since Bethany had given it to me.
Lucky Ride (The Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Series Book 8) Page 31