Asking for Trouble

by Leslie Kelly

  “Yes, I know,” I said impatiently, “but this is different. Please, just check into it, would you? See if you can use your all-cops-are-brothers network to find out more?”

  “Why? What does this have to do with the old murder case? Isn’t that why you’re there?”

  “That’s why I came.” I knew that while Mark was protective, he wasn’t a Neanderthal like Tony, the oldest. Nor was he as obnoxious alone as when Nick, his twin, was around.

  Plus, my brother had had the sense to marry a terrific, down-to-earth woman he’d known for eight months. And the two of them practically ignited whenever they looked at each other.

  He had to know a little something about falling fast for someone.

  “I care about him, Mark. I genuinely do. This thing has uprooted his whole life and he’s still trying to get over it.”

  “I don’t like this. Whether it was self-defense or not, the man was still involved in something pretty damn sordid.”

  Argh. Finally knowing I had no choice, I relied on an old standby for dealing with one of the boys. “If you see your way clear to doing this for me, then maybe I’ll see my way clear to keeping quiet to the folks about the fact that a bullet came within a couple of inches of your head at that armored car robbery last year.”

  He sucked in a shocked breath. “How the hell did you…”

  “Someone I went to college with is now on the force.”

  “Who?”

  “Yeah, right.” I rolled my eyes. “Do we have a deal?”

  “You’re a pain in the ass.”

  Uh-huh. Tell me something I didn’t know.

  “Fine,” he said, and I could have sworn I heard a note of reluctant admiration in his voice. “I’ll find out what I can and be in touch.”

  BY SATURDAY AFTERNOON, I knew there was only one way I was going to get Simon to go to the Halloween party with me.

  Seduction.

  I’d mentioned the dance again the previous night and while he hadn’t laughed, he’d very firmly rejected the idea. Socializing with a bunch of people who thought him a serial killer wasn’t his idea of a good time.

  Couldn’t say I blamed him. But that, in my opinion, was all the more reason to go. To make people see that he was in no way dangerous and certainly not a killer. Therefore, he had to go to this dance.

  I spent the morning and part of Saturday afternoon going through some more dusty old trunks and boxes. Today, however, I was looking for something other than documents.

  Funny, as a kid, I would have absolutely loved stumbling into an attic like the one in Seaton House. Attics nowadays were boring. Pink puffy insulation and tattered boxes of Christmas decorations with crusty masking tape on the sides.

  This one, though, once I’d gotten past the creepiness and the fear of being locked in, had proved to be a treasure trove. I’d found a half-dozen huge old sea chests, all of them filled with clothes ranging from recent pieces, apparently kept in lost and found, to antique ones that might have belonged to people who’d once lived in this house. If Simon ever needed money, he could throw this stuff on eBay and make a fortune from vintage clothes lovers.

  This ensemble, in particular, was something else.

  Staring at myself in the mirror on his closet door later that afternoon, I smiled, then giggled. Because I looked exactly like what Simon had thought I was on the night I’d arrived.

  I looked like a hooker.

  A very old-fashioned one, but a hooker nonetheless.

  The antique lace-up corset, chemise and knickers were obviously meant to be worn as underclothes. But without anything over them, they looked pretty damned hot. Especially given my, umm, overample curves. My boobs were squished so tight and plumped up so high they were practically touching my chin.

  The lacy underwear hugged my generous hips and cupped my Italian girl butt. Though yellowed, they’d held up in the wash and looked pretty presentable. They definitely didn’t appear ready to split apart at the seams, despite the pressure my curves put on them. And the black, ankle-high granny boots were painful in the extreme, but there was something so naughty about them I just didn’t want to take them off.

  Going heavy on the makeup and wild with the curling iron and hair spray, I got myself so tarted up I would have been thrown off the Vegas strip. Then, putting as much strut in my step as I could, I walked out of Simon’s bedroom, into the office, tiptoeing up behind him as he sat at the desk.

  Bending down to blow in his ear and kiss his neck, I whispered, “Hey, lover.”

  He jerked so hard, he almost cracked his head on my jaw. “Wha…oh, God, Lottie,” he said as he turned around and saw me.

  “I’m so sorry I startled you,” I said, seeing the tightness in his whole body. I was an idiot. Of course the man was skittish about people sneaking up behind him. Who wouldn’t be after experiencing what he had? “I am so sorry,” I repeated. “I was just trying to surprise you.”

  That clenching in his jaw finally stopped and he drew in a deep breath. He also really looked at me for the first time. One of his eyebrows lifted as he took in my heavily made-up face and teased-up hair. And then he got a glimpse of the amount of me bursting out of the corset…. “What in hell are you supposed to be?”

  “Remember that first night when I arrived? You thought I was a working girl? Well…think back a hundred years or so.”

  Finally, when I’d been afraid he would just decide I was nuts and sigh that he’d ever gotten involved with a fruitcake, he began to smile. “If you’d shown up like that the other night, I might not have kicked you out.”

  Twisting his seat around so he faced me, I climbed onto his lap. “You didn’t kick me out, remember?”

  “Uh-huh. You tricked your way into staying.”

  “As I recall, you invited me to stay that first night.”

  He snorted. “Uh, right, invited. You are about as thick-skinned as they come. I did everything but throw your bags out on the lawn.”

  Wiggling a little and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, I nibbled on his earlobe. “Aren’t you glad you changed your mind?”

  “Very glad.” He was eye level with my breasts and the heat in his gaze told me he liked what he saw. Liked it a lot. Which meant it was time to press my advantage. “So if you’re glad I’m here, you must want to make me happy, don’t you?”

  “Didn’t I make you happy twice last night?”

  “And once this morning,” I said, nearly purring with contentment at the memories. Leaning closer so I could kiss his neck, I pressed my cleavage near his mouth and was rewarded with the scrape of his tongue along the hem of the corset. “But there’s something else I want you to do for me.”

  “Anything,” he mumbled, continuing to taste his way along my breasts, his tongue flicking out, beneath the fabric, teasing me with delicate strokes on my nipples.

  “I want you to take me out.”

  Another kiss, another nibble, another flick. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Mmm-hmm? That means you’ll do it? You’ll take me?”

  “I will absolutely take you,” he said as he began to unlace the corset, his stare nowhere near my face so he couldn’t see my triumphant expression.

  “Excellent. Then it’s all settled. You can go dig through the same chests and find something to wear. The dance starts at seven, so you should probably hurry up and do it now.”

  I hopped off his lap, knowing his playful mood was going to evaporate once my words sunk in.

  I was right. “What the hell did you just do to me?”

  Nibbling on my lower lip, I admitted, “I think I just seduced you into giving me what I want.”

  He shook his head, as if in a daze. “You mean…you tricked me? So I’d take you to some stupid costume party with a bunch of strangers who think I’m a psycho?”

  “Oh, come on, don’t be so melodramatic. I didn’t lie to you or force you. You agreed of your own free will.”

  “Free will. I don’t think the free will in the northern ha
lf of my body had anything to do with it.”

  “Well, your southern one has been calling the shots a lot, lately, so let’s go with that, okay?” I said, hearing laughter bubble out of my mouth. “Besides, Simon, what better night to go out among people who think you’re a psycho than on Halloween?”

  “Halloween’s not until Tuesday.”

  “I have to leave Tuesday.”

  We both fell silent, looking at one another. My laughter faded, as did the smile I would have sworn had begun to lurk about his lips. I didn’t want to think about leaving here. I didn’t want him to want to think about it, either.

  The moment dragged on, neither of us, obviously, knowing what to say. Then, finally, with a heavy sigh, Simon said, “Fine. We’ll go to the stupid party.”

  When I did a little happy dance, he rose to his feet and stared at me. Hard. “But we go on my terms.”

  His terms? Hmm. That sounded scary. But I was too glad to ask questions.

  Whether Simon liked it or not, he was going to go out into the world and return to life. He’d be the charming man I knew he could be and crush the ridiculous rumors flying around about him. Then we’d come back up here and we wouldn’t leave his bed until Tuesday when it was time for me to get in to my car and drive away forever.

  Suddenly, with that thought, my triumph and happiness about tonight oozed away. And I stood there feeling utterly, completely empty.

  “I suppose I have some work to do,” Simon said as he walked around the desk toward the door. Before he left the room, however, he looked over at me, a dangerous twinkle in those dark eyes. “Remember. My terms.”

  Forcing myself to throw off the dark concerns of what was to come, I nodded. “Your terms.”

  TWO HOURS LATER, I realized I should have been a whole lot more worried about Simon’s terms.

  “Oh, my,” I whispered as I watched him descend the stairs.

  I honestly wasn’t sure what I had been suspecting. I just knew I was in no way prepared for this. My curiosity had been killing me the whole time he’d been in the attic doing whatever it was he’d been doing. Telling me to leave him alone every time I’d gone to the base of the stairs and shouted up to see if he was all right, he’d insisted he’d be ready to leave by seven. He’d even showered and dressed in one of the third-floor rooms, just to make sure I wouldn’t peek.

  “Well,” I muttered as he reached the bottom of the steps, “I’d definitely call that your terms.”

  When I saw Simon dressed in his “costume” for the dance, I had to admit just how outrageous his terms were. Part of me wanted to shriek in fear. Another, stronger part, wanted to howl with laughter. Instead I just stood there stunned, wondering how on earth the residents of Trouble would react.

  Finally, though, I couldn’t help applauding his ingenuity. I slowly began to clap. “Mr. Zangara, I presume?” I said as he reached the foyer and strode toward me in the old-fashioned black frock coat and trousers. The striped vest and white shirt beneath screamed 1930s wealth, which was, of course, the first hint of his persona.

  “Where on earth did you get that thing on your face?” I asked, glancing toward the dead giveaway—the long, handlebar mustache drooping down each side of his mouth.

  “Old wig.”

  “And how’s it staying on? Heaven help you if you have to sneeze.”

  “Spirit glue. Did you see the big case of theatrical makeup up there?”

  I had but since I’d come equipped with my own makeup and quite enough hair, I hadn’t availed myself of any of the items in it.

  Damn but the man was creative. Shaking my head and chuckling, I noted the slicked-back, brilliantine-shiny hair, the derby hat, the gold-fobbed walking stick. Right down to the antique black shoes on his feet.

  “Think anyone’s going to realize who you’re supposed to be?” I asked, knowing better than to try to talk him out of this. He said he was going to Trouble on his terms and darned if he wasn’t doing it.

  “I don’t particularly care,” he said with an even—if slightly dangerous—smile. “Ready?”

  Taking his arm and nodding, I let him lead me outside. As he opened the door to the car and helped me in, he murmured, “Lottie, sweetheart, if any man comes within a foot of that cleavage of yours, I’m breaking his arms.”

  Grabbing his neckcloth and tugging him down, I met his mouth in a quick kiss. “Simon, darling, if any woman lays a hand on your…stick…I’m scratching her eyes out.”

  He pressed a quick, hot kiss on my mouth, then shut the door, leaving me to wonder. Was this laughing, flirtatious, mock-jealous man dressed in a ridiculous costume really the same angry stranger I’d met a week ago? I found it hard to believe, seeing only glimmers of the dark figure who’d tried to throw me out in the storm.

  Simon was charming, protective, funny. Even as we got closer to town and I saw the way he stiffened in his seat, he still kept smiling, harassing me about my costume and offering to let me wear his coat all night.

  “I’m quite fine in my coat, thank you,” I said primly.

  “Good. Why don’t you keep it on the whole time?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, partly to flirt with him and partly because I fully intended to keep the man’s attention on me all evening. Not on any other attractive females who might be at the event. Once they realized he was not some dangerous killer, I had a feeling Simon was going to be very popular with the ladies.

  When we got to the decorated fire hall, I heard the loud music and laughter coming from inside. Simon had grown more quiet as we’d approached. “It’ll be fine.”

  He shrugged, as if he didn’t care. But I knew he had to. It couldn’t have been easy living in self-imposed exile for so many months. Reentering the world of the living was going to require some trust. Trust that had been shot and cut out of him one hot June night.

  Walking to the entrance, I grabbed his hand and twined my fingers in his. “You’re totally hot for a serial killer.”

  He laughed softly. “And I would so pay big bucks for a chance with you.”

  Waggling my eyebrows and licking my lips salaciously, I tossed my curly hair. “Well, honey, for a man who looks like you, I might just be tempted to give it away for free.”

  We were still grinning as we walked into the place. That was good. Because it made it a little easier to deal with the fact that everyone within sight stopped talking the moment they spotted us.

  Simon, obviously more worried about me than he was about himself, dropped a possessive arm over my shoulder. As if worrying that I, Lottie Santori of the alligator-thick skin, could get my feelings hurt over being snubbed by some yokels wearing witch hats and angel wings.

  I was about to make some kind of big “here we are, you narrow-minded, superstitious people” announcement, but suddenly a man appeared, walking toward us through the crowd, which parted for him with every step. Some eyed him with admiration, some with disdain. Some even with fear.

  He was tall—very tall, probably six-five—and lean to the point of skinniness. Despite having a youthful-looking face and brilliant blue eyes, his shoulder-length hair was snow-white.

  With his build, he would have looked appropriate dressed as a scarecrow, but he instead wore an old-fashioned big-game hunter getup, like I’d seen in old African safari movies.

  “Mortimer,” Simon said softly.

  Glancing at him, I saw a smile on his face and realized this was friend, not foe. When the older gentleman reached our side and clapped both Simon’s shoulders in enthusiastic welcome, I knew it for sure. And I immediately loved him for it.

  “Simon! How marvelous that you came. Couldn’t be happier to see you, my boy.”

  “It’s good to see you, too, Mr. Potts.”

  “Mortimer, please,” the man insisted with an airy wave of his hand. “Your costume is perfect. I do wish my manservant had had time to find me one. Unfortunately, we’ve been busy with the renovations and I was forced to come without one.”

  �
�He’s not wearing a costume?” I muttered under my breath.

  Feeling Simon tighten his grip on my hand, I shut my mouth. Then the old gentleman turned to face me and I swear to God, the guy gave me a look that said even though there was white hair on top of his head, he was still randy male from there down.

  “Oh, you devil,” he said, obviously speaking to my date, though he never took his eyes off my face. “My dear, you have brightened up the room with your presence.”

  Simon quickly introduced us and we chatted with Mr. Potts for a few minutes. Around us, I noticed conversations beginning again. And then, surprisingly, people began approaching. A couple of them had obviously met Simon and carefully bid him welcome, and he managed to keep his expression pleasant, actually engaging in small talk.

  Soon more of the partyers drifted over, some introducing themselves, some relying on Mortimer for introductions. But the ice had definitely been broken.

  I didn’t think anyone had figured out who Simon was supposed to be. Fortunately, the old guy from the records office—who’d immediately recognized Zangara’s name—was nowhere around.

  Simon was relaxed, laughing freely, being the charming, friendly man I’d come to know. And by the end of the night, everyone in this room would know it, too.

  The women, it appeared, were already figuring it out. Much to my chagrin, my prediction about how popular he’d be with the ladies proved correct. Despite the clothes and silly mustache, Simon couldn’t turn around without tripping over some simpering young twit in an angel or Greek goddess costume.

  Well, good. He’s popular. He’s enjoying himself.

  But as I saw one woman in a devil costume get a little too close with her low-cut red dress, I couldn’t help wishing—just a tiny bit—that I’d kept the man all to myself.

  12

  Simon

  IF IT DIDN’T SEEM so ridiculous—because he honestly couldn’t even see another woman when Lottie was in the room— Simon would have thought she was jealous. As they left the firehouse, having stayed until the end of the party so Lottie could shake her hot backside to one last song—Lord have mercy, the woman could move—he noticed the way she frowned at a couple of women who came up to say good-night.