Hustled To The Altar

by Dani Collins

  She couldn’t leave Jacob in jail, though. God, no. Especially when it was her fault he was mixed up in this.

  “Renny?” Jacob asked in her ear.

  Felix grabbed his tan case from the floor and circled the desk, heading for the door.

  “Con—”

  He grabbed the phone out of her hand and said, “She’ll be right there, Jake. Go, honey, go. You can’t leave the man in jail.” Con hung up the phone.

  “I know but—of course, I’ll go.” Oh, damn, damn, damn, they’d been so close.

  Felix slammed the door behind him.

  “Con, we didn’t get the evidence—”

  “I’ll follow Felix. You get Jake. Spencer left the Spitfire at the curb.”

  * * *

  “Delivery from Murphy,” Spencer said when Laila opened the suite door. He held out the folder of papers.

  “Thanks.” She had handwritten notes spread out on both sofas and her laptop was flickering on the desk in the corner.

  He expected her to read the email and head straight back to her computer, but she lingered, her brown eyes all liquid and earnest, her one brow pulling in with concern.

  “I mean it. Thank you. This is . . . ” She waved at the mess in the room. “It’s really coming together.”

  “Yeah?” He felt warm, but it was a good warm, the kind where you started to think maybe it was okay to go dopey over a woman.

  “Really. I wouldn’t have got this far if you hadn’t asked Renny to talk to me, and I want you to know I’m grateful for things like this—” She absently opened the folder to flip through the pages. Stopped. “Did you look at these?”

  “No.” He took a sheet, read it, felt a jolt of surprise. “How did you get this?”

  The phone rang and she turned to answer it, saying as she walked, “I learned my lesson. I do my research.”

  There was a pad and pen next to the telephone and she wrote quickly, her voice pleasant but direct as she asked several questions.

  After she hung up, he asked, “Do you want me to go?”

  “Actually, I’d love to put you to work. If you answered the phone—” Her voice faded as she walked into the bedroom.

  Spencer felt a cold sweat break across his chest. She wanted him to talk. To strangers. “Laila . . . . ”

  “You don’t want to do it.” She came back to the sitting room, a fresh pen in her hand, and nodded. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  Ah, hell. He stayed on the bench because he was comfortable there, but he had hung back once and it had cost her and Con both. He couldn’t do that again, no matter how uncomfortable this would be for him. Maybe he’d sweat like a soaker hose the whole time, but the people on the other end of the telephone wouldn’t know that. So instead of taking the out she offered him, he said, “Actually, I wanted to compliment you on going the distance like this. It’s going to be good. I’m glad you’re doing this story.”

  Her smile, as bright as the view when he broke through a low ceiling of stratocumulus, took his breath. And it hurt to look at her, the way it hurt to look directly into the sun. Ask her, he thought. Ask her to dinner. For a walk in the park. Coffee. Anything. Take a chance and ask.

  “Want to go out some time?”

  Laila thought, Right now, and it terrified her. She hadn’t expected Spencer to embody her greatest fear, but here he was, the man who had the power to distract her from achieving everything she’d always dreamed of.

  “No,” she said, falling back into the comfort zone of pure ambition. It wasn’t a bad thing. It had propelled her out of the slums and out of the Prince of Play sewage and out of depression and, dammit, it was the only thing she really knew how to count on. And she was this close!

  But the way his expression went flat and his hands went into his pockets told her she’d hurt him.

  “I’m going to Salt Lake City,” she said in a lame attempt to soften her blunt rejection. “I mean, when would we . . . ?”

  “Right. I forgot. You’re moving on. Moving up. I gotta see a man about a horse.”

  “Spencer—”

  The door closed behind him. The phone rang behind her.

  You’re on your own, she thought. Just the way she’d always known she would be.

  And she had no one to blame but herself.

  8:43 p.m.

  Renny drove to the police station, devastated that she had failed in her attempt to get Felix arrested, but she couldn’t leave Jacob in jail.

  As she parked in front of the police station, she began to feel itchy. Hives again. Terrific.

  The door to the police station glowed under a porch light. It was surrounded by gardens of pansies and the scent of freshly turned soil. Renny opened the first glass door and entered a tiny anteroom with a security camera mounted in the upper corner, heard a buzz and spoke into a round metal screen set above a small pass-through dish.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello?” a tinny voice greeted her.

  “I’m here about Jacob Knuuse.”

  “Identification, please.”

  Renny pushed her driver’s license through and got it back in seconds.

  “What’s in the case?”

  “Bail money.”

  “Show the camera.”

  She snapped open the case, flashed it at the camera and heard the voice again.

  “Thank you. One moment.”

  Another buzz and one of the doors magically opened. The deputy she had met this morning invited her in.

  Three desks occupied the carpeted area, vying for space among shelves filled with neatly arranged books. A coffee urn topped one of the filing cabinets and a dwarf sunflower topped another.

  The deputy led her to a desk where the pregnant sheriff sat. Her chair was a swivel-and-rock type, allowing her to lean back so her belly rose above the edge of the desk like a khaki-clothed moon on the horizon of oak.

  “Okey, dokey, Miss O’Laughlin. We’ve got some questions for you. Is this your jewelry?” the deputy asked, handing her some Polaroid photographs.

  Renny glanced at the photographs. “I believe so, yes.”

  “Now, when you reported the jewelry stolen—”

  “I didn’t report anything stolen.” Renny frowned.

  “I meant to say, a hotel employee made the report. On your behalf.”

  “No. Absolutely not. I called and asked you to meet me at the hotel.”

  The sheriff and deputy exchanged a look. The deputy sat forward.

  “You called and spoke to our dispatcher, and asked that I meet you at the hotel.”

  “To arrive before eight o’clock. Yes.” She twisted her clasped hands, easing the itch between her fingers.

  “And a few minutes later, a hotel employee called to ask if you had phoned in. He explained that you wanted to make a statement about some missing jewelry, but that you were so upset you were having a sauna and facial, and preferred not to see us until tomorrow morning.”

  The sheriff’s chair squeaked as she leaned forward. “For the record, Miss O’Laughlin, we don’t care to be told when we should come by to take a crime report.”

  “But it wasn’t me. None of that is true.” She stopped scratching as indignation overrode nervousness. “I asked you to come by because I wanted to talk about Felix Newman.”

  The couple exchanged a look again.

  “So the jewelry isn’t stolen? You really gave it to Mr. Knuuse to pawn, as he said?”

  “Well, yes, but that sounds sordid and the real story is more—have you ever met Conroy Burke? Because it makes a lot more sense if you have.”

  “That’s what we’re trying to do, Miss O’Laughlin. We want to make sense of this so we can go home and my wife can put her feet up and drink raspberry-leaf tea and grow a baby. Now, who called the pawn shops?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “We have three pawn shops in town. They mostly deal in snowboards and stereos. They all received similar calls that a man might come in to pawn stolen jewelry.
”

  “I’m going to kill him.” She pressed her fingertips to her closed eyelids.

  “Beg your pardon?” they said together.

  “Not the homicide kind of kill. The lecture until I’m hoarse kind of kill. I’m really sorry. I think my old boyfriend may have done this as a prank against my fiancé.”

  “This is not the kind of thing we view as a harmless prank, Miss O’Laughlin,” the sheriff said. She was going to be a great mother, with a stern tone like that.

  “No, I wouldn’t think so. How is Jacob?”

  “Fine. Concerned. Confused.”

  “Can you let him go?”

  “We’d like you to sign a statement first.”

  “Of course.”

  “And I’ll want to follow up with Mr. Burke. Where can we find him?”

  “Well . . . ” Renny cleared her throat and reached to scratch between her shoulder blades. “See, I actually made contact with Felix. And, taking into account that you needed evidence before you could, um, press charges or whatever, I, um, kind of suggested I’d like to buy one of his phony policies. That’s why I asked you to come to the suite. We were going to let him walk out with some money and I was hoping you’d be able to arrest him as he left. Unfortunately, Jacob called at exactly the wrong moment. Felix left without the money and took his papers with him. But Con followed him. Con might be able to give you a location.” She punctuated her explanation with an encouraging smile.

  Silence.

  “I guess that wouldn’t do much good, since Felix didn’t actually steal Con’s money,” she said in a small voice.

  Sheriff and deputy consulted each other with a significant glance.

  “Miss O’Laughlin,” the sheriff said patiently. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I . . . well, it seemed . . . actually we . . . if you knew Conroy Burke, you’d understand!” She stiffened her spine and pushed her hands into her lap.

  Silence again. Two pairs of eyebrows rose with inquiry. The deputy’s brows came together in a sudden frown of discovery.

  “Is that the Conroy Burke? Of Performance Games? Apollo’s Hollow? Moon, Sun, Wind, Rain?”

  “We love Moon, Sun, Wind, Rain!” the sheriff said. “Do you know if he intends to do a children’s version?”

  Renny gritted her teeth as she smiled. Figures the number one poop-disturber would come out smelling like a rose. “I’ll mention it. Or perhaps you could, when you speak to him. He loves talking about children—especially about his own childhood. Ask him about that.”

  “We’d love to. Where can we reach him?”

  “I’ll be sure he gets in touch the minute I see him.”

  “Thank you.” The sheriff smiled with genuine appreciation as she reached for her husband’s hand. She smiled warmly at him. “We played Moon, Sun, Wind, Rain the night we conceived. It was magical. We’d love to thank Mr. Burke for the memory.”

  Renny kept her smile but looked around the room: at the dorky painting of a unicorn on the wall, at the just because greeting card on the deputy’s desk, anywhere but at the law enforcement lovers. “About Jacob—”

  “I’ll type up your statement,” the sheriff said.

  “I’ll take you to see Mr. Knuuse.” The deputy rose.

  Renny stood, hefting the case of money as she did.

  “Did you say that’s bail money?” the deputy asked.

  “I wasn’t sure what the situation was, so I came prepared.” She wouldn’t leave a man in the field. She followed the deputy downstairs.

  “You came.” Jacob pushed his face between the bars like a puppy at the pound.

  “Of course I did.” She wrapped her hand around his and went up on tiptoe to kiss him, silently apologizing.

  He was quiet as they climbed the stairs, but he took the heavy case from her after he’d collected his things.

  “Wait at the sheriff’s desk and I’ll bring out the jewelry,” the deputy said.

  Renny stood beside Jacob, trying to smile reassuringly but feeling guilty.

  The sheriff handed over a printed sheet and a pen at about the same time the deputy crossed the floor with the drawstring bag in his hand.

  Renny read the statement. It detailed Con’s prank and her failure to properly set up Felix. She felt a moment of helplessness and shrugged it off. She’d made some poor choices today. Maybe it was time to pack it in.

  They walked out a few minutes later. Jacob hugged her. “Thank you for coming. I love you.”

  “Jacob, you can’t possibly love someone who got you arrested.” She didn’t have the heart to break up with him on the stoop of the police station though, on the heels of something so awful. Besides, she still didn’t have the ring. Rubbing the back of her neck, she decided to dispense with the ring and do the deed as soon as they were back at the suite—preferably over a couple of fingers of scotch.

  “You didn’t get me arrested. It was a mix-up.”

  “I’m pretty sure Con caused the mix-up with the intention of getting you arrested,” Renny explained.

  “Why would he do something like that?”

  “Because he’s Con. Con-fusing, con-founding and con-niving.” About to become con-tralto, if she had her way.

  “Why on earth did you ever want to marry him?”

  Because, when they played us-against-the-world, she felt like she was an integral part of something. Like she belonged. Like she had value.

  “Temporary insanity,” she mumbled.

  “Well, you’re certainly thinking clearly now. And you were prepared to bail me out of jail?” Jacob snuck a peek in the case on his lap while she started the Spitfire. “Did you recover this from the con man?”

  “No. We came close to getting Felix arrested, but he got away. This whole day has been a write off. I’ve accomplished nothing.”

  “It’s made our relationship stronger.”

  Her tummy knotted up. She didn’t say anything until she pulled up in front of the hotel, took back the case of money and tossed the keys to the valet.

  “Jacob, we need to talk.”

  “I know what you’re going to say.” He held her elbow as they crossed the lobby. “Okay, so we weren’t entirely honest with each other in the beginning, but we still enjoy each other’s company. We still care about each other. Renny, you came to the police station for me. It speaks volumes that you didn’t reject me for being there.”

  “You were there because of me! If I hadn’t listened to Con, we wouldn’t even be in this town. What you’re feeling is gratitude and, believe me, I understand how much you were longing for a friend in there.”

  “And what you’re feeling is embarrassment. You have nothing to be ashamed of, Renny. Not for your past, not for my being arrested.”

  They didn’t talk again until they’d left the crowded elevator and entered the suite.

  “Laila set up a camera in here, hoping she could use it to report on Felix. Let me call her to come get it before we talk,” Renny said.

  “I’ll have a shower. I need one after sitting in that cell.”

  * * *

  Con saw Renny off in the Spitfire, then sprinted to the side parking lot in time to see Felix climbing into his goofy import. Sergio squeezed into the passenger seat.

  “Con,” Spencer said, stepping away from the side of the building into the light. He had his cap pulled low, his arms crossed against the chill.

  “I need wheels.” Con had planned on using his Spitfire to follow Felix, but sending Renny to the police station was too perfect. She couldn’t get any safer from Tyrone than inside a cop shop. “Maybe I could bribe a valet—”

  “Laila’s cameraman is in the white van over there.”

  “Excellent.”

  Spencer paced him across the lot.

  As they approached, the side door slid open and Perry, the bellman, stepped out. He froze, startled by the sight of two guys jogging toward him. He said something that made Murphy poke his head out.

  “Oh, man, I t
hought we were busted,” Murphy said.

  Con came up short as he hit the wall of pot smoke.

  “You’re not going to say anything to Mr. Laramie, are you?” Perry asked.

  “Not if I can use this van right now.”

  “Joy ride. Bonus.” Murphy held out the keys and Con snagged them as he crawled through to the driver’s seat.

  Spencer leaned around to unlock the passenger door so he could swing in. Perry climbed back in and slammed the sliding door.

  Con took off, wheeling onto the main street and shooting toward the center of town, driving recklessly as he tried to unroll the window and steer at the same time. “See where the yellow hatchback went?” he asked Spencer.

  “East at the light.”

  He took the turn, saw the car in the distance. “Looks like he’s leaving town. Keep your eyes on that car, boys.”

  “Follow that car!” Perry shouted, making Murphy giggle.

  “Hey, man, how come you’re not with Laila?” Murphy asked Spencer.

  “That’s not even a real car,” Spencer said, sitting forward to squint. “Who built it? Tonka?”

  The stoners in the back laughed hysterically.

  “Shit,” Con muttered, chuckling. He had never understood the appeal of drugs. They tended to dull his brain and he liked a sharp mind, liked to feel in control at all times. He was able to get the better of anyone as long as he could focus.

  “There we go, boys. That’s what we’re looking for,” he said as they passed a sign reading Now leaving Deception Springs. They came even with a picnic area where Felix had pulled in behind a thirty-fifth anniversary edition Camaro.

  “Nice ride,” Spencer murmured.

  “Whose is it?” Perry asked.

  “I saw them chase Felix into a spa this afternoon,” Murphy said. “Got it on film.”

  “No shit?” Perry asked.

  “Plenty. Running down Felix’s leg. He was scared.”

  Coming up to a runaway lane, Con did a quick three-point turn and went back. “Renny wanted to let Felix walk out feeling like a winner, then let the cops deal with him. My way, he feels like a mark, and then Tyrone’s big son of a bitch deals with him.”

  “Oh, man, why didn’t you tell me? I want my camera on this.” Murphy pressed his face to the side window as they passed the two cars again.