by Shirl Henke
He grinned sharkishly. “They’ll never know now, will they? Neither will you.”
“Matthew Granger, International Man of Mystery,” she muttered while she tied up Kuzan on the other bed. “We have to leave their guns here in the room. And make sure their prints are on them.”
“Why?” The moment he asked the question, he had an inkling of the answer. “Devious Samantha,” he said with a chuckle, shaking his head. He cleaned their prints off the weapons, then fit each man’s gun in his hand so his prints would be clear on it. While Sam dialed the local cops, he placed the guns carefully on the table beside the window. It was quite a treat watching her work.
“Officer, this is Miss Edna Jean Cather. I want to report an assault.” Her hoarse, breathless voice half convinced Matt she was some terrified, helpless old lady as she spun her tale. “Two big foreigners attacked me. Why, I don’t know whatever would have happened to me if three nice young American gentlemen in a pickup truck hadn’t come to my assistance. They’re tying up those awful miscreants… Where? Oh, I’m calling from the Stratford Lodge just off the highway…yes, that’s the place. Room twelve. Please hurry.”
She put down the phone. “Do I get an Oscar?”
He shrugged. “An Emmy might be more appropriate,” he said, glancing at the battered fifteen-inch television set chained to the wall.
“We’d better get the hell out of Dodge before Deputy Dawg comes rolling in and starts asking questions we don’t want to answer,” she replied, miffed at his lack of appreciation for her skill.
“What if the desk clerk gives the Highway Patrol your van plate number?”
Sam grinned. “Who says I gave the right numbers at the desk? These kinds of places for sure never check.”
Matt was forced to nod in grudging approval. Damn, this dame was slick.
Chapter 10
As they cleaned up all traces of their presence in the room, Sam said, “Let’s just hope the local gendarmes are sharp enough to check these guys for wants and warrants.”
“They must have records. Guns are a definite no-no, even if these guys are tied up and the good people who reported them aren’t here to contradict whatever story they concoct.” Matt eyed Yuri and Vassily with grim amusement. “Think fast, you silver-tongued devils.”
“Rehearsing your lines is gonna be a bitch gagged the way you are,” she added cheerfully before closing the door to room twelve.
Sam drove and Matt took the passenger seat. They passed the county sheriff’s cruiser just before they pulled onto the highway. Matt kept her fanny pack with the .38 and the stunner, just in case she got any funny ideas about trying to haul him off to his aunt again. “We have to talk, Samantha. Seriously. My aunt really hired you to drag me back to Boston?”
His eyes bored into hers and she could see he held his cell phone in hand, no doubt ready to call dear Claudia and verify her story. Well, that would check out. But how the devil was she going to play this now that Pat’s whole scheme had gone south? “Yep,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road. “Give her a call and see if she didn’t.”
He looked skeptical as he dialed the cell and waited until the familiar voice of his aunt’s social secretary came on the line. “Grace, this is Matt. I need to talk to her. It’s urgent.”
Sam waited anxiously as he and his aunt argued, something she gathered they did with regularity. She could only hear his side, of course, but it appeared that the conversation would end in her favor.
“I’m as sane as you are—no, scratch that. You’ve always been a head case… Yes, I think you were set up, too… My editor’s name is Manny. He’d take it real bad if you accused him of wearing a dress… I already told you, the Renkov story is my ticket to a Pulitzer and I’m not quitting….”
There was a long pause on Matt’s end of the cell as his aunt talked. A sudden idea came to her. Claudia Witherspoon was supposed to be sharp in spite of her advanced age. What if she just wanted Matt out of the Renkov investigation because he’d be in danger? She could’ve called the FBI. Possible. Or maybe when they told her Matt had joined a cult, she just played along. For all Sam knew, the director himself might have approached Claudia with this deal. Sam smiled inwardly. Then Matt started speaking again.
“Yes, I’ll be careful…. Yeah, she did…twice…” Grudgingly, he said, “I guess. Look, I’m going to fly home…no, not Boston, dammit! Miami where I’ve lived ever since I got out of the Army…. Yes, I promise….”
Finally, he broke the connection and turned to her. He didn’t look ready to throttle her. That was a good sign. “Well, what’d she say?”
“It seems a woman posing as the news editor at the Herald called her, all worried about me. Said I’d dropped off the face of the earth a couple of weeks ago after being sent out on an assignment to cover a cult in San Diego. She convinced Claudia that I’d been brainwashed into joining and wasn’t coming back. Told her that I’d quit my job and said I sounded as if I was on drugs.”
“That’s pretty much what she told me when she hired me,” Sam said, which strictly speaking was true. Pat had been her old mentor when she was a cop, but he knew she didn’t work for free. He’d set this up with the FBI somehow so Claudia would pay Sam to keep Matt from stirring things up before the FBI and the Miami cops busted the Renkov mob. “I did some digging around San Diego and located you without much trouble.”
“So did those goons who followed me.” He was in over his head but damn if he’d admit it to Sam Ballanger. “They could’ve killed Tess Renkov.”
“Yeah, but they didn’t. She’s in the clear for now and so are we. Question is, what are we going to do next?”
“We, Kemo-Sabe?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Sorry as hell, Sammie baby, but you aren’t getting the ten K from my aunt. She understands I’m not going to sit this one out in Boston.”
“Okay, what are you going to do? Go after Mikhail Renkov?” She paused, then answered her question before he could. “You buy Tess’s story enough to beard her father-in-law in Miami? That really is nuts, Granger. You’d end up fish bait off the keys inside an hour. I know how dangerous the Russian mob in Miami is.”
“Do you now? It seems like a hell of a coincidence, you’re getting a referral to handle a case originating in Boston, and my aunt, who’s nobody’s fool, being hoodwinked by Miami mobsters and used as a cat’s paw. Why didn’t they just kill me and be done with it? This whole mess stinks like Jose Samora’s bait shack.”
“But you’re going to get to the bottom of it, I know.” Sam nodded, pulling off the highway as they approached an exit on the outskirts of Vegas. “Why not stop and get something to eat, then talk about this?” She’d had an idea percolating in her mind ever since he dialed Boston. Bold as brass but it just might work. She’d done the math and knew her expenses for this caper were way too high for her to throw in the towel without a fight.
He studied her with a speculative look in his eyes. She knew more than she was telling him. No way was he trusting her, but could he afford to turn her loose? “I’m taking the next flight I can book from Vegas to Miami.” He waited for her response.
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged, turning the wheel and making a right onto a street glowing with a mixture of cheap casinos and bars. The world was neon in Vegas. Even the wedding chapels had blinking signs advertising their wares. Bypassing one she chose a Denny’s next door and pulled into the parking lot. “Steak and fries for me—and a large pot of coffee. How about you?”
He was so tired superglue wouldn’t have held his eyelids open much longer. An injection of caffeine was a good idea. It also might help him think this whole mess through. A lot was riding on how he handled things, including the lives of innocent women and children. And just maybe even Sam Ballanger’s. But he’d bet a Pulitzer she wasn’t as innocent as she claimed. “Coffee sounds good,” he said as he locked the guns in the glove compartment and pocketed both sets of her keys for the van. He considered frisking her for a third, but realize
d that might lead to hormonal complications he didn’t have time to deal with right now…or ever.
Once seated in a booth at the rear of the crowded restaurant, Sam ordered a twelve-ounce filet, loaded potato skins, a large caesar salad and a wedge of pecan pie to go with the coffee. Matt looked over at the small, trim woman and shook his head. “How the hell do you eat like a stevedore and stay so slim?”
“Wrestling crazy people burns calories like you wouldn’t believe,” she said, handing the waitress her menu.
Matt suddenly realized he was ravenously hungry, too. “I’ll have the porterhouse and a baked potato, house salad and…” He perused the desserts, then selected the cheesecake. “Hurry that coffee along, could you?”
The waitress, an emaciated woman with olive skin and silver-blond hair gone black at the roots nodded tiredly and shuffled off, calling out the orders in a cigarette-roughened voice as she went.
“Hold my seat while I visit the ladies’ room,” Sam said, starting to slide out of the bench.
He reached out and took hold of her wrist. “Are you sure that’s all you’re going to do?”
She tsked at him. “You have the van keys, Matt. And a clear view of it through the window. Besides, I thought you wanted to ditch me.”
“Maybe, but not until we get some things settled.”
With a swift flick of her wrist against his thumb, she was free, walking calmly across the floor to the restrooms. Before he could debate what to do, his cell rang and he picked it up. Tess Renkov’s voice on the other end made the decision for him. He leaned back against the seat and said, “Is everything okay?”
“Just checking in as ordered,” Tess replied, trying to keep the stress from her voice. “Hugo’s going to be all right. He refused any pain meds until he heard from me after you didn’t call. I explained why.”
“That’s good,” Matt replied. “You all set up?”
“We’ve found a small place in an isolated area where we should be secure for a few days. What are you going to do about those men…the Russians?” she added, whispering now.
Matt grinned. “I don’t think they’ll be bothering anyone for quite a while. Sam Ballanger took care of them.”
“Do you think you can trust her?”
Good question. “Jury’s still out on that one,” he said as he watched the subject of their conversation wend her way across the room. “Keep checking in. I’m on the way to Miami to follow up on some leads.”
While Matt was on his cell, Sam ducked into the alcove beside the restrooms where the pay phones were and placed a call to Pat. She quickly filled him in on Kuzan and Garzenko, explaining the jurisdiction where they’d presently be residing. “Figured you might want to tip the local fibbies to pay a call. Oh, yeah, they parked their wheels in the dry cleaner’s lot next door to the Stratford Lodge. Big black Town Car they can examine, too. Maybe if the fibbies pull rank on the local gendarmes, they can sweat more out of them than we had time for. Pair of tough bozos. Too bad the Bureau doesn’t issue stunners.”
“Yeah,” Pat said in his gravelly voice. “From what we’ve seen of Renkov and his New York counterparts, it might take a jolt or two in the nuts to help refresh their memories. But since this is all pretty hush-hush, maybe they can be a little creative after they relieve the locals of their prizes and go over that Lincoln. Thanks for the tip, Sam.”
“Just remember, you owe me, Pat. Big-time. I’m running up a fortune on my phone card.”
He gave a rusty laugh. “Oh, I have faith you’ll get ‘her ladyship’ to cough up for every last dime.”
After signing off, she dialed another long-distance number…in Boston.
By the time she returned to the table, Matt had completed his talk with Tess and put the cell away. Sam’s expression when she slid across the vinyl seat and looked him in the eye made him distinctly uneasy. “For a dame who’s just lost ten thousand plus expenses, you look awfully pleased with yourself. I can almost see the Tweety Bird feathers on your lips. What gives, Sam?”
Her grin broadened. “Oh, on impulse—I’m an impulsive gal, in case you never noticed—I decided to call Aunt Claudia and let her know how much danger you’re still in, working on this story.”
His frown was thunderous as he clenched the heavy coffee mug so tight it looked ready to shatter. “Oh, and what pray tell did my aunt say then?” He could well imagine how Sam could embellish the tale.
“She’s hired me to be your bodyguard. Three K a week until this case is over and all the bad guys are in jail. If you don’t believe me, just call her back.”
“Bodyguard, my ass!” he ground out.
“And a sweet one it is, too.” Her eyes swept suggestively downward as if she had X-ray vision and could see beneath the table. “Admit it, Matt. You need help. Two soccer moms snatched you once and I snatched you twice. I was a cop on the Miami-Dade force for seven years. I know the city and now I have a vested interest in seeing that you stay alive to write your story.”
“You’re conveniently forgetting those two soccer moms also overpowered you and left you trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”
“Only proves how resourceful I am that I got away and came back after you.”
“What about Yuri and Vassily? You’d be dead meat if I hadn’t gotten free and saved your pretty little ass.” He was starting to grin in spite of himself. What was it about this woman?
“You’d be meat right alongside me, big fellow, just remember that. We make a pretty good team…in more ways than one,” she added, telling herself she was only coming on to him because of the money. Who are you kidding?
The slovenly waitress, whose name tag bore the unlikely moniker Cassiopeia, plunked down their orders. “Speaking of dead meat, this looks halfway decent.” He cut a juicy slice of steak and slowly raised it to his mouth.
Sam watched him chew, her own mouth watering…but no longer for food. His dark eyes never left hers as he swallowed, then grinned wolfishly. He knows what I’m thinking. Furious with herself, she snatched up a potato skin and shoved it into her mouth. Sour cream and green onions oozed down her chin. She seized a paper napkin and wiped off the mess. Shit! She’d burned her tongue, but refused to stop eating. Damn if she’d give him the satisfaction of seeing how he affected her.
“No sense in letting perfectly good food go to waste,” he said reasonably as he slathered butter over his baked potato and ate a huge forkful. “But by the time we finish off dessert, we’ll need to work off all these calories….”
They didn’t make it to dessert.
By the time Sam was halfway finished with her steak, Matt shoved his plate away and motioned to Cassiopeia to bring the check. As he peeled off bills from his money clip, he asked, “Where’s the nearest motel?”
The waitress raised one black eyebrow and gave a knowing smirk. “Right down the road on the left, two blocks.” She pointed to a flashing neon sign that indicated it rented by the hour.
“Classy, Granger,” Sam hissed at him as the waitress sauntered off. “A hot-sheets joint.”
He shrugged. “Just so they change the damned things. Besides, we need some sleep before our great adventure,” he said innocently, glancing at his watch. The night sky was obscured by the neon glow of Vegas, but it was past midnight.
“That mean you’re taking me with you?” she asked, suspiciously. No way was she losing the heavy coin his aunt had promised her…or the time she could spend with him before he found out about her connection to Pat and the deal with the fibbies. Beyond that…well, she’d figure out something in the morning.
“We’ll see,” was his noncommittal answer as he extended his hand to her across the table.
She took it and they walked out of the restaurant into the smoggy heat of a Vegas night. Cassiopeia’s recommendation looked bad enough that both of them were willing to scout a little farther in spite of raging hormones. A half mile further, they found a Days Inn. It took Matt minutes to register while Sam parked her van by the
long row of units. She paced impatiently until he appeared, dangling a room key like a Christmas candy cane. Sam seized it from his hand.
“Right down there—first floor.” He pointed to the third door. She had it unlocked in a flash. Just as she shoved the heavy door across the carpet, he surprised her by scooping her into his arms. “Now…I’ve had this fantasy about showers the past couple of days,” he murmured as he kicked the door closed and lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss was long and slow and incredibly sensuous. “You taste like sour cream,” he said, not particularly concerned as he nibbled small kisses down her chin and throat.
He tasted like every woman’s fantasy, Sam thought. Her mouth was ready for complete meltdown, scorched by his lips as if she’d just chugged a jar of Tabasco sauce. Her heart pounded like a Cubano drummer playing “Flight of the Bumblebee.” She ran her fingers through his black curly hair, digging in to pull his mouth back to hers for more of the utterly delightful fire.
When they reached the bed, he let her slide slowly down his tall body. He kicked off his loafers and discarded his socks while she unlaced her tennies with clumsy fingers. By the time she was barefoot, he pulled her back into his arms, resuming the kiss while he started to raise her T-shirt over her head. Sam returned the favor, tiptoeing up, then raising her arms to yank the tee away before she started unbuttoning his shirt.
Shoving the garment wide and tugging it free from the waistband of his slacks, her fingers dug into the luxuriant pelt on his pectorals. Lord, his chest was hard and sexy! This is crazy, Sam. You’re gonna regret it.
She ignored the voice of reason. What woman with a working libido wouldn’t when she had a tall, dark, gorgeous hunk like Matt Granger doing maddening things to her breasts? In seconds he had her bra unclasped and his big, warm hands cupped their prizes. Sam thrust her body forward and felt his thumbs circling her hardened nipples. Exquisite! “You…mentioned something…about the shower…” she finally managed to get out between moans and kisses.