Lucky Break

by Deborah Coonts

  “I loved dancing with Christophe. I’m sorry he couldn’t have stayed a bit longer.”

  The tension in Jean-Charles’s shoulders eased. We’d both had enough murder for the evening. “He is my life, but he had to get to sleep.”

  “Then you’ll have to settle for me.”

  “What is this ‘settle’?” he asked, his back to me as he lost himself in the comfort of cooking. His flute was getting low; mine was dry. So I went to the bar, filled an ice bucket, and grabbed a new bottle of Schramsberg.

  After adding a dash of water to bring the temperature of the ice even lower, I nestled the bottle, knowing Jean-Charles wouldn’t want any more until he’d finished his preparations, and I could wait. “Settling means you take a lesser option,” I answered, as I busied myself setting a table for two in the kitchen.

  Jean-Charles glanced over his shoulder. “You and Christophe would be the best choices.”

  “So, not settling.” I gathered knives, forks, and other utensils we might need, then paused. “I really don’t want to eat in here. Death is too close.”

  He put his hand over his chest as he paused in his cooking. “My kitchen is my heart. Here is for family.” He took a long look at me. “But, perhaps you are right. Tonight we will eat in the restaurant.”

  “Thank you.” I set a table for us next to the window. When I returned, he motioned me next to him. Busy with spatulas and spoons, he couldn’t hug me, so I looped an arm around his waist, settling my head on his shoulder, breathing him in.

  “You, like Christophe, are my heart,” he said. Simple words, such complexity.

  “There’s room for both of us?” Normally I could keep my vulnerability, my fears, at bay, but tonight had knocked me off-center.

  “But, of course. Powerful love, but different. Sit. You must let me plate this and serve you.”

  He didn’t have to demand twice.

  Over amazing food, we stayed on safe topics, repairing the day. The Champagne gone, the food enjoyed, Jean-Charles leaned across the table presenting one last bite on his spoon—the dregs of a heavenly chocolate pot de crème.

  Leaning back, I shook my head, my hand pressed to my stomach. “I can’t eat another bite.”

  He shrugged and, with a smile, licked the spoon clean. “Chefs get very angry when their food is not finished.”

  I leaned into him. “And what is the punishment?”

  “For you? Very bad.” Leaning in, he met me halfway. The touch of his lips on mine still fired every nerve ending. He deepened his kiss, consuming me, taking my breath, and stealing my heart. His forehead on mine, his whispered, “Dance?”

  I giggled and pulled back to get a better look at him. “What?”

  “I will make a plate for your friend, then I will put the pots to soak, and then we will dance. It is life, non?”

  “Indeed.”

  Dane sat in a chair under the Van Gogh. Two works of art—one a vision, the other a reality. I wasn’t sure which was which. I handed him the plate and some silverware still wrapped in a napkin I’d swiped off a table. “You must be hungry.” I pulled a fresh Bud from a hidden pocket in my dress. “And thirsty.”

  Dane took the plate and bottle with a smile. “Thanks.”

  “Peace offerings in a way. I’ll only say this once, and I don’t want to discuss it further. What you did was wrong, not only to me but to your wife. I hope you’ve learned, and I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance to fix it with her.”

  Pain flashed across his face as he swallowed hard. “Can I fix it with you?”

  I’d thought and thought about that, and I still hadn’t reached a conclusion. “One step at a time, cowboy. What do you say? Friends?” I figured I could get that far, even if trust remained an issue. Hell, Mona was my mother and I didn’t trust her past noon.

  Dane nodded, looking relieved. “Friends.” He tilted his head toward the interior of the restaurant. “Lucky guy.”

  “Nice guy. Make sure no one gets to him or his family. Once we leave here, I’ll have him covered. Romeo is leaving a couple of guys here, in addition to your guards and mine so Christophe and Desiree should be good.” Dane didn’t give me a leer, which was unusual. Most of the time he was creepy that way. “And he lives in an armed guard-gated community. So get some sleep tonight. Can you be ready in the morning to provide escort, should Jean-Charles decide to wander about? Given the events of this evening, I have no idea what his plans are tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be working.” So sure of that he didn’t even pause for confirmation. “So give me a shout when you get ready to leave.”

  “Will do.”

  “I’m thinking I might get one or two other guys so we can tag-team a bit. That okay?”

  “Sure. As long as they’re as good as you.”

  “Better. First one I’ll call is Shooter Moran, if that’s okay?”

  “Shooter? Sure, but remind him this is an ask-first-shoot-later kind of gig.” Shooter was an old Army buddy with a Pavlovian response when it came to his former Captain, Dane. Shooter also had a twitchy trigger finger and an over-developed sense of loyalty. But he was a good guy to have your back.

  I left Dane with his food and his thoughts.

  I owed a man a dance.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MORNINGS. Like I said, we don’t get along too well. But today, a certain Frenchman worked to improve my attitude. Spooned in bed, one arm thrown casually across my waist, his breath soft on my cheek, I savored the heat where our skin touched. Jean-Charles shifted. His fingers brushed the back of my neck. The warmth of his lips pressed to the exposed skin. Soft, warm kisses sending warm shivers to my core.

  “You are awake, non?”

  “No. Dreaming.”

  A warm chuckle as he nibbled on my ear, his hand drifting to my breast, teasing. Reaching back, I trailed my hand across his skin, a light caress. His breath caught. Easing back, insistent, he rolled me over. His mouth found my breast, nibbling, biting. I arched into him, my hands fisted in his hair. His need fueled mine. His lips found the hollow in my neck, licking, tasting. Want unfurled, a warm, desperate need. His lips captured mine, his tongue plundering my mouth. Tangling, wet. Shifting his weight onto me, I opened to him. My hand guiding, he pressed into me. Taking, owning. I moaned as he filled me. My need joining his, a syncopated rhythm of desire. Slow, tantalizing, he toyed with me. Slipping in, then out, warm, slick. Pleasure, a building need, drove me. I wrapped my legs around his back, pulling him deeper, urging him faster. Arching, open. Waves of pleasure, building, consuming. Head back, my breath caught, held. Muscles tightened. I exploded in shattering spasms. With a groan, he pulsed into me, his body taut with pleasure.

  Time stopped. Neither moved as we both tried to capture the pleasure, hold it. When Jean-Charles raised-up on his elbows, his arms shook. Leaning down, he gave me a sweet kiss. “I am still amazed at the connection between us. Our friendship, our partnership, strengthens the love.”

  “The fact that you are a great kisser and have a great butt doesn’t hurt.”

  He smiled as he eased down next to me, making sure our bodies, hot and slick, still pressed together. “You always do this.”

  “A joke to diffuse the emotion? Yes.” I rolled into him, our faces close, our legs entwined. I nibbled on his lower lip. “Sometimes I am afraid,” I whispered, uncomfortable with my own weakness.

  “Of course. Love rips us open, leaves us bare. It is the most wonderful part of life and the most devastating. I love deeply, completely. I do not wish to do this, but my heart, it is its own master. If you do not love me the same, you need to tell me this. I lost my first love. My heart, it broke. I did not know if I could go on. I cannot do this again. You and Christophe. To lose either of you … ” His face crumpled with hurt, a memory, a fear, lashed him.

  My heart opened. My fear fell away. “I do love you just as you say. I’m not going anywhere.”

  We both jumped at a soft knock on the door. “Papa? I am hungry.�
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  Jean-Charles pressed his forehead to mine as he chuckled.

  “Round two will have to wait until later.”

  “You have a date. This is right, non?”

  “It’ll do.” I pulled the covers to my chin as he rolled off of me, taking his warmth with him.

  Jean-Charles eased to the edge of the bed, leaning back to give me a deep kiss. Then he stood, stretched, and headed toward the closet. “I’m coming, Christophe.” He stepped into a pair of gym shorts, then tugged a T-shirt over his head, working his arms through the holes. “What do you want to eat?”

  “Lucky’s happy-face pancakes. She will make them.” A small boy with no shortage of confidence, he had adopted his father’s habit of making a question into a demand. Sentence structure—one of the casualties of segueing from one language to another.

  Jean-Charles gave me a lopsided smile and a shrug. “She needs to get to work,” he said in answer to his son. Then turning to me, he said, “Even though it is Sunday, I can see the ‘I have things to do’ look on your face.”

  “And forego pancakes and little boys?” I threw the covers back and rolled to my feet.

  Jean-Charles’s eyes lazily roamed what he’d already had. Admiration lit his smile. He took a deep breath. “A high price, indeed. The cleaners delivered all your clothes back. I hung them in the closet. Now, you, to the shower, before I change my mind.”

  “Promises. Promises.”

  Sunday morning. December. Christmas right around the corner. And Teddie had dropped coal into my stocking. Fixing his problems would go a long way toward restoring my holiday cheer. Get him out of jail, then he could get out of my life. Better for both of us.

  Daniel Lovato, our esteemed District Attorney, if he still adhered to his normal schedule, would be taking his daughter, Gabi, to play at the playground just off the Summerlin Parkway, which was on my way.

  With the Ferrari grumbling at having to idle through the neighborhoods to maintain the child-friendly speed, I tried to absorb the warmth of the sun to chase the chill away. Murder did that to me. And this wouldn’t be Daniel’s and my first murder. We’d crossed swords over the murder of a particularly odious odds maker named Numbers Neidermeyer—a devil in a pretty package. Daniel’s wife was collateral damage—she did a swan dive off the top of the Babylon, almost taking me with her. Not that eliminating her from the gene pool was anything to cry over. This particular Glinda was not a good witch. I shoved the memory aside—too pretty a day for such ugly thoughts. The long and the short of it was this: I let Daniel off the hot seat so he could raise his daughter.

  So I figured he owed me.

  The parking lot was empty except for a particular white 911-S Cabriolet I recognized. Déjà-vu washed over me. A different Sunday not too long ago. As I killed the engine and levered myself out of the car, Daniel turned and looked. He didn’t wave. He did, however, move over, making space on his bench for me.

  Gabi swung from the monkey bars, her long dark hair plaited down her back, a smile on her face, which grew when she saw me. “Hi, Lucky!”

  “Hey, Cutie. You sure are getting strong.” I watched in amazement as she swung from one rung to the next with ease. If I tried that, both my arms would be torn from their sockets. But being nine was so far in my rearview I couldn’t even see a hazy outline in the distance. And today I didn’t mind that. Each facet of me had been hard won through the years.

  Daniel didn’t look up when my shadow blocked his view of the sun. “You’re here about Teddie.” A statement, not a question. His voice hard, unapproachable.

  Taking the space next to him, I settled back, then glanced at his profile. Patrician, stoic, chiseled features, he was Italian through-and-through with olive skin, a Roman nose, and carefully styled black hair. Beautiful was an adjective that often accompanied any reference to him. Beauty and a charm often accompanied by a bright smile, which he didn’t bother to waste on me today, had allowed him to cut a wide swath through the double X-chromosome set. To hear tell, he’d more than earned his nickname of Lovie, not something I admired. He’d been married, and promises were promises as far as I was concerned. But, this being Vegas, people like me were in danger of following the Dodo into oblivion.

  “Yes, but we’ll get to him in a minute. Were you going to tell me about Irv Gittings?”

  He shot me a shocked look, fleeting, but I caught it. “What about him?”

  “You know he carries a pretty big grudge.”

  “He didn’t make any overt threats. Nobody had any reason to believe he’d come after you.” He swiveled a bit to give me a one-eyed stare, the other eye squinting against the sun behind me. “Are you saying he did?”

  “I don’t know. Just running the theories. How’d he get out?”

  Daniel turned back to watch his daughter, his hands on his knees. “Good lawyer. Judge Jameson.” He gave me a look that filled in the blanks.

  Even I’d heard the rumors of judicial misconduct. Nobody’d caught him in the act, but everyone figured it was a matter of time.

  Daniel smiled and clapped when Gabi called to him to watch her flip off the monkey bars. “A stupid technicality—most judges wouldn’t have sprung him. Nothing to do with you. We’ll get him on the retrial.”

  “You convicted him once. You can’t take him back to trial.”

  “Conviction was overturned. No double jeopardy. We can and will try him again. This time we’ll get him good.”

  I too watched Gabi as she climbed and swung with youthful abandon. Did I ever feel that free, that unburdened by life, its expectations, its unfairness, and its disappointments? Having been raised in a whorehouse, I doubted it. Life was pretty real when I was young. Even more so now.

  “Who posted bail?”

  “You’d have to ask the bonding company, Quick and Easy.” He spat the words.

  Oh, joy, the bottom of the barrel of a very bad kettle of fish—yes, clichés and mixed metaphors. Sue me. Stress has interesting effects on me. “Bail, a nice segue,” I said. “Now Teddie.” My tone matched Daniel’s, getting a quick sideways glance. “What amount are you going to ask for?” I didn’t even try to argue against charging him. Given the circumstances and the victim, Daniel would present the facts to the Grand Jury and an indictment was as close to a certainty as the sunrise tomorrow.

  “Capital murder is not a bailable offense in Nevada.”

  So we were going to play that game. “I’m not a lawyer, true. But, in my job, I’ve got quite a few in my back pocket, and they’ve taught me a trick or two through the years.” That sorta sounded like a threat. Unintended, I nevertheless let it lie. “You really want me to quote statutory chapter and verse? You know as well I do there’s wiggle room.”

  He shifted, uncrossing his legs so he could turn and partially face me. “That’s how it’s going to go? You’re going to squeeze my balls on this one? Grapevine tells me Teddie didn’t do you any favors. You think he’d do the same for you now?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Other people’s standards, or lack thereof, don’t dictate my behavior.” I fixed him with a stare. “You know that first-hand.”

  For the first time, he looked a bit uncomfortable. “So that’s what this is? Payback?”

  “No. I know what kind of scrutiny you’ll be under.” I stared into the distance, squinting against the sunlight. Traffic rushed by on the Parkway. I wondered about the people in the cars. What kind of problems did they have? Did murder ever touch their lives? I hoped not. And I watched Gabi. Carefree, happy, she was growing strong and true without her mother to break her. Choices. Life put us all to the test at some point. And, more often than not, the right path wasn’t the easiest. Not by a long shot. “I’m just asking you to listen to me, to read the reports, to keep an open mind. And, in the end, to do the right thing. Teddie’s as much a victim here as Box.”

  Daniel let out a sigh. His hand moved like he wanted to rake his fingers through his hair, then stopped, thinking better of mussing a two-hundr
ed-dollar haircut and style. His hand dropped onto his thigh, where his fingers drummed. “The statutory standard is proof is evident or the presumption is great. So get me something; can you do that?”

  “I’ll give it all I got.”

  “I know that.” He gave me a rueful smile. “Can’t complain about that. But Box is dead,” he said, reminding me of something impossible to forget.

  “You lower the boom on Teddie, and he might as well be.”

  Daniel thrust his chin in the direction of his daughter, who played happily, letting us talk. “Gabi’s really growing, isn’t she?”

  I knew what he was thinking. Had I not stuck my neck out, had I not made the difficult choice, his life and his daughter’s would’ve taken a drastically different path. Teddie was at the same crossroad, and Daniel held the key. But I couldn’t press him. While I’d be willing to post the bail, putting my money on the dark horse in the race, Daniel would be betting his job, his livelihood … his ability to provide for his daughter. Only he could place that bet. “I can see hints of the beautiful woman she is becoming.”

  Fatherly pride puffed his chest a bit. “She’s blossomed since her mother died.”

  “As have you.” Peace had made Daniel even handsomer, if that was possible. And, while I didn’t admire, I could appreciate.

  “Not a priority anymore, but thanks.”

  From the Italian cut of his light wool suit, the French tie, and the Ferragamos on his feet, he was lying to himself, but didn’t we all? I let him have his little self-delusion—mine comforted me all the time.

  Daniel squinted against the sun behind me. “So you don’t think he did it?”

  “You’ve read the witness statements and the coroner’s prelim, I’m sure. What do you think?”

  Daniel shrugged. “Probably same as you: it looks real bad, but I think someone else designed it that way.”

  Relief flooded through me.

  Daniel raised one knee. Rocking back, he hooked his hands around it. “With all the media attention, the Grand Jury isn’t going to no-bill him.”