She hands me her keys and her wallet. “I made you a reservation at the Arizona Inn. Drive down, check in, and take a quick nap. Don’t shower, just touch up the makeup. Even you can manage to do it, I promise. If you need help, call me. I expect to see you back here tomorrow, or I’m sending someone to get you. You feel me?”
She knows. She doesn’t know what, why, or how, but she knows.
“How…” I start to ask but trail off. It doesn’t matter.
“Honey, I could smell the deep shit on you when you walked off the plane. Whatever you’ve gotten yourself into, you’re too good for it. Get down there, fix whatever needs fixin’, and get the hell out. Go back to that fine man you’ve got in London.”
“You’ve seen, huh?”
“Oh yeah. You look great for being knocked up.” She laughs. “Oh, one more thing.” She hands me a cell phone. “Give me yours.”
I dig in my pocket for my phone, then hand it to her. “Why?”
She rolls her eyes. “If I need to explain that you can be tracked by your cell phone, then you have no business doing whatever it is you’re doing. This is a burner cell. I’m the only one who has the number, and my number is programmed into it. I’m turning yours off. As far as Big Brother is concerned, you’ve gone dark.”
She walks to her supply closet and rummages around for a moment. She turns back toward me, then hands me a small box. “Colored contacts. Those pretty green eyes can now be baby blue. They sting like a bitch, so don’t put them in until the last possible minute. You’ll tear up, so fix your eye make-up afterward.” She slaps my ass. “Now, get.”
I hug her and whisper, “Thank you.”
I haven’t spoken to her in over five years, and she dropped everything to help me. This clearly isn’t her first time dancing with the dark side of life. One day, I’ll find a way to repay her. If I don’t end up buried in the desert, that is.
******
I’d forgotten how beautiful Arizona is. I wouldn’t be back here unless my life depended on it, but it sure is beautiful. It’s an easy drive from Vegas. Once I get over the Hoover Dam and past Kingman, AZ, it’s pretty much flat and straight. Britt’s Mercedes drives like a dream. I can feel lead in my foot, and as I drive, I see the cops still use the same places for their speed traps. I know where I can go ninety mph and where I need to keep it at the limit. The drive gives me plenty of time to get lost in my thoughts. Being back stirs up ghosts I wish I could forget and makes me long for Gavin.
Once I hit Phoenix, butterflies creep into my stomach. What I’m about to do is crazy, but so is this whole situation. Sometimes the only way to fight crazy is with crazy. The butterflies turn to panic when I see the first signs for Tucson. I was well known here. What if someone recognizes me? If Ash was dealing with these guys, they clearly know who I am. What if Britt’s makeover isn’t good enough? What the hell have I gotten myself into?
It’s crazy how much Tucson has changed in just five years. Britt picked a great hotel for me to lounge in. It’s a high-end hotel that usually hosts academics and wealthy parents—not the type of place a drug dealer would think to look. Especially since I’m checking in as Brittany Hills.
I’m sure the room is lovely, but I don’t even look around. I get into bed and close my eyes. I don’t fall asleep, but I try to pull myself together. At nine, I get into my costume. The contacts are a pain in the ass to get in, but after a million tries I get them in and they don’t pop right out. Brittany knows what she’s doing. I look in the mirror and gain some confidence; I may be able to pull this off. Hell, Max may not even recognize me.
I now have long, thick black hair that goes all the way down to my ass. My green eyes are now piercing blue. They remind me of Gavin’s. The clothes take the cake though. I’m wearing skintight leather pants and five-inch stilettos; no man will be looking at my face. Brittany provided me with a free boob job, at least for the night. The silicone bra lifts take my Cs to at least D’s. The skimpy tank top she gave me accents my man-made cleavage. The way she taught me to do my eye makeup really changes my look.
I take one last look in the mirror. It’s a damn good disguise. I’ve been completely transformed. It reminds me of a costume party where we went as Charlie’s Angels. But this ain’t no costume party. Looking the part is only half the challenge. I need to pull this off flawlessly.
Ten thirty. Party time.
I hop in the Mercedes and drive downtown. I’m hoping to get to the bar before Max does in case someone recognizes me. The staff has probably changed in the last five years, except for the manager, Todd. Todd was Ash’s fraternity brother and frequent partner in crime. Knowing what I know now, those crimes were probably far more substantial than I ever realized. If he spots me, I’m done for.
After finding some street parking out front, I check the mirror one last time. It’s now or never. Channeling my inner bad girl, I strut into the club. It’s still early, so there aren’t too many people there yet. The bartender is new, and I watch his eyes rake over me. I want to punch him in the throat when he asks my breasts what I would like to drink. I shouldn’t be mad since that’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for, but I’m a woman. Sometimes I get pissed when men do exactly what I set them up to do. Fortunately, my irritation adds to my bad girl image.
The bartender takes his time making my drink, giving me a chance to scan the bar. No sign of Max, but I spot Todd right away. He glances at me and devours me with his eyes. Game on.
Todd crosses the bar and says to the bartender, “Put whatever she’s having on my tab, Scott.”
I smile. “Thanks, but I can buy my own drinks.”
He steps back and looks confused. “Do I know you?”
Fuck. “Nope. I’m in from Vegas for the weekend. First time here.”
“There's something about you. I feel like we’ve met before.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. I never stopped to think that he could recognize my voice.
Time to call an audible. “Nope. Can’t say we’ve met. Want to show me around?”
He gets a wicked look on his face. “I’d love to.” He puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me through the bar. When we pass into a back room with slightly better light he says, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a dead ringer for Brooke Livingston?”
I hadn’t thought about it when I checked myself out in the mirror, but I suppose I do sort of look like her. A point I can agonize about if I make it out of here alive. Right now, I need to keep my head in the game.
The bar has two stories. Five years ago, there were cameras everywhere except in the backroom upstairs and in his office. He was known to take guests in there for the VIP tour of his dick.
Staying true to himself, he takes me around, and we end up in the back room. He pulls me in close to dance. He dances so close I feel like we’re dry humping. My skin crawls, but I need to get him comfortable.
I rub my body against his and whisper, “Todd, you’re going to pretend I don’t know you and you don’t know me. In exchange, I’m going to give you a gift. After you close tonight, scrub this place down and make sure there’s nothing you wouldn’t want your mother to see. Forget I was ever here. Do you understand?” I turn his face to look me square in the eyes. “Do you understand?”
He looks at me with confusion.
Before he says anything, I add, “This is a once-in-a-lifetime stay-out-of-jail-free card. You and I both know if this place burns down, your South American friends will let you burn with it.”
He looks at me with confusion in his eyes. “Who are you?”
“If you haven’t figured it out, I’m not going to tell you. If your few remaining brain cells start to work and you piece it together, keep it to yourself. So to go over it again. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. Clean house. Got it?”
He nods.
“Good.” I smack his ass and walk out of the room. Hopefully I just scared him into thinking he has an inside tip that will behoove him to kee
p his mouth shut.
By the time I get downstairs, I see the bar has filled in. Lots of twenty-something college teeny boppers are full of alcohol and low on inhibition. The bar is the best place to scope the crowd, and I’m lucky enough to grab one of the last open stools. Scott, the bartender, pours me another drink. I have no intention of drinking it, but it gives me something to play with while I wait.
It takes me a while, but I spot a group of familiar faces at a table in the back. Memories of me dancing the night away while Ash hung out with “his boys” flood my brain. They were guys I never knew well, and had no interest in knowing, but I still saw them several times a week. Damn, I was oblivious.
Todd isn’t my only concern anymore. I’ve got to pray that group has seen enough tail come and go that they won’t remember me. Standing at the bar is too dangerous. They could lock in on me and stare until it jogs their memories. Looks like it’s time to dance.
Hitting the dance floor gives me cover while I keep an eye on the crowd. After forty-five minutes, Max enters the back of the club. Casting my eyes on him, I can breathe a little easier. He’s safe. At least for the moment.
He looks good. His hair’s a little longer and full of product, trying to pull off a California preppy look. It’s not him, but he wears it well. I’ve been so worried about him, I haven’t paid attention to how much I miss him. Max was my rock throughout all of the Not-Charlie drama. That time together bonded us in a way that can never be replicated. Without him in my life, there’s something missing. A void even my relationship with Gavin can’t fill. Gavin’s amazing, but he doesn’t share my strange addiction to reality TV shows about Alaskan fishermen and gold miners. If Gavin and I are really over, I’m going to need Max to put me back together.
He makes his way through the crowd, stopping to greet all of Ash’s old cronies. He’ll head to the bar at some point, so I casually leave the dance floor. Knowing Max the way I do, I lean up against the bar seductively, leaving my ass on display.
“If I had a dime every time I saw an ass that stunning, I’d have ten cents. Really, sweetheart, it’s a work of art.” The Boston accent is gone, but the voice is the same. “I’m Joey, and you are?”
I turn to face him. “Hiya, Joey. Just call me Slugger.”
From the way he continues to assault my ass with his eyes, I can tell it’s not registering. I try not to be offended that he doesn’t recognize my voice. “Slugger, huh? That’s an interesting name.”
“It’s a nickname. My old roommate gave it to me when I almost took his head off with a baseball bat.”
Max’s eyes go wide, and he steps back, looking me up and down. He waves to the bartender. “Hey, Scott, I need some shots over here. Tequila, por favor.”
He turns back toward me, looking casual. “That’s one hell of a get up, Slugger. You need to wear leather pants more often. Dayam, you’ve got an ass that won’t quit. And that rack! I’m sure there’s a story there. I don’t care how they got there as long as I can stare at them.”
Scott brings over our shots.
I raise my glass. “Here’s to my ass saving yours.”
Max takes the shot but gives me the evil eye.
“I’m not sure how to play this, Slugger. I’m not playing the type of game you show up uninvited to. You catch my drift?”
I suppose it was naïve of me to think he was going to jump for joy that I’ve come to his rescue, but I expected him to at least look happy to see me. “Candy Biggins told me you were looking for me. So here I am. I’ve got this all worked out, and you’re just going to follow my lead. Sound good, Joey?”
“Candy grossly misunderstood the message, but I’m listening,” Max replies.
I’m not sure what he means by that, but if Sabrina gave me the wrong message, it’s a little late now. “You and I are going to hit it off. We’re going to make it seem like we’re so hot for each other that we need to take this party elsewhere. Then we’re going to get into my car, drive away, and never look back. Got it? So pretend you’re into me.”
“That’s not hard to do, babe,” he says, leaning in to me.
“Lay it on me,” I say. “Give me your best pick-up line. Let’s see the goods.”
He reaches into his back pocket, then throws a condom on the bar. Looks like Max getting lucky is standard operating procedure. This will work out perfectly.
“Oh, baby. Just because I’m wasted doesn’t mean this condom should be. A good condom is a terrible thing to waste.”
I can’t keep a straight face. “Oh, that’s bad, Joey. Real bad.”
He leans in and whispers, “They’ve all been watching you but don’t worry. They’ll never figure out who you are. Hell, I might not have known who you are in that get-up. Now laugh like I just said something funny.”
I giggle and bat my eyelashes. I lean back into him. “Do you frequently leave with girls? Make sure you play your typical game. Don’t do anything out of character.” He may not realize it, but he’s been burned. I’m sure these guys are just waiting for the perfect opportunity to take him out. One misstep and we could both end up dead.
He smiles and laughs as if I just said something clever. He leans back, trying to get a better view of my ass before giving it a good squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. With the vibe you’re throwing, no one will think twice about me leaving with you. I may have to fight off a few guys first, but no one will question it.”
We order another round of drinks and find a small table in the back, in sight of the cartel boys that Max has been infiltrating They’re close enough that they can watch us, but far enough that they can’t make out our conversation. I may not know these boys well, but I do know them. Max and I’ll have plenty to talk about on the drive back to Vegas.
I can feel them watching us, so I want to put on a good show. I become hyper aware of my body language. I turn to him, leaning forward so he has my attention and so he can stare at my cleavage. My legs are pressed up against his and my hands are constantly touching him.
“Tick, tock, Joey. We have a short time to pull this off. Last call is in an hour. Whisper sweet nothings in my ear.”
He leans in and recites his football picks for this Sunday. I smile and giggle and touch his arm when he gets closer.
After ten minutes of football banter, I say, “We have to kiss. They aren’t going to buy it unless we’re all over each other. So in a few minutes, you’re going to kiss me. The kiss will get carried away, and we’ll both pull back. Okay?”
He rolls his eyes. “Just make it look good.”
We fake flirt back and forth for a few more minutes. We name the best and worst things about Tucson. His favorites all seem to be strip clubs.
When I tell him one of my sorority sisters is married to the owner of two of them, he whispers, “Now you tell me. We could have moved this party there!”
I give him a dirty look. “Gee, I really should’ve factored a farewell lap dance into my plans. How insensitive of me.”
Out of nowhere, he kisses me. My first response is to push him away, but I catch myself before I do. To pull this off, we need to be convincing, which means I need to give Max the kiss of his life.
I can’t help but think of Gavin. Whatever our relationship status may be, kissing Max feels wrong. Kissing Max in general is wrong. It’s like kissing my brother. He sticks his tongue in my mouth and I have to concentrate on continuing the kiss without gagging.
Throwing up on him would be devastating. On second thought, no one would think twice about a quick getaway if we were both covered in puke. Disgusting, but thinking about anything other than the fact that we’re kissing has helped me keep it together.
When I finally pull away, Max blushes.
“Damn, Slugger, you’ve been holding out on me.”
Oh, fuck no. Don’t say that, Max, please don’t say that.
Another round of drinks comes, saving me from the awkward moment. “Did we order these?”
“No, sweet cheeks, they�
�re from the table over there.” The waitress points at the dreaded table.
“We’d better go and say something.” Max sighs as he stands.
I grab his arm by his elbow. “They know me. Or at least they used to.”
He holds his other hand out to help me from my seat. “Trust me, they won’t know you like this. Just smile and flirt. What’s your name tonight, Slugger?”
I take his hand and he pulls me up to his chest. “Brittany.”
“You are so not a Brittany.” He squeezes my ass. “Let’s get this over with.”
Max takes me over and introduces me to the guys. They all look a bit more weathered than when I saw them last. All the drinking, drugs, and hot desert sun isn’t good for the skin. It’s hard to believe Ash’s loser friends wield enough power to issue my death warrant. I take the threat seriously, but when I think about how these guys gave Ash five million dollars and expected they would get it back, they seem more pathetic than intimidating. Apparently it doesn’t take a genius to move up the ranks in a cartel.
After another round of drinks, the guys at the table stand up, their eyes fixed on the door. I turn my head to see what they’re looking at. My eyes go wide, then I quickly turn back around. “We have to get out of here,” I whisper in Max’s ear. “The guy that just came in, Rafe. We knew each other well, had a bunch of classes together. He’ll know my voice.”
Max looks at me like I’m overreacting. “You haven’t seen him in five years. There’s no way he’ll recognize you.”
“He was at Ash’s funeral. I spent over an hour talking to him.”
Max nods. “Go to the bathroom. I’ll say my goodbyes, then we’ll get out of here.”
On my way back from the bathroom, I find Max and Rafael in the middle of a heated conversation at the end of the hall. I duck behind a corner until they finish. Max walks down the narrow hallway toward me, but Rafe doesn’t leave. His eyes are glued on Max’s back.
I push Max against the wall and kiss him with all I have. I rub against him as though he’s on fire and only my body can put out the flame. With each clash of our tongues or his hand on my ass, I am creeped out, but the show must go on.
When Fate Isn't Enough Page 18