High Heels Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-5)

by Gemma Halliday

  Chapter Eleven

  Ramirez was waiting for me at the bar. And I had to admit as I approached him my stomach did one of those loop-d-loop things like the roller coasters at Six Flags. He was wearing gray slacks, a blazer, and a white button down shirt open at the neck to show off just a hint of his tan skin beneath. I realized I’d never actually seen Ramirez out of his usual jeans and T-shirt uniform. (If you didn’t count that one half-naked encounter, that is.) Bad Cop cleaned up good. Really good. I was glad I wore the thong.

  “Hey gorgeous,” he said, planting a little kiss just above my ear. He ran one finger lightly along the arm of my sweater. “Soft.” His mouth quirked up into a wicked half smile. “I like it.”

  “Thanks.” I didn’t tell him I’d stolen the outfit from my gay roommate.

  With a hand at the small of my back, Ramirez steered me to a table near the back. A handful of other diners filled the cozy, intimate room, holding hands and feeding each other forkfuls of pasta. Soft, instrumental music played over the sound system and small, drippy candles at every table completed the air of Northern Italian romance. All in all, the perfect restaurant for a perfect first date. Score one for Bad Cop.

  The maitre d’ sat us at a table next to an older couple with silver hair and matching shirts that read ‘World’s Cutest Couple’. And I had to agree. The man was holding the woman’s hand in both of his and gazing at her like a newlywed. I looked across the table at Ramirez. I wondered if we had any chance of making it that far.

  Ramirez caught my gaze. “You look really nice tonight,” he said, his eyes taking on that X-ray vision look as they roamed my body.

  I went warm in places I’d forgotten existed.

  “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  That dimple made an appearance in his left cheek as he pulled out his sexy lopsided grin. He leaned forward, his eyes intent on mine. “What do you say we skip dinner…” His eyes dipped a little lower to my neckline. “…and go right to dessert?”

  I gulped. I had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the tiramisu. And I was one second away from agreeing when the waiter appeared at my elbow, asking for our drink order. After a quick perusal of the wine list, Ramirez picked out a bottle of Rutherford Hill Merlot. Nice. I snuck a look at the price. Wow. Very nice. Score point number two for Bad Cop.

  Once our waiter disappeared into the back, we both picked up our menus again.

  “Decided what you want yet?” Ramirez asked.

  “I’m not sure.” I looked down at the list of entrées. “Everything looks so good. How about you?”

  “Oh, I know what I want.” I looked up to find him staring right at me. Or more accurately, at the hint of cleavage my Wonderbra was lifting out of Marco’s sweater. I did one of those dry gulp things again and hoped I wasn’t blushing too hard.

  “So,” he said, folding his cloth napkin onto his lap. “How was your shopping trip today?”

  “Shopping?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Yes, shopping. You were supposed to go shopping today, right?”

  I bit my lip. Oh yeah. Right. “I, uh, kind of took in some of the local sights instead.” I quickly buried my nose in the menu, pretending I was concentrating really hard on the ingredients of the linguini marinara so he didn’t see the guilty look in my eyes.

  No such luck. Ramirez put a hand over the top of my menu, slowly lowering it. “Local sights?”

  “Uh huh,” I said in a tiny voice. Frighteningly like the one I used to use when my Irish Catholic grandmother caught me sneaking cookies before dinner

  He narrowed his eyes further. “Such as?”

  “Um… Larry’s house and Maurice’s condo.”

  “Maurice?”

  “Hank’s boyfriend.”

  Ramirez muttered a curse. The world’s cutest couple turned and gave us a look.

  “What exactly were you doing at Hank’s boyfriend’s house?” Ramirez asked.

  “Just, you know… asking a few questions.”

  “You don’t give up do you?” he asked, rubbing at his temple in exasperation.

  “You make that sound like it’s a bad thing.”

  “It is a bad thing when we’re talking about the Mob!”

  The cutest couple gasped.

  “Keep your voice down,” I whispered.

  Ramirez clenched his jaw together. He did a couple of deep breaths and I could see him mentally counting to ten. Though instead of getting calmer, I think that vein in his neck was starting to bulge.

  Luckily I was saved by the waiter appearing with our overpriced Merlot. He uncorked our wine and poured us each a glass. Ramirez downed his in one big gulp.

  “Do you realize you just inhaled about $20 worth of wine?” I whispered as the waiter walked away.

  Ramirez fixed me with a stare that could stop a charging bull. Then poured another glass. “Okay Sherlock Fashion,” he said through clenched teeth. “What did Maurice have to say? Spill it.”

  So I did. I told him what Maurice had said about the three Manolo-keteers working on the side for Monaldo. I told him about Larry and Hank’s blow up, Hank’s propensity to carry a gun, Bobbi’s disappearance, and Larry’s skipping town. I was just about to tell him about my dust bunny encounter with Unibrow’s wingtips when the waiter returned to take our order.

  Ramirez order the steak. Rare. I hemmed and hawed over the linguini marinara or the lasagna with cream sauce, figuring the longer I took the more time Ramirez had to get that bulging vein under control. No such luck. As soon as the waiter left again, Ramirez pinned me with one of his unreadable stares.

  “What?” I asked.

  He narrowed his eyes. “I’m trying to decide whether to put you on the first plane back to L.A. or take you back to my place, tie you up, and make you forget this whole thing.”

  I blinked a couple of times. “Do I get a say in this?”

  He leaned forward, his face serious. “Maddie the last thing I want to do is be called in to identify your body. Which is exactly what will happen if you don’t leave this alone. Guys like Monaldo will hurt you like they’re swatting a fly, and not think twice about it. Please go home.”

  I had to admit, his concern was actually kind of touching. “But what about Larry? I can’t just leave him to be hunted down by Monaldo.”

  “And what exactly do you propose to do about it? You can’t even squish a spider without freaking out.”

  I bit back a smart reply as a teeny tiny part of me kind of agreed with him. I was in so far over my head that I could see blonde roots. But Ramirez on the other hand did this kind of thing every day…

  “Nothing. But you could do something.”

  His eyes narrowed into cat-like slits. “I don’t like the sound of this.”

  “You’ve got to put Larry into some kind of protective custody.”

  “What, I should just lock him up? Maddie, do you know how hard it is to get a legitimate witness into protective custody? Let alone some guy who may or may not know anything, and who, I might add, may or may not even be willing to tell us what he does know?”

  “But I think he might be in danger.”

  “You think he might be.”

  “What about Hank?” I asked. “You said yourself that wasn’t a suicide.”

  Ramirez blew a big sigh up at the ceiling. “Look, unless your father turns himself over to the police with information about a crime, there’s nothing I can do.”

  “This is because you want me to leave, right?” I asked, planting my hands on my hips. “You’re just trying to discourage me so I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “No,” Ramirez said, his voice going tight like he was really trying to restrain himself from lapsing into swearing Spanish again. “I’m telling you the same thing I would say to any concerned citizen.”

  “But, I’m not asking you as a citizen, I’m asking you as your-” I paused, biting my lip. His what?

  Ramirez raised an eyebrow, inter
ested to see how I finished that thought.

  “Your… girl you’re on a first date with.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Maddie, but unless Larry turns himself in, there’s nothing I can do. Besides, wherever he is, I’m sure he’s fine. I know Larry. He can take care of himself.”

  I paused and stared at him. My heart beat speeding up as his last comment sank in. “Wait a minute - what do you mean, you know Larry?”

  “I’ve been undercover at the club for the last six weeks, Maddie. I’ve gotten to know the employees.”

  I don’t know why it hadn’t dawned on me sooner but comprehension suddenly smacked me upside the head. “Oh. My. God. You’ve known about my dad all along haven’t you? You knew he wore go-go boots and didn’t tell me!?”

  He fidgeted in his seat. And to his credit he even looked a little sheepish. A very little. “Maddie, I didn’t say anything because I knew you’d react this way.”

  “What way?” I said, my volume quickly rising into a range that had the world’s cutest couple glancing our way again. “How exactly am I reacting? Like I’ve been lied to? Like the person I’m supposed to be able to trust is keeping secrets from me? Like everyone else knows about my dad’s high heel fetish but me!?”

  “Maddie-”

  “No, don’t you ‘Maddie’ me.” I banged my hand on the table, making the cutest couple jump in their seats. They were openly staring now and I’d wager taking bets to see who won. “How long have you known?”

  Ramirez sighed. “Larry had talked about a daughter, but I didn’t know for sure it was you until I heard the message at your apartment.”

  “That was days ago! I can’t believe you knew and didn’t tell me.” My fingers clenched around my butter knife and it took all my willpower not reach across the table and stab him in his no-good, lying heart with it.

  “Maddie, I was undercover. I couldn’t tell you.”

  “I’m sorry, being undercover isn’t an excuse for being an asshole. Dammit, Jack, I can’t believe you did this. You lied to me!” I paused. “And do you want to know what’s even worse than that?”

  Ramirez pinched the bridge of his nose. I could tell he really didn’t. Too bad. He was damn well going to hear it anyway.

  I stood up, throwing the knife down on the table and giving him my best stare down. “You have now officially ruined our very first date!”

  Ramirez shook his head, his eyes straying to my Wonder-cleavage again as his voice came out in a wistful sigh. “I’m not getting any again tonight, am I?”

  Damn skippy, pal.

  * * *

  The first thing I did when I got back to the room was raid the re-stocked mini bar for a tiny bottle of tequila and a king sized Snickers bar. Healthy food be damned!

  I crunched down hard on a bite of peanuts and nougat, my fists still clenching and unclenching at my sides. I couldn’t believe Ramirez had kept my dad a secret from me! What kind of a person would do that? Sure he was undercover, blah, blah, blah. I’d heard enough of his work excuses to last me a lifetime. But this one crossed the line. How could someone know your father wears go-go boots and not tell you? If he could keep something like that a secret, what other things had he been keeping from me? A secret wife? A harem of long, legged Mob girlfriends? A career modeling underwear on the side?

  Okay, so I wouldn’t really mind that last one too much. But it was the principle of the thing. You are not supposed to keep life altering secrets from your girlfriend.

  I paused, Snickers suspended in mid-air. But I guess I wasn’t technically his girlfriend. Hell, we couldn’t even have one lousy date together. Let’s face it, as a couple, we were a disaster. Why was it we were always either fighting or ripping each other’s clothes off? What was wrong with us that we couldn’t just have a nice dinner together?

  I polished off the Snickers bar while I digested this disconcerting thought. I contemplated about going for a second one, but didn’t want Marco to accuse me of stretching out his sweater. Instead I checked my messages, figuring I’d given Ramirez ample time to leave me a humble voicemail apology.

  No such luck. My in-box was empty. No Dad on the run. No Mom and her travel tips for love birds. No sheepish Bad Cop.

  I went for that second Snickers after all.

  I was halfway through that one, heading deep into a chocolate and alcohol induced state of self-pity, when Dana burst through the door.

  “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!” Dana jumped up and down on the double bed.

  “What?” I mumbled as I licked a piece of chocolate off my lips.

  “I just totally won five hundred dollars at the roulette wheel. Do you know how totally hard it is to win at roulette? Let me tell you, it’s hard. See, Officer Taylor and I were having drinks at the Times Square Bar and then I said I wanted to try that game with the wheel thingy and he said ‘what, roulette?’ and I said ‘I guess so’ and he said ‘do you know how hard it is to win at roulette?’ and I said ‘how hard can it be?’ so he said ‘okay, let’s give it a try.’ And we did. And I was like, ‘12 black,’ and the dealer was like, ‘okay,’ and then he like spun the wheel and the ball like totally bounced all over then it totally landed on, guess what? 12 black! I am on fire, Maddie! I could so do this for a living. Forget L.A. I’m moving to Vegas, baby. I’m totally going to become one of those professional gamblers on the Bravo network. I am so damn good at this!”

  “Good for you.” I took another large bite of my Snickers. How is it fair Dana could be lucky with both men and casino games? Me – all I could seem to attract lately was trouble and chocolate.

  “You must come play roulette with me, Maddie. It is such a freaking rush!”

  She jumped up and down again, her long legs springing her precariously close to the ceiling. The bed let out a low groan of protest.

  “Uh, Dana, maybe you shouldn’t be jumping-”

  But it was too late. Dana did one more bounce, and the springs gave way beneath her with a loud moan.

  “Uhn.” She rolled off the side, landing face down on the floor as the center of the bed caved in like a 400 pound ghost was laying on it.

  Dana pulled her face out of the shag and looked up. “Oops.”

  “No kidding.”

  She stared at the ruined bed for a couple beats. Then turned to me. “So, what do you say, wanna go play roulette with me?”

  I just rolled my eyes.

  While Dana flipped on the casino channel to pick up more tips for delusional gamblers, I called down to the front desk. Slim Jim wasn’t there. Instead I got some woman named Shirley who informed me there were still no other rooms available in our ‘price bracket.’ But, she could send up another rollaway. Since my neck was still aching from the last rollaway I’d slept on, I declined.

  Instead, I slipped out of my sexy skirt and thong, more than a little disappointed that I was taking it off myself instead of watching Ramirez do it with his teeth, and crawled into the double bed with Dana. So not the person I had planned on sleeping with tonight.

  I was just drifting off into a well deserved sleep when William Tell burst out from the region of my cell phone. I fumbled around in the dark.

  “Hello?” I asked, steadfastly refusing to open my eyes.

  I heard a couple sniffles and then Maurice’s voice came on the line. “Maddie? It’s Maurice.”

  I sat up in bed. “What’s wrong?”

  He sniffled again. “Nothing, nothing. I, uh, I just wanted to call and tell you that we’re holding a service for Hank tomorrow. I… I know he’d want you to come.” Maurice broke down, sobbing on the other end.

  I suddenly felt twice as bad about zapping his dog. And I admit, I wasn’t quite sure what to say. It wasn’t as if I’d actually known Hank. To be honest, I didn’t even really know Larry. On the other hand, Hank had been Larry’s best friend. If Larry was going to come out of hiding anywhere, it would be to pay his last respects.

  “What time?” I asked, grabbing a sheet of hotel stationa
ry.

  Maurice gave the where’s and when’s of the service, then hung up with a sniffle and a sob. That poor man. I had a feeling he was going to need a saline transfusion if he carried on much more.

  Well, I guess one thing could be said for Ramirez’s and my relationship. At least neither of us was dead.

  * * *

  I was deep into a dream starring Ramirez’s six-pack abs when I felt something smack me across my cheek. “Uhn.”

  I opened one eye. Dana’s arm was covering my face. I pushed her off and got a foot in the stomach.

  “Ow,” I whined.

  Dana just grunted and mumbled something about ‘frontal assaults.’ Then turned over and elbowed me in the ribs.

  Note to self: never sleep with an Urban Soldierette. I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. 6:20 AM. I groaned, but, due to the imminent risk of bruising, I rolled myself out from under my best friend and took my beaten body into the shower anyway.

  I let the hot water rush over me and closed my eyes, trying to shake off the semi-coma state early mornings put me into. Today of all days, I needed my mind to be sharp. It was Wednesday, my last day in Vegas. Unless a) prices in the Marquis suites plummeted into a reasonable (read ‘low rent’) rate, and b) Tot Trots miraculously decided to extend my deadline for the Rainbow Brite jellies designs (which I’d woefully neglected since I’d first gotten Larry’s message), I had only one day left to help Larry.

  It was painfully clear at this point that I was in way over my blonde little head. Whatever dealings Larry had stumbled into I had little hope I that could get him out, especially when we threw Mafiosos into the mix. The best I could do was, as Ramirez had said, convince Larry to turn himself in. I hoped Larry showed up at the funeral. Because I was running out of places to look.