by K. J. Larsen
Max staggered from his room in red plaid boxers, wrestling a gun in his hand. It had been too long since there was a gorgeous man in my bedroom and now I had two in one night. Despite death threats, dead bodies, and a throbbing concussion, things were definitely looking up.
“What happened?” Max waved the weapon around.
“There’s someone I want you to meet.”
He pushed me aside and kicked my bedroom door open.
“Max,” I announced. “This is…”
I blinked. Chance was gone.
“Damn! I told him not to leave.”
I saw a glint of temper in his eyes. “You opened the door without calling me.”
“He was in my room when I went to bed.”
“Who?”
“Chance Savino.”
“And Inga didn’t bark?”
“I guess they bonded in my car.”
“You’re not making sense. The alarm was set. There’s no way he could leave without setting it off.”
I felt a headache coming on. “He must’ve seen Mama punch in the code.”
“Your mother saw him?”
“Of course she saw him,” I said impatiently. “She let him in.”
“And she’ll verify that?”
“Great. I need a credible witness and Mama’s all I got.”
“This should be entertaining. Call her and put her on speaker.”
I punched her number.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Mama. It’s Cat.”
“Yes, dear.”
“I’m calling about the man you let in the house tonight.”
“He’s Italian you know.”
“So was Al Capone.”
“Ah, but Capone was married.”
Max smirked.
“You can’t be letting strangers in my house, Mama. That defeats the whole purpose of the alarm.”
“You don’t think I’d let just anyone in. He has a good job with the alarm company. What more do you want?”
“Mama, he’s the guy I’ve been telling you about.”
“Who?”
“You know, the guy I followed into the building before the bomb went off.”
She gasped. I imaged her clutching her heart. “The man who died in the explosion?”
“Yes! Yes! That’s him!”
“Don’t be matto. I know a dead man when I see one.”
Click.
“You want to call her back?” Max grinned.
I blew a sigh. “She’s talking to Father Timothy. She has him on speed dial.”
Max threw an arm around my shoulder. “You’re not crazy, Cat.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s just a glitz in your genes.”
Max ducked down the hall and didn’t flinch when I nailed him with a pillow.
I was torn from my dreams the next morning by the aroma of sizzling bacon and hot coffee. Showering quickly, I pulled my hair up in a clippie thing, threw on a cotton cami and baggy sweats, and raced Inga to the kitchen. Max stood at the stove in black Levis and a white tee stretched tight across his muscled chest. I began working on a fantasy that involved Max, my silk sheets, and a revolving breakfast buffet table.
“One egg or two?”
“Huh? Oh, two Over easy. I’ll make toast.”
“Too late.” I heard a pop and toast appeared.
“I’ll get butter and jam.”
“Sit.” Max placed his hands firmly on my shoulders and twisted me around to the table. Jam, honey, butter, and a pile of newspaper stared back. He had finished the paper and completed the crossword puzzle. In ink, smarty pants. It was almost seven.
Max placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. “The DeLuca men would starve if they had to make breakfast,” I said.
“I’m guessing your husband didn’t make breakfast either.”
“My husband made a lot of things. My best friend and a couple waitresses at his restaurant. Never breakfast at home.”
“And now you catch cheaters. Ironic, don’t you think?”
I smeared jam on my toast. “Such is life.”
Pat Benetar blared from my cell phone. “Call Me.”
I put the call on speaker. “Talk to me,” I said.
The voice was stiff. “Caterina, this is Jack.”
“Hey, Jack. Is my car ready?”
“Is Dorothy put back together?”
“Jack, I’m sorry about Dorothy. You’ll have to settle the loss with your insurance company.”
“You’re a cold woman to ask about your car when you killed Dorothy.”
“It must be awful for you that someone is trying to kill me, Jack, but I need my car.”
“So your boyfriend said.”
“What boyfriend?”
“Don’t play games with me, Cat. I caught him sniffing around my shop this morning. He said he left something in your car.”
“A tall guy? Dark hair, blue eyes?”
“A thief.”
“I’d know that description anywhere.”
“You should also know I won’t be going to your birthday party.”
“Ah c’mon, Jack.”
“And you can’t marry my nephew Devin.”
“What?”
“Your mother told me to bring Devin to the party. With your porno business and these terrorist connections she’ll have to understand.”
“Whoa, Jack. I don’t want to marry Devin—”
“I refuse to expose Devin to your criminal ways.”
“Didn’t your nephew rob a bank a few years ago?”
“That was then. Devin’s my top mechanic now.”
“Can he fix my car?”
“You don’t get it, Cat.”
Click.
“He hung up.”
“Cheer up,” Max said. “Devin’s not the only criminal in town. Tino wants to hook you up with his second cousin.”
“Tino’s cousin is a crook?”
Max grinned. “Yeah. He’s a lawyer.”
I stared glumly into my coffee. “I need a boyfriend for my party.”
Max carried his plate of scrambled eggs to the table and sat across from me. “How about the boyfriend who showed up at Jack’s.”
“Chance Savino. He said he hid something in my car before the building blew.”
His forehead puckered. “Really? I wonder what.”
“I’ll let you know. As soon as Jack locks up I’m going in.”
“B&E?”
“I have the technology.”
“And Jack thought your criminal ways were a bad thing.”
I stabbed a slice of bacon. “But I still need a date for tomorrow night. Someone to pose as my boyfriend and call off the matchmaking hounds. Someone like…” my eyes fell on Max and my face brightened. “Hello, lover.”
Max raised his hands defensive mode. “Don’t even think about it.”
“C’mon, Max, it’s just one night.”
“Uh uh.”
“Give me one good reason.”
“I’ll give you four. Tino and I go way back, you and I just met yesterday, no one will buy it, and I met your mother. She doesn’t like me.”
“You had to tell her you’re Danish.”
“Take my advice, Cat. If you ever want a serious relationship again, move far away from your family.”
Inga growled softly. Max gripped my arm and silenced me with a look. He pulled a gun from the back of his jeans.
“Ouch,” I mouthed.
I heard it too; a muffled scraping noise coming from the side of the house.
We followed the sound to my office. Max leaned back and nudged the curtain with a finger. A round ruddy faced man shuffled his feet on the porch. I squinted harder. He sort of looked like my last blind date. But this guy appeared smarter. With his wild hair and mustache he looked like a chubby Einstein. My date had been an idiot. Not the same guy.
&
nbsp; I shrugged a shoulder.
Max flashed his palm. “Stay.”
I pinned my ear against the door. Max punched off the alarm, cut to the kitchen, and out the patio door that leads to the backyard. I didn’t want fireworks. If this guy was one of Eddie’s goons I hoped he was man enough to pack a pistol and leave the explosives at home.
Einstein rapped his knuckles on the door. I held my breath.
He pounded the door with his fists.
“Open this door, Ms. DeLuca. I hear you in there and I won’t leave until—OH!” The muffled voice now screamed. “Help! Help!”
I jerked the door open. Einstein sprawled mustache down, eating porch. Max’s knee dug in his back and he swung his arms wildly behind him, missing Max and hitting air.
“Ms. Deluca, look out!” the man wailed. “Close the door and call the police. I’ll hold this maniac off.”
“This maniac is my friend.”
He gasped. “You’re gonna run off clients with friends like that.”
“You were acting strange. You were doing something with your feet.” I checked out the shoes. Ferragamo Oxfords, nice.
“I was cleaning the dog shit off my shoes.” He stared accusingly at my beagle.
Inga wagged her tail.
Max appeared comfortable enough. “He’s not packing any weapons.”
“Okay, Max, let him up.”
Einstein scrambled to his feet swatting his mustache and shirt.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Max said.
He turned his back to Max and faced me. “I want to hire you. You helped my brother George. I’m Roger King.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “George King is a foot taller and hot as a smoking pistol.”
“So I lost a bet with God. I called but your answering machine said you’ll be back next week.”
“So call me next week. I’m sort of into something right now.”
“Please help me. I think my wife wants to leave me.”
“Big surprise,” Max said.
Roger made a blubbering sound that I thought only sea life could make. I softened, just a little.
I turned to Max. “Roger can come inside if he takes his shoes off. Stay with him while I call George. I wanna know if Einstein is his brother.”
Chapter Eighteen
Max’s eyes didn’t leave Roger until I returned to the room.
“Did you talk to my brother?”
“I did.”
George King hired me a few months ago to check out his partner. Our friendship lasted longer than his roommate and we still catch a movie from time to time.
“George told Roger to call me.”
“I told you my brother gave me your card.”
“My address isn’t on the card, Roger.”
Roger scuffed a sock on the carpet. “George told me where you live. I was supposed to call for an appointment.”
“Good advice. Your brother is worried about you.”
“Hah. George never liked my wife. He refused to give her a chance. She’s my soul mate.”
“According to George you met your soul mate at a strip club in Vegas. You tucked five C notes in her G-string for a lap dance and married her a week later.”
Max blinked. “Your soul mate’s a Vegas stripper?”
“Was,” Roger said. “That was a long time ago.”
“Last year,” I said. “She’s half your age. George said she—”
Roger bristled. “Her name is Bambi.”
“Of course it is. Your brother says Bambi married you for your money. She pressured you to change your will and take out several large life insurance policies.”
“She worries about me.”
“Your brother worries about you. I’m not so sure about Bambi.”
“Incredible.” Max shook his head.
“According to George you were hospitalized last week. The doctors said you somehow ingested anti-freeze. He thinks Bambi is trying to kill you.”
“Bambi is no gourmet cook, but she wouldn’t poison me on purpose.”
Max threw his hands in the air. “How’d you make your money?”
“George and Roger launched a software company in the early eighties,” I said. “They can dial Bill Gates’ private number.”
“No shit.”
“You said you thought your wife wants to leave you. Why don’t you tell me about it.”
“She’s seeing someone,” Roger moaned.
“Who?”
“I don’t know but she’s not the same. She’s gone all the time, preoccupied, and she hasn’t given me a lap dance since—”
“Too much information,” Max cut in.
“George said you have a prenup.”
Roger nodded. “If I file for divorce Bambi gets $250,000 and her jewelry. If she files or cheats she gets nothing.”
“And if you die she gets it all.”
“I want her back.” George said. “Find out who she’s seeing and get rid of him. Pay him off, threaten him, sic Max on him.”
“If I agree to help you, you’ll have to do everything I say. I haven’t time for explanations.”
Roger’s face broke in a smile. “George said you’d fix everything.”
“Call Bambi from your cell phone and tell her you’ve been called out of town on business.”
“I’ve never lied to Bambi.”
“Well that makes one of you. Check into a hotel. You can’t see or speak with her until I say.”
“Gee, Cat, I—”
“Go to the bank and withdraw all the cash you’ll need. Do not use a credit card or anything she can trace to find you.”
“I don’t know if—”
I tugged his mustache to get his attention. “You came to me for help. Now trust me.” I wrote my personal number on a card. “Call me if you absolutely have to. Like if there’s a lot of blood. I’ll call you when I have something.”
Roger’s brow furrowed while he mulled it over. “I just want to be happy,” he said bleakly.
“You will. Don’t forget your shoes.”
I shooed him out the door and Max grinned.
“What?”
“He’ll be happy as a monk. Short and fat with no booty on his lap.”
“Don’t underestimate Roger. He’s smart. And he’s faithful.”
“He’s irritating.”
“He’s rich. Lots of women want a guy like Roger. Someday I’ll introduce him to my cousin Ginny. She’s a computer geek too.”
“Does Ginny lap dance?”
“Every good woman does,” I smiled.
I tromped to the office closet and pulled out my little black bag of tricks. Binoculars, video and audio recorders, and a GPS tracking systems.
“I need a new camera before we check out Bambi. Come on, Inga.”
“Whoa. Tino doesn’t allow dogs in his car.”
The beagle wagged her tail. “Inga is part of my team.”
“Good luck explaining that to Tino.” He glowered at Inga. “No drooling.”
Max waited outside the photo shop and sucked down two red-hots while I picked out my camera. I slipped out the door behind him and snagged the third from his hand as he opened his mouth.
“Hey!”
I wiped the mustard from his lip. “Mmm. Thanks.”
We cruised north to Roger’s home in Glenview and parked across the street. Three elegant stories of river rock and green tinted glass.
Max whistled low. “I can’t believe that dumb shit lives here.”
A Las Vegas lap dancer whipped a pearl-colored Escalade into the driveway, Metallica blaring from the speakers. She kicked the door open and swung her long bare legs outside.
Max caught his breath. “I can’t believe—”
I nudged him. “You’re drooling in Tino’s car.”
The legs skipped up the steps, arms loaded with packages. A Bloomingdale’s bag slipped fr
om her hand and she leaned over to recover. The painfully short mini skirt rolled up her thighs and bared all.
“Yaowsa,” I said.
Max caught his breath. “Commando.”
“Nope, thong. I can see the dental floss.”
Bambi disappeared behind the front door and Max breathed again.
“Does your cousin look like that?”
“No, but her boobs don’t deflate when you poke a pin in them.”
Max snagged the binoculars and caught glimpses of the bleached head through the windows. I got the play by play. Salad for lunch, one hundred crunches and various contortions to stretch every muscle in her body, and a steam shower.
“Roger should invest in some curtains,” I said.
“Not on my account.”
An hour and a half later Bambi emerged from the house and zoomed away in the Escalade. Max was hot on her tail.
Bambi’s first stop was a salon where she had a manicure and a pedicure. I was guessing she also had a bikini wax because she eventually came out the door walking funny. She walked past the Escalade and across the parking lot to a sidewalk café where she was greeted by a biker dude who had obviously come into money. Designer jeans, eel skin cowboy boots, and a white silk shirt you could see through. I read the tattoo on his arm through my binoculars. A red heart with Stacey January 17th 2006, written in black italics.
The kiss was long and Bambi swallowed a lot of tongue.
“Say cheese.” I snapped the picture.
Max turned on the recorder and aimed the mike toward the ogling couple.
“Damn. I’m not picking them up.”
I dug into my bag of tricks. For $25 you can buy a wireless audio device that will transmit to your cell phone. I like to keep a few on hand.
“I’ll take the smallest mike,” I said. I dashed across the street and approached the table closest to Bambi and her mystery man.
“How is everything,” I asked fluffing the flowers on the table. I moved to Bambi’s table and did the same, dropping the audio device into the centerpiece. The waitress approached as I stepped away.
“May I help you?”
“These tables need fresh water.”
The astonished server disappeared. I did too.
“You’re good,” Max laughed.
“How are the acoustics now?”
He put my phone on speaker. “Loud and clear.”
Tattoo man leaned close and whispered into the flowers.
“I don’t see why you got your tit in a wringer, Stace.”