And Tex was the finest man who ever breathed.
But he was a character.
A booming character, in all ways that could be, including audibly.
And the years that he’d been involved with the Rock Chicks (this being from the beginning, when he rescued Indy after she was kidnapped, this being when he got himself shot for that effort), plus the years he’d been married to my mom, he’d adopted all of us.
Especially me and Jet.
He was not a man who would hold my hand at a fair and shout how he needed to get cotton candy for his best girl.
He was a man who would run into the burning building me, my sister or especially my mother was in, even if there was little chance he would find us alive.
He’d risk his life, and give it, to try.
Obviously, I adored him.
“You’ll meet him Sunday,” I told Mom. “Listen, can you help Carla out?”
“We’ll meet him Sunday,” I heard Mom say, not to me, to Tex. “His name is Mo,” she went on.
“Mo? Hawk Delgado’s Mo?” Tex boomed.
Shit.
Of course Tex knew Mo.
Great.
My eyes went to Mo to see him standing guard over Carla while Smithie prodded her ankle.
From Mom to Tex, “I don’t know, sweetheart.” To me, “Does this boyfriend work for Hawk Delgado?”
“Um…yeah,” I said.
“Yes,” Mom told Tex.
“Well, all right!” Tex bellowed. “Boy’s as big as a house, built tough as a tank and he ain’t no chatterbox. He’s over, I don’t gotta listen to him blather on about a play-by-play of the last Broncos game while I’m watchin’ me a Bruce Lee film. Tell Lottie I approve.”
I nearly giggled, even though I had no idea who made him listen to a play-by-play of the last Broncos game. All of the Hot Bunch were Broncos fans. But none of them were men to hang at Tex and Mom’s house with their one hundred and fifty cats.
Though, I had a feeling they’d dig on Bruce Lee films.
“Tex approves,” Mom told me.
“Great,” I replied, now with a smile in my voice.
“I still haven’t met him yet, Lottie,” she warned.
Mom was going to love Mo.
“You will Sunday,” I reminded her. “Now about Carla.”
“Text us her address, honey. We’ll head over there as soon’s we’re dressed.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I murmured.
“Anytime, darlin’ girl,” she murmured back. “Love you.”
“Love you too. And tell Tex I love him.”
To Tex, “Lottie sends her love.”
A low boom of “Sheeee-it.”
I smiled.
That meant Tex loved me too.
“Later, Mom.”
“See you Sunday, Lottie.”
We disconnected as I watched Mo lift Carla like she was a sheet draped over his arms.
My nipples tingled and my thoughts went where they shouldn’t.
That being my hope he was just as much of a powerhouse in bed.
He carried her behind the screen so she could dress.
“I’m takin’ her to the hospital,” Smithie informed me.
“Good,” I replied.
Mo came out from behind the screen.
“Mo’s gonna help me get her to my truck. You lock the door behind us,” Smithie ordered. “And don’t leave this room. Mo’ll be back as soon as we get Carla in the truck.”
I nodded.
Mo scowled at me.
“I’ll lock the door, Mo,” I assured.
He scowled some more before he dipped his chin.
I turned my attention to the screen, thus Carla, and called. “Mom and Tex are heading over to your place as soon as they get dressed. You might want to call your sitter.” I paused, “And warn her about Tex.”
“I’ll do it in the car. Thanks, Lottie,” Carla called back.
“Don’t mention it. Do you need help back there?”
“Uh…kinda,” she answered.
Yeah, she needed to hit the hospital.
I gave Mo then Smithie a look and headed behind the screen.
We got Carla dressed, I went, grabbed her purse and gave it to her before giving her a kiss on the cheek and a wish of good luck, and then Mo picked her up to take her out to the car.
I trailed them close at Mo’s heels so he’d know I was doing as ordered.
I started to lock the door practically before it was fully closed.
When I turned back to the room, I realized it was weird to be alone. The only time I’d been alone for days was in the shower.
I barely got Carla’s address texted to Mom and my false eyelashes off to do a full makeup cleanup in order to do a full makeup put on when there was a pounding at the door and a shout of, “Mo!”
Well, he didn’t jack around.
I felt my mouth turn up as I hustled to the door to let him in.
He crowded my space to get back in, which meant back to guarding me, and I realized with him, falling in love would probably be incremental.
He’d do things like that, every day. Little ones, maybe some big ones, but things like that every day that would make me fall more in love with him.
Which, taken to its natural conclusion, meant, if we worked, I’d be falling in love with him, little by little, more and more every day until the day I died.
And that soooooo worked for me.
I hid my smile at this thought and quickly backed out of his space so I didn’t have the urge to pounce on him (or didn’t give in to the urge I already had) and didn’t make things harder for him to fight his urge to pounce on me.
I moved back to my station.
“I’m surprised you didn’t make Smithie call a bouncer to take Carla out.”
“They have four persons of interest out there. They need eyes on the crowd.”
My head whipped around to him. “Really?”
He dipped his chin.
“New guys?”
“All of them regulars who haven’t been back in a while. All of them guys who creep the waitresses out. All of them guys who bouncers have red flagged since they started coming. None of them guys who’ve been here since the letter was sent.”
I felt a tickle at the back of my neck.
“You think one of them—?”
“I think they’ll have tails tonight and Hawk will have men in all of their houses the minute they leave for work tomorrow morning and we’ll know.”
Holy shit.
This might be over soon.
And holy shit.
They were searching houses.
“They’re searching houses?” I asked.
“Yup.”
“They can do that?”
“They can do whatever they want if they don’t get caught.”
Whoa.
“But, won’t it be inadmissible if they search like that?” I queried. “I mean, they can’t get it to law enforcement and have the cops be able to get a real search warrant if they find something illegally like that.”
Mo had moved closer to my station while I spoke.
What he didn’t do while doing that, arriving, and stopping to stand close to my table was reply.
“Right, Mo?” I pressed.
He was silent a moment, but before I could push again, he spoke.
“When this guy is caught, Lottie, the jury that matters right now is still out as to what to do with him.”
“The jury that matters?”
“Hawk, Smithie…” he said no more.
“And you,” I whispered.
“I’ll make my case to Hawk that I get a say.”
“And that case will be?”
“I got claimed in a King Soopers. I don’t mind I did. As in I way don’t mind it. And seein’ as I belong to you, you belong to me, so I get a say.”
Oh my God.
I totally needed to pounce on my mound of hunkalicious, soon-to-be (I hoped) boyfriend.
His head jerked. His eyes went dark. The muscles in his neck stood out in a sexy way that was so not helping matters.
Then he moved back to the door.
I tried deep breathing.
Then I turned to my mirror to deal with my makeup.
It didn’t help because I could see Mo in the mirror.
His wide shoulders were to the wall and his gaze was cast to the floor, I knew, so he wouldn’t be staring at me.
God.
They needed to catch this guy.
They so needed to catch this guy.
I moved a shaky hand toward my cleansing wipes.
And for right then, I got down to business.
* * * *
“Start with your toes, Lottie.”
Mo’s deep voice coming to me in the dark told me not only that he wasn’t asleep, but that he was hearing me toss and turn.
I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling. “I tried. It’s not working.”
“You want me to help?”
First, I loved that he asked.
Second, his voice coming to me from ten feet away when I couldn’t cross that space, and he couldn’t cross that space, would be no help.
“You can’t help, Mo.”
He didn’t reply.
Suddenly, an idea hit me, I sat up and looked across the moonlit room to the big body covering my couch.
“You need to ask Hawk to put someone else on me so we can move this along.”
He did not move, except his mouth.
“Not gonna happen.”
“Mo—”
“Not. Gonna. Happen.”
I shut up.
I’d never heard him sound like that. His tone brooked no argument, none whatsoever, in a way that even I knew I couldn’t argue with him, and I could argue with anybody.
“I’m on you,” he stated.
“I know,” I said quietly.
“No one but me.”
Another thought occurred to me, one I did not like.
“You know, this isn’t woman-falling-for-her-bodyguard syndrome, honey,” I told him. “It’s Lottie-falling-for-Mo syndrome. I’m not gonna get attached to some other guy on your crew.”
He was again silent but even if I couldn’t see his face, I felt him communicating.
Strongly.
However, considering I couldn’t see his face, I didn’t know what he was saying.
So I called, “Mo?”
“You’re fallin’ for me?”
Now his voice was low and tight.
Uh-oh.
Too soon?
“Well…uh—”
“Stop talking, Lottie.”
I shut my mouth.
“It isn’t about that,” he said.
“So what’s it about?”
“No one’s on you, but me.”
“I know, you said that, but if we—”
In a surge, he sat up.
I again shut up.
“I’ll give you something,” he declared.
Oh God.
I hoped it was fingering me to an orgasm.
Then I could give him a handjob, something I was relatively certain I could do at the same time looking out for a bad guy so I could warn Mo so he could neutralize him before getting a bullet in his head.
That said, if his member was as big as the rest of him, that might not be possible, not because I’d have to concentrate, but because I’d want to.
“I make you mine, officially,” he continued, “no one ever has you again, Lottie, but me.”
Chills slid over my skin at the same time my eyes got hot.
I never would have thought it, but what he said was way better than any orgasm in the history of time.
And that answered my earlier question.
What I said was not too soon.
“Are you understanding me?” he asked.
“Yes, Mo,” I whispered.
I’d be his.
I’d be his to love (hopefully), treasure (hopefully)…
And protect.
No one else’s.
Ever again.
But he was starting now.
“Now go to sleep, sweetheart,” he said, all soft.
I loved it when he let himself call me “baby.” It didn’t happen often, in fact, not since our Come to Jesus.
That was my first “sweetheart.”
I’d never forget it.
Not ever.
I settled back into bed, pulling the covers over me.
I didn’t watch but I did hear soft noises from the cushions as he settled back to the couch.
It took a while before I said into the dark, “I hope it’s one of the guys from tonight.”
“Me too, baby. Now please, go to sleep.”
It was the please that got me.
I closed my eyes.
And with Mo watching over me, keeping me safe, I drifted off.
And slept like a baby.
Chapter Eight
Piece of Cake
Mo
The next night, standing backstage, eyes scanning the crowd during Lottie’s last set, Mo tried to control his thoughts that were on the fact none of the guys they’d tagged last night was their guy.
And his thoughts were on that because they were also on the most recent letter they got.
The ugliest.
The most troubling.
The one that was delivered to Smithie Monday and included the news that the guy knew all about Mo, and that Mo was going to be cleansed himself, this being executed, as in made dead for “consorting with the soiled.”
The letter that also shared the members of Hawk’s crew who were supposed to be doing drive-bys and randomly keeping an eye on Lottie’s house while he was inside keeping an eye on Lottie, as well as Mo when he was out with Lottie, had missed this guy somewhere along the line.
The letter that had Mo so tweaked, he was close to having to admit that to Hawk, this being right before he shared he was taking Lottie to Bali.
All these thoughts clashed with all his thoughts about Lottie, and all his responses—mentally, emotionally and physically—that were making it nearly impossible to do his job.
The way she stepped in with Carla being the most recent. Not only getting her to go to the emergency room, getting her mom to look after the woman’s children, and also her chat with all the girls that night, after learning Carla was out for at least five days, probably more like ten.
They were taking a collection.
Carla was on paid leave.
But she wouldn’t feel the loss of her tips.
And finally, Lottie saying to Dominique, who’d brought in Lottie’s first take of tips from her first set, “Everything I get tonight goes into the envelope for Carla.”
No, Carla wouldn’t feel the loss of her tips.
It was clear Lottie ruled this roost, not as the headliner, but as the benevolent queen who looked after her subjects.
It wasn’t just her nephews, her sister, her mother, her “And tell Tex I love him.”
It was just her.
With everyone.
And when he had her, he’d have all that in more ways than she was giving it now, and make no mistake, she was giving it now.
But she was holding it back.
And it was tearing her up.
She was nearly bursting at the seams to give all she had to Mo.
And he wanted it.
Bad.
He was gonna have to tell Hawk.
Before he got her the fuck out of there.
This guy going uncaptured, they might never be able to come back.
Mo was down with that.
Unfortunately, his mother and sisters wouldn’t be. Not to mention his nieces and nephews.
They had to get this guy.
And Mo had to stay sharp.
He had to…
His body went solid when he saw him.
Every Guy.
Very carefully Every Guy.
Slightly faded red polo shirt. But crisp jeans, like they were new.
Not a match.
You didn’t wear new jeans with an old shirt. Most men forced to go to the store, they stocked up. If he had an occasion he wore new jeans, he’d put on a new shirt.
And it was slightly faded, not stained, misshapen, fucked up.
Casual. Like he grabbed whatever and threw it on when he did not. He made that selection carefully.
Trying to fit in.
Trying to be Every Guy.
And he probably usually wore trousers. Or chinos. A suit. Way too uptight to wear jeans. Way too obsessive to let go even for that.
Mo knew this because of his neat haircut.
Clipped perfect. Not overly styled. His hair laid that way because it was cut to lay that way. And Mo’d lay money down the man went to the barber no less than once every three weeks.
Clean, close shave. Baby skin. Perfectly trimmed sideburns.
Hand on the table next to a bottle of beer that was untouched. Mo could see the thin line of foam at the top in the neck. The guy didn’t drink, not alcohol.
Fingers rat-a-tat-tatting a nervous strum on the table.
Careful placement of his position, not in the front row, not in a booth at the back, so as not to appear too eager, not pretending to be too aloof, or worse, hiding. Second row of tables, side stage, where he could see Lottie.
But his eyes were on Mo.
When he saw Mo had eyes on him, casually, too casually, he tipped his chin to acknowledge the eye contact, then turned his attention to Lottie.
Bland face, carefully bland. No reaction to the best one-woman show anyone in that room had ever seen. No visible reaction to a beautiful woman with a fantastic figure in a sequined bikini and high heels twirling upside down on a pole.
And no open display of hatred or disgust, for certain.
No one, not a soul except the waitresses, and even they stopped serving when Lottie performed, had eyes on anything but Lottie when she danced.
There was all this, and Mo could read a person, it was an important part of the job.
But the most important part of it all was that Mo would lay his life on the fact he saw that guy looking at cucumbers in the produce section of King Soopers on Sunday.
Mo felt a curl in his throat and heat hit his gut.
This was their guy.
Mo didn’t move, even though, from the second night on, Hawk had fitted the team at Smithie’s, including the bouncers, with earpieces and wristband radios.
Quiet Man Page 11