He accepted her offer of coffee and sat at the table. "I needed to chat with you anyway," Raoul said, keeping his voice low. "I didn't want to tell you this in front of the others because I knew it would upset them."
Billie noted the concern on his face. "What is it?"
"There's been another break-in."
Billie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "When did it happen? Whose house was it?"
"The Callahan place, a couple of streets over. It had to have happened some time during the night because I sprayed yesterday and everything looked fine. You know, Mr. Callahan is the one with German roaches? I go in twice a week to spray because they've gotten inside the walls. Anyway, his mother is in the hospital, and he asked me to look after the place while he's gone. And so I could keep working on the roach problem. He left me a key. When I went in this morning, the place was a mess, drawers pulled out, papers strewn everywhere. I immediately called the police. I tell you, this whole neighborhood is going whacko."
"What do the police say?"
"They still think it's teenagers, but I noticed things missing this time, and I pointed them out, like the coin collection Mr. Callahan has hanging on his wall. You get to know a house after a while. No telling what it was worth, but it was Mr. C's pride and joy." He shook his head sadly. "The wife was going to come over and help me pick up the mess so poor Mr. Callahan didn't have to see it, but the police don't want anything touched."
Billie decided against mentioning her own troubles and having Raoul worry more. "Thank you for telling me," she said. "I'll take extra precautions."
* * * * *
Billie zapped the television with the remote and sank lower in the couch. It was ten-thirty. The children were in bed. The laundry was done. The kitchen was clean. And she hadn't heard from Nick. They were getting married in three days, and she didn't even rate a phone call after supper. She changed the channels. She had a choice of watching home repairs, learning to cook borscht, or buying a product guaranteed to clean driveways. She frowned, thinking of that awful oil spot that she'd tried to get up for months. She always made sure to park her minivan there to hide it.
Maybe Nick had changed his mind, she thought. Maybe he didn't want to marry a woman with kids, a cocker spaniel too lazy to bark when the doorbell rang, and a cat that had a tendency to cough up hairballs. Or maybe he was annoyed at her for rear-ending his new car.
She felt her old doubts return. Marriage was for a long time, she reminded herself, and in Nick's case she wanted it to be permanent. She should feel more positive about it. Marriage wasn't something you did on a whim and hoped for the best. You didn't get married because your family had chartered a bus and planned to bring the entire town of Lancaster, Pennsylvania.
Yet, there were times she felt very positive about marrying Nick. She certainly loved him enough. They simply had not been able to date and get to know one another like most couples because of the madness around them. Then there were times she worried they were rushing into things. Perhaps she was just overreacting to the side of Nick she had never seen before, the newspaper magnate in the hand-tailored suit. That man seemed to have little in common with the Nick who'd raided her refrigerator and cookie jar, who rode roller coasters with her children and made love to her until she thought she'd go right off the deep end. She had definitely been thrown off balance by this new facet of his personality.
Or maybe she was still worried after learning that Sheridan was spending so much time at Nick's place. Did Nick honestly believe the woman wanted to be around her horse that much? Was he blind to the fact that Sheridan wanted him back, or was Nick encouraging her to spend as much time at the stables as she liked in order to sift through his feelings for her? Billie didn't like it.
"Isn't this the most boring Wednesday night you've ever had to endure?" Deedee said, joining Billie in the living room.
"I was watching television."
"Television isn't any fun. You don't get dressed up when you watch television. And nobody sees you."
Deedee was wearing a poison-green jumpsuit with her name stitched across the back in rhinestones. She would be noticed no matter what she was doing, Billie thought, even watching television. "I was sort of expecting Nick."
"Forget it. Nick is out for the night. Frankie's manager decided to throw a bachelor party for the two of them."
Billie thought it odd that Nick hadn't mentioned it that afternoon. "What are they doing at this bachelor party?"
Deedee shrugged. "The usual. Drinking, ogling girls who come out of cakes, acting stupid."
Billie couldn't imagine Nick acting stupid, and from what she could tell, he drank very little. "Will there really be a girl coming out of a cake?"
Deedee rolled her eyes. "You better believe it. Not to mention half-naked cocktail waitresses. That's Frankie's favorite part. He wouldn't miss the chance to watch some woman twirl tassels at the end of her ta-tas."
Billie thought about that for a minute. "How do they keep those tassels on?"
"It's a special glue."
"Eeyeuuw."
"Have you ever seen a tassel twirler?" Deedee asked. "It's an art form. Or so they say."
"No, and I don't especially like the idea of Nick seeing it, either."
Deedee shrugged. "It's a guy thing."
"It doesn't bother you that your fiance is ogling some woman with tassels on her, uh, ta-tas?"
"Oh, well, boys will be boys. Tradition, you know? Nothing we can do about it."
"That's where you're wrong."
"I don't think I like the sound of this."
* * * * *
Nick sat in his office and wondered how long the party in the other room would last. He'd had a friendly drink with the guys, and then slipped off. Obviously, they were so busy gawking at the topless girl serving drinks that they hadn't noticed. Not that he hadn't attended his share of bachelor parties in the past and done just as much hooting and hollering and slipping bills into G-strings. But that was in his younger days. He'd feel kind of dumb doing it now.
Besides, he had other things to worry about, namely Arnie Bates and Max. Billie swore Max was innocent of blowing up his car, but the police were convinced Arnie had left town, so who else could have done it? If Nick had enemies, he didn't know about it. He made a point to try to get along with everybody. Max had suggested it could be a disgruntled newspaper subscriber, someone like Max, who thought Nick should take a stand against the incoming developers. The thought that an old girlfriend might be responsible was ludicrous. Even as angry as Sheridan was, and she was pretty angry after the row they'd had earlier about her taking away her horse, she would prefer embarrassing him in some way in front of their mutual friends. That's why she had sent a trailer for her horse. She would, no doubt, start a rumor that Nick's stable, as well as his riding school, were inadequate. She had no idea how hurt he had been, how devastated that their relationship had ended so badly. He had felt the loss very deeply.
Other than Arnie, none of his employees seemed unhappy. He had a reputation for being overly generous with them, not only where their pay was concerned, and he always commented favorably when they went out of their way to do a good job. He saw that they had a turkey at Thanksgiving, and the ham he gave at Christmas always came with a healthy bonus check, depending on how long they'd been with him.
He'd made a mistake hiring Arnie Bates. He'd let the man con him into believing he really wanted to change. He'd let the fact that Arnie's wife was pregnant color his thinking. Arnie probably wasn't even married.
With Arnie out of the picture, it didn't help that Max was supposedly "missing," as well. It made him look guilty to the police and took their minds off anyone else who may have planted the bomb, including Arnie.
Thank God Max had removed essential engine parts from the Mercedes. If Nick had driven the car with that bomb in it, well, he would have been at ground zero for the explosion.
He continued to sit there and wonder who wanted him six
feet under.
Chapter Fourteen
An hour later Billie was sneaking up to Nick's house, commando-style, with Deedee on her heels, insisting that they were doing the right thing in denying the male "traditional rite of passage."
Billie motioned for Deedee to be quiet and directed her to a first-floor window.
"Holy cow," Billie said, "they're all dressed in tuxedos."
"Yeah, Frankie's a classy guy. He wouldn't give a second-rate party."
"Someone's wearing a gorilla suit."
"That's Frankie's best friend, a wrestler. They call him 'Killer.' He always wears a gorilla suit. It's his thing."
"Uh-huh."
"And see the guy wearing a gaiter belt on his head? That's Frankie's manager, Bucky."
"He looks classy."
"Yeah. He's got style."
"Oh, my Lord, would you check out the boobs on the woman serving drinks?"
"They're not real, honey. Nobody that skinny has breasts that size."
"I don't see any cake girls. We should scout around and look in the kitchen windows."
"I have a better idea," Deedee whispered. "Why don't we go home? I don't feel comfortable looking in windows."
Billie looked at her. "Is this the same woman who broke into Nick's house and set off the alarms, almost getting me arrested?"
"That was different. It involved jewelry."
Billie rolled her eyes and pulled Deedee by the hand. She very carefully crept around the corner and peeked through a door that led to an oversized laundry room. "Bingo! It's the cake girl!"
Deedee's curiosity obviously won out. "Let me see. Oh, my! I would give every single Donna Karan gown I own for that kind of muscle tone. I may have to start working out." She shuddered.
"I want to get a better look."
"Billie, don't!" Too late. Billie was already knocking on the door.
The door opened, and a drop-dead gorgeous blonde smiled wearily at them. "I wasn't expecting two of you."
Billie and Deedee exchanged looks. "I beg your pardon?" Billie said.
"When I called the agency they told me they couldn't find another dancer to replace me, but I'm too sick to work this gig, and none of the others will do it because they'd rather make money pushing drinks." She paused and sneezed, automatically reaching in the front of her G-string for a tissue. "I've got a temperature of a hundred and one. I need to go home and go to bed."
"Do you belong to a gym?" Deedee asked.
Billie simply stared at the woman. "I don't think—"
"Where's your costume? Oh, never mind, I always carry a spare in case a guy spills his drink on me, which is often what happens." She handed Deedee a cloth bag. "You'll find everything you need in here. What's your name, honey?"
"I'm Deedee Holt, and this is my friend Billie Pearce."
"I'm Gloria." She slipped into tight denim shorts and pulled a tight T-shirt over her head. "Call the agency in the morning and leave your phone number so I can arrange to pick up my stuff." She stepped into flip-flops and walked out the door.
"Boy, you've done it now," Deedee accused Billie, holding up the bag as evidence. "Those guys are expecting a half-naked woman to jump out of a cake.
They're going to be mad enough to spit teeth when they find out the cake is empty."
"It wasn't my fault," Billie objected.
"You should have told her why we were here. Gloria will probably lose her job."
"I'm sure the agency will understand when she tells them she's sick."
"Not when Frankie's boss, Bucky, calls and complains. I heard he spent a fortune on this party. They expect a girl to jump out of a cake. Gloria is history. Take it from someone who knows."
Billie looked at her. "You used to jump out of cakes?"
"Damn right. How do you think I met Frankie?"
"I thought you were an ex-model."
"There are all kinds of models, honey."
"Then you can jump out of the cake in Gloria's place."
"No way. Frankie made me swear to give up the business when we became engaged. He'll call off the wedding." She shook her head. "Those guys are going to be furious. They're probably in there slobbering all over the place waiting for the big shebang."
Billie tried to imagine Nick standing in the other room waiting to see a partially clothed woman jump out of a stupid cake, and her temper began to rise. This was a part of Nick she'd never met before—Nick the womanizer. Why on earth would he be interested in such things when he was marrying her? Probably for the same reason his ex-girlfriend was still hanging around. And she was only hours from marrying him!
It was time she got acquainted with the real Nick Kaharchek.
"I'll jump out of the damn cake," Billie said, snatching the bag from her.
Deedee's mouth dropped open. "You!"
"What's wrong with me?" Billie thought of Ida in the clothing store. Why were people always making her feel older than she was? She had a good body, dammit, and she was a damn good person. If people couldn't see for themselves, they needed to look closer.
Perhaps it was time everybody got acquainted with the real Billie Pearce.
"Well, I just never thought of you as someone who'd do that sort of thing," Deedee said. She reached into Gloria's bag and pulled out two tassels and a G-string. The two exchanged looks.
"Holy crap," Billie said.
Someone banged on the door, causing both women to jump. A man opened it and peered in at them. "What's taking so long?" he demanded. "We're ready to bring out the cake."
Deedee gave him her most beguiling smile. "Give us five minutes."
The man grinned. "Sure, honey." He closed the door again.
Billie began stepping out of her clothes. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she said. "If something happens to me, please don't ever let my children or my mother find out."
Deedee drew an imaginary X across her left breast. "Nick is going to be so surprised."
Billie gritted her teeth. "I'm counting on it."
* * * * *
Nick was still sitting at his desk when he heard the band break into a new song, and a thunderous roar of applause go through the crowd of men on the other side of the door. Just what he needed, a room full of rowdy men who would probably spill beer and liquor all over his furniture and carpet. He left his office to investigate. What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.
Nick blinked several times as the woman who'd just torn through the cake started a bawdy bump-and-grind routine. Was he seeing things? Was that his fiancee, Billie Pearce, standing up there in front of a room of intoxicated men thrusting her hips and— He swallowed hard. Damned if she wasn't wearing tassels. He could see them through her sheer t-shirt. And doing a pretty good job of goading the crowd, from what he could see.
Where the hell had she learned to dance like that?
What had happened to the sweet, demure sixth-grade teacher he had fallen like a ton of bricks for?
Why wasn't she home baking cookies and helping the kids with their homework?
All at once, several men rushed up to Billie with money, and she paused long enough to stuff the bills into her G-string before going back into her sexy number. Nick felt the blood rush to his head. Adrenaline gushed through his veins. Just what the hell did she think she was doing?
* * * * *
Billie tried to swallow back her panic. She'd forgotten her little pep talk the minute they'd rolled her out in the cake. What in heaven's name was she doing, standing there in almost no clothes while a roomful of men ogled her and called out suggestions that would have earned them a slap on the jaw had the situation been different? Was this how Nick's friends talked to women? Was this how Nick talked to women? The thought that she might be marrying a man who saw women in such a light sent a wave of fury through her.
She tried to keep time to the music as she scanned the crowd for Nick, but it was all she could do to concentrate on the band with her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Please God, don't let
a tassel fall off, she prayed. The backs of her eyes stung, but the absolute last thing she needed to do was start crying. She would cry a river later. Right now she had to concentrate on keeping a smile plastered to her face while shaking her booty, as Deedee had demonstrated before she'd climbed into the cake.
All at once she saw him, standing at the back of the crowd, gawking. He was mad as hell, that much was clear.
He started toward her. Billie saw the feral look in his eyes, noted the menacing scowl on his face, and she wished she could duck back into the cake and disappear.
"What time do you quit for the night, baby?" a man said, handing her a hundred-dollar bill.
"The lady is finished for the night," Nick said, trying to keep his voice low. "Get down, Billie."
Billie hitched her chin high and met his gaze head-on. "You obviously expected a show tonight, big guy, and I'm here to oblige you."
"You have no business here," he said. "Get down before I drag you down."
The man with the hundred-dollar bill looked at Nick. "Hey, Kaharchek, I'm trying to do business here, do you mind?"
Nick glared at him. "You need to sober up, Harry. I do not permit this kind of business in my home."
"Oh, yeah?" Billie said. "Then how come you hired these women in the first place, Mr. Kaharchek?" Instead of waiting for him to answer, she turned her back to the crowd and wiggled her fanny. The men went wild.
Nick saw red. He reached for Billie. He grabbed her wrist, and she tried to yank it free. She lost her balance. He saw the fear in her eyes as she began to topple. She tried to catch herself, overcorrected, and fell in the opposite direction. She hit the table beside the cake and literally slid through dishes of smoked salmon, lox and bagels, and a cold shrimp platter. She cried out as she slammed into an ice sculpture of a naked woman. The sculpture toppled over and crashed onto the floor.
Billie heard the raucous laughter as she tried to raise herself from the table. Strong arms pulled her up. She almost flinched at the sight of Nick's handsome face masked in anger. Without a word, he threw her over his shoulders and carried her upstairs while the men below whistled and shouted obscene remarks.
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