Alexa felt her face heat up. "I guess not, sweetie. Sometimes mothers can make themselves invisible. That's how they know when their kids do something wrong."
The other little girls' eyes went wide.
"She's teasing," Maya reassured them. "Let's go play with Parker and Preston."
All four girls jumped off their swings and raced across the yard to the slide area.
Alexa’s mother followed them with her gaze and sighed. "Don't you wish you had a little of that energy?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Alexa snapped, immediately regretting her snarly tone.
"Did someone not get enough sleep?"
"Someone slept fine." For the few hours when she'd closed her eyes. "Someone has a lot on her mind." The part she wasn't in the process of losing. "How did you sleep? Or should I ask, with whom did you sleep?"
Yetta's eyebrows lifted in surprise then she smiled. “That sounds like something Grace would have said in an attempt to deflect attention away from her guilty conscience."
Alexa agreed. She normally wasn’t testy or defensive, but, then, she usually didn't have anything to be testy or defensive about. "Sorry, Mom. I assume Zeke told you about our crazy night, but that's no reason to take it out on you. Especially considering you're here volunteering when you 're probably still on Detroit time. How was Grace and everybody?"
Yetta put an arm around Alexa's shoulders and squeezed. "Now, that attempt at changing the subject was much more like the Alexandra we all know and love."
"Mom, why don't you use anyone's nickname?"
"Stubbornness. Your father and I chose each of our daughter's names with care. If I'd wanted you to be called Alexa, I could have named you that. Instead, we chose Alexandra, after your father's great-great-grandmother."
"Really?" Alexa said in surprise. "I thought I was named after some famous Russian princess or czarina or whatever the heck she was."
"A myth your father encouraged sometime after Katherine's birth, I believe. Someone—possibly Claude—mentioned noticing a certain underlying pattern to your names, and Kingston jumped on the idea."
“Because he called himself the Gypsy king?”
“No. To bolster your self-esteem. Our heritage is so often poorly portrayed by the media and in movies. He had many negative experiences while growing up—early cases of racial profiling, you might say. Kingston felt that if you thought of yourself as princesses, you would stand proud in the face of any teasing you might encounter."
"What about the story he told us of his ancestor who fell in love with a prince and had his baby?"
Yetta pursed her lips. "Who knows? It could have happened. The Romani were never big on written records."
"And most were creative storytellers, like Dad."
Alexa checked her watch. The sunny day begged more play time, but they still had a number of things that needed to get done today. She blew her whistle and watched her students race to the door and form a shaky line.
"Alexandra," her mother called when Alexa was a few steps away.
"Yes?"
"One of your father's great-aunts back east had a painting of the first Alexandra, the woman who was supposed to have loved the prince. She was very beautiful. In fact, she looked a lot like you. It's not surprising that a man would risk everything to be with her—even if society deemed that such a union was wrong."
Alexa wondered if there was some underlying message in her mother's comment, but she pushed the thought away. She needed to stay in the present. Her students required her attention, and doing her job was what paid her bills.
Mark had been grateful to get Zeke's call shortly after dropping Braden off at school. He'd walked the boy inside to explain the situation about his son's grandmother to the principal then returned to his truck, without any real direction or purpose.
He'd just made up his mind to return to his apartment and watch television when his cell phone had rung.
"I'm headed to a stakeout. Wanna come?" Zeke asked. "As a very unofficial observer."
Mark hadn't hesitated. "Hell, yes."
"I'll pick you up at your place in thirty minutes."
That had been four hours ago. Since that time, they'd driven to Searchlight, a small, dusty oasis about fifty miles south of Vegas. Directly east was Lake Mojave, where Mark recalled relaxing on a houseboat that summer when he and Alexa had been dating. As tempting as it was to linger over those memories—especially after spending the night in Alexa's arms—he narrowed his focus to the two-story dump of a motel where Odessa and her boyfriend were supposedly holed up.
He took a drink of the bitter, lukewarm coffee he'd picked up at the casino a few blocks down the street.
A quick glance at his watch told him Alexa's preschool class was probably just ending. Parents would be lined up to greet their kids, oohing and aahing over the latest masterpiece their progeny had produced. Braden had missed out on that whole experience.
Alexa had been right when she'd said Braden was showing signs of improvement since he'd started attending the Dancing Hippo. On the way to school that morning, he'd actually said a few words instead of grunting or shrugging his shoulders. The stutter was still pronounced, but, at least, he was trying.
Which is why he should continue to go there, even if Alexa and I can 't figure out this thing between us.
As if tapping into Mark's private thoughts, his companion behind the wheel said, "I saw your truck parked behind Alexa's this morning. Something I should know about?"
"Maybe if you were her father."
The snide remark landed between them like a loaded gun. Zeke let out a wry chuckle. "Good point."
Mark sank a little lower in the seat. "No. That was a stupid thing to say. Seems to be the only thing coming out of my mouth lately. I know you care about Yetta and her family. You have a right. More of a right than I do, actually."
"I wouldn't say that."
"Well, it's true. If Kingston were alive, he'd have been waiting at my tailgate this morning with a cup of coffee and a baseball bat."
"Really? Why?"
Mark grinned. "'Cause he always liked coffee in the morning—strong and black. And the bat was a great intimidator. Not that I ever saw him use it."
Zeke rubbed the side of his nose and let out a sigh. "Ever since I started seeing Yetta, I've been hearing stories like that. The Gypsy King was larger than life. Like Elvis. He's never quite left the building, if you get my drift."
"Yeah. I understand. Even eight years later, I kinda feel like he's looking over my shoulder, scowling. He didn't have too many good things to say about me."
"How come? First time I met you, I knew you were a square shooter."
Mark appreciated the comment, but for all of Zeke's cop instincts and years of experience, he was still basically trusting—at least where his brethren in law enforcement were concerned. "Alexa once told me that in the old days the Rom men were the ones with the special abilities to see into the future and stuff. They were the original horse whisperers."
Zeke nodded, listening. "Go on."
"At some point, that changed. I don't know why, but the women became the ones who read tea leaves and looked into crystal balls. Telling the future became a commercial enterprise. The men still had these gifts, but they forgot how to use them."
"Oh...” Zeke said. "You mean Kingston could see things about you that most people couldn't."
"Right. The first time Alexa brought me to the house for dinner, he said, 'You know that adage about the apple not falling far from the tree? Well, what they don't say is that the apple is bruised, and no good to eat."'
Zeke didn't say anything, but Mark saw his hands tighten around the wheel.
"I sorta laughed it off, but what he said stuck with me long time. When Tracey told me she was pregnant, I decided Kingston was right. If I had a daughter, I wouldn't want her stuck with spoiled fruit, either."
Zeke punched the steering wheel. 'That's crap. You're a decent man who made a mistake and
afterward did the right thing—the honorable thing. Even Yetta admits that Kingston was way off base where you were concerned." That was news to Mark. "I wish to hell I had a damn baseball bat. I'd—"
His rant was cut short by the cackle of a two-way radio. The backup unit was checking in. The second car had already been in place when Zeke and Mark had arrived and was positioned around back in case the suspects tried to slip out on foot.
Zeke confirmed that nothing was happening but ordered the pair to hold off sending one of the two for food. “Check-out time is one. I'll have the front desk call the room to rattle their cage."
He made a call on his cell phone then sat up, leaning over the steering wheel. Dropping his chin, he looked at Mark and said, "You know my daughter just had a baby, right?”
Mark nodded. Zeke had returned from Los Angeles where his ex-wife and daughter lived, with a two-inch stack of photos. Mark had never seen his friend more energized.
"Well, seeing her and this tiny new life made me realize that everything that happened in the past is gone. It's done. We can't change it and we can never really make up for it. We just have to deal with what's going on now.”
“That's pretty deep coming from you."
Zeke's hand shot out but the punch Mark expected didn't come. Instead, he tapped Mark's shoulder softly. "I'm a grandpa, now. I'm entitled. I just don’t want you to throw away something good because you feel guilty about letting Alexa down in the past. If I'd done that I wouldn't have been there to hold the most beautiful little grand-baby in the world. Did I show you her picture?"
Mark roared, knowing Zeke was trying to lighten the moment. "Yeah, I've seen her picture. But what about you, Dr. Phil? Do you just give advice or do you follow your own?”
Zeke's smile turned into a scowl. "My case is different.”
“How?”
“Yetta isn't Alexa. She was married for thirty-plus years—to a freakin' icon, thank you very much. You try competing with the Gypsy King, and then we'll talk."
Mark sighed. ”I have, and I lost. Sure, Yetta married the man, but Alexa worshipped him. She was Daddy's little princess. And even though Kingston never said the exact words to my face, I knew he was thinking, 'Oh, God, what a loser. That boy is nothing but trouble.' Which is exactly what my father always said. So, of course, I had to go and prove him right."
"You made a mistake. And part of that was Tracey's fault. You think Kingston never made a mistake?"
"Not a life-changing whopper, like mine."
Zeke didn't speak for a moment, but when he did, his voice was low and serious. "Well, you're wrong. I don't know how much Alexa knows, but Grace uncovered a pretty dark secret about her dad when she was helping us nail that lowlife scum Charles Harmon."
"What kind of secret?"
''The Gypsy King broke the law. He took a bribe, and instead of giving half to the man who'd arranged it—ol' Chucky boy—he kept the whole thing. Put the money into mutual funds for his daughters."
Mark's jaw dropped. "The money Alexa used as her part of the down payment on the Hippo was illicit?"
“The seed money was. Apparently over the years, the trusts did very well. And there was never any complaint filed. The money came from some deep pockets behind one of the unions. We only have Harmon's word on this. So, it's never going to be made public."
"Does Yetta know?"
Zeke nodded.
"Wow. That's wild. I swear I thought the man walked on water."
"Well, he wasn't perfect, but that doesn't mean his family loves him any less."
Mark heard something in his friend's tone and realized the same truth applied to Zeke and the daughter he'd reconciled with a few months earlier. "So, tell me again. Why are you waffling about dating Yetta?"
"Because I'm old, dammit. I'm getting ready to retire. What does someone like Yetta want with a gray-haired bum sitting around all day?"
"Who said you have to sit around? Let me ask you something. Say that nutcase boyfriend of my ex-wife's mother's blows out that door with a loaded 410 and puts a hole in your chest. Whose face are you going to see in your mind before you disappear into the light—or wherever you're headed?"
Zeke's growl didn't include a name, but he quickly turned the tables. “And you?”
They both knew whose name would be on his lips when it was his time. “Alexa. But what if the best thing I can do for her is leave her alone? She has a good life. She doesn't need the kind of bull that seems to follow wherever I go. She deserves better.”
“Don’t you think that should be her call?”
“Does the same go for Yetta?”
They sat in silence a full minute until the second-floor door they'd been watching opened. Two people walked out. A short, skinny man wearing a black cowboy hat, a soiled-looking denim jacket and sloppy jeans badly in need of a belt. The woman was dressed in shiny pink exercise pants and a fuzzy fake fur jacket that didn't quite cover her sagging behind. There was no mistaking the fact that this was a May-December romance, but the way Odessa tugged on the younger man’s arm told Mark who was running the show.
The cowboy seemed to be having a little trouble walking. "Stoned or drunk?”
"High on something.” Zeke let their backup know that the subjects of their stakeout were moving, then he nodded at Mark to get out of the car.
The pair paid them no mind as they stumbled toward a beat-up Ford Mustang parked just a few cars away from Zeke's unmarked patrol car.
Mark was unarmed, but he wasn't worried. Odessa obviously had her hands full with lover boy, who might have had a gun under his bulky jacket but probably couldn't see past his nose to aim and shoot.
"Odessa Mapes, LVMPD," Zeke barked. "We need to talk.”
The pair froze. For a moment, Mark thought they might run, but the appearance of two uniformed officers took away some of their options. That didn't keep Odessa from dropping her hold on her companion and advancing on Mark with her usual bluster.
"You," she shrieked. "You cowardly piece of shit. What my worthless daughter ever saw in you—beyond a regular paycheck—is beyond me. I tried to talk her out of marrying you, but would she listen? Hell, no."
Mark had heard the same recriminations and complaints for every year of his marriage—and after his divorce, too. Practically from the moment Mark and his mother-in-law had been introduced—after his and Tracey's quickie wedding— Odessa had groused about him. "He's too controlling, too hard, too cold-blooded." The list of “toos” had grown over the years.
"These gentlemen from Metro are here to take you in, Odessa. A small matter of a handgun that was found in my car, without my fingerprints on it. A gun that was used to kill the guy who supposedly named me as a murder suspect in your daughter's death."
Her companion let out a keening moan and started muttering something about Mexico. He was swaying on his feet so badly the backup team had to each take an arm while Zeke cuffed him.
Zeke rattled off the man's rights and made him answer out loud that he understood. "Uh, yeah, sure. Whatever."
His chin dropped to his chest, but a second later his head snapped back so hard his hat fell off. As the officers started helping him to the police unit, he began to struggle. "Wait. Odey," he called to the woman standing a foot from Mark. "Baby, you're not gonna let 'em take me in, are you? You said we were going to Mexico, 'member?"
Odey? The coffee in Mark's stomach curdled slightly.
"Wait. Hold on, man. I gotta see. I gotta see which one is the dumb f—" The cop on the left jerked the man around, slurring the rest of his obvious epithet.
"Wait," Zeke ordered the officer. To the suspect, he asked, "What do you want to see?"
"Which one is he, Odey? That dude? Is he the one who thinks he's the brat's dad?"
Odessa let out a string of swear words and would have inflicted bodily harm on the man if Zeke hadn't held her back "Not yet, you fool," she shrieked. "Not till we get the money.”
Mark and Zeke looked at each other. "What
money?"
She turned to face Mark. Her rheumy eyes were narrowed with spite . She practically spit the words at him. "The money you're gonna pay me to keep quiet about who Braden's real father is.”
Chapter 17
In the week following Alexa and Mark's morning-after talk, Alexa saw very little of Mark. He'd continued to allow Braden to attend the Dancing Hippo, but only put in an appearance himself at the end of the day when he picked up his son.
He was polite but distant. Alexa thought he looked tired— defeated—but she was never given a chance to ask him anything personal. He made sure they were never alone.
Alexa had worried that the tension between his teacher and his father would cause Braden to regress. Fortunately. that wasn’t the case. Although his stutter was still very pronounced, the little boy was slowly opening up—even speaking in the company of his friends, who never rushed or teased him.
When he wasn't sequestered in some corner with Maya and Gemilla, Braden played video games with Luca. And she'd even seen Luca helping the younger boy with his math problems.
Braden was a smart kid—from the simple tests she'd put him through, she'd determined that he was on par with his grade level in math and even slightly above grade level in reading—but he rarely volunteered answers to the questions she'd ask him about the books he carried in his backpack. And when he did speak, his stutter broke her heart.
But she'd noticed today that his little brow seemed less furrowed, as if some weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Alexa wondered if something had changed in school, maybe some accomplishment she wasn't aware of.
"Braden, you're smiling again," Alexa said, catching his hand as he passed by her desk on his way to join Maya at the snack table. He came to her willingly, but he didn't crawl up on her lap as most of the children in her school would have. "Can you tell me why you're so happy? Is it because Christmas is only five days away?"
He shook his head. "N-no m-ore...G-Grandma."
A Match Made In Vegas Page 14
