Hey Big Spender

by Gemma Halliday

  "Yeah, well, apparently my father couldn't resist a good publicity stunt."

  "Wait, are you saying that he actually named you after the monster?"

  I nodded.

  "Wow. I thought it was just a cruel coincidence. I'm so sorry," he said, but I noticed his eyes were still twinkling and his mouth had snaked up into a grin almost the size of his face.

  I turned in my seat to study his profile. "Okay, you can either stop laughing at the unfortunate accident of my parents' sense of humor, or you can even out the playing field by telling me something personal about yourself. Preferably incredibly embarrassing."

  He smoothed his hands over the steering wheel several times, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "It's going to be difficult to top that."

  I swatted at his arm playfully. "Try."

  "Okay, but you have to promise not to laugh."

  I traced an X over my heart. "Promise."

  "So, this car…" He slid a hand over the dashboard. "The only cars I've ever owned were black Firebirds. When they stopped making them, I had to go with this Camaro since it was the closest thing out there."

  "Why would I laugh at that? You know what you like and don't settle for less." I had to admit, it was a nice car. I'd been tempted to ask him to let me drive it when the valet had pulled it around.

  "Well, yeah, there's that too."

  He watched the road in deep thought, and I waited patiently for the rest of his story. "Come on—you owe me." Well, sort of patiently.

  "Fine," he muttered within an overly dramatic sigh. "Do you remember the show Knight Rider?"

  I nodded slightly. "Vaguely." I snapped my fingers. "KITT! That car was a Firebird."

  He looked at me for a second with a sheepish grin. "I used to watch the show with my dad. He had me convinced that his first name was Knight."

  I laughed. "You thought your dad was Knight Rider?"

  "I was five, okay?" he protested, but he was laughing now, too. "Anyway, when I hit kindergarten, the other kids set me straight about him. Next came the truth about the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, and Santa. I had a heyday at the mall that year. I climbed up on Santa's holly-jolly lap and called him a fat lying bastard. Totally worth getting grounded."

  Laughter bubbled from me, infecting him to join along. I was still giggling when he pulled off the road.

  "You promised not to laugh," he said with a wink as he put the car in park.

  "It was the Santa comment, and you know it." I glanced away from him in a pretend pout, but the glittering lake took my breath away. The moon illuminated the mountains, accentuating the peaks and making the valleys look dark and foreboding. The reflection on the water looked like a huge, rippling diamond. "Wow, that's beautiful," I whispered as though I could scare it away.

  "Yeah, beautiful," he repeated.

  I turned to share a look of wonder with him, but he wasn't looking out the window. He was staring at me. His heavy-lidded gaze locked with mine, sending a shockwave of pleasure down my spine.

  He reached out, drawing his thumbs across my chin, his fingers sliding along my jaw. He pulled me toward him. His lips met mine in a soft, sweet kiss, his hands framing my face. I clung to his elbows, leaning across the center console, melting against as much of him as I could. Need blended into the mix, deepening the bond. His hands skimmed down my neck, pushing the coat from my shoulders. His lips followed the same path, in a trail of soft caresses, culminating at the nape of my neck, sending a jolt of heat through my body. One of his hands threaded into my hair, and the other trailed lightly down my spine. My head fell back into his hand, and I heard myself moan. I was floating somewhere inside myself, caught up in the feel of his lips, his fingers, the sound of his breathing, the smell of his cologne…

  …the feel of his phone vibrating in the pocket of his coat against my leg.

  Talk about a mood killer.

  I pulled back from him reluctantly, heaving a huge sigh of regret when I saw the look of confused disappointment on his handsome face. I wiped the secondhand gloss from his lips with one hand and extended the buzzing killjoy with my other.

  He sighed and flopped back against his seat, swiping on his phone then huffing, "Ryder."

  I tried to busy myself by looking out the window at the scenery again. The lake just didn't hold the same magic without his attention. I tried not to eavesdrop, but the space was a little confined for me not to hear at least his side.

  "Where?" he asked, casting a glance my way. He paused. "Any ID?"

  I felt the shift in him from lover boy to federal agent in seconds flat, and it was a bit unnerving. But his next words sliced clear to my bones.

  "Do you know how long she's been dead?"

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I stood in the circular drive of the Royal Palace minutes later and watched Ryder's car disappear into traffic. The night air was just as cold as earlier, if not colder, but I felt nothing. I was numb. Even though the agent who'd phoned Ryder hadn't been able to give a positive ID on the body that had been found in a Dumpster just the other side of the Y where Highway 50 met 89, I had a sinking feeling I knew who it belonged to.

  LeAnna.

  Ryder hadn't given me any details. He told me not to jump to any conclusions, but his emotionless fed face had told me he already was. He promised to call me as soon as he knew something for sure. Though I had no idea how I was going to face Britton in the meantime.

  I tried to regain my composure somewhat before I wound my way through the busy lobby and casino area, hoping to find Tate at the front desk. Instead, it was Marcy training with another woman. For a moment, the happiness on her face as she listened intently to her trainer made me forget about dead bodies and missing people.

  But only for that short moment.

  I chose not to disturb them. Instead, I knew I had to bite the bullet and tell Britton the news. I would've wanted her to do the same for me. I rationalized that it would be best to ease her into it this way and spare her the shock when they identified the body. I straightened my spine, powdered my nose, reapplied my lip gloss, and forced myself down the long hallway to the VIP dinner.

  The crowd was now gathered in the second two ballrooms, seated around large tables. Plates of creamy pasta, steamed mussels, herbed chicken, and roasted duck filled the tables as loud conversation filled the room. The air was thick with enticing aromas that spoke to Dubois's culinary talents. But even though I'd yet to eat, my stomach roiled at the thought of food as I scanned the room for Britton's face. But it was Rafe I saw first.

  He quickly excused himself from the table, where he'd been sitting between Sicianni and a leggy blonde who'd spent one too many hours in a tanning bed.

  "Tess, where have you been? The dinner is a total success. I think we'll get some majorly good reviews from these people."

  "Uh-huh." While I had heard his words, they didn't really register. I was still scanning the crowd for Britton, mulling over what I was going to say to her.

  Rafe grabbed my arm. "Are you okay? Did you hear a word I said?"

  I looked up at him, my brain still in too much of a shock-induced fog to force anything but what I felt to my face. I nodded. "That's great."

  "Where did you disappear to?" He stepped back, assessing me.

  "I needed air. I, uh, went for a drive." I paused. "Do you know where Britton is?"

  He shook his head. "Why? What's going on?"

  "Agent Ryder said they found a woman's body tonight. He's checking into it." I looked away from him, fidgeting with my handbag, fighting back unexpected tears.

  "A body? Who?"

  "They don't know for sure yet." I took deep breaths to keep back the tears. "But I'm afraid it might be LeAnna."

  "Oh, no," he breathed. He closed the gap quickly, brushing a reassuring hand on my shoulder, tucking me against him.

  "Oh, yes," I blubbered, the floodgates opening, pouring down my cheeks as I briefly rested my forehead against his chest. I took a moment to get myself under control befo
re backing away. I didn't completely understand my breakdown. It was not like there'd been any love lost between LeAnna and me. But I knew how Britton was going to feel. I swiped at my face, undoubtedly smearing my makeup more so than drying my eyes. "Have you seen Britton? I need to warn her. It needs to come from me."

  He brushed my hair to the side then pressed his lips lightly on my forehead. "I don't know. I haven't seen her since the cocktail party. My guess is she went back up to the penthouse."

  I nodded. "Can you finish up here so I can go talk to her?"

  He pulled me in for a hug. "Sure thing."

  "I'll let you know if I hear anything from Ryder," I said, watching him flinch just the slightest bit at the mention of Ryder's name. I hoped that he couldn't read the sudden moment of guilt on my face as I flashed back to kissing Ryder in a parked car like a teenager.

  "Go. It's fine," he told me.

  I offered him a halfhearted smile before I left. On my way through the lobby and up the elevator, I went over a hundred different ways to tell her the news. None of them softened any kind of blow. I briefly contemplated a text, but that just felt like the cowardly way. The elevator dinged, opening on the penthouse floor. I just stood there, staring at the double doors. It wasn't until the elevator dinged again and started closing that I got out. I swiped my key, doing some yoga breathing in an effort to calm myself.

  Opening the door, I called out, "Britton?" Jack quickly greeted me with his usual ankle circles, but other than a random meow and his loud purr, the place was quiet. I walked down the hall toward the master bedroom.

  "Britton?" I knocked, and the door creaked open from the force. The room was dark except for the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was the same one my father had used when I was growing up. The neon-blue numbers had a slightly calming effect, but the empty apartment did exactly the opposite.

  I pulled out my phone and texted Britton as I wandered back toward my room. I turned on the lamp next to my bed and sat down to wait for a reply. Britton always got right back to me. There was even a middle-of-the-night instance recently when I'd needed toilet paper and texted her. She hadn't been happy, but she'd responded.

  I was still staring down at my dark screen ten minutes later. Panic squeezed my heart, making it hard to breathe. Dialing her number, I paced the floor. It never rang, instead going straight to her bubbly voice to leave a message.

  I felt physically sick. I swallowed back the bile that threatened to escape.

  I sent a text to Tate, asking if he'd seen Britton, clinging desperately to a crazy notion that my phone was on the fritz. But true to form, he texted right back saying the last he'd seen her she was showing off the Battle Buffet set to a VIP about an hour ago.

  I tore out of the penthouse, willed the elevator to move faster, and jogged across the lobby then down the hall to the soundstage. I wasn't sure why, but I had a sense of foreboding deep in the pit of my stomach. I burst through the door to find the huge set dark except for a few safety lights glowing in the far corners. I was about to turn and leave when I spotted something out of the corner of my eye.

  Remnants of a shattered mixing bowl. Pieces of glass were speckled across the floor, leading to Chef Dubois's side of the kitchen.

  I moved closer, and as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I realized that his normally pristine area was trashed. Utensils were strewn across the counters and filled the sink. A thin layer of flour coated the cookbooks he'd used as props, a lone handprint smacked across the cover of one.

  My knees wobbled as I turned several complete circles, scanning for anything that might make sense out of the mess.

  Then I heard someone else moving in the soundstage.

  I froze, listening to steps coming from the dark area where the cameras were housed.

  "Britton?" I blinked several times into the shadows, but I couldn't make out who it was for sure. But who else would be down here? "Britton, is that you?" I asked hopefully.

  Only I didn't get to hear an answer. I felt something heavy smack into my head at the base of my neck. Fireworks exploded before my eyes, matching the pain that shot through my body.

  Then everything went black.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The sound of moaning woke me, but the queasy feeling in my gut and the thumping in my head kept my eyes clamped shut. I felt like anything I'd eaten in the past decade was ready to make a hasty exit.

  Swallowing hard, I forced one of my eyes open a slit. I was only able to make out shapes and outlines in the dim lighting, most of which still didn't make much sense. Was I still on the Battle Buffet soundstage? I opened both eyes and squinted in an effort to pull anything into focus. Only a sliver of moonlight illuminated my surroundings. There was definitely a bed. I tried to raise my head, but the room seemed to sway rhythmically. I'd either been hit harder than I thought, or I wasn't on land.

  Or possibly both.

  The moaning continued. As I tried to clear the fog from my head, I realized it was coming from the direction of the bed. I tried to speak, but it came out as a moan on my part as well when I realized my mouth was taped shut. The other sounds elevated to urgent whimpers.

  I pushed past the hammering in my brain, attempting to pull myself into a sitting position. I fought against tape binding my wrists behind my back and at my ankles. Panic filled my gut, exploding through my entire body, as claustrophobia and my fight-or-flight instincts reared their ugly heads. I forced myself into yoga breathing, concentrating on my inner peace rather than the outside situation I had no control over. In that frame of mind, I pushed my torso into the fish pose, arching my back high, and then rolling onto my side. From there I was able to work into a handless version of a downward-facing dog, using my head instead of my hands and pushing my tush into the air. My forehead burned as I dragged it across the carpet to pull my knees under me. I shook off my high heels then sprang to my feet, all the while being serenaded with grunts and whimpers of encouragement from the bedridden cheering section.

  I hopped once in that direction, nearly toppling back to the floor with the swaying of the floor and my throbbing head. I angled my feet out for more of a stance and hopped again, getting me close enough to the bed to make out two distinctive forms. One in a long white dress.

  Britton!

  I'd never been so glad to see anyone in my life. That is until I realized that meant we'd both been abducted and tied up by the same person.

  I squinted through the darkness at the second figure, making out a formfitting, sequined microdress.

  "Mee-maamaa!" I mumbled against the tape. Which of course didn't come out right, but I realized I was looking at LeAnna! She wasn't dead after all. I could have hugged the hussy if my hands weren't taped behind my back.

  As my eyes adjusted more to the poor lighting, I could see that each woman's hands were duct taped to opposite ends of a scrolling, wrought iron headboard. Britton was closest to me, wiggling her hands and casting her glance back and forth between my feet and the nightstand next to her.

  It took me a minute to figure out what her nodding and bobbing meant, but I finally honed into her thinking. She wanted me to get up on the bed so her hands could reach mine. I nodded at her as I bunny-hopped next to the ridiculously high piece of furniture. It was raised on a large frame so that the top was above my waist. I was going to have to channel my inner Michael Jordan to jump that high.

  I moved backward slowly, sizing up the height. I then bounced as hard as I could, higher and higher until I reached it, slamming my butt against the nightstand in the process. We all three watched in horror as the brass lamp atop it tottered from side to side, finally crashing to the floor. Silence fell over us, and we froze, listening for anyone who might have heard the ruckus and would come to investigate. I heard nothing but lapping water and the soft creaking of waves against the side of a boat.

  A boat? Where were we?

  I released a huge sigh through my nose, matching the other two relieved glances.

  I made
another go at the bed. Several other failed attempts left my calves burning and me mentally promising I'd spend more time at the gym with Britton. On the fifth try, I finally sailed through the air, my aching hindquarters landing squarely just on the edge of the bedspread. I flailed about, much like a stranded mermaid, to stay on the bed as much as a person could without the use of her arms and legs. I finally came to rest with one cheek hanging off the side.

  But I was on.

  I heard all three of us heave a collective nose-sigh this time.

  I cheek-crawled across the surface until I was next to Britton. She wiggled her fingers, which were, of course, still about a foot away from my bound hands. I snorted in frustration, knowing what had to be done. I worked my way into another downward-facing dog with my forehead again. Once on my knees, I felt like I'd just climbed Mount Everest. I pulled my ego into check and scooted back against her hands. After an accidental butt fondle and a few nail gouges to my back, she found the edge of the tape. It took a few minutes of careful peeling and prodding, but she managed to free my hands.

  I reveled in the ability to move them for a brief moment before tearing the tape from my lips. I almost cried out in pain but forced my lips shut. Instead I settled for a quite impressive string of curse words under my breath. After freeing my ankles, I turned my attention to Britton.

  I locked gazes with her as I loosened a corner of the tape over her mouth. "Ready?" I whispered.

  She nodded lightly, her rounded eyes pleading for either mercy or to get on with it already. I tore the tape from her lips, and she let out a high-pitched squeal. I clamped one hand over her mouth while using my other to free her wrists.

  While I worked on her ankles, I whispered, "I just saved you twenty bucks on a lip wax. You're welcome." I hoped my lightheartedness came across in my words.

  "Where are we?" Britton asked, her eyes blinking back tears of fear.

  I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the darkness just enough to make out that we were in some sort of small bedroom. A cabin? "I think we're on a boat." I looked out of the small window, expecting to see a dock. But all I saw was dark, black water. I turned to Britton. "You don't know how you got here?"