by Gina LaManna
I looked up. “Business friends, then. That sounds nice. And as much as I hate to say it, I’d be stupid to ignore your offer of help. As we’ve seen tonight, it’s beneficial to have you on our team. I’d like your assistance for the next few days, if you’re willing to stick around, of course. I’d offer you a cut of the payment.”
“I’m not doing this for money.” He extended a hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Baffled, I shook it, wondering what sort of favor he owed if it wasn’t in exchange for money. “Good to have you on the team, buddy.”
At that moment, the valet pulled up, this time in a car I recognized all too well.
“No way,” I said. “Anthony has the same Audi! It’s his favorite.”
“He has good taste, then.” Mack smiled, handing another bill to the valet before opening my door. “In you go, dear.”
I froze, looking up at him. Mack leaned his head down, careful not to touch me for even the briefest of seconds, his mouth hovering too close to my neck. “It’s an act. If anyone asks, I want the valet to say a nice couple claimed this car.”
I gave a rigid nod as he closed the door, thanking my lucky stars that he hadn’t touched me. I might’ve had to slap him otherwise, which would be a shame for his pretty face. Meg and Clay clambered into the back.
“Everyone buckled up?” Mack gave a salute to the valet, then pulled away from the curb.
The buckles had never been fastened more quickly. None of us were taking risks this time around.
“I hope you know I almost had to smack you back there,” I said. “I thought you forgot about our little friendship agreement.”
Mack shook his head. “I won’t renege, trust me. I’m not looking.”
“What agreement?” Meg asked.
“Mack is going to temporarily be part of the team, at least until Anthony arrives,” I said. “We need someone who knows how to work a gun.”
“I know how to work more guns than all of you put together,” Meg said. “But I will say that his driving is almost as good as mine.”
“I think we lost the tail.” Clay looked over his shoulder. “I didn’t see anyone pull out behind us.”
“We’ll take a bit longer route than necessary,” Mack said. “But I’m not worried. Only one man has ever managed to reach Level Four of a car chase, and let me tell you – we do not want to go there tonight.”
“Who managed to follow you?” I asked. “Who’s that good?”
Mack tsked. “Do you really think I’ll answer that?”
“Where are we going?” Meg asked. “I bet you’ll answer that.”
“Home,” Mack said. “I’m taking y’all home.”
CHAPTER 9
“Wow, fancy.” I surveyed the garage as Mack threw the Audi into park. “What would you call this place? I don’t think garage is the appropriate word.”
“Miss Lizabeth is a fascinating woman,” Mack said. “Ask her for the full tour sometime.”
I helped Meg and Clay out of the car, both of them whistling around the well-lit, Iron Man styled garage filled with a handful of vehicles, all the way from normal (i.e., a Kia) to high end custom vehicles.
“What are these for?” I asked. “Does Miss Lizabeth drive them?”
“Not usually.” Mack ignored my first question. “Come on, I’ll show you up.”
He’d taken us to a towering home just north of Santa Monica Boulevard, though we hadn’t seen the house from the outside. The property was shielded with hedges taller than most palm trees, the lawn extensive and beautifully maintained. It paled in comparison to Carlos’s mansion – at least in terms of size – but then again, it might’ve cost more due to that whole location, location, location thing. House prices in Beverly Hills were notoriously more expensive than in suburban St. Paul.
Mack led us up a winding staircase into a modern entrance so pristine I would’ve been happy to eat dinner off the floor – without a placemat. A Christmas tree, decorated with all matching bulbs, lights, and tinsel sat in the corner, and an orchestral variation of “Deck the Halls” filtered through an invisible stereo system.
“I’m going to leave you here,” Mack said. “I stay in the guest house out back, if you need anything. Lizabeth and Harold are out to dinner downtown, and will stay at her loft there tonight. We have a fully equipped staff to help you with all of your needs.”
“You got a staff?” Meg asked. “Like what sort of staff?”
“Meg.” I spoke in a warning voice, and shook my head. “Thank you, Mack. I’m sure we’ll be fine. We can manage on our own, and will do our best make sure you don’t even know we’re here.”
Mack cast a skeptical glance around the room. “Right. Well, enjoy yourselves. Food is in the kitchen. Would you like my assistance scoping out the event scene tomorrow?”
I shook my head. “That’s Clay’s specialty. Though maybe you could drive us? Or show us where to rent a car?”
“Parking here is a drag. Let me drop you off, if you’d like,” Mack said. “My time for the next three days is yours, according to Lizabeth.”
“Are you her slave?” Meg gawked.
“Meg, no,” I said. “She’s hired him to help with our assignment.”
“Neat,” Meg said. “I was gonna say…otherwise I’d totally assist setting you free, for a small, one-time payment of a kiss. French-style is optional.”
Mack raised a hand. “Good night, y’all. Intercoms are hooked up to every room should you need to reach me.”
Meg and Clay headed to the kitchen, but I waited in the main entrance to lock the door behind Mack.
“Thanks for helping us out of that scrape,” I said. “We’ll be looking into who was following us, and why.”
“If you find out, please keep me updated,” Mack said, a smile punctuating his soft spoken drawl. “I’d like to have a word with them.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re as bad as Anthony. Speaking of, I should give him a call and let him know we’re okay.”
“Good night.” Mack stepped down from the staircase. “If you need anything at all, I’m just out back.”
I closed and locked the door behind him, finding it impossible not to wonder about his story. Not that it was any of my business, but my nose had a tendency to poke in places it didn’t belong, and when a ball of mysteries as tightly wound as Mack was just plopped on a plate in front of me, I couldn’t help but wonder. What sort of favor did he owe Lizabeth? Why had he offered to help us? Where had he come from, how had he gotten here, and where was he going?
I pushed the questions out of my head, telling myself that I didn’t need to know everything all the time. But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have Clay do a quick background check on him, pull up some information and see what his story was. In our business, one could never be too safe. Sometimes, the difference between friends and enemies was a very thin line.
CHAPTER 10
“Incoming message for Lacey Luzzi,” Meg’s voice burst through the intercom system. “Are you still having phone cuddles with Anthony?”
I frowned, thankful Anthony couldn’t see me from across the phone line. I was on the phone. I was not having “phone cuddles” with him, however.
“Can you hear her?” I asked, quietly. “That’s the intercom.”
“Loud and clear,” Anthony said. “Intercom system, hmm? I see you’ve found yourself a wealthy client. That’s a great start, Lace.”
“Wealthy is an understatement,” I said, images of the garage fit for Batman flashing through my mind. “I think you’d like parts of her house, but I can’t say for sure since you’ve never invited me over to your place. I don’t know your housing taste.”
“Soon, doll.” Anthony smiled across the phone, I could sense it. “I promise you, soon. You’ve been patient, and I appreciate it. But I told you, I want it to be nice before you see it.”
“You don’t have to live in a fancy house for me to like you, Anthony,” I said. “I like you as is. Plus, I’m curious
to see your decorating style. I’m guessing you’re clean. Modern and shiny furnishings, maybe?” I paused. “Not cluttered, that’s for sure. You’re not the cluttering type.”
“I don’t decorate,” Anthony said. “Nora’s hired someone to do all that. I just got word today that the lady doing the “art” crap on the walls said she should be finished soon. And then…what do you say we plan a special date night to, well, break in the new place?”
I flushed. “I’d like that. I’d like it a lot.”
A silence filled the line. I lay back on the bed. I’d chosen a room on the second floor of the mansion. All white, fluffy sheets and black, sleek furniture, this place could pass for a seven-star hotel. If such a thing existed.
I swallowed. “I miss you, Anthony. A lot.”
“I miss you, too. I’m sorry I couldn’t fly out there tonight. Are you doing okay?”
I hesitated, not wanting to dive into all of the events that’d transpired in my short time here. “I’m okay, but I could be better. In fact, I have a king-sized bed, a one zillion thread count set of sheets, and pillows so puffy my head disappears into them. But I have one problem.”
“Just one?” Anthony laughed.
“I can’t take up all the space in this bed by myself.”
Anthony groaned. “What do you have on?”
I looked down at my thick yellow sweatshirt and purple soccer shorts. Someone, a mystery someone, must have retrieved my bags from the abandoned car and brought them up to the room. “Not a whole lot, as a matter of fact. I have on those black, lacy undies that I bought just for you. And wait until you hear about this bra. I have a new one on, one you haven’t seen before. It’s sheer.”
Anthony didn’t respond, but I could hear his breathing, so I knew he hadn’t hung up. Which meant he wasn’t yet on a flight across the country. Which meant I needed to do some more convincing.
“Actually, about that bra…” I punched my pillow a few times for a “movement” sound effect. “There it goes. I’m naked from the waist up. Next, for those lacy black underwear…” I snapped the elastic of the stretchy shorts against my waist. “They’re gone, too.”
The line fell silent again.
“You’re wearing sweats, aren’t you?” Anthony asked. “Nice try.”
“Dang it, that didn’t work?” I said.
“Oh, it worked.” Anthony gave a low, throaty chuckle. “Believe me, it worked, thanks to my ability to visualize. But you’re lying. Now, here’s what I actually want you to do…”
Anthony’s next lines caused me to blush all sorts of red, pink, and purple.
“Wow,” I said. “So, how fast can you get out here?”
I sucked in air as Anthony sighed. “I want nothing more than to be on a plane out there. Do you think you can wait another day?”
“You are making this up to me, big time,” I said.
“I hear some of those Hollywood houses have soundproofed walls,” Anthony said. “How about this one?”
“The walls are soundproofed,” Meg said through the intercom. “But that doesn’t matter if Lacey leaves the Call button on for the intercom.”
“Oh, crap!” I sat up, looking around for the intercom. “Did everyone hear that?”
There was a beat of silence, then another, before Meg said. “Yep. Loud and clear. Kudos to Anthony, man. That takes some talent, what he has in mind for you. I wish I was that flexible.”
A menacing growl-turned-muttering-turned-murderous threat told me that Clay had heard everything, too.
I waited for Mack to chime in, but when he didn’t, I held out hope that I’d only had the intercom system broadcasting to the inner house, not the exterior one, as well.
“Anthony…I have something to tell you,” I said. “I don’t think you’ll be happy about it.”
“I heard Meg,” he said. “I’ll bet money that she rigged that system up on you as a joke, trying to eavesdrop.”
“You’re probably right,” I said with a sigh. “Do you mind if I let you go so I can get things sorted out? Plus, I didn’t realize, but it’s late there. You’re two hours ahead, right? So it’s three a.m.?”
“I’d have waited all night for your call, sugar.” Anthony lowered his voice. “I miss you, and I’m going to get out there as soon as possible. If I’m done a second early, I’ll be there. Got it?”
I nodded. Then realized a nod didn’t transfer across a phone line. “Got it.”
“Be safe, call me if you need anything,” Anthony said. “And babe, congrats. Not many people can get a first assignment like this one. You should be proud. I know I am.”
My heart warmed. “It’s not the same without you.”
“I know. We’ll plan it better next time. But for now, get some sleep. And figure out how to give Meg temporary amnesia, I don’t want her bringing any of that stuff up that she heard.”
I laughed. “You got it. Good night.”
“Night, sugar.”
I gave up on the intercom, lying back on my bed. I’d have someone look at it in the morning, but for now, the only sound transmitting for the next eight hours would be the sound of my exhausted snores.
It was only as I was drifting off to sleep I realized that I hadn’t filled Anthony in on the car chase, my mysterious Hollywood stalker friend, or our temporary team member. But it was too late to call him back, and I didn’t want the entire world to hear, anyway. It’d have to wait until morning.
CHAPTER 11
Morning, however, was a complicated thing at Lizabeth’s home.
Sleep did not come swiftly, nor did it come sweetly.
It came like a jackhammer to my skull.
Sometime after I’d hung up with Anthony, my intercom system had shut off. Sometime later, someone else’s button had gone on the fritz, turning on and broadcasting loud snores that peppered my dreams, waking me on the hour, in between the hour, and over the course of all the hours.
Finally, around four a.m. LA time, which would’ve been six a.m. in Minnesota, I hauled myself from bed, intent to first go find the bathroom, and then find the person who’d swallowed a foghorn. I’d tried to be polite and put pillows over my head, but nothing worked. If I didn’t get some sleep, I’d be useless in doing my job.
I found the restroom at the end of the hall, impressed by its level of fanciness. Instead of one room like a normal restroom, there were two – the toilet area, and then a larger space to wash hands, fix hair, and apply makeup. It reminded me of those ritzy department store restrooms, the ones with the full-sized couches inside.
I made quick work of using the first room, and when I emerged, was surprised to find a hot hand towel laid out next to the sink, still steaming. Glancing around suspiciously, I wracked my brain. I was ninety percent sure that hadn’t been there when I went into the bathroom, and even if it had, how could it have remained hot all evening? I was all for Lizabeth having “help” around the home, but this bordered on creepy.
But since I didn’t want to be wasteful, I used it anyway. And I sorta liked it.
Shuffling out of the restroom, I glanced around, but there were no signs of another human being in the hallway. There were signs pointing the way to Meg’s room, however. Her snores echoed through the hall, under the door, through the door, and over the door. I paused outside, but quickly realized that it wasn’t her intercom system that’d flicked on. Her snores were too erratic, and the ones pumping through the cyberwaves of the house were very even. Almost OCD, even.
I made it the rest of the way down the hall, still on the lookout for my hot hand towel buddy, but didn’t have any luck.
I did have some luck standing outside of Clay’s room. I listened through the crack in his door, and after three seconds of creeping on my cousin, I confirmed it was his intercom that was faulty. I recognized the snoring pattern, having listened to it often, and for several hours straight.
I raised my hand to knock, and then paused. Leaning a closer to the door, I listened. Snores weren�
�t the only sound coming from the room. The soft muttering of conversation filtered through the doorway. My first gut instinct was to back away slowly and let Clay have his privacy, but my second gut instinct, courtesy of a wildly out of control toaster strudel addiction, told me something fishy was happening here. My second gut won out.
Who could he be talking to? Not Meg. For starters, her snores erupted like a volcano all over the house. Harold was downtown, which ruled him out. And unless Clay had made friends with my hand towel buddy or other household staff, he was alone in there. Maybe he was talking to himself.
I waited a second longer, ruling out my theory of Clay’s being alone. Though he spoke too softly for me to make out the words, I could tell when he paused, and when someone else responded.
Raising and lowering my hand three or four times, I kept hesitating. I weighed the consequences of interrupting Clay’s late night activities and the consequences of my not getting any sleep. Hemming and hawing for at least five minutes, I worked myself into a tizzy until my hand reached up and knocked on the door of its own accord.
“What?” Clay snarled, opening the door hardly an inch, “Why are you here?”
“Hello to you, too, cousin. I have been listening to your methodical snores for several hours now, and I can’t sleep. Could you please tone it down a bit?” I shrugged. “At least shut off your intercom.”
“Oh.” Clay gave a quick shrug. “Okay.”
“Okay? That’s it?”
“Did you want something else?”
I paused, feeling as if I had unfinished business, though I couldn’t figure out what it might be. Something niggled right near the surface of my brain, an itch begging to be scratched. “I guess not.”
“Okay, then good night.” Clay moved to shut the door.
“Wait a second!” I wedged my foot and arm in the door, pushing it back open. Thankfully I had the element of surprise on my side, so I was able to overpower my cousin and squish my body through the door. “I’ve figured it out.”
