The short encore almost at an end, I talk fast. “Did he ever mention Anne Gallo?”
“Yeah. He said she was his bank roll, his way out. But I told him to be careful. There’s no such thing as a free ride.”
He hands me his card. “Will you call me if you find him?”
“I will but one more thing. Do you have his address?”
“I do but don’t tell anyone. We’re not supposed to give it out.” He reaches for the pen behind his ear and jots an address on the back of my card.
The set over, Mia plops down onto the stool next to me and spins. “You missed the best part.”
“Best parts.” Rose approaches, cheeks bright from laughing and drinking.
I point at my grim-faced boyfriend, leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed. “I’m pretty sure he would’ve stopped the lap dance.”
“Why did you invite him, anyways?” Pouting, she sips on a Long Island Ice Tea and hands one to me but I pass it off to one of my other cousins waiting at the bar.
Instead, I grab my beer. “He thinks whoever beat me up may try again.”
“With all these people around?” Mia’s eyes go wide and she looks around like someone’s about to jump her.
“Calm down. He can be a little overprotective.” I remember how he saved me earlier and thank God for his amazing skills.
Suds senses we’re talking about him and nods, face completely neutral. Tonight, sunglasses on and dressed in black, he’s scary as shit. I can see why people hire him.
I’d love to go home but there’s no way. My cousins and friends chipped in a fair amount of money. They want me to have a little fun before I get married and even though the party wasn’t mine to begin with, I understand the rules.
When the clock strikes one, I down my last drink of the night and yell over the noise. “Guys, guys. It’s Thursday night and us working girls need to get up in the morning.”
Rose laughs. “Go on. We’ll be right behind you.”
I wobble over to where Suds has been standing watch all night long. Silently, he takes my arm, brings me to the coat check girl, and helps me on with my jacket.
Maybe it’s my alcohol-brain, but he’s so smooth, so gentlemanly, I wonder how many times he’s done this for beautiful, famous women, and taken them home to bed.
The sidewalk is a lot trickier to maneuver in heels than it was on the way in.
“You’re tipsy.” He glances up and down the street as he holds onto my waist.
“Nam not.” My heel gets caught in a crack and I stumble.
Luckily, he’s there to keep me from falling. “Are too. Before you forget, what did the bartender say?”
“Luigi. Poor Luigi. I think he may be our dead person.” I reach into my purse. “Dammit. Where did I put his business card?”
Suds says dryly. “Open your purse’s outside zipper.”
I don’t remember putting it there but when I search, the tiny rectangle miraculously appears. “Ta da!”
“What else did he say?” He snatches it out of my hand and puts it in his jacket’s inside pocket.
“Just how he hasn’t seen poor, poor Luigi in over a week. Oh yeah, he also said Luigi called Gallo, his bank roll.”
“Huh.”
“Let’s go search his place.” I bounce up and down on my heels. Best idea ever.
“Now?”
“Sure. What better time?”
He laughs as we descend into the parking garage. “For one thing, when you’re sober.”
“Tomorrow then?”
“Sure, sugar. But let’s wait and see how you feel.”
Inside his SUV, I put the seat back, and don’t wake until my alarm goes off the next morning. Cat yowls, jumps up, and lands with her claws out, digging holes into my hip.
“Ow! Off.” Oh dear God. My head. What was I thinking last night?
The spiral staircase, which seemed like an awesome space saver, now looms in front of me, daring me to try it.
“Fuck you, I got this.” Gripping onto the banister as if my life depended on it, I slide one heel down at a time while Catrina sits at the bottom, looking worried.
“Let this be a warning to you, kitty. Never go to a strip club on a weeknight.” I consider calling in sick but Aunt Marion already warned us. She has zero tolerance for hangovers. Besides, I vaguely remember her in the front row, stuffing bills into a naked policeman’s G-string. Eww.
Coffee. I need coffee.
After caffeine flows through my veins, more memories of last night resurface, and Luigi comes to mind. I’m pretty sure Suds said we were going to search his apartment tonight.
Suddenly, an earthquake hits, shit starts falling off the walls, and my whole building sways.
A nightmare. I run outside only to find the guys next door are at it again. A gaping crack runs along the foundation under my front door. Dammit. This is the final straw. I copy down the name of the construction company.
This is it. No one should mess with a private detective suffering from a hangover.
After I finish at the salon, I could use a nap but instead research the assholes next door. Similar to Mrs. Gallo’s import-export business, there’s a ton of shell corporations. When I see one I recognize, my fists clench.
“Goddammit Uncle Vinny!” At my shouts, my kitty jumps up from where she sleeps behind my computer and eyes me suspiciously.
“No worries, sweetie. Your daddy and I are going to fix the nasty noises next door. Paybacks are a bitch, Vincent.” I can see I’m going to have to play dirty.
He’s got plenty of lawyers on staff and a hell of a lot more money than me and Suds. Still, I’m a former Fed and if he wants to go head to head, he’s got it.
Not only is he going to reduce the noise, he’s going to pay to have my building fixed or I swear to God, I’ll see he spends the rest of his life in Rikers.”
Yeah, that’s what a gallon of Long Island Iced Teas can do to a person.
I call Jason and get dirt on my uncle. So much so, it could put him away for a long, long time. Then, I attach it all to an email with an ultimatum. No more blind dates, and no more fucking with my life.
I just hit send when someone buzzes my door.
“Hey, Frankie. Come on in.” My former client, dressed all in black, moves cat-like into my office space. Without asking, he adjusts the blinds and parks himself in a chair.
“I hear you’re looking into shit better not looked into.” His dark brows raise.
Catrina, unaware the guy is a hitman, purrs over to his lowered hand and nudges at his knuckle.
“I assume you’re talking about Mrs. Gallo?” I park myself on the couch and pull my knees to my chest while he frowns.
“You got any other cases I might be talkin’ about?”
I shrug. “Could be. You never know.”
He reaches over to grab my chin and studies it. “Did one of her goons do that?”
“Yeah.” I rub the bump on my jaw, hoping someday the swelling will go down. If not, perhaps I could start a second career as a zombie extra.
“Why didn’t you kill him?”
“Bad for business. Picture the headline.” I frame a virtual image with thumb and forefinger in the air. “Local PI shoots man in the back.”
He nods. “Excellent observation. How’d he get the drop on youz?”
“I left my gun in my purse.” My cheeks burn as he shakes his head, mouth pursed.
“You shoulda known better.” His disapproving tone deepens my shame.
“I get it. Won’t happen again.”
“Bene.” He stands. “I wouldn’t want to lose my favorite cat sitter.”
“How is Chloe?” I stand too, happy the inquisition is over.
His face brightens and he smiles. “Good. Real good. I got a job overseas next week. I’ll bring her by so she can meet her niece. They need time to get acquainted and figure out who’s boss. A lot like people.”
“Uh-huh.”
He glances at my
open computer and grins when he sees my research. “Figured it out?”
“About Uncle Vinny and the noise next door? Yeah.”
He chuckles. “Best of luck with that. Let me know if you need any help with this Gallo woman and keep your weapon nearby at all times. Got it?”
“Understood.”
He kisses me on both cheeks. “Ciao, bella.”
“Bye Frankie, and thanks.”
My kitty pads over to the door after he goes, blinks her big green eyes, then slinks back and jumps on the table. “Mrumph.”
I guess she shares my conflicting feelings.
Thinking about Mrs. Gallo gets me excited about searching Luigi’s apartment so I pick up my phone and text.
Me: Hey
Suds: ?
Me: What time we going to Luigi’s?
Suds: ~9
Me: Working?
Suds: Y
Me: <3
Suds. Me 2
Taking three ibuprofen for the headache, I nap and when I wake, it’s sleuthing time.
Woo hoo! I dress in black jeans, black hoodie, and black sneakers. Then, I kneel to check myself in the bathroom mirror.
Not a bad look for breaking and entering.
Not long after that, I’m waiting outside when he rolls down the window and wolf whistles. “Damn, you look fine, girl.”
“Right back atcha.” I swear to God, my man could stay up for a week and still melt my panties off.
Dressed in his favorite black leather jacket and worn jeans, he puts the car in park, then hops over the hood to open the passenger side door.
After I buckle up, I tell him all about Frankie’s weird visit and before I know it, we’re at Luigi’s place.
Six flights of stairs later, Suds makes quick work of the lock and we’re inside the escort’s studio apartment.
“Yuk.” I turn on the light and roaches scatter over dishes in the sink while my partner points to a desk.
“His laptop is missing.”
I search his bookcase, and thumb through a college yearbook. “Oh my God. Look. Luigi went to Harvard. His real name is Steve Adair.”
Sebastian picks up a few bills addressed to the same name and shows them to me. “What’s an Ivy League graduate doing as a stripper?”
I point out a diploma hanging on the wall. “Not only that, he graduated Magna Cum Laude.”
“Huh.” Searching under a floorboard, he finds a safe.
“Should we take it?”
“No. It’s enough to know he feels the need to own one.”
Energized by our findings, I walk back to the kitchen and paw through the garbage while holding my nose. There’s a receipt stapled to a Chinese take-out bag and it’s dated a day before Mrs. Rossini claimed she saw the poisoning.”
I wave over Suds who reads it, and nods. Then, we carefully put everything back the way we found it because I’m pretty sure, sooner or later, the cops will be here. Someone, eventually is going to miss Steve Adair, AKA Luigi the gigolo.
With a finger to my lips, I motion Suds out the door, and he nods. We’ve found enough to move forward and shouldn’t press our luck.
My thoughts whir in the car on the ride back home.
Who is this Steve Adair?
While Suds drives back to Manhattan, I start researching.
Chapter 15
Suds
I check out of the Waldorf, drop Mykola at JFK, and after, deposit his generous tip in my bank. Once home, my thoughts wander to last night. Sam and I need to learn if this Luigi character is missing and hand this cluster-fuck off to the police.
My partner eyes me as Steve Adair’s tax form pops on her monitor. “I think it’s time we had another chat with Mrs. Rossini. I still can’t figure out why an Ivy League graduate became an erotic dancer.”
“Maybe he likes it. Some guys do.” Sipping on my coffee, I scoot my chair closer, our thighs touching.
Her left hand rests on the top of my leg, I cover it with mine, and she catches my heated gaze.
Her tongue slips across her lower lip as she gives me a sexy smile. “According to his ten-forty, his income is below the poverty line. He probably makes a whole lot more under the table, sleeping with cougars.”
“Maybe he does erotic accounting.” I meant it as a joke but after a moment, both our jaws drop.
Her eyes grow wide. “You think he was cooking the books for some of his clients?”
“He graduated with honors. For sure, he’s smart enough. It could explain why he’s gone missing or our motive for his murder.”
“We need to see her computer.” She stands but I pull her into my lap, and wrap my arms around her.
“Not very likely.” I don’t want her anywhere near that Gallo woman.
Wriggling, Sam tries to escape. “I’m serious.”
My cock, however, has a different agenda. “Whoa there, little lady. How about we go upstairs and talk about it?”
I kiss her open mouth, thrust in my tongue, and she goes all soft.
Breathless, her gorgeous eyes meet mine. “Change the subject much?”
“Is that a no?” I nibble her nose and when my hands slide under shirt, she arches into them and moans. “Can we at least discuss it later?”
Not wanting to argue, I scoop her up, circle her around the staircase, and lower her onto our mattress. Placing my gun on the dresser, I unbutton my dress shirt, and kneel beside her. Her sleep clothes, yoga pants and cotton top, go first. Then, my mouth waters as she lies all naked before me, eyes dark, and legs spread wide.
“Sugar.” I unbutton my belt, unzip my pants, and struggle with my cuffs.
She waits for a full two seconds before slapping my hands away so she can help free me from my shirt and pants.
Both naked, we kiss as I cup her breast and squeeze until her tip hardens under my palm.
I unlock our lips, pull her hands above her head then kiss every inch from her neck to her nipple. Pinching one, I suck the other while she squirms and moans.
Desire racing through my veins, I slowly finish with the north and head on south past her navel. When I reach the Promised Land, I lift her butt off the bed, throw her legs over my shoulder, and have at her.
Inhaling her musk, my tongue traces around her nub until her flesh swells and her juices flow. Only then do I insert a knuckle and press into her sweet spot.
“Seb.” Her breath hitches, her heels dig into my back, and when she screams and comes, my cock swells but I hold him back from release.
Instead, I turn her onto her hands and knees, place myself at her opening, and sink in. I almost lose my fucking mind as I pull out and in.
Shivering, her inner muscles clamp around me. When she’s all done shaking, I slow down, and lay her on her back. Resting with my elbows beside her ears, I nibble on her ear and tease her opening with my tip while she catches her breath.
Her eyes go wide when I push in to the bone, circle, and grind. Oh yea, sugar, we’ve just started. I’ll take you to heaven all damn night.
Her lids go half-mast but I whisper. “Don’t. I want to see you when you come.”
Tonight, her body belongs to me. I need her to understand the depth of my love, how fucking lost I would be without her. How her getting hurt was like a bullet to my soul.
“Babe.” As I thrust faster, she comes alive.
Our bodies slap together, lubricated by our sweat from the skyrocketing heat. I roll onto my back, for fear I might be too rough on her injuries.
She rides me hard and fast, boobs bouncing in my face.
“Eyes here, tough guy.”
I do as she says, lose my control, and on the brink of heaven, she joins me and we shout our release.
I must’ve been exhausted because I don’t stir until it’s light and the kitten jumps on the bed.
“Reow.” She claws at the comforter and I gently push her off the mattress.
“Too early, Cat.”
“Meow? Meeeeooooowwwwwwwww.”
Sa
m puts her pillow over her head. “She’s your cat. You have the receipt to prove it. You feed her.”
Grumbling, I throw on a pair of sweats and walk down the staircase. Not convinced I won’t go back to bed, Cat stops and stares until I pour some dry kibble into her bowl and drop it in front of her. “There.”
After taking a sniff, she pads over to the refrigerator and paws at the door. “Meow.”
“What?”
“Meow.”
“This?” I open the door and pick up a can of her wet food.
She pitter-patters back to her station and stares while I spoon a tablespoon into her bowl “You are way too spoiled, know that?”
Purring now, she chows down.
A few minutes later Sam joins me in the kitchen. While I make coffee, she rests her chin on my back and hugs me tight. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Me too. Want to help me finish the bathroom?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
Mostly, for you to stay out of trouble. “You could help me finish tiling the shower stall.”
We work together real well until suddenly, she looks at the time. Finding her phone, she thumbs, and puts it to her ear. “I almost forgot. I need to call Mrs. Rossini.”
Shit, I was hoping she forgot.
She waits, frowns, then thumbs in another number. “Hello? Is Martha there? Uh-huh. Well, when do you expect her back? Yeah, I will. Thank you.”
Brows creased, my barefooted partner pads back to where I kneel in the bathroom. “She’s missing and her daughter doesn’t seem worried. Maybe we should call NYPD.”
“And say what? A woman is missing who thinks she saw a murder?” I slather more thin set onto the wall then run the toothy edge of my trowel through it.
Sam places tiles onto our basket weave mosaic and frowns. “Martha’s daughter said she was driving upstate but when I asked her where, she said she wasn’t sure.”
“Let’s drive over and have a little chat with her. Maybe, in person, she’ll be more forthcoming.”
“All over it.” She grabs her coat and stomps her foot impatiently at me because I don’t move. “What?”
“Maybe get dressed first?”
The Dead Gigolo Caper (Suds and Sam Book 4) Page 10
