I said, “I don’t think she will get to keep it, because of something called the slayer rule. You can’t profit from murdering someone.”
“That’d be pretty sick,” the padre said, “if they let her post bail for Allison’s murder with the proceeds of Allison’s life-insurance policy.”
“So then who gets that money?” Dom asked.
Sophie said, “Allison named three contingent beneficiaries—Brenda’s kids. Plus I know she left gobs of cash in trust for them. Doubt any of that’ll be affected. They didn’t do anything wrong.”
My phone vibrated again. Sophie checked the screen, grinned, and heaved herself out of the chair to bring it to me. “You’ll want to answer this one.”
I looked at the phone’s display and felt my own face relax into a smile. I pushed the green Answer icon. “Victor!” It was my French hottie, calling all the way from Paris. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dom doing his imitation of someone who couldn’t be less interested. The padre crossed the room to pour more tequila into Sophie’s glass. She did not object.
I mentally debated whether to request privacy or let Dom and Martin stay and hear my side of the conversation. Hmm... which would make them suffer more? Staying and listening, I decided. Plus it would let me sneak peeks at them to gauge their reactions.
Oh, like you wouldn’t have done the same thing. We’re talking about Mr. Hedge My Bets and Mr. Won’t Make a Move While She’s Still Hung Up on the Ex. These guys do not deserve your sympathy. I deserve your sympathy for putting up with them for so long.
“What a sweetie you are for calling,” I cooed into the phone.
“Jane, mon Dieu,” he said. “I’m so relieved to hear your voice. Sophie called this morning. She said you’d been shot.”
Ah. So that’s how he’d found out about my little adventure. “It’s just a grazing wound,” I said, “in my rear end of all places. I’ll never race horses again.”
“You race horses?”
“Forget it,” I said. “Stupid American humor.”
“I’m astonished you can joke about it,” he said. “You also nearly drowned, yes?”
“I’m afraid so.” He sounded so concerned that I added, “But I’m okay now, Victor, totally on the mend. I have my dog and my friends and some amazing tequila. Oh, plus about a gazillion chocolate croissants.”
“Four dozen,” he said. “I know it’s your favorite. They freeze.”
Victor had phoned Patisserie Susanne that morning and ordered the pastries to be delivered to the house, in gut-busting quantities.
I said, “This is a conspiracy between you and all the other people who are feeding me. I know what you’re thinking. If you get me fat enough, I won’t be able to fit through a hole in the ice. Or I’ll float like a beach ball until help comes.”
“I wanted to fly out as soon as I heard,” he said, “but Sophie insisted it wasn’t necessary.”
“You were going to fly all the way here to be with me?” I said, for the benefit of the gentlemen in the room. Sophie smirked. “Well, I can’t tell you how much that means to me, but Sophie’s right. I’m being well taken care of.”
Sophie called out, “He’s in India.”
“What are you doing in India?” I asked him.
“My firm is opening a branch in Mumbai,” he said, “and I’m helping to set it up.” Victor was an architect. His firm was headquartered on the Champs-Élysées but handled many international projects, including a bunch in the U.S. When he’d been in Crystal Harbor last fall to look into his brother Pierre’s murder, he’d worked for a while out of his firm’s SoHo office.
“You’re on an important business trip,” I said. “You’re needed there. You can’t be running off to Long Island to change the dressing on my derriere.”
Dom, who up until now had done a creditable job of acting nonchalant, looked up sharply. Martin, now occupying the chair next to Sophie’s, appeared not to have heard the comment. Which I didn’t buy for an instant.
“Well...” Victor’s accented voice was smooth as silk. “I don’t have much experience dressing derrieres, but I have some experience undressing them, if that counts. Not to mention boundless energy and a willingness to learn. I’ll simply keep trying until I get it right.”
I giggled like an adolescent, feeling my face heat. And no, I wasn’t putting it on for the guys’ benefit. Victor was seriously hot. Have I mentioned that?
“Jane.” His tone became more serious. “I can’t stop thinking about you. And about that kiss, too, if I’m being honest.”
“Me too,” I breathed. I wasn’t lying. This flirtatious conversation notwithstanding, that one perfect, heart-stopping kiss we’d shared in my car when I’d dropped him off at the airport was the extent of our physical relationship. So far. Reliving that kiss was my go-to happy place whenever I was tempted to wring the neck of one of the clueless dudes closer to home.
“I still want you to visit me in Paris,” he said, “and my family’s B and B in Uzès. You promised, and I intend to hold you to it.”
You can hold me to anything you want, I thought, remembering how this man had looked wearing nothing but a pair of snug black boxer briefs.
Oh, stop, it was perfectly innocent! I’d happened upon him in the kitchen when he’d thought he was alone in the house. Which didn’t mean I wasn’t allowed to relive that moment, too, whenever I felt like it.
My house, my rules, remember? Sheesh.
“I’m not sure how long they’ll need me here in Mumbai,” Victor said. “Looks like it could be a while. But when I get back to Paris, let’s make plans for you to come over. I miss you, Jane.”
“I miss you, too,” I said, not caring who heard.
Sophie glanced at the bedside clock and shot to her feet, tapping her bare wrist in the universal sign for It’s later than you think. I nodded at her as Victor said, “We’ll speak soon. I know Sophie will take good care of you. And don’t get shot again.”
“I’ll try,” I said, “but no promises.”
“Irritating woman.”
While we were saying our au revoirs, Sophie was adjusting the position of the television, which was located in the corner to the right of the windows, attached to one of those articulating wall mounts.
She tossed me the remote. “Show’s already started.”
“What show?” Dom asked.
“The Romano Files.” I turned on the TV and switched channels. To Sophie I added, “Don’t worry, I DVR’d it. If we missed anything, we can catch it later.”
Martin got up and moved closer to the bed for a better view as Leonora Romano’s brittle, nip-and-tucked features filled the screen. She was yammering on about Crystal Harbor’s deadly Ice Queen (that would be Brenda), who’d caused the gruesome death of a beautiful, talented, vibrant young woman and come close to doing the same to the weirdo who bills herself as—get this!—the Death Diva!
Okay, she didn’t say “weirdo,” though considering our history, I’m sure she was tempted.
Sexy Beast, once again nestled against me, lifted his head and snarled at the television.
“That’s strange,” I said. “He only growls at creatures with four legs.”
“Must be the horns and forked tail,” Sophie said.
Dom said, “Please tell me she didn’t talk you into an interview.”
“No, no interview,” I said. “As if I’d let that woman into my home with a TV camera.” Plus, hello, with me lying here all puffy-eyed and straggle-haired? Yeah, that’d happen. “And I refused a phone-in too. We struck a deal, Lee and I.”
Dom’s “Hmm...” sounded just like SB’s growl. We all had good reason to distrust Lee Romano, whose sensationalist on-air hijinks knew no bounds as she strove to entice viewers away from Miranda Daniels’s Ramrod News, which aired in the same time slot.
Onscreen, Lee’s face was replaced with jerky video footage from the crime scene—which is to say, the frozen lake where I came close to dying the same way Allison
had. I saw myself at a distance lying on a stretcher, pale and bedraggled, surrounded by emergency personnel—cops, EMTs, firefighters—and covered with a reflective emergency blanket. Someone was holding an IV bag over me. I was grateful the video didn’t show the part where they stripped off my wet clothing and bundled me in warm, dry blankets.
“Who took this footage?” Sophie asked. “Doesn’t look like an official police video. Cops would never release that to the press anyway.”
“I have no idea,” I said. “I was so out of it by then, there could have been a whole darn film crew and I wouldn’t have noticed.”
Lee’s voice-over provided a running commentary. “Death Diva Jane Delaney spoke to me from the hospital where she’d been resuscitated after having been shot and left for dead in an ice-covered lake.”
“‘Resuscitated.’ Listen to the woman.” I lowered the volume and hollered at the TV, “Try ‘warmed up,’ Lee. They warmed me up and bandaged my booboo.”
Martin said, “So does this mean you’re no longer frigid?”
I gave him a wry look. “You’ve been waiting all day to use that stupid gag, haven’t you?”
“What gag?” he said. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Children, try to focus,” Sophie said. “Jane, I want to know about this deal you struck with Lee. On second thought, maybe I don’t.”
“It’s no biggie,” I said. “I agreed to supply her with a few insider details not available to the public, that’s all.” Lee had finally gotten what she’d asked for that day at the Rose Bookshop.
“And in return?” Sophie asked.
I know she was thinking about the “generous honorarium” Lee had promised me in exchange for “juicy tidbits” about Allison’s death. My friend’s dubious expression said she knew me too well to think I’d jump at an offer like that. She was right. No filthy lucre changed hands.
“In return,” I said, “Lee leaves Allison’s parents alone. She doesn’t harass them for quotes or background info, doesn’t even contact them.”
“Yeah,” she said, “but you can bet they’ve heard from Miranda Daniels.”
“I can’t do anything about that aside from warning them not to talk to her, which I did,” I said. “Look, I’m no fan of Lee Romano, but Miranda is Beelzebub incarnate. If I have to pick sides, I’m sticking with Lee.”
Dom said, “So Lee gets to scoop her nemesis Miranda.”
“And I get to retain a little control over the info she puts out,” I said.
“Plus,” Sophie said, “you’re making this whole thing a little less horrible for Allison’s folks. As close to a win-win as you’re likely to get.”
Even with the volume lowered, Lee’s exclamations about the Ice Queen’s shocking—shocking!—crime spree were intrusive. I pressed the Mute button.
“Wait.” Sophie squinted at the TV. “Martin, is that you?”
I sat up straight, and cursed. I really had to stop doing that. Not cursing, which I reserve for deserving occasions, thank you very much, but bolting upright with a freshly stitched butt wound.
Peering at the TV screen, I saw Martin sprint across the frozen lake toward the stretcher. My mouth dropped open. I turned to look at the man himself, who now stood leaning against the wall with his arms folded, his face a blank mask. Clearly he wasn’t pleased to have been caught on camera.
“I had no idea you were there,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Instead of addressing my question, he answered an earlier one. “This footage was shot surreptitiously by one of the EMTs, on his phone—obviously to peddle to the highest bidder. I don’t think anyone noticed what he was up to but me.”
None of us asked him how he’d known what had transpired at the preserve. We all knew Martin had buddies on the police force, as well as his own police scanner. It wasn’t hard to imagine him jumping on his motorcycle and racing to the preserve at insane speeds on back roads made treacherous by snow and ice.
Staring at the television screen, I saw Martin try to get to me where I lay on the stretcher, only to be thwarted by the people working on me. Meanwhile my addled, hypothermic self struggled weakly with my rescuers as they strapped me down. I might have been watching a Hollywood movie. I didn’t recall any of it.
Sophie scowled at Martin. “So why the hell didn’t you come to the hospital?”
“I did,” he said. “They wouldn’t let me in to see her because you guys were already there. Two people max, they said.”
I repressed a satisfied little smile, which waned as a difficult question presented itself. If I’d been in a position to choose, which man would I have wanted with me in the hospital, Dom or Martin?
I hope you’re not waiting for an answer, because I don’t have one.
Onscreen, Martin pushed his way past the emergency responders, more forcefully this time, resulting in a brief shoving match. I’d never seen him as he was in this video, beyond agitated, almost frantic. I have no way of knowing what words were exchanged as he raised his hands in a placating gesture. He must have said the right thing, because eventually they relented and let him approach me.
I stared at the television, transfixed, as Martin bent over the stretcher and tenderly brushed strands of damp hair off my face. My eyes appeared to be closed. He brought his mouth close to my ear and whispered something. Of course, I remembered none of this.
Finally a pair of burly firefighters succeeded in hauling him away from the stretcher, but not before he managed to do one last thing. I stopped breathing as I watched the padre, on the television screen, slowly lower his lips to mine and kiss me. As he did so, I saw myself struggle to open my eyes, to focus on him.
The bedroom was utterly silent. Martin hadn’t moved a muscle. I wondered if I was the only one who detected the tension radiating from him. Dom’s sullen expression left little doubt as to the direction of his thoughts. For her part, Sophie looked unsurprised by what she’d just witnessed. The deepening crinkles at the corners of her eyes gave her away, and I just knew she was going to be insufferable once she got me alone.
So now I had yet another kiss to relive in my imagination. It would have been nice if I actually remembered it and didn’t have to rely on jerky video footage that had been shared with millions of fans of The Romano Files. On the plus side, I’d recorded the show, so I could watch it again, should the desire arise.
On second thought, that wasn’t necessarily a plus. I flashed on an image of myself lounging in front of the huge TV in the family room, shoveling Cherry Garcia straight from the carton and pressing Rewind on the remote, over and over.
Oh, come on! I didn’t say I was going to do that, only that it had, you know, crossed my mind as a possibility.
Sexy Beast picked up on the strange vibes zinging around the room, staring pointedly at each of us in turn. His whine said, Guys! Someone want to let me in on it?
I could no longer bear the loaded silence. Someone had to say something. It might as well be Leonora Romano, whose refined, store-bought features once more filled the television screen. I turned the volume back up.
“...I’d give anything,” she was saying, “to know what that sexy Prince Charming whispered to the Death Diva right before he woke her with a kiss, wouldn’t you?”
Indeed I would, I thought, but I wasn’t going to waste my breath asking Prince Charming to elaborate. I already knew him well enough to know he’d deny having whispered anything in my ear, particularly of the sweet-nothings variety.
“Okay, fellas.” Sophie made shooing motions, herding Dom and Martin out of the room. “You’ve brought your offerings, you’ve done your little courtship displays, now scoot so she can get some rest. Go mark your territories or something.”
“I’m staying,” Dom said. “Janey needs—”
“Git!” She propelled him through the doorway. “How are we supposed to gossip about you if you won’t go away? And you!” She stabbed a finger in the padre’s sternum. “Aren’t you supposed to be mi
xing up girlie drinks for your adoring fans?”
“Max is covering for me,” he said.
“Then go buy this one a beer.” She jerked her head toward Dom, moping in the hallway. “Tell him you didn’t mean to kiss her. It was an accident. Your lips slipped.”
“What kiss?” Martin was all innocence as he and Dom started down the curved staircase. “Did someone get kissed?”
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Copyright
Ebook edition published by Radical Poodle Press, 2017
Copyright © 2017 by Pamela Burford
ISBN 978-1-939215-79-6
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Did you love Icing Allison? Then you should read Snatched by Pamela Burford!
Praise for romantic suspense by Pamela Burford:"Pamela Burford's Twice Burned is wonderfully sexy and exciting!" — New York Times best-selling author Anne Stuart"Everything from dangerous passions to deadly chills. Take heart, Intrigue fans, Pamela Burford has arrived." — New York Times best-selling author Maggie Shayne"Pamela Burford is one of the best writers of romantic suspense!" — Harriet Klausner for Painted Rock Reviews"Gifted author Pamela Burford delivers a sexy, tension-packed sizzler with a tough, strong hero guaranteed to make our hearts throb!" — Romantic Times"You will love every minute of this chilling story of a fear-love relationship that walks the finest edge of danger." — Affaire de Coeur"A great romance and a terrific thriller!" — Literary Times"I couldn't tear myself away until I'd read the last page. The writing is fast-paced and provocative as this highly talented author once again provides a stunning story." — Old Book Barn Gazette***A humorous romantic suspense novel that's fresh, quirky, and surprising! Find out why Snatched has been described as "Janet Evanovich meets the Coen Brothers."Is an uncomplicated divorce and a fresh start at forty too much to ask? Apparently it is for Lucy Narby, whose life goes from blah to bizarro when competing kidnappers lock horns in her kitchen. And really, does the victor have to be that hot? If this is the Stockholm syndrome, it sure didn't take her long to catch it!Lucy's kidnapper calls himself Will but looks suspiciously like former child TV star Ricky Baines, whose acting career was cut short when he himself was snatched and held for ransom 25 years ago in a notorious cold case that remains unsolved. Will's gang includes an aging French bombshell, an outlandish Irish giant with a mysterious past and a thing for Will's sister, and long-lost Cousin Hal—a charming fellow who neglects to mention that he happens to be the twisted sociopath who kidnapped Will when he was still America's favorite little star. Hal spent the past quarter century in the slammer for an unrelated murder, and now he's out and determined to locate the $2 million ransom Will's family paid. Someone else dug up the cash while Hal was behind bars, and that sort of thing tends to make twisted sociopaths a tad grouchy.Fortunately (or not), Lucy's bigamous ex is on the case. But so are a gay private eye in a fat suit and a bad-tempered parrot with an ax to grind, so no worries. Everyone has a secret and no one is who he seems when Kidnap Fever strikes.
Icing Allison Page 22
