Love So Tender: Taking Care of BusinessPlay It Again, ElvisGood Luck Charm

by Stephanie Bond

  She laughed. “He’s also perfectly taken. Or at least, I assume so, since he needed privacy for the call.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Woman,” she said emphatically. “Sorry.”

  He looked distressed for all of two seconds, then wagged his thick eyebrows. “If he won’t take me away from all this, maybe he’ll rescue you.”

  Since Cordelia had caught them kissing, the news was bound to get out. “We, um, did have a…moment…earlier.” She held up her forefinger and thumb pinched together. “Just a little…kiss.”

  He gasped. “I was only gone for a few minutes—how…?”

  “It was nothing big, and it won’t happen again.” She made a note on the calendar for the seven-thirty wedding. When she looked up, Lincoln was gaping at her.

  “Are you kidding me? You kissed the man already? Was ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ playing?”

  She nodded, feeling like a fool.

  He sighed. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, sweetheart. No one can fight those lyrics. Besides, the man screams ‘affair.’”

  She held up both hands. “No way. I’ve sworn off affairs, remember?”

  “Oh, right. Well, maybe he’s the settling down type.”

  Grace shook her head. “He went to great lengths to explain that he was not interested in marriage—now or in the future.”

  He frowned. “Kind of presumptuous of him, wasn’t it?”

  “It was in the context of business, but I got the point.” At least her brain had understood.

  Lincoln scrutinized a rose in one of the bouquets he held. “What’s his name?”

  “Steve Mulcahy.”

  “Nice name.” He frowned. “What’s his story?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, why would someone who looks like him be working in a place like this?”

  Gracie frowned. “Thanks a lot.”

  “You know what I mean. I love TCB, but wedding chapels aren’t exactly a magnet for straight, great-looking guys. What kind of photographer aspires to this job?”

  Admittedly, the same thoughts had crossed her mind. She shrugged. “Maybe he’s between jobs, or is down on his luck.”

  “Right. Maybe he’s a gambler,” Lincoln said. “Maybe he lost his real job, and he’s desperate.”

  Gracie somehow couldn’t reconcile the description of a quasi-loser to Steve, even if she had only just met the man. Something about him radiated power and authority, but Lincoln had a point. For some reason, though, she wanted to think the best of Steve Mulcahy, and that alone troubled her.

  Gracie made a rueful noise. “Desperate is what I’m banking on. No offense to Roach, but without a good Elvis, our bookings are way down. Somehow I’ve got to talk the man into singing and swiveling his hips.”

  Lincoln grinned.

  “Don’t say it,” Gracie said, giving him a stern look.

  “Okay,” Lincoln said in an innocent voice. “I won’t say it. But I can think it.”

  Gracie sighed. So could she.

  CHAPTER THREE

  STEVE’S PULSE ratcheted higher as he listened to his partner on the phone.

  “So,” Karen said, “our informant thinks that Lundy could show up sooner than we’d planned—maybe the day after tomorrow. The good news is she was able to give me a few more details about the wedding that Lundy’s bride booked.”

  Steve removed a small notebook from his pocket. “Go ahead.”

  Karen cleared her throat. “Apparently, they booked the Aloha—” She stopped and giggled, then recovered. “The Aloha Teddy Bear package.” Then she laughed out loud.

  Steve pursed his mouth, waiting for her to continue.

  Her laughter petered to a cough. “Sorry, Steve, but you have to admit that this Elvis stuff is hysterical. I’ll bet the impersonator there is a real hoot, isn’t he?”

  Steve closed his eyes and decided to withhold the full extent of his undercover duties for now. “See if our informant can find out any other details about the Lundy wedding—what kind of car they’ll be arriving in, how big the wedding party will be, that kind of thing. And of course, a name would be great.”

  “Will do. So, have you met all the players over there? We need a description of all the employees so we’ll know who’s who when the arrest goes down.”

  “You have the owner’s picture on file, right?”

  “Right.”

  Steve hesitated as Gracie’s pixie face rose in his mind’s eye…along with the sensory details of her shocking kiss. Just the memory of her pink mouth on his elicited a response from his body. He set his jaw, then said, “The only other person I’ve met is the wedding director. Gracie Sergeant, female, thirtyish, short platinum-blond hair, violet-colored eyes.” He bit the end of his tongue as soon as the words left his mouth.

  “Violet-colored, huh?” Karen made a thoughtful noise. “With little golden flecks?”

  He frowned, disgusted with himself. “I’ll call you later.” He cut off her laughter by disconnecting the call.

  Steve pulled his hand down his face and forced himself to concentrate. Karen’s information meant that he might have even less time to prepare for Lundy’s arrest than he’d thought. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by Gracie Sergeant’s eyes. Or legs. Or mouth.

  Or tattoo.

  Turning in the direction Cordelia Conroy had gone, Steve walked down the hall past an office and what appeared to be the drive-through window, to a set of double doors that opened onto a covered concrete patio at the rear of the chapel. Cordelia Conroy stood next to a birdbath that had been filled with sand to serve as an ashtray. The behemoth basset hound sat near her feet. In a corner of the lot, the rear fins of a pink Cadillac peeked out from under a cloth cover.

  When Cordelia saw him coming, she took a last drag on a short butt, then snubbed it out. After a few seconds’ hesitation, she withdrew another cigarette from a pack and offered him one. His throat itched, but he shook his head. He’d quit smoking six times and this time he meant it.

  While he watched, Cordelia lit her second—or third?—cigarette and took a deep drag. Well into her sixties, she was still an attractive woman, albeit a little rough around the edges. Street smart, he realized. And wary.

  He stopped a few feet away and leaned against a column that held up the metal roof over the sparse patio. The hound dog moseyed over and sniffed at his boots.

  “Is Mulcahy your real name?” she asked finally, on an exhale.

  “As far as you’re concerned,” he said.

  “You’re not what I expected.”

  He kept his expression noncommittal. “What did you expect?”

  She leveled her gaze on him. “Not some good-looking buck who hits on my wedding director.”

  He blinked. “She kissed me.”

  The woman flicked ash. “I didn’t see you putting up a fight.”

  Steve squirmed, feeling like a naughty teenager instead of an undercover agent. “I was simply going along.”

  Cordelia looked all around, as if she were afraid they would be overheard. “This situation is dangerous enough without you getting involved with my employees.”

  “I understand. But I have to interact with them for things to appear normal.”

  She took another drag, then nodded. “I know, but don’t overstep your bounds. Especially where Gracie is concerned. She’s…susceptible.”

  He pressed his lips together and nodded curtly, hoping to end the awkward conversation. Wasn’t it enough punishment that he couldn’t get his mind off the abbreviated kiss? “I just received more details from our informant, who says that the wedding might take place sooner than we expected, and that the bride booked a—” he pulled out his notebook “—an Aloha Teddy Bear package?”

  Cordelia frowned. “We have an Aloha Las Vegas package and a Teddy Bear package, but not an Aloha Teddy Bear package.”

  He scratched his temple. “So it could be either one. Do you keep a record of what the customers reque
st?”

  “Of course—that’s Gracie’s job.”

  “I’ll need to see the reservations for the upcoming week.”

  Cordelia nodded. “I’ll get Gracie’s book.”

  “I’d like photocopies.”

  “We have a copier in the office.” She exhaled and ground out the half-smoked cigarette. “Mitch Lundy’s been operating on the wrong side for years—why the sudden resolve to bring him in?”

  “In the nineties the Bureau cut him some slack for testifying against an associate and putting him away—as long as Lundy stayed legit. But a few years ago, he slipped back into his old businesses—prostitution, drugs, money laundering. He’s ordered at least eight hits. He’s more arrogant and dangerous than ever.” Steve frowned. “To Lundy, eluding the FBI is just a game, and I want to put an end to it.”

  Cordelia pressed her lips together. “So what exactly is going to happen?”

  Steve was momentarily distracted when H.D. sat down solidly on his boot. He tried to maneuver his foot out, but the dog was a block of panting dead weight.

  “Best-case scenario,” he said, “we’ll be able to figure out which reservation is Lundy’s and alert our agents to stand by. He’ll be apprehended after he leaves your property.”

  “And the worst-case scenario?” Cordelia asked.

  “Worst case is that he sneaks in and I don’t have enough time to call for backup.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “But you’ll still wait to arrest him until after he’s off my property.”

  “That’s the plan,” he said. “But I have to be honest with you, Ms. Conroy—Mitchell Lundy is a dangerous criminal who’s played cat and mouse with the Bureau for years. If something goes wrong, we’ll still seize the opportunity to arrest him.”

  “Even if it puts my employees in danger?”

  “Civilian safety is always our first concern,” he said, and stubbornly, a civilian with white-blond hair came to mind.

  “Are you sure you’ll recognize this Lundy fellow?”

  “If I see his eyes—he sustained a wound to one eye that left a permanent and recognizable scar.”

  “What if he recognizes you?”

  “We’re operating under the assumption that he or his people have a file on all the agents in the state.” He frowned. “That’s why I agreed to wear the costume—I doubt if Lundy will suspect Elvis. I understand there’s a wig and sunglasses?”

  “That’s right.” The shadow of a smile played on her lips, then disappeared. “Are you carrying a gun?”

  “Bureau policy, ma’am.”

  She nodded, then straightened. “Well, Mr. Mulcahy, you have a job to do, but so do we. If you want to fit in here at TCB, I suggest that you do whatever Gracie tells you to do.” She frowned. “In regards to work, that is. Until you make the arrest, we need for you to be a convincing performer for our customers.”

  He nodded, but his stomach felt tangled. And he wasn’t sure what bothered him most—the thought of impersonating the King, or working closely with Gracie Sergeant.

  “Come along, H.D.,” Cordelia said, and the hound lifted his fat rump from Steve’s instep. Steve shifted his weight to send blood back to his foot, then glanced at the pink Caddy. “Ms. Conroy?”

  She turned back. “Yes?”

  “Does the Caddy run?”

  “Not for a year now.”

  “Care if I take a look under the hood?”

  “Be my guest,” she said, then withdrew a thick ring of keys from her robe pocket. She removed two keys on a separate ring, tossed them to him, then reentered the chapel.

  Steve strode toward the old car, burning with curiosity. As he rolled back the cloth tarp, his pulse spiked in appreciation of the four-door Cadillac, rust spots and all. The paint was faded, revealing lots of body filler along the side panels, but the chrome was intact and the white hardtop and interior were in amazingly good condition. All four tires were flat and probably ruined, but it should have whitewalls anyway. He lifted the hood and stared down at the corroded engine, registering in one glance that two hoses were disconnected and the carburetor lid was missing.

  “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

  Steve looked up to see Gracie walking toward him, his pulse spiking again but for a different reason. Did she know that in the sunlight her white eyelet dress was transparent? She wore a lacy strapless bra and high-cut bikini panties. The silhouette of her opposing curves—breasts, waist and hips—stamped into his brain in the same place, he suspected, that songs embedded themselves to emerge as torture at the most inconvenient times.

  His sex hardened, straining at his zipper, preventing him from straightening to greet her. “Yeah,” he murmured. “She’s something.” The fact that they were talking about two different things didn’t matter.

  Gracie ran her hand along the top of the car. “It’s a 1955 model, just like the one Elvis bought for his mother. The real one is on display at Graceland.”

  He smiled. “Have you been to Graceland?”

  She shook her head. “I…haven’t seen much of the country.”

  “Did you grow up here?”

  “Um…no. Do you know something about cars?”

  He filed away the fact that she had sidestepped his question, but let it pass. “A little.”

  Her eyes went round. “Do you think you could get it running again?”

  “I don’t know—I can give it a try.”

  She grinned. “That would be wonderful—it would be a boon to our business if we could offer couples a ride in a pink Caddy.”

  “Has anyone tried to fix it?”

  She shook her head. “Just between us, Cordelia hasn’t had the money.”

  He frowned. “Is business bad?”

  “Well, the wedding chapel business isn’t what it used to be—the competition is fierce, and taxes are astronomical. I think Cordelia would like to retire, but she doesn’t want to put the rest of us out of a job.” Then she wet her lips. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t be telling you Cordelia’s business. I came out to get you—we need to prepare for the four o’clock wedding.”

  “Right,” he said, lowering the hood and replacing the tarp. “The suit.”

  “Yes, the suit. And I have a favor to ask,” she said, turning back toward the chapel.

  When he lifted his head, he saw that she was wearing a thong, and all rational thought fled. “Anything,” he murmured, hurrying to catch up with her.

  “How do you feel about…singing?”

  He blinked. “Singing?”

  “It’s just like karaoke,” she said hurriedly. “The music will play, and the words will scroll across a screen.”

  “I don’t sing,” he said, shaking his head, his feet feeling heavier with every step. “I’ll wear the suit, but I don’t sing.”

  She bit into her pink lower lip. “I have to be honest with you, Steve. We really need the business, and we need a good Elvis to keep our customers happy.”

  “But I don’t sing,” he insisted.

  She pshawed. “Everybody sings.”

  “Not me.”

  She crossed her arms under her breasts—an unfair and distracting maneuver, in his opinion. “Cordelia just told me that you said you’d do whatever we needed for you to do.”

  A sick feeling settled into his stomach. “I did say that, yes.”

  Her smile was brilliant, pushing her cheeks up, highlighting the little brown mole. “Good.” She turned back toward the chapel, practically skipping. “We have just enough time for a practice run. Do you know the words to ‘All Shook Up’?”

  Steve closed his eyes and smothered a groan—what had he gotten himself into?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GRACIE GLANCED at Lincoln, then back to the closed dressing room door. “We’re waiting,” she called pleasantly, although she was tapping her foot.

  “Maybe I should go in and give him a hand,” Lincoln offered with a grin.

  Gracie gave him a withering look, then rapped on the door of the
dressing room. “Come on out, Steve.”

  There was no response for several seconds, then, “I’d rather not.”

  Gracie rolled her eyes. “Steve, stop messing around—we’re running out of time here.”

  Shuffling noises sounded, then the door swung open slowly. Gracie gasped.

  “Oh…my…gawd,” Lincoln murmured.

  Excerpt for the surly look on his face and the bagginess of the oversize bejeweled white jumpsuit, Gracie would swear she was looking at the King of rock ’n’ roll himself. From the lofty wig and long sideburns to the large gold-tone sunglasses with dark lenses, he looked every inch the beloved performer. Her heartbeat actually accelerated. “You look…wow.”

  His mouth tightened. “I look like an idiot.”

  “You look like a cash cow,” Lincoln declared, then clapped his hands. “Chop, chop—you’ve got twenty minutes to learn to moo.”

  Gracie could feel Steve’s panic, and her heart went out to him. To keep him from losing his nerve completely, she put her hand on his arm. “Relax. It’s like being in a play.”

  “More like a musical,” Lincoln said over his shoulder, walking ahead.

  “It’ll be fun,” she said quickly. “Everyone will love you.” At his surprised glance, she swallowed hard. “The customers, I mean. The customers will love you.” She smiled. “And I appreciate you being such a good sport.”

  She guided him toward the chapel, chattering to distract him. “You’ll greet the customers in the lobby, then we’ll reconvene in the chapel.”

  They walked into the smaller chapel and with a practiced eye, she glanced around to make sure the chairs, flowers and equipment were in the proper place. Gracie pointed to the tripod in the back. “You’ll position the video camera and make sure it’s on. At the front, Lincoln will start the ceremony and when the wedding march begins, you’ll walk the bride down the aisle and give her away.”

  “Um, this is all new to me,” Steve said.

  “I know, but we’ll get through it.”

  “No. I mean I’ve never seen a wedding before.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “Never?”

  “Just on TV, and I try to avoid that whenever possible.”