But she frowned as a realization set in: Business would only continue to improve if Steve stayed on. She was officially in a conundrum.
When the last couple arrived—a May-December wedding, judging from the differences in their ages—Steve was even more attentive, joking around about how the couple had met and where they were going to take their honeymoon. He tried to get the man to trade sunglasses with him, but the man wasn’t having it. It seemed apparent to Gracie that he was there because his young bride-to-be was an Elvis buff.
Gracie tried to signal Steve to back off this one, but Steve put his arm around the middle-aged man and poked him a couple of times in the chest, then in the stomach, apparently in jest. Gracie could see the man’s demeanor change immediately—for the worse. Then inexplicably, Steve stumbled forward into him and knocked him down, sending the man’s sunglasses flying. Gracie gasped.
He was blind.
“What is the meaning of this?” the man bellowed. “Give me back my glasses!”
Steve looked stricken and pulled him to his feet. “I’m sorry sir. I stumbled.”
Mortified, Gracie moved in for damage control, bending to retrieve the man’s sunglasses. “We’re very sorry, sir. It was an accident.”
“Let’s get out of here, honey,” the woman said, turning her back on hundreds of dollars worth of souvenirs she’d planned to buy.
“Maybe we can work something out,” Gracie said, following them to the door.
“You’re lucky I don’t have you charged with assault!” the man shouted, and they left.
Roach and Lincoln appeared, both in black robes. “What’s all the shouting about?”
Gracie glanced at Steve, then back to them. “It was just a rowdy customer. Changed his mind.”
Roach glanced at his watch. “Is that all for tonight, then?”
She nodded. “That was the last one, so go home, Roach. Thanks. Good night, Lincoln.”
When the men left, she turned to stare at Steve. “Maybe you’d like to explain what happened?”
“I tripped,” Steve said. “It was an accident.”
“An accident?” Gracie growled. “You practically mauled the man before knocking him down. Were you trying to pick his pocket?”
His eyes went wide. “What? No!”
She walked closer and narrowed her eyes. “Are you drunk?”
“I took one shot of vodka—”
“Stop right there.” She was incredulous, shaking with disappointment. Was that his vice—the reason he was underemployed? “I know you don’t consider what we do here to be important. I know this is just a filler job for you until you drift somewhere else. But TCB is important to me, and so is our reputation. I can’t believe you were drinking on the job.”
He pursed his mouth, then gave her a pointed look. “You were ready to fool around on the job.”
Her head jerked back involuntarily. A direct hit. Worse, he was right. She bit down on the end of her tongue until she trusted her voice to speak. “Don’t let it happen again. Go home, Steve.”
Gracie turned her back to him and closed her eyes, wondering if the four-leaf clover she had tattooed on her shoulder was ever going to kick in.
CHAPTER EIGHT
STEVE DROPPED his film at a one-hour photo drive-through, then pulled away, antsy and wide-awake as he drove down the Vegas strip, bustling and so bright with neon, one could almost believe it was daytime.
He hated letting Gracie believe he was a drunk, but it was safer than admitting he had royally screwed up and nearly called for the takedown of the wrong man because the bride was so young and the groom wouldn’t remove his glasses. He cursed his ineptness, but was thankful for the chance to see how difficult it could be to recognize Lundy if he did show up.
He dialed Karen’s number, his apprehension over calling at such a late hour disappearing when she answered on the first ring.
“Baker here,” she said.
“Hey, it’s Steve.”
“I must have been sending you vibes—I just got off the phone with our informant. Everything is still cool. You’re a go.”
He exhaled in relief. “Any more details? A day or time?”
“No, just ‘soon’ is all she’ll say. Hang in there.”
“I had a false alarm today. Identifying Lundy might be harder than I thought. Will you check to see if there are any photos more current than the ones we have?”
“You still owe me some photos, too.”
“Check your in-box tomorrow morning.”
“Will do.”
“Oh, and Karen—would you mind doing a general search on a Gracie Sergeant.” He spelled the name. “Female, late twenties maybe.”
“Do you have a middle name or initial?”
The monogram on her purse—he closed his eyes. “A.”
“Any identifying marks other than violet-colored eyes?”
He’d asked for that. “A green four-leaf clover tattooed on her upper right shoulder.”
“Am I looking for anything in particular?” she asked, her voice bursting with innuendo.
“No,” he said. “It’s just a hunch.”
“If she’s in the system, I’ll have the printout tomorrow. Anything else?”
“Are you at your computer?”
“Always.”
He swallowed. “I need her home address.”
Silence hummed over the line, then, “O-kaay.”
He heard computer keys tapping in the background.
“Here it is.” She rattled off the address. “Hmm—not the best part of town.”
He was thinking the same thing, and hated the protective feelings rousing in his chest. “Thanks, Karen. Take care of yourself.”
She laughed. “Excuse me? Was that a pleasantry you just dispensed? Wow, this woman must be under your skin bad.”
He frowned. “I’m hanging up.” He disconnected the call and drove toward Gracie’s neighborhood. His stomach was growling, so he picked up a pizza along the way. He didn’t know what kind of reception he might get, or even for sure why he was going, but he knew his chances improved if he arrived bearing gifts.
He found her apartment building and parked around the corner. After a few seconds’hesitation, he locked his weapon in the glove compartment. When he reached her building, he followed another resident through the security door into the lobby—the place was a real Fort Knox. He found her apartment number by searching for initials on a wall of mailboxes.
He climbed two sets of stairs, telling himself with every step that he was probably making a mistake. But something indefinable compelled him forward. He located the correct door, took a deep breath, and knocked.
AT THE TAP on her door, Gracie pivoted her head, then uncurled herself from the comfy velvet couch with a resigned sigh. It was probably Mrs. Wingate from down the hall, unable to sleep and wanting to chat under the pretense of borrowing something obscure.
She glanced through the peephole, and her heart skipped a beat. Steve? How did he know where she lived and what was he doing here holding a pizza? She looked down at her clothes—holey exercise pants and faded T-shirt—and frowned. Her makeup was long gone. Her apartment was clean, but not exactly tidy. Then she chastised herself—if the man was going to show up unannounced, what did he expect? Besides, he might not want to come in—maybe he was just bringing her dinner.
And even if he did want to come in, she didn’t have to let him.
She opened the door the few inches the chain would allow and peered out.
He straightened. “Hello.”
“Hello,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
He held up the pizza box. “I noticed you didn’t have time to eat tonight—I thought you might be hungry.”
She pursed her lips. “How did you know where I live?”
“Directory assistance.”
“My number is unlisted.”
His smile was sheepish. “Okay, a computer friend found it for me.” He shifted from foot to
foot. “I came to apologize for my behavior at work this evening, and since I couldn’t find an olive branch, I was hoping an olive pizza would do.”
Gracie smiled—tentatively. Lincoln had confessed that he’d encouraged Steve to take a shot of vodka to loosen up. “I like olives.”
He brightened. “Great.”
“Thanks very much. Just set it on the floor and I’ll get it when you leave.”
His face fell. “Oh. Okay, sure.” He crouched and placed the pizza on the floor in front of her door, then stood and pulled his keys from his jeans pocket, his expression quiet and unreadable. “Gracie, I…like you. And I’m sorry that I did something to make your job harder. I truly am. Good night.”
Gracie heard his words, but was captivated by his hands—his keys actually. He had a four-leaf-clover key ring. She swallowed—that had to mean something, didn’t it? A sign of some kind? As he walked away, she closed the door and unhooked the chain, then opened it again.
“Steve?”
He turned around.
She gave a little shrug. “I’m hungry, but I don’t think I can eat an entire pizza by myself.”
A smile curved his sexy mouth.
Gracie’s neighbor Billy, a slim, bespectacled college student, walked by. “Hi, Gracie.”
“Hi, Billy.” She pointed to Steve. “This man’s name is Steve Mulcahy—he’s a co-worker of mine and I’m letting him in to share a pizza. If anything bad happens to me, he did it.”
Billy held up his cell phone in front of Steve and hit a button. “I got your picture, dude, so no funny stuff.”
Gracie grinned. “Thanks, Billy.”
“No problem.”
Steve retrieved the pizza with a little laugh. “I guess I’d better be on my best behavior.”
Gracie’s pulse raced as she held open the door. “I guess so.” He walked in and she closed the door behind him. “Welcome to my home.”
He looked around and she tried to see her apartment as he might—low, ambient lighting, eclectic, retro furniture with feminine touches. Her sitting area was compact, the kitchen hidden from view by a rice-paper screen. A café table and two chairs sat tucked into a corner, although the stack of magazines on one chair, she realized, was a telltale sign that she usually ate alone.
“Nice place,” he said, and sounded as if he meant it.
She smiled and moved toward the kitchen to get plates and utensils. “It’s small, but I like it.”
“I guess I thought it would be crammed with Elvis memorabilia.”
“Oh, I have a good Elvis music collection.” She gestured to the wall. “And an autographed photo that I bought at a swap meet.”
He lifted the lid on the pizza box and leaned closer to the picture. “How do you know it’s real?”
She shrugged. “How do we know that anything is real? I just go on gut instinct.”
He had been transferring pizza slices to their plates, but stopped so abruptly, she was afraid she’d said something wrong. Then he smiled. “I guess you’re right.”
A warm, tingly sensation spread through her chest—she had a feeling that something was happening here. “M-my couch is more comfortable than my table and chairs—want to sit there and eat?”
“Sure.”
“How about some music?”
“Surprise me,” he said.
She put a stack of albums on the phonograph. They settled down with a chaste amount of space between them and dug in. Gracie moaned in appreciation when the salty olives and spicy sauce burst over her taste buds. “This is awesome—thank you.”
“Thank you for not slamming the door in my face.”
She studied him while she chewed, his powerful profile cast in low shadows. He seemed so relaxed and confident, as if he could fit in anywhere—no doubt a product of being an army brat. “You’re a mystery,” she said suddenly.
His dark eyebrows went up. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t know what to make of you.”
In that instant, something changed in his expression. His eyes darkened, his mouth softened. “I could say the same thing, but like you said, sometimes, you just have to go on gut instinct.”
She swallowed hard. “What…what is your gut instinct telling you right now?”
His gaze locked with hers. “To kiss you.”
She moistened her lips and met him halfway, reveling in the salty taste of his mouth on hers. He parted her lips with his tongue and delved deeper, slanting his mouth over hers. His moan of desire reverberated in her mouth and seemed to reach down inside her soul. Impossibly, she was already half in love with this man—the connection was too fast, too natural to be wrong.
He deepened the kiss and pulled her onto his lap, sliding his hand down to her breast. She moaned as he caressed her beaded nipple through her thin T-shirt. Liquid fire pooled between her thighs…she wanted this man so badly. When he tugged on the hem of her shirt, she lifted her arms to allow him to pull it over her head. He stared at her breasts, his eyes hooded with desire. “Gracie, my God, you’re…amazing.”
She arched with pleasure and pulled his head down. He devoured her, licking and kissing one breast, then the other, drawing deep on her nipples, sending moisture to her thighs, readying her. Slowly they undressed each other. He kissed every inch of skin as it was revealed. She thrilled in running her hands over his smooth, muscular chest and back. He slipped off his boots and jeans and then only their underwear separated their bodies—her black thong and his briefs, which did not quite contain his erection. She slid her hand inside to stroke the head of his rigid shaft, gratified when he groaned in her ear as she wrapped her hand around the length of him.
“These look familiar,” he teased as he fingered the lacy thong.
She started to respond, but when he slipped a finger into her folds, she couldn’t speak, only cling to him as he began to massage her core in rapid little circles. “Does this feel good?”
“Oh, yes,” she moaned against his shoulder. His sex pulsed in her hand and she stroked him slowly while moving her hips in rhythm with his massaging hand. A vibration began deep inside, building, seeking liberation. She was powerless to do anything but yield to the intensity of the sensation as it climbed higher and rippled in wider circles through her midsection. She strained against him, whimpering, groaning, pleading for a quick release. But he maintained a steady pace that tantalized to a slow, agonizing build until she thought she might scream…and when she suddenly climaxed in a burst of molten bliss, she did scream.
He covered her mouth with a deep kiss until the spasms slowed. “Shh,” he murmured, laughing. “Or that neighbor of yours will call the police.”
“That was…otherworldly.”
He lifted his hand and inserted the magic finger into his mouth, moaning his agreement. Gracie was mesmerized, watching him lap up her juices and scent. She moved her hips against his, and pushed at his briefs. In a matter of seconds, they were gone, as well as the beleaguered thong. Steve reached for his jeans and withdrew a condom. Gracie helped him to roll it onto his slick shaft, then pulled him down on top of her. He nuzzled her neck and ear. “You smell great. God, you’re so sexy.”
Gracie closed her eyes, engorged with desire, and the fact that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. His sex probed hers and she opened her knees to give him full access. He thrust deep, taking her breath, then he tensed and remained still, allowing them both to adjust. Slowly, he began to slide his fullness in and out of her. He twined his hands with hers and buried his face in her neck. Another orgasm started its humming song in her womb, and she felt overwhelmed with lush awareness of her body and his.
By unspoken consent, their rhythm intensified. She climaxed in a great, crashing wave of emotion, and took him over the edge with her. He tensed, shuddered, and pumped himself into her, groaning his release. “Gracie…ohhhh…Gracie.”
She recovered slowly, her body pulsing, her heart full—this was what it was supposed to be like between a man
and a woman: thrilling, passionate, satisfying. How easily she could fall in love with this man….
She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she must have because when she awoke, the phonograph had switched off…and Steve was gone.
CHAPTER NINE
“THE PHOTO that you have of Lundy is the most recent available,” Karen said. “And I got your photos this morning. I take it the blonde is Gracie Sergeant?”
“Right,” Steve said into the phone. He sat in the parking lot across from TCB, loath to go inside.
“Did you find her apartment last night?” Karen’s voice was bursting with curiosity.
“Yeah—thanks for the info.”
She made a humming noise. “And Steve—I got that printout you asked for.”
His chest tightened. A printout meant a hit. “What did you find?”
“It might not be the same person, but I got a Gracie Alice Sergeant reported as a runaway from Marion, Oklahoma, ten years ago. No mention of a tattoo, but could this be your girl?”
He thought he had detected a Texan flavor in her accent, but Oklahoma was close enough. “It could be.” And it would explain why she didn’t want to discuss her family or background, and why she was so close to Cordelia Conroy—the woman must have taken her in.
“Someone even took the time to file missing person’s reports in the surrounding states, but she was never found,” Karen continued. “I got images of the flyers that were distributed. The picture is degraded, but I think it’s the same woman. She didn’t have a social security number, and since she was seventeen at the time, I doubt if any of the agencies put much energy into it.”
No social security number at seventeen meant that she hadn’t had a driver’s license, which meant she probably had escaped a poor and/or sheltered upbringing. He winced—no wonder Gracie Sergeant was looking for a happy ending. And he was the last person in the world who could give it to her. Last night had been great—mind-blowing, even—but he was not a marrying kind of guy.
So you should have kept your pants zipped, his conscience whispered.
Love So Tender: Taking Care of BusinessPlay It Again, ElvisGood Luck Charm Page 7
