In Bed with the Wild One & In Bed with the Pirate

by Julie Kistler

  Emily blinked. No lecture? “So you don’t think it was a stupid thing to do?”

  “Why would I think that?” Kate shrugged. “She only comes to North Beach a few times a month. You got lucky running into her.”

  “That’s me—lucky.” Emily straightened her shoulders. She was feeling lucky—and confident and full of energy and enthusiasm. She felt like a whole different person, the kind of woman who could carry off monkey-and-palm-tree sandals and take no prisoners while she was at it. Ever since she’d undertaken this very strange mission, she’d felt so alive, so focused. Speaking of which…

  “Kate, you wouldn’t happen to know where Tyler is, would you?”

  “Tyler?” She shook her head. “Haven’t seen him this morning.” Her eyes sparkled with matchmaking fervor. “You two seem to be hitting it off, though.”

  Emily said dryly, “Hitting it off? I don’t think that exactly captures our relationship.”

  Kate’s lips curved into a mischievous smile. “I don’t know. You’re awfully cute together. And after seeing the two of you all wrapped up and cozy on the bed in The Wild One, I’d say you have something going for you. Chemistry, if nothing else.”

  “Chemistry?” Emily repeated in surprise. “Really? You think Tyler and I have chemistry?”

  “Don’t you think so?”

  “Well, yes. I mean, Tyler could have chemistry with a mailbox.” She sighed. That boy had chemistry to burn. “But I thought you thought I was the totally wrong person for him.”

  Her smile widened. “I’m not above a little reverse psychology, now and again.”

  Emily crinkled her forehead with confusion. “Do you mean reverse psychology because you told me we weren’t a good match but you really thought we were? Or because you’re telling me now we have chemistry when you really think we don’t?”

  “Emily, sometimes you think too much.”

  “Yes, I know, but—”

  “Sorry, gotta go,” Kate interrupted, heading for the stairs. “This tray’s getting heavy. And I want to deliver this breakfast while it’s still warm.”

  “Yes, I know, but—”

  “See ya!”

  Emily was left to ponder the possibilities of reverse psychology all on her own. It didn’t get her anywhere. All she could think of was how odd it was that Kate thought that she and Tyler were cute together. She and Tyler. Together.

  Now there was a picture. Not just together for five minutes, tangled around each other without any clothes, the way they were in her fertile, fervid imagination. Not just together for a weekend while they teamed up like Dick Tracy and Tess Trueheart to foil the bad guys. But together for…forever.

  “I am not thinking this,” she said slowly. “I am not.”

  But she couldn’t help it. This was all so new, this deciding whether she and someone else made a good couple. A couple? She shuddered. She’d never even been that good as a single. So how could she contemplate doubling the confusion and stumbling into couplehood, especially with someone as complicated as Tyler?

  “I didn’t start this to find a guy,” she whispered. “I swear I didn’t.”

  And she certainly never would have gone looking for someone like Tyler. Not the least eligible, he was secretive, moody and undomesticated.

  He was also gorgeous, sexy as hell, smart as a whip, funny, loyal, and his fondness for underdogs evidenced a warm, kind heart.

  Now that she’d found him, could she honestly let him go?

  THE FLESH PIT WAS HOPPING.

  As she approached, Emily saw no sign of Tyler, but there wasn’t much opportunity to look. The first-floor tattoo parlor was jammed with people, so crowded that would-be customers had spilled outside, and now they were pushing and shoving to get back in. She thought she caught sight of a black pinstripe in the melee, giving her a momentary flicker of anxiety. But it must’ve been something else, because she couldn’t find it again and didn’t see the man they’d dubbed Mack, either.

  “Back up!” shouted a heavily illustrated man who elbowed his way out to the sidewalk. “Everybody will get in sooner or later. Make a line.” And then he started to unceremoniously herd people into some semblance of order.

  Emily got squashed in behind a pretty teenaged girl wearing a pile of makeup, from wavy, sunset-colored eyeshadow to deepest mulberry lipstick. Or maybe those were tattoos.

  “What’s going on?” Emily asked her.

  “Guest artist,” the girl mumbled, straining to get a look over the top of the line. “He is, like, a total master. He does things with indigo and henna that you wouldn’t even believe. Today only.”

  “But I just want to get upstairs, to the strip joint. Can I sneak past the line?”

  At the very mention of such a thing, the crowd seemed to growl and turn on her.

  “No cuts!” a tough-looking kid yelled around the metal bar poking through his lip.

  “Wait in line like everybody else!” someone else chimed in.

  “But I just want to go—”

  “I don’t think they believe you,” her line buddy confided, flapping her glowing orange eyelids. “No offense, but you don’t look like the strip-joint type.”

  How disappointing. She’d done her best. Meanwhile, they all thought she didn’t look like the strip-joint type, but she did look like the tattoo-parlor type? That was a pretty subtle distinction in her opinion.

  “Besides,” the girl continued, “I think the Pit, you know, the upstairs part, is, like, closed, so how could you really be going there? That’s why they think, like, you know, you’re just scamming for a way to cut in line.”

  Emily’s head was spinning with all the “likes” and “you knows.” She tried to pick out words she recognized. “You’re saying the strip joint is closed? But it was open last night.”

  “Uh-huh. But Shanda, who owns it, is, like, out. You know, gone.” She nodded sagely. “I heard they had that yellow stuff, you know, like tape, all blocking off the Pit upstairs and everything.”

  “Police tape?” Emily asked slowly.

  “Yeah, like that. Totally closed off, you know. Totally no entrance.” She lifted pencil-thin eyebrows. “Scary, huh?”

  “Yeah, scary.” Emily began to have a terrible feeling about this. She remembered Mack the Knife, bonked over the head with the very shoe she was wearing, crumpling to the floor. Injured? Dead? Under her breath, she whispered, “Oh, no. What if I killed him?”

  Tyler had sworn that the mean little man was breathing and coming after them. But what if he was wrong?

  “Don’t panic,” she ordered herself. “You’re not thinking straight.”

  “Did you say, like, something?”

  Emily found a wan smile. “Um, no. I was just wondering whether you knew why there was crime-scene tape all around upstairs. What crime was it? And was it upstairs, upstairs? Or just the second floor?”

  “I dunno.” Waving a hand patterned with rust-red dots and lines, the girl called out to a guy a few people ahead of her. “Guppy, do you know what, like, happened at the Pit upstairs? Somebody OD or get busted or what?”

  “Busted, man.” He shook his head sadly. “Shanda and her boyfriend. Busted.”

  Hearing nothing about murder, Emily relaxed a little.

  Busted meant arrested. She chewed on her lip, considering. Shanda and her boyfriend. Had Shanda and Slab been carted off to the pokey last night when all the police were here? Or maybe Shanda and the man with the knife? Did that mean everyone was alive and accounted for, just in jail?

  And where was Tyler? If not at The Flesh Pit, then where?

  “Here’s the list of what the artist is doing today.” Wearily the tattoo-parlor owner strolled down the line, handing out hastily photocopied sheets with designs on them. “Decide ahead what you want.”

  Emily pretended to scan the sheet, but she was deep in her own thoughts. Finding Tyler at The Flesh Pit had been her only inspiration. Otherwise, she’d just have to walk all the way back to Beau’s B and B and
wait for him. It was a long walk, especially with all the ups and downs around here. Especially in wooden platform sandals. And what if he never came back?

  “Excuse me,” she asked the girl with the hennaed hands, “you didn’t happen to see a guy hanging around here, also interested in getting upstairs, did you? A really good-looking guy, tall, great shoulders, partial to a leather jacket, dark hair, green eyes, probably wearing jeans and a T-shirt. A really good-looking guy.”

  “You mean him?”

  “Who?”

  “Him.” She inclined one rust-painted thumb over her shoulder. “The babe coming out the front door.”

  Emily whirled. Oh, goodness. It was him! And he was headed straight for her.

  Her first thought was that her deductions had been right on the money and he had come to The Flesh Pit and she deserved a gold star. “Good for me.”

  But then he stopped. His jaw dropped.

  Her second thought was that he was really mad at her for some reason and maybe she should’ve thought this through.

  “Emily?” he demanded. “Why in the world are you dressed like that?”

  Now everyone in line was staring at her.

  She had to think of something. “Maybe I like it,” she ventured.

  “You like it?” He started moving again, cutting through the crowd, setting one fist in the small of her back and resolutely steering her out of line. He looked furious.

  Yeah, right, we have chemistry and make a cute couple, like lightning and a rod make a cute couple.

  He glared at her. “That outfit is so not you, Pollyanna. So let’s start over. Why are you dressed like that? Is this some tactic? Are you on the prowl?”

  “On the prowl?” She kind of liked the sound of that. “Actually, I just wanted to fit in.”

  “Fit in? Fit in?” Tyler narrowed his eyes. “Trust me, Emily. In that outfit, you definitely stand out.”

  She really liked the sound of that. Especially when his eyes couldn’t seem to tear themselves away and his gaze left a little trail of heat and fire every place it touched. “I stand out? You think so?”

  “Oh, Lord, she’s taking it as a compliment.” Muttering under his breath, he started to walk away.

  “Wait! Where are you going? Did you see Slab or Shanda? Do you have any leads?”

  She hustled her wooden wedgies to catch up, but he just kept marching down the sidewalk.

  “Tyler, listen to me. We need to talk.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I do.” As he waited for traffic to clear enough to cross the street, she maneuvered herself in front of him. “Okay, listen. I know that I let it slip that I overheard you in Chicago, when you and Slab were at the restaurant, and that I tailed you all the way here. I remember that I, uh, mumbled something about that as I went to sleep last night.”

  He paused. “And?”

  “And I’m sorry.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  She rolled her eyes. He wasn’t going to make this easy, was he? “Tyler, I’m sorry I lied. But I’m sure you can understand that I didn’t want you to think I had totally lost my mind.” Weaving through cars stopped at the light, she scrambled to keep up. “I mean, I am fully aware that it’s bad enough to attach yourself to a total stranger who’s in the same B and B you’re in, but to glom on to someone in the next booth at a coffee shop in Chicago and jump on a plane to San Francisco…well, that might sound a little abnormal.”

  “Might sound a little abnormal? How about completely, out-of-your-mind, around-the-bend deranged?”

  “But it was fate. Kismet! I didn’t have a choice.”

  “You’re starting that fate and kismet crap again?” Turning to face her, he raked an impatient hand through his hair. “Do you really expect me to believe that you accidentally came into the Rainbow at the same time I was there, just happened to be there, just happened to overhear, and you followed me all the way out here?”

  She mulled that over. “Well, yes. Because that’s what happened.”

  “Emily,” he said slowly, darkly, “if you are any kind of investigator or agent for any kind of law enforcement body, now is the time to tell me.”

  “What?” She stepped back, almost falling off the curb and into the path of a little red convertible, but he caught her in time. “Me?” She began to laugh. “That’s what you thought?”

  “Who else would do what you did?”

  Who else, indeed? How could she say I promise I’m just crazy, not a secret agent?

  “Tyler, I swear,” she began. She raised her right hand just the way she’d done the day she was admitted to the Illinois bar. “I swear that I am a plain old tax lawyer. My name is Emily Chaplin. I am an associate at Chaplin, Chaplin & Chaplin. My mother is a bankruptcy judge. My four older brothers are all lawyers at Chaplin, Chaplin & Chaplin, and my father is the senior partner. You can check all of this out. We are the most boring family on the face of the earth, and there is not one investigator or agent among us because that would be far too interesting.”

  “God help me,” he grumbled, “I think I believe you.”

  “Well, of course you believe me.” Emily sent him her sunniest smile. “Why else would you have bunked in with me last night?”

  He set his jaw into such a fierce line she feared for the safety of his teeth. “Bunked? Is that what you’re calling that little exercise in sadomasochism? Bunked?”

  “Well, okay, if you insist,” she said kindly, not exactly sure why this was such a hot button. “I will rephrase. Why else would you have slept with me last night?”

  “That was not sleeping,” he growled.

  “It certainly was.”

  “Oh, no,” he returned, “it wasn’t. I didn’t sleep at all.”

  She started to say, No wonder you’re so grouchy—you’re sleep deprived, but she bit her tongue. “If you weren’t sleeping, then who was that curled up behind me like a kitten this morning when I woke up? You were sleeping. You might as well admit it.”

  “Oh, Lord, this is why I hate lawyers.”

  “See? We have something else in common. I don’t like them, either.” But Emily decided to take a different tack. “Look, the point is, you slept in my bed even after you knew I had followed you from Chicago. Why? Because you believed me, and you agreed that you and I and this mission—it’s all kismet. Well, that and the fact that you were trying to protect me from Mack and Sluggo—although I still think he looks more like a Brutus.” As he began to walk out into the street, she went on, “Not that I needed to be protected, mind you. Everyone always thinks that about me, and it is simply not true. I can protect myself.”

  “Uh-huh.” He gave her a cynical smile. “Which is why you’re standing in the middle of the street.”

  Emily glanced around. “Why are we standing in the middle of the street?”

  “Because we’re waiting for the cable car. I can’t afford a cab.”

  “I can.” But the cable car screeched to a stop, clanging its bell, and she had to hop on if she wanted to stick with him. Besides, she discovered she was expected to pay their fares. “Where are we going, anyway?”

  “Fisherman’s Wharf.”

  “Really?” She settled in beside him on the wooden seat, enjoying the quintessential San Francisco moment of riding on a cable car. “But isn’t this a strange time for sight-seeing? Shouldn’t we be looking for Slab and Shanda? I mean, it’s already halfway through Saturday, and you have to have him back in Chicago by Monday morning.”

  “I’m aware of that, although I wasn’t aware you were.”

  “It’s not my fault if you and Slab were talking so loud.” She brightened. “Although now you have me as a witness that you weren’t conspiring to help him flee the jurisdiction. I mean, I distinctly overheard you trying to convince him to stay. So at least that’s one offense they can’t charge you with.” She smiled. “See? I can be useful to have around. I can testify on your behalf. Pretty useful.”

/>   Tyler lifted one dark eyebrow but said nothing.

  “Do you want to tell me the rest? I’ve formed a pretty good idea of what’s going on, but not exactly,” she tried, figuring she might as well keep going as long as she was making headway. “What was all that about Slab having a stash and Fat Mike and the Feds being on your tail?”

  “Emily, I am not talking about this with you. You want to tag along and pay for things, fine.” He glowered at her. “But don’t think I’m letting you get any more involved than that. For one thing, it’s dangerous. You saw Sluggo. You saw Mack and his knife. Do you think they care if you’re Emily Chaplin of Chaplin, Chaplin & Chaplin?”

  “I can pro—”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Tyler, I don’t want to fight with you.” The cable car dinged again, and he rose to leave, so she did, too. She felt they were just getting to the crux of the matter, and she had no intention of giving up. “We can make this work if you would just stop trying to be so grumpy.”

  “Make what work?”

  “This. Us.” Distracted, she looked around for the first time. Fisherman’s Wharf. It was so cool. Amid the crush of tourists and souvenir shops, she could smell sea air, hear the cry of gulls above her head. She wished she had time to act like a tourist herself for a few minutes. But Tyler was already marching away from her down the pier.

  Once again, she had to play catch-up.

  “Will you please stop and talk to me? Or at least tell me where we’re going?”

  He stopped. He turned. “Emily, there is no this and no us. I don’t know what you think happened last night. But nothing happened. I kept my pants on and my hands off and nothing happened.”

  She gazed up into his sweet green eyes, just the color of the leaves on the apple tree growing under her bedroom window when she was a child. “I know that,” she said finally, placing her hands gently on the sleeves of his jacket, holding him still for a moment.

  “So what is this all about?”

  “A lot more than sex.” That should have been obvious to him, but she guessed she had to fill in the blanks. She fingered the narrow gash in his sleeve, not sure how to say what she wanted to say. “Actually, the fact that we didn’t have sex last night is part of what convinces me that I’m right. You cared enough about me not to.”