“Time to eat,” she said as she climbed on board and held up the bag. Keefe came around the corner, shirt off, sandy hair mussed, eyes blue as that new skirt she just bought from DKNY, and she nearly walked right off the boat for staring at him. Now, there was a man!
He grabbed his shirt from the railing and slipped it on, ruining her great view. Digger said, “We can eat up on the top deck.” He took the bag from her and pointed to the stairs. “That way. I can take your purse if you want to hold on to the railings with both hands.”
“No, thanks,” she added a little too quickly. Good grief, she was a terrible spy. Too easily flustered. But she didn’t need Digger to see those two phones again. That was weird, and he might start asking questions. She took a breath, smiled sweetly and added in explanation, “My purse isn’t heavy, and when I’m out and don’t have it with me I feel downright naked.”
If the “n” word didn’t get his mind off her purse, the man was hopeless. She climbed the stairs and headed down the narrow deck, railing on one side, windows to living quarters on the other side. Bed, couch, table, obviously where Digger lived. Kitchen in the back.
She couldn’t imagine staying in such a place. Rex-the-wonderful would condemn it. Probably turn it into something political so he could make a speech, and Rachel would serve up little cucumber sandwiches at the meeting.
Georgette sat at the paint-chipped wrought-iron table under an overhang that offered protection from the sun. Digger turned on a fan that sent up a breeze. Then he sat next to her, with Keefe on the other side. She pulled out sandwiches and sodas and placed her purse on the table. With it being a little flowery thing it looked more like a centerpiece. The phone at the top should pick up everything said. Time to get to work and make her dreams a reality.
“So,” she said around a mouthful of veggie sandwich. “Do you guys always get together when Keefe comes into town? What do you do for fun?”
Keefe talked about needing to get out of New York and touch base with friends and family here and how having a little sister was the best thing ever. She asked, “Where’s Bonnie’s mother?”
Keefe took a bite of dill pickle. “We don’t know. Someone’s after her because she has information on a company that was defrauding the state out of millions of dollars. If she testifies, some very rich people go to jail.”
Digger nodded. “She left Bonnie with Rory for safekeeping. That’s why Keefe came home, to help his dad.”
Georgette did a mental shrug. She didn’t need to know all this family stuff. She needed Keefe-the-manly-man for her article. She said to him, “I heard you like to dance. You sure you can’t come with me and Digger tonight?” If she could get some pictures of Keefe dancing at BB King’s on Beale Street that would be great for her article.
He said, “You and Digger are just getting to know each other. I don’t want to intrude.”
She took Digger’s hand and smiled at him. “I want to do all the things Digger does. What’s important to him is important to me.”
The bigger the play she made for Digger and the more attracted she seemed to be to him, the more relaxed Keefe would be that she wasn’t going to make waves over the contest. Then he’d loosen up and tell her about himself.
Keefe said, “If I go into Memphis, someone might recognize me. I hate when that happens. It ruins the fun for everyone and some guy gets obnoxious and women start wanting attention and . . . Well, you get the picture.”
Great! Now she’d have to spend a boring evening with Digger alone, and there’d be no furthering Operation Keefe O’Fallon. Her only hope was to fake a headache so they could get home early. Then the headache could miraculously get better on the way back, and they could visit Keefe ... if she could think of an excuse why they should. This spy stuff was very tedious.
“Well,” Digger said as he finished off the last bite of sandwich. “We better get back to work.” They gathered up the remains and stuffed them in the bag. Then Georgette stood. “And I’ll leave you men alone and take some time to get ready for tonight.”
Digger said, “I’ll run you back to Hastings House.”
She shook her head. “No need. I can walk. It’s not that far.” And maybe she’d stop at Slim’s and ask about Keefe there. Get some other views, local-color stuff. She headed for the dock, hoping with all her might tonight wouldn’t be as long and boring as she thought.
But by nine o’clock she knew all the hoping in the world hadn’t saved her from the most mind-numbing date on planet Earth. Digger and dull were synonymous terms, she decided as she nursed her drink at some little club they found off Beale Street. He’d dressed okay and said all the right things about her new little sparkly dress, and he wasn’t that bad of a dancer, but there was nothing to talk about. And that they’d driven here in that truck, an old beat-up rusted hunk of junk, didn’t help. Sort of set the tone for the evening.
She leaned across the little table. “I hate to say this, Digger, but I really have a terrible headache. Do you mind if we go?”
“Sure.” He looked as relieved as she felt. But how could that happen? She was perfect; guys loved to be with her, though if she wanted to be truthful, they looked more than talked. She picked up her purse and snaked her way through the dancing crowd till they reached the sidewalk. Digger said, “Let’s walk for a bit. You might feel better with some fresh air. We’ll head for the river. There’s a great view, and we can get out of this crowd.”
The only thing that would make her feel better was instant escape, except she had to string Digger along in order to get her story. “A walk is a good idea.”
“You know, I think we’re trying too hard.”
She looked at him.
“To make a go of this evening.” he added as they jaywalked across Beale Street which was closed to vehicles and teaming with pedestrians. “I think we like each other, but it’s not working.”
The last part was the understatement of the day, the first part out of the question.
They walked on, the partiers giving way to strollers and the neon signs fading as moonlight on the Mississippi took over. “Tell me about yourself. How you got here.”
“I drove?” Too surly. This was not how to keep a guy she had to keep.
He grinned and took her hand in the way a man takes a woman’s hand when he’s truly interested in her. He had good hands, hardworking male hands with a strong dependable grip and nothing like those soft and squishy office types at Mason, Mackey and Monroe Accounting Offices.
He said, “I mean, what brought you to the Landing chasing after Keefe? You could have any guy you want. I know he’s a star and all, but you’re more than a soap groupie and interested in some contest you didn’t win.”
“Nope, actually, that about sums it up.”
Talking was better than being bored into a stupor. “And I couldn’t always have anyone I wanted. Most of the time I had no one. I used to be fifty pounds heavier on the bottom and three sizes smaller on top. I think that made me a pear. I got tired of being a pear.”
He held her away from him and gave her an appreciative look. “You are gorgeous, and I admire that. Not just the obvious physical side, but that you knew what you wanted and went after it.”
She’d heard a lot of baloney from guys trying to flatter and impress her but never this line and never one that rang with honest sincerity. “You don’t think I’m shallow for taking my appearance to the extreme?” She’d never said that to anyone before but always thought it. Then again, saying it to Digger didn’t count because he didn’t count. After she got the story she’d never see him again.
“You made your dream come true. What could be wrong with that?”
“And I suppose it’s no more far-fetched than wanting to restore an old Mississippi paddle wheeler.” She started to laugh.
“You think I’m crazy for doing it, don’t you?”
She couldn’t take the risk of telling him she thought he’d lost his flipping mind. “You have to follow your—�
�
“Holy hell.” Digger stopped and looked at the telephone pole beside her.
“I was just going to say dream, nothing all that earth-shattering.”
He gave her a quick kiss. “Not that.”
Not what? Her head started to spin. Her toes tingled. Where had Digger learned to kiss? He was a loser, except the man sure didn’t kiss like a loser, even one that fast. On the kissing front he was a pro!
He yanked down the paper with Reward printed across the top and a picture. “This is Mimi, Rory’s Mimi, but the contact information is not the O’Fallons’. They wouldn’t do this because it would make things even more dangerous for her if everyone was out looking for her, and it would drive her farther away.” Digger looked at Georgette. “Someone else is after Mimi, and now we have an e-mail contact.”
Scrambling to get her brain working after kiss-by-Digger, Georgette added, “Whoever did this is very clever. Phone numbers are too easy to trace. We need to tell Keefe.”
What a lucky break. Not only would this bring an end to the date from hell—except for the kiss, that was pure heaven—but she’d get another chance to talk to Keefe. And there was the Mimi factor. A story about Keefe helping to find Bonnie’s mother would be a great read.
Georgette grabbed Digger’s hand and started for the truck. God, she hated that truck. “We have to go right now.”
“What about our date?” He stumbled after her. “The information on Mimi can hold till tomorrow.”
“No way. This is really important.”
Chapter 8
Keefe lay on his back watching his ceiling fan go round in slow, lazy circles. The nearly full moon cast leafy shadows against the walls as summer insects droned a nightly concert. He loved listening to the sounds of home and the river, and usually they put him right to sleep, except usually Callie Cahill wasn’t five damn steps away, all warm and soft and in sexy little pink pj’s.
He could still envision her standing in the hallway the other night, bat in hand, ready to bash in his head. Well, it wasn’t his head specifically so much as an intruder she’d thought was lurking about the house. Maybe if she’d connected with his head, he’d quit thinking about her. He could still see her face when they’d had sex in the gym, feel her smooth legs around him, feel himself slide so easily inside her.
Ah, hell! He checked the clock. Two A.M. He was never going to get any sleep . . . and with someone knocking on the front door no one in the whole freaking house would either. “God almighty, now what,” he muttered as he shrugged into his jeans and grabbed a shirt from the back of a chair and hustled down the stairs. Least it was friend and not foe or Max would be barking his head off.
He opened the door to, “Digger? Georgette? Max. Social call?”
“What’s wrong,” came Callie’s voice in a whisper behind him.
Digger held up a paper in front of him. “We found this in Memphis and thought you needed to know right away, least Georgette thought it was that important.”
“What is it?” Callie asked as they both stepped onto the porch and closed the door.
Keefe studied the paper under the porch light. “Someone’s offering a reward for Mimi. Oh, boy, and it isn’t anyone from our family. Someone thinks she’s in the area because of Bonnie, I bet. I wonder what”—he looked at the paper for the name—”M. Perry knows about Mimi, and he must know something because he wants to find her.”
Callie said, “Could be that M. Perry is a PI but he’s working for someone who wants to know.”
Keefe ran his hand over his whiskered chin. “We need to meet this guy.”
Digger and Georgette sat in the swing, Georgette cradling her purse in her lap. Callie sat beside Keefe on the wicker settee. Least this time she had on a robe, but she still smelled of warm sunshine and a cozy bed.
Max lounged at his usual perch across the top porch step. Keefe set the flyer on the side table, and Callie asked him, “So, what are you going to do?”
Take you into my bed and have a repeat performance of the gym scene. But he couldn’t say that, so he went for, “Go fishing. E-mail whoever this is. We get a reply, and I meet with him and ask some questions and see if he knows more than we do.”
Callie smirked. “Like that’s going to work, oh, swami of the soap operas. Everyone knows you. M. Perry will take one look at you and realize in a second you want info, not to give it.”
Digger said, “So I’ll do the meet.”
Callie huffed. “That’s no better. Everyone around here knows you work for O’Fallon Transport.” She beamed. “Guess that leaves little old me. I’ll do the meeting, no one knows me at all.”
Digger said, “What about Demar?”
Keefe said, “He’s a cop and he’d have to tell someone because of the investigation and the whole state of Tennessee would show up and—”
Callie waved her hand. “Hey, yoo-hoo. I’m volunteering here. Anyone hear what I just said? I’ll do the meeting. I can handle this.” She said to Keefe, “I told you I’d help with finding Mimi, and I meant it.”
“Too dangerous. I’m not letting you anywhere near this Perry person. We have no idea who he is.”
Keefe’s gaze met Callie’s, and he suddenly felt as if he’d been zapped by lightning . . . and it wasn’t the good kind of lightning that made him all aware of Callie and want to bed her; it was one of those ouch kinds.
Callie growled, “You’re not going to let me? Does that mean you’re taking away my car and my allowance?”
“It means what I said; it’s dangerous.”
“I’m thirty, I can deal.”
Max bolted up and cocked his ears. Keefe said, “Someone’s coming.” He pointed down the drive. “There.”
Footsteps crunched on the gravel, and he could make out Sally’s silhouette; then he recognized Demar’s. Sally waved, and Keefe stage whispered, “No discussing this with Demar around; we don’t need the cops in on this.”
Demar and Sally came up onto the porch, and Sally looked at them. “What is this, a seance in the moonlight or something? Why are you all here at two-thirty in the morning?”
Callie smiled sweetly. “Keefe let me stay up past midnight. I’m all twitterpated.”
Keefe put on his casual Lex expression, and Digger sat back looking relaxed. Hell, he should be the one on TV he was a damn good actor. Digger said, “Same reason you’re taking a walk. Too nice of a night to waste indoors.”
“What’s this?” Demar asked as he snagged the flyer from the end table as he and Sally sat in the double wicker rocker. “Where’d you get it?”
Keefe mentally banged his head against a brick wall. How could he forget to hide the paper? It was the lack of sleep getting to him ... or maybe Callie. But since one caused the other how could he tell the difference?
He said to Demar, “I can’t even think of a good lie at the moment. I’ll have to go with the truth. We’re going to meet up with whoever’s at the end of this e-mail and see what they know about Mimi, and I’d appreciate it if you’d forget I just said that.”
Demar studied the yellow paper. “These must have gone up recently. The Memphis cops will probably think this is from your family.” He nodded at Keefe. “Least they will at first, then ask you about it, and then they’ll set up a sting for this Perry person.” He studied Keefe. “Just like you are now, except it will take a lot longer. So, what do you have planned?”
Keefe asked, “That means you’re going to help?”
“It means I’m going into Memphis with two friends for a beer, and who knows what will happen.”
Sally kissed his cheek. “You are a good man, Demar.”
Callie said, “Except you’ll ruin any chance we have of meeting with M. Perry and seeing what he knows. You guys are all too well known. I should do the meeting. No one knows me. I’ll take Georgette with me. We’ll be fine.”
Georgette gasped, “Me? We? What? Who?”
Sally huffed. “What am I, the B team? I’m coming, too, and before
you go all crazy I’ve got an idea so no one recognizes me.”
Callie grinned. “I’ve got it. We’ll all three dress like hookers, gals who know the rougher side of Memphis and all the street people. It makes sense that they would know who’s new to the area and trying to keep a low profile. Perry must have some reason to think she’s in Memphis. Maybe because it’s near Bonnie and she can keep an eye on her baby.”
“And,” Sally added, “if we’re hookers, we’ll look like we need that reward money. It’s a perfect cover. I am so impressed with myself.”
Demar cleared his throat. “Uh, if you three think that we, as in Digger, Keefe and myself, are letting you—”
“See, there’s that word again.” Callie huffed.
Demar ignored her and went on, “—meet with this Perry person, you are out of your ever-loving minds.”
Sally swiped her hand across Demar’s cheek and gave him a slit-eyed stare. “I took my kiss back, and now you can kiss my something else instead. You’re not telling me what to do, Demar Thacker, just because you’re a cop. This plan we just came up with is perfect.”
Demar snorted. “Walking down Beale Street looking like hookers is out of the question. What if you get picked up? You’re not doing it, period, end of discussion.”
Georgette sat back and said, “Well, thank God for that.” And Sally said, “We’re not going to do an FBI takedown, Demar, just make the contact, and you badasses can be right there with us, just at another table.”
Keefe said, “Not happening. Digger, Demar and I will wear baseball hats and dress down and meet at some bar with Perry. No one will know us.”
Sally sat back in the wicker rocker. “That is the worst, most unimaginative plan I have ever heard in my life. It’s fraught with problems. Don’t you think Perry will suspect that the O’Fallons will want to get a hold of him and already have his guard up? And, someone on the Memphis PD is bound to blow Demar’s cover. Everyone knows Lex Zandor—I don’t care what kind of hat you wear—and every woman will come squealing your way, and the M. Perry lead will be gone for good.”
The Way U Look Tonight Page 10
