by Nancy Martin
Half to prevent himself wondering what Dixie Davis looked like while undressing, Flynn strolled around the suite to see what he could learn about its occupant. After all, for weeks the cops had failed to get into the suite to look for evidence that might help send Joey Torrano to jail. Now here was Flynn—actually invited into the perfect place to find something useful.
He studied the suite through narrowed eyes. A white grand piano stood in one corner, its surface scattered with sheet music covered with pencil notes. A skimpy black leotard had been abandoned over the back of a chair. Flynn picked it up without thinking, and studied the small scrap of fabric with a frown, wondering how it could possibly cover Dixie’s voluptuous curves. On the floor at his feet, a pair of worn-looking tap shoes lay where they’d been kicked off.
Remembering why he’d agreed to come, Flynn carried the leotard with him as he looked around some more. A few books and magazines were stacked on a table, but they looked as if they’d been ignored by someone who spent every waking minute rehearsing. Using the remote control, he turned on the television and discovered that Dixie—or Joey—watched CNN instead of game shows or soap operas.
A kitchenette lay adjacent to the living room. A peek into the small refrigerator revealed half-empty cartons of Chinese takeout, a couple of containers of yogurt, some apples, carrots, and a six-pack of Mexican beer. From all the police files he’d read, Flynn knew that the mob boss’s favorite drink was vodka. Clearly, the beer was for Dixie.
The beer kicked Flynn’s imagination into overdrive again. His brain quickly concocted a scenario that included an undressed showgirl sharing a cold bottle with a very turned-on cop. Ever since her kiss, he’d been aroused. No woman had ever affected him like that before. Flynn wondered if all men reacted the same way to the Texas Tornado.
A tentative knock sounded at the suite’s front door. Flynn slammed the refrigerator shut.
“Will you see who that is, sugar?” Dixie called from the other room. “I can’t find my shirt!”
The thought of a topless Dixie answering the door sent Flynn hurrying to greet the visitor himself.
“Who is it?” he growled through the door.
“Maurice,” squeaked a terrified voice. “Is Miss Davis available?”
Flynn opened the door and stepped back to permit the concierge to enter. He was a panic-stricken little fellow in a black suit who scuttled instead of walked, and he wrung his hands as he rushed into the suite.
“Oh, Miss Dixie, I’m terribly— Oh! Where is Miss Davis?”
“Getting changed,” Flynn said shortly.
“Who are you?”
Flynn came up with a lie after a second’s pause. “Her bodyguard.”
That was a logical explanation to the concierge. “I see. Is Miss Davis all right?”
“I’ll be out in a minute, Maurice!” she caroled from the bedroom.
Pinpointing her location, Maurice forgot about Flynn and hurried to the bedroom door. “Oh, Miss Davis, I’m terribly sorry the Honeymoon Suite isn’t ready yet. We weren’t expecting you for several more hours and—”
“Cool your tamales, Maurice.”
The bedroom door opened, and another woman walked out into the suite.
She was even prettier than Dixie Davis—tall and slim, with laughing blue eyes and a wide, happy mouth. But she wasn’t caked with makeup or dressed like a ride at Disneyland. Gone was the flamboyant showgirl. In her place arrived a fresh-faced young woman with an eye-popping figure and a sweet smile. Barefoot and wearing a pair of snug, faded jeans and a man’s plain white T-shirt that was loose everywhere but across her generous breasts, she looked delectable and innocently young.
Her hair was blond and cut short in a face-framing pixie style that accentuated the sharpness of her chin and nose.
From one slender hand dangled an enormous blond wig.
Flynn blinked and realized the woman was Dixie Davis—but without her trademark haystack of hair, the gaudy clothes and the hooker’s makeup. She tossed her wig onto the sofa beside her hat.
Flynn was speechless. Her transformation was amazing.
“Now, Maurice,” she soothed, curling her arm around the concierge’s trembling one. “Don’t worry about a thing. I just came up with a plan to surprise Joey.”
“A—a surprise?”
“Precisely. I hope I can count on you to help?”
“Well, I—I— It won’t get me—or the hotel—into any trouble, will it?”
“Of course not!” She laughed sweetly. “Would I toss you into the pigpen, Maurice?”
“Not you, Miss Davis, but Mr. Torrano is—”
“Just leave Joey to me, Maurice.” She patted his arm placatingly.
“Will you be moving to the Honeymoon Suite?” the concierge asked, still a little nervous.
Dixie bit her lip as if to hold back a flirtatious smile and shook her head. “Not yet. I’d like to stay in this suite without Joey knowing I’m here. For just a couple of days, you understand.”
A smile broke across the concierge’s perspiring face. “Oh, of course, Miss Davis!”
“You’ll keep an eye peeped for Joey, right? I, er, don’t want his surprise spoiled.”
“I’ll alert security immediately.” The little man bent forward and bestowed a kiss on Dixie’s hand. “You can count on the Plaza, Miss Davis.”
A dimple popped on her cheek as she smiled. “That’s wonderful, Maurice.”
She ushered him to the door of the suite. “Now, don’t worry about a thing. I’ll be out of your hair quicker than an armadillo out of a sausage grinder, I promise!”
“You can stay as long as you like, Miss Davis.”
“That’s downright neighborly, Maurice, honey.”
When the concierge was gone, Dixie leaned against the closed door and said with an amused sigh, “He’ll change that tune as soon as Joey stops paying my bill.”
Flynn folded his arms across his chest. “Miss Davis, I think you’ve got some explaining to do. I don’t understand most of what’s going on. Maybe it would be better if I just left.”
“No! Please, don’t go.”
“I’ve got to get to work.”
“Well, could you take a few days off from the garage?” she asked, heading for the kitchenette.
Flynn followed. “The garage?”
“Where you work on your motorbikes. Couldn’t you take a little vacation?”
“What for?”
“I’ve got a proposition for you.”
Flynn’s imagination immediately came up with several possible propositions—all of them including scenarios that required the removal of clothing that casually clung to Dixie’s curvaceous figure. Flynn had a good idea of what she would look like naked, but he wondered exactly what shade her nipples might be, what the texture of her skin would feel like, how her voice might sound softly whispering nonsense in his ear. He could feel his whole body tingle and harden at the thoughts that crowded into his mind.
Unaware of Flynn’s nosedive into sexual fantasy, she opened the refrigerator and removed two apples. Calmly, she offered him one of the pieces of fruit. “I’d like you to stick around and help me.”
He accepted the apple automatically, although he wasn’t thinking about his stomach. “Doing what?”
“I heard you tell Maurice you were my bodyguard.” She polished her apple on the belly of her T-shirt and regarded Flynn. “That was pretty quick thinking.”
“I had to come up with something.”
She bit into her apple and chewed, studying Flynn carefully. “Would you be interested in the job?”
“What job?”
“Guarding my body. So to speak, that is.” She swallowed her bite of apple and headed for the living room in an easy saunter that showed how perfectly her jeans fit the curves of her hips and thighs. “I mean, I might be needing some protection. Nothing life threatening, but it would be nice knowing there was somebody around here if I needed a—well, a witness or something.”
“You want somebody to beat up your boyfriend if he comes around,” Flynn guessed.
“Heavens, no! Although I’m still amazed by the way you stopped George in his tracks.” Dixie sat down on the sofa and folded her long legs Indian-style. “Joey’s not a violent man. But sometimes he loses his temper.”
“And then what happens?”
“He shouts a lot,” she admitted, studying her apple. “I hate shouting, so I’d like to avoid him. I want somebody around for a few days while I take care of some business.”
“What kind of business?”
“Theater stuff. Don’t worry.”
But Flynn was worried. As a cop he knew he’d never get a better chance to get the goods on Joey Torrano. The Organized Crime Unit had spent the past two years trying to dig up evidence to use against the nefarious mob boss, but nothing useful had landed in the laps of the police. Until now.
But looking at Dixie Davis as she sat on the sofa nibbling her apple and looking anything but prim, Flynn knew it would take a stronger man than himself to resist her charms long enough to locate some evidence against her mobster boyfriend.
She looked up, and her blue eyes seemed endlessly deep as she awaited Flynn’s answer. Her bottom lip was moist from the apple. Her blond hair wisped delicately along her temples, and Flynn’s fingers itched to brush it away from her brows. There he’d press light, nibbling kisses.
“What do you say?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts. “I could pay you—oh, a hundred dollars a day. Plus expenses if you don’t like expensive restaurants. How about it?”
Flynn didn’t trust his voice and cleared his throat before speaking. “You don’t know anything about me.”
She smiled. “I’m a quick judge of character.”
“Quick doesn’t mean good. Maybe I’m your worst enemy.”
“I don’t kiss my worst enemies,” she said softly. “And they don’t kiss me back the way you did.”
Flynn’s mouth went completely dry. “Miss Davis—”
“I have rules about men,” she said quickly. “I don’t let anybody get too close. I know what I look like—some kind of cheap call girl, right?”
“Not right now.”
With a wry smile, she ruffled her short hair. “But most of the time I look like a hooker on parade. Believe me, I know. It’s all an act, though. It’s show business. But I’ve learned not to trust men, you see. When I’m all dolled up, I know what most guys are after. But you’re different.”
“Maybe not very different,” Flynn said dryly, thinking about the erotic fantasies he’d already indulged in.
She laughed lightly. “Yes, different. When I saw you on your motorcycle, you had a look in your eye. Kind of faraway. But definitely trustworthy.”
Flynn bristled. “Believe me, Miss Davis, I’m not a Boy Scout.”
“Let’s put it this way,” she said hastily. “You looked safe. And you turned out to be the right man for the job today. Couldn’t you stick with it a little longer?”
Flynn hesitated. “How long are we talking about?”
Her expression brightened. “A couple of days, that’s all I need to clear up a few things. You could stay here and sleep on the sofa. Please?”
The sight of her ingenuous smile made Flynn’s heart turn over. With her simple haircut and no makeup, she was even more appealing than the woman who’d kissed him in the street. This one was just as sexy, though. Just as beautiful. And she wore her heart on her sleeve.
He quelled the response that rose within him and said, “I have to make a phone call first. In private.”
“Sure!” She bounded off the sofa and threw her arms around his shoulders. “Oh, Flynn, I really appreciate this!”
She felt fabulous in his arms—her body lithe and full, her perfume sweet and tantalizing. How could she avoid sensing how turned on he was by her? She brushed another quick, electrifying kiss on Flynn’s cheek and sent a dizzying smile up at him.
“Thanks.”
Then she hurried away to the bedroom and closed the door, leaving Flynn stunned and shaken. He waited until his blood pressure returned to normal before making contact with his superior officer.
Flynn telephoned Sergeant Dominick Kello, currently in charge of the Torrano investigation within the Organized Crime Unit of the N.Y.P.D. Flynn got through to the sergeant quickly and summarized his situation.
Sergeant Kello could hardly believe their good fortune. “This is the best break we’ve had in months!”
“I’m not so sure,” Flynn began. “What if I jeopardize the case?”
“What case? We haven’t got a case! Maybe you’ll finally get something we can use!”
“But she seems pretty innocent to me—”
“This is great!” crowed the sergeant, not hearing a word Flynn was saying. He covered the receiver, no doubt jubilantly announcing the news to the rest of the squad room. Flynn could hear the excited cheers and catcalls of his fellow cops as they heard where he was. Then the sergeant came back on the line. “Stick as close as you can, Flynn. Be her bodyguard, her chauffeur, her frigging costume changer if you have to!”
“I think that would be a very bad idea.”
“It’s a damn brilliant idea! Why are you so uptight?”
“Because she’s—”
Again the sergeant’s voice cut across his. “Listen, Flynn. Do you have any idea how many guys would kill for this assignment? All you have to do is hang around a beautiful woman!”
An extremely attractive woman, Flynn thought, clenching his jaw. Did Sergeant Kello have any idea how difficult it might be to simply think straight in the presence of somebody as sexy as Dixie Davis?
“Just stay there,” his boss commanded. “Do whatever you have to do to get us some information we can use to nail Torrano. Got that, Flynn? Whatever you have to do!”
Three
Dixie emerged from her bedroom wearing her huge wig again, along with a pair of fire-engine red cowboy boots, her tight blue jeans and a mouth-watering T-shirt. She carried a slouchy canvas bag over her shoulder and twirled a pair of cactus-shaped sunglasses in one hand.
Flynn put down the newspaper he’d been pretending to read after snooping through her suite. He had told himself he’d better snoop to keep himself from peeking through her bedroom keyhole.
At once, he noticed she was ready to leave. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To the theater, of course.”
He sat up straight. “The what?”
“I’ve got a show to do!”
Flynn scrambled up from the sofa. “What do you mean, a show? This was supposed to be your wedding day!”
“I’m the star of The Flatfoot and the Floozie,” she reminded him simply. “I’ve got seven shows a week—including matinees on Wednesday and Sunday. Unless I’m dying, I have to go to the theater.”
“But—but—” Flynn found himself sputtering with amazement. “I thought you wanted to hide from Joey Torrano! How can you do that on a Broadway stage?”
“That’s your job,” she said with a laugh. “You’re my new bodyguard, remember?”
“You can’t possibly—I don’t believe—”
But Dixie whirled away from him in a flounce of blond wig. Flynn tailed her to the door, where she checked her appearance one more time in the gilded mirror that hung there. Her reflection was enough to take a strong man’s breath away.
She tugged an imaginary stray eyelash straight, then met Flynn’s goggling gaze in the mirror. She smiled. “Well, how do I look?”
“You’re not exactly going to blend into the scenery while sneaking out of the hotel.”
“Is that a compliment?” She headed for the door and seconds later stepped into the elevator.
“A statement of fact.” Flynn got in the elevator, too. “You’re not the kind of woman anyone can ignore.”
“Thanks—I think. But don’t worry. I’ve got a cab waiting in the alley outside the hotel kitchen. Nobody will see
me leave. Will you come along?”
“That’s my new job, right?”
“Yes—if you still want it.”
“I just don’t think running around the city is a very good idea.”
“People are counting on me. Tonight’s performance is sold out.”
“Don’t you have an understudy?”
“I am the understudy,” she reminded him. “Joey replaced the original star with me. We haven’t had time to train somebody else. I have to go on.”
“This seems like a crazy way to avoid the man you stood up at the church today.”
“I know I can’t avoid him forever. But I’m going to try until I can get a few things settled at the theater.” As the elevator cruised to a stop in the basement, she shouldered her canvas bag again. “Ready?”
The elevator swished open, depositing Dixie and Flynn in the midst of the hotel’s vast, bustling kitchen. The white-coated staff was deeply involved in preparing for the dinner hour, so hardly anyone looked up from their work to take notice of the two strangers slipping through their midst. But just as they neared the door, a shout went up and suddenly the whole kitchen was asking for autographs and pressing close.
Flynn fended off the mob and let Dixie slip out the door. She waved and called hello to everyone, but moments later Dixie was sliding across the back seat of a waiting taxi. Flynn climbed in after her.
“Hiya, Jerry,” Dixie greeted the driver. “Thanks for coming.”
The pudgy man sitting at the wheel grinned over his shoulder. “I haven’t missed a night yet, Miss Davis. And I don’t intend to. Who’s the cop?”
Flynn stiffened. If he wanted to get any useful information out of his sojourn with Dixie Davis, he was going to have to keep his true identity a secret.
But Dixie laughed at the driver. “He’s no cop! This is my new bodyguard. Flynn, meet Jerry. Jerry’s been driving me ever since I got to town. I have his private number, and I call him anytime I need a ride. I hate trying to catch cabs in this town! And Jerry’s discreet.”
Flynn nodded at Jerry, who gave him a suspicious stare in return. Jerry said, “I’ve lived in this city all my life. I know a cop when I see one.”
