Apprehensive and hopeful, she lifted the flashlight and began to wave her arms in the air, drawing the driver’s attention.
The vehicle slowed as it approached. Not a tow truck, just a truck, an old one, with no muffler and what appeared to be antlers of some sort attached to the front of it. The window rolled down, and the driver let out a low “woo-hoo" followed immediately by, “Damn baby!”, before tossing out his beer can and driving on.
“Fuck,” Dixie whispered into the darkness. Even though her grandmother was yards back, Dixie still wouldn’t say that word in front of her.
It was only moments later that another set of lights, these blue and flashing approached. The cop slowed down, sped up, slowed down again and then put the cruiser into reverse, backing up until the passenger window was next to her. “Lady, what the hell are you doing out here?”
“My car broke down and I don’t have cell service—I was trying to walk into town to get a tow truck.”
The cop sighed heavily. “I’ve gotta catch that drunken yahoo that just went by here...But you get on back to your car and I’ll send a tow for you.”
If it weren’t for the fact that he was closer to Irma’s age than hers, with a handlebar mustache that Wilford Brimley would’ve envied, Dixie might’ve kissed him. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this!”
“Just get to your car,” he said, then drove off, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.
*~*~*
Three hours later, Dixie was rethinking her kind words to the cop for the fifteenth time . But those thoughts fled as the tow truck finally appeared, manned by a large hulking beast who probably didn’t need the truck to tow the damned Caddy.
After introducing himself as Ernie and apologizing profusely for leaving them out there for so long, he moved with surprising agility and loaded the vehicle onto the flatbed. He even helped hoist the two elderly ladies into the truck, and while he wasn’t supposed to allow more than three people in the cab, he couldn’t very well just leave Dixie alone in the dark.
It only took another hour before Ernie deposited the Caddy at his father in law’s garage and dropped them at the only hotel with availability within a hundred miles of Memphis. The derelict Viva Tupelo on the outskirts of Tunica. From the missing letters on the burned out neon sign and the fact that the only entertainment being offered were impersonators, it was clearly not doing so hot.
“Well, this isn’t so bad!” Frankie exclaimed. “There’s an Elvis Tribute Review!”
Dixie was hot, tired, and she wreaked of road dust and sweat. She’d been without cell service for nearly seven hours. Not that it mattered and not that he would have texted anyway, but that wasn’t the point. She hadn’t wanted to come on the damn trip to begin with, but her grandmother and requisite nutball sidekick had insisted she’d been obsessing. And while they weren’t wrong, it was hardly the place of a woman whose relationship with reality was loose at best to point it out!
Raising both her eyebrows and her voice, Dixie pinned Frankie with a glare. “Not that bad? Really? Your car just died...epically. Died. Heavenly hosts came down and retrieved it!”
Irma favored her with a cautioning look. “Dixie-Ann, you are overwrought! Calm yourself!”
“I am not overwrought! I am mad as hell! I could have been at home, sleeping peacefully in my bed, in my comfy pj’s!”
“Overdosed on Ben & Jerry’s, no doubt!” Irma scoffed, but then her tone softened. “He wasn’t going to call, baby. I love you, child, more than the breath in my body, but that man did a number on you and you need to let it go...That’s why you’re here. Now, get us a room and let’s get some sleep before we all say things we’ll regret!”
Dixie took the credit card her grandmother thrust at her and moved toward the registration desk. She knew Irma was right. He wasn’t calling. It had been over two weeks. All the obsessive phone and email checking in the world wouldn’t make that any different. And yes, she’d been drowning her sorrows in pints of ice cream and classic movies. But crying into her rocky road while tearfully watching Casablanca had only served to make her jeans tighter and to make her more depressed.
Forcing herself to be polite, even as the bored desk clerk looked at her as if she were something gross on the bottom of his shoe, she completed the lengthy registration process and took the card keys. Turning around to face Irma and Frankie, who were squabbling again, probably over her, her breath caught in her throat.
It wasn’t possible. But possible or not, she couldn’t deny the truth of what she was seeing with her very own eyes.
He stood there, only twenty feet from her, but dressed in a way she’d never imagined. Her mild mannered computer tech guy was dressed in a studded black jumpsuit with his once shaggy dark hair combed back in an all too familiar pompadour. The sideburns were new. The gold, rhinestone encrusted aviator glasses dangling from his ring bedecked fingers were new too. What the hell was going on?
“You son of a bitch!” The words were out, an automatic response, before she could even fully process the fact that the man she’d been obsessing about, the man who’d ditched her without a backward glance, without so much as a text or even a, ‘It’s not you baby, it’s me’ phone call was standing right there, dressed like Elvis.
CHAPTER TWO
Crossing the lobby of the hotel, he became acutely aware of the eyes of two of Mahoney’s goons on him. For the last week, they’d watched him like a hawk. He didn’t know if someone had tipped them off or if Mahoney was just that paranoid. Either way, it scared the hell out of him. Computers were his thing. The IT geeks weren’t supposed to get shot, or knee capped, or whatever the hell it was that the Mafioso thugs did in the modern era to narcs and rats.
World of Warcraft was as close as he got to violence in his daily life. Walking around with a gun strapped to his ankle, conveniently concealed by the bellbottoms of his jumpsuit, was not something he was used to. He hated his boss. Hated the smug bastard and his nasty ultimatums. Being undercover was not his job.
“You son of a bitch!”
The voice intruded more than the words. It took a second for them to register, not that he could blame her. Dread filled him and he sent up a silent prayer that he was wrong—he turned toward the sound of the expletive and spotted her immediately.
God, she looked good. No. Actually, she didn’t. She looked hot, tired, sweaty and mad as hell. Bearing down on her were her grandmother and her coo-coo for cocoa puffs aunt. She handed off the card keys, but kept her gaze glued to him as she strode across the lobby in his direction.
He moved forward as well, closing the distance between them until he met her halfway. Gripping her arms tighter than he should, the sense of danger, of urgency, was riding him hard. “Dixie, you can’t be here.”
She raised an eyebrow at him and shoved his hands away. “You don’t get to tell me where I can and cannot be. You don’t get to tell me anything, you asshole!”
Nick sighed. “I don’t have time to explain everything right now. You can’t be here. It’s dangerous.”
“Why? Why is it dangerous?”
“Just get in your car and go, Dixie. Once things are back to normal, I’ll tell you everything. I swear!”
Apparently, his urgency penetrated the haze of anger and she stepped back from him. “What are you into, Nick?”
“It’s too much to go into...I’ll tell you everything later. I promise. Just get in your car and get the hell out of here.”
She blanched. “I can’t. Our car broke down. It’s been towed to a shop just south of here.”
Nick didn’t hesitate. He pulled his keys from his pocket and pressed them into her hand. “Take my car. Just go.”
“Mr. Jameson? The boss wants to see you...and your friend.”
Nick glanced over his shoulder to see one of Mahoney’s goons standing behind him, flanked by his larger silent partner. There was no way in hell to keep her out of it. It was already too late. His cover had been suspect from the
beginning, but Mahoney’s paranoia over the last few days had gotten out of hand.
Turning toward them, he held up his hands. “Look, my psycho ex isn’t part of this...Let me send her on her way.”
The goon smiled, clearly not buying it. “Sorry, Elvis. Your Priscilla is coming along too.”
Nick cursed under his breath. There was no way out of it. A quick glance at Dixie’s face told him that things were going to get ugly really quickly. “Don’t do it,” he urged, leaning to whisper in her ear. “Just play along for now.”
“Bastard,” she shot back.
“Trouble in Graceland?” the goon asked sarcastically. He placed his hands on his hips, the jacket he wore parting enough to reveal the butt of his pistol. “Let’s all play nice, huh?”
Nick gripped her arm, holding her tightly to his side as he followed Goon One to the elevator. Goon Two had fallen in step behind them. He wasn’t as bright as Goon One, but he was about six inches taller and looked like he bench pressed about a million pounds just for the fun of it. They were screwed. Royally screwed.
The ride up to the penthouse was tense and quiet, with Dixie alternately glaring daggers at him and the bodyguards. Goon One simply smirked at her. Goon Two kept his gaze trained on her breasts while he breathed through his mouth, audibly.
The elevator doors opened and two more goons were waiting, guarding the penthouse door. Yep. Mahoney was losing it. The feds had been closing in on him for a while and he was feeling it.
“Mr. Jameson, so good of you to join us...and your friend,” Mahoney said, never bothering to take the unlit cigar from his mouth. He just talked around it, uncaring of how ridiculously phallic it looked bobbing up and down in his mouth.
It would not help his cause to point that out, so Nick stayed quiet. “Mr. Mahoney, is there a problem?”
Mahoney shrugged his shoulders, still broad and impressively toned for a man his age, “Not that I’m aware of, Mr. Jameson. Unless there’s something you feel the need to tell me.”
Nick shook his head. “No, sir. I’m very happy to be employed at the Viva. Thank you for giving me a chance.”
Mahoney nodded. “You do a fair Elvis, son. Not up to par with those in Vegas or even in Memphis, but you do all right.”
He did better than all right. Quietly fuming, Nick accepted the backhand insult and smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
“But it appears you’ve got some lady troubles...I’m sure she’s a lovely young woman underneath all that dirt.”
Nick squeezed Dixie’s hand in warning. They couldn’t afford for her to go off halfcocked and say something that would result in both of them sinking to the bottom of the river.
She jerked her hand angrily from his grasp, crossing her arms over her already impressive bosom.
Goon Two’s eyes nearly popped right out of his skull.
“Dixie is my ex-girlfriend, and I owe her some money. Since they were passing through, she decided to stop and get it,” he lied. He could feel Dixie’s eyes boring holes into him.
“He’s a deadbeat. Can’t trust him as far as you can throw him,” she inserted. “I learned that the hard way.”
Nick grimaced, his jaw clenching and his lips drawing into a thin line. Yes, technically, she was playing along, but did she have to get that into the part? “I told you I’d get it to you when I could.”
“You also told me you’d pick me up at eight, and then I never heard from you again,” she fired back.
Mahoney cleared his throat. “If you two are done squabbling, I’d like to say something.”
“My apologies, Mr. Mahoney,” Nick said, shooting another warning look at Dixie.
“Well, Mr. Jameson, I don’t trust you, either. I don’t actually care who you’re sleeping with as long as it isn’t the feds, but I have my doubts. An associate of mine from Biloxi, Mr. Danova, has run into a bit of trouble lately. Where was it that he got into trouble, Eric?”
“Gresham County, Mr. Mahoney,” Goon One replied smoothly.
Mahoney nodded. “That’s right. Little podunk place, but apparently, they have some sharp citizens who caught on to some things that have complicated my life significantly.”
“I’ve never been to or heard of Grissom County,” Nick said.
“Gresham,” Mahoney corrected.
“Right, Gresham. Never heard of it. Don’t know anyone there,” Nick replied, keeping his tone even but firm.
“Well, be that as it may, I’m keeping an eye on you, Mr. Jameson...and now I’ll be keeping one on your girlfriend, as well. She’ll be staying with you in your suite, I assume?”
Yes. He wasn’t letting her out of his sight, but he knew better than to let Mahoney know that was just what he wanted. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Mahoney. We can’t even have a conversation without screaming at one another.”
“It wasn’t a suggestion, Mr. Jameson. It was more of an order. I don’t trust you. Ergo, I don’t trust her. I want to know where she is in my hotel at all times. Understood?”
Nick didn’t answer. It wasn’t required anyway.
Goon One grabbed is arm and Dixie’s and led them to the elevator. The doors opened instantly and they were shoved inside none too gently, but at least they were sort of alone.
Before Dixie could say anything, Nick jumped in. “You didn’t have to come here. I was going to send you the damn money!”
When Dixie picked up his cue, he could have kissed her. But the fact that she was so damn smart was one of the things he’d always liked about her—and her boobs. Her boobs were amazing. Her butt was pretty impressive too. And all the parts in between were equally spectacular. In fact, she was pretty amazing from the top of her head all the way down to her perfectly pedicured toes.
“Wouldn’t be the first time you lied about something,” she shot back.
He could see that a lot of the heat had left her gaze. Unfortunately, it’d been replaced by fear. “Don’t be like that baby. I just ran into some bad luck is all.”
“So did I...The day I met you.”
Nick winced, but he didn’t bother to deny it. “Look, let’s just not fight, okay? You’re tired. I know you hate being dirty. We’ll get you a shower and some dinner and try to be civil to one another.”
“Fine,” she agreed.
CHAPTER THREE
Dixie allowed Nick to usher her into his suite, wondering what the hell kind of hotel put its entertainers up in such posh accommodations. Thinking of Mahoney and his too tight face and pencil thin mustache, she shuddered. With his cold, beady eyes, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine him having them both just disappear.
As if he’d read her mind, an annoying habit that he hadn’t kicked to the curb nearly as easily as he’d dropped her, Nick explained, “Since Mr. Mahoney is unsure whether or not I’m on the level, he decided I should remain a guest here at the hotel. Rather than go back to my own apartment which might or might not be bugged.”
Which meant that the room probably was.
“How about some music?” he asked. “The more we talk the more we fight.”
Definitely bugged, still she couldn’t resist another chance to take a dig at him. “Anything beats having to listen to you.”
His raised eyebrow was his only response as he placed his phone on the docking station beside the TV. The bluesy rock that had been one of their many common interests filled the room. Looking around, she noted that it was a really nice suite. Luxe, even. “Seems like the hotel is treating you pretty good. This is a hell of a lot nicer than your last place.”
He shrugged, removing the ornate aviator glasses and the scarf draped around his neck.
Watching the play of muscle, covered by black leather, was distracting. Turning, she moved toward the window and gazed out. It overlooked the pool area.
“It’s comped. Mr. Mahoney felt that, as the headlining act, I should be more accessible to fans and guests.”
Meaning, she interpreted, that Mahoney had wanted to keep an eye on him
. Whatever was going on, they were paddling up shit creek in a sinking boat. She felt him move behind her, coming to stand close enough so she could feel the heat of his body. He reached up, and her gaze followed the movement of his hand. Where he grasped the curtain, there was a thin cable concealed in the folds of the fabric. She shuddered.
“The shower is a little tricky,” he offered. “I’ll show you.”
Dixie followed him into the bathroom and watched as he fiddled with the taps. Memories washed over her of the small shower in his tiny apartment, of soap slicked skin and intense heat.
When the water was going full blast, he turned to her. “Speak softly,” he whispered.
“What the hell have you gotten into?”
He sighed. “You know that office I work in?” At her nod, he continued, “It’s an FBI field office. We don’t advertise it. The less people who know the better.”
“You’re an IT guy,” she said.
“I’m also the only person they could get who can sing, play guitar and has the ‘look,” he said. “I wanted to tell you, Dixie, but it happened so fast. I didn’t even get to go back to my apartment. They dropped this bomb on me in the office and that night I was driving here.”
Oh, she wanted to believe it. It was impossibly farfetched, but so far, she hadn’t seen anything that made it seem like he wasn’t telling the truth. Mahoney. The listening devices in the hotel room. The fact that he was dressed like Elvis, for the love of Pete! “So, what happens now?”
“You’re stuck with me. We can keep up the pretense of me being your dead beat ex.”
“That’s not a pretense… the ex part anyway,” she said.
He shoved his fingers through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “I know you’re mad. You have every right to be, but as happy as I am to have a chance to explain things to you—Dixie, I wish you weren’t here. It’s dangerous.”
“Nana and Frankie are here,” she said, worry eating through her anger. “Are they safe?”
The Seraphina Donavan Collection: Contemporary Page 6
