* * *
“Drive carefully,” Tilda admonished, giving Adam his present from the Icicle Falls police department.
His phone vibrated in his pants. He pulled it out. This time the call wasn’t from Kyle. It was from Chelsea. She was either looking for him or testing to see that he’d turned it off. He put the phone back in his pocket and drove away. Slowly...
Tilda followed him for three blocks to make sure he remained a model citizen. He should never have bought a red car. Cops hated red.
Finally she took off. He drove like an old geezer for another block, just to be certain the coast was clear, then floored it. Even with the pedal to the metal he felt like he was swimming through syrup. He screeched to a halt in front of his house, left the motor running and dashed up the front walk.
“Everything okay?” Dennis the Menace called.
They’d mended fences, so to speak, but Dennis was still a pest.
“Fine,” Adam called back. He unlocked his front door, took the stairs to the bedroom two at a time and raced down the hall. He careened into the bedroom, yanked open the closet door and hauled out a pair of slacks. And a belt. Jon had buffed up, but Adam still had a few inches on him. Then it was back down the hall, the pants flapping behind him like a flag. Out the door, down the walk, ignoring his gaping neighbor, and into the car. Now off down the road.
He slowed down when he hit the town limits. Another ticket would only delay him further.
After what felt like forever, he was at Festival Hall. He wadded up the pants and strode inside, going straight to the men’s room.
A skinny guy with a scrawny neck was standing outside the door. Now he leaned his head in and said something.
“’Scuse me,” Adam said, and pushed past him. He got in just as a stall door closed. There was Kyle, standing nonchalantly at the sink, washing his hands.
He turned and, at the sight of Adam, frowned. “What took you so long?”
“Tilda got me for speeding. Where’s Jon?”
The stall door opened and out stepped Jonathan, wearing a pair of black silk boxers. “Nice shorts,” Adam observed, giving him the slacks and belt.
Jonathan snatched them and climbed into them. They hung only a little loosely on him but he cinched them up with the belt. “Sorry about the ticket. I’ll pay it. Can I borrow your car?”
“What? How am I supposed to get back to the restaurant? And what am I supposed to tell Chelsea when it’s time to leave and we don’t have a car?”
“I’ll return it as soon as I get my spare set of keys,” Jonathan promised.
“But—”
“Give me your keys,” Jonathan snarled.
This new, angry Jonathan startled Adam into reflexively handing over his keys.
“Thanks,” Jonathan said, and bolted out of the bathroom.
“Bring the car to Schwangau,” Adam called after him, and hoped he heard. He turned to Kyle and demanded, “What the hell is going on?”
“Jon has to go save Lissa,” Kyle said.
“With my car.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll get it back to you.”
“Well, I hope he gets it back to me before we’re done with dinner. Otherwise, I’m gonna have a hard time explaining to Chelsea. I wasn’t even supposed to have my cell phone on.”
Kyle slugged him in the shoulder. “You’re a good man to have around in a crisis. Come on, I’ll drive you to the restaurant.”
Adam frowned. “Chels thinks I’m in the bathroom.”
“Well, then, you’re clear.”
“I’ve been in the bathroom for...” He took out his cell and checked the time. “Twenty minutes.”
“You had the runs.”
“I had the runs,” he told her when he finally returned to the table to find her scowling at him. “Sorry.” The salad had been delivered. So had their main course. He sat down in front of his steak, ready to dig in.
“Are you feeling okay now?” She laid a hand on his arm. “Maybe you shouldn’t eat anything heavy.”
“No, I’m fine now,” he insisted. But he wouldn’t be so fine if Jonathan didn’t bring back his car.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jonathan had pants and he had a car, everything a hero needed to save a damsel in distress. Now all he had to do was track down Rand and Lissa. Icicle Falls had some great B and Bs and guesthouses. They could be anywhere.
He started his search at the Icicle Creek Lodge. “I missed meeting up with a friend of mine,” he told Olivia, the owner, who was minding the desk. “He’s in town for our class reunion and I think he’s staying here.”
“What’s his name?”
“Rand Burwell.” The Skunk.
Olivia shook her head. “That doesn’t ring a bell.” She checked her computer. “Sorry, Jonathan. There’s no one here by that name.”
“Hmm, I must have been confused,” Jonathan said. “Thanks.” Strike one.
Aware of the ticking clock, he ran back to Adam’s car, got in and floored it. That was a mistake. Out of nowhere an Icicle Falls patrol car appeared, lights flashing. Great. Just great.
He pulled over to the curb and watched as Tilda Morrison got out of the car. She was tall and buff and intimidating. Jonathan so didn’t have time to be intimidated.
“Jonathan,” she greeted him. “What’s the hurry?”
“I’m sorry, Tilda. I know I was speeding, but I’ve got an emergency here.”
“There seems to be a lot of that going around tonight. And in this car,” she added, frowning. “Is your house on fire?”
Cute. “No.”
“Are you having a heart attack?”
He was definitely having heart trouble, but it wasn’t the kind he could explain in one minute. “No.”
“Then I’d say you don’t have an emergency. License and registration please.”
He found Adam’s registration on the visor and handed it over. “I can’t give you my license.”
She frowned.
“I lost it. It’s in my pants.” He shouldn’t have said that. He was rattled and it was affecting his ability to think clearly.
“And where are your pants?”
“Uh, they’re gone.”
She peered in the window, still frowning. “So what’s that you’re wearing, a skirt?”
“These aren’t... Never mind. Can you just give me my ticket?”
She crossed her arms. “No. Not until you tell me what the heck is going on in this town.”
So he told her and then she gave him his ticket.
She also gave him a lift. “What that creep is doing isn’t illegal but it’s damned rotten. Get in the squad car.”
They made it to Gerhardt’s Gasthaus in record time, where Jonathan struck out again.
“That means they’re staying at the Bavarian Inn,” Tilda deduced.
Stood to reason. Like Icicle Falls Lodge, it was expensive and the rooms all had balconies with a great mountain view. Perfect for seduction. Tilda chauffeured Jonathan to the Bavarian Inn. At top speed.
“I’m trying to find my friend,” he told the girl at the desk. He’d seen her at Bavarian Brews a couple of times, but he didn’t know her. It would have been easier if he did. “Could you tell me what room Rand Burwell is staying in?”
“Gosh, we can’t give out that information,” she said.
“This is kind of an emergency,” Jonathan pushed.
“Well, I’d be happy to call his room for you.”
And alert him that Jonathan was there? No way. “Uh, no, that’s okay.” Now what to do? He tried a new tack. “I wanted to surprise him. Can you make an exception just this once?”
Her brows knit. “I thought you said it was an emergency.”
“It’s, uh...” If he’d played chess like this, he’d have been laughed out of the chess club. “His wife just had a baby.” That was a good emergency. Except if his wife was having a baby, he’d probably have been with her. Or someone would have called him on his cell. “He
lost his cell phone.”
The woman behind the reception counter wasn’t buying it. In fact, she wasn’t even buying Jonathan’s being there. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t help you,” she said, her friendly expression hardening into something not so friendly. “Is there anything else?”
Jonathan got the message behind the question. If not, scram. “Uh, no.” Except. He ran a hand through his hair. “I really have to find him. Is he here?”
“I’ll ring his room for you,” she said, sticking to the party line.
He shook his head. Just then, the phone rang and she picked it up and turned her back on him. He was done here. What to do now?
Calm down. Think like Rand. What would Rand do?
It was still early in the evening. Rand had always had charm in spades. Would he bring Lissa back to his room and start boinking her right away? No. He’d order champagne, sit with her on the balcony, sweet-talk her.
Jonathan left the lobby and went to the back of the building where all the balconies were located. Several people were out on them, enjoying the warm evening and the last pink of the summer sunset. Sure enough, on a balcony down at the end of the building sat Rand and Lissa at a little table. As Jonathan drew closer, he saw that Rand had, indeed, ordered champagne. They looked like the ideal couple—Rand big as a boulder and dark-haired, Lissa lithe and pretty in her dress, a light summer breeze ruffling her golden hair.
Jonathan marched along the walkway toward them. Rand saw him first, his pleasant smile melting into a glare of suppressed anger. His words drifted down to Jonathan. “It’s getting cold out here, Liss. Let’s go inside.”
“Don’t!” Jonathan called, and picked up his pace.
Lissa looked at him, a smile on her lips. “Jonathan?”
Now he was directly beneath them. “He’s trying to seduce you.” Well, duh.
Lissa’s smile lost some of its glow. Hardly surprising since he’d just announced this to all the other hotel guests.
“You guys were a couple once and you can do whatever you want, but you need to know he’s married.”
Now there was no smile whatsoever. Lissa turned to Rand. “Is that true? You told me you were divorced.”
“He’s not. He’s separated.”
“Same thing,” Rand said, and called down to Jonathan, “Get lost.” He put a hand on Lissa’s back. “He’s jealous, Liss. He always has been. I wouldn’t lie to you about something so important,” he said, steering her back toward the door.
“He sure would if it meant he could get what he wanted. And yeah, I’m jealous, and it bugs me that a rotten liar like Rand could lure a nice woman like you back to his room. But I’m not lying.” They were inside now, the sliding door to the balcony sliding shut. “He told Cam Gordon just this morning that he was getting back with his wife,” Jonathan hollered. “He wants a good roll in the hay before he does. He’s out to use you.”
A murmur of voices had served as backdrop during this exchange, and more people had come out on their balconies to eavesdrop. But now someone new had arrived at the party, a big burly guy wearing a polo shirt that proclaimed him a Bavarian Inn employee.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, “but you need to leave.”
“In a minute,” Jonathan said.
“No. Now.”
The man took his arm and Jonathan tried to yank free. But the man’s hand was a vise and the vise merely tightened. He started to lead Jonathan away.
“He’s a cheat and a liar, Liss. You need to know that,” Jonathan yelled at the top of his lungs. “Ask him who really taped all those hearts on your locker on Valentine’s Day,” he added. As if that mattered. As if she could even hear him anymore.
That was about all he had time for because Mr. Friendly was leading him off at a brisk trot. “He’s using her,” Jonathan explained.
“It’s a free country,” the man said. “And you’re bothering our guests.”
Jonathan doubted that. He had an awful suspicion that they’d all been enjoying the show.
But the show was over. There was nothing left to do but to give up and leave. He’d tried.
And failed. Lissa and Rand were now firmly shut away in their love nest. At this very moment, he was probably convincing her that Jonathan was a jealous, lying nerd.
It was a silent ride as Tilda drove him home to get his spare car keys. Then she took him back to where they’d left Adam’s car.
“Want me to follow you and give you a lift back to your car?” she offered.
He shook his head. “No, but thanks. And thanks for all your help.”
She didn’t offer him any sappy advice or embarrassing sympathy. She just nodded and drove off.
He returned Adam’s car, parking it in front of Schwangau. He left the keys with the maître d’, instructing him to give them to Adam and to ask if he’d dropped them. Then he trudged back to his own car and drove home.
Chica was glad to see him, jumping up in excitement, running alongside him as he made his way to the house. Inside he donned a ratty pair of sweats and his Einstein T-shirt. Full circle, back to what he was when he’d started this dumb journey, back to what he’d always be.
He was done. Done with love, done with hope, done with Lissa. He was especially done with those stupid romance novels. He found his e-reader and removed every last deceitful tale of happily-ever-after. Next he crumpled his list and tossed it in the trash. He’d done everything on that damned list. Tried the smooth talk and the romantic gesture. He’d buffed up, toughened up and danced his feet off. He’d done what was right, and in the process made a fool of himself trying to save her from hurt and humiliation. It had all been a waste of time.
He gathered paperbacks from every corner of the house, putting them in a grocery sack. In went the tycoons, the viscounts and the earls. A bag full of happiness, his sister had said when they went to the library book sale. Jules was deluded.
No corner of the house escaped. He took books from the bathroom, under his bed, the coffee table, adding them to his bag. In went the barons and the cowboys. In went the playboys. In went the vampires and spies. And in went every blasted Vanessa Valentine book, even the first-edition signed hardback he’d paid a fortune for on eBay. He should have burned every last one of those the minute he learned Vanessa Valentine was Vance. What a sucker.
Well, he was done being a sucker. He took his bag of books to the fire pit behind the house, Chica trotting beside him. With a growl he tore up a sheik’s sorry tale and dumped it in among the ash and charred bits of wood. He gave a Vanessa Valentine historical a savage rip, taking full advantage of the muscles he’d built up working out at the gym. That, too, went on the pile. He threw in two more books, then squirted them with starter fluid and dropped a match on them. They burst into flame with a satisfying whoosh.
“Good symbolism,” he told Chica.
She thumped her tail as if she understood.
Another book went on the funeral pyre. Dead. All his dreams were dead. Women were fickle and there was no such thing as a happy ending.
The fire was going strong now. The flames dancing against the dark night were almost hypnotic. He slumped into one of his camp chairs and stared
at them.
Chica’s sudden bark pulled him out of his trance and he looked over to see Lissa walking toward him. He’d hypnotized himself into thinking she was really here. He turned back to the fire, hoping the illusion would go away and leave him in peace.
She didn’t. Instead, she gave Chica’s face a rub and settled on a nearby chair.
Okay, he was dreaming. He blinked and shook his head, but when he opened his eyes she was still there. “Why aren’t you with Rand?” he asked her.
“Why should I be?” she countered, still petting the dog. “He’s a rat.”
“He’s always been a rat.”
“Well, I never realized it.” She leaned back against the chair. “At least, I never admitted it to myself. I mean, if I had, what would that have made me?”
>
A hero wouldn’t say what Jonathan was thinking. Well, he wasn’t a hero. He was done with that stuff. He looked at her. Hard. “Stupid, Liss. That’s what it would make you.”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Double stupid, because you let him fool you in high school and you let him fool you again now.”
“I’ve never been very smart when it comes to men, I guess,” she said.
This was no news flash. He said nothing. Instead, he grabbed a Vanessa Valentine paperback and tossed it on the fire.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“What does it look like?” He sounded like the king of grumps but he didn’t care.
She plucked a book out of the bag. “You’re burning romance novels.” She said it as if he was committing sacrilege.
“They’re a crock.”
“Whose are they?”
“Mine.”
“You’ve been reading romance novels?”
The shocked expression on her face irritated him. “Guys can read romance novels.”
“Oh, well. Yes, of course they can.”
Now she was trying to placate him. Well, he didn’t want to be placated. “Liss, why are you here?” Why aren’t you back at the reunion, being Miss Popularity, picking up a new guy?
“I wanted to thank you. For keeping me from making a very big mistake.”
He shed some of his prickly attitude. “You’re welcome.” He picked up his hardcover signed first edition.
She laid a hand on his arm. “Oh, don’t. I love that book.”
“You’ve read it?”
“I’ve read all her books.”
He handed it over. “Well, then, here. You can have it. It’s signed.”
“Really?” She opened the book to check for herself and smiled. “Lucky you,” she teased.
“Yeah, lucky me,” he grumbled. “I spent a fortune on these dumb books and all for nothing.”
“Jonathan, why are you here by yourself, burning these books? Why aren’t you at the reunion?”
“Because the one person I wanted to see left early with Rand. And I’m burning the books because they’re useless.” He took a paperback, ripped it in two and dropped it onto the fire.
What She Wants Page 28
