Winter Miracle Page 57

  The guard—Dave, going off his name tag—snaps to, focusing on me, or on my chest, rather, and pulls the window across.

  So far, so good.

  I put on the biggest smile I can muster. Think sexy. “Well, hi there, sir. I was hoping you could help me?”

  Why the hell do you sound like Dolly Parton!

  The accent just happened. I’ve got to stick with it no matter now ridiculous it sounds. Thankfully, Dave doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seems kind of spellbound by my boobs.

  He smiles back. “What can I help you with, ma’am?”

  I stick my head in a little and look around. There are six small monitors. One of them is showing a baseball game, but the others are all focused on different parts of the yard. On the bottom right-most monitor I see the grainy figure of Max cutting the fence with the bolt-cutters and pulling it wide.

  Oh, hell.

  The announcers on the baseball game give a start. Dave goes to look.

  “A car,” I shout.

  Dave looks to me. “Sorry?”

  Compose yourself! “I’m looking for a car.”

  Dave sits back and strokes his head. “Well, we ain’t a dealership here, ma’am. This here is the city impound yard.”

  “I know,” I smile. “I’m looking for a friend’s car?”

  He nods, rocking forward, straining with the effort. “Now, that I may be able to help you with. Name?”

  Crapola. Think of something generic. “Brad.” My Dolly Parton drawl almost slips.

  Dave rummages through papers on a clipboard. “Brad…?”

  “Pitt,” I blurt.

  Dave pauses and looks up to me, pausing on my cleavage first, dwelling a little longer than is courteous. “You’re looking for Brad Pitt’s car?”

  “Pit,” I stammer. “One T.” Quickly, I scramble to make it sound plausible. “I think. I don’t really know… I mean, we just met.”

  Keep it together, Dawn.

  Dave checks the paperwork again. “Nope. I can’t see anything here… but there is a vehicle registered to a Brad Pope. That your boy?”

  I nod, thankful. “Yes, sir.” I see Max get into the Camino on the monitor, duck low in the driver’s seat. Come on.

  Dave studies the paperwork. “Let’s see. Brad Pope, Brad Pope… Ah,” he says, finding him. “Twenty-two-year-old white male goes by the name ‘Reaper.’”

  I gulp. “Yep, that’s him.”

  Dave glances up, studying me before returning to the papers. “Nineteen-ninety-nine Lamborghini Diablo with a custom gold paintjob, right?”

  The heck? I nod. “Yes, sir.”

  He leans back and licks his lips. The fan blows rancid air out of the box. It’s like a sauna in there. “What’s your business with Reaper and his Lamborghini, may I ask?”

  “Oh, you know,” I stumble. “I was just helping him out, checking if it was here and all, being a good neighbor.” I almost lose the drawl again.

  Dave’s eyeing me suspiciously now. I’m losing him.

  Someone hits a homer in the baseball game. Dave goes to turn, but I reach in and place my hand on his. It’s like touching some sort of sea sponge, but he’s smiling again when he turns back to me.

  “Is the car here?” I ask, letting my hand lift.

  “Right,” he says, eyes running down the paperwork. “Yep. Your neighbor’s car is here alright, but I’m afraid it won’t be going anywhere soon. It’s part of an ongoing investigation.”

  “Oh?”

  I check the monitors out the corner of my eye. Max is still in the driver’s seat of the Camino fiddling away. What the hell is taking him so long?

  Damn Dave is all business. “Is there anything else I can do for you, ma’am?”

  I’m running out of talking points here. I had a brain, but it seems to have departed.

  I lean forward until my boobs are practically spilling out of my top, fanning myself with my free hand and trying to act as sultry as possible. “Dang, it is hot out today, wouldn’t you agree?”

  It’s a good thing I don’t flirt for a living.

  Dave nods, eyes glued to the space between my bad boys. “Yes, ma’am. It’s a scorcher. Now, is there something else I can do for you?”

  Stupid Dave and his damn professionalism. “Um…” I’m stalling.

  I look around hopelessly, notice Playboy tucked under the desk. “You’re a Playboy fan?”

  Dave loosens his collar, blushing. “Well, I like to read the articles, see.”

  So said every guy busted with a Playboy ever.

  “I was in it,” I say, matter-of-factly.

  You what now? But it gets his attention.

  “You were?” he questions, genuinely curious.

  “Miss… July,” I fumble.

  He shifts in his chair. “That’s quite something, Miss…?”

  “Fonda. Miss Jane Fonda.”

  Jane freakin’ Fonda? What. The. Hell. Dawn?! Why don’t you just tell him you’re Angelina Jolie and be done with it?

  Thank all the heavens he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, smiling and nodding enthusiastically. “Wow. That’s something.”

  I check the monitor again. The damn car is still there. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this act going short of jumping Dave’s bones here, and that is definitely not an option.

  “I’ll bring you by a signed copy,” I continue, playing with a strand of my hair like it’s taffy, puckering and un-puckering my lips like some strange Amazonian fish.

  Sexy, I scold myself. Act sexy!

  I lick my lips and lift my eyebrows. I look insane, but Dave just smiles back dreamily.

  The baseball announcers suddenly explode. ‘And Slade’s going for it. The bases are loaded…’

  This time I can’t stop him. He’s turning in his chair, halfway to the monitors already.

  Do something!

  So I do the only thing that comes to mind.

  I reach into that box with both hands and take hold of that potato head, turning it towards me and planting my lips on that puffer-fish face. It’s like kissing a sweaty ball-sack.

  I keep it going, watching the monitor with one eye as the Camino starts to move. Come on. Come on.

  Dave goes to break away. I kiss him harder, holding his head tight.

  And then comes the tongue, like a slimy, day-old sausage, working its way between my lips and exploring my mouth—sloppy, reptilian. I’m sixteen again in Timothy Ford’s dad’s car.

  Just when I think I can’t possibly take any more, when I can barely breathe, I see the Camino disappear from the monitor. Max leaps out to roll the fence back into place.

  I break free, the mixed taste of salt and stale jerky in my mouth. “Thanks!” I chime, suppressing the urge to gag and running away as fast as I can, while calls of “Wait! Ma’am!” follow me.

  Max pulls up in the Camino, leaning across and popping the passenger door open. “Get in.”

  Dave’s out of his box, trying to hobble over probably already imagining our future life together, the tubby little kids we’d turn out.

  Max takes off and turns the corner. I rake at my tongue with my fingers. “Ew. Ew. Ew.”

  “What happened?”

  I shoot him a look that could kill, trying once more to stop myself painting his dash with vomit. “Let’s just say I had to resort to desperate measures.”

  Max smiles. “Holy shit. You kissed him, didn’t you?”

  “I had no choice—do or die and all that.”

  Max starts to crack up, thumping the wheel. I should kill him, but this is the first time I’ve seen him so genuinely happy. He’s almost in tears. “Oh, man. The money I would have paid to see that. Was it good? Was he a master lover? Was there tongue?” He looks across to my stony face. “Shit. There was, wasn’t there?”

  “You better shut up real soon. What took you so long, anyhow?” I jiggle in my seat. “I thought you were from the hood, hot-wiring cars and hitting bitches and all that?”

/>   Another fit of laughter overcomes him. “So I’m out of practice. Sue me. How about your guard friend back there? I bet he knew what he was doing, am I right?” The wink is too much.

  “Har-de-har-har,” I slur sarcastically. “What about the rental car?”

  “Bobby will have one of his goons pick it up.” He shakes his head, returning back to the topic of choice. “I can’t believe you kissed him. I said distract him, not start a relationship.”

  “You’re about one word away from my foot up you’re a-hole.”

  He puckers his lips. “Can I have a kiss first?”

  I cross my arms, still trying to rid my mouth of the horrid jerky-coffee combo. “Not funny. Not funny at all.”

  I see a gas station ahead. “Pull in.”

  Max checks the dash. “We’ve got plenty of gas.”

  “Just do it.”

  “Why, what do you need?”

  I look at him deadpan. “Mouthwash. All the mouthwash.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MAX

  I still can’t get over it, but I try to stifle laughter as I lean up against the Camino around the back of the gas station.

  Dawn’s gargling mouthwash, spitting it daintily into the spindly desert bushes, repeating. She’s been at it for almost five minutes.

  “Maybe drain cleaner would do a better job,” I offer.

  She swipes the beer from my hand and begins to chug it down, mouthwash still in one hand. She wipes her mouth. “You were saying?” She goes to hand the beer back, but I push it back to her. “Keep it.”

  She sticks her tongue out, scraping it with her finger again. “It’s like there’s a damn dumpster in my mouth.”

  “Hey,” I start. “At least you made Dave’s day. I bet he hasn’t been frenched like that since the fifth grade.”

  Dawn leans over and looks like she might puke. She holds the side of the car for support. “Given his technique, I don’t think Dave’s done a lot of kissing lately.”

  “You think he kisses his mother with that mouth?”

  Dawn retches.

  I can’t stop laughing.

  “Now you’re just playing,” she says.

  “Am not.”

  “Am too.”

  “You could always kiss me, you know.”

  She looks up. “For being such an asshole? No thanks.”

  “Asshole?” I repeat. “You’re bringing out the big guns now, huh? What’s next? Are you going to say the K word?”

  She looks puzzled. “The K word?”

  I pucker my lips again. “Kiss me, beautiful.”

  She stands, placing the beer and mouthwash on top of the car, poking me in the chest. “Watch it, buddy. You might be some big, bad tough guy, but I’m no pushover.”

  “Could have fooled me.” It’s adorable seeing her defensive like this. I have a mind to bend her over the hood and pound her senseless, see if that ass is as tight as it looks, but I doubt she’d be open to it right now.

  “You done?”

  I salute. “Let’s go, sweetheart. Maybe you can use those lucky lips of yours on Bobby.”

  But even as I say it, even as I joke, I can’t help the feelings of jealousy that swirl in my head. I’d do anything to have her lips on mine, on my chest, my cock. Given that, Donut King back there at the impound yard’s doing a lot better than I am.

  *

  “Should we check the trunk?” Dawn suggests as we roll up to the Wild Horse again.

  I shake my head. “Not a good idea. Ignorance is bliss and all that.”

  “Just a peek?”

  I open the driver’s door. “In and out, remember?”

  This time Bobby’s waiting for us in his office upstairs.

  Unlike the counting room downstairs, his office is well-furnished and expansive. There’s even a family portrait on the wall, two small boys smiling back at me. I wonder what it’s like having a crime lord for a father.

  At least they have one.

  I think about Lucy, Saul’s daughter, the pop star in the making. She’s got the voice, that’s for sure, but I wonder if she knows what her daddy gets up to behind closed doors, what exactly funds her monster wardrobe of designer clothes and luxurious lifestyle. Perhaps it’s better she stays ignorant to it all.

  Bobby remains seated, motioning us forward.

  He leans across his desk to scrutinize me. “I see you met Dale.”

  “And Dale met my fist,” I reply.

  Bobby narrows his eyes. “Did you kill him? Because if you did our little deal is off the table. Dead men and debts don’t do well together.”

  I can see the way Bobby asks it, so nonchalantly, scares Dawn. He’s a man with such small concern for human life.

  What does it say about me that it doesn’t even register on my radar?

  I bring my shoulders back. “That’s not how I do things.”

  Bobby laughs. “That’s how Saul does things, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” I continue. “But rest assured I left Dale sore, but alive, fully able to pay back his debt. Judging by the welcome we received, I don’t think he’ll be the only one jumping to line your pockets.”

  Another crocodile smile. Bobby nods, looking Dawn over. “Good. Very good, and the car?”

  “Parked downstairs,” I say.

  Bobby looks to Dawn. “Did you look in the trunk?”

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  He smiles again. “Good. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t have to be witness to that kind of thing.”

  My stomach knots. I want to break this guy.

  Keep calm, I tell myself. This will all be over soon.

  Bobby swipes a snow globe off his desk, shaking it as he comes around to the front of his desk. Closer, I see there’s a scene from Scarface inside it, Tony Montana with gun raised, feet in a pool of blood, snow whirling around him. Where the hell do you even get something like that? He throws it up and catches it. “I once put a hole in someone’s head with this thing—crushed their skull like an egg shell. Good times.” He places the snow globe back down. “You know, Max, I could use your kind of muscle. If you’re ever looking for a change of—”

  “Not interested.”

  Bobby turns his attention to Dawn. “And you, baby doll. Ass and face like yours could make a lot of money in the right place.”

  The knot tightens further. I’m seeing fucking red again. It’s blotting out reason. “She’s not interested either.”

  “I’m sure the lady can speak for herself.”

  Dawn simply shakes her head, eyes downcast.

  Bobby throws his hands up, returning to his chair and leaning back. “You’ve been given a reprieve, my friend. Your fight’s been moved to tomorrow.”

  Thank fuck for that. Fighting in my current state was going to be an issue. At least now I’ll have a chance to recover somewhat.

  Externally, I remain unmoved.

  “But,” continues Bobby ominously. “You’re going up against O’Neil.”

  “Kurt O’Neil?” I say.

  Bobby nods slowly. “You know him?”

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  “Good, so you know he’s no fucking pushover. You know they’ve measured his punches at 1500psi? That is a fucking punch.”

  “We’ll see,” comes my stony reply.

  Bobby laughs, clapping his hands together. “Oh, I like you. Don’t make me mop you up in the morning.”

  I flick my head at Dawn. “Let’s go.”

  I hear something land on the desk. We both turn.

  Bobby’s placed two towering stacks of casino chips there. He tosses two room cards onto the pile. “For your trouble. Hang around. Stay. Have a little fun. It’s fucking Vegas.”

  I don’t move.

  Bobby waves Dawn forward. “Take them, sweetheart.”

  Dawn takes the chips and cards cautiously, following me out.

  When we’re back in the main foyer, she goes to hand me half the chips, but I push them back. “No, you
take them.”

  She looks down at the chips in her hands. “Should I even use these? A guy like that doesn’t just give away money, does he?”

  I smile. “Haven’t you heard the saying ‘the house always wins’?”

  Dawn winks. “We’ll see about that.”

  What harm could it do? “Take them. Have some fun, but know when to stop. You don’t want to owe a guy like Bobby.”

  “You’re not coming?”

  I look to the side. “I’ve got a personal matter to deal with. I should only be a couple of hours.”

  “A personal matter?”

  “I’m going to see my father.”

  The surprise is clear on her face. “He’s here, in Vegas?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You used to live here, in Vegas.”

  “Once upon a time.”

  I don’t want to elaborate further, and she doesn’t push. She reaches out and takes my hand.

  “I don’t want you to leave.”

  I squeeze her hand. “You’ll be fine as long as you’re here,” he says. “Bobby’s a fucking scumbag, but he’s an honorable one. He wouldn’t dare touch Saul’s property.”

  “I’m not the property of anyone.”

  “You sure about that? Stay here, use the chips.” I reach into my pocket and hand her a fistful of crumpled notes. “In case you need a drink. I sure as hell could go for one.”

  I go to walk away, our hands separating. I feel the loss deep in my gut. I was enjoying the contact far more than I should. I wanted more—a lot more. I can’t deny I haven’t thought about it, about what being with a girl like Dawn would be like, but what then? What about the ever-after? I don’t know if I’m even capable of settling down. I don’t know if I could ever truly keep her safe. It would be best if she stayed away—far away.

  I leave these thoughts behind and go again to leave.

  Once more, Dawn asks me to stay, reaching out to grip my arm. She holds up the room cards. “At least have a quick look at the room.”

  Leave, but possibility beckons and try as I might I can’t resist the temptation. “Ten minutes,” I tell her. “That’s all.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DAWN

  It turns out the room cards are for one of the penthouse suites on the sixth floor. The casino itself is as gaudy as it gets, but I lap it up all the same.