100 Proof Stud (The Darcy Walker Series) (37 page)

The moment I stuffed a cherry Pop-Tart in my mouth, the doorbell rang. Looking through the peephole, I was convinced this was the dumbest decision I’d ever made. With my hand around the doorknob, I opened it up with a semi-fake smile.

Visitor number one…

“Nice place,” Bean grinned. It’s safe to say if his goal were to accentuate his nerdiness, he’d hit the darn mark. He wore a three-piece, navy pin-stripe suit with a white tie on a navy shirt and white patent leather shoes. They squeaked like they’d been filled with water when he walked through the door. On his head was a white cowboy hat with a red feather tucked inside the bill. In his pocket (of course) was Mr. Pongo dressed as a twinsie.

Enter visitor number two…

Vinnie was dressed in jock-boy chic. Sneakers, gray sweats, and a new gray hoodie with Ohio State written across the chest. He stole one look at Bean and his body shook with laughter.

Bean did an effeminate twirl. “Like my outfit?” he grinned.

“Yeah, it lets everyone know you’re single,” Vinnie cackled louder.

While he and Bean introduced themselves, I secretly grabbed Murphy’s GLOCK pistol and shoved it in the waistband of my pants—no bullets, but no one needed to know what I considered a minor detail.

Bean had brought in the morning paper. Tito Westbrook penned the lead story about the ten thousand dollar reward Cookie Harper-Stark was offering for info about The Ghost. My heart went aflutter.

“So that’s what we’re after?” Vinnie grinned.

“Yeah, and we’re going to get it,” I grinned back, telling them the layout for the day.

Vinnie clarified, “So we’re going to find out why Jojo dumped Coach, who painted his car, and if The Ghost is Brantley McCoy—the guy you think bumped you and Taylor?”

I nodded. Vinnie gazed at me intently. “Totally doable,” he encouraged. “Now do you want to tell me why that skeleton freaked you out like it did? You’ve seen worse, Dolce. You’ve touched worse.”

True dat…

No one appreciated a looky-loo more than me, but I had no inkling Vinnie’d found my reaction odd. Sure, I’d seen a dead body, detached hand, and severed head. My God, I’d tripped over Nico Drake. Things much worse than the man in the closet, but that particular scene was like a moth to a flame. The closer I got, the more I’d get burned. The Minstrel Cramps t-shirt delivered the final blow. My mother founded that band and sang lead vocals, but the band broke up when she became pregnant with me. I only spoke of her with Dylan because he could draw me back. I couldn’t chance a conversation with Vinnie, although he’d given me the t-shirt because he remembered that Gemma Walker, at one time, was “THE SHIZ.” That’s right…my mother, point blank, was the hottest thing this town had ever seen. Until some psycho stalker SOB did the unspeakable…he killed her.

During the reunion tour I talked her into.

After all these years, I still couldn’t place that on a shelf in my mind that explained why something like that was “okay” to happen. God is supposed to be good—and want good things for you. I believed that most days, but what happened didn’t make me a better person. It didn’t make me a “worse” person. It just made me…sad.

But life was like a vapor—here one minute, the next vanished into the wind.

Burying the pain, I turned on the part of my brain that helped me survive and piled into the Bug with Vinnie—armed in nothing more than enthusiasm, bonded by our idiocy. Ten minutes later, we stood in the middle of Dingo 31 at nine-thirty, opening time. Dingo 31 is a new store to the area specializing in designer brands for less. In any other situation, I’d be excited to scope the place out, but traveling with Bean and Vinnie was like herding cats. I tried to give instruction, but Bean headed straight to housewares; Vinnie headed for the ladies’ underwear.

Throwing my shoulders back and attempting to look professional, I passed the handbags on the left, stole a glance at the size eight rack of shoes, and strolled to the rear of the store to the first associate I made eye contact with. He was a male not much older than me. I’d found in all of my excursions I garnered more information from males than females. Throw in a flirty smile and you could unbooby a booby trap.

We met up as he parked a buggy full of merchandise in front of a bathroom display.

I extended a hand. “Hi, I’m, uh…Jester, and I’m looking for Jojo Wallace.”

He shook my hand, half asleep, half awake. His red hair was a stiff mess of styling gel, and his energy level resembled a slug trying to make it up a concrete wall. “Who?” he asked.

I tried again, “Jojo?”

“Oh,” he shivered. “She’s in the back.” The shudder made me curious, and what better way to gain information than from someone who already had strong emotions.

Picking up five or six towels, he slid them onto an endcap, lining them up by color. “What’s she like?” I smiled.

Squinting his eyes, he tried to gauge my reaction and called her the b-word.

“Oh,” I said. “Always?”

“Born that way.” He gazed over his shoulder toward the swinging doors of the stock room. Rolling the buggy up four aisles to the shoes, he pulled out five pairs of size six leather boots, positioning them on the top shelf.

“What does she do here?” I asked.

The instant he opened his mouth, the swinging doors flew wide with who I could only assume was security, a manager, or someone who’d gotten their cereal peed in and needed to vent. A look at the nametag on her overly buxom bosom said,
Jojo
.
Underneath in block letters were the words
Store Manager
.

Fudge…

Jojo looked like she’d slept in a tanning booth. She wore too much base makeup with two stripes of orange blush on both cheekbones. Her eyes were shadowed in light blue with mascara that’d been applied overtop yesterday’s batch. Her eyebrows were crayoned in, and her forehead was devoid of personality…Botox, the culprit.

Jojo donned a navy Ralph Lauren double-knit jersey sheath that had a leather gun patch at the right shoulder. Black Label league. I nearly dropped dead. No wonder Coach Wallace was broke. That dress was close to four figures; I knew this because Red had a duplicate. When Jojo turned sideways, I got an eyeful of her profile. Her stomach was protruding and round—not like she was overweight—like she had a bun in the oven.

Umm…
wow
.

I didn’t profess to know a lot about pregnancy, but I did know you never asked women when they were due. There’s always the remote chance they weren’t really pregnant, they were fat, or God forbid, they’d never lost their previous baby weight and gave up on the dream.

Striding toward her, I told myself,
Above all, say nothing stupid or risqué
. Consequently, I blurted out, “Please tell me that’s just a gas bubble.”

Vinnie appeared out of nowhere chuckling, “It’s going to be a great Christmas.”

Jojo wanted my head on a platter. Registering her death wish, Vinnie gripped the hand at her side, murmuring, “Hello, I’m BJ Monaco. Life coach and personal trainer.”

Of course he was.

“We’re screwed,” I said out loud.

Jojo lifted a chubby hand to cover her laugh. “And you think I need a personal trainer? Honey, I’m pregnant.”

Normally, I could talk myself out of any situation. Heck, I talked a mobster out of killing a kidnapper and me last summer while a commode overflowed at our feet. But this had absolutely stymied me.

A customer had left a chocolate bar on a nearby endcap. Jojo snatched it up, gave the wrapper a jagged rip, and took an unladylike bite. Vinnie looked at the candy bar like a succubus looked at a fresh neck. Licking his lower lip, he still remained in character. “Well, let me just say, you wear it well, Jojo.” He produced a white business card, placing it in her palm. “Here’s my number for after the blessed event takes place. Does your partner want to join us? I’ve got a family deal going on until the end of January.”

“That would be a capital NO,” she frowned, “My husband and I are divorced. I didn’t want a divorce, but he’s too soft. You raise your voice, and he thinks it’s a fight. My God, the situation I’m in, does he expect me to always be in a good mood?”

“Men,” Vinnie snorted, touching her shoulder.

“You’ve got that right,” she agreed, voice rising. “And I didn’t do that to his car. Those stupid kids at school did. I might’ve dented it a few times before, but that’s it.”

I tried to keep my voice emotionless, nonjudgmental. “Oh, wow. So your husband’s car has been vandalized?”

Closing her eyes, she actually appeared to be in some sort of pain. Taking in one big breath she expelled it slowly as though anything faster would produce more agony.

Verrrrrrrrrrrry interesting.

“Yes, I’m the first person he called.”

Vinnie drove us downtown, chasing a solid lead on The Ghost. In an alley behind Sixth Street, his cousin appeared, produced two white silk cloths, removed my glasses, and blindfolded Bean and me. My heart stopped, or at least stutter-stepped. I knew Vinnie had a cousin but had no idea he was Italian good-looking with big, brown eyes and full, rosy lips. A normal-looking businessman. He was a runner in a law firm and was dressed in a dark gray three-piece suit as if he’d just ended a day in court. As soon as my mouth opened, Vinnie’s angrily shooshed me and unceremoniously forced me into the backseat of the Bug, settling in beside me. Bean, I’m assuming, was now in the front seat. His cousin was now at the wheel, driving what I’d estimate to be two miles. When the ignition switched off, Vinnie placed my hand in his and led us into what I knew immediately was an abandoned building. Well, abandoned of a “lawful” business, I should clarify.

“Remember whose side you’re on, Vinnie,” I seethed into his back. “You could’ve given me a heads up on the blindfold.”

“Shut up, Darcy. You’ve now entered the big leagues.” He was rude, plus he called me Darcy—something he rarely did, even more rarely than Dylan. Navigating through three right turns and then a left, he abruptly stopped and roughly thrust me into a metal chair. This wasn’t the Vinnie I knew. Vinnie loved me. Vinnie had my back. My brain was so stunned it didn’t even try to dissect the shock. Vinnie then gave me the OMG moment of all OMG moments. He squeezed my shoulder and lower back at the same time—alerting me he’d already noticed I was packing heat. Problem was, Murphy’s GLOCK was unloaded. That’s right, u-n-l-o-a-d-e-d for those that need it spelled out. I should’ve put a bullet in the mag.

Oh, crap.

Crap, crap, crap.

While the minutes ticked away, I tried to get a feel for my surroundings. The smell of Italian food hit my nose, and my taste buds shot straight to drool. Where was I? I’d never been in this situation before—waiting for a criminal—and since I didn’t know protocol, I found myself whistling. I’d nearly slaughtered the second verse of “High Hopes” when a deep base voice finished out the last stanza.

The world came to a crashing halt.

Diabolical laughter pierced straight through my bones, and this someone stroked a large tender hand down my jaw. I nearly bit it out of sheer anger. My God, Vinnie had delivered me up to someone my thumping heart told me was even bigger trouble than me. Vinnie had delivered me to…
Jaws
. Who is Jaws, you say? Jaws is the SOB who’d had my back when I chased a murderer last spring—actually giving me the name, albeit too late—but had eluded me for months when I tried to track him down. You’d think I’d be thanking him. Instead, I longed to smack him because—well, because he might be smarter than me.

“Jaws,” I said sultrily. “How’s it going, big guy? I’m assuming house arrest is a thing of the past.”

Laughter rang from the walls as his hand again traveled to touch my face, this time lingering in the dimple of my chin. “Jester,” he chuckled, “you never fail to impress.”

I squirmed like a dying worm. Jaws didn’t give me the impression I wasn’t safe, but call me a wimp because I’d feel more in control if I could see him. “I’d impress you more if you’d remove my blindfold.”

My hair was styled in a low ponytail, peeking out from my lucky hat. Jaws twined his fingers in the baby hairs at the base of my neck, and I knew immediately Vinnie wasn’t present anymore. Vinnie wouldn’t allow him to touch me in any way, shape, or form. That meant Bean must be somewhere else too. Which also meant neither was allowed in Jaws’ presence. Vinnie had obviously set up this meeting with the caveat I’d come alone. I’d been under the impression Vinnie knew what Jaws looked like. Now I wasn’t so sure. Knowing how difficult it’d been to track him down, I now believed Jaws had people masquerading as him all over the city. In fact, someone I assumed was Jaws crashed Dylan’s sister’s party last spring in order to warn me about the murderer I was chasing. That guy couldn’t have been Jaws. No way. If he were, once again Vinnie would’ve been allowed to stay.

“I’m going to make a guess here, Jaws, that you don’t allow anyone to see your face.”

“Like Jester doesn’t allow anyone to know her real name. You’re definitely a study in psychology…Darcy Walker.”

That secret ranked up there with where the government kept aliens.

I’d kill Vinnie if he gave me up, but I knew deep down in my fiendish bones he hadn’t. I thought silence was my best option.