By Hook or By Crook (21 page)

She had to have the dress.

She selected a pair of gray pumps and a pair of flats to replace the ones ruined by their trek through the snow. She also picked up a few pairs of silky underwear and new bras, including a strapless one for the geranium dress.

Daisy’s eyes widened when she saw Ivy had bypassed her usual cotton briefs in favor of an assortment of sexy colorful boy shorts, but she said nothing. Good thing, too, because Ivy wouldn’t have admitted the truth. The realization that Joe might see them had weighed heavily on her choice of underwear.

After she’d paid for her purchases, the smiling boutique owner snipped the tags off a slim pair of cuffed ankle pants and a cream fine-knit sweater. Ivy donned them in the fitting room, eager to get out of her jeans and sweater. When she emerged, Daisy looked nonplussed.

“What’s the matter?”

“You look like, well, you again.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Oh, don’t make that pissed-off prissy face. I didn’t mean anything by it.” On the heels of her denial, Daisy propped one hand on her hip and scanned Ivy’s frame. “You’re always trying to hide behind such boring clothes. I thought that dress meant you were going to become a little more adventurous. Why didn’t you put it on?”

“We’re going shopping. Don’t you think that outfit’s a little impractical for that?”

“We’re going out later,” Daisy reminded her. “Joe said we’d get some dinner and hang out before we went back to the chalet. It’s the perfect opportunity to try your new look.”

Ivy loved the way the dress fit her, and she couldn’t deny that a part of her really wanted Joe to see how she looked in it. “Are you sure I won’t look ridiculous?” she temporized.

“Ivy! Just do it! No guy has ever thought a hot woman was ridiculous. The sight of bare skin short-circuits their brains or something. They lose the ability to think critically.”

As Ivy disappeared into the dressing room again, she wondered when her little sister had figured out so many things when she never had.

****

“I never took you for a latte kind of guy,” Joe observed, eyeing the giant coffee drink in Pock’s meaty fist. Pock had ordered a venti latte without batting an eye, much to Joe’s amazement. He could never figure out the sizes at these places. Venti, grande...why couldn’t they say small, medium, and large?

“You should try it.”

“No, thanks.” He took another sip of his black coffee and gazed out the window across the parking lot.

Daisy and Ivy had emerged from the shop a few minutes ago and disappeared promptly into a salon next door. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the front door for more than a couple of seconds. Something about this outing didn’t feel right. Rationally, he hadn’t been able to come up with a reason to oppose it. Cantor didn’t strike him as a quitter, though. A funny feeling hadn’t been enough of a reason to deny Ivy her outing, however, when he’d seen excitement gleaming in her eyes. He had a bit of a problem saying “no” to Ivy Smithson. That might get him in a lot of trouble some day.

“Now what do we do?” Pock asked.

“We wait for them to finish shopping.”

“Great,” Pock grumbled.

“Nobody made you come,” Joe reminded him.

“I know, I know. I just thought being a security consultant would be more...exciting.”

Joe shook his head. Pock acted like a big kid most of the time. “Ninety percent of security is watching and waiting.”

Pock wasn’t the brightest guy on the planet, for sure. Joe hated to admit it, but he saw Ivy’s point about him. Pock wasn’t exactly prime husband material, although hell, neither was he. Now that he’d blown his one shot at mixed martial arts fame, Joe wondered what the hell Pock would do for a living. Nothing that would support Daisy in the manner to which she’d been accustomed, that was for sure. But when you got right down to it, Joe might be smarter than Pock, but he couldn’t support a wealthy wife either.

Not that he’d ever
have
a wealthy wife, he reminded himself. Ivy had barely given him the time of day the last few days, barely meeting his eyes and skittering out of the room like a chipmunk every time they were alone together for even a moment.

He didn’t know why the realization troubled him. He and Ivy had shared no more than a few kisses, although they had seared him beyond anything he’d experienced before. He still couldn’t figure it out. He had been with more than his share of women, and had a hell of a good time doing it. He had no regrets, and had never expected to want to change that. He
still
didn’t want to change it. He just wanted Ivy, and he knew he couldn’t have her if he was still running out to bars and picking up anonymous bimbos.

But what did that mean? Sure, he could give up other women for six months, or a year. But forever? Did he really want to do
that
?

“Working security sounds boring.”

“It is sometimes. Security work is more interesting than traditional private detective stuff, although I do some of that too when my security caseload is light.”

Corporate and personal security was still nothing like the SWAT work he’d aspired to before he’d blown his career with CPD sky high, but it still beat following cheating husbands around with a 30X optical zoom lens.

“Security work?”

“Yeah, like what we’re doing now. Watching over somebody and protecting them.”

Pock’s brows furrowed. “I never thought of what we’re doing as protection. Do you think Ivy and Daisy really still need to be protected from Cantor and Ramirez?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Pock shifted in his seat. His leather jacket didn’t completely cover his tattoos—a scroll protruded from his sleeve onto the back of his hand, and barbed wire interspersed with stars rose up his neck to below his ears. Good thing Pock was a nice guy. Otherwise, he’d be downright intimidating.

“So why do you like the security stuff more?”

“It’s more of a challenge than following around some cheating spouse. Somebody out there wants to hurt an innocent person, and I get to make sure that doesn’t happen. And it’s like a contest of wits, you know? If I make the right preparations, and have the right equipment, and am vigilant enough, my client stays safe and I outwit the bad guys.”

He paused and then confessed something he’d scarcely even admitted to himself. “Besides, I hate following cheaters around. I don’t like breaking up somebody’s marriage,” he admitted.

“But don’t you think the guys are breaking up their own marriages by cheating on their wives?”

Joe glanced at Pock, impressed by the unexpected insight. “I guess so. It still doesn’t feel good to be a part of it, though.”

“I understand that.”

“Besides, it’s not always the guys. I’ve worked for my fair share of jealous husbands, too.”

“I would never do that to Daisy,” Pock said with unexpected fervor. “Hire a guy to follow her around. That’s awful.”

“Even if you thought she was sleeping with someone else?”

“No way. I’d just ask her.”

“What if she lied to you?”

“She wouldn’t.”

“But how do you know?”

“I just know,” Pock insisted.

Joe shook his head. He couldn’t tell whether Pock really trusted Daisy, or whether he was too dumb to realize how much cheating and lying really went on in the average marriage. Joe had seen it too often to have illusions.

“So would you hire a private investigator to follow your wife around if you thought she cheated on you?” Pock asked.

“Nope, because I’m not going to have a wife. I won’t have to worry about it.”

“Oh, yeah? What about Ivy?”

“What about her?”

“Well, you sorta seem to like her.”

“I do. Just because I ‘sorta like’ some girl doesn’t mean I have to marry her.” Not by a long shot.

“But she’s the kind of girl you have to marry if you want her to stick around for long,” Pock argued. “She and Daisy both. That’s why I’m going to marry Daisy.”

Joe’s head pivoted from where he’d been watching the storefront to pin Pock with a glare. “That’s great, Pock. But I barely know Ivy.”

“Only one way to get to know her.”

Pock didn’t seem intimidated. Maybe he needed to work on his glare. Joe ran a hand down his tired face. “Believe me, I’m trying.”

“I’m not talking about sex. At least, not just about sex.”

A wave of heat rose up Pock’s massive neck. Good God, the guy was actually
blushing
. Joe had never known a 250-pound he-man to blush. If he embarrassed that easily, Joe wondered how he coped with some of Daisy’s more...unscripted moments.

“I mean, you gotta talk to her,” he went on. “Find out what she’s into. Do you know anything about that?”

Joe couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. They sounded like a couple of teenage girls. Yet he found himself curiously interested in Pock’s advice. No matter how dumb Pock was about most things, he had to admit, he seemed to get along with Daisy pretty well. And they were almost nauseatingly in love—anyone who spent ten minutes with them could see that. The guy must be some kind of
savant
. Most of the time, he could barely tie his own shoes, but when it came to women and relationships, Pock had some weirdly unexpected insights.

“Sure. She likes medieval art.”

“What’s that?”

“Art from medieval times.” At Pock’s blank look, Joe explained, “You know, like knights and castles and stuff.”

“Oh.” Pock’s face cleared. “Castles. Yeah, a lot of girls like that stuff.”

“Yeah, well, I know jack shit about castles.”

“Nobody said you have to know anything about castles. Just listen when she talks about it.”

Joe remembered the engravings she’d shown him on her laptop on the flight to Vegas. They’d been interesting enough, and although he hadn’t been able to add a lot to the conversation, he hadn’t made too much of an idiot of himself. He didn’t think so, anyway. But still.

“It could never work. I’m not good for anything except showing a girl a good time.” That he could do.

Pock shrugged. “So show her a good time. Seems like she could use it.”

Joe couldn’t argue with that. Between the heavy responsibilities her father had placed on her, her faltering effort to keep Daisy from an unwise marriage, and the danger from Ramirez and Cantor, she hadn’t exactly had a lot of fun lately.

He hadn’t helped by berating her at every opportunity for being a prude, a meddler, and a stick-in-the-mud, he had to admit. That wasn’t even fair. She was no stick-in-the-mud. The fire that seemed to heat her from within every time they got within a foot of each other proved that.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, a light dawning in his brain. “Maybe I do need to show her a good time.”

He would put the plan into motion when they picked the girls up. First, they stopped at a men’s store across the street. God knows he didn’t care about fashion, but even he had to admit that his jeans and shirt were getting a little rank.

He waved off help from the fluttering clerk and picked out three pairs of jeans, five shirts, and underwear. He bought them all without trying them on, and disappeared into the fitting room only so he wouldn’t have to wear his old jeans and grubby shirt out to dinner later. He didn’t expect to impress Ivy with high fashion, but even he knew wearing the same thing day after day was pushing his luck.

Ivy turned the tables on him, however, much to his surprise.

“What happened?” he asked a half-hour later, stunned by the woman who climbed into the backseat, gracefully managing her heels and skirt. Her bare legs and a wisp of a bright hemline peeked from under her coat.

“Nothing happened. We just did some shopping.”

“And she got her hair done. Makeup too,” Daisy offered. “Do you like it?”

Did he like it? Did he like seeing a woman whom he already found desirable shed her earth-toned uniform to put on a vibrant skirt and sexy heels, heels that made her legs seem to go on for a mile?

“Yeah. I like it.”

He heard a snicker from Daisy in the back seat but couldn’t see Ivy’s expression in the rearview mirror.

“Is anyone hungry yet?” Ivy asked, voice high and tight.

Joe grinned. Ivy might have turned into a butterfly, but she missed the safety of her cocoon. Little did she know he wasn’t about to let her go back to it.

****

Over everyone’s objections, Joe selected a hole-in-the-wall bar and grill for their dinner. He felt comfortable in this type of place, and it wouldn’t garner much attention. Trade the pickup trucks in the parking lot for muscle cars and swap the country and oldies on the jukebox for rock, and this was exactly the kind of place he called his second home in Chicago.

While they waited for their pizza, they decided to shoot a round of pool. When Joe suggested it, he expected to be shot down. Surprisingly, Ivy accepted.

“You probably hit too softly to break. Better let me,” Joe advised. He racked the balls and watched as Ivy chalked her cue.

He almost felt bad for suggesting a game of pool. This wasn’t Ivy’s scene. Then her crimson lips pursed to blow the excess chalk from the cue’s tip, and his compunction disappeared as a bolt of lust shot through him. The gesture turned up the heat on the slow burn he’d had going ever since Ivy got into the car with her lips gleaming red. Seeing her bare shoulders when she’d finally removed her coat made it even worse.