Double Lucky (19 page)

“You're sure?”

“Very sure, Papa.”

“I'll take a shower first. You remember what I told you.”

Upstairs in his bedroom, he stripped off his clothes yet again. He hadn't showered at Emmanuelle's; as soon as he'd fucked her, he'd wanted out. But now, once again he had an urge to get her smell off him.

After a quick shower, he marched naked into his bedroom, clicked on the large-screen TV, and sat on the end of the bed. The bedroom was modern and masculine—all brown leather and chrome furniture, with touches of orange cushions and throws here and there. He had to admit that Irma had done an excellent job of decorating the Miami mansion. It had taken her several months and plenty of money. Once she was finished he'd sent her back to Mexico City, he didn't want her hanging around in Miami. It was better that they didn't live in the same city. A nonstop diet of Irma could drive a man loco. The kids didn't seem to miss her—truth was they barely mentioned her.

Flicking through the channels and finding nothing to attract his attention apart from an endless offering of mind-numbing soaps, he dressed and headed for Francesca's. His grandmother would want to know everything. She always did.

He'd only tell her what he thought she should know, and that was it.

He certainly wasn't telling her about Tasmin. She'd have plenty to say about
that
.

Too much information could sometimes be a bad thing. The less she knew, the better.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Max was just about to get into her car when she heard a voice behind her.

“You must be Max,” the voice said.

“Huh?” she gasped, turning around, totally startled. A man was standing there. He was at least thirty, not very tall, slight of build, with thinning hair and a weaselly face. He was carrying a large canvas hold-all. “How do you know who I am?” she asked suspiciously.

“I recognized you from your photo.”

“What photo?” she said, glancing quickly around the car park. It was dusk, the light fading fast, and unfortunately there was no one else in sight.

“The one you posted on the Internet,” he said, taking a moment to study her face. So very pretty. So very young. Full, pouty lips and innocent green eyes. The clouds of black curly hair reminded him that she was a younger version of her mother. Lucky Santangelo—the woman who'd ruined his life, the woman who'd taken away his moment of triumph and handed it to Billy Melina. “I'm Grant,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her.

“
You're
Grant?” she questioned, hardly able to conceal her surprise, because he looked nothing like the photo he'd posted. He was way older and way creepy. Ugh!

“I'm late because my car ran out of gas,” he explained, shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other. “Sorry about that, but at least I'm here now.”

“Uh … you're like
very
late,” she pointed out, wishing she hadn't blown Ace off with a casual “Go rob your bank. See ya.” She could sure use him now.

“You can leave your car,” Weasel Face said. “We'll take mine.”

This must be a joke. There was no way she was getting into a car with this guy—he was hardly the Internet dude of her dreams. Cookie must've had a premonition—this dude was most likely a serial killer who planned on chopping her up and eating her for his dinner. He was a definite creep. Ha-ha! The joke was on her.

“I enjoyed your e-mails,” he continued in a conversational tone. “We have so much in common.”

“We do?” she gulped, glancing quickly around the car park.

“Yes, we do,” he said, moving closer and placing his hand on her arm, a move that totally freaked her out. “It seems we both enjoy the same things.”

Oh crap! If she kicked him in the balls, would it give her enough time to jump in her car and take off?

“You don't look like your picture,” she said accusingly. “That photo wasn't you, was it?”

His grip tightened on her arm. Her stomach experienced some kind of crazy cartwheel, this was not a good scene.

Then all of a sudden, like some kind of Superman, Ace appeared out of nowhere. “Hey, little cous',” he said, stepping between them, forcing Henry to let go of her arm. “Is this the dude we were waitin' for?”

Wow! Ace was no slouch in the “getting it” department. She was impressed.

“Who's this?” Henry said, glaring at Ace, a ferocious scowl covering his face.

“This … uh … this is my cousin Ace,” she said, thinking fast. “He uh … drove me here today.”

“He came
with
you?” Henry said, his thin lips tightening. “Why?”

“'Cause, uh … my mom didn't want me meeting someone I didn't know by myself,” she said, biting into her lower lip.

Henry was silent for a moment, digesting this new information. He was extremely upset that she was with a male companion, even if the boy
was
her cousin. This was a complication he had not expected.

“You'll be fine with me,” Henry said, attempting to recover his composure. “Your cousin can go home.”

“You're not listenin', man,” Ace said, still standing between them. “Max's mom asked me to stay with her. We're like on this weekend trip together. So, uh … you got a plan?”

“I've hired a cabin,” Henry said, furious that this boy would dare to interfere.

“Like for the three of us?” Ace asked, exchanging a quick glance with Max.

“I was not aware there were going to be three of us,” Henry said stiffly.

“Hey, look,” Ace said. “Max's mother doesn't want her staying over anyway, so we kinda thought we'd say hello, then take off.” He threw Max a meaningful look. “Right?”

“Yes,” she said, thinking how fortunate it was that she'd bumped into Ace, and what a relief that he was there to extract her from such a weird and uncomfortable situation. Not because he was the greatest protector in the world—because according to him he was a would-be bank robber—but having him around was certainly better than nothing. “We have to get back to L.A. My mom's giving a family dinner.”

“But we made an arrangement,” Henry said, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “A firm arrangement.”

“Not so firm,” Max said quickly. “And if I'd had your cell number, I would've called and told you I wouldn't be able to stay.”

Henry glared at her. Pretty as she was, she was not behaving in the way he had expected.

Wow!
Max thought. This was turning out to be even more of an adventure than she'd anticipated. She would have major stories to tell Cookie and Harry when she got back.

“I was expecting to spend the weekend with you,” Henry said, still glaring. “I organized everything. I hired a cabin, bought supplies. This was supposed to be our time to get to know each other.”

Eeww!
Max thought.
This guy takes creepy to new heights.

“Sorry, dude,” Ace said, cracking his knuckles. “It's not as if you
know
Max.”

“I
do
know her,” Henry corrected, a slow rage beginning to build inside him. “And she knows me. We have—”

“Hey,” Max interrupted. “That's not true. It's not like I exactly
know
you. I mean, it's not as if we ever
met
or anything.”

“Listen, we gotta go,” Ace said, nudging Max in the ribs. “Gimme the keys, Max, I'll drive.”

“Sure,” she said, handing Ace her car keys, quite excited at the thought of a fast getaway from this creepo freak.

And then everything happened very quickly, although later, when she looked back, Max decided it was more like a slow-motion sequence from a movie than an actual real-life event.

Grant produced a gun. Just like that he pulled it out of his pocket and pointed it straight at the two of them.

“Get in the car,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of any emotion. “You first,” he said, waving the gun in Ace's face. “Behind the wheel. One wrong move and I blow this pretty little girl's head off. Do you understand me?”

Yes. Ace understood him.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Saturday morning Lucky was awakened by an early-morning phone call from Mooney Sharp, the general contractor in charge of everything to do with the Keys. The call came through on her private phone, a line she had asked Mooney to use only in emergencies.

“What's going on, Mooney?” she asked, struggling to wake up.

“You gotta get yourself up here, Lucky,” Mooney informed her.

“Why's that?”

“The cosigner from the bank hasn't turned up. We usually do the check signing every Friday afternoon, but she was busy last night, asked if we could postpone to this morning. I said sure. Now she's not here.”

“Where is she?”

“Called her house—the babysitter said she never made it home last night. I guess she must've gotten laid or somethin'.”

“What's this got to do with me, Mooney?”

“There's checks gotta be signed today. I need a co-signer—an' you're it.”

“Why am
I
it?” she asked irritably.

“'Cause I haven't been able to reach anyone else.”

“Great!”

“I was thinkin' you could fly in for a couple of hours.”

“Jeez, Mooney, this is not an easy weekend for me. I'm throwing a big party tomorrow for Gino.”

“This is urgent, Lucky. Some of the contractors don't get their checks today, they'll walk. We can't afford for that to happen, not at this final stage.”

“Fine,” Lucky said, making a quick decision. “I'll be there as soon as I can.”

Lennie was still asleep. Lucky leaned toward him. “Hey, sleepyhead, wake up,” she said, nudging his shoulder.

“It's too early,” he groaned.

“Gotta go, they need me in Vegas,” she said briskly. “Thought I might score a good-bye kiss.”

He opened one eye. “You're going today?”

“Yup. I gotta cosign checks.”

“Why d'
you
have to do it?”

“Don't even ask.”

“Jesus, Lucky—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “But I'll only be gone a few hours, and I was hoping you'd hold it together here. That's unless you feel like coming with me.”

“No, I don't feel like coming with you,” he said, stretching out his arms. “Rome, maybe. Paris, yes. Vegas—no way.”

“So you'll entertain Gino, Paige, and the others?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, and they'll be erecting the party tent today, plus the caterers will be setting up, but Philippe will take care of that side of things. You're in charge of family.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said, pushing his hand through his hair. “Just how I wanna spend my weekend when I should be working on my script.”

“Please, Lennie,” she cajoled. “It's not often I ask you to do something for me.”

“You're
always
asking me,” he said, reaching out for her.

“I am?” she said softly, falling into his arms.

“Yes, you are,” he teased, pulling her close for a long, slow kiss.

“You'd better let me go or I'll never get out of here,” she murmured.

“So stay.”

“You know I can't,” she said, wishing she could.

“Okay, okay,” he said, releasing her from his arms. “Go make your trip. I'll hold it together here.”

“And please call Max. I left a message on her cell yesterday and she never called back. I'm so pissed, but I don't have time to get involved in a fight. That's why
you
should call her, make sure she's back in time for the party.”

“Yes,
ma'am
,” he mocked. “Anything else?”

“You're the best and I love you,” she said, kissing him.

“Keep on tellin' me that an' we'll live happily ever after.”

“Oh, we will,” she promised, kissing him again.

Downstairs in the kitchen Brigette and Bobby were sitting at the counter drinking coffee.

“How come you two are up?” Lucky asked.

“We're operating on a different time zone,” Bobby reminded her. “Three hours ahead.”

“I have to fly to Vegas today,” Lucky said, pouring a cup of coffee for herself.

“Can I come too?” Bobby asked. “Haven't been to Vegas since I was a kid.”

“If you want to.”

“Definitely. Can't wait to see what kind of a club you've put together. I'll be your adviser.”

“Gee, thanks Bobby,” Lucky said caustically, “just what I need.”

“Hey, I do have one of the hottest clubs in New York, as I keep on telling you.”

“I know,” she said patiently. “You do keep on telling me, don't you?”

“You've been there, you've seen for yourself.”

“It's great.”

“So?”

“So, as I am constantly reminding you, you weren't in the club biz when I put together this complex. Who knew you wanted to run clubs? Certainly not me.”

“If you're all flying to Vegas,” Brigette said brightly, “can I come too?”

“Yeah!” Bobby said enthusiastically. “We can make a day of it. Blackjack, twenty-one, craps—maybe time for a quick dive into a strip club somewhere along the way. A lap dance will suit me just
fine!
”

“Absolutely not!” Brigette said, starting to laugh. “I'm thinking shopping.”

“What?” Bobby said, straight-faced. “You're not into lap dances?”

“You can both come,” Lucky decided. “As long as you remember this is a fast trip—no time for gambling, strip clubs,
or
shopping.”

“C'mon, Mom,” Bobby said, winking at Brigette. “A little lap dance never did anyone any harm.”