Ninja Soccer Moms (12 page)

Gabe's mom chatted with Sophie. I narrowed my focus on them. I had to separate them before Iris got the information I needed. But how? Dom? He was busy with the coffee.

Angel strode up and dangled a dangerous-looking piece of lingerie from her fingers. “Sam—”

I cut her off. “No way.” I glared at the thing.

Angel flashed her smile. “Come on, Sam. It's a bustier. You have the perfect figure to model it.”

Iris and Sophie stopped talking to watch me. If Angel hadn't been my best friend . . . crap. “Fine. Give it to me.” I grabbed the item from her hand. Turning it over, I frowned. “How the hell do I get this on?”

Sophie spoke up. “It's got eye hooks like a regular bra.” She stood, took a second to check her balance, and said, “I'll help you.”

She would? Was she going to yell at me again? But yesterday, when she'd demanded I stay out of the investigation into Chad's death, she'd made her case in front of the entire beauty shop. So what did Sophie want?

Lord, I didn't really want to put my enhanced breasts on display to Sophie for gossip at the next SCOLE meeting.

But this was my chance to get Sophie alone. I fixed a fake smile on my face. “Let's go in my room.” She followed me down the hallway.

Once we got in my bedroom, I shut the door and started with casual conversation. “Did you see anything you liked, Sophie?” Sophie looked around my room, her gaze going to my bookcase stuffed with romances. Her brown eyes had the glazed, slightly unfocused look of snockered going toward tired. Finally she sat on my bed and answered, “Besides Dom?”

I smiled at that. “Besides Dom.”

“I already ordered a few pieces from Angel. Give me that,” she gestured to the bustier in my hand. “I'll unhook it for you while you take off your top.”

She wasn't slurring drunk. Her speech was slightly thick, but that was it. Pulling my top over my head, I tried to think how to change the focus of the conversation to Chad. “Sophie, I know you are under a lot of pressure with Chad's death, but—”

“He was a prick.”

I threw my shirt on the chair at my desk and turned around to stare at her. I hadn't expected that. I thought she was trying to protect SCOLE's reputation. Now she was telling me Chad was a prick? “Chad? I thought you liked him. I mean . . . you and Jay always supported him.” Sophie's husband, Jay, was the SCOLE president. “And you worked part-time for him.”

“I worked for him, but I hated him. Jay hated him. The worst part is I wished him dead, but not without knowing . . .” She trailed off, looking down at the bustier in her hand.

My thoughts spun around.
Without knowing what?
Where he put the soccer money? “What, Sophie? What don't you know?” I tried to keep my voice steady and soothing. Not desperate. “Maybe I can help you.”

She looked up at me, her gaze shimmering with frustration. “I almost did that, hired you to find the pictures, but I just kept going along, thinking that eventually I'd find them.” She shook her head. “I don't know where he put them.”

Huh? I didn't quite follow what she was talking about. Something about finding pictures. “What is it you are looking for? Something Chad has of yours?”

Sophie turned the bustier over in her hand, concentrating on working the little hooks. “I was drunk. One night, I was drunk and that prick was there with his digital camera. If those pictures surface, if that detective finds them, it'll destroy my marriage.”

Ohmigod!
It slammed home fast and hard. Sophie wasn't talking about the missing soccer money. She was talking about—“Chad had pictures he was using against you, Sophie? For what?”

A tear slid down her cheek. “For whatever he wanted. Money, a secretary, sex.”

Blackmail.
Chad Tuggle blackmailed Sophie. Stunned, I tried to sort it out. “That's why you didn't want me digging around about Chad—you thought I'd find the pictures?” Did she think I'd let Vance have pictures like that?

Sophie wiped away the single tear. “I searched the office. His computer was wiped clean, but I'm afraid he had copies somewhere. I couldn't find them, and that detective barged in, telling me I was breaking into a crime scene.”

So that's why Vance staked out the office. He knew people were looking for something, but not what. He'd caught Sophie looking. No wonder he was so frustrated.

Sophie took a breath. “Your mom . . .”

I snapped out of my thoughts about Vance. My mom! She and Sophie were good friends. My mom showed up in Chad's house. The pieces slid together. “You asked her to look in Chad's house.”

She sniffed once, then leaned forward and stood holding out the bustier. “Go put it on in the bathroom. Then I'll hook you up.”

Lord, she was tough. Even semidrunk she pulled herself together. I had to admire that. I could also see that she had told me as much as she was willing to right now. Taking the bustier, I went into the bathroom. I slipped off my camisole and struggled into the bustier. Holding it together as best I could, I went back out. Sophie and I spent a good five minutes fastening and arranging. Finally we decided I was as good as I was going to get. Now I was dressed in my low-cut jeans and an ice blue satin bustier with lace overlay.

Was I really going to walk out in the living room and model this?

Sophie giggled. “If anything pops open on that, the wires are going to kill someone. Even your cleavage looks dangerous.”

I turned to the mirror on my closet door.

Jeez—I looked like a cartoon. The bustier had cinched in my waist and pushed up my boobs so that I looked sort of like Jessica Rabbit. “Oh, boy, I can't go out there like this!”

Sophie walked up behind me. “Why did you have implants, Sam?”

Meeting her gaze in the mirror, I only saw curiosity. I had the urge to shrug my shoulders, but that seemed dangerous. “To look better and feel better. It was part of forcing myself out of the comfortable role I was in. The role where I let my husband walk all over me. I didn't want to be that woman any more.”

Sophie nodded. “Then don't be afraid to model your decisions.” She turned and left the room.

I stared after her. Who would have guessed the slim, uptight Sophie Muffley would understand? But then, wasn't the same true of me? Had I really understood Sophie? She was afraid of her marriage being destroyed for one mistake that somehow got caught by Chad's camera.

Sucking up a deep breath, I was more determined than ever to find out the truth behind Chad's death and see if I could find the pictures for Sophie. It didn't take a genius to figure out she'd probably had a fling with some guy. I'd seen true remorse in Sophie's eyes.

I turned away, pulled open the bedroom door, and walked down the hallway with my head held high. It was no different than wearing a bathing suit top or a tank top.

Angel spotted me first. “Okay, ladies, now here's the key to a more curvaceous figure.” Everyone turned and looked at me.

Getting courageous, I did a little turn and spotted Roxy heading for the front door with a makeup case slung over her shoulder. Stopping dead, I said a quick, “Excuse me,” and raced to catch Roxy as she stepped outside.

The shock of the night air hit me. Damp and cold, I wrapped my arms around myself and remembered I was in the bustier. Damn, I should have grabbed something to throw over it. Too late now. I spotted Roxy and called her name.

Her back stiffened beneath her sweater. Slowly she turned around and fixed her green eyes, rimmed in smoky liner, on me.

I blinked. Anger shot out of her gaze. “Roxy, are you all right? You didn't show up at Smash Coffee. What happened?”

Her face iced over. “I thought you were my friend, Sam. I thought you . . . Friends are loyal. Uncle Duncan is right. I can't trust you.” She turned to walk away.

“Roxy!” I raced up to her and grabbed her arm. I could feel her trembling. “What are you talking about? I was there at Smash Coffee waiting for you. Is Duncan all right? Is he sick?”

Her green eyes narrowed. “He's not sick. He just loves me. And I did show up at Smash Coffee.” Tears filled her eyes and spilled over. “Then I left. I know better than to trust you now. I'll fix this myself.” She pulled her arm from my hold and got into a black Jaguar.

“Fix what? Roxy, wait!”

She slammed the door, started the engine, and slid away into the dark night.

I stared after her into the blackness. What was she talking about? Why would she show up at Smash Coffee and then leave before talking to me? What the heck happened on her last date? Why did she keep saying Duncan loves her? Everyone knows that. She's his only family.

A noise jarred me out of my thoughts. Turning my head, I looked to see a large truck turning onto the dirt of our property.

Suddenly, the blinding white headlights were speeding right for me. Dust filled my nostrils. Fear kicked in, and I turned to run up to the porch. All the while, my mind stumbled over the possibilities. Gabe had a truck—maybe—but no, my impression was that it was a light-colored truck, not black like Gabe's.

The truck slid alongside of me and screeched to a halt, and I heard the door pop open. Oh, God. My heart hammered, and blood pounded in my ears. I was steps from the front porch when something was flung over my head. Panic exploded, and I tried to fight the material covering my head. I tripped, falling to the dirt, but got the covering off my head.

Fighting to breathe and control my hysteria, I looked up. A large shape loomed over me in the darkness. My control shattered, and I screamed bloody murder.

Please turn the page for a preview of
BATTERIES REQUIRED
by Jennifer Apodaca.
A May 2005 hardcover release
from Kensington Publishing.

T
he slot machine tricked me. I dumped in my money, believing I'd win the big prize. The Daystar Indian Casino in Temecula, California, gleefully sucked up my last twenty-dollar bill and suggested, in that innocent way of machines, that I try again.

Probably I would have if I'd had any more cash on me. Since all I had remaining was my pride, I left the gambling area, swept past a long bar, and went into the Nova Room. I looked past the bathroom-size wooden dance floor in the center of the bar to see the band playing onstage, the Silky Men.

They were a group of men who cross-dressed and sang in a comic routine. One of them, Rick Mesa, was the head soccer coach for the Soccer Club of Lake Elsinore. I had found out about his secret life as a cross-dressing entertainer while working on a case earlier that year.

I'm not actually a private detective. I'm a romance expert. I own the Heart Mates Dating Service, which is what brought me to the Daystar Indian Casino that night. My best friend, Angel Crimson, had provided the lingerie for the Silky Men, and she promised to pass out flyers for the open house I was having for Heart Mates on Wednesday night.

We figured lonely people go to the casino looking for love and companionship, so maybe we could interest them in my dating service in Lake Elsinore. It was only about thirty miles or so from the casino. That's not too far to travel for love, now is it?

But Angel had forgotten to pick up the flyers I'd had made to take to the casino. That meant I had to bring them to her at the casino after work on a Friday night. I found Angel and joined her at one of the small tables ringing the dance floor. Her long red hair was shiny straight, and she wore a green satin top that matched her emerald-colored eyes. Underneath the table, her black micromini skirt showed off her long legs. Angel looked like she could model lingerie for Victoria's Secret, but she'd rather sell lingerie than model it.

She was there to get bookings for her Tempt-an-Angel Lingerie line, which she sold through home parties. Sort of like Tupperware, only a hell of a lot more fun. At some point during their set, the lead singer for the Silky Men, Rick, would mention that their lingerie was provided by Tempt-an-Angel Lingerie. I don't know how, given that the band were men dressed up as women, but several women usually booked parties off that sales pitch. Go figure.

After ordering a glass of water, I pulled the stack of brochures promoting my open house out of my purse and slid them across the table. Then I asked, “Are you coming back here tomorrow night? Don't forget, I'm coming over to your house Sunday morning to pick up the couch.” Angel was giving me a brown leather couch for the waiting area in Heart Mates. That couch would be a big step up from the metal folding chairs that I currently used.

Angel glanced down at the brochures. “I decided to get a room and stay the night, instead of driving back and forth.” Then she looked up. “Why don't you stay with me? It'll be fun!”

Tempting, but. . . “I'm going to paint Heart Mates tomorrow, so I have to get up early. I want to have it all ready for the open house Wednesday night.”

Angel ran her fingers down the length of her Cosmopolitan glass. “Damn, we could have heated up the place and set off the sprinklers.” She grinned. “There's a rumor that a promoter might be here tonight or Saturday night, so I might be really late getting home tomorrow night. Make it ten or so on Sunday morning to pick up the couch.”

Leaning forward, I said, “A promoter? To see Rick's group? That's great for them! And who knows, maybe it'll be good for your lingerie line, too.” I shook my head at the way things were turning out for us. “When we made our pact to find our careers, I didn't quite imagine this for you.” Angel and I had had a little party one night a couple of years ago, fueled by margaritas, where we acknowledged that we'd both married losers and had no lives. We had vowed to change that. I had found my career in Heart Mates. Angel had taken a little longer, but now she was working hard to build her lingerie line.

“Good evening, ladies.”

Angel and I both looked to my right to see a doppel-gänger for Richard Gere. Thin silver streaks ran through his wavy dark hair. Shaped brows over brown eyes, elegant face, and nicely draped suit—this man should have been on a private European island. He carried an expensive-looking briefcase.

Angel recovered before me. “Hello,” she held out her hand, “I'm Angel.”

He reached for her hand, and I swear to God, I thought he was going to kiss it. But instead, he smiled, revealing a row of white teeth. “Ah, the very woman I was searching for. I have been hearing very good things about you and your business venture. My name is Mitch St. Claire.”

Angel took her hand back. “Really? And where would you have heard about me?”

“In the high-stakes gaming room. It appears you have made quite an impression on several future clients.”

When had I become invisible? “Ahem.”

Angel glanced at me. “This is Sam.” She picked up a flyer from the stack in front of her. “Sam owns the Heart Mates Dating Service. You might be interested in attending the open house Wednesday night. She'll be serving wines from the Temecula wineries.”

He turned to fix the full weight of his gaze on me. “Sam? Short for Samantha? Quite a lovely name.”

I held out my hand. “I usually go by Sam.” I just have a need to be contrary.

He wrapped his fingers around my palm. “I believe I may have heard of you. Perhaps you've been in the newspaper?”

Every time I stumbled onto a dead body, I ended up in the newspaper. Usually it wasn't a flattering article. I decided not to mention that. “Perhaps you've heard of my dating service, Heart Mates?” I glanced down at the flyer Angel had slid over to him.

He let go of my hand. “Perhaps. May I join you ladies?”

“Sure,” Angel said.

I stifled a yawn. It had been a long week, and I wanted to get home to have ice cream with my two sons, TJ and Joel. I'd had a fast dinner with them, but there was never enough time.

Mitch pulled over a chair from another table and sat between us. He set down his briefcase and fixed his gaze on Angel. “I wanted to meet with you, Angel, to discuss a business proposition.”

Angel sipped her Cosmopolitan and said, “What would that be, Mitch?”

She was mildly flirting. I wondered if she was interested in Mitch the man, his business proposition, or both? It had been a while since Angel had had a boyfriend. Stalking her ex-husband tended to cut down on her time for a social life.

“I'm in distribution and thought you might be interested in offering some of my merchandise through your home parties.”

Trent Shaw popped into my head. “My dead husband was in distribution. He sold condoms.” He had also sold coke sealed up in those condoms.

Mitch cut his brown eyes toward me. “Condoms have their place, certainly. But these products are of a more . . . ah . . . personal nature.”

“More personal than condoms?” He had my interest now. Highly curious, I leaned forward.

“Actually, a little more embarrassing for some people to buy.” Mitch turned to look at Angel. “That's why you sell your lingerie through home parties, right? To make it a fun, nonjudgmental atmosphere. A woman might not be comfortable buying overtly sexy lingerie at the mall, but at a home party where she can make her selections privately, she's more comfortable.”

Angel flashed her brilliant smile. “I see you've done your homework, Mitch.”

He nodded. “So why not take it a step further? What are the chances of these women going to the mall to buy sex toys?”

I blinked and took a drink of my water.
Sex toys?
“You mean like fur-lined handcuffs and vibrators?” That was the full extent of my knowledge of sex toys. And none of that was from personal experience. I'd read about the fur-lined handcuffs in a romance book I reviewed for
Romance Rocks Magazine.

“Precisely. I can offer a very nice selection at wholesale prices. But today, what I'd like to do is give you a sample kit and a catalogue so that you can see for yourself what I have to offer.”

I choked and had to slap my hand over my nose to keep water from spewing out. Tears filled my eyes. Mitch looked over at me. “Does this make you uncomfortable, Sam?”

His slightly condescending tone sparked my instant denial. Through my fingers, I said, “Of course not.”
Liar!
If I had taken my hand off my nose, it would have grown two inches. Vibrators! Omigod! What would my boyfriend, Gabe, say about that?

Like I didn't know.