Three Little Words (6 page)

When last seen, the handbag containing her lipstick, ID, and cab fare was tucked safely under the linen draping of a ballroom chair. She’d surrendered her coat to the goth chick working the hotel cloakroom. Sliding onto her stomach, she peeked under the bed skirt. Still no sign of her shoe. The bed creaked. Spurred by yet another pain-laced groan, she began to belly crawl toward the door. The chime of a cellular phone drew her up short a few feet from her goal. Jo flattened herself against the wall, hoping to make herself as invisible as she’d been for the past sixteen years, but she gasped when it rattled and shifted under her weight.

Her pickled brain leapt to the obvious conclusion: earthquake. A quick, hard shake left her a bit more sober. The wall wasn’t moving due to a shift in tectonic plates. She’d backed up against the closet. Greg snuffled in response to the phone’s alert. Closing her eyes, she went for the Hail Mary. Literally and figuratively. Blasphemous or not, the words to the prayer she learned in catechism ran through her head as she reached for the handle on the closet door. A healthy dose of lip smacking interrupted her fervent prayer, but it was just as well. She’d forgotten the rest anyway.

The sound of sheets shifting forced her to forego stealth. With all the grace of a six-year-old wannabe gymnast, she rolled into the closet and pulled the door closed behind her. Releasing the tension on the handle gently, she exhaled in a breathy
whoosh
when it came to a stop. The second she pulled her hand back, the damn latch clicked loudly.

The crack of metal on metal reverberated through the silent room. Her lone shoe clamped to her chest, she hunkered in the corner of the empty closet, holding her breath when the bedsprings squeaked. Her heart lodged firmly in her throat, she resisted the urge to out herself when he called for her in a rough, raspy baritone.

“Josie?”

Greg shot upright then instantly regretted the action. Holding the heel of his hand to his forehead, he froze, hoping to stop the sloshing of his brain.

“Josie?”

The hopeful question was met with nothing but silence. And sunlight. Blinding, painful sunlight. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew deep but cautious breaths, trying to fill his lungs with precious oxygen without disturbing too many molecules. Stone still, he took stock. His hair hurt. And his knees. And he had a weird stabbing pain in the back of his thigh.

He slid a hand under his leg to massage his hamstring and came up with a bright red stiletto heel. Wetting his parched lips, Greg eyed the shoe speculatively as he rubbed the ache away. “One mystery solved.”

Still, the resolution wasn’t the one he’d hoped for. Sliding his hand over the rumpled sheets, he scowled at the Josie-sized indentation she’d left behind. The open bathroom door confirmed his fear. She’d ditched him without even a good-bye. Bitterness curled his booze-coated tongue. The mental image of the shoe’s owner hobbling through the lobby assuaged whatever disappointment lingered after being abandoned. Served her right for slinking out of his room like they’d done something wrong. Dropping the shoe into a nest of tangled sheets, he swung his legs from the bed and stumbled to the bathroom.

The necessities taken care of, Greg avoided his reflection as he bent over the sink. Cool water rushed over his wrists and palms. The moment his hands adapted to the temperature, he shifted gears and splashed his face. Repeatedly. Hangover or no, the first thing on his mind upon waking was the dark-haired woman who’d led him on the chase all night. He’d enjoyed every bit of the fun and games they’d shared, but damn, he wanted more. Dripping and gasping, he raised his head and met his own bloodshot gaze at last.

The man staring back at him was a stranger. A graying, haggard man who looked nothing like he felt inside. Hell, he shouldn’t be any worse than those morons he’d chased away from the bar in his quest to get to Josie. Unfortunately, life didn’t work that way. Now he was a middle-aged moron trapped in a body no longer equipped to deal with tequila-fueled pick-ups.

An insistent knock on the door roused him from his reverie. Scrubbing his face with a towel, he detoured toward the bed to reclaim his pants. A spark of hope lit inside him. He smirked when he caught sight of the abandoned shoe on the bed. Hiking the pants over his hips, he grabbed his wayward Cinderella’s shoe and padded toward the door. “Yeah. Forgot something, didn’t ya?” Another knock rattled his brain as the latch disengaged. He stepped back, swinging the door open wide. “Anxious to see me again?”

“Not so much.”

Greg groaned as Will strode past him into the room. “What? What the hell do you want?”

“What a way to greet the man who came to give you fair warning.”

“Fair warning of what?”

Will turned in a slow circle. “Ditched you already, did she?”

“Get out.”

“Now, don’t be hasty—”

Greg let go of the handle to shove his hand through his aching hair, jumping only slightly when the damn door slammed. “Nothing hasty about it. I’ve been trying to get rid of you for forty years.”

“You’re damn lucky to have a friend like me. One who sticks with you. One who lets you make out with his ex-girlfriend.”

Greg’s growl only elicited a smirk from Will. “What do you mean ex-girlfriend? You don’t have
girlfriends
.”

“No time to argue about labels.” He nodded to the bathroom. “Better splash a little water on your ugly mug. I’m the friend who comes to warn you when your conquest’s family is about to knock down your door looking for her.”

“I don’t have conquests,” he snapped, even though he knew Will knew damn good and well. Downshifting to a grumble, he ran his hand over his stubbly cheek. “And I already splashed water on my face.”

Will pulled an exaggerated grimace then wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Might want to try again.”

Bam-bam-bam.
“Dad?”

Both men whirled toward the door, but only Greg reached for the wall to catch his balance. His gaze cut to Will who simply shrugged. “They asked if I’d seen her.”

Greg gritted his teeth. “You told them she was with me?”

“I told them the truth. Last time I saw her she was with you.”

Greg reached for the door, but Will jerked his head toward the bathroom.

“I’m going to duck in there. I don’t want Ben to know I warned you.”

With a roll of his eyes, Greg wrapped his fingers around the door handle. “You’re such a wuss.” The words couldn’t have been further from the truth in most cases, but from the moment Ben was born, he’d had his godfather wrapped around his finger.

Will merely chuckled and pointed to the shoe clasped in Greg’s hand. “Better ditch the stiletto before they think you’ve taken up cross-dressing.”

Soft chuckles bounced off the bathroom walls as the door snicked shut. Another far more insistent knock rattled the door. Greg stared at the sexy red shoe in his hand, his own wussiness quotient ramping up as he imagined trying to explain its presence. Sluggish synapses fired at last. He abandoned his hold on the hotel room door in favor of the closet and pitched the shoe into the dark depths. “Coming!”

A muffled, “Oof,” registered with his befuddled brain seconds too late to backtrack and investigate. A twinge flared in his shoulder as he opened the hotel room door. His new daughter-in-law’s wide-eyed stare made him suddenly conscious of his state of half-dress. Ducking behind the heavy door, Greg forced a weak smile. “Oh. Hey. What’s up?”

“Aunt Jo?” Kaylin called, peering into the room.

“Hey, Dad.” Ben caught his wife’s arm, holding her back from storming the room. “Uncle Will thought maybe you’d seen Kaylin’s aunt.”

“Oh, uh…your aunt?”

“Jo.” Kaylin supplied. “My Aunt Josephine.”

“She left her purse in the ballroom and when the banquet manager checked, her coat was still at the coat room. Uncle Will said she was with you,” Ben explained. “Kay’s a little worried.”

“It’s not like Aunt Jo,” Kaylin explained in a rush. “I mean, she doesn’t do stuff like this. She doesn’t just take off without a word.”

Ben wrapped his arm around his new wife and kissed her hair. “Shh. We’ll find her.”

Guilt writhed in his gut, but the discomfort wasn’t nearly strong enough to get him to confess. At least, not to everything. “I, um…I think I danced with her, but… Uh, no.” He tugged at his ear lobe. The gesture would have been an easy tell for Ben’s mother, but luckily his son wasn’t as observant. “She’s not here.” He opened the door a bit wider to prove the validity of his claim. “Maybe she got a ride home with someone? A friend of the family?”

Even as he spoke the words, worry crept in. He hoped she had. It would be a long, cold walk even to the corner with only one shoe and no coat.

Kaylin’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Burton! I bet she got a ride home with Mrs. Burton. She lives down the street.” Bouncing on her toes, she switched gears as only twenty-something girls could, and took off toward the elevators. “I’ll text Mom and tell her to get Aunt Jo’s purse and stuff.” She turned as she jammed the button. “Meet me in the restaurant. We only have an hour.”

The elevator dinged and Ben blew out a breath. “I guess the mystery is solved. Sort of.” A hot flush prickled his skin, but Greg didn’t flinch as Ben eyed him narrowly. “You disappeared last night, too.”

He didn’t need another glance in the mirror to know he looked a wreck. Men his age didn’t wear hangovers as well as they did in their twenties. Greg ran his hand over his face. “I must have gotten some bad ice in my drinks.”

Thankfully, Ben accepted the lame joke. “As long is it wasn’t the shrimp.” He cast a glance at the empty corridor. “I wanted to tell you thanks.”

“For what?”

Ben’s eyebrows rose. “Well, the honeymoon. The rehearsal dinner. For not killing Mom….”

“Your mother was fine.”

His son’s lips curved. It was the same self-deprecating smile toddler Ben used to flash. The one that accompanied home runs, ace report cards, and even the ceremonial handing over of the car keys. The small grin told Greg no matter how independent Ben became, his old dad’s opinion still mattered. Seeing it was enough to convince Greg all the monkey suit wearing, ex-wife nagging, and crazed tequila shooting had been worthwhile, but Ben’s next words floored him.

“For everything,” he said quietly. “Thanks for everything, Dad.”

Greg took his boy’s proffered hand and pulled him into a fierce embrace. “My pleasure,” he murmured, too choked up to say anything more. “My pleasure, son.”

A few manly back slaps and much clearing of throats followed. Rocking back on his heels, Greg shoved his hands in his pants pockets to keep from reaching for Ben again. “Uh, you’re all ready for the trip?”

Ben nodded and pushed his hand through his hair. The familiar fidget made Greg’s heart stutter step. “Don’t suppose you’re up for brunch before we take off?”

Greg glanced at the clock then back to his son’s hopeful face. He didn’t have enough time to find Josie
and
see his kid off on his honeymoon. As much as he hated to let her slip away, there was no choice. Ben had him first.

Besides, he had sources for getting information on her. One was standing in front of him, another hiding in his bathroom. “Let me grab a quick shower. I’ll be in the lobby before you leave.”

His son’s quick grin told him he’d made the right decision. “Okay. See you in a few.” Ben favored him with a smart-ass grin as he backpedaled the length of the corridor. “Oh, and, Dad? Drink some water. You need to hydrate.”

The only rebuttal he could give was to let the door slam shut between them. Crossing the room, he opened the bathroom door to find Will sitting on the lid of the toilet reading the back of a can of shaving cream.

“You should leave a magazine or something in here for guests,” he said as he tossed the can into Greg’s open shaving kit.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

Will raised both eyebrows but remained silent.

Sighing his defeat, Greg slumped against the doorframe. “You need to go find her.”

“I do?”

“I can’t, and she has no coat and no money. Only one shoe.” He ran his hand through his hair. “How the hell is she going to get anywhere?”

“Bus?”

Greg snarled. “Did you miss the no money part?”

“Maybe she had some stuffed in her bra. Women do, you know.”

“There was no money in her bra.”

Will smiled, clearly pleased to have extracted a little information. “Ah, so you made second base. Good for you.”

Greg took in his best friend’s rumpled suit and creased shirt. The tail of the tie he wore the previous night trailed from one pocket. “Why the hell are you still here, anyway? You didn’t go home?”

Pushing to his feet, Will shrugged. “Scored a bridesmaid.”

Will had been working the same expression of blank innocence since the summer after their fifteenth birthdays. Greg averted his eyes. He didn’t need to know the guy was seducing girls young enough to be his daughter.

“You’re a sick bastard.”

Will’s snort snagged his attention. “Kidding. Jesus, you should have seen your face.” He threw his head back and guffawed. “No kiddie porn for me, Greggie-boy, just a willing divorcee. Over forty and into yoga.”

It took a moment for Greg’s buzzy brain to process the information. Even then, some of the relevance escaped him. “Yoga?”

His friend’s face lit with mischief. “Hooked her feet on the headboard. With her head still on the pillows,” he clarified with a lift of his brows. “I’ll fill you in on the details later, you big perv, there’s a damsel in distress to rescue.”

“Wait! Take her shoe.” Spinning on his heel, he stalked to the closet. The second the door swung open, a sinful red pump dropped into his open hand. “Thanks,” he muttered, closing the door again.

Will startled and Greg froze, his head canting to the right as he read the questions scrolling across his best friend’s face. Slowly he turned. The faint creak of the hinges screamed in the silent room. Josie stared back at him, her dark hair a puffy cloud around her face and streaks of last night’s mascara rimming shock-widened eyes. A potent mix of relief, confusion, anger, and elation clogged his throat. He struggled to work a word, any word, past the fist-sized lump. The best he managed was a croaking, “Hi.”