Everybody Loves Evie (24 page)

“Guess a nudie shot is big news in Greenville.”

I jumped at the sound of Nic's voice. “Where'd you come from?”

“Milo told me to stay in the car, but then half the town rushed in here, and I thought,
Screw you, Slick, I'm going in.
” She eyed the chaotic sideshow. “Looks like Arch gave the shutterbug a bloody nose. Is that it? I expected worse, given the charge of assault.”

“Actually, I'm the one who socked Kitt. Didn't mean to. Clipped him with my elbow when we tussled.”

Nic snorted. “Priceless.” She pushed her big black sunglasses on top of her head and eyed me with concern. “You okay?”

“I'm mortified. We have to get that camera, Nic.”

“Or the compact flash card. I dated a photographer with a camera like that. The pics you're worried about are stored on a digital memory card. If I could get close without drawing attention, I could pop and pocket that disc. If the camera goes missing, they'll notice right away. The card…” She shrugged.

I flashed on the change-raising scam I'd pulled in that London pub and recalled the key to escaping with something that didn't belong to me. “I have an idea.”

She knotted her long hair into a low bun. “I'm all ears.”

E
VEN THOUGH HE WAS
in the midst of an infuriating argument, Milo sensed the moment Nicole walked into the jailhouse. He should've known she'd ignore his request. Frankly he was surprised she'd remained in the car as long as she had. Then he saw Twinkie and her friend eyeing the reporter, the camera, and whispering.

Don't do it,
he mentally ordered. A wasted effort. Even if they had telepathic abilities, they'd ignore him because they were both obstinate.

They launched into action before he could extricate himself from the verbal free-for-all. When he saw Twinkie drifting toward the media circus and Nicole fading into the fringes, he had no choice but to be sensitive to whatever they were about to pull. He just happened to catch Arch's eye and directed his attention toward the potential disaster.

The Scot ratcheted up the level of hostility geared toward the reporter and his boss. “If you print those pictures, I will bloody well sue!”

Milo lost his temper on purpose with the by-the-books, I-despise-foreigners deputy. “Was that a slur against the Scottish people, son? I know people in Washington and I
will
have your ass!”

“Simmer down, everyone!” the sheriff bellowed.

“I'm sure she didn't hit you on purpose,” Mrs. Parish told the photographer. “Don't be such a baby! It's just a nosebleed.”

“Give me those pictures,” Mr. Parish said, shaking his fist, “or, by God, I'll do worse.”

“Take your best shot, old geezer.”

Evie got in the photographer's face. “Stop harassing my parents, you rat-bastard rat!”

She shoved and—Sweet Jesus—the idiot shoved back.

Milo and Arch spun to her aid, but Mrs. Parish beat them to the punch. She swung her pocketbook and connected with his nose.

The rat-bastard rat shrieked. Blood spurted and Evie swooned. Toppling forward into the scumbag photographer, they both crashed to the floor, and everyone flocked to them like magnets to steel.

“Millie!” the sheriff shouted to his receptionist. “Get the first-aid kit.”

The photographer wiggled out from under Evie, shouting his pain to the world. “Crazy bitch broke my nose!”

Evie lay on the floor, seemingly unconscious.

“
Cannae
stand the sight of blood,” Arch explained as he and Milo dropped their faces close to hers.

Milo assessed her limp body with dread. “You okay?” he whispered over the ruckus.

“My boobs are in safe hands,” she whispered.

Arch grinned. “Brilliant.”

Milo looked up, looked around. The camera was there, but Nicole was gone. He assessed and bit back a grin. Fucking brilliant.

I'
VE ALWAYS CONSIDERED
myself pretty decent at improvisational theater. There's a certain thrill that comes with not knowing what's going to happen next. Relying on one's wit and imagination instead of scripted lines. Reacting to another actor's words or actions off the cuff. If there's chemistry, there's energy, and let me tell you, the jailhouse rocked.

Nic exited off stage unnoticed, returning a scant minute later with a bottle of water from the car and the excuse that she was worried I was dehydrated. Arch, Beckett and I cued off her ad-libs and played the room beautifully. Fifteen minutes later—thanks to some diplomatic double-talking on Beckett's part and the sheriff who just wanted this to go away—everyone left the jailhouse grudgingly satisfied. The
Tribune
had tomorrow's front-page story, plus Beckett had promised the baron's
publicist
would e-mail them candid photos to accompany the piece. Joe Kitt had been overcompensated for medical bills and the memory card that had mysteriously vanished.

Refraining from performing my victory dance after we exited onto Main Street took enormous energy. My body vibrated like a wound-up toy. The air crackled with excitement and tension. I sensed everyone had something to say to someone, just not in front of the entire group.

A few feet away from the jailhouse Dad broke the ice. “I hope one of you pocketed that disc. I'd hate to think it was Millie or even Deputy Leech.”

“You don't think they'd sell those pictures, do you?” Mom asked, aghast.

“You never know,” Dad said. “Could wind up on the Internet.”

“They won't,” Nic said with a knowing smile.

Dad scratched his beard, then grinned full out. “Enough said.”

Mom nodded in agreement, and I thanked my lucky stars they were willing to drop the discussion on the pitfalls of stargazing. I had a feeling it wasn't a dead topic with Beckett, but I'd cross that bridge later. In private.

“There goes my barbecue,” Mom said out of the blue.

It took a second to realize she was lamenting the weather, not the
incident.
The sky had turned dark and angry and thunder rumbled in the distance.

“No reason to forfeit the night,” Dad said. “Why don't you bring the fixings over to the tavern. I'll close down for a private shindig. We'll fire up the grill in the kitchen. Drinks on the house.”

“But you'll lose a night's business,” Mom said reasonably, skeptically.

“Don't give a flip, Marilyn.”

Because I was used to their crappy communication skills, I read between the lines and took control before they botched what smacked of a possible truce. “I think it's an excellent idea.” I elbowed Arch.

“Brilliant,” he said, draping an arm over my shoulders. “
Dinnae
know
aboot
the rest of you, but I could use a pint, yeah?”

Nic tucked her sunglasses into her designer purse. “I'll second that.”

Beckett eyed her, then addressed Mom. “I'll be happy to help you transport the groceries, Mrs. Parish.”

As Arch's supposed aide, it made sense that he would offer, but I wanted private words with Mom and this seemed the perfect opportunity. “That's okay,” I said brightly. “I'll do it.”

“I'll come with you,” Nic said. “We'll meet you men at the bar.”

I hadn't planned on Nic's company, but I couldn't exclude her and, besides, I got the feeling she didn't want to be alone with Beckett. Though I'd initially sensed an attraction on Nic's part, all they seemed to do was knock heads. Looking at my smart and beautiful friend, I couldn't imagine why Beckett would prefer me over her. For that matter, what did Arch see in me? He could have any woman. Heck, according to his janitor buddy, Marvin, he routinely enjoyed a smorgasbord of pretty birds. Was I a passing fancy? For that matter, was
he
a passing fancy? That would explain my awareness of Beckett. Had I mistaken fantasy love for true love? Technically, I suppose, Arch and I were in the giddy, obsessive first stage of falling in love. What if we didn't weather the second stage? What if this was a simple case of sexual chemistry?

I massaged my throbbing temples.

Without a word, Beckett produced one of those pain-reliever travel packs from his pocket and passed it to me.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Sure,” he said.

I washed down Tylenol with the water given to me by Nic, cheeks heating under the calm stare of Arch.
Uh-oh.

Nic grunted and spun away. “I need to get something out of the car.”

“You okay?” Dad asked.

“Just a tension headache,” I said, letting my parents assume it was because of the boobs-on-film fiasco.

“All the more reason to get dinner started and some food in your stomach. We'll take my car,” Mom said, smoothing a self-conscious hand over her hair.

It was an invitation for Dad to comment on her new do, but he didn't. Cripes. “What do you think of Mom's new hairstyle and color, Dad?”
Please say something nice.

“I like it,” he said simply. “Very pretty. Very—” he cleared his throat “—flattering.”

Mom blushed and looked away. “It was time for a change.”

Nic rushed back, obliterating the awkwardness. “I'm ready.”

“Tavern's a couple blocks up. No need to drive separately.” Dad motioned to his four-door. “Hop in.”

Arch brushed my bangs from my eyes. “Cheers, Sunshine.” But I knew he meant
Good luck with your ma.
He took off with my Dad.

“Be right there,” said Beckett.

“My car's across the street, girls,” Mom said, making a dash as she looked toward the boomer clouds. “Hurry.”

I stepped to the curb, glancing over my shoulder to see Nic perform her role as Beckett's girlfriend. She leaned in and kissed him sweetly on the cheek. “See you in a while, honey.” But as she walked away, he snagged her hand and pulled her against his body.

Rubbernecking without looking obvious was impossible, so—to hell with it—I gawked straight out.

Beckett kissed Nic on the mouth, then whispered something in her ear before allowing her to catch up to me. My imagination soared. I wondered about that kiss. Sweet? Hot? Not that I was jealous, just curious. And what did he whisper? Did he demand she give him the memory card? He'd paid handsomely for it, after all. Did he blast her for taking it in the first place? Tell her to tell me I'm fired? Once we started across the street, I asked. “What did he say?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Tell me.”

She shoved on her sunglasses—weird, given the overcast skies. Stranger still, she blushed. “He said, ‘Well done.'”

M
ILO HADN'T INTENDED
to encourage Nicole and Evie's reckless behavior. The compliment had slipped out in the aftermath of a disquieting stir. He'd kissed Nicole for appearance' sake. A chaste kiss, yet he'd felt a brief pulse of lust. Goes to show how lame his sex life had been of late. Sure, she was gorgeous, but that's where the attraction stopped. She was also cynical and rude. If he experienced a stir kissing someone he didn't even like, what would happen if he kissed Evie?

Curiosity stoked the attraction, and it would only get worse. One kiss would solve the mystery. If he felt nothing, no chemistry, the infatuation would die a quick death. On the other hand…

Shake it off, Beckett.

He blamed his wayward thoughts on the residual adrenaline coursing through his system after an inspired performance. Two men trained in the confidence game. Two professional actresses. They'd clicked like an experienced team. He couldn't deny the rush. Couldn't deny the women's talent. His ability to think in terms of black and white had been compromised. Lack of sleep didn't help.

By the time they reached the Corner Tavern and settled in at the bar his mood had turned as frosty as the mug of Bud served up by Mr. Parish. His mind churned as the man shooed everyone out, patrons
and
employees. Next he called and canceled the band for the night, with pay.
Generous,
Milo thought.
Honest. Like father like daughter.

He waited until the elder man disappeared into the kitchen and turned to Arch. “If you tell me you planned that episode just so you could land a front-page story in order to advance the senator's sting, I won't be believe it. Not even you are that good.”

Arch opened a fresh pack of Marlboros. “Let's cut through the
shite,
Jazzman.”

“Think you're capable?”

“Evie and I are involved, yeah?”

“The truth. Huh. Sounds odd coming from you.”

“Sarcasm. Sounds natural coming from you.”

Longtime adversaries before they'd partnered, Milo was used to this verbal sparring. All part of their complicated dance, although it suddenly felt as if they'd lost their rhythm. Probably because someone now stood between them.

Milo drank his beer, cursed the jealousy stabbing his gut. Arch's admission hadn't come as a surprise, but it sure as hell worsened his mood.

The Scot lit a cigarette, tossed the match in a boot-shaped ashtray. Unlike the Chameleon Club, the Corner Tavern was themed and dressed for success. Milo could imagine Twinkie on that stage. He could hear her whiskey voice paying homage to Patsy Cline. But he couldn't imagine her moving back to Greenville, as he knew her Dad hoped. Though she'd retained certain small-town sensibilities, she'd outgrown the low-key lifestyle.

She doesn't want to go back.

Convenient. Milo didn't want to leave her behind. She made him smile during this joyless period of his life. She kept him connected to innocence and the pursuit of dreams. She reminded him of the good in people, inspired him to stick to his guns, thumb his nose at the naysayers and make a difference. She wanted to do something important. So did he.