By Hook or By Crook (26 page)

“Take it easy, will you?”

“Sorry, princess.” He had called her
princess
again
.
She’d thought they were well past that by now.

“They can’t get to that window, but they found another one on the west side, overlooking a flat roof,” Joe said.

Ivy poked her head up far enough to help him look for it. Distracted, he didn’t scold her.

“There they are!” She pointed to a tiny window, half-covered by mini-blinds.

Pock’s massive shoulders blocked nearly the entire space, shielding Daisy from view. Below, a white-clad kitchen employee was making a Dumpster run. Joe held back until he went back inside, and then pulled close to the kitchen door.

Joe climbed out, but when Ivy moved to follow him, he yelled, “Stay in the car!”

He left the engine running. Ivy occupied her time with vengeful fantasies of driving away and leaving them—him, Daisy, and Pock—in this mess by themselves. She wouldn’t actually do it, of course, but thinking about it took her mind off how uncomfortable she was. In only a few moments, the rear door of the SUV opened and Daisy and Pock piled in. Joe took the driver’s seat and wasted no time getting on the road.

“I think you owe us an explanation,” Ivy said, pushing herself back into the passenger seat, wincing as she stretched her cramped legs.

“We’re really sorry you couldn’t be at the ceremony—” Pock began, only to break off at Daisy’s frantic shushing. Ivy twisted to meet her sister’s gaze. Daisy’s face spoke an apology, perhaps a plea for understanding, but she didn’t deny Pock’s words.

“Ceremony?” Ivy repeated blankly. “Ceremony?” Inexplicably, she looked at Joe. Had he known about this? His unsurprised reaction told her he had.

“You got married?” Wounded, her gaze drifted back to Daisy.

“Yeah, we did,” she said softly, her attention now totally focused on Pock. “We’re husband and wife now.”

They leaned together for a slow, consuming kiss, Daisy half-hidden by Pock’s huge shoulders. Ivy’s eyes skittered away, reluctant to intrude on such an intimate moment while her own emotions were roiling.

Anger, disappointment, and—shockingly—a trace of envy all churned inside her, making nausea rise until she longed to jump out of the vehicle, to get away, to flee from all of them. Her emotions veered wildly. She was the only grownup in this car. No one appreciated what she had suffered. Was Daisy
trying
to screw up her life? Self-pity hollowed out her stomach.

“You okay?” Joe asked, his tone cautious.

“Okay, okay,” she muttered, scarcely aware of him, moving one hand down her face, rubbing her tired eyes.

Her mother wouldn’t like that—she’d always told her to keep her hands off her face. It wasn’t ladylike and would cause breakouts. Of course, Mom probably wouldn’t have wanted her youngest daughter marrying a thug, either.

“What?” he said. “I asked if you’re okay. You look a little green.”

Finally his words penetrated the haze of her rage. “Yeah, sure I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be? Daisy insists on having her own way, even if it puts us all in danger. She’s just married a guy willing to jump in bed with a bunch of Vegas gangsters to make a buck.”

Daisy must have finally peeled herself off Pock in the back seat, because she heard her sister make some noise of protest. Ivy held up one hand for silence and barreled on, unwilling to listen.

“Oh sure, he regretted it later and backed out of the deal, just in time to send hired thugs chasing after us all. And this is the guy my sister wants to marry so badly that she resorts to an elopement worthy of a couple of teenagers! I guess I can call you Mrs. Pock now, huh, Daisy? Or is Pock your first name?” she babbled, eyeing her new brother-in-law. She tried to keep her voice under control, but by the end, she had pretty much reached a screech.

Not surprisingly, no one answered her question about Pock’s name.

“Feel better?” Joe asked after the tirade stopped.

“A little. But I’m not done.”

“Oh, good,” he said, his words edged with sarcasm.

She seized on the quip. “And
you
are the worst one of all!”

“Me?” He took his eyes off the winding mountain road long enough to glare at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m the only adult in this whole mess! I’m trying to do what’s right for everybody, and you know it. Yet you’re constantly making sarcastic remarks, talking down to me, sitting in judgment of me because I agree with my father that this is a disastrous decision for Daisy! But all your moral rectitude doesn’t stop you from cashing my father’s checks. Why is that, hmmm?” She pinned him with a glare.

“Because I have a job to do!” he exploded. “I don’t have a trust fund waiting for me! I got drummed out of the only job I ever cared about. Now I have to earn my living whatever way I can, and that means sometimes taking money from people I don’t like, to do things I don’t always agree with. You wouldn’t understand that, would you? Daddy has always been there, backing you up with his checkbook as long as you toe the line.”

“There you go! Throwing my dad’s money in my face! If it’s so awful, why are you so eager to get some of it by helping me on this mission? You’re nothing but a hypocrite!”

She spat out a hank of hair that had somehow gotten sucked into her mouth and turned her head to stare blindly out the window. Tears rose, but she blinked them back doggedly. Damn Joe Dunham for doing this to her!

“Shit.” Joe’s quiet monosyllable caught her attention. “We’ve got somebody on our tail. Don’t turn around!” he barked as the three of them started to pivot. He eyed the rearview mirror for a long time. “We’ve got to lose these guys. We’ll go back to the chalet long enough to get our stuff, and then it’s back to Vegas.”

“Vegas?” Ivy said. “What’s in Vegas?”

“Your daddy’s private jet.”

Her daddy’s private jet
. Not “her father’s” or “Richard’s.”

His carefully chosen words made his disdain apparent. She should have been glad this misadventure was almost over, but instead, the finality in his voice filled her with sorrow. She needed to get back to the calm and sanity of her daily life back in Chicago. Just as it had done for many desperate gamblers before her, Nevada had made her lose her mind.

****

In the VIP lounge of the private aircraft terminal, Joe took another pull on his beer as they waited for the weather to clear to allow takeoff. On a TV over the bar, not even a Blackhawks game could hold his interest. Instead, he nursed his beer and tried to steel himself for the prospect of a cross-country flight.

The flight would be turbulent in more ways than one. Not even Ivy’s money and connections could make high winds and driving rain disappear. Ivy had called ahead to tell the pilot to prep the private jet for takeoff, but bad weather had moved in again as they arrived—thunderstorms and warm temperatures this time instead of snow. This would probably blow over in a couple of hours, but it couldn’t come fast enough for Joe. Ivy sat nearby, slender legs tucked neatly beneath her as she read a magazine in a seat opposite the bar.

If she gave a damn about the fact that she’d likely never see him again after tonight, she did a great job of hiding it. Well, hell, why should she care? Outside of one very memorable sexual encounter, he’d given her little reason to care about him. He cared about her, though.

Damn. The truth sucked, but there it was.

He cast a sideways glance at Pock and Daisy in a booth, sitting on the same side, thigh to thigh, sharing nachos and beer. They were all over each other, as usual. Check that—they were even more nauseating than usual, in the first blush of newlywed bliss. It wasn’t the honeymoon he’d want—flying back to Chicago to face an irate father—but he’d never have a honeymoon anyway, so it didn’t matter.

He took another long pull on his bottle, and then glared at it when he realized it was empty. He set it on the bar with a clink next to the other empties. He motioned to the bartender for another as his cell phone rang.

Great. Probably Richard Smithson, ready to chew his ass when he found out he’d failed to prevent this marriage. Well, he’d never promised to prevent any marriage. He’d promised to find Daisy and Pock and to keep Ivy safe, and he’d done both of those things.

Daisy had a mind of her own, and both her father and her sister had underestimated that. Which wasn’t his fault, but he’d catch hell for it anyway. Yet again, he repressed a surge of anger at the bastards who’d drummed him out of the CPD. If it weren’t for them, he’d be on SWAT by now, not bracing for an ass-chewing from a pompous rich guy.

He frowned at the number displayed when he realized it wasn’t Smithson’s. Not even a Chicago area code. Fogged by the beers he’d consumed, it took him a minute to process it. His sister in California.

Great. Just what he needed. More family to deal with. After he wrapped up this case, he would move to a desert island, maybe with a cool blonde, and never talk to anybody’s family, least of all his own or the Smithsons, again.

“Joe here.”

“Hey, Joe-bro. What’s up?”

Despite his misery and drunkenness, hearing his sister use her old nickname for him made him smile. “Not a whole hell of a lot. What’s with you, Erin-go-braugh?” His sister’s growl brought an even bigger grin to his face.

“I hate that nickname.”

“I know. It’s part of the big brother prerogative to keep using it.”

“Very funny.”

They fell into banter as effortlessly as if they’d spoken yesterday instead of months ago, but this time, a note in Erin’s voice caught his attention.

“Everything okay?”

“Sort of.” She didn’t elaborate. When his bubbly sister clammed up, he knew something was wrong.

“How’s the baby?” he forced himself to ask. Not that he had anything against babies, but hell, he didn’t really want to get dragged into all this family stuff. Besides, she didn’t need him for anything.

“Oh, not that great, actually.”

He sobered instantly. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going into early labor.”

He took a moment to think that over. “Early? Like how early?”

“I’m only thirty-three weeks along. My doctor says it’s too early for me to deliver.”

She spoke the words calmly, but the rawness of her tone told him everything he needed to know. His little sister was taking this very hard.

“Shit. Is there anything they can do?”

“They’re putting me on complete bed rest.”

“Bed rest? You? You can’t sit still for a half an hour. What are you going to do in bed for six weeks?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice quavered. His sister’s despair ate at him.

A tap on his shoulder distracted him. Ivy, her lips thin with disapproval as she almost but not quite met his eyes. She fiddled with the shoulder strap of her purse, even though it wasn’t sliding off.

“The pilot is ready. He wants us on the aircraft.”

He waved her aside, not caring about the damn plane. Both Erin and her husband worked hard as hell to keep the ranch going. How would her husband handle the ranch by himself if she couldn’t even get out of bed for weeks?

“What’s Anthony going to do?”

“What can he do? He’ll work the ranch during the day by himself. He’s going to try to hire a part-time nurse to come in and take care of me.”

“A nurse?”

“I can’t get out of bed except to use the bathroom,” she reminded him. “I’ll need someone to bring me meals, bathe me, and all that stuff. It’s like I’m a freaking invalid,” she said with disgust.

He sympathized. He and his sister shared one thing in common—a stubborn independent streak. Being helpless would drive his sister crazy.

“If you weren’t so far away, I’d ask you to come out for a visit,” she said, her voice wistful. “I know it’s a pain to fly so far, but I could really use a friend right now. I haven’t seen you in a couple of years.”

He said nothing, letting the silence hang. He should take the opportunity to let her know that he wasn’t far away—a hop, skip, and a jump over the mountains, as a matter of fact. Other than the Smithsons’ little domestic drama, his caseload was light right now: Sheila could handle his other responsibilities for a little while. Hell, this would give her the chance to prove herself that she’d been hounding him for. And it would make his sister happy.

Still, he hedged. Dammit, this kind of stuff explained why he lived on the other side of the country. He hated family entanglements, hated reminders of the way he’d grown up. Erin always wanted to trade war stories about the bad old days, to examine their feelings and share theories about Dad and what the hell his problem was.

No. Sitting around rubbing each other raw was his idea of hell. He wanted no part of it.

Then his sister sighed. “I miss you, Joe-bro,” she said softly.

He could hear the sadness she tried to hide. Just like that, he was a big brother again, looking out for his wide-eyed younger sister, trying to cheer her up when their dad had been a drunken jerk.

Ivy tapped his arm again. “The pilot wants us on the aircraft now.”

“I’m not going,” he heard himself say.

“What?” Ivy and Erin said, both at once. Ivy frowned in confusion.