Forever Mine (25 page)

“And you do it so well.”

He canted his head slightly to the side. “That’s so
you
don’t have to worry.”

Allie kept eye contact with him. After tonight, there would be no reason for them to see each other. In the morning, she’d leave for Cabo. Upon returning, she’d pretty much settled on spending a few days, maybe even a week, at her father’s place in Yreka. After her visit up north she’d have to return home. But tonight, four designers would go on to showcase their clothes at the finals in September. If she made the cut, she needed every piece of equipment in her house in order to proceed.

She already missed Ben. An unexpected ache settled in her heart from knowing she’d never see him again after tonight. It cut into the positive energy she’d dug deep inside for all day.

“I’d better get out of here.” He headed toward the rear exit again. When he reached it, he turned and glanced back over his shoulder. “Don’t forget. I’ll be right on the other side of the curtain. Yell if you need me.”

“Go. Please. ” Allie spit out the words.

He gave her a thumbs-up then smiled just enough for the dimple to pucker his cheek. “Good luck,
Allegra
.”

As he exited, Michaela breezed through the doorway and almost collide with him. She stopped short, did a double-take then sauntered over to Allie.

“Aren’t you the sly one?”

Besides being bold, Michaela had a strong inquisitive streak. There was high probability of a lot more questions. Allie’s best defense was to feign ignorance.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said then waved and caught Fiona’s attention.

The model headed her way.

“Yes, you do,” Michaela’s face bore a smug look. “The guy from the Beach Chalet almost bumped into me just now. He seemed in a hurry.”

Allie shrugged her answer, checked her watch and looked around for one of the makeup artists. A kit containing everything from foundation to mascara sat open on the dressing table, along with an assortment of combs, brushes and hair extensions. Two different sized curling irons were plugged into a pair of outlets. The air reeked of hairspray fumes.

Fiona approached, and Allie questioned her about her makeup, which glowed from what appeared a professional application.

“I’m already done.” Fiona leaned her slim frame closer to the mirror. “Hair, too. How do you like it?”

Allie nodded her approval.

Fiona’s pale blonde hair swept off her face and fell in bouncy curls to her shoulders. The style worked perfectly for the daytime garments. For the evening outfits and bridal gown, Allie counted on the hairdresser to accomplish something more appropriate. Changing from casual to sophisticated styles had to all come together quickly, so Allie didn’t expect anything too elaborate. She’d already decided against funky as well as anything outer-spacey, which would detract from the clothes.

She unzipped a garment bag. Fiona removed her short terry robe and dropped it on the floor. Allie exchanged glances with Michaela then picked up the garment and hung it on the back of the chair. Allie rolled her eyes and shrugged.

The buzz of the audience infiltrated the dressing area. It subsided when the promoter, Christopher Tennant, addressed the crowd and made introductions. Hearing her name, a wave of heat flushed Allie’s cheeks. Sweat popped out on her brow. She swallowed hard to settle the nerves that caused her stomach to churn. The importance of the evening landed with the weight of an anvil on her shoulders. She opened the top two buttons of her jacket.

A model sashayed by in a creation of knee-length fuchsia silk bordered by a ruffled hem. A pair of identical ruffles sprang like bat wings down each side of the garment. A female designer followed in her wake, along with a hairdresser who added finishing touches to the model’s long sweep of auburn hair. A cloud of spray further clogged the dense air.

Allie was allotted the middle slot in which to show the first of her two daytime dresses, affording her ample time to prepare and avoid a last-minute glitch. The night before, she’d dreamed she’d unzipped the garment bag holding the bridal gown and found it empty. The disturbing dream led to a further inspection this morning before she and Ben finally loaded everything into the SUV. His impatience had grown at the delay and had almost led to an argument.

The metal clothing racks separated the stations from each other. Aware of the close quarters, Allie tried not to intrude on the adjacent space and removed the first daytime outfit. She and Michaela slipped the dress over Fiona’s head, careful not to muss the model’s hair.

While Allie adjusted the shoulders so the dress draped perfectly, Michaela said, “So who’s the guy? Where did you meet him?”

An assistant stepped behind the curtain. “Five minutes then we’re ready for Allie Nash.”

Allie’s stomach muscles contracted. Tension carved a path from her neck to the base of her spine. She sucked in a deep breath, counted to five and released a swoosh of air.

“Did you go back to the restaurant and slip him your phone number like I suggested?”

Allie bent down and readjusted one of the straps on Fiona’s four-inch heels. “Can we talk about it later, even though there’s really nothing to talk about?”

Michaela laughed. “Nothing?”

Knowing Michaela so well, Allie figured there’d be no end to the questions unless she offered some explanation. “All right, he’s a cop. They’re all over the place tonight.”

Michaela hooted another laugh. “Oh, please. No cop ever looked quite so handsome.” She patted her heart and imitated a swoon.

“Well this one does.”

“Okay,
Allegra
. We’ll drop it for now.”

Now wasn’t the immediate problem. Later, she expected Ben and possibly Detective Thompson to hook up again with her. She shuddered to imagine what conclusion Michaela might draw when she encountered Allie as the pivotal female in a threesome.

Chapter Thirty-One

Each time a model walked down the runway, excitement pulsed through Dave’s veins and quickened his breath. With short skirts exposing so much leg, he gave himself up to the sensation equal to a kid finding himself locked in a cookie factory. As if he possessed X-ray vision, he mentally stripped the clothes off each woman and gave his imagination free rein. He kept his program open on his lap to guard against embarrassing himself.

All the star gazing led to thoughts of Allie Nash. Although he was enjoying the show, he longed for it to end, anxious for the moment when he came face to face with her. If Jimmy’s description was accurate, she’d more than fit his requirements. In addition, she worked from home and was accountable to no one.

The program notes claimed the evening was a preliminary, the finals scheduled for September. If she advanced past tonight, he guessed she’d have little time for socializing. How convenient. Busy, busy, aiming for the grand prize. Once they connected, he’d make sure there’d be no outside distractions. He envisioned three or four days together. He’d hate to rush things with her, but he couldn’t chance hanging around longer than was safe. Even then he risked capture. However, he’d make the most of their time together before he moved on.

His imagination took flight. Impatiently, he flicked his thumbnail with his pinky finger,

When he’d arrived at the tent, he’d milled around in the crowd outside before purchasing a ticket. A couple cops were stationed at the entrance, giving everyone the eagle eye. A quick peek inside confirmed the seats were filling fast. With less than twenty bucks in his pocket, and forced to use the stolen credit card, he waited for the perfect opportunity to enable him to slip inside without a hitch.

Even good planning didn’t mean he wouldn’t be asked to produce ID at Allie’s show. To avoid detection, he fell back on an old trick he’d once perfected, a sure-fire way to crash a venue. He’d wait for a jam-up at the entrance then ease into the crowd. Back then, he’d slipped inside without paying. Tonight, he didn’t dare pull such a stunt. He had to chance using the credit card.

Rushed, one of the two women taking tickets had quickly run the card then handed it back. Seconds later, he was inside the tent. Safely inside, he’d allowed himself a smirk.

Earlier that day, the card had also passed muster. The stoned desk clerk at the rundown hotel had barely given it a glance. Emboldened, in order to make the right impression, he’d risked flashing the credit card again at a Macy’s near Union Square. With so much rampant fraud, he half expected the clerk to demand ID, but he hadn’t, maybe because of the long line of customers. Now, Dave sported a whole new wardrobe and bought himself a whole new persona. Mr. Hip. To impress a designer, he thought it important to dress the part and show some style, prove he was in tune with today’s vibe. Cool clothes, cool look. Hell, he might even pass for a designer himself.

He expected a police presence at the event. Heading south, he and Jimmy had stuck to no-account towns and back roads. Some of the burgs they’d hit had little if any police force, only the local sheriff’s office, a few hicks running-in dopers and under-aged drinkers. Still, success at evading even those lesser authorities had fueled his confidence. Of course, he was fully aware of law enforcement’s interest in him. You didn’t leave your fingerprints in a car belonging to a woman whose body had probably been discovered by now and not become a wanted man. Shit, if it hadn’t been for that damn bar brawl in Seattle… Oh, well. No sense harping on the past. After all, if not for it, Allie wouldn’t have entered his life.

Yes, everything had its purpose.

San Francisco told a different story vis-à-vis cops. No hicks there, mostly young hot dogs and hardened veterans. Maximum firepower. Cunning had become imperative.

Because of the enforced wait, he’d had to settle for a seat in one of the middle rows. He would have liked a spot closer to the runway, but at least he’d accomplished his main objective: getting inside.

One thing bothered him, though. During his last phone conversation with Allie, he’d sensed a hesitation. She seemed more guarded. According to Jimmy, she was a sensible gal. Maybe not so inclined to fling open her door to two guys, one with whom she’d never had any kind of real relationship, and the other a complete stranger. To her, he was only a voice on the phone.

Now thinking back on it, she’d never committed to how they’d spend their time together. She had to think about popular tourist attractions. As if he cared what interested the friggin’ tourists. What he wanted was her and not only for a few lousy one-two-shame-on-you-for-being-so-trusting hours, like with most of his other special women. No, he had much bigger plans in store for Allie Nash.

He figured there wouldn’t be time before the show to make contact with her. Afterward, though, he’d wangle a way to get close enough to engage her in a little intelligent conversation, give her the five-thousand-watt smile. Maybe she had plans for later that night and might invite him along. Then, when he and Jimmy show up at her house the next day? What was she to do? Slam the door in their faces? No. He predicted she’d invite them inside.

A pair of long legs extending from the shortest dress yet drew his attention back to the runway. Jimmy should have come along not made other plans. Claiming no interest in a fashion show, he’d bailed to meet old friends. At Macy’s, Dave had purchased jeans and a pullover for him, too. He’d expected him to be here tonight. Not to say he needed company. The idea was to show Allie something positive about Jimmy. Let her see he had grown into a man and was no longer the doofus who had once lived next door. Make a better impression on her. But Jimmy hadn’t been dissuaded.

Dave supposed it was okay so long as Jimmy behaved himself. If he caused trouble with the cops, he’d ruin everything.

And they were only hours away from the solid-gold prize.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Allie closed her mind to the activity taking place beyond the curtain. Christopher Tennant’s deep voice was exponentially magnified by the microphone, and she found it distracting. At least she could temporarily put her fears to rest with Ben and Detective Thompson close by.

Behind the scenes, there was chaos all around her. Clothes were whipped on and off models, designers called for makeup or hair adjustments. Fiona whined for a quick cigarette break, which Allie refused. With no access to the cool air outside, the rising heat in the dressing area shortened tempers. One female hairstylist, experiencing her own bad hair day, had threatened to quit. Adding to that, Michaela’s inquisition about Ben caused Allie’s jaw to clench. Earlier, the designers and models were warned to keep their voices down, but few obeyed the rule.

“You aren’t going to tell me?” Michaela returned the cocktail dress to its garment bag then unzipped one containing an evening gown. A strapless swirl of ruby taffeta, it featured an above the elbow, sheer lace cape of the same hue. Fiona would slip the cape off mid-runway.

Allie sidestepped the question, as she had several others, with a shrug.

A hairdresser, one who managed to keep his cool, stood behind Fiona, who sat slumped in her chair. Banned from smoking, her cheeks and mouth crimped in a pout, at least no worse than the look models oftentimes adopted when they strutted down the catwalk.

“What would you like me to do, sweetie?” The hair stylist addressed Allie. He held a thick skein of pale blonde hair above Fiona’s head. “I can do a twist, French knot, side sweep, a poof on top…”

“Don’t tell me you just met up with him tonight.” Michaela removed the taffeta evening gown from its garment bag and held it aloft to keep the hem off the floor.

Allie glanced from the gown to Fiona’s hair. After a few moments pause, she said, “Do a French knot.”

“Good choice.” The stylist worked his magic in less than five minutes.

A swell of applause filtered through the curtain. Christopher Tennant’s voice rose above it. A model as thin as a sapling reentered the dressing area. Her gown, a backless and nearly frontless form-hugging pink satin slashed almost to the waist, was held up by two extremely narrow near-invisible straps, giving the illusion that gravity had somehow ceased to exist. Minus the fur-trimmed hem, Allie guessed the gown might have posed stiff competition.