Friends and Lovers Trilogy 02 - Charmed (5 page)
Read Friends and Lovers Trilogy 02 - Charmed Online
Authors: Beth Ciotta
Chapter FiveMurphy glanced down at his cell phone willing it to ring. Six hours since initial contact and he’d yet to hear from Bogie. It wasn’t the waiting that chafed—he was well acquainted with the boredom of surveillance—it was the lack of information. The sooner he knew specifics, the sooner he could devise a plan. If he was to maintain covert protection twenty-four/seven he’d need to contact a relief man, someone to sit watch while he grabbed a couple hours of sleep, showered, and changed into fresh clothing. Unfortunately, the core members of his protective team, the four men he trusted most in this world aside from Bogie, were on holiday. After six months on assignment in Washington DC and a month with Albert Nibler, the eccentric convenience store mogul, the team had agreed to take a three-week break. Even though he knew they’d come running, Murphy refrained from making that call. Rejuvenation was key for a sharp mind and steady nerves. His team was superior. He aimed to keep it that way. He had another ace up his sleeve, a trusted local. A pain in his ass, but a top-notch professional.
If the threat necessitated one-on-one coverage, he’d have to have a heart-to-heart with Lulu. He’d have to encroach on her lifestyle in a major, personal way. That option, though tricky, held a thrill factor hard to ignore.
He’d participated in countless high-risk operations and met a lot of interesting people, saintly
and
disreputable. But he’d never experienced a phenomenon like Lulu Ross. Fifteen minutes in her company and he was captivated. Part of him wanted to bury himself inside of her, to meld with all that sunshine and goodness. The other part, the logical, cynical part, wanted to give her a full-body shake, a wake-up call to his world. The real world. A chaotic, dismal battlefield overrun by drug dealers, rapists, kidnappers, and assassins.It was a clichéd shame, but sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind. She’d waded into a pool of deep shit. How in the hell was she going to see her way out wearing rose-colored glasses?
At this point, even with his eyes wide open, he was operating in the dark. Until Bogie called all he had to go on was gut instinct and logical assessment. All signs pointed to his current number one theory: the princess had a dangerous admirer. The question was how dangerous? How far would the stalker go? Was she a fixation to be adored from afar? Or would he make physical contact? Could this escalate into a potential kidnapping with the threat of sexual assault? It wasn’t a pretty thought, but Bogie didn’t mix with pretty people.
Murphy didn’t look forward to having
that
particular discussion with the princess. He could picture her rolling those nut-brown eyes. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about her flipping out and falling apart, because she wasn’t going to believe him. She struck him as a free-spirit, the type who operated under the illusion that bad things only happen to other people. He could envision her gliding through life on her pink-wheeled roller skates, head in the clouds, oblivious to political, criminal, and world affairs. He’d be surprised if she watched CNN or read the newspaper, although she probably devoured the comics.Once upon a time he’d been that innocent and carefree.
Yeah. When I was five.
He wasn’t sure if he was appalled or envious.Speak of the devil, or in this case, the angel, Lulu burst through her front door and trotted toward her car wearing … could it be?
Yes, thank you Jesus, jeans and sneakers.
She’d thrown on another shaggy coat, only this one was waist-length and either white or pink in color, he couldn’t tell. Given that her yard lamp bathed the perimeter in rosy hues, even her madcap curls, now divided into two perky pigtails, looked pink.
No mistaking the color of the poodle purse.He shook his head as he fired up the Jag. If Bogie were a prankster he’d begin to suspect this case was an elaborate joke to lighten his dark mood. Except Bogie never joked about work, and Murphy hadn’t let on to his friend that he’d been in a funk. Bogie would want to know why. Murphy didn’t have an answer. Besides, delving into his psyche was not his idea of fun. He’d get over this … restlessness. Distraction was the key. And the mother of distractions had just backed her pink Beetle out of the driveway.
He glanced at his digital clock as he maneuvered the Jag two car lengths behind the Bug. It was 2100 hours on a Saturday night. “Where are we headed, Princess?” In anticipation of Bogie’s call, he fit his headset over his right ear while cursing Lulu’s driving. The woman drove like a maniac, swerving in and out of heavy traffic as she barreled toward the bright lights of Atlantic City. Disregarding the speed limit, she gunned through multiple yellow lights. Murphy ran two reds in order to keep her in sight. Luckily there weren’t too many pink Beetles on the road. On the other hand, she was an easy mark for a stalker.
Another topic of discussion: less obvious transportation.
At first he’d thought she was heading for a casino like the rest of the incoming traffic, but she continued north on Atlantic Avenue toward the Inlet, a section of town presently under reconstruction because of a city-funded renewal project. After making a series of turns and navigating a new single-home subdivision, they came upon a row of Victorian town homes. Lulu zipped her car into a tight space between an SUV and a stretch limo. She hopped out and race-walked for the door marked one-thirty-four.
Murphy parked the Jag across the street, two doors down. He had his night-vision binoculars in hand in time to see her move into the arms of a good-looking, shaggy-haired man. He kissed her on both cheeks, hugged her close, and then pulled her inside and shut the door.
“I’m not seeing anyone
.”Then who was Mr. Friendly?
He spent the next hour replaying that affectionate hug, wondering what they were doing inside that townhouse, and fighting off an obnoxious opponent: jealousy. He was beginning to think that he should’ve taken his teammates’ lead and escaped to a tropical isle to refresh. Sucker punched by the green-eyed monster. A freaking mindblower exacerbated by the fact that Lulu was a veritable stranger.
Twenty minutes later, Bogie still hadn’t called and Murphy’s need for information escalated. His principal exited the townhouse flanked by two men. Mr. Friendly and a hulking guy that could have passed for Sylvester Stallone on steroids. All three climbed into that stretch limo, Sly at the wheel.
Time to go with the ace up his sleeve: the trusted local, Jake Leeds. A private investigator with an agenda Murphy respected. Too bad Jake had a bug up his ass. At one time they’d actually been pretty tight. But that was before Murphy had slept with the man’s sister.
He switched on his headlights and followed the limo at a discreet distance while getting the private investigator on the line.
Jake answered on the fourth ring. “If this is about Joni—”
“It’s not.” Amazing how Caller ID had negated automatic cheerful greetings.
“Because she’s happily married.”
“To Carson. I know.”
“They have a new baby daughter—”
“Kylie. Your niece. I know. I just spoke to Joni last week. Congratulations, Uncle.”
The man grunted. “Every time I lament the fact that that sweet baby’s father is a musician I remind myself that it could’ve been worse. It could’ve been you.”
Murphy plowed on, ignoring an increasingly familiar ache in his chest. “Whether you believe it or not, Jake, I really do love your sister and wish her only the best.”
“Then stay out of her life.”
“Can’t do that. Listen, can we move past this?”
“No.”
“Great.” Murphy blew over the man’s hostility, banking on his core ethics. “I need an ID on two men. They just escorted my principal, a woman, out of a townhouse and into a limousine.”
“Against her will?”
Jake’s swift change of tone came as no surprise. When the safety of women and children was at stake, the man was blind to all else, including ancient grudges. “I don’t think so. But I can’t be sure. I don’t know what I’m dealing with, Jake. I’m acting on a tip that this woman’s in danger. I have no specifics.”
“Hold on. I’m booting up my laptop. Is she a local?”
“Lives in Margate. Luciana Ross.” He dictated her home address. “Might’ve picked up a stalker. I need your help and I need this to remain between us.”
“Got it.” No questions asked.
Murphy’s tension eased knowing he had a trusted ally on the case. Now if Bogie would just call.
“Let’s start with the two men,” Jake said. “Determine if she’s in immediate danger. What’s the address of the townhouse?”
Murphy recited the information along with the limo’s tag numbers, while negotiating bumper-to-bumper traffic. They were back in the heart of Atlantic City.
Jake sighed. “Is this a joke?”
“Am I laughing?”
“I know that address as well as my own. It’s the residence of Rudy Gallow.”
“Approximately five foot ten? Mid-twenties? Wavy, shoulder-length hair?”
“That’s Jean-Pierre Legrand. Rudy’s partner. Rudy’s six-three. Short, dark hair. Coatee.”
“The one driving the limo. Is he in the business?”
Built like a football player. Big as a barn and mean-looking.
Gallow fit Lulu’s stereotypical description of a bodyguard to a tee.“No. I know he looks menacing, but he’s cool. He’s a chauffeur. Runs a limo service.”
“How do you know him?”
“He’s my wife’s best friend.”
“No shit.” Murphy raised an amused brow. “You’re comfortable with that?” Jake was a control-freak. Over-possessive and overprotective of those he loved. No one knew that better than Murphy. And, according to Joni, Jake was head over heels, crazy in love with his new wife, Afia. He couldn’t imagine the controlling P.I. embracing a cozy friendship between his wife and another man. Especially when that man had the face and body of a Hollywood action star.
“You can relax,” Jake said. “Luciana’s in safe company. Although I can’t say the same for Rudy and JP, can I?” He swore. “Afia’s not going to like this.”
“Afia’s not going to know.”
“Right.” He swore again. “How long have you been on the case?”
“Since this afternoon.”
“And you have zip on your client?”
“Nickname’s Lulu. Stage name’s Princess Charming.”
“An actress?”
“Works with kids.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Cute, bubbly, young. A real Pollyanna. She’s got a man-magnet sister and a dotty grandmother. Other than that, I’m clueless,” Murphy admitted. “Can you run a background check?”
“Give me an hour. How do I get in touch?”
“My cell. If I don’t answer, leave a text message.”
“You’re flying solo on this?”
“The team’s on hiatus.”
Jake made a sound in the back of his throat. “Didn’t figure I was your first choice.”
“You’re my only choice in this instance.” Murphy reflected on his conversation with Joni. On Jake’s domestic bliss and how he and his wife were trying to have a baby. The man deserved to know what he was getting into. “Joe Bogart’s involved.”
Five seconds of silence followed by a muffled, “Fuck.”
Murphy scraped his hand along his jaw. “You want out?”
“Hell, no. What do you take me for?”
“A happily married man. Wouldn’t blame you for wanting to play things safe.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be happy if something happened to Rudy and JP. They’re my friends too.
Afia
would be devastated. Even if they don’t figure into this mess, what about the Pollyanna princess? Uh-uh. You called me, I’m in.”“Good.”
“Where are you now?” Jake asked, pushing them past awkward niceties.
Murphy stated his location while following the limo down a side street and into a crowded parking lot adjacent to
Oz,
a recently expanded multi-entertainment facility. Due center: Emerald City, a trendy dinner theater. The Wicked Witch west wing featured Flying Monkeys, a Euro-hip rave for partying twenty-somethings. Over The Rainbow skywalk and to the east stood Ruby Slippers, a popular alternative lifestyle dance club.“Oh, man,” the P.I. said with a smile in his voice. “You going in?”
“If they do,” Murphy said, suddenly clear on why Jake wasn’t jealous of his wife’s relationship with Rudy Gallow.
Jake laughed. “Watch your ass.”
“You’re a riot, Leeds. Just call me when you have something.” Murphy signed off, pocketed his cell, and ditched the headset. His adrenaline pumped as he watched the trio link arms and hustle toward Ruby Slippers. A couple of Auntie Ems and a Lulu. Oh, and her little dog, Toto, the stuffed pink poodle wonder.
This case was quickly progressing into the realm of the bizarre.
He locked away his Glock on the chance the club’s bouncers patted down incoming clientele, left the Jag, and crossed the street. Saturday night in the gaming playground of the east. Suspicious characters abounded.
He eyed the drunk propped up against a neighboring building with a brown-bagged liquor bottle tipped to his mouth. The two stiletto-heeled prostitutes cruising Pacific Avenue. A rowdy gang of bandana-headed teens. And, dead ahead, the line of patrons awaiting entrance into Ruby Slippers. The majority, mostly men, looked as though they’d stepped off the cover of
GQ Magazine
—hip hair, chic clothes. Somewhat of a clothing junkie himself, Murphy assumed he’d have no trouble blending in—the objective if he were to keep an eye on Lulu—as long as he didn’t insult the first guy who asked him to dance.To think this morning he’d been hungry for a challenge.
Chapter SixThere is no hope of joy except in human relations.
Rudy Gallow blocked out the deafening disco music and mentally chanted the obscure quote—
Antoine de Saint-Exupery was it?
He closed his eyes and breathed deep, willing positive thoughts. Nothing positive would come from reaching across the table and popping his roommate and current lover in his interfering pretty-boy nose. Jean-Pierre hadn’t known what a trial it would be for Rudy when he’d volunteered his chauffeur services to the current entertainment coordinator of Oz, Anthony Rivelli. Didn’t believe Rudy when he’d said he’d rather endure a business slump than get pulled back into the club scene.Or maybe he had, and this was all a test. A test to see if Rudy, the former King of Quickies, was capable of frequenting Ruby Slippers on a regular basis without being tempted to stray and indulge, well, in a quickie.
Or worse, maybe after spending every night of the last four months with him, maybe Jean-Pierre was bored. Yes, they had a common love of gourmet low-cal cooking, classic movies, and Broadway musicals. But Jean-Pierre also liked to party. Rudy knew that before they’d hooked up, because he used to party himself. He’d never been into drugs, never abused alcohol, but he did like to dance.
And screw around.
Ruby Slippers had been his second home for several years. Being here now brought back a flood of memories–most good, most illicit. He knew at least a quarter of tonight’s patrons intimately.
Hell.
He lifted a full glass of cabernet to his mouth and drank deeply.
Oblivious to his troubled thoughts, Jean-Pierre scooted closer and draped his arm across the back of Rudy’s chair. “This is nice, no? This working together?”
“No.” The man’s naturally seductive voice coiled Rudy’s stomach into a delicious knot. Until he’d met Jean-Pierre, he’d never thought a French accent all that sexy. Maybe it wasn’t the accent as much as the man.
Damn,
he was turning into a sap.Jean-Pierre eased back, the glow of the table’s singular candle illuminating his chiseled features. “No?”
Genuine hurt shone in his partner’s long-lashed eyes and Rudy instantly regretted his gruff tone. He set down his glass and dragged a hand down his neatly-trimmed goatee. “We’re not working together, Jean-Pierre. I’m chauffeuring specialty entertainers to and from Oz as dictated by Rivelli. You’re designing costumes for Flying Monkeys’ cage dancers and Ruby Slippers’ drag queens. In the two weeks since we started, we’ve barely crossed paths.”
“You misunderstand,” the younger man said. He paused, stroked the stem of his own wine glass in a sensual manner. Then again Jean-Pierre could sneeze and Rudy would find that sexy. “I meant that it is nice that we are working together to make our dream come true.”
The bed and breakfast lodge in Vermont. Rudy had once mentioned that he wanted more than a toss in the sack; he wanted Christmas in Vermont. A meaningful relationship. Jean-Pierre had taken the notion a step beyond, suggesting they relocate someplace quiet and start their own business. Somehow—amazing since neither possessed the required experience—they’d come up with the idea of opening a bed and breakfast retreat. Of course, at the time they’d been tipsy on sangria and delirious from an all-night movie fest.
Since then Rudy had been struggling to keep his freelance chauffeur business afloat. He’d been ready to drop his Tae Kwon Do class and gym membership when Jean-Pierre had dragged him into a meeting with Anthony Rivelli, the former casino executive who’d established the glitzy wardrobe policy at the Carnevale. The policy that kept Jean-Pierre up to his neck in costume creations and alterations.
“Okay,” Rudy conceded, easing his clenched jaw. “Maybe I did need the steady work.” Rivelli had put him on Oz’s payroll. With the exception of an occasional run to Manhattan, most of his bookings were local. Shame washed over him. Instead of bitching, he should be thanking Jean-Pierre for the cake job. But, dammit, pride and the feeling that it was too good to be true caused him to stumble. “You, however, already work full time at the Carnevale. You’re going to run yourself ragged with this second job.”
“Moi?” Jean-Pierre flashed a cocky grin. “I have the energy of ten men,
mon amour
.”“Tell me about it.” Jean-Pierre Legrand had the lasting power of the damned Energizer bunny. The man was tireless on multiple fronts. Rudy felt a familiar stirring south of his belt. And more importantly in his heart. He could envision his best friend, Afia, shaking her finger at him, saying,
“When are you going to get it through your thick head that this is the real thing?”Well, damn.
“I’m acting like a bitch tonight, aren’t I?”Jean-Pierre smiled. “We’ll leave after Virginia Hamm does her set. I promised Anthony I would check out her costumes. He thinks she can do better.”
“Meaning you can do better.”
The man winked. Modesty was not his strong suit.
Rudy sipped his cabernet, his gaze drifting toward the lively dance floor. Though he and Jean-Pierre were sitting alone, they hadn’t come alone. “Virginia doesn’t go on until 1:00 a.m. It’s not even midnight and we’ve already been here for two hours.” He nodded toward the whirling dervish in the pink high-top sneakers dancing with a couple of Ruby Slippers’ regulars.
Been there, done them,
he thought while draining his glass.
Dammit.
“I’m worried about Lulu.”Jean-Pierre nodded, his expression perplexed. “Earlier tonight she was so … preoccupied. Now she is most, how do you say, wound up.”
On cue, Lulu waggled her fingers at her dance partners and zigzagged through the crowd to get to her friends. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun!” She kissed Rudy on the cheek and plopped into Jean-Pierre’s lap. “Thank you for letting me tag along.”
“But of course,
Chaton
.” Jean-Pierre smiled at her, and then turned to Rudy and shrugged.Hmm. If he didn’t know better he’d think the mutual friend they’d dubbed “kitten” was hammered. But he knew better, and so did Jean-Pierre, hence, their bewilderment. Lulu didn’t drink. She didn’t flirt. She didn’t date. She certainly didn’t bump and grind with half-naked men. Of course, these men were gay, hence, safe, but still.
“No, seriously,” she shouted over the blaring music. “You’re the best.” She pursed glossy pink lips around a straw and noisily slurped the remnants of her soda. Then she poked Jean-Pierre in the shoulder and sprang to her feet. “Let’s dance!”
The Frenchman stared up at her, his brow crinkling with concern. “You have been dancing for one hour straight,
Chaton.
Sit. Catch your breath.”She threw her hands in the air and waved her arms in time with the pulsing rhythm. “But I
love
this song.”A club mix from the
Queer As Folk
soundtrack. “Do you even
know
this song?” Rudy asked, mildly amused.“No,” she said, seemingly entranced by the colorful laser lights bouncing across the mirrored panels of the upper level. “But so what? It has a great beat.”
She wiggled her hips seductively, catching the eye of a nearby femme. Not wanting the woman to waste her time, Rudy smiled and waved her off before she made her way over to proposition Lulu. Then he looked to his own partner for help.
Jean-Pierre rose and maneuvered Miss Happy Feet into a chair. “The next song, I promise, I am all yours. Just now I need you to keep Rudy company while I purchase another round of drinks.”
“Why don’t we all switch to water,” Rudy suggested, worried that although she’d downed three sodas, she might be in danger of dehydrating. Her face was flushed, and her cartoon T-shirt was damp with perspiration.
“Whatever,” she said, shimmying in her chair while tightening her springy pigtails. She’d been dancing non-stop and still had the energy of a six-year-old, making him feel twice his age and then some.
Jean-Pierre mouthed, “Keep an eye on her,” and then reached over and gave Rudy’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze before elbowing his way toward the three-person-deep bar.
The heat of the Frenchman’s touch lingered, and he found himself staring after his sexy lover, possible soul mate. He
wanted
to believe they were lifetime partners, but Jean-Pierre was several years younger than he, and realistically, they were still in the honeymoon phase of the relationship. He jammed his hand through his spiky hair and sighed. How many self-help books was he going to have to read before he actually got the hang of this commitment thing?“I know,” Lulu said, misinterpreting his befuddled expression. “He’s so gorgeous and
soooo
sweet.” She clasped her hands together and giggled. “I could just eat him up.”Rudy tapped his fingers on the table, trying to discern if they had a problem. As she was naturally warm and enthusiastic, he wouldn’t have given Lulu’s blinding vibrancy a second thought, except earlier this evening she brooded about Sofie’s mystery admirer. Then when they’d first entered Ruby Slippers, she’d elected to sit at the table sipping her soda while he and Jean-Pierre danced. Now they couldn’t keep her off the floor and she was anything
but
reserved. Had someone bought her an alcoholic drink when they hadn’t been looking? Had she been too polite to refuse? For a teetotaler, one strong drink was a sure-fire ticket to happy land.The woman faltered in the face of his silence, her cheeks blooming a deeper shade of red. “Not that I would. Eat him up … or anything.” She tugged at the hem of her T-shirt. “I mean he’s taken. By you. And besides he’s not my type, if you catch my drift.”
Rudy grinned.
Both elbows on the table, she cupped her chin in her hands and sighed. “Do you know how lucky you are, Rudy?”
He looked around the room, sized up the lonely singles trying to hook up, and acknowledged the swell in his heart. “Damned lucky. Sometimes it seems too good to be true.”
She smiled, but it was a winsome expression, one that compelled him to raise a subject he knew she hated.
He leaned forward and rested a calming hand on her bouncing leg. “So what is your type, honey? What are you waiting for? What are you afraid of? Trust me, I’ve been around, and they’re not all schmucks like Terry. You just have to open your heart. Be willing to take a chance.” God knows he was doing that with Jean-Pierre.
“Do you hear that?” she asked, blowing over his questions. “I
love
that song!” A remix of a Bill Medley/Jennifer Warnes tune blared over the state-of-the-art speaker system, and before he knew it she was out of her seat and halfway to the dance floor. “Tell Jean-Pierre I’ll be back!”Rudy groaned, wondering how he was going to keep an eye on her when she’d disappeared into the throng of writhing bodies. Unless he joined those writhing bodies on the dance floor. Those mostly male, mostly shirtless, toned, writhing bodies. The old him would have jumped at the chance to get up close and nasty with a few of those tasty cakes. The new him hustled to the bar in search of Jean-Pierre. This was definitely a team effort.
Lulu refused to let Rudy dampen her night with his soul-searching questions. She’d almost blurted that Murphy was her type, but that was ludicrous. The man carried a gun. He was so not her type. Okay, he was extremely handsome. And charismatic. And … fine, sure, a little … a lot sexy, but that didn’t mean he was Mr. Right. Mr. Right would have to meet specific requirements, and she was certain Colin Murphy would crap out. He was, after all, Alpha and Irish, and the combination equaled old-fashioned and family driven. Not that that was a bad thing. In fact, under normal circumstances that would be a very good thing. Too bad her circumstances weren’t normal.
She palmed her sweaty brow. Why was she even giving that man a second thought? He represented trouble and she wanted no part of it. She shoved him out of her mind and focused on her dance partner, a non-threatening, skinny red-headed guy with kind eyes and great moves. She was footloose and fancy-free. She was having the time of her life!
A re-mix of the theme from
Dirty Dancing
roared over the speakers. She loved this song. Loved the movie. Loved the way shy, innocent, Baby’s eyes were opened to an exciting world by Johnny Castle, that older, oh-so-sexy dance instructor.She shut her eyes and a vivid image of Murphy exploded behind her lids. She envisioned his arms around her waist, his thigh wedged between her legs. Imagined them swaying, grinding … the heat of him, the scent of him … primal, intoxicating …
She forced her eyes open to maintain her balance and lost herself in the chaotic lighting, pulsing music, and mingling scents of fragrant hair gels and body colognes. Her senses tingled. Absolutely, she’d never felt this way before. She twirled, gyrated, and bopped. Her partner, a guy named Jim, was here with Harry, but Harry didn’t like to fast dance. Jim was gay, which was perfect, because she could dirty dance to her heart’s content, and he wouldn’t care. He was into dancing, not her body. She wanted to feel sexy, but she didn’t want to have sex.
Sofie would call her crazy. But she just wanted to know that part of her, the sensual part, was still working. She didn’t need the rejections or the consequences that went along with making love. She just wanted to … express herself.
