Mama Said (3 page)

Surprisingly, he let the matter drop. “My brief foray into Florida was in the middle of a hurricane, so you don’t need to tell me about bad weather.”

“Bad timing? Bad luck? Or one of those storm chasers looking for trouble?”

“None of the above or all of the above, depending on your perspective. In the army I went where I was told. Usually, at least.”

A rebel. Now that wasn’t any big surprise. “Didn’t take you for the military type, but should have guessed. You have a certain rigidity about you.” Turning in her seat, she gave him a hint of a smile. “Lining up the bottles and glasses behind the bar like they were standing in an inspection line was a good clue.”

“Some things you can’t shake no matter how hard you try.” Between his driving prowess and the empty streets, they were already close to the hotel.

“You’ve traveled the world. A woman in every port, no doubt.”

“Only when the mood arises.” He cleared his throat. “So to speak. I’ve never been much good at that long-term-relationship thing.”

“We’ve already established you’re anal and afraid of commitment. What else is lurking behind that gruff exterior of yours? What other secrets are you hiding?” If he wanted to play twenty questions, she had every right to do the same.

“What you see is what you get with me. I’ll never be accused of being charming or polite or beating around the bush. My partner Garrett takes care of that end of the business.” He smiled. “Unfortunately, you probably won’t get a chance to see the charming side of the business; Garrett’s gone away on personal business for what could be several months.”

“I see.” Of all the bad luck. “With the charming side missing, won’t that put a dent in business?”

“Most people don’t care if their detective is charming, as long as he’s good. If people want straight answers, I give them. You want to know if your wife is cheating on you, I’ll lay it out. But I’ve also learned that sometimes people don’t really want the truth. They don’t want to know that their decades-younger trophy wife is stepping out on them because they can’t get it up anymore without the help of Viagra. Or that the sight of their potbelly and sagging butt isn’t a turn-on, even with their fat bank account.” His cynicism was nearly palpable.

“I bet a lot of people are hoping their suspicions are false, even though they see the evidence right before their own eyes.” Hadn’t that happened to her a time or two, or three hundred? Most times she’d have to get slapped square in the face with evidence, or she’d stay exactly where she felt most comfortable—blissfully ignorant.

“Exactly. And when I point out the obvious, guess who they get mad at?”

“So you don’t like managing a bar and you don’t like being a detective. What do you like to do, Mr. O’Neil?”

He pulled in front of the hotel, got out, and came around to her side when the doorman opened the car door. To her surprise, he grasped her elbow as they walked inside. In retrospect, she suspected he was probably worried she might run upstairs and barricade herself in her room and refuse to check out. If she thought for a minute she could outrun him, she might have tried.

As further evidence he didn’t trust her, he dismissed her plea for him to wait in the lobby, took her cardkey, and pressed the elevator button. “I never said I don’t like being a detective. In fact, I enjoy the puzzle, figuring it all out, digging for evidence. It’s the people skills I lack.”

Understatement of the century. “If you could live your life alone, that would be perfect. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Pretty much. Except for the occasional night of straight up, no commitment sex, of course.” He gave her a wicked smile that she felt clear down to her hooyah.

As she tried to understand this new masochistic side of herself, the elevator dinged, signaling her floor. After walking the short distance to the room, he swiped the cardkey through the slot, opened the door, and followed her inside. He stopped dead in his tracks and did a slow visual sweep of the room.

Uh-oh. She’d seen this coming.

Hands on his hips, he scowled. “Tell me you had a break-in.”

Discarded clothes and underwear covered the bed. Shoes were strewn all over the floor. They had to dodge a graveyard of discarded Jimmy Choos and Manolo Blahniks as they moved around the room.

“Nope. Pretty much the way I left it.” She shrugged, hoping against hope he’d get frustrated and go downstairs to wait. She didn’t want him eyeballing her the whole time. “I guess you know why my mother calls me
Hurricane
Gabriella
.”

He showed no sign of leaving. Feeling the tiniest bit self-conscious, she began to pick up shoes while working her way towards the closet.

He drew his hands through his thick hair, utter exasperation playing across his features. “This makes me crazy.”

She’d be willing to bet his closet was organized by color, with each hanger exactly one-half inch from the one next to it. A small cache of shoes was no doubt standing in perfect line formation on the floor.

“You can go downstairs and wait.” It was as if it were the first time he’d ever seen a little bit of mess.

“I’ll help. I’d like to get to bed before 6
A.M.
if it’s all the same to you.”

Anxious to get away from his scowl, she made her way towards the bathroom. “I’ll get started in here.” Besides, if he saw that mess, he’d freak out for sure.

“And I’ll start filling these suitcases. I hope they’ll fit into my car. You do know this gig is only for a month, don’t you?” As he unzipped a suitcase, he glanced up.

“I tend to over pack. I’ve got a lot of stage clothes, and I never know what I’m going to feel like wearing on any given night. I like to be prepared for anything.” Misplaced guilt had her explaining something that she considered completely understandable.

“So I see.” As he spoke, he picked up her blue sequined dress, folded it carefully, and placed it into one of the largest suitcases.

By the time she’d finished in the bathroom with makeup, hair stuff, and bath products not-so-neatly shoved into a duffle bag, he’d packed up the majority of her dresses and had made a dent in corralling the vast shoe population. Two full suitcases were loaded and ready to go. Not only was this guy orderly, he was fast.

He eyed her as he opened one of the drawers and shoveled out half the contents of Victoria’s Secret underwear department, and placed the garments in neat stacks within the third and final suitcase. The intimacy of the moment zinged along her spine, and for the first time in a long while, she felt her face flush while her hormones stood at attention. A visual of twisted sheets and sweaty bodies slammed into her with the subtlety of a freight train.

Goose bumps broke out on her arms as she suddenly had the crazy idea of doing something incredibly stupid. She was definitely losing it.

How could she even think about sex with somebody who was such a control freak? Sex should be uninhibited, fun, spontaneous. He’d admitted he didn’t do fun.

Sex with him would be like humping a robot. Wouldn’t it? Oh, God, did she really want to think it might very well be the opposite?

To short circuit her current thought pattern, she forced her mouth back into action. “O’Neil. With your dark hair and blue eyes, I wouldn’t have figured you for Irish.”

That worked for a few seconds until she started thinking about his torso and what it would look like. She had no doubt his abs would be sculpted and toned. Would his chest have a sprinkling of hair or be more like a fur coat? Similar questions ran through her curious mind until he spoke.

“Nope. Got the name by default.” He avoided looking at her while he continued his mission to pack every article into its proper place.

By default? What did that mean? A mystery to circumvent her sexual fantasies could be a good thing.

While she desperately wanted to probe, bring out the torture devices if she had to, something made her stop short. “My mom’s black. My dad was Spanish. They were opera singers and met in Italy. My dad’s been dead for ten years, but I still miss him every day.”

“What happened?”

“Heart attack. He died instantly. It took us a while to pick up the pieces, but my family is tight and pulled each other through. I have two brothers, one older, one younger, two sisters, and a niece. When you count all my cousins and second cousins… let’s just say it’s a good thing we live in Florida because family gatherings have to be outside. No one house could handle all those people or all that noise with everyone talking at once. How about you? Do you have any siblings?”

“A stepbrother.”

“Technically my oldest brother, Enrique, is actually a stepbrother, but I never think of him that way. Does your brother live in Chicago?”

He nodded. “Yep. But we don’t talk. He’s the good O’Neil boy. I’m the bad one who inherited the name by proxy.”

As she worked through his phraseology in her mind, Gabriella put her hand on top of the last suitcase and zipped it closed. “Your stepdad adopted you?” Although he was doing a good job of convoluting the story with innuendos and bits of information, it was the only thing that made any sense.

“I’m Italian and Native American. But I never knew my biological father because he took off before I was born. My mother wouldn’t marry my stepfather unless he legally adopted me.” He gave a wry smile. “Coercion works great at strengthening that father-son bond.”

She wasn’t a shrink, but even she knew his revelation explained a lot about the man Shane had become. “Your mom?”

“Dead. She died in a car accident when I was seventeen.” His eyes went misty for a second before he recovered.

She gulped in air, feeling the pain emanating from him in giant waves of grief, even though his mother’s death had to have been a very long time ago. “Your stepfather?”

“Are you kidding? That son of a bitch is alive and kicking, still doing his damnedest to make my life a living hell.”

“How so?”

“He’s a detective on the Chicago police force, along with my stepbrother. Need I say more? The last thing you want to do is have a cop for an enemy. My good fortune, I have two.”

“Why do they both hate you so much?”

“They both blame me for my mother’s death.”

CHAPTER THREE

What was wrong with him?

Starting with packing up a drawer full of the sexiest lingerie Shane had ever seen, the night had gone straight to hell. At the time, he’d thought the pornographic images flitting through his mind were bad enough. Then he’d done the unthinkable.

Shane didn’t tell anybody about his past, let alone somebody he’d met only a couple of hours earlier. At the rate he was going, he’d soon be spilling his guts about all the scars he had, both physical and emotional.

Must have been her constant yammering that forced him into some kind of altered state. The worse part was the pity he saw in her eyes after he’d told her about his mother. He could tell she wanted to ask more, though she didn’t.

“Are we good here?” He glanced around the room rather than look her in the eye. He didn’t want to know what he’d see there.

“You’re quick. You must have had a lot of practice.”

“Courtesy of the military.” Thankful for the change in topic, he relaxed. He picked up the three suitcases, wedging the smaller one under his right arm. “Let’s get going.”

“Is the apartment by the Blues Stop?” She followed behind him, lugging a small shoulder bag as they made their way toward the elevator.

“Not close enough to walk, especially in those heels.” He pointed to her feet as he followed her into the elevator. Watching her sashay ahead of him had its perks.

She giggled. “You’re right about that. These shoes were definitely not made for walking.” To top off her statement she wiggled her butt.

Shane squeezed his eyes shut and fought back the surge of lust. It was going to be a long month.

* * *

Gabriella yawned, sat up against the brass bed frame, and surveyed the room. A warm breeze fluttered the white eyelet curtains, bringing in a
whoosh
of air saturated with the mingled smell of lake water and car exhaust; a strange combination, but not totally unpleasant.

Shane O’Neil. She’d never met a man quite like him. And she’d certainly met more than her fair share of men.

In fact, her bad choices in men were legendary in the Santos family. No one, not even her five-year-old niece Santana, let her forget it. More than likely, Santana had picked up the bad habit of questioning her choices from her mother. But still, it was a little humiliating to hear a kindergartner ask if her current boyfriend is gainfully employed.

Instead of lingering on her shortcomings, she got out of bed and looked around. When she’d moved in at four in the morning, with exhaustion and tension dripping from every pore in her body, any place would have looked good. Seeing it now, she realized the apartment wasn’t too bad. Small and homey, it was furnished sparsely, but still had a good feel to it.

Determined to make this gig work, she gathered her hair into a band, threw on a t-shirt, shorts, and a pair of flip-flops, and walked down the narrow steps to the first floor. In the vestibule area, there were two doors: one leading outside, and one with
O’NEIL & RYAN INVESTIGATIONS
etched onto the glass. Both doors had key card access as in a hotel.

With her stomach grumbling and her head pounding from caffeine depravation, she made her way across the street to the diner. At noon, the street was filled with cars, the sidewalks jammed with people, but aside from the fact several other languages besides Spanish and English being spoken, it felt like home in many ways. People here seemed to come in all colors, with herself somewhere in the middle of the mix.

When she let herself inside the diner, a bell jangled overhead. The morning smells of strong coffee, pancakes, and sausages swirled in the air. On cue, her stomach grumbled. Spotting an empty stool along the counter, she took it.

Seconds later, a waitress wearing a bright blue shirt came to take her order. “What’ll you have?”

“First, I need to ask you to put it on Shane O’Neil’s tab. Is that okay?” Since Mr. Cranky had made her leave the hotel, she wasn’t going to let him get out of feeding her.

“We’ve got another one, Hank,” the woman shouted to a man visible in the kitchen area in back. “You’re the sixth new one this month. It’s amazing that guy doesn’t go broke.” The woman examined Gabriella for a few uncomfortable moments. “You’re much older than usual, and I’m not sure I need another waitress.”

“Me? Waitress?” Not in this lifetime. “I don’t need a job. I’m singing for Shane at the Blues Stop. He’s put me in the apartment above his office and told me to come here for my meals.”

The woman laughed. “Of course. I should have known.” She turned again to the man in back. “It’s that singer Shane told us about.”

For somebody who didn’t do much talking, Shane sure had gotten the word out. Funny how he’d never let her see that side of him yesterday.

“Do you think you could get me a cup of coffee?” While she waited, the waitresses hurried back and forth, calling out an endless series of orders to which Hank nodded in affirmation. A buzz of conversation made the place seem to bubble with excitement.

She really needed that coffee. Just then, the waitress, whose tag read
DORIS
, slid a cup in front of her, along with a small pitcher of cream and one of those glass-filled containers of sugar.

Drawing in a sip under the watchful eye of Doris, she let the caffeine make its way through her system and recharge her before she spoke. “I’m glad Shane had a chance to tell you about me.”

Doris rubbed her hands along her apron front. “Stopped by early this morning. Said you were good. That if the Blues Stop wasn’t such a dive, he thought you’d probably bring in the crowds.”

She couldn’t decide what surprised her more—that Shane had actually talked about her or that he’d said she was good. “I don’t know anything about Chicago, but I think if we could advertise somehow, it would bring people in.”

The man next to her stopped eating his eggs and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “What’s the name of the bar again?”

Somehow that conversation evolved into her being coerced into giving an impromptu performance. Not that she minded it much. Used to showcasing her talent, she didn’t require much prompting. Within two hours, she’d scribbled the address of the Blues Stop onto business cards, napkins, even on one of the patron’s arm, and was on her merry way.

When she re-entered the building this time, she heard sounds coming from inside the office. The thought that Shane would be inside working made her heart beat faster, although she couldn’t figure out why. Aside from a lapse for a few seconds when he’d told her about his mother, he’d acted as if she had an STD.

Oh, what the heck. After knocking, she opened the door and slipped inside.

Instead of Shane, she spotted a young girl with dark brown hair with golden highlights sitting behind a desk. The girl glanced up and smiled. “You must be Gabriella.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you.” It kind of surprised her to see Shane had an assistant. He was such a control freak she figured he did everything himself.

“I’m Carissa. Shane’s off to meet a client.”

“I just came from the diner.” She gestured across the street. “They all seemed to know Shane, but nobody in there has ever been to the Blues Stop.”

Carissa nodded. “Shane’s not encouraging business. But he did say your voice was amazing.”

Not interested in encouraging business? How weird was that? The guy must really want to dump the place regardless of any financial loss.

“Really?” The fact that he’d complimented her twice to two different people took her by surprise.

Carissa took a bite of her sandwich. “How do you like the apartment?”

“Nice. Kind of homey.” She didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot so she didn’t bother to add that it was more than she would have expected, given the circumstances.

Carissa took a gulp of her diet soda. “I stayed there before I got married.”

“You look too young to be married.” Gabriella figured the girl couldn’t be more than twenty-two or so.

“Jimmy and I have been together since we were teenagers. You might say we grew up together. We both ran away from home and lived on the streets before Shane found us jobs.” Carissa smiled and tapped her pen on top of the desk. “I love them both, Shane and Garrett. They saved our lives.”

“How did you find them? Or was it vice versa?” She was curious. Was Shane some kind of weird cult leader who hooked people with his charm and charisma? Almost as quickly as the thought came to mind it vanished. Shane couldn’t do charisma if a gun were held to his head.

“Shane and Garrett were working the streets trying to find a missing fifteen-year-old girl. They asked us some questions and offered us money and food. Somehow they kind of adopted us, you might say. Shane’s always doing that kind of thing for kids on the street.”

Certainly not at all what she’d expected. Now Doris’s comment was starting to make sense. He must have a reputation for taking in strays and feeding them at the diner. “That surprises me.”

Carissa laughed. “I’ll admit he scared the crap out of me at first. But I learned that underneath it all, he’s a pussycat.”

Not exactly the words she would have used to describe him, but to each his own. Clearly Shane was perfect in this young girl’s eyes. No use trying to burst her bubble.

She nodded as if she agreed. When the phone rang and Carissa picked it up, she scanned the room. A series of windows covered with wooden blinds for privacy lined the front. Two small but comfortable-looking couches sat on either side of a dark brown coffee table.

File cabinets lined a wall behind three desks. Carissa sat at one of the desks. There was no real clutter to speak of, except for a stack of papers.

Several licenses hung on the wall with one lone photograph. Curious, she walked over to examine it. Two men in army fatigues were posed outside a barracks-like structure, which had a Red Cross flag hanging outside. Younger by anywhere between five and ten years, Shane was one of the men. The other man must be Garrett.

Both men had their arms crossed against their chests, but only one was smiling—and it wasn’t Shane.

“Is this other guy Garrett?” She pointed to the picture.

Carissa nodded. “It was taken not long after—” Her words stopped abruptly, as if she’d said too much, even though she really hadn’t said anything.

Although she’d known Carissa less than five minutes, she already knew she wouldn’t get anything out of her. It was more than evident Carissa was loyal to Shane and Garrett. Nothing would get past her lips without a thorough screening process somewhere inside her head.

Fine. Like getting the scoop on Shane would help her somehow. Doubt it. So why waste the energy?

* * *

Gabriella would be the first to admit she was more than a little relieved when Shane called to say he couldn’t give her a ride because he had an appointment. She didn’t know why he felt compelled to pick her up and drop her off each night except for the fact he was a frickin’ control freak. Then again, maybe he didn’t trust her, or didn’t want to pay for a cab ride, or a combination of all of the above.

As soon as she got to the Blues Stop, she reeled Mack into her web of deception. “Is there a music system we could use in between sets?” She didn’t need to tell him Shane had already put the kibosh on the idea.

He nodded. “And tons of CDs.”

With more people, a little more ambiance, this could be a fun place despite Shane’s less than welcoming demeanor. “Just what I need.”

“If you want to pick some out, they’re in a box in the back of your dressing room.”

“Excellent.”

Before she could get completely away, he touched her arm. Immediately, the ‘yuk’ vibe skittered along her spine.

Mack’s tendency to be touchy-feely bothered her. Unlike Shane, he didn’t lay all his cards on the table. From his flashy clothes to his dodge and weave bravado, she knew instinctively she couldn’t trust him.

“I know Shane’s been rough on you. I’d understand if you wanted to finish your contract early. I could find a new singer. Not as good as you I’m sure, but…” Mack shrugged, looking the tiniest bit guilty. “I wouldn’t charge you a penalty fee or nothing.”

Gabriella eyed him for a few seconds, trying to decide if he was feeling sorry for her or had suddenly gone loco. More likely he’d been coerced onto Shane’s ‘let’s save a few bucks’ bandwagon. “I haven’t met a man yet who could scare me away.”

Mack bought her machismo act hook, line, and sinker. She knew better than to try that line with Shane, however. She probably wouldn’t have been able to finish the sentence before he called her on it.

But it didn’t matter now because Shane-boy wasn’t here. Yahoo! She glanced at her watch. Five minutes before seven on a Tuesday night and the twenty or so tables were nearly filled. A few stragglers sat at the bar.

While the place was small, it made it easier for her to play off the audience. Chatting with people as she moved from table to table was well within her comfort zone. She worked her way into the audience as she sang, teasing and flirting along the way. It was what she did best.

She perched her backside onto the corner of a table and crossed her legs, bouncing the top one up and down. “What can I sing for you tonight?”