The Dimple Strikes Back (28 page)

“The press is calling you Sherlock Samantha.” Danny grinned and leaned against the bed. “Did you really lay her out with brass knuckles?”

“I don’t remember it.” I shot a quick look at Sam, who blinked prodigiously. “But, yes, I carry around brass knuckles for my protection. In the US I carry Mace, but it’s not allowed in the UK.”

JenX smiled, nodded and patted me on the knee. “So, rest. Recover. Interviews.” She pointed. “Star.” And with that, she bopped out of the room.

“Production is shut down because of the police investigation,” Danny explained.

“You’re good at speaking director.”

“I like the way JenX does things,” Sam said. “Simple. To the point.”

Danny deigned to glance at Sam. “They said she drugged you, too?”

He shrugged. “I’m totally fine. It was Samantha she dragged into the museum to take hostage.”

My eyebrows lifted. Danny turned to me in concern. “I don’t remember anything.” It would be my mantra until the end of my days.

“She needs her rest.” Sam set a concerned hand on my shoulder. Oh, brother. They were gonna measure dicks again, but it never turned literal, dammit. “But thank you for coming by, Danny.”

“Of course I’m going to come by. The rest of the cast wants to, too…”

“I’m sure they’ll let me out of here soon.” I smiled at both of them. “We can all get a drink or something. Please thank everyone for the flowers and stuff.”

Danny turned to leave, and was beset by a tall, brown-haired whirlwind. “What in the actual
fuck
is going on here?”

Yay—Ellen!

Oh, shit—Ellen!

She stopped dead and pointed an indignant talon at Sam. “You,” she nearly spat.

“Ellen, you remember Danny.” I yelled it too loud, and my head throbbed.

My tone seemed to bring her out of her rage stroke, and she uncurled her lip. “Hey, Danny. Long time, no see.” Nicolette had followed Ellen into the room, and she now waved at everyone while also taking the time to frown at Sam.

“I’m so tired!” I gasped, putting a hand to my forehead and doing my best semi-swoon.

Danny made polite noises and hurried himself out. None of my other compatriots felt the need to leave. Sam hurried to the door and closed it.

Ellen plopped herself on my bed. “Are you okay? What did this devil man do to you?”

“Nothing! And I’m fine, thanks. He saved us both.” My BFF’s face screwed up into the precursor of a tirade, so I continued, “That’s all I can say right now. Dig? Later. Somewhere else. But I’m totally okay.”

“You don’t call. You don’t write. I have to see the fucking newspaper to discover that ‘Sherlock Samantha’ Lytton is in the hospital—”

I threw my arms around her. “I’m sorry!” Over her shoulder, I said to Nicolette, “I’m sorry to you, too. I’ll make it up to you. The rest of your vacation is on me. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Ellen said.

“Yes, she does.” Nicolette always knows what’s what.

My nurse came in then to give me another examination before they would let me go. My people all left with promises to meet me at my place—I gave the keys to Ellen. When everyone was finally gone, I sagged back in relief.

Had we really done it? Turned the tables on our nemeses?

“Will I play the violin again?” I asked the nurse.

She put her hand to my forehead. “Are you confused? Do you know what day it is?”

Having been working nights, I didn’t actually know what day it was. I guess bad American jokes like me don’t translate too well.

* * * *

That night—actual night, not morning night, this was seriously the worst jet lag in the history of jets or lags—Sam, Ellen, Nicolette and I yakked over pizza and beer in my apartment. Before we began, Sam swept for bugs, stole my hair recorder and powered off every cell phone in the place. He made Nicolette swear on Ellen’s life to never reveal what we spoke of in that living room. Ellen insisted that she’d not leave the room without the full story. Nicolette did it for Ellen’s sake. The fact that Sam/Zack wasn’t in jail told our lovely cop that he must be in league with the Brits, so that lent him some credibility.

My sneaky gut suspicion told me that Nicolette considered our adventures interesting, anyhow. Her eyes shone, even as she directed shady looks to Sam.

“Let me try and get the machinations of Sam’s devious mind straight,” began Ellen whilst lapping up a long string of pizza cheese.

“If you can,” said the devious mind deviously.

“After filming finished, you skulked after Shelley, because she was gross and not to be trusted.”

“Skulking,” I said, scooting closer to him on the couch. “That’s hot.”

He waggled his eyebrows and squeezed my thigh on the way to his beer bottle.

Ellen continued, sounding very much like the YA adventure writer she was. “You observed her donning a skeevy ski mask outside Samantha’s trailer.”

“Shifty,” added Nicolette.

“Even on the slopes, ski masks are shifty. Upon realising that Shelley was about to force the issue and undertake the devious robbery, the first thing you did was bolt to the security room—whereupon you found that the guards had already been locked in a closet—and turn off the system and the cameras.”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“You did not check on Samantha, who might have been shot by Shelley.”

I turned to him, frowning. “Hey! Yeah.”

He repaid my massive frown with interest. “Shelley had no reason to shoot Samantha. Samantha was worthless unless she was alive and inside the museum.”

“Worthless? These terms of endearment touch me greatly, darling.”

Massive eye roll. “I’m pretty sure Valerie’s plan involved using Samantha’s near-unfettered access on set to get Shelley inside when the museum shifted from filming personnel to the cleaning/normal overnight guard staffing, which was more minimal and, frankly, not as diligent as they are during the period when the museum is closing to the public. What? I’m trained to observe these things. Samantha’s second purpose was to serve as the patsy for the robbery because Shelley intended that she be filmed inside the museum.”

“I changed my mind. I’m glad you went for the cameras.” He made a face at me. I ignored his antics in favour of the pizza.

Nicolette’s eyebrows quirked. “How did you do that, by the way? Shut down the electronic security?”

“After Valerie told me I’d be robbing the museum, I put out feelers to buddies and learned whatever I could about the security. Not the first time it’s been broken into.”

Her eyes got wide, but she shook her head and didn’t ask for any more information.

“He learned how to be prepared at Thief Camp,” I told her.

The dimple smirked and said, “I got a merit badge in Pissing Off Authority Figures.”

Ellen gave him a round of applause. “I am always pro-fighting The Man.” She finished her beer and waved the bottle at me. That was our special signal for, ‘Skank, get me another beer’. So I did.

“To continue,” Ellen continued. “The security cameras are off. Sam joins the two ladies, and you three proceed into the museum. Sam tells Samantha to bust Shelley’s head, which she is only too happy to do.”

I held up a semi-impressive bicep.

“Then, you both stage a scenario in which Samantha has been taken hostage and fights back, allowing Shelley to be caught when Sam sets off the alarms on purpose and then drugs himself. All the while, leaving the cape there, but slightly busted.”

Sam nodded. “I left the Plexiglas slightly off the display case so that when I reset the alarm, all hell broke loose.”

Nicolette chuckled. “I admit, that’s pretty nice. But aren’t you worried that Valerie is still pissed and out for blood?”

He took my hand and squeezed it. Such a nice gesture, even though it interfered with me grabbing the last slice of sausage, which Ellen stole, the wretch. Sam said in a low voice, “Yes, but we’re hoping that Scotland Yard picks her up, and soon. I’ve told them everything. At least I think I have. I spilled my guts to a man in the park who knew a lot about me.”

Nicolette frowned. “You two had better go somewhere else. She’s been to this apartment?” I nodded, my heart thumping. “Yeah, y’all need to jet.”

“Yes, this was stupid of me.” Sam downed the last of his beer. “Pack it up, starlet. Let’s put you in a penthouse somewhere.”

I clutched my chest. “This is so much better than the first time you kidnapped me.”

“I’m gonna barf.” Ellen stood and wiped crumbs off her pants. “Have a care for my blood pressure.”

“Ellen.” Sam shot to his feet, his expression shockingly earnest. “Everything you know about me is terrible, I understand that. But I will tell you, though you have no reason to trust me, that I love her.” He hid his eyes towards the floor and breathed deep. “I love her more than I’ve loved anyone save my grandparents. And I will work the rest of my life to make her happy and safe.”

A sliver of softness broke through Ellen’s gaze, and she nodded at his obvious emotion. “’Cause if you don’t, I’ll kill you and use Nicolette to conceal the crime.”

Nicolette’s head popped up. “What?”

“Deal,” replied Sam.

* * * *

We stepped into one of the suites of the Stafford London about an hour later, registered under the assumed name of Sonny Malone. British country elegance greeted us from every angle. Sam tipped our bellhop and flashed me a dimple-riffic smile. I nearly knocked him over with the force of my hug and kisses. He immediately hurried me to the bed.

“I guess you like the hotel,” he said, scooping me onto the soft blanket.

“What I like is you telling my best friend how fabulous I am and how you’re devoting your every moment to my happiness.” I grabbed his T-shirt and yanked him down to my face, which is where his face needed to be.

He pulled back. “I don’t remember saying that exactly.”

“Yes, you did.” I ran a finger along his collarbone. “You said you worship me in every way and live to serve me, like a sexy slave. I believe you mentioned how you’d like to wear some sort of gladiator loincloth in my presence.”

The dimple twitched. “Funny how we remember things differently.” Despite his obviously shoddy memory, he pulled me into his embrace, and I settled in for a long, horizontal snuggle. His lips brushed the top of my head. “I really do love you, Lady Pain in the Ass.”

“Good. Because I lied to the cops for you again.”

Knock knock
. He sat up on one elbow, his head cocked. “Are we expecting anyone?”

Knock knock
. “Hello, Ms Lytton? It’s the police.”

The lady detective!

We both sat straight up. Sam swooped in close to my ear, his breath hot on my lobe. “I’m not here. I went out for food.” After driving the point home with a finger to his lips, he ducked into the bathroom off the living room, leaving the door open a crack.

I
was the pain in the ass? He was the one who’d just abandoned me to my lies and the cops who disbelieved them. With a sloth in my step, I answered the front door. “Hello, officers.”

“May we come in?”

“Of course!” Of course, nothing to hide here. Just the enormous fiction I already related to you, and my criminal man candy hiding on the toilet. I swept my eyes along the thankfully-empty hallway, shut the door behind them and locked it. “How did you know I was here?”

“Internet,” she replied, taking a seat on the couch. “At least two different people snapped photos of you checking in.”

“Sherlock Samantha,” said the male cop flatly. Still a fan of mine.

I graciously handed them each a ridiculously expensive bottle of water from the bar and sat in a chair opposite the sofa. “How can I help?”

“Do you remember anything else about the robbery?”

I took a moment to stare off and search my memory before responding. “No. I’ve been trying, but it’s all a mush.”

He sat beside his partner. “Because Shelley insists that you were in on it.”

“I wasn’t.” I put my hand to my chest and leant forward. “Why on earth would I risk my entire—life, career, on such a stupid thing to do? I’m not really hurting for cash. I’ve been very lucky.”

He snorted. “We found your fingerprint on the inside of the case.”

I couldn’t hide my shock. My brain rewound at a hundred miles an hour, replaying the thwarted robbery while I tried to catch my breath. No way. I’d never touched the inside. I’d worn gloves the whole time. “That’s impossible,” I said one hundred per cent confidently.

He was fishing. I saw the frustrated shift in his eyes. He thought I was lying, but had no idea about what. Or maybe he was just under a lot of pressure to get such a high-profile investigation right.

“Who is Veronica, and why hasn’t anyone else on your staff ever heard of this ‘publicist’? You have a different publicist, correct?”

My mouth opened into a round O. I licked my desert-like lips, my mind, so full a few moments ago, a barren wasteland of ‘LOL nope’.

He stood. “I think we need to keep discussing this down at the station.”