Think Before You Speak (6 page)

Reggie chuckled, the bastard. “Can I assume
you mean that model over there and not you?”

“Hey, I’m not drunk.” The sudden stumble
betrayed my words.

“Hmm?”

“It’s these damn cobblestones,” I complained.
“They were not made for walkin’ in heels.”

“Of course not.”

The world righted itself when I stopped
leaning so heavily on Reggie’s arm. Okay, maybe I was a little
tipsy, but I wasn’t yet slurring my words which meant I was on this
side of full-blown inebriation. I’m a good ol’ Texas gal – a woman
who could hold her own in a catfight
and
hold her
liquor.

“So why are you so late?” I asked. “Afraid
I’d outed you?”

“I outed myself, if you recall.”

I puckered up and gave him my best raspberry,
which ended up a little more slobbery and wet than I’d intended –
and tasted of too much champagne. “Apples and oranges.”

“I must admit,” Reggie began hesitantly. “I
was feeling rather paranoid after our brief conversation last
night.”

I patted his arm. “How many times does a girl
have to promise not to tell a soul?”

The dark stare penetrated mine as if he
attempted to read my fuzzy mind. Realization swept over me like a
hail of bullets and cannon fire, which wiped the jealousy-induced
smoke from my brain.

“Wait a minute.” I stopped walking and faced
him. “You don’t think
I’m
the one blackmailing you, do
you?”

“The thought did cross my mind throughout the
long and labored night of tossing and turning,” he admitted. Then
he released a gut-wrenching sigh. “But the more I thought about it,
the less I could see you participating in such a twisted game.”

“Damn straight.”

“Besides, you’re more the type to storm into
my shop and blurt out your findings in front of staff and customer
alike.”

A knowing grin stretched across his face and
made me want to smack him. But I had to acknowledge the truth of
his statement with a shrug. Tact and discretion were things my
mother had tried to teach me – and failed. Don’t blame the teacher
for the student’s lack of focus. Or caring.

“I can vouch for Zeke too,” I offered in
reassurance as we took up our stroll again along the lighted
path.

“Like I said last night, if we can’t trust a
Texas Ranger, then we’re all in trouble,” Reggie said.

“A canoe without a paddle.”

“Like a ship minus a rudder.”

“Or a sailboat without a breeze.”

“A uh…,” Reggie faltered as he tried to
finish our running game of witticisms. “A kayak without a river of
rapids?”

“
Eh
,” I buzzed. “Good one, but time’s
up.”

I had Reggie to thank for being quick on the
draw when it came to corny quips. As a little girl, we’d played the
game as a way to keep me occupied while he oversaw renovations and
redecorating projects around my parents’ mansion. Back then it took
a little while to think of a corresponding response, which gave him
time to direct furniture placement or respond to a staff question
concerning paint or fabric. The game was his way of making a too
curious and chatty child feel like she was a part of the action, at
least until said child grew up and got a little too good for his
comfort – no matter how the alcohol-induced fog clouded her
mind.

“The student has become the master,” Reggie
announced with a chuck to my chin. “I pass the baton.”

I chuckled before sobering with a hiccup and
suppressing a burp. Another reason I don’t care for champagne – too
many bubbles make for potential embarrassment. Belching in public
may work in certain European settings, but Americans tend to frown
on the unladylike practice. It’s one area in which my mom and I
tend to agree.

“So this blackmail,” I started. “The letter
arrived a few weeks ago?”

“Letters,” Reggie clarified, drawing out the
‘s’.

“Can I see them?”

“They’re not something I care to keep on my
person. There’s the possibility I’ll lose them or forget to remove
them from pockets before having Han take my laundry to the
cleaners.”

“Smart.” It definitely wouldn’t help the
situation if Reggie’s assistant got wind of scandal. The rest of
the staff would hear about it within five minutes. Han was a
likeable guy, but he could sure talk the hooves off a horse when he
got going. “When we return to Dallas though, I’ll want to look at
them.”

Reggie hung his head with a long, drawn-out
and exaggerated sigh this time. Divas.

“Hey,” I said, “you’ve asked for my help.
This is me helping.”

“Just remember not to breathe a word of this
in a text, email, or voicemail message.”

“Paranoid are we?”

“Don’t I have reason to be?”

“You got me there,” I admitted. “So the focus
of the letters is primarily on revealing your past?”

Reggie nodded.

“There’s nothing in them about the present
fact that you’re…” I glanced around before leaning in closer to
whisper. “…not really gay?”

This time Reggie shook his head. “Nothing in
that regard.”

“Does anyone know about your lady
friend?”

“I haven’t told a soul,” he offered, signing
a cross over his heart. “And all correspondence I do is from my
home computer or phone.”

“You still have a LAN line?” I asked
incredulous.

“Just because something gets old doesn’t mean
it has lost its usefulness,” Reggie quipped with a wave of his
hand.

I wiggled my brows. “Are we talking about
technology or the human condition here?”

“Don’t get tawdry with your elders, young
lady,” Reggie said, channeling my mom. “But yes.”

I wasn’t even going to touch that answerless
answer. “Have you revealed anything about your history to this new
friend
of yours?”

Reggie sobered in an instant. “No.”

“So that makes it more likely the culprit is
someone from your past,” I mused as the path steered us toward the
fountain.

Reggie stiffened beside me as another voice
called out.

“Vicki!”

Nick’s barely clad figure rushed around the
corner of the limestone church and stopped when he saw Reggie and I
together. “What’s all this then, luv?”

“Nick, I…um…this is my good friend Reginald
von Braun,” I stuttered. Not sure why I felt like the kid caught
with her hand in the cookie jar after the pawing and petting I’d
witnessed in front of the camera earlier.

“Your interior designer?” Nick asked, giving
Reggie the once over.

I mentally slapped my forehead. Shoulda given
Reggie’s real name instead of the one of his public persona. Well,
I guess Reggie’s real name now
was
Reginald after having it
legally changed, but I still preferred his real, real name. You
know what I mean.

Reggie dropped my arm and fell right into
character with a glance of his own up and down Nick’s physique
before ending with a purse of lips. “At your service, darling. Does
Nick need a redesign too, or shall Reginald help vith something a
little more personal, no?”

The come hither response didn’t seem to faze
Nick. Guess he’d been hit on one too many times in the fashion
industry for it to affect him anymore.

“I really like what you did with Vicki’s
place,” Nick said. “My place could use your expertise.”

Personally, I liked Nick’s industrial loft
style, but I wasn’t one to deny a friend additional business.

Reggie drew out his card and fluttered it
along Nick’s pecs as he sidled in closer. “Just give Reginald a
call vhen you return to town and see vat ve can cook up.”

“I’ll do that,” Nick acknowledged, glancing
up at me with a grin.

“I’ll be seeing you,
mein liebchen
.
Ciao
,” Reggie called over his shoulder before sauntering off
with a marked jiggle of hips.

“I think that was for your benefit,” I said,
pointing at Reggie’s retreating butt.

“Hmm,” Nick murmured, watching a little too
long for my comfort. “What’s he doing here?”

“Visiting a friend.”

“Someone besides you?”

I patted smooth and freshly powdered pecs.
“Jealousy doesn’t become you.” Maybe I needed to own up to my
little green monster before admonishing someone else’s.

“There’s nothing there for me to be jealous
of, luv,” Nick said with a chuckle.

If he only knew.

The last couple of days had given new meaning
to vapid and shallow – and I’m not talking me. At least not this
time. Nick slept very little on our trip, which meant instead of
him working most of the night and sleeping during the day while I
traipsed about San Antonio, we’d spent almost every moment in each
other’s company for the past seventy-two hours.

And while Nick was great in bed – I mean
really, really great – little else could be said about the
remainder of his activities, nocturnal or otherwise.

Conversation lacked in every way imaginable.
If he talked about anything for any length of time, it all had to
do with the modeling industry, fashion icons, and associated
connections. Any other topics I threw into the conversational
waters quickly grew stilted from his lack of knowledge. If it
didn’t have anything to do with fashion, fashion designers, or
amorous activities, Nick was like an airheaded walking stiff.

Pun intended.

It’s said a trip together is the best
measurement of a relationship – and this one sucked river water
more than all the fish in San Antone’s canal. No matter how good
Nick was in the sack, it took more than sex to keep a relationship
afloat.

Who said that? Did those words just come out
of my mouth? Or, um – my thoughts? Maybe I was finally growing up
after all.

Or not.

For the majority of the drive home, I’d
drifted between sleep and feigning sleep to avoid listening to Nick
flap his gums. Before the Jag had come to a complete stop in front
of my apartment building, I flicked open the passenger side door
and grabbed my suitcase from the backseat in one smooth move. The
transmission about ground into a loose collection of nuts and bolts
tossed into a rock polisher when Nick shoved the sleek vehicle into
park while still rolling.

“Thanks, Nick,” I called. “Had fun and all,
but I’ve gotta get ready for work. Call me.”

Almost wished I hadn’t added that last part.
It was like throwing fuel onto a dying flame, his face lighting up
from disappointment to renewed hope in our undying love. Someone
just kill me now.

Probably not the best thought to have
considering I’d almost met that fate mere weeks ago. But if I
didn’t get away from the lovemaking machine pronto, I might be
tempted to make that thought a reality – toward myself or him. Thus
I raced up the stairs into the sanctuary of my place as fast as
possible, slamming the door shut with a sigh and scooping up Slinky
for a welcome home snuggle.

Janine had left a note on the fridge,
outlining in agonizing detail Slinky’s care the last few days. The
chart notated the time fed twice a day, the measurement and type of
food provided – wet or dry – and a checkmark for scooping the
litter once per day. This in addition to how long she’d hung out
playing with the critter and his apparent mood, as if she was some
sort of feline whisperer. See? This was why my best friend made
such a great doctoral candidate – she was anal and unashamed of
it.

I plopped down on my sofa and stretched out
with the cat on my chest. Then I typed a message to Janine,
informing her I was home, before setting the alarm on my phone. A
couple hours before I had to make my way to the bar meant a
thorough nap was on the menu before I made any rash decisions
concerning Nick. Perhaps everything would work out in the long run
once I gained a little restorative perspective.

Yeah, I didn’t think so either.

So with that happy thought, I turned off the
phone alarm and sat up, much to Slinky’s frustration. How could I
sleep with the chaotic thoughts rumbling through my head? Nick was
a distraction I simply didn’t need right now, especially with
Reggie’s blackmail problem churning in my gut.

The last time I’d helped a friend, it almost
hadn’t ended so well for little ol’ me. Who did I think I was to be
dipping my toe into another investigative matter? Wasn’t like I was
a private eye. Nancy Drew anyone?

Hmm. There was only one other person besides
Zeke I could talk to without giving away my offensive playbook –
not that I had much to go on yet anyway. The idea of finding a
blackmailer was just way different than tracking down a murderer,
but I was pretty sure it’d prove to be safer for my carcass in the
long run. Guess instead of a nap, it was time for Nancy Drew to go
see Detective Dingbat.

***

Detective Horace Duncan hailed from the
Dallas Police Department Homicide Division. We’d had the distinct
displeasure of working together on Bobby’s wife’s death several
months ago. Okay,
working together
wasn’t exactly an
accurate depiction of what transpired. Actually he’d caught me
sneaking around inside Bobby’s house, and if it wasn’t for Zeke,
I’d have served one to life for breaking and entering.

Okay, maybe that was a bit of an
exaggeration. I’d had Bobby’s permission to be there. Even knew
where to find the spare key. ‘Course I didn’t realize being an
active crime scene usurped homeowner consent – especially when said
homeowner was the prime suspect at the time.

So now Duncan and I have a love-hate
relationship. He loves to hate my interference when it comes to his
investigations. I hate the love he shows my God-given assets –
namely my boobs.

Well, and there was the teeny tiny fact he’d
tried to lay blame on me for the death of Bobby’s wife – no matter
how briefly. Something to do with phantom texts I hadn’t sent. Then
there was that pesky police report from my involvement with Bobby
when I was fifteen, which had made him think there was a plot afoot
between old lovers.