2 Queenie Baby - Out of Office (2 page)

"Stand back, sir," the officer commanded. "This woman is under arrest for stealing from another passenger." I could feel hands on my arms, drawing my wrists behind my back and tying them with plastic cord. The officer helped me to my feet.

"Officer, I didn't steal anything. I was trying to return her case to her." I nodded to the limo that was still blocking traffic.

"Who gonna pay for my taxi!" yelled the taxi driver. "It broke. No one wants to ride in a broke taxi!" He pointed a finger at me. "You should pay. You the crazy woman throwing guitars into the street. It should be again' the law."

"What the hell is going on Diana?"

I craned my neck to look back at Mark. Wow! I'd forgotten how yummy he was, all tan, lean and hard. I sniffed, searching for that delicious eau de Mark that I was addicted to. The man smelled better than fresh baked bread.

His blue eyes met mine, and I just melted. Tears welled up.

"I don't know," I wailed. "The woman in that limo has my guitar. I was just trying to return hers."

The officer let Mark approach. I sniffed appreciatively. Ahhh…there it was.

"It'll be okay," he said. "We can work this out."

"And everyone keeps talking about 'The Rum Song.' It's driving me crazy!" I cried.

The officer smiled. "I love 'The Rum Song!' Carlos Rodriguez is a very talented musician. He's the pride of Puerto Rico."

I rolled my eyes. "See what I mean?"

Mark shook his head, running hands through his hair in frustration. He was probably wondering why he'd ever asked me to come. Although, to be fair, he had known what he was in for. This was par for the course as far as our relationship went.

The taxi driver forgot about his broke taxi long enough to add, "He is a good boy. My sister's son went to school with Carlos Rodriguez."

I glared at him. "Yeah, well, he stole my song!" I tried to gesture with my tied hands.

The officer and the taxi driver gasped in unison. Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did you have to say that, Diana?"

The taxi driver said, "I think she loco! You should take her to the hospital."

The officer gave me an angry look. "No, she's a thief. She stole that guitar an' I'm taking her in."

The passenger side of the limo opened. A dark-haired man in sunglasses with a similar build and dress to the driver got out.

"Please, sir," I called to him. "Can you ask the woman in the limo to return my guitar?"

He didn't reply. He just stared at me for a second. Then he smiled and shook his head. He opened the back door and pulled out my guitar.

As he walked over, I caught my breath. It couldn't be. It didn't make any sense.

He set the guitar case at my feet and took off his sunglasses.

"Long time no see, Queenie Baby," he said, as he pulled me against him and pressed his lips to mine.

My toes curled, and the chaotic scene around me faded as his lips caressed mine. Like we had all the time in the world. Like I wasn't under arrest. Like Mark wasn't standing right next to me…

"Jesus, Diana," cried Mark. "Where do you find these guys?"

I ignored him and stared up at Andre. His dark eyes were laughing. "How do you get yourself into these situations?" he asked softly.

My brain couldn't catch up to reality. "Andre," I said blankly, "what are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "Still working for asshole rock stars."

The officer snapped back into arrest mode. "Time to take you back to the office." He grabbed my elbow to lead me away.

"Arrest her for what?" Mark demanded. "You can see there was a mix-up with the guitars."

The officer was adamant. "She's broken at least five laws. Some are quite serious," he said in his best sorry-you-are-going-to-jail voice.

"Jes," agreed the taxi driver, "an' she broke my taxi with her guitar."

"Starting trouble wherever you go." Andre shook his head. "You haven't changed a bit. Except the cuffs. Nice addition." He gave me a smoky look that made my stomach drop and my girlie parts tingle.

Mark ran his hand through his hair. I felt bad for him. Knowing me was probably going to make him bald. "Reunion's over," he huffed, stepping in closer.

Andre tore his eyes from mine for a glance at Mark. I saw surprise in his eyes and something else that I couldn't quite identity.

Andre turned to the taxi driver. "Señor, you are mistaken," he said smoothly. "The guitar was not the lady's. It belonged to Carlos Rodriguez."

Everyone gasped; I rolled my eyes.

"Carlos Rodriguez," the taxi driver repeated reverently.

"Yes," said Andre. "His sister brought it back from the States as a gift for him. She took the wrong case when she got off the plane. This lady," he said indicating me, "was trying valiantly to return it."

Everyone looked at me.

"Yeah! I wasn't breaking any laws." I could feel a drop of sweat between my shoulder blades. The tropical air felt like a furnace compared to the icy coolness inside the airport.

"Carlos Rodriguez would consider it a personal favor if you would release the lady," said Andre smoothly. "He will, of course, pay for all repairs to your taxi and would like you to have front-row tickets for you and your families at his concert on Saturday. Will you do him this small favor?"

I had to hand it to Andre; he certainly hadn't lost his touch. He could be a little overbearing at times, but right now I was happy to have him on my side.

The taxi driver bobbed his head and smiled, already re-telling this tale in his head.

The officer was equally impressed, but trying not to show it. "It does appear that the lady was trying to return Mr. Rodriguez's guitar. Her intentions were good, despite the way she went about it." He gave me a disgusted look. "I certainly would release her, however, the other officers," he said, nodding to the dozen or so behind him that looked like they couldn't wait for me to run so they could shoot me, "may not see it that way."

Andre nodded. "Perhaps they would like to accompany you to the show. Did I mention Carlos would like you all to come backstage after the performance?"

A wide smile split the officer's face. "Okay, loco lady," he said and snapped off my cuffs, "you free to go cuckoo somewhere else. Just don' do it in my airport!"

I bit back a retort. I'd had it with people calling me cuckoo today.

Andre walked back to the limo, presumably to get business cards and info on the show for the taxi driver and the officers. The crowd started to disperse; traffic, however, was still snarled.

I turned to Mark. "I am so sorry about this. What a mess!"

He stared at me for a second. "That has to be the understatement of the year." He shook his head and pointed towards the limo. "Who is that guy? Another old boyfriend?"

I hesitated, not sure how much to reveal. That's the tough thing about old boyfriends and new boyfriends. You wanted them to stay in separate universes, not colliding into each other and going all black-hole on you the way it usually worked out for me. Andre had been a summer fling with the potential for so much more. He had been the bodyguard for Billy Prescott when he'd been filming in Maryland. I sighed. That had been the one week in my career when I'd actually felt like a rock star. My time with Andre had been the cherry on top.

"Andre was part of my Jack Daniel's summer," I tried to explain, using Mark's vernacular. "You know the same way that hoochie who interrupted us on your boat last week was part of
your
Jack Daniel's summer?" I replied, referring to a not-so-wonderful moment when I'd been in Mark's arms, and his past had come calling at the door in a mini-skirt and heels.

"That doesn't make me feel any better," he grumbled. I watched as emotions played across his face with understanding and desire finally winning out over ego and anger.

His eyes softened, and his lips tipped up at the corners. He reached for me and drew me towards him. "I really missed you."

"I missed you, too," I whispered and nuzzled my face against his neck with a contented purr.

His lips found mine, and for a few seconds the chaotic scene around us faded away. His hands tangled in my long hair and tugged my head back. He looked into my eyes.

"No more making out with old boyfriends," he admonished. "That asshole stole my first kiss."

"Yes, sir," I said meekly as he kissed me again.

"No makin' lovey-dovey in my airport!" yelled the officer.

Mark released me with a chuckle. "We'd better get to my hotel before we
both
get arrested."

The limo door opened and Andre stepped out. I felt Mark tense as he approached us. Now that I was out of cuffs, I had a few words for Andre.

"Where are those no-good producers, Roger and Phil?" I huffed.

Andre pursed his lips, debating what to share. "They'll be in town tomorrow for the big concert this weekend."

"They stole my song, Andre!" I cried, my voice cracking. "'The Rum Song' is mine, and you know it!"

He nodded. "I do," he agreed.

"I want to see Carlos," I insisted.

"Not sure that's a good idea. Carlos makes Billy Prescott look stable," Andre said ruefully.

"You really know how to pick employers." I folded my arms. "I don't care. Roger and Phil haven't returned my calls, so I'm going to Carlos."

I was adamant. Billy Prescott had been a spoiled prima donna when I'd met him last summer, but he hadn't gotten the best of me and neither would Carlos Rodriguez.

Andre hesitated, glancing around. The taxi driver had finally moved on, and a clean-up crew was taking care of the ruined guitar.

"Don't make me follow you all over this island," I threatened. "You know I'm not letting this go."

He sighed. "Give me a few hours. I'll see what I can do. Your number still the same?"

I nodded. Mark groaned.

"Sorry," I whispered to him.

Andre chuckled and walked back to the limo.

Mark gave me a sideways glance. "Just an old boyfriend, huh? You have that dreamy, faraway look like when I kiss you. Only I'm not kissing you."

I flushed. Wow, I really needed to work on my poker face.

"Andre was a fling last summer." I turned to him. "Nothing else. Believe me," I insisted.

"Oh, I believe you when
you
say it's over," he replied. "But I don't think
he
thinks it's over. Not by a long shot."

I watched the limo pull away and had a bad feeling he probably was right.

*  *  *

The clock in the dashboard of the rental car displayed 5:15 p.m. I stole a look at Mark's profile. He looked okay, but his hands were gripping the wheel a little too tightly. Our romantic getaway had not gotten off to the best start.

I was sweaty and feeling like I'd been run over by a bus. I looked out the window as the car pulled up to a red light.

"Hey!" I pointed out the window. "That guy's selling Coronas!"

Mark stared out the window. "That must explain why everybody on the road drives like a maniac. They're all drunk."

I rolled down the window.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting a beer." I waved the guy over.

Mark raked his hands through his hair. "I'm not even sure that's legal, Diana."

I made a face. "Do you really think he could just stand in the middle of the intersection selling beer if it wasn't?"

Mark glanced in the rearview mirror. "I don't know. I'm just trying to avoid any more run-ins with the law."

He had a point.

I handed the guy a five, and he handed me back two beers. Puerto Rico was getting better by the minute.

I took a swig and groaned in delight as the ice cold beer slid down my throat. "Selling beer at intersections. What will they think of next?" I smiled at Mark.

He shook his head in disapproval, but his lips twitched with a suppressed smile.

As we drove to the hotel, Mark brought me up to speed on the search for his cousin, David. David's mother, Marcie, was able to confirm that Charles and David still had the jump drive containing the stolen employee files. David had said that Charles was getting paranoid and looking over his shoulder constantly. Charles was sure the gangster he had originally promised to sell the files to, and then had double-crossed in lieu of the higher offer, was in Puerto Rico to hunt him down. Mark's job was to pay Charles the money for the fake files and convince David to come back home with him. Ed didn't care about the money as long as they got David back. Once David was out of harm's way, they'd try to get Charles picked up by the authorities.

Only things weren't going so well. Mark had arranged two prior meetings to make the exchange, and both had gone bust when Charles got spooked and never showed up.

"I'm supposed to meet him tomorrow morning at the beach," he added, finishing up the story.

"Then what?" I asked.

"Then I hand David a plane ticket on the next flight home. It's up to him to take it or leave it." Distaste was evident in Mark's tone. There was no love lost between the cousins. David had been jealous for years because of his perception that Ed favored Mark over him.

"Sounds simple enough. But we've seen this go bad before," I reminded him.

"Yep, but this time David and Charles are scared. The investigators I hired in Miami are sure that the gang-banger they double-crossed is in Puerto Rico. It's only a matter of time before he tracks Charles down."

That didn't sound like it would end well for Charles. "So if the exchange goes as planned tomorrow, then you're free for a few days?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes," he said with a smile, "I am. And I plan on spending them watching you in that bikini you promised to bring."

"Just watching?" I asked with a laugh.

"I like to watch," he said, putting his hand on my leg. I caught my breath as his hand traced a lazy path up my bare thigh.

I purred. "How far away is the hotel?"

"Not far."

The radio played a soft Spanish love song. My eyes closed, finally feeling a bit of peace.

And then I heard it.

Dun-da-dun, dun-da-dun, dun-dada-dun-dada-dun-dun-dun
. I shot up in the seat and turned the radio up.

"I can't believe it!" I shouted at the radio.

"I know. I couldn't believe it either the first time I heard it. It's surreal," he added with a sympathetic look in my direction.

"The Rum Song" was blaring over the radio, sung by a man with a Spanish lilt. I had to admit he was doing it justice, but it irked my every nerve to know no one knew it was my song. I know I should've been excited just hearing my song on the radio. But I was more pissed than anything else at the moment.

"He's a thief!" I growled. "And Roger and Phil are going to pay for this."

"So explain this to me again," said Mark, trying to talk me down off the ledge. "You turned over your rights to 'The Rum Song' in exchange for them producing it?"

I shook my head. "No. I turned over the rights to three of my songs, but I am supposed to be paid a percentage of every sale once the production costs are covered. And I am supposed to have creative control over the songs. Meaning I get the last say on how the songs are used." That clause had taken more than a little arm-twisting.

"And you haven't heard from either of these guys since when?" Mark asked.

"Since October," I replied. "They sent me an email saying that the songs were shelved for the time being because there hadn't been enough interest. I've emailed them and called them at least once a month since and haven't heard a word."

"Yeah, sure sounds like they're screwing you over," he conceded.