French Kiss (21 page)

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*
*

A
s
though god
had decided she hadn’t been suitably chastised yet, her phone suddenly rang. And guess who it was? At fucking six in the morning.

There was no way she couldn’t answer, especially after having talked to Belle last night.

She picked up the phone on the fourth ring, just before the voice mail kicked in. “Hi, Mom. It’s early, so if I sound weird, I’m just sleepy.” She needed an up-front excuse, in case she lost it somewhere in the conversation with her heart still beating at triple time. With her near-death experience still fresh in her mind.

“I thought it was ten already out there.”

“Other way around, Mom. We’re two hours behind.” She said this every time her mother called.

“Oh, dear—well, as long as you’re up,” her mother went on in the breathless way she had when she wanted to make sure she got her message across, “I just wanted to say that Isabelle told me you went to France and had the most wonderful time. Your clients were just the nicest people. So I don’t have to worry for another second that you hadn’t answered your phone for days. I just wanted to say we’re glad you’re back home, darling.”

At the word
Isabelle
, Nicky’s heart had practically stopped, even though it was going a hundred miles an hour. She was afraid her sister had squealed on her. But Belle had put out a great cover story instead. “It’s good to be home, Mom, but can I call you back later? I have to get to work early this morning.” She wasn’t up to a long conversation with her mother. Not when she wanted to lash out at some celebrity she knew for his bad choice in a wife.

“You’re working too hard, sweetheart. All work and no p
lay— you know what they say…
”

If her mother only knew the extent of her recent play, she’d blush to her dyed roots. “It’s just an early client this one morning, Mom,” Nicky lied. “I’ll call back tonight, I promise.”

“Not tonight, darling. Your dad and I have to go to Mabel and Bill Carlson’s fiftieth wedding anniversary at the Legion. They’re having prime rib. You’d love it; all your old friends are coming with their parents and grandparents. Practically the whole town will be there. I’ll bet you’re sorry right now you’re way out in San Francisco,” she said brightly.

“Yeah, Mom, San Francisco can’t hold a candle to Black Duck.”

“That’s why we’re such a tourist area, darling—especially for bear hunting.”

Sarcasm was always
wasted on her mother. “
Tourism helps the economy, that’s for sure,” Nicky pleasantly agreed.

“We miss you, honey, and not just for Mabel’s anniversary party. Do think about coming home for a visit soon.”

“I will, Mom,” Nicky said dutifully. “As soon as I can. You could come visit me.”

“Your father’s bridge group is having some tournament that lasts for God knows how long, and then everyone’s going into high gear with the fall season, and the Christmas trees all needing to be shipped out early in November. Maybe after that, your dad and I will come visit you. Oh, I forgot, Dad won a cruise at a drawing at the feed mill. I think we have to go on that next.”

Her mother always blamed her dad for their busy social life, although she was the prime impetus behind every function they attended. Her mother thrived on small-town living. “Look, Mom, I’ll be home for Thanksgiving for sure. I’ll see you all then.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, darling. We’ll have the sleigh out for you and the pond cleared off for skating and that favorite kind of what is it—some special vodka you like. Your dad orders it from the liquor store for you.”

“Sounds good, Mom, but I really have to go. Gotta make money.”

“If only that awful boy hadn’t taken all your money, you wouldn’t have to work so hard,” she said with annoyance. “I still think you should have pressed charges!”

If only they could have A) found Theo in Bangkok, and B) found him before he’d spent all her money on good times, she might have thought about pressing charges. Oh, yeah, the U.S. and Thailand probably didn’t have an extradition treaty, either. “You’re right, Mom. I should have pressed charges. Gotta go, though. Have fun at the Legion tonight, and give Mabel and Bill my best.”

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow—tell me again what the time difference is—and I’ll let you know how the party went.”

“Call anytime. I’m always up.” For instance this morning, she’d had a real
early
wakeup call.

“Oh, dear—aren’t you sleeping? Your uncle Milt had insomnia, but then he drank. You’re not drinking are you, sweetheart? Are you taking your vitamins and eating plenty of green vegetables?”

“Everything’s good, Mom, I’m sleeping like a baby, I haven’t had a drink in a month, and I eat as many greens as a rabbit,” she lied. “But I
really
have to go now.”

“You have
such
a busy life! I don’t know how you do it. Go, go, go, every minute. But I know, I know, you have to. Have a nice day, darling!”

“You too, Mom.”

*
*
*

N
i
cky's adrenaline was
still revving big-time as she hung up the phone—what with her recent visit by the slime-meisters of the underworld and then having to lie, lie, lie to her mother.

She should probably count to ten or twenty, maybe even a hundred before she made that phone call to Johnny. One-one thousand, two-one thousand, fifty-one hundred. Fuck it.

With nostrils flaring, she picked up the receiver and angrily punched in Johnny's unlisted number, which he’d given her in a weak moment.

“
D
on
’t say anything, just listen,” N
icky
snapped as Johnny sleepily answered the phone. “And when I’m finished,” she said, her voice rising into the shriek zone, “I want a groveling apology, or maybe a thousand groveling apologies. Do you FUCKING UNDERSTAND?”

“Gotcha.” He’d not risen so far in the world of entertainment without knowing how to deal with temperamental artist types. His voice was smooth as glass.

“And I don’t need any glib replies like that, either,” Nicky screamed. “Do you know what JUST HAPPENED TO ME? Do you know who just broke into my house and rousted me from a dead sleep, put a gun to my head, and fucking SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME?”

Johnny sat bolt-upright in bed, his adrenaline beginning to
course through his veins, because he had a pretty good idea who she was talking about. “Are they gone?” he asked.

“Yes, no thanks to you! And no thanks to your lying, thieving ex, who wouldn’t know how to tell the truth if the fucking Spanish Inquisition had her on the rack!”

“What did they want?” No longer concerned with appeasement, his voice was curt as he thrust the covers aside.

“Little Miss Kleptomaniac apparently didn’t just take the black pearls, she took some stupid ring from this Yuri guy! And the bitch dumped the box into my purse on the way to the airport!”

“Don’t move. I’ll be right there.” Johnny was out of bed and striding toward his closet.

“It’s too late for the fucking cavalry,” Nicky bristled.

“Too bad, I’m coming. Stay put. Lock your doors.” Each word was crisp and decisive. “Are you upstairs or downstairs?” He stepped into a pair of jeans.

“Downstairs.”

“Go upstairs with your cell phone; give me the number. I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

She should say no. She should tell him to go to hell. She should spurn his too-little, too-late help with bitter indignation. “Make it sooner,” she said instead, because she needed someone to tell her everything was going to be alright. Preferably someone who carried handguns in duffel bags under the seat of his car.

“I’m so damned sorry to involve you in any of this,” he murmured, as though he could read her emotional shift across the lines. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Now, give me your cell number, lock the doors, and go upstairs. Okay?”

Jeez, now she knew what it felt like when the cavalry really did come to your rescue. The man was a fucking virtuoso with the finesse of a diplomat and the macho assurance of a neanderthal.

She could practically hear the bugles sounding the charge.

“Are you there?” he whispered, the concern in his voice vibrating over the miles.

She blew out a breath, all the adrenaline draining from her veins. “Kinda.”

“I need your cell number,” he said in the tone of voice you’d use to coax a kitten down from a tree.

Some delayed reaction seemed to be setting in, her brain turning to mush, her focus in chaos. It took two tries to get the number right.

“Hang up now,” he said, real softly, worried she might fall apart before he got there. “Lock up. Go upstairs.” He pronounced the words slowly. “I’ll take care of everything from now on.”

Now, that was confidence, she thought, hanging up the phone.

The kind of confidence that could take a man to the top.

Sort of where he was, come to think of it.

Which made her feel a whole lot better. That was the kind of can-do attitude she needed to hear to help her stop imagining a thousand worst-case scenarios.

Yep. She definitely felt as though her life was improving. Like maybe it could actually return to normal. Like maybe she wouldn’t have to move after all. Like maybe she wasn’t feeling as mad at him as she did before.

Was he good at just about everything, or what?

*
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*

T
he
second Johnny
set down the receiver, he found his cell phone and scrolled down his directory to a number under the listing: Malibu.

It wasn’t a California number though. It was an international number, and as he hit the call button, he pulled a T-shirt from a dresser drawer.

When someone picked up on the other end, Johnny said, “I need a favor.”

The conversation was short, cryptic, no names were mentioned.

“I’ll have a driver at the airport to
pick you up,” Johnny said af
ter exchanging the briefest of comments. “I appreciate your help.”

Then he pulled the T-shirt over his head, slipped on some sandals, wrote a note for Vernie, and, dropping it on the kitchen table on his way out, sprinted for his car.

A
fter setting a personal speed record,
Johnny pulled up to the curb in front of Nicky’s house and gave her a call on his cell as he swung out of his Lamborghini. “I’m outside,” he said.

By the time he reached the porch, she was standing in the open doorway.

He should have censored his comment, but the thought of her half-undressed in that way-too-small
Simpsons
T-shirt and panties with
them
wasn’t conducive to self-censorship. “They saw you like
that
?”
His voice was sharp as a knife, his scowl unmistakable.

“I’m very well. Thanks for asking,” she tartly replied, not in the mood for any more male libido working overtime after Raf’s loathsome overtures. Really, if Johnny didn’t get a little nicer real quick, her good mood was going to go south.

“Sorry. Strike that last remark. I’m fucking groveling, okay?”

Groveling was good. He was immediately exonerated.

“I couldn’t be more sorry, babe. Really.”

Definitely a man with a golden tongue.

A second later, he’d leaped up the stairs and was pushing her back inside. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” His smile was up close and personal, as he shut the door behind him. “But, what can I say? You’re just too damned hot for your own good.” She may or may not
have
heard him—something about hot. He was standing too
cl
ose. All she could think about was throwing her arms around him, clinging to him with a stranglehold, and declaring
her
undying love. It must be nerves. She must still be hysterical. Even
thinking
the word
love
about a man like Johnny was pure insanity.

“You shouldn’t have had to deal with assholes like Yuri and Raf. It pisses me off something awful.” Taking her hand, he led her over to the couch in her living room. “Tell me what happened, now. Start from the beginning. I want to know what they said and how they said it. I want to know if they mentioned where they were going. As for Lisa, I’m too teed off to go anywhere near her. My lawyer will deal with her.” Sitting down, he pulled Nicky onto his lap and held her in a gentle embrace. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel better about this. I
t’
s my fault that they even knew who you were. So, give me a list, or tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

With such a carte blanche offer, that dazzling engagement ring fantasy immediately took center stage in her consciousness. It was crazy, of course—and totally immature. But she was feeling all warm and cozy in his arms, and white picket fence fantasies always went hand-in-hand with that kind of storybook enchantment. Not having lost all reason, however, she didn’t put in her
bid for an engagement ring. She said, instead, “You’re off the hook. No list required, but thanks for the offer. Mostly, I’d like if
I
didn’t have to worry about people like them ever again.”

“You won’t. My word on it.”

“How can you be so sure? They’re not the type to live by your rules.”

“
Trust me. I just am. But with your safety in mind, why don’t you come and stay with me for a while. I’d feel more comfortable.” A startling statement if he’d acknowledged
it. But he didn’t. He convenientl
y ignored the implications of such an invitation. “What d’you say?”

“If you don’t mind.” She had to admit, the thought of staying alone in her house wasn’t so attractive after having had a gun to her head.

“Of course I don’t mind. Why should I mind?”

Maybe because he’d sworn off relationships since his divorce.

Or because he’d vowed to never become involved with a woman again.

At least not until Jordi was grown and gone—say in ten years.

But previous pledges were conveniently overlooked at the moment.

Who knows why?

Maybe the all-too-revealing
Simpsons
T-shirt was to blame.

W
hile Nicky went
upstairs to dress and pack, Johnny made a few calls to augment his plans for some personal revenge.

But he was smiling and congenial when Nicky came back downstairs. Taking her suitcase from her, he kissed her and said, “I’m looking forward to waking up with you.”

“Me, too,” she answered, more grateful and relieved than she would have thought by his generosity. She was also half in love, but that was a separate issue and one she was seriously fighting.

For his part, Johnny never thought in terms of love. He never had—even when he’d married. Not that his wedding had been planned. It had unwittingly happened one out-of-control week-end. He and Lisa had flown up to Vegas from L.A., and when he woke up the next morning, he saw a marriage certificate on the bedside table. Lisa told him she was pregnant later that day, and his first thought was to ask if it was his. But he figured it was a little late for that.

When Jordi was born, he was glad he hadn’t bailed.

She became the center of his life.

From that moment on, he’d stopped taking recreational drugs.

As for Lisa, once he’d detached himself from the drug scene, she’d become a real pain in the ass.

So, long story, short, since breaking free of Lisa, he’d avoided permanent women in his life.

Until now.