Hot and Irresistible (3 page)

Everyone at the bar pulled away from Donovan like the good sisters did earlier. He was now Savannah’s answer to Typhoid Mary.

Beau said, “You’re here to close down the Cove because some jerk can’t shoot craps?”

“You mean can’t shoot
for
crap,” Bebe added. “And that’s shoot as in doing a little target practice, that’s what we’re talking about here. No one’s admitting to any gambling of any sort.”

Donovan downed his beer. “Good, because shooting craps is illegal in Savannah.”

“And so is spitting on the sidewalk and jaywalking and double-parking on Whitaker,” Bebe said. “But the police have more important things to tend to around here and I don’t need to be preached to by the likes of you.” Bebe pointed a stiff finger to the doorway. “Take a hike, Yankee boy. And take all your fine advice with you.”

Except Donovan had no intention of leaving. Bebe Fitzgerald was his partner in this, whether she wanted to be or not. She had no idea the bad guys played by their own set of rules and situations turned deadly in a blink of an eye. He was here to stop the gambling because it was an ugly business that hurt a lot of people and he was not losing another partner to a bad situation. He’d underestimated the enemy once and it was not happening again. Cleveland was the enemy, no matter how many charities he kept afloat or how damn terrific everyone thought he was.

Donovan stood and tossed some bills on the bar. “I’m hanging around here for a while, so you all might as well get used to it.” He eyed Bebe. “You’re talking to one stubborn Yank.”

Bebe huffed, “Well, this is the South, Bubba, and stubborn has a whole new meaning here. Fact is, I’d say we’re downright ornery, especially when it comes to protecting our own from outsiders trying to kick up a ruckus for no good reason. And you, Detective McCabe, are aiming to cause one hell of a ruckus. We don’t want any part of it or of you.”

G
atsby let out a string of give-me-food meows, Daisy circled Bebe’s bare legs, and Carraway did the Olympic cat leap from fireplace mantel to Bebe’s head as she opened her apartment door. “BrieAnn, it’s six a.m., honey, have you gone and lost your ever-loving mind? You’re never up this early, and neither am I if I can help it.”

“I believe I have lost my mind and then some. I need to talk to you before you go off to work and did you know you have a cat perched on your head? I swear you’re turning into one of those crazy cat ladies.”

Brie entered the apartment as Bebe watched a black tail swish in front of her eyes. “They need a home, I have a home. It works for both of us.”

“Where’d the black one come from?”

“Souvenir from the morgue. I opened my car door, he decided I was his chauffeur and you were supposed to meet me at four at Magnolia House yesterday, not six this morning. Go bother Beau. Now there’s someone who’d love to be bothered by you at this hour of the morning.”

Brie slid off her pink leather jacket, fluffed her hair, then searched her purse for spray, and gave her do a blast. BrieAnn Montgomery does perfect Southern belle no matter what time day or night. “I’m not bothering Beau Cleveland, because I don’t know how to bother that man, okay?” She pushed open the French doors to the kitchen, then flipped the lights. Bebe blinked in the brightness while Carraway leapt to the counter. “My Beau’s seeing another woman. LulaJean, and—”

“Waitaminute.” The fog cleared from Bebe’s muddled six a.m. brain and she took Brie’s arm. “LulaJean is on the down side of forty and sings jazz at the Blue Note. The only time Beau would visit the Blue Note was if Kenny Chesney paid a visit. LulaJean is not Beau’s type. You are.”

Brie jutted her chin and reached for the coffeemaker; the cats stared adoringly at the can opener. “For your information, I did go to Magnolia House yesterday but left ’cause I was feeling poorly after seeing Beau…my Beau…skedaddling out the back door pretty as you please with
that
other woman. And I like LulaJean, I truly do, and now this. But why do I even care? The man kisses worse than a hound dog, so I should do myself a big favor and let him go, right?”

Brie started coffee and Bebe spooned cat food into crystal glasses. Some cats had owners, hers had staff, least that’s what the pillow in her office said.

“Maybe he’s so pitiful with me because he’s truly into LulaJean…and if I can’t get things going with Beau soon, Mama’s going to insist I go to that medical convention with Lamont Laskin and I’d just as soon jump off the Talmadge Bridge, thank you very much.”

“Doctor Lamont Laskin? As in chief of surgery Laskin? Family on the board of hospitals, libraries, theaters, and every museum in Savannah Laskin? Honey, Beau could be the king of sex, but he’s the local gangster’s son, your daddy’s a judge and Laskin is a catch, least by your parents’ standards. Do you see a teeny little problem in the making here?”

“But if I knew for sure that Beau and I were good together, I would fight for him and make Mama and Daddy understand how I feel.”

“I hate to tell you this, but that most unfortunate Yankee occupation of some years past would be a trifling skirmish compared to the fight you’d have on your hands with your parents over you getting together with Beau when you could have Lamont. I know your mama and your daddy does what your mama says. Beau’s a lost cause and not because of LulaJean.”

“But I love him,” Brie wailed in a very non–Southern belle way that would cause her mama to throw a hissy. “I truly do, and I can’t help it, so I have to find a way to make this work. You’re the police, what can one person do to another and get away with legally?”

“Well you can’t go shooting Lamont for sniffing after you; that just proves the man has good taste. And you can’t shoot Beau for bad sex, though I’m sure there are women out there who have given that one a thought or two.”

“Good grief! I want to fornicate with the man, Be, not render him deader than General Lee, bless his soul. So, I can do almost anything and get away with it?”

“Beau’s a gentleman and whereas he might not take a liking to what you have in mind right off, if you get him in the right kind of mood I bet he’s probably not going to press charges. But for heaven’s sake leave me out of it. If I know what’s going on, then I have to do something about it.”

“Sort of like Ray Cleveland and the gambling, which gets me to the second reason I’m here. Prissy sent me, something about you seducing the new detective in town. Does that man from Boston really want to be putting Ray Cleveland in jail? What is he thinking? Men and their notions.” Brie headed for the bedroom.

Bebe stomped after Brie, getting madder by the minute. “I just knew Priss wouldn’t let this go. You’re not going to find anything in my closet that qualifies as seduction apparel. If you and Prissy would have been around for the scene at the Magnolia House bar yesterday, you’d know Donovan McCabe wouldn’t be attracted to me no matter how many buttons I undo. The sexpot ship has sailed.” She caught sight of herself in the hall mirror—electrified hair, baggy eyes, cat fur in her brows. She stifled a scream. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think that particular ship was ever in port.”

“Only because you don’t want it to be. At least wear eyeliner today to show off your big baby blues. Prissy said you were headed out to the Cove with McCabe, so you might as well make an impression along the way. It’s worth a try.” Brie came back sliding something in her pocket with one hand and holding an eyebrow pencil in the other. “Use this and for crying in a bucket put on a pair of heels for a change.”

“I can’t do liner. I always poke myself in the eye and it hurts and have you ever tried to catch a criminal in heels? Only on TV does that work.”

“You’re trying to catch that detective and not by running. And while you’re out there at the Cove today, find out if Beau’s going to be out boating. I have a plan that just might work and you do not want to know the particulars and you can just wish me luck.”

“What did you take from my room? I can’t believe I actually have something in the seduction category that you don’t.”

“I took out some luck insurance is all.” Brie tossed her hair, which didn’t move because of the spray, and left. Bebe got her 9mm from the locked desk drawer, then studied her shoe selection. Gym, slipper, sensible, insane. She’d bought insane when shopping with Prissy, Charlotte, and Brie to shut them up in their never-ending Bebe-makeover project. Why couldn’t Brie have taken the insane shoes instead of whatever she did take from this room?

In the name of friendship Bebe slid on the heels, wobbled, then dropped her Hush Puppies—now with black smudges thanks to the morgue fire—in her pocketbook. Catching a crook would go something like…
Stop, police! And could you give me a minute here to change my shoes so I don’t break my neck when I’m running after you?

Locking the door, she blessed the beautiful April morning and turned smack into Dara getting out of her car.

“Well now, if it isn’t Savannah’s worst excuse for a cop that ever was. You’re plumping up, dearie, and your roots are showing, but then nothing’s going to improve that bale of straw you call hair. And you’re wearing heels? Oh my God, what a waste on the resident giraffe, though it does provide the good citizens with a laugh.”

“Go to hell, Dara.”

“I already did, I had you for a daughter. You weren’t cute when you were a kid and you sure haven’t improved any with age. Lot of wrinkles for thirty. Bet they use you for undercover as one of those bag ladies.”

She glanced at her watch. “I’m showing a brownstone around the corner. Stay away, will you, dear? You’ll give the street a bad name and I’ll never be able to sell anything if someone spots you.” Dara strutted off and Bebe sucked in a deep breath and rubbed the place in her stomach that felt as if she’d swallowed acid.

“Who the hell was that?” McCabe said from behind her.

“And this day just keeps getting better and better.” Bebe turned to face Donovan. “Dara’s none of your business, so forget her.”

“Dara who?” He had his cop stare firmly in place. She hated being on the receiving end of cop stares, because it meant the cop wasn’t budging till he got an answer.

“Dara is my mother-of-the-year. Make that stepmother. There, now you know. Happy? And what are you doing here anyway? Thought we were meeting at the station?”

Donovan’s eyes widened and he let out a soft whistle, his gaze on Dara retreating down the street. “How the hell did that happen?”

“You’re not letting this go, are you?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re a pain in the ass.” But the crack wasn’t as sarcastic as she intended because he wasn’t all pain and he certainly had a nice ass. And right now he was all yummy with his black hair damp from a recent shower and a soft navy shirt and worn jeans hugging lean hips. “I’ll give you the ten-cent version to shut you up. Best I can figure Dara was paid to take me and, no, I don’t know why, and, no, I don’t intend to find out because my real parents must be total scum to sell a kid. And, yes, I did change my name and don’t you dare go feeling sorry for me because I sure as hell don’t need a pity party and now you want to tell me what you’re doing on my front stoop at this hour?”

Her gaze met his and she braced herself for the
Oh, you poor thing
look, but instead Donovan bent his head and kissed her. She started to protest, but her lips were busy and suddenly her tongue was, too, and then her arms got into the act and then her insides melted into hot goo, which had acid beat all to hell and back. This kiss was all wrong on every level except one…Donovan McCabe felt so darn good when she was feeling crappy as hell.

How many times had Dara struck and no one had been there? Bebe’s whole damn life. But here and now on this beautiful spring morning, there was Donovan McCabe and as much as she didn’t want him here…he was. She breathed, a sense of peace filling her up like a glass long empty and she leaned into him and took one more kiss, just a little with a tiny nibble of his bottom lip to chase away the lingering chill of Dara. Then Bebe stepped back. Every cell in her body…except the two rational cells still functioning in her brain…insisted she was the most stupid woman on planet Earth for not staying locked in Donovan’s arms.

“What was that all about?” The question was as much for her as him because she didn’t know what to think about the effect he had on her.

“You look like a woman who needed a hug and the kiss part just snuck in.” His voice was steady, but there was an unsure spark in his eyes. But she didn’t need him to be Mr. Sympathy to her and she wished like hell he hadn’t seen Dara. That was part of Bebe’s private life, the part she kept tucked away as best she could. It was over and done with usually, except for those times Dara happened to crawl from under a rock to harass her. “Are you playing me, McCabe? Softening me up so I’ll help you nail Cleveland? Well, I won’t, and I can handle Dara.”

“How about I look the other way and you just shoot her?”

Bebe broke into a laugh, and today she didn’t think she’d be laughing about anything. “I’ll lend you my gun,” he continued, looking perfectly serious. “Or at least blast the bitch verbally. I’ve seen you in action, Bebe. You’re a hellcat when riled. Why not now?”

If he hadn’t offered his gun she would have told Donovan to butt out, but he did offer and he’d kissed her when she needed it, and she wasn’t in the habit of needing much. Good cop, bad cop all rolled into one cop. “To tell you the truth I think it’s a conditioned response from when I was a kid. Dara’s favorite game was to threaten to leave me in the marsh if I didn’t do what she said. Scared the hell out of me to the point that I still freeze up when she’s around and you never did say why you’re here.” Why the hell was she telling McCabe all this? Fallout from the dynamite kiss, of course.

“When my mother tells me to stand up straight and get a haircut I still do it.” A gentle smile that comes from thinking of good stuff softened his face. “Except my mom’s nothing like yours, though I do remember getting threatened with military school a few times.”

He leaned against the side of the apartment building looking as if it were the building where he lived, where he belonged. He was that kind of guy, one who fit in anywhere, probably even military school. Bebe felt as if she fit in nowhere and she’d lived in Savannah all her life.

He said, “I’m here because I didn’t want to air our problems in front of the whole station. We need to talk about how we’re going to handle Ray Cleveland.”

This was better. Arguing over work was a piece of cake, reminiscing about a screwed-up childhood was a piece of crap. “I said I’m not helping you with Cleveland and I haven’t changed my mind, so there’s no need for kisses that curl my toes.”

Well, damn. She was on a roll till the toes part. When Donovan was around she had to learn to think before she opened her big mouth…which could lead to more kissing and then tongues. What in the almighty hell was she going to do with Donovan McCabe?

Well, dang
, Donovan thought. He expected Bebe to rant a bit about the kiss he gave her to get her mind off the pink-suited witch tramping down the street as if she owned it. But the other part he didn’t know was coming at all? “I…I really curl your toes?”