Hot and Irresistible (4 page)

His cop side said he should let this conversation drop, but his guy side said no way. He liked Bebe. He wanted to find out more about her and not just because she was one hot babe buried under yards of ugly fabric. She had guts and stamina, was loyal to her friends, and liked animals, at least that’s what the cat fur on her suit suggested. And she was a survivor…on the outside. On the inside he wasn’t so sure.

“These darn shoes are curling my toes and I was coerced into wearing them and I’m not telling you why.” Bebe kicked off the heels and stood barefoot on the sidewalk till she fished out the god-awful Hush Puppies. She slid on one, then the other, then pointed to the PT Cruiser parked at the end of the block. “We might as well get this Cleveland visit over and done with or I’m going to hear about it all day. Climb in before I leave you standing on the sidewalk watching my tailpipe fade into the distance. This is really a waste of time,” she said as she stomped to the car. “You won’t find anything at the Cove. Maybe then you’ll head on over that bridge that got you here in the first place and leave us alone.”

The morning sun turned her hair golden and gave her skin a soft natural glow. Bebe Fitzgerald was the stuff makeup commercials were made of, yet she didn’t wear any. “Do you honestly think I’m going to leave?”

“It’s early; I’m hopeful. A girl can dream, can’t she?” She climbed in the driver’s side, forcing him to take shotgun. Sly was probably looking down from that great cop bar in the sky laughing his ass off. “Want me to drive?”

“You want to drive my car? You Yanks have some sense of humor.” Bebe fired the engine and hooked a right onto Bay, weaving in and out of rush hour traffic, at least as rushed as Savannah ever got.

“Uh, that was a red light back there.”

“Let me tell you about driving in the South. Green is go, yellow means
ya’ll have a nice day now, ya’ hear
, and red’s a right friendly suggestion to sit a spell.”

They turned onto I–80, the traffic thinning. “Now this is my favorite drive,” she said, a little whimsy in her voice, the wind coming though the rolled-down window playing in her hair. “We have wild oats and marsh, stretching from here all the way to the sea. And we have turtle crossings. You got to love the turtle crossing signs.”

“It’s right up there with snakes, alligators, black flies, palmetto bugs.” They took a hard left onto an unmarked sandy road, the Cruiser skidding on loose gravel, dust seeping in through the bottom of the car. “How old is this car?”

“Never ask a woman her age.”

Marsh closed in tight nearly brushing the side of the car. “If you don’t know where you’re going around here, you’d be in the soup in no time. Think there might be something at the Cove to hide?”

“We’re heading for a beach house, not Fenway Park. No need for an expressway.” A rambling white clapboard with big verandas and green awnings and potted flowers flapping in the breeze came into view. Palm trees swayed against a blue sky and boats bobbed at the dock. “Let me guess. The big-ass Donzi at the end of the pier is Cleveland’s ride.”

“Outguns any boat around. Rumor has it Cleveland headed off a drug operation just last month. The Coast Guard crew brought him a bottle of champagne. Good party.”

“And Ray Cleveland parts the Savannah River to get to the other side and hangs the moon and stars.”

“Only on Sundays.” She parked the car in the deserted lot and slammed the dashboard to kill the engine.

“Ever think of upgrading?”

“Ever think of going back to Boston?” Bebe nodded at the lodge. “Ray and Beau’s living quarters are around back, restaurant’s in the front. If your mama taught you manners, now’s the time to dig them out and use them.”

“This isn’t a social call.”

“It’s the South, McCabe, everything’s a social call, and the sooner you get used to it, the better off you’ll be around here.”

He followed Bebe past a wood sign, the simple shape of a seagull in flight. A stone path led around back, the bay lapping the shoreline not twenty feet away. Bebe knocked on the screen door and Ray Cleveland opened it. Donovan had seen pictures of Cleveland, but he hadn’t been ready for the blue eyes and ready grin that said “Life’s what you make it and it ain’t all bad.” Closing in on sixty, he looked completely at home in shorts, boat shoes with no socks, and faded red polo. Hair short, more gray than blond, and he had one of those forever tans from being outdoors every day of his life. Lucky bastard.

“Well, now, if it isn’t Bebe Fitzgerald.” Ray wiped his hands on a towel tied at his waist, then hugged Bebe like a daughter and kissed her on the cheek. He led the way to a country kitchen, pine table in the middle with a dozen chairs and a full breakfast that smelled like home. Cleveland nodded for them to sit down and said to Bebe, “How’re Miss Charlotte, Miss Prissy, and Miss BrieAnn getting on these days? You four always were joined at the hip. I hear tell Prissy and Charlotte went and got themselves engaged. Griff Parish is a fine man, none better, and I hear good things about that Sam Pate fella, too. Even if he is from Atlanta, we’ll turn him into a real Southerner soon enough.”

He chuckled as he extended his hand to Donovan. “And I’m guessing you’re Detective Donovan McCabe all the way here from Massachusetts to pay me a little visit. And how are your mama and daddy? Some say South Boston is a right nice place to live if you can put up with that god-awful cold and snow and all the yuppies moving in like they owned the place.”

So, Donovan wasn’t the only one who’d snooped around. Ray continued, “Ya’ll are just in time for some of my eggs Benedict, fresh squeezed juice, and Cynthiemae’s secret buttermilk biscuits. She left me the recipe in her will, you know.”

“No thanks,” Donovan said trying to keep this all business, till Bebe said, “Are you kidding? I’m starved. This is the first good thing that’s happened to me all day.”

Hey, what about that kiss? Donovan thought. He glanced at Bebe, who said to Cleveland, “Lordy, I think you made all my favorite foods.”

“Sit down, boy.” Ray pointed at the chairs. “Take a load off. It’s breakfast, not a bribe. You gotta eat sometime and there’s plenty to go around, always is.”

Ray parked himself next to Bebe, who was already slathering apple butter on a biscuit. “I love your boysenberry jam.”

“How about that, those are my favorite, too. A touch of nutmeg—always add a touch of nutmeg.” Ray stabbed a plump sausage done to golden brown and Donovan considered the South Beach granola bar and black coffee he had for breakfast. South Beach sucked.

“Beau would be joining us, but Skip Radel’s fishing boat went and knocked out again and Beau’s fetching him in before he finds himself drifting to the Azores.” He nodded at Donovan. “And I suppose you’re here about our friendly little poker games.”

“We’re here about the sizable gambling casino that you probably have in that building down the road at the dock.” Donovan nodded out the window to the white beach house some distance away and right now he’d kill for a biscuit and apple butter.

“It’s a boathouse, son. No need to trouble yourself about that.”

“Mighty fancy digs for watercraft. Mind if we take a look see?”
Mighty fancy? Look see?
Shit, he’d really forgotten how to talk!

“Mind if I see your warrant?” Cleveland said as if discussing the weather. He passed Bebe a plate of hash browns, and Donovan bit his tongue to keep from salivating. “We house some fine yachts out there and can’t just have anyone poking around now, can we? Wouldn’t be right to the folks who own ’em. I’m the only one who minds ’em, even Beau doesn’t get out there to see what’s going on.”

“Won’t take me long to get that warrant.”

Ray snagged himself a softball-size biscuit, dropped it on a blue china plate, added a glob of the apple butter, and handed it over to Donovan. He stared him in the eyes, his still twinkling, a sly grin on his lips. “If you say so.”

“Which is Savannah-eeze for not in this lifetime?”

“Now that just could be. You never know what can happen in Savannah.”

Donovan took a bite, his eyes rolling back in his head out of sheer ecstasy. This was a bribe and it was working! No wonder the good-old-boy mentality worked in the South. It was built on great eating and beautiful women, like the one sitting right in front of him.

“We should go,” Donovan said around a mouthful as Bebe gave him an evil look, stuffed the rest of an egg in her mouth, and stole two biscuits for the road.

“Sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Cleveland,” Bebe mumbled around biscuit. “You do lay a wonderful spread. Have a nice day now, you hear?”

“Come on out anytime. My door’s always open, you know that, even without a warrant.” He gave a soft laugh. “But it sure is a mystery to me how you two are going to find time to be pestering me when you can’t take your eyes off each other.” Cleveland gave a little salute to Donovan, winked at Bebe, and opened the screen door to let them pass, the door then banging shut behind them.

When Donovan got halfway down the path, Bebe stopped mid-chew and swallowed, then turned to him. “Okay, why were you looking at me ’cause I sure wasn’t looking at you. I was eating.”

“I’m not looking at you. Cleveland’s trying to throw us off the case.” Donovan stepped around Bebe while hoping like hell his statement was true. The woman was driving him nuts. For every two thoughts he had about work there was one thought about Bebe…or was it the other way around? He had to quit screwing around. Except he hadn’t gotten anywhere near the screwing part and something inside him was regretting it.

Focus, McCabe, focus!
He needed to get back to Boston and the strike force he was heading up against organized crime and he had to forget about the blond strike force in Savannah that was warping his brain.

Donovan climbed back into the Cruiser and they took off down the sandy road. He needed to say something to get their minds off what they were both thinking about…each other. “What I don’t get is why he does it?”

“Who does what,” Bebe said in a rush, her hands tight on the steering wheel, her cheeks pink, eyes straight ahead. Yeah, she was thinking about what Ray said, all right. “Why the gambling? Doesn’t look like Cleveland needs the money.”

She took in a big breath, her breasts rising right along with his dick. “You’re thinking like a Yankee. Money’s important here, to be sure. Who your mama and daddy are is more important by a long shot, but holding Savannah in high esteem matters plenty, too. Think of the Cove as a public service. Gives folks a safe place to hang out and have fun and keeps out the lowlife that could spring up without Cleveland around. They’d bring in thugs and drugs and money laundering and prostitution and God knows what else. The Cove is like laying claim to an area. Marking a territory safe.”

“How do you know Cleveland isn’t up to his ears in illegal crap?”

“Because I know Ray Cleveland, and why are you so hot to hang him out to dry?”

“He’s breaking the damn law. If the guy next door steals a car but has a good reason, why not let him off the hook, too? The law’s an all-or-nothing situation. It’s not law buffet style, where you pick and choose what suits you.”

“Did you know in Georgia it’s illegal to use profanity in front of a dead body, that donkeys may not be kept in bathtubs and—my personal favorite—you can’t carry an ice cream cone in your back pocket on Sunday? They’re all on the books, so don’t go harping on about choosing this law or that one. Cops do it every single day.”

She pulled up in front of the station. “There’s more going on with you than just upholding the law because you happened to be in Atlanta for a conference and some congressman made you his go-to guy to get even with Cleveland. You have a bee up your butt, McCabe. Oh, you’re all fine and dandy on the outside while something’s eating you up on the inside making you pissed as hell.”

“That’s you with Dara, not me.” He watched her sparkling eyes go flat. Shit…that’s exactly what he was, a big fat pile of shit. Dara was poison to Bebe and he was an ass for mentioning Dara’s name. But Bebe got too close to the truth, that losing Sly was tearing at him night and day and he didn’t know how the hell to make things right. Throwing himself into work was his only salvation right now. “I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“Forget it,” her voice all cop. “We’ve all got baggage. I’d say we’ve both been pooped on from great heights for one reason or another and nothing’s going to change that.” She nodded at the station. “I’ve got another case I’m working on, so I’ll catch you later…if you’re still hanging around.”

“We’re partners; I’ll go with you.”

“We’re not partners on this. Let me know when you get that warrant.” She shrugged; a little smile…the one he liked most, the one that gave a hint of dimple, lit her face. “Then again,” she continued, “I’d already know if you got it because there’ll be a foot of snow over there on Bay Street and winged piggies will be tearing a path across the Savannah sky. See you later, Boston boy.”

“Boston, for sure. But boy…” He suddenly wanted to kiss her and prove he was no boy. Hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to kiss her because she smelled good and had great hair and had enough sass to keep him on his toes and he wanted a repeat performance of their time at the morgue. And he didn’t like hurting her the way he did. She deserved better. “I’m no boy, Bebe. And I am man enough to admit when I’m wrong and made a mistake. I’m sorry about the Dara crack. I’m sorry about Dara period. No kid should have to put up with what you probably did.”