Killer Physique (A Savannah Reid Mystery) (3 page)

“Mercy,” she said, though she knew no one would be able to hear her. “Just imagine . . . such a commotion over one measly fel er.” In her opinion, any woman who passed out at the mere sight of some guy—who put his britches on, one leg at a time, like any other man—had to be a few pecans short of a Sunday dinner pie.

Then she saw him. And she understood what the hoopla was al about.

Jason Tyrone was absolutely, heart-stopping, take your breath away, cause you to drop dead in your tracks and go straight to heaven gorgeous.

Standing at least six foot, six inches tal , shoulder and arm muscles bulging against the fabric of his tuxedo, and with thick, wavy blond hair that was fashionably shaggy, the bluest eyes she had ever seen, and a jawline that had sold copious amounts of Tyrone Nights cologne and aftershave

—Jason lived up to al the hype and more.

As he strol ed along the red carpet, drawing nearer to where she and her three guys were standing, she could feel her own knees literal y getting weak. She had to work at not wobbling on her high heels.

Yes, maybe she’d judged those Elvis and Beatle fans too harshly, after al .

Jason was the picture of elegance as he moved along, nodding to one, waving to another, pausing to shake hands briefly here and there.

Though Savannah did notice that beneath it al —in spite of the graceful, masculine presence he projected—there was something else that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something unsettling.

Maybe it was the way his eyes occasional y darted around the crowd, as though he were on guard, searching for someone or something.

Perhaps an unwelcome, unfriendly presence of some kind?

Dirk poked Savannah in the ribs. “When do we get to meet him?” he said, his mouth against her ear. “Ryan and John are supposed to be his good buddies. Are we just gonna stand here with our thumbs up our—?”

“Sh-h-h!” She gouged him back. “Just wait and see.”

A moment later, Jason was even with them, only a few feet away. And that was when he spotted Ryan and John.

Instantly, his face lit up, and his whole demeanor changed. “Hey!” he shouted, rushing over to them. He grabbed Ryan in a bear hug, then managed to fold John, as wel , into the hearty embrace. “Man, I was hoping you guys would make it!” he said, as pleased as a kid whose out-of-town dad had arrived at his last basebal game of the season.

“Are you kidding? We wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” Ryan replied, thumping him soundly on the back.

“Wild horses couldn’t keep us away,” John added. “But these crowds nearly did. You’ve col ected quite a bevy of fans for yourself here, lad.” Ryan turned to Savannah and Dirk. “And here’s a couple of them,” he said, pul ing them closer. “Jason, we brought two of our favorite people in the world to meet you and see the show. This is Savannah and Dirk.”

As though in slow motion, Savannah watched and recorded every micro-second of the experience she knew she would relive ten thousand times before she got to be Granny Reid’s age. At least.

Jason Tyrone stepped toward her. His eyes met hers . . . his world-famous eyes that were the same sapphire blue as her silk dress. The world around them disappeared—the raging crowd, Ryan and John, and even poor Dirk.

For just a moment she felt terribly guilty. Here she was only a few weeks married, and her knickers were a’jingle over a couple of blue eyes. And a mane of golden hair. And six and a half feet of solid muscle.

Okay, she didn’t feel al that guilty. But she did make a mental note to cut Dirk some slack later if she caught him ogling Alanna.

Jason Tyrone, his whole gorgeous self, reached for her hand, and enfolded it in his. His enormous, strong hands—that she couldn’t help noticing were just a little bit moist.

In fact, if they had been anyone else’s hands, she might have cal ed them clammy. But you didn’t use a word like “clammy” when describing a Celtic god/sex symbol. It just seemed inappropriate somehow.

“I’m so happy to meet you, Savannah,” he said, as though they were the only two people in the world, hundreds of cameras weren’t snapping their pictures, and a thousand or more people weren’t waiting impatiently for Jason to make his way inside so the real festivities could begin.

“And I’m just so proud to—”

Bang!

Just over her right shoulder, a loud popping sound. It went through her nervous system like an electric jolt.

Someone in the crowd shouted, “Gun!”

In an instant, Ryan, Savannah, and John had grabbed Jason. Dirk had Savannah. And they were rushing en masse toward the theater doors.

Chapter 3

Savannah, Dirk, John, Ryan, and Jason had just reached the giant cutout figures, when Savannah heard a sound behind them—a strange sound, considering the circumstances.

Laughter.

She took a second to glance over her shoulder and saw a young woman holding a giant bouquet of sparkling gold and silver, helium-fil ed bal oons.

Several people around her were laughing, poking at her, as she stood there red-faced and giggling nervously.

One of the guys standing closest to her held up one hand and addressed the crowd. “Bal oons, everybody! Bal oons! It was just a couple of bal oons popping! Everybody settle down!”

Savannah looked at Dirk. They both turned to Ryan and John.

Al four processed this new information in half a second and realized the “threat” had passed.

Savannah gave a nervous little chuckle and said, “Now, wasn’t that just a barrel of fun. Let’s do it again.”

“That kind of fun I can do without,” Dirk growled.

“Me too,” Ryan replied.

“Ah, wel ,” John said, with a sigh of relief. “As long as it al works out in the end. No harm done.” In unison they turned to look at Jason, and Savannah nearly gasped when she saw the pal or of his previously bronzed complexion. He was sweating profusely and breathing much harder than she would’ve expected, considering that he had run only a few feet.

John reached over and put a comforting hand on his friend’s broad shoulder. “Are you okay, old chap?”

“Sure,” Jason replied.

Savannah wondered if she had ever heard a less assuring “sure” in her life.

Jason Tyrone—Dagda, mystic king of the Tuatha De Danann—looked like he was about to faint, right in front of his fans, a thousand cameras, and the twenty-foot cutout of his glorious self.

“Let’s get him inside,” Savannah whispered to Dirk. “Quick.”

“Gotcha.”

Dirk grabbed Jason by one arm. Savannah held the other. And Ryan and John cleared the way, as they hurried him into the theater.

No. If Jason Tyrone’s friends, old and new, had anything to do with it, this crowd was not going to watch their superhero fal flat on his face.

Savannah’s downstairs hal clock was chiming one-thirty as she and Dirk pul ed back the beautiful quilt that Granny Reid had made them for a wedding gift and climbed into bed. She relocated one of the two black mini-panthers that she cal ed house cats from her pil ow down to the foot of the bed.

“Sorry, Di,” she told the disgruntled Diamante. “Mommy had a big day. She’s tired and doesn’t feel like having your furry butt in her face al night.” Dirk, on the other hand, pul ed his favorite, Cleopatra, against his bare chest. Murmuring sweet nothings to her, he snuggled her close and began to rub that magic “cat spot” behind her ears.

Disgusted with “Mom’s” treatment, Diamante left Savannah’s side of the bed and found a place next to her sister where she could claim her share of the Dirk pets.

“You’re spoiling those cats rotten,” Savannah said. “Before you moved in, they’d only eaten cat food.”

“Get real. I’ve seen you feed them ice cream off the end of your finger, and they’ve even licked the bowl when you’re done.”

“Okay, mostly just cat food. But now that you’ve introduced them to the wonders of a made-for-humans tuna sandwich, I can’t leave my lunch unattended without finding black fur and a bite gone when I come back.”

“Oh, stop your gripin’ and be glad you married a guy who likes cats.” He pul ed Diamante up under his chin and kissed the top of her head.

“They’re the nicest part of marrying you and moving in here—getting to pet them any time I want.”

“Real y? That’s the very best thing?” she asked, lying down and rol ing onto her side where he could get a ful , unobstructed view of the abundant cleavage her new lace gown revealed.

He grinned broadly. “Okay, the kitties are the second best.”

She flounced around a bit, like a hen making her nest. Once her pil ow had been adequately fluffed and the sheet properly tucked, she turned the bedside lamp off.

Even with the lights off, the moonbeams streaming through the lace curtains provided enough light for her to see his face. It was a face that had grown progressively dearer to her over the years—handsome in a rugged sort of way, its streetworn roughness softened by the dim light.

Then there were the cats. Being black, they were nearly invisible, but their purring fil ed the late-night silence.

That sound, combined with Dirk’s deep, male murmurings of “There ya go, Di. I didn’t forget you, baby” would have normal y put Savannah’s spirit at ease. But tonight something was nagging at her. And she wasn’t sure exactly what it was.

“Now that we aren’t around Ryan and John,” she said, “what did you think of the movie?”

“It was pretty good. Better than I’d thought it’d be,” he admitted. “When that monster thing came up out of the sea and ate al those guys—that was awesome. You know, with al the blood spurting, and the guts and body parts flyin’ al around. It was pretty real-looking.” She rol ed her eyes. “Oh yes, that was the high point for me, too.”

“And the acting was okay. That Alanna gal was pretty convincing when she cal ed al those mean, smoky spirits up outta that wishing wel .”

“Wasn’t that the scene where her top blew off?”

“Yeah.”

“Convincing acting, indeed.”

He snickered. “Hey, held my attention.”

“I imagine it did.”

He rearranged the kitties so that he could lie against Savannah. Slipping his arm around her waist, he pul ed her close. “I saw al those looks you were giving Jason. You were watching him, instead of the movie, the whole night.”

“Not for the reason you think,” she said. “Oh, I was impressed with his looks and al that at first. But it didn’t take long for me to start wondering what was up with him.”

“Oh, then it wasn’t just me. I thought he seemed sorta jumpy, too. But I figured it was that bal oon-popping thing.”

“No. He was skitzy before, too. As soon as he got out of the car, he was looking around like he was expecting somebody to jump outta the bushes and pounce on him.”

He reached over and with one finger, brushed a curl out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. “I guess he’s better at swinging a sword at sea monsters than he is fighting off crazy female fans who wanna throw him on the ground and ravish him.”

“A few male fans, too, it seems.”

“Yeah, I had no idea he was gay until Ryan said so on the way home. Wonder how many of those women would get over him fast if that was public knowledge?”

“Not that many.”

“But what’s the point in fantasizing about something you’re never gonna get?” Savannah giggled. “Oh, yes. Men are so much more practical. They would never fantasize about—oh, say—a lesbian.”

“Um. Yeah. Right.” He cleared his throat. “But speaking of things you can have . . .” His hand began to move beneath the covers. But before he could zero in on any warm, soft spots, the cel phone that Savannah had left on her nightstand began to buzz.

He sighed. “Or should I say things you might be able to have if the damn phone wasn’t ringin?” She reached for it, her pulse pounding. No phone cal that came at one-thirty in the morning was ever good news. Though she had never admitted it, even to herself, Savannah feared that with an octogenarian grandmother, a middle-of-the-night phone cal could signal the end of her world as she knew it.

With a shaking hand, she picked up the phone and read the cal er ID. “Ryan Stone.” Oh, okay, she thought. Maybe this won’t be so bad, after all.

Ryan probably assumed they were stil awake, since he had only dropped them off a short time before.

“It’s Ryan,” she told Dirk. “What did you do, leave your sunglasses in their car again?”

“I resemble that remark,” he said, as he turned his attention back to Cleo’s left ear. “He better have a good reason—interrupting my foreplay like that.”

She punched the “talk” button. “Hel o, darlin’,” she said. “What’s shakin’?”

“Savannah, I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” he said, his voice tight, his words clipped.

She sat straight up in bed and shot Dirk a worried look. “That’s okay, hon. What’s up?” She heard him gulp, then there was a moment of silence as though he was gathering his composure.

Yes, this was going to be bad.

“It’s Jason,” he said, his voice breaking.

She didn’t have to ask. She knew.

Ryan Stone was a cool, col ected sorta guy. Some might even say stoic. He hadn’t cal ed them in the middle of the night because Jason Tyrone had gotten himself a parking ticket.

“Is he . . . ?”

She thought of the big, handsome, charismatic man they had just spent the evening with—so vibrant, so ful of life.

“Yes, he’s gone.”

“Oh, no! But how? When?”

Dirk sat up, grabbed Savannah’s arm and squeezed. “What is it? Who . . . ?”

“Jason,” she whispered, then returned her attention to the phone. “I’m so sorry, Ryan. Tel me what happened.” She heard him take a deep breath. “Remember, we told you he’d asked us to come by his hotel, the Island View, after we’d dropped you two off?”

She recal ed them mentioning that during the car ride home. Something about Jason having an early-morning flight to New York and him wanting to talk to Ryan and John privately before he left.

“I remember,” she said. “He said he had something he needed to talk to you about.”

“Something important, he said.”

Instantly, Savannah flashed back on the whole bal oon-popping event there on the red carpet—the haunted look in Jason’s eyes. “Did you get a chance to talk to him, to find out what it was?”