Chapter 12

Ford

“Seriously? Do you think he’s going to fall for that old banana in the tailpipe trick?”

“Shut your mouth, Caldwell. You asked me to come on this wild goose chase, so you’re going to play by my rules.” Troy shifts in the seat as he talks, his large body making a futile attempt to unwind.

“Why the fuck are we sitting in a Bentley? Didn’t anyone ever tell you the whole purpose of a stakeout is to remain nondescript? Not draw attention to yourself and get a cap in your ass?” A grin tugs at my mouth as I talk. Sitting here with a very uncomfortable Troy has been the highlight of an otherwise shitty day. Haylee hates my guts.

There, I fucking admit it, even to myself. Even worse, I know I deserve it.

“Look around, dipshit. This is the VIP parking section of the Mona Lisa. There aren’t any nondescript vehicles in this fucking lot. We are blending in. Pull your head out, why don’t you?”

I laugh out loud and dip down, peering over the steering wheel as a town car pulls up to the front door. A pair of killer legs peek out the door, followed by a curvy body wearing a tight, black dress.

All the breath leaves my body.

“She hasn’t changed one bit,” Troy says, staring.

I’ve never wanted to cold cock a man more in my life, even one of my own annoying brothers. “Stop fucking looking at her.”

Troy grins. Grins. I didn’t know he could still do that without his face cracking under the pressure. Dammit, I want to slap that look off his smug face. “Well, well. A little pissy about it, aren’t we? Appears you’ve got it just as bad as you did back in the day.”

Haylee’s heels click on the marble floor to the entrance, and I strain my ears to see if I can pick up the sound of her voice from the crack in the window. I’ve got a baseball cap covering my head with the brim pulled down and dipped tight, covering my features. Even if she looked this way, Troy deliberately parked in a spot without a spotlight, so she’d never know it was us inside this vehicle just sitting here like two warm bottles of piss. Hell, I have no idea where this luxury car came from because Nixon doesn’t own a Bentley. Fast and sexy are far more his style. I sure as hell hope we didn’t ‘borrow’ it from our valet at the Armónico.

“You wanna know how frustrated I am by this entire fucked up situation?” I ask, dipping down even lower in my seat. I’ve never ridden in a Bentley before, and I’m kind of digging it outside of the absurdity of the situation. My ass is cradled in the softest leather ever. I guess if we have to be outside for hours on end, this isn’t a bad hiding spot. “I’m starting to think I’ve lost my logic only to have it replaced by emotion. I’m a tech geek, Troy. That’s saying something. I never lead with my emotions.”

“Seems your emotions are holding the reins today,” he says, pushing the button for the power driver’s seat and sliding back to give his long legs some much needed room. He reaches between us to grab a box of Milk Duds, popping three into his mouth at once. “Maybe you’d like to give their ass a slap with your whip and gallop away.”

“Shit. I didn’t even know they still made those,” I say, watching him chew and swallow as Haylee’s round ass disappears inside the Mona Lisa, a place I never wanted to ever set foot inside again. But for her, I’ll swallow my fear, my pride and anything else I need to ingest to make sure Dante doesn’t rain down his special brand of toxicity on the woman I still love.

And want. Oh, how I want her. She’s my future bride all dressed in white, my rocking chair partner. She’s everything, and Dante’s not going to fuck that up.

I need her. I need more than one passionate kiss that I stole from her swollen lips as confirmation that there’s still hope. Call me a dipshit or call me a pussy-whipped son of a bitch but I need it like oxygen. I won’t survive if Haylee tells me where I can go. She could have done it multiple times, but she hasn’t. And that makes my insides sing.

I glance at Troy, who produces a toothpick to dig the caramel out of his teeth and stares at the door. “We goin’ in, Caldwell?”

“Nothing short of death could stop me from going in there. You with me?”

“Me and my Glock will be right behind you.”

He’s bringing a fucking gun inside the Mona Lisa. I picture an Armani-clad Dante walking off one hundred paces in the middle of the casino floor, spinning and shooting Troy in the foot. The only casualties of my fantasy shootout at ye olde gambling hall are a one-armed bandit and a Hawaiian shirt wearing tourist from Des Moines.

“I don’t think we’re going to need weapons, do you?”

“If I’ve learned one thing on Nixon’s payroll, it’s to be prepared. Especially, when Italian grease balls are involved. Besides, I have a conceal and carry, so I feel comfortable being armed in any situation.”

“Touché.”

I pull the brim of my 49ers cap down low over my eyes as I stalk toward the lobby, Troy trailing behind me, packing heat. Joe Montana would throw a touchdown pass on third and inches in the fourth quarter. Joe Namath would slobber all over the cocktail waitress and demand another scotch. Stopping inside the lobby, my tongue darts out to moisten my lips, almost as if I anticipate seeing her. All I know is that my heart’s racing like a man in the clutches of a cocaine addiction and my fingers itch to take Dante by the lapels and shake him until his neck snaps. If he lays one fucking hand on Haylee, I’ll…

“Do you see which way she went?” Troy asks, almost running into my back with his sizeable frame.

Even though he’s wearing worn out sweats, sneakers, and a cap, he still attracts attention because he has a way about him. A don’t mess with me or I’ll put you six feet under vibe. Women love to love it, and men love to run the hell away from it. But this whole charade is his idea so I couldn’t very well tell him to sit this one out.

Almost as if I possess a Haylee Jacobs tracking device, my finger points toward Sakana of its own accord. “That way.”

But then again, I guess I do have something that points toward Haylee’s wet pussy every chance it gets just like a divining rod. I will it to stand down as I trot toward the restaurant. Shit. There’s a line outside, and unless Troy can produce suits and ties, we’re not getting past the stiff looking hostess. So much for incognito.

Troy reaches out and grabs my upper arm, effectively bringing me to a sliding stop. We duck behind a bank of Austin Powers slot machines. Every few seconds, “Groovy, baby” erupts out of the mouth of a velvet suit and lacy ascot-clad Mike Myers.

“It ain’t so groovy now,” Troy says, glancing around. “But I think I have an idea.”

“I’m not sure about your ideas. This one got us into our current mess in the first place. What else is there?”

He puts a finger to his lips because we’ve drawn the attention of a security guard patrolling the area. Troy flops down in the leather high-top chair and fishes a twenty out of his pocket, feeding it into the machine. He pushes the button for max bet, and just like that, four bucks has flown down the drain to appease the gambling gods.

“You just gave that motherfucker enough money to buy a cup of coffee,” I whine.

“I’ll give him enough to buy a whole pound of dark roast if that’s what it takes not to get thrown out of here. Now, rub my back.”

“What the fuck?” I shriek, backing away from him. “I’m not rubbing your back!”

“They think we’re gay. Either rub my back or sit the fuck down and fire up Dr. Evil.”

“If that’s the only alternative,” I say, digging into my pocket for my wallet. Shit. All I have are hundreds, and I’m not going to risk waltzing over to the cash machine to break it down. “Can you spot me a twenty, dear?”

Troy scoffs. “Shut the fuck up and feed the machine. It better be programmed on its upswing because we’re going to be here a few hours. I hope to hell you carry some cash. There’s only one way in and out of that damn restaurant, and it’s right over there.”

As I travel the path of his pointing finger with my eyes, I rub my stomach as if ravenous to throw off the security guard. Let him think we’re a couple just doing some light gambling before heading into Sakana for dinner. He’s right. Haylee’s going to have to walk right by this bank of machines, and when she does, I’ll pounce.

I’m not surprised that Dante chose Sakana to impress Haylee. His head chef, Pepper St. Claire, is culinary famous, just like my brother, Carter. Too bad the two of them don’t seem to like each other much, because they’d make a very well-matched pair. I can see Pepper’s brunette head and black jacketed figure through the cut-out at the front of the restaurant. She’s a looker for sure, just Carter’s type. But then again, my brother’s much too arrogant to capitulate to a woman in his industry. He likes them stupid and needy, securing his place as the star of the relationship.

Not me. I like my women feisty and capable. The stress of my new position running tech for Nixon and Haylee’s obvious hatred of me has cramped our face time. Every time I see her face, I fall deeper and deeper down the abyss of emotion. Maybe her shutting me out is for the best. Everything’s been a whirlwind since I came back from the bay area and the space between has allowed me to evaluate everything from a distance.

And that’s only made me want her more. My life seems empty without her in it in some capacity.

When Haylee’s around, things seem vibrant. Rich with a tapestry of color and texture. My life is better with her in it. She’s a woman wanted by a man with the best of intentions. I respect her. I admire her. I’m so fucking in love with her my heart feels like it’s being torn apart every time she says a harsh word to me.

The thought of a future is terrifying and hope-inspiring all at the same time.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

“You’ve fucking got to be kidding me!” Troy’s voice snaps me back to the present. “I can’t even believe it. I can’t take you anywhere, Caldwell.”

“What?”

I stare as I watch my machine go a little bat-shit crazy. Lights, sounds, dinging. It’s ratcheted up to a point where we’re drawing the attention of the other gamblers inside the sleepy casino.

“Holy shit, buddy!” A guy in a UPS uniform comes up and stands over my right shoulder. “You won the jackpot!”

My eyes travel the line of lights up to the top of the machine where the payout totals are listed. They widen, and I stare at Troy, beseeching him with my facial expression. This is a hand pay of epic proportions, and I have no idea what I should do. We’re both going to be recognized, and Dante’s going to be demanding answers as to why we’re gambling here when neither of us are known to try our luck even in our own house.

“That’s one-hundred and ten thousand dollars,” Troy says, groaning and putting a hand over his eyes. “We’re going to be here all night.”

“Don’t forget the twenty-two cents,” I say, scrubbing a hand down my face. The red light’s lit on the top of my machine, indicating I need an attendant. By the time I collect my winnings and tip out, Haylee’s going to be long gone.

I grab the UPS guy and haul him in front of me. When he shoots me a startled look, I say, “Congratulations. It’s yours.”