French Kiss Part 23

Now if only they'd make a new season of Entourage in the next five minutes, her life would be much improved.

Short of that miracle of technology occurring, she scrolled through her TiVo list and settled on reruns of the Daily Show.

She was in the mood for fake news to go, with her fake sense of acceptance that she could live without ever having s.e.x with Johnny Patrick again.

And laughing was supposed to be good for depression.

Everyone knew that.

Thirty-one.

While the two most s.e.x-starved people in Berkeley were struggling to put their lives back in sync, Yuri was bundling a protesting Lisa Jordan onto his jet in L.A.

"I don't know why I have to go with you! I gave you the ring back and told you what I did with the box for Christ's sake! Let go of me you d.a.m.ned brute!" she screamed, trying to shake off his bruising grip on her arm. "Let go!"

"Once I have that box back, you can go wherever the h.e.l.l you want," Yuri muttered, pus.h.i.+ng her down in a seat. "But until then, you're staying with me. I don't care how much you b.i.t.c.h. Buckle yourself in. We're taking off."

Under threat of violence, Lisa Jordan had admitted to taking the ring, but swore she'd only done it as a lark and had planned to give it back. That Yuri had come looking for the ring hadn't necessarily surprised her, although she'd only taken one little ring from all that jewelry in the safe. (And truthfully, she'd been hoping he'd overlook it.) But she was surprised he was interested in the empty box. Not that she was about to ask him why, when he was so p.i.s.sed. But it was strange.

But strange or not, right now, she was really hoping that box was still in Johnny's little playmate's purse where she'd dropped it.

She'd never seen Yuri so furious.

He'd actually let Raf put a gun to her head. She tried to cry her way out of it at first. When that hadn't worked, she faked fainting. Unfortunately, when she'd opened her eyes again, the gun was still there.

At that point, she'd understood the seriousness of her predicament and had handed over the ring and given them Nicky's first name. "I can't remember her last name," she'd said, "but she builds tree houses. That's all I know, I swear."

Yuri nodded at Raf. He put his weapon away and after making a few calls to their offsh.o.r.e office, which had an efficient staff, they soon had Nicky's business and home addresses.

They were offered satellite photos of both locations as well.

Google and GPS in acti on.

You can imagine Nicky's surprise at being wakened at dawn by a rough whisper and the feel of cold metal on her forehead. Was this a nightmare? And then the unmistakable voice of the movie star who had awed the world in at least ten wildly acclaimcd films, said, "That's her. She has your ring box."

Nicky opened her eyes and said in as calm a voice as possible with her heart beating at warp speed. "What box?"

"One that belongs to me," a tall, dark-haired man with Asiatic eyes said, gruffly.

"You must be mistaken. The only ring box I own has Barbie on the lid."

"She's funny," Raf drawled. "And she's got great t.i.ts, too."

His tone of voice was really scary, although up against the gun at her head, Nicky wasn't sure which was more terrifying. "I'm going to sit up now. Don't shoot," she said, preferring not to be lying down with a strange man looking at her like that.

"Keep your d.i.c.k in your pants, Raf," the tall man muttered. "We have more important things to do. Now, where the f.u.c.k is the ring box?" he growled.

Nicky tried to display a certain calm reason, but the name Raf was coming up CODE red in her mind. Wasn't he one of Lisa Jordan's undesirable-as in bad guy-companions in Paris? "I wish I could help you," she said, gently, like a hostage negotiator on TV might in order to deflect hostility. "But I don't have whatever it is you want."

"Unless she threw it away, she has it," Lisa declared. "I put it in her purse."

Nicky's brain was racing, trying to figure out what the h.e.l.l was going on-why these people had broken into her house (not technically, because she didn't lock her doors) and what the h.e.l.l they were talking about.

What ring box?

But the I put it in her purse phrase finally broke through all the, confusion in her mind.

Bingo.

All that fiddling Lisa did with her purse in the limo before she came up with a cigarette and lighter. And her own green tote bag had been on the floor, too. Okay, now she got the picture. These must have been the men Lisa was running from, and-just a wild guess-she'd taken something she shouldn't have. "My purse is downstairs," Nicky quickly offered. It was still on the chair where she'd dropped it when she'd come home, her tote bag too big to use for everyday. "I haven't unpacked it. If there's a box in there, feel free to take it."

Yuri gave Lisa a sharp look. "You actually were telling the truth."

"It was my forty-five," Raf murmured, his smile malicious.

"I told you I was telling the truth," Lisa murmured, ignoring Raf and giving Yuri the most sweet, sad-eyed smile Nicky had seen outside of the movie Old Yeller. As a kid, she always cried buckets when Old Yeller died.

"She's playing you for a sucker again," Raf sneered.

"Shut the f.u.c.k up," Yuri snapped.

"I'm soooo sorry, darling," Lisa murmured, managing to look both glamorous and childlike in her summer dress and sandals, her limpid gaze fully on Yuri. "You don't know how awful I feel."

Try ten times ten more and you'll know how awful I feel, Nicky thought, hoping she would be lucky enough to come out of this little visit alive. From every freaking angle, that trip to Paris had been nothing but trouble. Well-except for getting Jordi back. But other than that, it had been a major catastrophe. Not only was she in a serious blue funk over some guy who didn't give a d.a.m.n about her, she was caught up in some major real-life danger with CRIMINALS WITH GUNS!

If she survived these gangsters, she was going to express some serious displeasure to a certain Johnny Patrick who had had the poor judgment to marry a thieving b.i.t.c.h like Lisa Jordan. She wouldn't be in this pickle if the woman could keep from stealing things. For sure, she wouldn't be in this pickle if the woman could keep from stealing from people WITH GUNS!

She didn't appreciate being awakened by a gun to her head. She didn't like being accused of stealing something, when she'd never stolen anything in her life. And if she wasn't afraid of having her head blown off, she'd say as much to these people cluttering up her small bedroom under the eaves. "My purse is on the chair in the front hall. It's green," she said instead, hoping to get them out of her house and out of her life without bloodshed. Hers in particular.

"Why don't you show us," Raf murmured, his gaze trained on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

s.h.i.+t. She should have worn something less revealing to sleep in-like flannel pajamas instead of panties and her Simpson's T-s.h.i.+rt, which was a little too small after a thousand was.h.i.+ngs.

"Get the purse," Yuri ordered. His gaze flicked to Lisa. "We'll figure this out later. Although, you shouldn't have taken the ring in the first place."

"I was just playing a game, darling. It was silly, and I apologize."

"You've caused me a h.e.l.luva lot of trouble," he growled.

One of the most beautiful women in the world gazed at Yuri and said, softly, "Maybe I could make it up to you somehow ... "

"Get a room you two," Raf grumbled.

Preferably, far, far away, Nicky thought. And with the hope of expediting their departure, Nicky rose from her bed. Stay calm, she warned herself, knowing she would have to ease past Raf who was very close. Don't show fear. With luck, this could be over soon.

She tried not to flinch as Raf patted her bottom when she moved past him. She just kept walking. Don't run, slow down, she told herself, as she left her bedroom and entered the outside corridor. Raf's gaze was on her, she could tell. Just ignore him. Walk slowly. Fortunately, Yuri seemed to be in charge.

Soon, she was at the bottom of the stairs and moving across the foyer. It took only seconds to rummage through her purse and come up with the red leather ring box. "Here," she said, holding it out, hoping Yuri would take it from her instead of Raf, with his frightening eyes. And then please go, she silently prayed.

Yuri plucked it from her fingers. "We're done here." Without another glance for Nicky, he nodded at Lisa and reached for the front door latch. "After you, sweetheart."

"I'll catch up with you later," Raf murmured.

Nicky's heart sank.

"There's no time for s.h.a.gging, dammit," Yuri growled. "We have to deliver the ring. Come back later if you want."

How about if she wanted, Nicky resentfully thought, cursing Johnny Patrick for introducing her to this violent underworld. Maybe she'd have to move-like tomorrow. Or sic the FBI or CIA on Yuri and Raf, if either were actually worth a d.a.m.n.

"I'll be back," Raf murmured, his gaze slowly traveling down Nicky's body, then up again, coming to rest on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His mouth twitched into a wicked smile, and his gaze finally lifted to meet hers. "Keep that c.u.n.t warm for me, babe."

Nicky was holding her breath, her heart was beating so loudly she was sure everyone could hear. But no matter how much the rational part of her brain told her to stay calm, look calm, don't show fear, she couldn't force herself to actually breathe.

Not until the front door closed.

Gasping like a drowning person, she gulped in enough air to restore her lung function, then slowly exhaled and literally shook despite the fact that the morning sun was streaming in her foyer windows, the birds were singing outside, and a beautiful summer day was beginning. Immune to the beauty of the day, her knees suddenly turned to rubber, and simultaneously hyperventilating and sobbing, she crumpled to the floor. She'd never experienced hysteria. She'd always been levelheaded. But she'd never had a gun pressed to her head before either, so maybe she was allowed to play the swooning Victorian lady just this once.

Breathe in, breathe out-slowly, slowly... count your blessings and Yuri's sense of responsibility to deliver some ring. Thank G.o.d. Although, if Lisa Jordan could have kept her sticky fingers off of other people's things, none of this would have happened.

Her rising anger at having become involved in something she never should have been involved in, brought her sobs to an end sooner rather than later, and with her equilibrium marginally recovered, and her sense of umbrage reaching critical ma.s.s, she picked herself off the floor and marched into her study.

Dammit, she had a phone call to make!

f.u.c.king A she did.

She had a few choice words to deliver to the man who had put her in this high-risk, highly dangerous position! Maybe more than a few!

And this time she wasn't worried about being shot down.

She was so p.i.s.sed, this time she'd be the one doing the shooting.

As though G.o.d had decided she hadn't been suitably chastised yet, her phone suddenly rang. And guess who it was? At f.u.c.king 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 G.o.d knows how long, and then everyone's going into high gear with the fall season, and the Christmas trees all needing to be s.h.i.+pped 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."

Nicky'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. f.u.c.k it.