Betting on Grace (12 page)

The room was overly warm and she shed her rhinestone-bedecked denim jacket, which she draped across the back of the chair. Her long-sleeved shirt reminded him of a painting by Toulouse Lautrec. The way it clung to her curves distracted him so that he missed her question.

“Sorry. What?”

“I said, ‘I love this song. Are you sure you won’t dance with me?’”

Nick had had similar conversations with other dates over the years. He usually wound up doing the gentlemanly thing, even though he hated to dance. Few things left him feeling more uncomfortable.

Before he could answer, Grace smiled and said, “It’s okay. I can dance alone.” She stood up and nudged her purse his way. “Will you watch this for me?”

She melted into the crowd of couples on the dance
floor, but Nick picked her out as if she had a spotlight on her. Eyes closed, arms lifted above her head as her hips rocked to the beat, almost as if she were making love to the music.

She didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed to be dancing without a partner. She simply moved. Maybe the music spoke to her through her Romani blood—an instinct born from campfires and tambourines in generations past.

Nick swallowed hard and shifted in the seat. The melody was evocative, haunting. It coursed through his veins, leaving him slightly intoxicated in a way mere alcohol never could. He loved music, but it always left him feeling conflicted, partly because of his heritage, he supposed and partly because of something his adoptive mother once said. “Your birth mother was a dancer. Your family moved to Los Angeles so she could pursue her craft. I’m sure she must have been very good at what she did.”

What Sharon didn’t say, but Nick had sensed, was the fact that his mother had chosen dance over staying home to raise him. If she’d loved him as much as her career, she might still be alive. And his life would have been completely different.

Gradually his bitterness toward both his mother and her chosen profession had lessened, but he still avoided dancing whenever possible. Until now. His muscles hummed with an energy he couldn’t ignore.

He stood up and reached for Grace’s purse. Before he could take a step, he felt it quiver. Glancing inside, he saw her cell phone light up, indicating an incoming call.

Grace had worked her way to the middle of the throng. Nick tapped her on the shoulder. When she
turned to face him, her eyes lit up with joy. A powerful pressure built inside him. Deep in his chest. He couldn’t recall ever feeling anything like it before.

“You,” she mouthed, although he couldn’t hear the word.

She looped her arms around his neck and leaned against him, her hips swaying seductively to the beat. Nick swallowed hard. “Your phone,” he said, the words garbled in his throat.

Apparently she hadn’t heard, because she insinuated herself even closer, like a wisp of smoke, curling in and out with the pulse of bass. The drums seemed to block out all conscious thought. His feet shuffled awkwardly at first, fighting to find a rhythm to match the beat.

Grace’s hand at the nape of his neck coaxed him closer. Her fingers played with the soft, short hair that was just starting to grow out. Her lips sang silent words to a song he didn’t know.

He tightened his arms around her. One hand still held her purse, but the other was free to explore the silky softness of her blouse and the flesh under it.

Her hips rotated to the beat; their bodies touched in a way he hadn’t experienced in too long. He closed his eyes and succumbed to the powerful energy around him and the awakening forces within.

Grace felt him succumb. She couldn’t say exactly how she sensed his capitulation or that she’d even been aware of his resistance to the music until the muscles in his shoulders, where her forearms were resting, relaxed. A shared sigh passed between them. Their heads met, temple to temple.

She moved nearer, their bodies touching as inti
mately as possible given the crowd and their clothing. She wanted more and knew he’d welcome her invitation. She started to suggest that they go to her place, then she felt an odd sensation in the middle of her back. A tingle that didn’t feel natural.

She shimmied slightly and tried to look behind her to see if she’d been poked. It happened again.

This time, she snaked one arm around to investigate and discovered her purse in Nikolai’s hand. She hadn’t even noticed that he’d been holding it.

“My phone,” she exclaimed when the sensation occurred again.

Laughing, she turned in Nikolai’s arms to take the bag from him. She peeked at the number on the screen.
If it’s my mother…
She didn’t finish the thought.
Kate.

A sudden sense of dread passed through her. Ever since she and Kate had roomed together, they’d had a rule never to interrupt a date except for a dire emergency.

Nikolai’s eyes were closed and his body was moving to the beat as if he’d been born dancing. She’d never seen him this relaxed, this loose. But she couldn’t ignore Kate’s call.

She put her lips close to his ear. His scent was so masculine and sexy, she was tempted to pull him into a dark corner and make out, but instead, she said, “Nikolai. I need to call home.”

He stopped abruptly, arms collapsing at his side. “Huh?”

He looked around as if suddenly comprehending that he’d been dancing with her. His eyes narrowed. The space between them became a chasm of accusation.

Grace grabbed his arm. “It’s pumpkin time, sweet prince,” she murmured under her breath.

They paused at their table so Grace could put on her jacket and Nikolai could leave a generous tip for their untouched drinks. He was a confounding fellow but intriguing. Not really prince material, she told herself, but…

She studied him as they headed single file through the weekend crowd of gamblers. Black turtleneck, black jeans, loafers. An unremarkable style that looked GQ-cover-worthy on him.

We’d make beautiful Gypsy babies together,
she thought. But even though she pretended to spurn her mother’s prediction of a prince, in her heart of hearts, Grace still wanted the fairy tale. And, Nikolai—sexy and gorgeous though he was—didn’t fit the image she had in mind.

“Thanks,” she said as he opened the driver’s-side door for her. “We might not have needed to leave, but Kate’s pretty good about not calling unless it’s an emergency.”

She hit her sister’s speed-dial number. The line was busy. “That was great fun,” she said once Nikolai was seated beside her. She hit redial. “I haven’t been dancing in ages. You’re a natural.”

Still busy. She frowned, her concern growing. It was too late to try Alex’s, and Liz would kill her if she woke her up. With grim resolve, Grace pressed the home button. After three rings the answering machine came on. Where was her mother, a notoriously light sleeper?

Glancing at Nikolai, she saw his frown. “What’s wrong? We probably didn’t have to leave the bar but it was so noisy I didn’t—”

He cut her off. “Not that.”

“Then what? You didn’t like me complimenting your dancing? Why? You’re wonderful.”

His scowl intensified. “No. I’m not.”

The severity of his tone told her this denial went beyond mere modesty.

“My birth mother was a dancer,” he said starkly.

“So?” Grace asked, hitting Kate’s number again.

“So, how would you feel if your mother was a stripper who left you with a babysitter so she could go take off her clothes in front of men?”

The hostility in his tone surprised her. Normally, he was so good at keeping his feelings hidden. “Are you sure about that? My mom said—”

He didn’t let her finish. “Your mother was her friend. But, think about it. A serious dancer would have gone to New York, not Las Vegas. And Yetta’s the one who got stuck with me when my mother raced back to the clubs.”

The beeping sound in her ear finally sank in. Still busy. Resigned to try again in a few minutes, she faced Nikolai and said, “So, your mother had a job. These days most women have to work to put food on the table. Aren’t you being a little judgmental?”

Nikolai shrugged. “It’s history. None of it matters.”

“Yes, I can see you’re clearly untouched by it,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. Her attempt at humor actually won her a rueful smile. “I don’t mean to be flip, and I’m not trying to trivialize your pain, but it doesn’t seem fair to blame dance for what happened to your mother. Not unless you know this for a fact, which—” she hit redial “—in my opinion, means you need to talk to your father. At least, he was there.”

The call went through. “Grace,” her sister cried the instant she came on the line. “Get over to UMC right away. Mom and Liz had to take Alex to the emergency room. She spiked a fever and was in terrible pain in her abdomen. The cyst might have ruptured or it could be appendicitis.”

There was more, but that was all Grace heard. She looked at Nikolai, who must have overheard because he jumped out of the car and raced around to her door. “I’ll drive,” he said, helping her to stand up.

She should have argued. He’d been drinking, after all. But he didn’t give her the chance. He took her in his arms and squeezed her supportively without being asked. Then he whispered, “Alex will be okay. Trust me.”

And she did.

“I
HATE HOSPITALS
.”

Nick opened his eyes to look at Grace, who’d spoken the words with a heavy sigh. They’d been waiting for nearly an hour. He was restless and cranky and still unsettled, first about dancing with Grace, then about spilling his guts to her. What was it about her that got to him? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“You said that every time Dad was admitted,” Liz said. She was sprawled in a chair across the room from where Nick and Grace were sitting.

Yetta, they’d been told on arrival, was with Alex. Kate had remained home with Maya.

He studied Liz, who was playing some kind of hand-held video game on her Blackberry. Of Grace’s three sisters, he found her the most difficult to pin down. She didn’t live in the compound nor did she regularly join the others for meals at Romantique. She seemed busy, serious and somewhat…haunted.

“You’re probably quite used to this setting, given your profession, right?” he asked her.

She shrugged without looking up. “Not really. I’m a physical therapist, not a doctor.”

“She’s being modest. She’s a healer. She’s traveled
to Bosnia, Russia, India…where else, Liz? Dangerous places. She risked her life to help amputees in war-torn areas.”

“That was before,” Liz said, her voice flat and resigned.

Nick understood without asking that she meant before Ernst Radonovic died. He’d heard comments that alluded to that date as a turning point in the lives of the family and in fact, of the entire Romani community.

“So what kind of work do you do now?” he asked.

“The boring kind,” she said abruptly. She jumped to her feet and stretched. “I’m going for a walk. Page me if anything changes.”

After she left the room, Nick asked, “Is it me or is she prickly? I don’t think we’ve had a real conversation since I got here.”

Grace sighed. “Something happened to Liz when she was in Bosnia. She won’t talk about it. Most of the time she’s either working or holed up at her house in Henderson. Definitely not the Romani way, but Mom says Liz has always been a loner even as a child. The only person Liz is really close to is Alex.”

“So she’s taking this pretty hard,” he said.

“Exactly.” She rolled her shoulders as if the tension was getting to her. “Plus, I think she’s struggling a bit financially. After Dad died, Liz went to India to study Ayurveda, a kind of holistic medicine. She came back suddenly after less than a year and bought a house. Now she works for a private hospital, but I know her heart isn’t in it.”

“Then why work there?”

“Good question. Last time I asked it, she told me to mind my own business.”

She looked at him. “Did you own your own place before you…um…went to jail?”

He made a noncommittal grunt. Lying to Grace was starting to bother him. “I thought I heard someone say Charles’s company refers a lot of clients to the hospital where Liz works.”

Grace shrugged. “Maybe. All I know is she seems constantly strapped for cash.”

Motive for playing ball with Chuck? He hoped not.

Grace stood up and started to pace. Her name suited her, he decided, watching her move.

She stopped suddenly and looked at him so intently he almost squirmed. “What if your aversion to dancing is really because you’re afraid dancing well would make you seem too Romani?”

“I think you think too much.”

She didn’t smile. Instead, she sighed and said, “I had a dream a couple of weeks ago. In it, I was walking down the sidewalk when I met a wolf—the four-legged kind—at the intersection, waiting for the streetlight to change. At first, I was afraid, but he seemed very polite, almost human. When the light turned green, he trotted off. My mother, who was standing beside me, said, ‘That wolf was raised by humans. He doesn’t know he’s a wolf.’”

Nick rose and walked to where she was standing. “You think I’m a wolf?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

She reached up and touched his cheek, her fingertips tracing the line of his jaw. “I think you’re a Gypsy who doesn’t know he’s a Gypsy.”

When she looked into his eyes, he could see that she wasn’t making idle chatter. She really cared about him. “What was it like growing up in a gaujo world?”

Zeke had left it up to Nick to share as much or as little of his history as needed to create a successful cover. “Ordinary, I guess. The family that adopted me had a daughter and wanted a son to make a complete package,” he said. “We made the perfect little family. End of story.”

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Judy. She’s married and lives in Oregon.”

“Are you close?”

“What is this? A police interrogation?”

She blushed so prettily, he answered her question. “Judy was nine when I went to live with them. I was five. She was an only child who suddenly had to share her parents with another kid. A boy, no less. So she pretty much hated me when we were kids, but now barely resents me at all.”

Nick could tell she had more questions—ones he might not be able to answer, so he told her about Judy’s version of how he’d landed up as her brother.

A look of outrageous indignation crossed her face. “That’s horrible. And mean. And…and bigoted.”

Nick laughed. “She was a kid protecting her turf.”

“Humph,” she snorted, crossing her arms at her chest. “We used to have cousins pop in and stay for weeks. I never terrorized another kid just because he moved into my territory. In fact, my cousin Rickie lived with us for two years when his parents were going through a rough time.”

“Was he younger than you?”

“I was fourteen. He was twelve. Still is, if you ask his wife,” she said with a grin. “My grandmother was living with us at the time, and she had to move into my room because Rickie, the only boy, needed a room to himself.”

“You weren’t jealous?”

“Heck, no. I was glad he came, because that meant I could go to sleep every night listening to Granny tell me stories. I still cherish the gift of my time with her.”

“She passed away?”

Grace nodded. “Alzheimer’s. She had to go into a facility at the end. That was real hard on my mom. Some of the family criticized her for not taking care of Granny at home.” She paused a moment then added, “Which might be why Mom was so adamant about keeping Dad at home after his stroke. Liz came every day to give him his physiotherapy.”

“Did he improve?”

“Some. Not enough to return to work, though. Which, in my opinion, is what killed his spirit.”

Nick understood. For many men their sense of identity was closely linked to their job. Suddenly take that away and… He didn’t want to think about the possibility. Nick was glad that Pete had decided to slow down a bit, but the idea of his father sitting on his butt doing nothing in Oregon scared him. And because he probably hadn’t expressed his fears clearly, Judy assumed Nick was being selfish, trying to keep their parents from moving closer to her.

Grace, who still seemed lost in the past, went on. “Dad was with Charles when the stroke happened. They were walking through a parking lot to their separate cars. Unfortunately, Charles wasn’t close enough to keep Dad from falling and hitting his head on a curb. At least, Charles called for an ambulance right away.”

“Charles was the hero, huh?”

“Not in Dad’s eyes,” she said with a certain fatality.
“After he came home from the hospital, I could tell his feelings for Charles had changed. I don’t think the two ever spoke again. I believe Daddy would have preferred it if Charles hadn’t called for help.”

“But you don’t feel that way?”

“Not at all. None of us were ready to let go. Dad might not have appreciated living what he considered half a life, but that time between his first stroke and the one that finally took him helped us prepare for our loss, emotionally.”

She turned to face the window. “Mom would probably disagree. She was completely devastated when Dad passed on. For months, she barely connected with the world. She made some rash decisions without consulting any of us.” She sighed and was silent.

“Were you living here when all this happened?”

She nodded. “Thank God. I don’t think any of us would have survived if we hadn’t had each other. That’s what family is all about, right?”

“You really buy that, don’t you?” he asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone. “Because you’re Romani.”

“That’s part of it,” she said, turning to face him. “As a group, we’ve survived unbelievable adversity. Slavery. Genocide. Horrible atrocities. Instead of tearing us apart, it drove us closer. We share a unique bond. My father believed this was something to be proud of.”

The look in her eyes told him she understood his unvoiced skepticism.

“You don’t appreciate it because you didn’t grow up hearing the stories and legends. My sisters and I weren’t just little girls with Romani blood, we were Gypsy prin
cesses.” Her face took on a dreamy, wistful look. “Our great-great-grandmother was so beautiful a young prince fell in love with her. His parents wouldn’t let them marry, but they had a child before her family was driven out of the country.”

When she noticed his scrutiny, she blushed and made an offhand gesture. “My sisters call me gullible. A romantic. Maybe I am, but knowing I was descended from royalty helped shore up my self-esteem when other kids teased me.”

“About being a Gypsy?”

“About my teeth.” She gave him an artificial smile. “I had braces from the day my permanent teeth came in—sideways.” She grimaced. “Something like that can scar you for life, but I had faith in my father’s story and my mother’s premonition, so I just ignored the teasing.”

“What premonition?”

A flash of red colored her cheeks. “Oh, nothing.”

“Grace,” he said. “I told you about my sister.”

She looked toward the ceiling and sighed. “Mom had a prophesy for each of her daughters. Mine was that I’d marry a prince.”

That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “A prince, huh? The kind with a castle and a moat?”

She snickered. “I don’t think so. In fact, according to Mom, he won’t find out he’s a prince until after he marries me.” Her blush intensified. “Boy, I just realized how egotistical that sounds. ‘Marry me, buddy, and I’ll make you a prince.’”

She shook her head. “Well, it’s my mother’s dream, not mine.”

Nick wondered if
his
mother ever had any dreams about his future.

Grace moved away, walking to the door to peer into the hallway. “I’m really worried that we haven’t heard anything yet.”

“I thought she looked pretty healthy,” he said, although he had to admit Alex didn’t always possess the same vivaciousness as her sisters. He’d assumed she was just more laid-back.

Grace let out a heavy sigh. “She’s had…female troubles, as my aunt used to say, for a long time. Shortly after opening The Dancing Hippo, her doctor found a large cyst on her ovary. He removed it, but the incision became infected and Alex had to spend nearly two weeks in the hospital. It was really scary. And expensive.”

“Wow. Did she have insurance?”

“Yes, but even the co-pay was a lot. And the worst part was her doctor couldn’t guarantee the cysts wouldn’t return. Alex vowed never to let them open her up again, but she’s in pain every month.”

Nick had never seen Grace look so bleak, but she tried to put on a brave face. “I offered her the money in my trust to pay any further hospital expenses, but she says money’s not the reason she won’t have the procedure done again.”

“Then what is the reason?”

“I don’t know. It may have something to do with Mark. Her ex-fiancé…uh…married someone else.”

“Is your sister’s bad luck with romance the reason you’d rather invest your money in a risky business venture than save it for a wedding?”

She frowned. “You’ve been talking to my mother, haven’t you?”

Nick couldn’t tell her that Yetta had asked him to investigate Charles. Nor could he tell her that any money she handed over to Chuck was sure to become frozen once the National Insurance Crime Bureau and the D.A.’s office got their hands on Charles’s assets. But she was an innocent. He owed it to her to warn her. Right?

“Grace, you should think twice before you invest with Charles.”

She gave him an odd look. “Why?”

“Because…” Nick wasn’t sure what he planned to say, but he stopped speaking when a man walked into the room. A man dressed in a drab brown leisure suit that Nick had seen several times that week. Zeke.

Grace glanced at Zeke briefly without interest. Nick knew she was exhausted. She’d told him earlier that she’d worked her noon shift at the restaurant, then covered for Alex at the child-care center before picking him up.

“Why, Nikolai? I know why my sisters are against this idea, but what have you got against Charles?”

Nick could feel Zeke’s eyes boring into him. What could he possibly say without blowing his cover? He was saved from answering by Yetta. She hurried into the waiting room. “Alexandra is better,” she said, with a tearful smile. “Fine, actually. A nasty case of the flu, not her ovary. But she’s dehydrated and her potassium is low so they’re insisting she stay overnight—against her wishes, of course.”

“Can I see her?” Grace asked, after hugging her mother.

Yetta took her hand then looked around. “Come. I’ll take you. Where’s Elizabeth?”

“She went for a walk,” Nick said. “I’ll let her know where you are when she gets back.”

Once the women were gone, Nick looked at Zeke, who appeared to be reading a magazine. “Something you want to say to me?”

The magazine hit the table. “I guess I want to know what the hell you’re doing? Dinner. Gambling. Dancing. Hey, a cop’s got to do what a cop’s got to do,” he said, his tone sarcastic, “but that doesn’t include warning one of the princesses away from our suspect.”

Nick knew that. He didn’t need Zeke to reprimand him. “Grace isn’t part of Harmon’s scams.”

“That may be, but someone in this family is, and she probably talks to that person every day.”

Nick knew that, too. He was a pro, and instead of acting like a pro he was behaving like an inept fool.

“You’re here for a reason, Lightner, and you will play this game until—”

“Game?”