CAPTURED INNOCENCE (9 page)

             
He set the glass heavily on the table. Water sloshed over the rim. “What are you doing, Jo? If you’re this nervous, call it off. Maybe it’s a dumb idea. I just thought…since Blake has the town in the palm of his hand…well, we don’t need to this.”

             
Jo frowned. “I’m not nervous.”

             
“Yes you are. You’re biting the inside of your cheek. You do that when you’re nervous. And you’re shredding every piece of paper in sight.”

             
She stuck her nose in the air. “How do you know what I do when I’m nervous?”

             
“I’ve been studying everything about you for weeks.” He took another gulp of his soda. “You’d be surprised at what I know.”

             
“That’s creepy. Stop it.” She sat back in the booth and allowed the waitress to place her plate on the table.

             
“No,” he said. “It’s fun.” He picked up his fork and knife and sliced into the steak. When the meat was cut into bite size pieces, he twisted the plate a fraction of a turn and dug his fork into his mashed potatoes.

             
Jo held her fork suspended in mid-air as she watched him eat. “Why do you do that?”

             
“Do what?” he asked around a mouthful of food.

             
“You cut your steak then turned your plate to eat your potatoes. Then you turned your plate again to eat your vegetables.”

             
“I didn’t want my potatoes to get cold.” He speared a piece of steak. “And I like saving the best for last.”

             
Jo raised her eyebrows and shrugged. She looked around the restaurant and paid more attention to the white linen tablecloths and well-dressed patrons. “This is an expensive place? Can you afford it?”

             
“It’s our wedding dinner. Don’t worry about it.”

             
“Exactly how much does a private investigator make?”

             
“Stop being a snob.” His fork clattered against his plate.

             
“I am not, nor have I ever been, a snob.” Her voice rose. A couple sitting at a table close to them glanced their way. She lowered her voice. “How dare you say that!”

             
“How dare
you
assume I can’t afford a place like this.” Conley plopped back against the cushioned backrest and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes focused for a moment on a spot somewhere behind her. Finally meeting her gaze, he answered. “$75.00 an hour, plus expenses. I’m making a bundle off your parents. In fact, they’re paying for this meal.”

             
“Good.” Jo dug into her salad with a relish.

             
Conley remained silent for a minute then laughed. Softly at first then escalating into a loud guffaw. He snorted. “Sorry.”

             
Jo set her fork on the side of the plate and frowned. “What’s so funny?”

             
“You.” He wiped his eyes with his napkin. “I haven’t laughed like this in years. You’re good for me.” He snorted again and excused himself from the table.

             
She looked around the restaurant as Conley walked, laughing, to the men’s room. People stared at her, frowns on their faces. Blushing, she shrugged and ducked her head.

###

              Conley still laughed as he pushed open the door to the restroom. He strolled to the wide mirror and stared at his red face. Shaking his head, he turned on the cold water and splashed his face.

             
Someone grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his head into the mirror. Spots danced before him, obscuring his vision. Before he could act, a knee slammed into his stomach. He dropped to the floor.

             
When his attacker lifted his leg to kick, Conley grabbed the man’s foot and twisted. The man hit the floor with a thud. Taking a gulp of air into tortured lungs, Conley threw himself on top of his attacker. He smashed his forearm into the man’s windpipe.

             
“Who are you?” He stared down into dark eyes. The man’s ebony hair, long and greasy, splayed across the tiled floor.

             
The man arched his back, knocking Conley off. He scrambled to his feet and whipped a switchblade from his tattered jeans.

             
Conley crab-walked backward until he could regain his footing. He held his hands loosely in front him.

             
“There’s no need for that.” He kicked the weapon from the man’s hand. It landed with a resounding clatter on the tile.

             
His attacker rushed forward and head-butted him in the face. Blood ran down Conley’s chin and dripped onto his shirt.

             
“Now you’ve done it. I’m getting married in this shirt.” He thrust his fist forward, busting the other man’s nose. The bone crunched beneath his fist and blood spurted. Conley grabbed him in a headlock before dragging the man through the receiving door of the restaurant. He tossed him down the small flight of cement stairs.

             
“I don’t know who you are or why you’ve chosen me as your victim.” Conley’s voice was low and even. “But I’m not a man you want to mess with.” He wiped an arm across his lips and watched the other man stumble to his feet. The stranger turned and scampered down the alley.

             
Conley headed back to the men’s room. He removed his shirt and scrubbed at the blood spots with a paper towel. When he’d cleaned as much of it from his shirt as he could, he again splashed his face with cold water, then held the wet shirt under the hand dryer.               An older man in a well-tailored suit entered the restroom and paused, looking at the shirtless man.

             
Conley grinned. “Spilled my gravy.”

             
The man nodded without speaking and disappeared into one of the stalls.

             
Conley donned his damp, wrinkled shirt, and headed back to the table.

             
Jo’s eyes widened when she spotted him. “That was some bathroom break. Why’s your shirt wet?”

             
“Had to wash the gravy out.” Conley tossed money beside his empty plate.

             
“You don’t have gravy. What happened to your lip?”

             
“I ran into the door laughing.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her from her chair. The chair fell to the floor, the sound loud in the quiet room. “Time to go.”

             
She sputtered as he dragged her from the crowded restaurant. Once outside she jerked her arm free. “What is going on?”

             
“Nothing.” He looked down at her standing with her hands on her hips. “We want to get to the chapel before it closes.”

             
“I don’t think the chapels close here in Vegas, at least not for a while yet.” She planted her feet. “I’m not moving until you tell me what happened to your lip.”

             
He pulled her into an alcove. “At least get out of the middle of the sidewalk.”

             
“Well?”

             
“Somebody hit me.”

             
“Somebody hit you.” Her eyes widened. “In the restroom.”

             
“That’s what I said.”

             
“Why?”

             
“How should I know? He just came up behind me and hit me. Slammed my head into the mirror. I think I have a bump.” He reached up to feel his forehead.

             
“You have a cut on your chin and if you don’t stop beating around the bush,” Jo said. “I’m going to give you a bump. A big one.”

             
He flexed his shoulders and rotated his head, trying to loosen the kinks. “I was washing my face when someone came up behind me and attacked me. I’ve never seen him before.”

             
“Well, did you ask him who he was?”

             
“Of course I did!” His brows furrowed as he stared at her. “What do you take me for—a fool?”

             
She bent forward, just a bit. “I take you for a private investigator. A good one, according to you. If you’re so good, how could someone sneak up behind you in a public restroom and beat you senseless?” She turned away from him and folded her arms across her chest.

             
He opened his mouth, only to snap it closed again. He found himself at a loss for words. A rarity.

             
She whirled to face him. “Well? Are we going?”

             
He nodded and took her arm more gently this time, and led her to a small, white, quaint chapel. White pillars flanked the double white doors. White pots on the small porch held white silk flowers. A small non-obtrusive sign with gold lettering stated simply ‘Chapel’.

             
“Thank you,” Jo said.

             
“For what?”

             
“I thought you were going to take me someplace like the Elvis chapel.” She smiled up at Conley. “This is cute. Not tacky at all.”

             
“Thought you’d like it.” He pushed open the doors and steered her inside where a smiling, large busted blonde beamed at them from behind a desk.

             
“Welcome. Getting married?” she cooed.

             
Jo fluttered her lashes and looked away. Conley gave her a little pinch on the tender underside of her arm. “Be nice.” He returned the blonde’s smile. “Right away, please.”

             
“You’re in luck. The chapel is empty. Wait one moment and I’ll return with the justice of the peace.” She waved toward a display of flowers. “We have fresh or silk bouquets for sale. Feel free to browse.” The woman’s exaggerated wiggle as she walked away made him smile. Jo scowled at him.

             
He chose a bouquet of pink roses, baby’s breath, and ferns. He handed them to Jo with a wink and a smile.

             
She buried her face in the blossoms and took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

             
“You’re welcome.”
You’re beautiful
.

             
“We’re ready for you,” Blondie said. She poked her head through the swinging doors.

             
Jo started to enter the doors, and Conley held her back. “Wait. Would you walk down the aisle to me?” His voice barely rose above a whisper. “I know it’s a marriage of convenience, but, well, I’ve never been married before and…”

             
Her brown eyes met his. “If you’d like.”

             
Feeling shy all of a sudden, he answered. “I’d like it very much.” He flashed a quick grin and ducked through the doors.

             
Frigid air hit him as he stepped into the chapel, and he shivered. He marched to the smiling man dressed in a dark suit who waited for him at the front. Conley stood beside him and turned.

             
His breathing quickened as the wedding march sounded and the doors opened electronically. Jo hesitated for only a moment, her hand at her throat. Her tell-tale sign of tightening bronchial tubes. She took a deep breath before taking a step toward him.

             
Conley pulled the inhaler he’d snatched from the night stand from his pocket and held it in his palm. Jo’s eyes widened before she giggled. Her cheeks reddened. The tension lines eased on her face.

             
He admired the gold glints in her hair as she strode toward him. The twig of baby’s breath she’d stuck there made him smile.

             
Her hands shook as she handed the bouquet to the one he’d dubbed Blondie. She shook her head at the offered inhaler. Conley dropped it back into his pocket before he reached to take her hand. His gaze remained glued to her face as the justice of the peace spoke the wedding vows over them.

             
Voice shaking, Conley repeated his vows and removed the small gold ring he wore on his pinky. His fingers trembled as he placed the ring on Jo’s finger and bent to kiss her. His eyes closed. He brushed his lips across hers. Her small intake of breath caused his heart to skip a beat. He was a lost man, drowning in the wake of a beautiful, hurting woman.

             
              The sight of the double bed in the hotel room stopped Jo in mid-stride. Her throat constricted, and she fought to swallow past the lump. When they’d left, they’d kept the bathroom light on and now it shone with an intimate glow across the shag carpet