Everybody Loves Evie (29 page)

“We'll hash it
oot
with Beckett in the morning, yeah?” He paused, a thoughtful pause that caused my neck to itch. “Evie…I need to ask you something.”

Don't scratch.
“Yes?”

“Back at the pub…I understand that you were upset. But why did you go to Beckett? Why not me?”

Breathe, Evie, breathe.
“His badge.”

“Come again?”

“Mom had just told me about Gish and the investment. I was angry. Call it a bad case of tunnel vision. I wanted Beckett to bully Gish with his badge. To run him out of town.”

His eyebrows rose. “That's it?”

Initially, on the surface, yes, it was. “Isn't that enough? Essentially asking a government agent to behave like a thug? I'm pretty sure I insulted Beckett.”

He smiled at that.

Sensing he was willing to live and let live, relief whooshed through my body. “I'm sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” He shook his head, laughed. “I seem to be having champion issues. Bloody unsettling.”

Okay, I had trust issues with this man, but knowing he wanted to be my champion blew my reservations to smithereens. At least for this pulse-tripping moment.

“It's been a wild day, lass. Get some sleep.”

I clasped his arm when he tried to roll away. “Stay. Please.”

He waggled his eyebrows and adopted a Humphrey Bogart lisp. “You're the boss, Applesauce.”

Amazing that he could make me laugh after a day like this. My body hummed with equal parts elation and exhaustion. I didn't know what had transpired between Arch and Beckett, but something had inspired Arch to offer me an active role in this matter even if it was simply allowing me to choose the course of action. I felt empowered. It did wonders for my spirits. Earlier I'd obsessed on problems, now solutions percolated in my brain.

He switched off the lamp, and together we snuggled under the covers, fully clothed.

I melted against his warm, hard body, wrapping my arm around his torso, throwing a leg over his thighs. I sighed when his mouth found mine. I tasted liquor on his lips, his breath, his tongue—
sinful.
Yet it was the tenderness in his touch that went to my head. This relationship wasn't perfect, but it had wondrous possibilities.
This,
I thought,
is where I want to be.
This is where the party is. In this man's arms. In this man's life.

Dance, Evie, dance.

“Arch?” I whispered, drunk on his potent charisma.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He stroked a thumb over my cheek. “I know.”

If it weren't for the smile in his voice, I would've been miffed or hurt by his arrogant, noncommittal reply. But I recognized the patter.

I love you.

I know.

A vision of an ambitious princess and a shifty pilot came to mind. “Princess Leia and Han Solo.
Star Wars—The Empire Strikes Back.
”

“I was hoping you'd get that reference.” He distracted me with a kiss that rocketed me into a galaxy far, far away.

M
ILO WOKE UP WITH
Nicole's head in his lap.
Hey, now.

Not wanting to wake her, he resisted the urge to shift and stretch. He blinked away the cobwebs, trying to recall how they'd ended up like this. Ah, yes, the movie and a bottle of scotch.

He faintly remembered matching Nicole glass for glass. Recalled making it to the end of
All About Eve
and midway through a documentary on war. He remembered she was a liberal. Not a surprise. Aside from Arnold Schwarzenegger and a few random others, weren't all entertainers left-wing?

He didn't remember falling asleep—sitting up, no less. And the last he recalled, she'd been coiled at the opposite end of the couch like a bespectacled black cat. Now her glasses were on the coffee table and she was curled on her side…her head in his lap.

Huh.

The light from the TV illuminated the room in a soft haze. Moe, Larry and Curly yukked it up in muted silence. He squinted at his watch. Five in the morning. He studied Nicole's exquisite features. The little-girl braids and lack of makeup perpetuated an air of innocence. Of course, as soon as she woke and spoke, that illusion would be shot to hell. Nicole Sparks had issues. Considering he struggled with his own demons, they'd make a volatile match. Not that he was interested. Not that she'd flashed signals. They didn't like each other. If they did, even a little, last night would have ended differently.

Instead of getting busy between the sheets, they'd passed out on the couch. A blessing, really. He'd had enough personal drama, compliments of his ex. When it came to a mate, he wanted someone with a lighter spirit, someone like…Evie.

Damn.

Okay, then, why was Mr. Happy suddenly pulsing to life?

Well, Beckett,
he thought reasonably,
maybe it's because a beautiful woman's luscious mouth is, at this moment, a scant two inches from your johnson. Oh, and you haven't been laid in four months.

Right.

“Hell.”

Nicole shifted, doubling his misery. His cock twitched and his thigh vibrated. The latter a result of his ringing cell. Signal in the house? This morning was full of surprises.

He eased out from under Sleeping Beauty, slipping a throw pillow under her head before slipping away and out the front door. He palmed his cell, glanced at the incoming number. Tabasco. “What's up?”

“Sorry to call so late, Jazzman.”

“You mean, early.”

“Haven't been to bed yet.”

“You've been at the tables all night?”

“Mostly. Hot Legs, too. But it paid off. She's in. Our crooked dealer not only told her about Turner's private game, he invited her to breakfast.”

He smiled at the envy in the other man's tone. “Don't take it too hard. She's prettier than you.”

“Better card player, too.”

“Surprised to hear you admit that.”

“Blame it on the bourbon. A cutie-pie cocktail waitress kept them coming.”

“Where are you now?”

“Sitting in my car in front of a Denny's, inhaling coffee.”

“Why?”

“I told you—Gina's inside having breakfast with the roper.”

A bonus, as far as Milo was concerned. A skilled flirt, if there was any inside information to glean about Turner's private high-stakes game, she'd know it by the time her idiot date paid the bill. “Tabasco.”

“What?”

“Gina can take care of herself.” An ex-cop expertly trained in self-defense. Milo often joked she could seduce and throat-punch a man with equal proficiency.

“I know. Just watching her back.”

Standard procedure within Chameleon. His team. His family. Only the dynamics had shifted when Arch slept with Gina. And now Evie was in the mix. Damn. “I appreciate that, Jimmy.” He padded across the damp porch in his socks, breathed in the rain-fresh country air. Again tranquility eluded him. “Did Gina tell you when the game's scheduled?”

“Tomorrow night. I mean, tonight. I really need some sleep. Anyway, I've been drilling her on cardsharp techniques. If Turner's cheating, she'll spot it.”

“And we'll know how to spin that to our advantage. Fast work. Good work. Thanks. I'll let the senator and Crowe know we're making progress.”

“We'll check in later this afternoon,” Tabasco said. “After we get some shut-eye. How are things on your end?”

“ID'd the man scamming Mrs. Parish. Hope to clear this one up today.”

“Talk about fast work. You've only been in town two days.”

“Helped that Evie's brother was already suspicious of the bastard.”

“Speaking of Twinkie, how's her cold?”

Smiling, Milo rolled back his shoulders. “You've been hanging around Pops too long. Later, Mama Bear.” He disconnected and slipped back inside the house. No sign of Nicole. She must've woken and gone up to bed. He considered settling back on the couch—he'd slept sounder there than he had in weeks—then decided on a morning run to rev his mind and body. He had a feeling today was going to top yesterday in terms of controlling his emotions.

He wondered about Evie's decision regarding Gish. Wondered about her future with Arch. Hell, he wondered about his own damn future. At this point little was clear beyond one fact.

Change was in the air.

B
REAKFAST WAS A SOMBER
affair even though I was in a chipper mood. In fact, my chipper mood seemed to add to the tension. Especially where Nic was concerned. I didn't want to say anything in front of Arch and Beckett, but I was pretty sure she had a hangover. I didn't remember her drinking much during the indoor barbecue, so she must have tied one on afterward. Alone or with Beckett, I didn't know. I was dying to ask, but I didn't.

“Let's go over it one more time,” Beckett said.

“Let's not,” Nic said, “and say we did.”

“I'm okay with running it again,” I said. “I mean, I've got it, but to be on the safe side, I think Beckett's right. Fancy Feet stole a widow's savings and left her destitute. I want to do what's right for her
and
my mom and I don't want to screw it up. If Gish suspects we're onto him and runs—”

“I get it, Evie,” Nic snapped, then shoved her glasses higher up her nose. No contacts.
Tinted
glasses. Bitchy mood.

Definite hangover.

“If you
dinnae
want to do this, Nic,” Arch said, “say the word. We'll alter the come-on.”

She wet her lips. “I want to do it.” She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Of course I want to do it. Ignore me. Let's go through it again.”

Heart full, I poured her another cup of coffee. “Thanks, Nic.”

Beckett, who sat directly across the dining-room table, pushed away his oatmeal and spared her a glance. Again I wondered what had happened between them last night. Although maybe it was nothing more than a clash of personalities. Nic could be stubborn and Beckett was a control freak. After a private conversation with Arch, he'd spent the rest of the morning on the phone speaking with various authorities, hashing out details regarding Gish's arrest. I wasn't privy to those details, but I did know Beckett hated complications, and just now Nic was being difficult.

My tension eased a little when he focused back on me. No hint of desire. Just now, the man was all business and he exuded—hallelujah—confidence. “You and Arch have a scheduled dance lesson with Gish at eleven-thirty,” he said. “Don't be surprised if people stop you on the sidewalk and want to make nice. Word's out. The Baron of Broxley is in Greenville, Indiana. Aside from word of mouth, we know you two made the front page of the
Tribune.
”

“Thanks to Christopher, who called bright and early this morning,” I said with a roll of my eyes. Who wakes up and reads the paper at five-freaking-thirty in the morning?

“It's a good thing,” Arch said, “for multiple reasons, yeah?” He winked at me and nudged my foot under the table. The playful gesture reminded me of the tender bond we'd forged last night and the hot sex we'd had this morning.

Flustered, I fumbled my fork. I bent over to pick it up from the floor at the same time he said, “I'll get it.” Our faces met beneath the tabletop and he stole a quick kiss before we both straightened.
Zing. Zap.

Nic smirked. “Where's your fork?”

“Oh.” Blushing, I bent back down and retrieved it.

“Naturally, interest in the European noble and the homegrown performer will spike,” Beckett continued, looking annoyed. “Makes sense the baron would want his assistant-slash-bodyguard along. Wouldn't want another paparazzi episode.”

“And since I'm your girlfriend,” Nic said, blowing over yesterday's debacle, “and her best friend,” she said with a nod toward me, “naturally, I'd tag along.”

“We all four enter the dance studio,” Arch said, “and play it by ear.”

Nic stirred sweetener into her third cup of coffee. “Soon after, I excuse myself to go to the ladies' room.”

“Soon after,” I said, “my cell phone rings. It's Nic pretending to be my mom. We have a brief conversation and I put her on the phone with Gish.”

“
Randolph,
” Nic said, affecting Mom's voice and Midwestern twang.
“I don't know how it happened, but George found out about the bonds I cashed. Either I'm going to have to tell him the truth or produce that money. What should I do?”

Silence reigned as Arch, Beckett and I stared at Nic. She sounded
exactly
like Mom.

“Brilliant,” said Arch.

“Amazing,” said Beckett.

Nic shrugged. “It's a gift.”

I smiled. “After Gish says whatever he says to Mom and signs off, I express my apologies.
I have to leave. Mom needs me.
”

Arch slathered strawberry jam on wheat toast. “I express concern
aboot
you running around town with
oot
me.”

“Or me,” Beckett put in.

“Whereafter I reenter,” Nic said, “and offer to come along.”

“We leave you men alone with Gish,” I said, “and then…”

“They've got it down,” Arch said to Beckett.

“Like there's a lot to remember,” I cracked. “But then what? What are you guys going to do or say that will convince Gish to cough up my mom's money and write her that note before you whisk him away and turn him over to the proper authorities? How is that going to work?” Last night Arch had as good as said Gish wouldn't have that kind of cash on hand, yet this morning he'd told me not to bother pooling my funds with Christopher's.
Trust me,
he'd said. Tall order.

Beckett stirred sugar into his coffee.

Arch chewed his toast. “They're not going to tell us,” Nic said. “That's not fair,” I said. “That's life,” she said.

Arch caught my eye. “For the greater good.”