In Deep Shitake (A Humorous Romantic Suspense) (4 page)

* * * * *

Bloody hell
, Ross thought. The tabloid reporters, especially Stewart Milton, would have a field day if the police arrested him.

“What if I tell the officers I caught you breaking into my car?” Ross asked.

“What if I tell them you assaulted me,” Mo returned with narrowed eyes. “You have to admit your hands were all over my asparagus a short time ago. Not to mention how you groped my dairy.”

What incredible logic. Ross gaped at her.

One minute he wanted to kiss her and now he itched to feel his hands around her throat. This woman was making him insane. The last thing he needed was the violent emotional swings she created. His career depended on keeping a business head and not getting distracted. Taking a deep breath, he tried to impose the mental discipline he usually only had to call upon for the most challenging of acting roles.

The police cruiser rolled slowly toward them before stopping directly behind Ross’s Mercedes. One officer, the driver, exited the vehicle while the other officer remained in the cruiser and spoke into the radio. The first officer rounded the patrol car’s front bumper and approached them. The officer, who had a buzz cut, held a flashlight in one hand and had his other hand against the gun strapped at his side.

“Anything wrong here, folks?” the officer asked.

“No trouble here,” Ross said.

Mo leaned into Ross, thrusting her arm through his. She stroked his skin with a long, slow caress. “We’re just fine.”

So much for mental discipline.
The feel of her hands on him was making him anything but calm

Ross knew his expression must suggest she’d sprouted an extra head. She was as good an actress as any he'd ever seen before.

“
This your
car?” the officer kept one eye on them while glancing inside the Mercedes.

“Yes, officer.” Ross tugged at his arm, but Mo tightened her stranglehold.

"Can I have your identification?" the officer asked.

“Ouch,” Mo teased. “What a blow to his ego that you didn’t recognize the famous Ross Grant. He played Stephen Dagger."

"Mo—" He didn’t often lose it, but this woman was the exception. He felt as if his head would explode. She had zeroed in on his hot button and kept pushing it.

This guy is
gonna
be hell to live with when we get home if you don't remember him," Mo added.

“I thought you looked familiar." The officer smiled. He wagged a finger at them and then continued. “Wait until I tell my wife. She had your poster on her wall when she was a kid. She’s going to be so jealous.”

“The poster with the big gun?” Mo asked with eagerness.

“Yeah.”

“He loves that one,” Mo said. “Maybe he could sign an autograph for her. He lives for that kind of thing.”

Ross ground his teeth together. He'd been trapped so long in the Dagger stereotype that it was now synonymous with the humiliation.

“Of course.” It required all Ross’s acting ability to smile. “I’d be honored.”

The officer turned and tapped on the cruiser’s passenger side window. “Dan, look who we have here. Stephen Dagger the super spy.”

The black officer exited the vehicle, smiling. “Y’all don’t happen to have that big gun with
ya
?”

“No.” Ross tried not to let his irritation show.

“They wouldn’t let him bring it through airport security,” Mo remarked and both officers nodded.

Officer Dan’s smile widened. “I loved that line your character said in the movie. What was it, Tim?” He turned to the other officer. “Oh yeah. ‘It’s virtuoso.’”

“What did that mean?” Officer Tim asked.

“I haven’t a clue,” Ross drawled.

 “You silly.” Mo punched his arm playfully. “You know it means everything’s cool.”

“You look shorter in person,” Officer Dan said to Ross.

“I’m over six feet…” Ross realized he sounded defensive and trailed off.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Dagger,” Officer Tim said. “But we got a call from someone on the block about a car alarm.”

Mo cuddled closer to Ross. “We weren’t paying much attention.”

She smiled up at Ross with a flirtatious flip of her long brown hair.

“We got a little amorous and leaned on the hood and set the alarm off. I guess I distracted him,” she said.

Both officers laughed, no doubt picturing the romantic encounter in their heads.

Ross signed two autographs and even posed for photos with each officer just to get them to leave. Once the police cruiser departed, Ross turned a glare on Mo. “Do you want an autograph too?”

“Are you angry because the nice officers wanted you to sign as Stephen Dagger? I thought it was cute.”

With a shake of his head, he glowered at her. “You certainly have a facility for lying.”

“Facility? What do you mean?”

“Talent.”

“Thank you,” she said with a bright smile.

“That wasn’t a compliment."

“That’s okay because I didn’t mean it as a real thank you,” she responded. “Sometimes thank you means something else entirely…
.but
I’m too much of a lady to drop the f-bomb.”

“You’re impossible,” he said.

“Thank you.”

* * * * *

Ross rounded the corner of the block with Mo walking at his elbow.

“Are you following me, Ms. Tuttle?”

“How can I be following you?” she asked. “I’m walking right beside you.”

A group of five frat guys loitered in the boulevard’s grassy median. They wore green sequined top hats and t-shirts. Their chests
wer
covered by necklaces made of an assortment of green, gold, and white beads of all sizes. Each guy held a bottle of what looked to be beer. They took swigs between hoots of laughter.

“Cheese puffs,” Mo said. “It has already started.”

“What?” Ross couldn’t keep himself from asking the question, just as he couldn’t keep himself from feeling a certain fascination for this quixotic woman.

“The onslaught of St. Patrick’s Day revelers,” she answered.

“St. Patrick’s Day has revelers?”

“It does here," she told him. "Complete with drunks and flashing. Kind of like a green Mardi Gras.”

The frat guys spotted them. “Show me your boobies,” one guy with a tall fake-fur covered green leprechaun hat yelled. “I’ve got some beads for you right here.” The guy lurched as he grabbed his crotch and then almost collapsed with drunken laughter. One of his cohorts caught him before leprechaun guy hit the ground. His friends propped him back up. The group whooped with delight.

“Charming,” Mo grumbled as she continued walking. “Why don’t you flash them,
Dagger.
I’m sure they’d enjoy seeing a celebrity chest, even if it is male.”

Gritting his teeth Ross kept silent until they reached the entrance to the hotel. Before going in, he halted. “I insist you stop following me.”

“And I insist I’m not following you,” she retorted. “I happen to have business in this hotel. So there.” To prove her point, Mo stalked in front of him before pushing through the revolving door.

As Ross entered, Mo rushed toward the hotel bar.

* * * * *

Afraid she’d missed her honey trap assignment, Mo sighed with relief when she spotted her quarry: Vernon
Blitner
. He sat at a table opposite another man in the corner of the bar. Scanning the dim interior and the rest of the patrons, she spotted Clarence—receptionist and occasional agency operative—sitting a few steps away at the long mahogany bar. He stood as she approached.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Clarence asked in a loud voice. Then he whispered, “Where have you been? I thought you’d never get here.” A smile remained plastered to his face.

“No, thank you. I don’t care for a drink,” Mo said for the benefit of the patrons. “What the jalapeño were you thinking of sending me to break into some celebrity’s car?” she asked in a furious whisper.

“What did you find?”

“Nothing. He caught me.”

Clarence's eyes widened and his mouth gaped open for a few seconds before he said, “How could you let that happen?”

“I didn’t have any equipment with me since I was coming here to meet you when you called.”

Just then Ross Grant entered the bar and cast a glare at Mo as he walked past her.

“Speaking of the deviled egg,” Mo said, nodding in Ross’s direction.

“Umm. Yeah.” Clarence turned away.

Ross stopped at a table a few feet away to speak to a slightly rotund bearded man with white hair. Dressed in a polo shirt and plaid pants, the man resembled Santa Clause in golf course attire.

Mo recognized the man as Anderson Nicodemus, a local with some notoriety. Nicodemus maintained a seat on the city council and ran a corporate empire, which included an amusement park with a Christian theme. In addition, Nicodemus had made a name for himself as investor and executive producer of a number of well-respected films. The two men shook hands before Ross sat down.

“Let’s get this done and get out of here.” Clarence pulled a small camera from his blazer pocket.

Mo nodded and sauntered to the other end of the bar, closer to Vernon. He resembled the photo his wife had provided. Vernon was a middle-aged doughboy with numerous gold chains around his neck, providing a kind of picture frame for his chins rolls.

Sliding onto a bar stool, Mo directed an innocent smile toward Vernon who immediately turned to the man at his side.

“The hot chick wants me.
Gotta
go,” he said as he jumped from his chair. Vernon picked up his drink and a black pouch from the table in front of him, before hurrying to her side.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Vernon offered with a smile and a small burst of halitosis. He placed his glass and the pouch on the bar. “I can afford whatever you want.” He signaled the bartender with his hand.

“Sure.” Will power alone kept her from leaning away from his breath. “I’ll have red wine.”

The bartender nodded acknowledgement of the order and turned away.

“My name is V-man. It’s only fair to warn you I’m a playa.”

The bartender brought a goblet-style glass. Mo took it by the stem and sipped. Fortification. Before she could set the glass down, Vernon gripped her arm and pulled her to him. Dribbles of red liquid sloshed over the glass’s edge and beaded on the back of her hand.

“Let’s cut through all the preliminaries,” Vernon said. “Let’s go back to your place for a little
somethin
',
somethin
'.

Pulling away, she cleared her throat. “Sorry, V-man. I have a roommate.”