When You Were Mine (Adams Sisters) (7 page)

Joey, still dressed in her pajamas, blinked numbly at her.

Michael jabbed a hand into her hip.  “Don’t tell me you changed your mind about this?”

“No...yes.”  Joey slumped against the door.  “I don’t know.”

“I do.”  Michael stormed into the house.  “This man played you, and he’s not going to get away with it.  So wipe your face and get dressed.  SpongeBob isn’t going to cut it.”

Michael’s bossiness sprang Joey into action as she acquiesced with a quick nod and rushed to her room.  Fifteen minutes later she was dressed and sitting in the passenger seat of Michael’s Volvo.

“There’s a thin line between love and hate,” Michael said with her eyes locked on the road ahead.  “Some of these men would do best to remember that.”

Joey nodded.  “Do we have a plan?”

“I always have a plan.”  Michael turned onto the freeway.  “Dr. Laurence Benson will rue the day he crossed an Adams.”

Glancing over at her sister, Joey wondered for the first time whether Michael was really referring to Joey’s ex-almost-fiancé or someone a little closer to home.  “Mike, is everything okay between you and Phil?”

Her sister clenched her jaw.  “Peachy.”

It was a lie, Joey realized as she studied her.  “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”  Michael took her exit ramp without a turning signal and Joey quickly rechecked the security of her seatbelt.  “Maybe Peyton was right.  We are getting too old for toilet papering front yards.”

“I agree.”  Mike took another sharp right. 

“You do?”

“Yep.”  Mike glanced over at her.  “I have something better in mind.

Joey’s stomach clenched with anxiety.  Michael’s calmness worried her.  What exactly did she get herself into?

She didn’t wait long for an answer.

Michael, an artist when it came to revenge, had packed for a masterpiece. Laurence’s high-tech security system seemed to insult Michael’s intelligence, and they were in the house in less than a minute flat.  Once inside, they started off with a Michael classic: super gluing everything in place. 

Next, they poured industrial strength blue dye in the hot tub, filtered Nair into all the shampoo bottles, and squeezed liquid soap onto his toothbrush.  In the kitchen, they punched holes into cans of tuna and then hid them in different cabinets for a 360-degree stank effect.

In the garage, since the Mercedes was gone, they poured three bottles of baby powder into the defroster vents of Laurence’s Porsche and then turned the knob so it was set on high defrost for whenever he started the car.  Joey wished they had cameras so she could see Laurence’s reaction when he came home.

It was official: Joey had gone over to the dark side.

Michael took great pleasure in brushing a thin coat of vegetable oil inside and outside of the windshield and for a final touch: rocks in the hubcaps.

“Now, let this be a lesson to you, Sis.  Never lose your cool, never let them see you cry and never let them get the best of you.”

Joey nodded, but her curiosity about the state of Mike and Phil’s relationship bubbled to the forefront of her mind. 

By the time they returned to the Volvo parked two blocks away, Joey grudgingly admitted she felt much better. 

She was a criminal...but she felt better…right up until she saw the blue lights flashing behind them.

Chapter 8

              The morning sun warmed Lincoln’s face as he snuggled closer against Peyton, dreading the prospect of having to get out of bed.  Hands down, last night was the best sleep he’d had since the renovation began on their new home.

              A lazy smile drifted across his face as his mind crowded with erotic images of his wife.  He had no trouble recalling the taste of her sweet lips or the silkiness of her thighs.  In fact, he wanted to bury himself between them right now.

              He squeezed her tighter, drew her back against him, and placed a tender kiss against her lower earlobe.

              “Lincoln?”

              “Hmm?” he moaned.

              “Did you just kiss me?”

              He chuckled softly, squeezed her close.  But before he could answer, the heavy baritone penetrated his mind’s purple haze and his eyes widened with a jolt.

              “Linc?”

              “Uh...” Lincoln took in his surroundings.  To his horror, it wasn’t Peyton he snuggled against but instead his mountain of a brother-in-law.

                “Lincoln, why did you just kiss me?”

              “Why are you holding my hand?”

              A solitary knock against the door drew the men’s attention, but it opened before either had a chance to react.

              “Linc...” Peyton glided through the door and froze.  “What--”

              “Is anyone coming down for breakfast?” Marlin Adams, the family patriarch inquired as he, too, stepped into the room and then stood shell-shocked next to his youngest daughter.

              “Hi, dad.”  Flex smiled.  “Surprise.”

              The color drained from Marlin’s face.

              Lincoln finally found his voice.  “This isn’t what it looks like.”

              Peyton and her father remained silent and rooted in place.

              “See what had happened was--”

              “He kissed me,” Flex said, and consequently made matters worse.

              Peyton’s eyes shifted to her husband.  “You kissed my brother?” 

“I…I thought he was you,” Lincoln offered as an explanation, but could tell by the rise of her eyebrows she found that hard to believe.  “Well, I know he doesn’t
look
like you, but...I told him to sleep on the couch.”

“I need a drink.”  Marlin turned on his heel and marched out the way he came.

“It’s eight o’clock in the morning,” Peyton reminded him.

“Good point.  I better make it a double.” 

Lincoln detangled himself.  “Mr. Adams, I swear nothing happened.”  He turned toward Flex.  “Tell him.”

Flex smiled and folded his arms behind his head.  “Aw, he’ll be fine.”

Embarrassment blazed up Lincoln’s neck.  “Mr. Adams!”

Peyton covered a hand over her mouth in a sad attempt to muffle a snicker.

“I’m so happy you find this amusing.”  Lincoln jumped out of bed.  “This is
your
fault.”

“Mine?” Peyton laughed.  “I didn’t tell you to put the moves on my baby brother.  I knew you were horny, but--”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he warned, grabbing his robe and rushing out the door.  “Mr. Adams!  Wait.  I need to talk to you!”

Peyton turned her wide grin toward her brother.  “Welcome home.”

“It’s good to be home.”

The two collapsed with laughter.

Joey pried open her wet, swollen eyes only to stare blankly at the ceiling.  For a moment last night’s crime spree seemed like a bad dream, but when the unmistakable sound of steel slamming on steel echoed around the stone walls, the truth hit home.  It had been no dream.

Neither was their arrest.

“We’re entitled to a phone call,” Michael barked to a passing guard.  “Both of us!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the guard chanted.  “You’ll get your call.  Just hold onto your panties.”

Michael exhaled a long huff.  “Can you believe this crap?” she asked Joey.

“I can’t believe a lot of things right now,” Joey sighed and sat up on the metal bed.  Her gaze swept to the small cluster of women in the opposite corner.  All of them dressed in rubber-band skirts, too tight tank-tops, and ridiculous high heels.  However, one had on a pair of familiar stilettos.

“I can’t believe you didn’t shut off the alarm,” she whispered toward her sister.

“I did shut off the alarm.”  Michael shrugged.  “I just didn’t shut off the second alarm¾the silent one.”

Joey rolled her eyes and somehow remained calm.

“I want my phone call,” Michael yelled.

“The more noise you keep up, the longer it takes to get your call,” Ms. Stilettos informed them in between smacks of her bubble gum.

Michael’s shoulders slumped.  “Thanks for the tip.”

“Well,” Joey sighed.  “If we go to jail, at least we’ll be there together.”

Michael’s gaze cut toward her.  “That jerk won’t send us to jail.”  A rippled of doubt crossed her hard expression.  “Will he?”

“I don’t know what
Larry
will do,” Joey answered.  The dregs of her sugar-high ebbed away and in its place a maddening headache pulsed.  “Are you going to call Phil?”

Michael’s hands tightened around the cell’s bars.  “I don’t know.  Then again, San Jose is five hours away--three if Sheldon drives. That’s a long time to wait for another family member to get up here.”

Joey cocked her head and stared at her sister’s granite pose.  “Mike, what’s really going on with you and Phil?”

Her sister didn’t answer.

“You know
I
can keep a secret.”

For a long while, Michael said nothing, but then when she finally spoke, it was just above a whisper.  “Phil and I--”

“Michael Anthony Matthews and Joseph Henry Adams?” the female guard shouted down the jail’s long corridor.

Michael wiped her eyes.  “Over here!”

“Michael and Joseph?  What are you two¾drag queens or something?” Ms. Stilettos asked, approaching Michael and inspecting her face.  “You
girls
are the best I’ve ever seen.”

Joey rolled her eyes.

“You two ladies are in luck.  Dr. Benson called from the airport and stated he wasn’t going to press charges.”

The other women in the jail cell clapped and whistled.

“Those two were beginning to sound like a soap opera,” one of them griped.

Michael flashed them a bird.

Joey ignored them.  “Did you say the airport?  Is he going out of town?”

“What do I look like, honey—his personal secretary?”  The plump guard sauntered into view as she inserted the key into their jail cell.  “All I can tell you is that you’re free to go.”

#

Ryan couldn’t believe he paid someone five times a week to torture his body into shape.  It was insanity, but also a necessity.  The world was a young man’s playground, more so today than any other time, and he was in it to win.

During his ten-mile run, Ryan thought a great deal about Joey.  In particular, her long legs and her mischievous but innocent dark eyes. 

Maybe when he returned from location, he could call an agency or something to find her.  He knew her name and he definitely remembered every detail of her face.  Was six months sufficient time for a woman to mourn a breakup?  If he called too soon he could accidentally be filed into the rebound-guy category, or was it called the transition guy?  He never mastered relationship lingo.

Of course, there was the small problem of her hating his guts, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

“Good workout,” his trainer, Ken, boasted as they slowed to a stop at Ryan’s front door.

Ryan nodded and bent low at the waist to drag in a deep gulp of air.  He glanced at Ken, annoyed the man didn’t have sweat glands.

“How long are you going to be gone this time?”

“Four to six months.”

“Long time.”  Ken smiled.  “Do you need me to come and help you keep your regime up?”

Hell, no.
  “Let me get back to you on that.”

“Sure thing.”  Ken jogged over to his Mercedes with way too much reserved energy.  “I’ll make sure my people call your people,” he joked.

“You got it.”  Ryan forced on a smile and pretended to be amused.  “Catch you later.”  He pushed opened his door and entered the house.

“You have a package,” Guadalupe announced, appearing out of nowhere and handing him a FedEx envelope.

Ryan frowned as he accepted it.  “Morning to you, too.”

“Sorry.”  She smiled.  “Good morning.  Breakfast is ready.”  She floated toward the kitchen.  “One more day,” she sang.

              Curious, he followed.  “What’s with the big grin?”

              Her lips widened.  “Don’t you remember what tomorrow is?”

              Ryan quickly sensed a trap.  “Monday?”

              “Si.”  She marched back over to him and pinched his cheeks.  “It is also the night you and my cousin, Maria, are attending that roast for Sydney Poitier.”  She touched her forehead and crossed her heart.  “That man is still hot.”  She cleared her throat.  “They call me Mr. Tibbs.”  She giggled at her bad impersonation.

              “Is that tomorrow?” His heart dropped¾not because he had to attend the roast, but because he had to escort his housekeeper’s permanently inebriated cousin.

              “Oh, don’t worry.” Guadalupe patted his arm.  “She promised to be on her best behavior.”

              Ryan’s brain assessed the excuse file; but before he could rattle one of them off, she waved a finger at him. 

              “No excuses.”  Her eyes flashed.  “You said if you were in town and weren’t dating anyone, you would take her.  So, you’ll take her.”

              He clenched his teeth and forced on a smile.  “I didn’t say anything.”

              “Good.  It’s settled.”  She patted his arm again and turned.  “Besides, you need a wife.”

              “I said I would take her out.  Not marry her.”

              “One can lead to the other,” she sang happily.  “You’re having French toast this morning.”

              Ryan ripped opened his FedEx package and withdrew an airline ticket.  When he read the date, relief bubbled within him.  “Aw.  Sorry, Guadalupe, but it looks like there’s been a change of plans.”

              She faced him as her eyes narrowed.  “What sort of change?”

              “Film production is starting early.”  He held up his ticket.  “I leave for Milan first thing in the morning.”               

#

              Silence entombed Michael’s car as the sisters rode back to Joey’s apartment.  Gone was any taste of revenge from last night shenanigans.  Only despair and loss resided in Joey’s heart now.

              “I’m going to write a new screenplay,” Joey announced.  “Artists create their best work during depression--Hemmingway, Picasso, Beethoven.”