Part 13 (2/2)
”All right. But if you don't get the money this time, I don't want to see you again.”
The certainty in her tone sent a chill through Clarence. He couldn't lose her now when they were so close to what they'd dreamed of. She was counting on him.
”I'll get it,” he choked out. ”I love you.” But as he said the last words he knew she'd already hung up.
Clarence didn't want to call Kubikov from his own phone, but he was desperate. None of his efforts to threaten the big man's underlings had resulted in any money. So despite his trepidation, Clarence punched in the numbers. As the line rang the first time, he cleared his throat.
”Da.” Kubikov's voice came aggressively at him, making Clarence jump.
”Cheerio,” he said, donning the accent. ”Do you know who this is?”
”Dagger,” Kubikov replied.
”Then you know what I want. I've got copies of certain doc.u.ments that could cause you problems.”
”I understand your threat,” the gangster interrupted. ”If I give money, we meet in person.”
”No. I won't meet you,” Clarence said. ”I'll give you an address to drop off the package. Once I have the money and Heather's photos, I'll mail you the doc.u.ments. You'll just have to trust me.”
”You want photos and money? Photos take longer. They in safe deposit.”
A nerve at the corner of his eye began to twitch as he thought for a few seconds before finally replying, ”Just get me the money then.”
In response, he received a long silence.
”I'm mailing the doc.u.ments after an hour,” Clarence warned, trying not to see the fear in his own eyes reflected in the mirror. ”I can mail them to you or to the police. You choose.”
After a pause, Kubikov asked, ”What your address?”
Clarence hadn't considered what address to use for the drop. Not his own definitely. Only one came to mind. ”Um...528 Gaston? Put the money through the mail slot in the door.”
”Da,” Kubikov said before ending the call.
s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t. Clarence punched more numbers into his phone. After four rings, voicemail answered.
”Mo, this is Clarence. Call me back as soon as you can. I need to know what you found last night. Um... Harriet wants to know what you found in the Mercedes. And there's something else I need to talk to you about.” He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. ”Anyway it's urgent, but nothing to worry about.” He forced a laugh. ”But don't go home. Just call me back as soon as you possibly can.”
Moments later Clarence barreled out of the stall and the door banged, metal against metal. He pushed past someone in a Phantom of the Opera costume on his way out.
Mo wondered how much longer she could hide in this restroom stall. She really had to pee, but she didn't want to be caught with her pants down, literally or figuratively, when Heather made her move. Besides, there was something weird about peeing with Heather there freshening her make-up on the other side of the stall door.
A number of women came and went. Some of them pulled on the door to see if anyone occupied the stall. Unfortunately, the lock on this particular stall wasn't working and each time someone tried the door, it opened readily.
Listening intently for Heather to exit, Mo jumped when her cell phone song sounded. At the same time, the stall door pushed in with a jerk.
A woman dressed in naughty nurse garb waited on the other side. ”Oh. Sorry,” the nurse said, not sounding at all sorry.
”Occupadito,” Mo improvised, trying to keep up the pretense that she didn't speak English for Heather's benefit.
The nurse turned a quizzical expression on Mo, scanning her up and down with a fish-eye. She probably wondered why Mo stood there doing nothing.
”Scusimente,” Mo stated in her pretend language, pulling the door shut again. By the time she rummaged into her pocket for the cell phone, it had stopped ringing. The number the phone displayed for the missed call had been blocked. Cinnamon sticks.
The outer door to the ladies' room opened and closed again. She peeked out of the stall and saw Heather had departed. Mo rushed after her and the outer door flew inward-pushed by a fast moving figure-almost hitting her. Stepping back, she avoided a collision with the door but wasn't so lucky with the figure. Mo found herself face-to-fur with a plushy cartoon-like chipmunk. Then the chipmunk removed its furry head, revealing another rodent beneath. Stewart Milton, reporter not-so-extraordinaire, stood there wearing his usual s.h.i.+take-eating grin.
”Milton. What the duck l'orange are you doing here?”
”The better question is what were you doing in here with Heather Davies? Did it get physical?” His eyes sparkled with glee. ”I can see the headline now: Celeb's Fiancee and Mistress Throw Punches Over the Porcelain.”
”Don't be ridiculous,” Mo scoffed. ”I'm not Ross Grant's mistress.”
”Then what are you? The public has a right to know the status of relations.h.i.+p.”
”Oh no they don't.” Mo shook her head. She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the chipmunk head and rammed it into his chest. ”Now get out.”
The grin filled with the metaphorical brown substance returned. ”I'll leave for now, but I won't go far. This Ross Grant story is too good to pa.s.s up.” With that, Milton pushed his way out the ladies' room door.
Mo let out the breath she hadn't known she was holding and glanced at herself in the mirror. Placing her palms on her face, she found her cheeks were hot to the touch. Turning on the faucet, Mo let the water run before scooping soothing coolness onto her skin. Finally ready to confront the crowd in the convention center, she straightened and prepared herself to walk out the door.
Before she could touch the handle, the door flew inward again as another figure rushed through, sending Mo stumbling backward. Strong arms came up to grab her by the shoulders which kept her from bouncing against the wall. She recognized those strong arms.
”Ross.”
He shoved the Phantom mask up. ”Listen,” he said in an urgent whisper, ”I just overheard Clarence give out an address where we might find something.”
”Find what?”
”I don't know, but it seems to have something to do with why he wanted you to break into my car. I think he-”
The restroom's outer door began to swing inward again.
”b.o.l.l.o.c.ks,” Ross grumbled and rushed Mo into the first stall. After squeezing himself in the small s.p.a.ce with her, the stall door shut at his back. He held Mo to him, saving her from balancing over the toilet bowl.
Awareness of his body pressed against hers zinged through Mo. He was all hardness and strength as his body touched hers from the tops of her thighs to her chest. She hoped he couldn't feel how her b.r.e.a.s.t.s tightened through the rough cloth of the clown-er, ninja-costume. His musky warm male scent mixed with a hint of expensive cologne enthralled her. Mo's skin sizzled. Her body buzzed, it was so alert and sensitive to his. His full lips, so succulent they begged for a bite, were nearly touching her forehead. She had read somewhere that s.e.xual attraction was based on pheromones. Ross must be drenched in them.
His breathing had quickened. Was it from the exertion or was he affected by her proximity also? She hoped for that latter option.
The two of them listened as someone else entered the restroom. Heather's voice echoed against the tile. ”I can't hear a thing. Just a sec.”
Mo peeked around Ross through a small slit at the stall door opening and saw Heather speaking into her cell phone hands-free device again.
”That's better. Now what is it?” She paused and then said, ”No. Absolutely not. The cake has to come from Delphine's. She is the baker to the stars, you know. I don't care how expensive it is. And the photographer has to be Narducci. He is the definitive in guy right now. You're the wedding planner. You should know these things, darling.”
Ross's jaw clenched and he frowned, creating a few s.e.xy lines between his brows.
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