Mad, Bad and Blonde - Cathie Linz [64]
“I’m not sure you have the natural ability required.”
“Sure I do,” Faith said. “I might not have in the past, but I’m mad, bad and blonde now.”
“Toughness isn’t a matter of hair color.” Abs took a sip of her own drink. “Did you cry watching Marley & Me?”
“Of course. Who wouldn’t?”
“I wouldn’t. That’s why I’m tough and you’re not.”
“That can’t be the only requirement. I ran the Chicago Marathon one year.”
“That’s not tough. That’s a waste of time.”
“No, it wasn’t. Getting engaged to Alan was a waste of time.”
“Love stinks.”
“I know. I have the song on my breakup CD. My cousin Megan burned it for me.”
“That was nice of her,” Abs said.
“Yeah, she’s very nice.”
“Just like you.”
Their argument continued as Faith polished off two more martinis.
Caine was sitting in a tavern with Buddy and Weldon going over details of his father’s case when his cell phone rang. Checking the caller ID, he saw it was Faith. She never called him.
“I’m calling about Faith,” a strange woman said. “Your number is listed as her ICE.”
Caine had entered his number in her ICE—in case of emergency—contact file on her BlackBerry himself back in Italy.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“She’s had a few too many Mounds martinis. I called the first number listed for her ICE contact but got her mom’s voice mail, so I called you. I’d just put her in a cab myself, but I don’t know her address, and she’s not real clear on that info at this point. I could get her address from her driver’s license, but I’d feel better if someone she knew well took care of her. Can you come get her? I don’t even know your name.”
He had no intention of telling her his name. “Where are you?”
She told him.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Caine said.
“A problem?” Buddy asked.
“Nothing I can’t handle. Sorry to cut this short.”
“No problem. Go do whatever you have to do.”
Caine had no trouble finding Faith in the trendy martini bar. She was dancing by herself to Dean Martin’s “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head.” He used the term dancing loosely, as it actually looked like she was just bouncing around not quite in time to the music.
He could tell by her loopy smile that she was totally out of it. “Caine!” She threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him over. “Tell Abs that I can be a real bad girl. Tell her I’m touch. Er tough.”
“She’s tough,” Caine said, keeping an arm around Faith as he grabbed her purse and led her toward the door.
“Bye, Abs.” Faith wiggled her fingers over her shoulder.
“Wait,” Abs called out. “Aren’t you Caine Hunter? I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to take her—”
“It’s fine,” Caine told Abs in his that’s-a-direct-order voice. “She’s safe with me.”
The place was crowded, but at his dangerous scowl, the upscale clientele parted to give Caine a path to the nearest exit.
“They have fancy sliders here,” Faith said.
“That’s nice.”
“No, it’s not. And I’m not nice either.”
“No, you’re drunk. Get in.” He held the Mustang’s passenger door open for her and guided her inside, lifting her legs and swinging them into the car. His fingers lingered beneath her silky thighs as the skirt she wore hitched up.
Reminding himself that he was not the kind of guy to take advantage of a drunken woman, he tugged her skirt back down to a respectable level and closed the door.
She opened it again. “Don’t you love that Dean Martin song?”
“Not really.” He shut the door.
She opened it again. “How come?”
“I’m more a Guns N’ Roses guy.” He closed the door, and this time he locked it remotely. He’d already activated the kid’s protection option that allowed the driver to control the locks and windows.
She was leaning halfway across his seat when he got in. “If you don’t like Dean Martin, why did you come here?”
“To get you.” He drove off before the valet parking attendant could demand a bigger bribe to allow him to temporarily park in front of the trendy place.
Faith seemed incapable of sitting upright or staying on her own side of the car. He couldn’t get to her condo fast enough. Yuri would be there . . . but he wasn’t.