The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [297]
“Did she tell you why she did it?”
“She claims she lost it. She was crazy jealous. She thought she could scare you off, make you pack up and go back to California.”
“If we get the guy she hired, then she’d have to take a fall too, wouldn’t she?”
He nodded, then said, “Yes. If they catch the guy, she’d be prosecuted.”
“Let me think about it.”
He helped her into his Porsche, then walked around to the driver’s side. He gave the left front tire a good kick. “Damned car. I can’t believe it wouldn’t start that night. If Luke hadn’t come along, we might have been in deep trouble.”
“Luke’s coming to the wedding?”
“Oh yes.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Fasten your seat belt. I’m feeling like a wild and crazy guy.”
“I’m feeling kind of wild and crazy too. Tell you what. Why don’t we go home and watch old movies and eat popcorn?”
“Why don’t we go home and make our own movies? Popcorn is optional.”
“But you don’t have a movie camera, do you?”
“Let’s call this a dress rehearsal.”
She gave him a slow, sweet smile. “You promise to make me a star?”
EPILOGUE
“IDON’T believe this,” Lacey said as she took a glass of chardonnay from Fuzz, the bartender.
“He never told you, never let on?” Sally Quinlan asked, saluting her with her own glass of chardonnay.
“Never a word. Sure, he would sing me country-and-western songs. But this? I had no idea. Doesn’t he look beautiful up there, wearing those boots and that belt with the silver buckle?”
The two women sat back as Ms. Lily, draped in a white silk dress that made her look as epic as Cleopatra, said from the small square stage, “Now listen up, brothers and sisters, even you yahoos we’ve got here tonight. I’ve got a special treat for you. We finally got our Savich back. He and Quinlan have agreed to play for us. Take it away, boys.”
“This ought to be great,” said Marvin, the bouncer, at Lacey’s shoulder. “You just sit back and enjoy, Chicky.”
Dillon’s beautiful baritone filled the smoky bar, his guitar a mellow background, Quinlan’s sax running a harmony with the melody. His voice was deep and rich and sexy, carrying clearly to every darkened corner of the club.
What’s a man without love?
What’s his night without passion?
What’s his morning without her smile?
What’s his day without her in his mind?
Bring her love to my nights.
Bring her smile to my mornings.
Bring her mind to fill my days.
Just bring her back to me.
What’s a man without his mate?
What’s his life without her laughter?
What’s his soul without her joy?
What’s a man without his mate?
Bring her love to my nights.
Bring her smile to my mornings.
Bring her joy to my days.
Just bring her back to me.
Sherlock was crying. She hadn’t meant to, didn’t even realize she was doing it. Not making a sound, just letting the tears gather and trickle down her cheeks. When the sax and guitar faded out, there was absolute silence in the Bonhomie Club. A woman sighed. A man said, “Ah, shit.”
Then the applause came on, really soft and light at first, then gathering momentum. The women were clapping louder than the men.
“It’s his cute butt, Sally,” Ms. Lily said, leaning over to pat Lacey. “Well, actually, it’s both their cute butts. Now, little gal, when are you and my Savich going to get married? I don’t allow any gal shacking up with him. He’s innocent. I don’t want him taken advantage of, you got me?”
“You’ll get the invitation next week, Ms. Lily.”
“Good. Just maybe Fuzz will bring another bottle of chardonnay that has a real live cork, just like he did for Sally and Quinlan. Your Dillon’s real talented, honey. You just let him sing to you and bring him down here once a week. It’s good for my soul to hear him wail out his songs. Also, no crooks dare come near the club