Sizzle (Buchanan-Renard #8)

Sizzle (Buchanan-Renard #8) Page 25

“The dinner was lovely, just lovely,” her grandmother said as she entered. “Father Henry was pleased with the turnout.”

“That’s nice,” Lyra said

Her grandmother moved closer, frowning. “What’s happened to your face? It looks chapped.”

Lyra touched her cheek. “Really?”

She knew why her face was chapped: Sam’s whiskers. The culprit stood just behind Gigi, grinning.

“Lyra, I promised Father Henry you would stop by with a check for him tomorrow before you drive back to Los Angeles.”

“Yes, I will,” she promised. “How much should I give him?”

“A hundred thousand should do for now.”

There was no hesitation on Lyra’s part. No questions, no explanations required.

“And Harlan …” Gigi continued.

“Do you want me to pay him in advance since you’ll be at the ranch?” Lyra asked.

Gigi nodded and told her how much to pay Harlan. “That should include the supplies he’ll be needing to finish the job. He’s going to have to hurry and have it done in three weeks because he’ll be working full-time again.”

Lyra was thrilled. “He got a job?”

“He’s starting his own company, and his first job is an addition to the parish school. It’s terribly crowded,” she added. “When you see Father tomorrow, have a look around.”

Lyra turned to Sam. “Both the church and the school at St. Agnes need a lot of work.”

“It’s a poor parish,” Gigi added. “The people struggle.” She kissed Lyra on the cheek and motioned for Sam to bend down so she could kiss him as well. “I’m going to bed now.”

“Gigi, I’d appreciate it if you would sleep in the guest room,” Sam said. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

Lyra thought that was a good idea. “I know Harlan sealed his work area off, but dust gets through, and you shouldn’t be sleeping in your bedroom.”

“But Sam, you won’t be comfortable on the sofa,” she protested.

“Of course I will,” he assured her. “I can sleep anywhere.”

“I’ve already changed the sheets,” Lyra said to her grandmother, which was a complete lie. Since Sam had never slept in the guest bed, his sheets were still fresh. Luckily, all Gigi’s sheets were white.

Lyra waited until her grandmother had gone upstairs before she moved closer to Sam and whispered, “No more messing around.”

“Okay.” He pulled her to him and kissed her.

She pushed him away. “What are you doing?”

“Messing around.”

“So you do the opposite of what I ask, huh? Maybe I should use reverse psychology on you.”

“That sounds good. Try it.”

The sparkle in his eyes made her heart speed up. “All right. Sam, I think we should fool around.”

“You got it.” He kissed her again, hotter this time, longer.

She was trembling when she pulled away from him. “Blankets are in the linen closet across from Gigi’s bedroom.” It was nearly impossible for her to walk away from him, but she summoned the willpower.

Only later, when she was in bed and trying to fall asleep, did she realize how much she cared for him. She’d been successful blocking those feelings, but now they were glaringly obvious. Of course she cared for him. He was putting his life on the line to protect her. She punched her pillows and stuffed them behind her head in an attempt to get comfortable. She tried to clear her mind, to no avail. Thoughts of Sam kept creeping back in.

He was the calm in the middle of any storm, and she responded in kind. It just wasn’t possible to freak out when he was so relaxed, so confident, so in charge. She remembered when he found the explosive under her car, and he casually told her he was calling the bomb squad. He didn’t seem fazed, so why should she be? He led her away as if there were no worry at all. And when they were being shot at in the park, he was so steady.

His dry sense of humor made her laugh. And physically, she thought he was the sexiest man alive. She’d never responded to any other man the way she responded to him. All he had to do was look at her with that twinkle in his eyes, and she melted.

Still no sleep. She had to stop thinking about him. She tried to clear her mind and relax. That lasted about a minute, and then her thoughts went right back to Sam. She couldn’t ignore the reason for her insomnia any longer. Lyra was in love with him.

Great. Just great! Lyra was furious with herself. She should know better. Sam would never marry again. Look how long it had taken him to even say his wife’s name. No, marriage was never going to happen.

She could never move in with a man she wasn’t married to. That would kill Gigi. Not that Sam would ask her. And what kind of woman with any self-respect would chase a man all the way to D.C. knowing there would never be a commitment? Thoughts like these usually came a year after meeting a man. Not this quickly.

Why was she worrying about any of this anyway? Nothing would come of it. So what if Lyra loved him? With her predatory parents circling Gigi like sharks, it was up to her to keep them away. They had dragged her into court once, and Lyra knew, given the chance, they’d do it again. Her brothers would help, but the main responsibility fell to her. As long as Gigi was alive, Lyra would protect her and take care of her.

Lyra pulled the blanket up to her chin and let out a sigh. She had worked it all out in her mind: Sam was a good man, but he wasn’t interested in a committed relationship, and neither was she. With that settled, she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, they packed their bags, left Harlan working on the panic room, and drove to the airport. Sam and Lyra watched from the security checkpoint until Gigi disappeared down the ramp.

After leaving the airport, they headed to St. Agnes with a check. Wearing a black cassock, Father Henry was in the schoolyard watching the children at recess. It was apparent the kids loved him. He stood with his hands behind his back while child after child implored him, “Watch me, Father. Watch me.”

Lyra was drawn to a group of first graders, boys and girls playing some sort of jumping game. She left Sam and Father Henry and walked across the yard to find out what they were doing. All of them wanted to explain the game they had made up. Each voice contradicted the one before, and by the time they had finished their interpretation of the rules, Lyra didn’t think even they knew what the game was. So they showed her. And they made up a few new rules as they ran and hopped around the markings on the playground, but what fascinated Lyra the most was the fun they were having as they created their own game.

It suddenly struck her what her project should be and what she should call it: The Art of Play.

There were no handheld gadgets or tiny computer games that would keep them sitting for hours. No electronic screens. No motorized toys. No fancy anything. Nothing but their imaginations. And the fun they were having made quite a statement.

Two little girls held her hands and walked her back to Father Henry, chattering the entire way.

Sam watched Lyra with the children as they vied for her attention. She responded as though what each of them had to say was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. There was such joy in her face. Such warmth. How could they resist her?

How could he?

THIRTY-ONE

MILO WAS FURIOUS WITH MR. MERRIAM. LYRA HAD ALMOST been killed by her attackers, and Milo had no doubt who they were: Merriam’s two puppets, Charlie Brody and Lou Stack. He stormed into Mr. Merriam’s office, marched up to his desk, and was about to give him his resignation when Mr. Merriam handed him an envelope full of hundred-dollar bills.

“What’s this?” Milo asked, losing some of his steam.

“With all the craziness lately, I forgot to pay you your monthly retainer … you know, the mess with Rooney.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Milo had also forgotten about the money he was owed. “It was a crazy time,” he agreed as he stuffed the envelope into his jacket.

Mr. Merriam always paid him in cash, so there was no record that Milo worked for him. Milo used to believe his boss didn’t think he was good enough to be on the company payroll, and that he was a little ashamed of the work Milo did for him, but then he figured out that Mr. Merriam was helping him. Getting wads of cash, Milo would never have to declare income or pay taxes. It was a real sweet deal. His boss was actually being thoughtful … at least Mr. Merriam had been thoughtful up until now.

“Do you have any news for me?” his boss asked.

“Not yet.”

Mr. Merriam didn’t hide his disappointment. “That disk is gonna be the death of me. I’ve got Charlie and Stack digging through Rooney’s office. He owned his office building, and according to Charlie, Rooney had crap everywhere. So far they haven’t come up with a thing. Looks like I’m gonna have to torch that building, too. What about that girl from the yard sale? And how certain are you that no one else took any DVDs and books? Any one of a hundred people could have taken it. I’m doomed, Milo, done for.”

“No,” Milo said, feeling a little sympathetic. “Babs Rooney had just started the sale—or the giveaway, I guess you’d call it—and the people there were after the big stuff. Maybe they would have gotten around to the junk eventually, but no one was giving that heap of old books a second look—not when they were seeing flat screen TVs being carried out.”

“I guess I’ve got to assume the disk was either burned up in Rooney’s house, or that girl took it and hasn’t looked at it yet. If she had, I’d already be behind bars. I think it’s time I cleaned out my office.”

“Another fire?” Milo asked. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Three fires? Rooney’s house, then his office building, and here? Sir, don’t you think the police might be able to find a connection if there are three fires?”

“No, no fire here. I’ve got to get rid of a few things. I can destroy most of it, but I’ve got a safe that came from an office where there was an unfortunate accident. The owner fell out a window twenty stories up. There was an open safe just sitting there, and since I needed a safe, I took advantage of the situation. Unfortunately, I didn’t know at the time that the owner had his name engraved on it. I’ve got to find somewhere to dump it.”

“How could anyone lift it?”

“It’s not like the one in Rooney’s office. Two men can carry it. Strong men,” he added.

“Aren’t you worried it could get stolen?”

His boss scoffed at the notion. “I’ve got a reputation, an excellent reputation, thanks to you, Milo. Anyone who messes with me knows I’ll send you or Charlie or Stack after them.”

Milo knew Mr. Merriam meant it as a compliment, but lumping him in with Charlie and Stack, two unproven newcomers, was an insult.

“You should take the safe to Paraiso Park. I’m sure Charlie and Stack told you about it,” Milo said sarcastically.

Mr. Merriam shook his head. “What’s Paraiso Park?”

Milo studied his boss’s face. He looked puzzled. Was it possible he didn’t know about Paraiso Park and the shooting?

He waited for Mr. Merriam to say something, but he continued to stare at him as though he was crazy. Milo came to the conclusion that his response was sincere. Mr. Merriam didn’t know about the park. And that meant that Charlie and Stack didn’t tell the boss that they had followed Lyra there and shot at her. If they had killed her, she couldn’t tell them where she’d put the books and DVDs, and that would have made the boss go ballistic. Milo knew he could blow the whistle on them right now, but he thought better of it. If he revealed that Charlie and Stack had gotten out of control and were shooting at Lyra, then Mr. Merriam would know he was at the park, too. How would he explain that one?

Now that he’d brought up the subject of Paraiso Park, he might as well use it to his advantage. He told Mr. Merriam how it had become a dumping ground. “You could have Charlie and Stack bury the safe … maybe in the back somewhere.”

Mr. Merriam rocked in his chair and drummed his sausage-sized fingers on the desk.

“Hmmm. Think the city will come in and clean it up?”

“No, sir, I don’t, but say they did. What would it matter? If you wiped your prints off it, who cares if it gets found, right?”

“That’s right,” he agreed. “Now what about that girl? She’s a loose end I want tied up.”

“I’m working on it,” he said. “But, sir, I’ve got to say something. I’m … disappointed … yeah, disappointed that you didn’t have enough faith in me to get the job done. Bringing Charlie and Stack onto the case is upsetting to me. You know, breaking into her apartment and all. I feel I’ve shown my abilities and….” Milo had prepared his speech, and he nervously stumbled through it.

Mr. Merriam looked perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

Was he really playing dumb? Milo felt his temper rising again. Before he could repeat what he had just said, Mr. Merriam’s phone rang.

“I’ve gotta take this.”

Milo nodded. He would wait.

Mr. Merriam answered his phone, said “Hold on,” and looked at Milo. “This is a private call.”

Milo dragged his feet as he left so he could find out who was on the phone with the boss. Mr. Merriam called to him, “I think you need more help, Milo. I’ll talk to Charlie and get back to you.”

Milo didn’t acknowledge his boss’s insult. Why would he think he needed help? And how had Charlie and Stack weaseled their way into Mr. Merriam’s inner sanctum? When he got into his car, he pounded his fists on the steering wheel until tears came into his eyes.

He had known that he would have to end it with Lyra, his beautiful Bond girl, but his conversation with Mr. Merriam had just clinched it. If he had a relationship with her, Charlie and Stack would find out. As long as Mr. Merriam thought she had his precious DVD, she was in danger. It was up to Milo to keep her safe.

Milo was more than willing to sacrifice his own future for her, but maybe there was another way out of this. He needed a plan.

Then it came to him. It was brilliant in its simplicity. Milo would tell a lie.

MR. MERRIAM PHONED HIM the following afternoon.

“Charlie and Stack are here in my office, and they’re going to lend you a hand—”

“I found them!” Milo blurted before Mr. Merriam could utter another word.

“What? You what?”