MEG BRACKETED HER WAIST with her hands. “Are you kidding me? Money? So, this is all a game to him? Here we’re worried sick and he’s getting a big laugh from it? If you’re right, when we find him, I’m going to kick his ass, the little stinker.”
“Feel free. But let me think out loud a minute and figure out where we are, all right?” When Meg nodded, he continued. “Okay, he told us not to come here. Which he knew we would. So he left us this note to guide us to the next clue.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Joe held the note up to her as if it were evidence.
Meg frowned. “I’m having trouble seeing the game in all this, Joe. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, you stick with the scavenger hunt thing, I’ll go with the Mafia, and we’ll both consider a huge mental snafu. That way, we cover all the bases.”
“Makes sense. How do you see it?”
“Well, maybe they—the gangsters who were actually here—don’t know he left the note.”
Joe rubbed his jaw as if that helped him to reason. “But the note was in plain view on the dining room table. How could they not see it?”
Meg shrugged. “Maybe they’re dumb gangsters.”
“Or not.” Joe eyed her levelly. “And in your running-from-the-mob scenario, how is my uncle getting around? We have his car.”
“A cab, maybe?”
Joe nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking. Or maybe some of his cronies are in on this, too, and driving him around. Remember those guys he said were coming over for cards?”
“Oh, that’s right. Maybe it wasn’t for cards…at…all.” An unexpected yawn got away from her, claiming the last few words. Embarrassed, Meg clamped her hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
Joe’s face softened into a sweet expression of sympathy, making her heart melt.
“Hey, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Look, it’s after eleven already. Why don’t I walk you to your door and go chase Uncle Maury down by myself? There’s no reason for both of us to miss out on sleep.”
Meg waved her hands in protest. “No way. I’m not missing out on the best adventure I’ve had in years.”
“You’re a good sport, but I’m not so sure of my theory that I can just toss yours out. We could be riding right into something dangerous. I don’t think I could forgive myself if anything happened to you.”
“I don’t think I could forgive you, either,” Meg assured him mock-seriously. “So don’t let anything happen to me. Besides, if I’m right, I need to go with you for backup.”
He sized her up and apparently found her wanting. “Backup? You?”
“Hey, don’t get all macho on me. I have pepper spray, remember, that could come in handy,” Meg warned.
“Yeah, that ought to scare the hell out of a bunch of gangsters.”
“Along with that little knife you don’t even know how to use?”
Joe narrowed his eyes. “We’re not getting anywhere trading insults.”
“You started it.”
“Meg.”
“All right, all right.” She pointed to the note in Joe’s hand. “So, what do we do next?” Meg looked up at him, noticing anew the deep blueness of his eyes.
“We should forget all this and just go to bed. Let him wonder where the hell we are, instead of the other way around.”
She’d stopped listening when he’d said they should just go to bed. Blinking away the sexy images that served up, she smiled. “But what we’re really going to do is…”
Slumping tiredly, Joe scrubbed his hands over his face and then stretched mightily, presenting her with an eye-popping vision of male muscular vitality. “I’ll drive, you navigate.”
“I’m in.”
He looked at her questioningly. “Okay, but feel free to call it quits anytime you want. I have no idea how long he’ll drag this out.”
“If it’s him dragging it out.”
“Okay, if it’s him.”
Though she remained skeptical, the danger just didn’t seem real. Instead, a thrill of pleasure at the thought of being with Joe even longer raced over Meg’s skin and revived her. “Okay. Let’s get started. A minute ago you said Maury left us a clue. What is it?”
“I’m not sure. See what you make of this. He says we’re to go to Mario’s. Who the hell is Mario? Have you ever heard him talk about this guy?”
Meg frowned. “No. Even if he had, how are we supposed to know where some guy named—Oh, wait! Of course. I love Mario’s.” Meg grinned. “It’s not a who, Joe, it’s a place. Come on. I know exactly where your uncle is.”
“Then let’s go.”
“Not until we feed the goldfish.”
FORTUNATELY, IN JOE’S VIEW, Meg had realized that Uncle Maury meant the upscale, happening restaurant and bar on busy Dale Mabry Highway. This was one big, bustling place of low lights and formally attired waitstaff. A place where liquor and laughter flowed. Where movie stars, rock stars and sports figures had signed their pictures “To Mario, with Love” or “with thanks.” They didn’t say for what, and Joe didn’t want to know. As he watched Meg scan the room, her pretty face glowing with the thrill of the chase, her shapely hips swiveling as she carved a path through the room, he couldn’t help but wish for more intimate surroundings—say, dim lights and a soft mattress.
Back in the café and bar section of the restaurant, where Joe and Meg had been seated, even more framed eight-by-ten glossies hung above intimate booths filled with classy women and tough-looking guys. He just sure as hell hoped he didn’t have to exchange words with any of them. But there was no telling with Uncle Maury. In fact, Joe was beginning to fear his great-uncle did, indeed, belong with this crowd of heavies.
Unsettling him further were Meg’s excited tales that actual Mafia figures were reputed to hang out at Mario’s. She’d told him that the newspapers periodically reported mysterious goings-on in some discreet back room here. As she’d talked, her brown eyes had shone bright with excitement. Joe had merely grinned at this, remembering that this was the same woman who, earlier, had ducked down in the car seat at the first hint of “bad guys.”
Right now, though, the place was filled with happy Friday-night revelers all jostling for position, all trying to see or be seen. Joe leaned his elbow on the wood bar and kept Meg close to his side with his other arm wound tightly around her trim waist. She didn’t protest the liberty, in fact, she had just as close a hold on him. He marveled at the way their bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, and couldn’t help but imagine how that would translate in bed. Joe didn’t quite know yet what this meant for him and Linda, but he didn’t want to go there right now. He just wanted to hold Meg and enjoy how totally right and incredibly exciting it felt. He’d deal with the whole Linda issue later, when he had a minute to think about anything aside from where the hell his great-uncle was. They’d given their drink order to one of three busy bartenders—an Italian looker named Dina, according to her name tag—and waited now while she mixed them up.
Leaning in close to Meg, his mouth almost against her ear—to anyone looking at them, he would appear to be lightly kissing her hair—Joe said, “I’m thinking Waldo would be easier to spot in here than one bow-legged little mobster or trickster, whichever he is. You don’t see him, do you?”
She shook her head and turned to him, putting her lips to his ear. The intimacy of her gesture…her warm breath and sweet-smelling nearness…made Joe’s knees weak. And it came dangerously close to standing another part of him up at attention. “He might not be here, but maybe another note is.”
Joe pulled back to stare down at her. “Great. How the hell are we supposed to find that? I expected to see him seated in a big booth with a cigar in one hand, a drink in the other, with a handful of his waving, laughing cronies all around him. Like the joke was on us.”
Meg grinned. “That would have been funny.”
Joe quirked his lips. “If you say so. But he’s obviously not here. So, Meg, if you were Uncle Maury, where would you be?”
She leaned in close to him again. “In jail or the White House.”
Chuckling at her quick wit, so much a part of her attraction for him, Joe had all he could do not to grab her and kiss the hell out of her. But knowing this was not the time or the place, he took a deep breath and exhaled for calm and control. “Maybe we should ask the staff if he left a note or a message for us. That seems like the kind of thing he would do.”
Before Meg could say anything, a loud, happy and very drunk blonde in a really skimpy skirt bumped her from behind and knocked her into Joe.
“Whoa!” Joe cried out, helping the sloppily apologetic woman away and holding on tight to Meg at the same time. “You okay, Meg?”
“Yes. But that’s three times with her. The next time, I’m going to start shoving back.”
Joe grinned. “Now, there’s a highlight to the evening. A chick fight in a bar.” He pulled money out of his front pants pocket, thinking he’d be ready when the drinks came, and froze, staring at the wad of loose bills in his hand—the ones his uncle had forced on him earlier. “What the hell?” he muttered, confused.
Meg turned to him. “What? What is it? Do you see Maury?”
“No, but look at this, Meg.” Holding the money down between the two of them, Joe discreetly displayed the bills. “Remember the money my uncle gave me? I thought they were dollar bills. They’re not—they’re hundred-dollar bills. I had no idea until this second.”
Meg gaped at the money in his hands. “That’s right—you used a credit card to pay for dinner. My God, Joe, how many of those did he give you?”
He sorted and counted them. “Damn. Ten. I wonder if he even knows he gave me hundreds instead of ones.” He shook his head. “That crazy Maury Seeger.”
Just then, Dina, the Italian bartender, leaned toward them over the bar and placed their drinks in front of them. “Hey, did you say Maury Seeger?”
Joe quickly folded the hundreds and stuck them back in his pocket. From his other pocket, he pulled out a more appropriate denomination, paid Dina and told her to keep the change, which was twice what the drinks cost. She smiled widely and thanked him for his generosity.
Joe picked up his drink, handed Meg hers, and said to Dina, while trying not to sound like Joe Friday from the old Dragnet series, “Yeah, we’re looking for Maury. You know him?”
Dina braced her hands on the lip of the bar and eyed him and Meg. “Sure. He comes in all the time. He’s a sweetheart. Who’s asking?”
Joe took a sip of his drink, then spoke. “I’m Joe Rossi—”
“And I’m with him,” Meg said sharply.
Joe saw the territorial expression on her face as she stared at Dina over the rim of her glass, which she’d raised to her lips. Fighting a grin, he focused again on the petite bartender dressed in a white ruffled tuxedo shirt and black vest. “Maury’s my great-uncle. He left us a note saying to meet him here.” Joe took a healthy swig of his beverage and winced as the strong liquor went down. “Have you seen him tonight?”
Dina assessed him, her hazel eyes flicking up and down his body. “Maybe. Where are you from?”
“Colorado. Denver.”
Dina relaxed and nodded. “Okay, you check out. Yes, Maury’s been here.”
A jolt of triumph shot through Joe. “He has? What’d he say?”
“He told me to tell you he’d see you at the exploding chicken.”
Surely he hadn’t heard her correctly. Joe leaned in toward Dina, cocking his head in confusion. “I’m sorry, but with all the noise in here, I didn’t catch that. He’d see me where?”
Meg pulled him back upright and answered him. “As I’m sure Dina would love to tell you, it’s the nickname a newspaper columnist gave a piece of modernist sculpture the city installed downtown in front of a round skyscraper everyone says looks like a big beer can.”
“An exploding chicken in front of a big beer can? This is some interesting city you have here.”
“I know. Isn’t it totally cool? Anyway, we only have to go to the corner of Kennedy and Ashley Drive. Not very far from here.” She smiled at the bartender. “Right, Dina?”
Nodding, looking knowingly from Meg to Joe, she said, “Right.”
“Thank you.” Meg blatantly turned her back, cutting the other woman out of the conversation. “You know what, Joe?” she said breathlessly. “I’m beginning to think you’re right about this being a game. Maury’s got us traveling in a big circle. One more loop and we’ll be right back at the apartments.”
“Well, thank God. We just might see a bed tonight.” A bed? Again, the image of him and Meg tangled together on a mattress had his body tightening. “Or…our beds, I mean. Separate beds.” He was making it worse. “Forget it. Let’s go.” He placed his glass on the bar, Meg did the same, and Joe tapped the bar to get Dina’s attention. “Hey, thanks.”
She shrugged. “Think nothing of it. It’s what I’m here for.”
“Really?” Meg said, her voice a notch higher. “I thought it was to—”
“We’re outta here.” Joe gripped Meg’s elbow, ready to haul her off before she vaulted right over the bar. But before he walked away, he thought of something else he needed to ask the bartender. “Dina, how’d my uncle seem? Was he okay?”
She laughed. “Sure. He was Maury. All bluster and good times.”
“Really?” And here he was worried about the old guy going off his rocker when it was obviously a big joke. It really ticked Joe off. “Was anyone else with him?”
“Hard to tell. You can see what it’s like in here.” By now, she was mixing a drink order for some unfriendly-looking men who sat a few stools down the bar from where Joe stood with Meg.
“Yeah, I don’t want to jam you up, but I thought you might have noticed if he had some old-guy friends along. Or anyone who might have stood out.”
“No old-guy friends. But I did notice a couple of really big guys—dark suits, scary sort—hovering near him. Could have been anybody. But they stood out, even in here. I don’t know if it means anything, but they left right after Maury did.”
“DAMN, YOU’RE RIGHT. It does look like an exploding chicken. As done by Picasso, maybe.”
“I know.” Grinning, Meg craned her neck back to look at the soaring example of shiny steel and bright yellow modern art that jutted many stories above her head. She and Joe had parked the black boat of a car on a side street in a metered slot and were waiting on the downtown sidewalk until Maury either showed up or they got some message from him. “Isn’t it something?”
“I’m sure it’s supposed to be.” Joe abandoned the sculpture in favor of studying the street. “You usually have this much traffic downtown late at night?”
Following his gaze, she watched the double phalanx of cars zooming past on Kennedy Boulevard. “Only if there’s been a concert at the Ice Palace, or whatever it was renamed—some corporate sponsor or other, I forget who.”
“Yeah, that’s happening everywhere. At least we have a warm evening for hanging around and waiting. We’d be freezing our butts off in Denver.”
He was right about the weather—the night air, even this close to midnight, remained balmy and close, like a heated body wrapped around her. The streets were lit by glass-globed streetlights and the passing cars’ headlamps. The only wind came from vehicles in motion. “You know, I’ve never just stood here like this at midnight in downtown Tampa,” Meg remarked. “I like it. More people ought to do it.”
“Introduce them to Uncle Maury and maybe they will,” Joe quipped.
This near to him, Meg could feel the heat his body generated. “No doubt. But, Joe, everything else aside, you don’t think he’s slipping, do you? I mean mentally. I probably see him more than you do, but you’ve been staying with him for three days. Have you seen anything that worries you?”
“No, not until he did this.”
“But even this, we don’t know. I’d hate to think we’re having all this fun while he’s in real danger, from his own mental status or whoever.”
Joe rubbed her arm comfortingly, which thoroughly warmed her, inside and out.
“Hey, the old coot is fine. Dina said he was all bluster and good times, as usual. To me, that proves he’s being Maury and having fun at our expense.”
“I hope so.” Meg looked up at Joe. “I think Dina liked you.”
Joe grinned. “And I think you didn’t like Dina.”
Meg felt her face heat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. She seemed like a very nice girl.”
Joe’s knowing laugh didn’t help Meg’s pride any—but then again, neither did the yawn she once again couldn’t stifle in time.
Joe grinned. “Am I boring you, Meg?”
She played down her social gaffe. “No. A bunch of third graders wore me out, that’s all.”
His expression sobered. “Oh, hell, that’s right. You worked today. I forgot all about that. I should take you home. Seriously.” He gripped her elbow.
His thoughtfulness warmed her. “I appreciate it, Joe, but we’re already here. We have to wait for Maury. I need to see for myself that he’s all right. I won’t sleep until I do.”
Joe’s fingers drew slow, seductive circles around her elbow. “All right, we’ll wait. But I wonder if Dina got the location right. There’s no one out here but you and me.”
Meg enjoyed his touch for a moment before commenting. “Oh, she got it right. You’ll be glad to know there’s only one exploding chicken sculpture in Tampa. And how can you say we’re alone? Are you forgetting this fine, round building’s illustrious security guard, who even now is watching us from his desk inside the lobby?”
“That’s right.” Joe released her arm and turned to wave at the man, who did not wave back. “And he looks thrilled that we’re still hanging around.”
“Definitely,” Meg said, waving with him. “I don’t think he believed our story about being tourists.”
“It’s half true—in my case. It was obviously killing him that he couldn’t come up with a reason to tell us to move along from a public sidewalk.”
“Exactly. But we must look suspicious just standing here.” Meg glanced all around. “Maybe we ought to do something.”
“Like what?”
She met his gaze and saw his blue eyes glittering with awareness and suggestion. A sweet shiver slipped over her skin.
“Hey, you’re shivering. Are you cold? Come here.” Joe opened his arms and held them out to her.
Ignoring the fact that the air temperature had to be maybe eighty degrees, she said, “Actually, yes, I’m a little chilly.”
Joe waggled his fingers. “Then come here.”
Meg stepped into the shelter of his arms and smiled like a contented cat against the warm firmness of his chest. With his arms wrapped snugly around her, she relaxed, enjoying a sense of safety she hadn’t felt since she’d left home to be on her own. Certainly she’d never felt this secure with stupid Carl the cheater.
When Joe took her chin in his strong hand and tilted her face up to his, another feeling took over—one far less relaxed. The moment his lips met hers, she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and opened her mouth to him, inviting a deeper, more passionate kiss. Their tongues entwined in a moist, intimate mating, their breathing growing ragged as the security guard was forgotten. Meg felt herself melting deeper into Joe’s embrace—the touch she’d been longing for.
A screech of brakes and a frantically honking car horn startled Meg into tensing against Joe’s body. And then they heard him.
“Hey, Joey, Meggie, where the hell you been? Come ’ere! Hurry! We ain’t got all night, you two lovebirds!”