“MEG! WHAT THE HELL are you doing? Come back here!”
She didn’t waste breath on answering Joe. Meg kept running, bursting into the living room, and grabbing her purse up just as someone—Joe!—grabbed her arm. He meant to stop her.
“No! I won’t let you!” Meg cried out, breaking away. Terrified for him, she swung her leather purse at Joe’s arm and—talk about lucky aim!—knocked the gun out of his hand, sending it flying over his head…and banging him into the wall. Looking stunned, he tripped over a potted plant, lost his balance and fell in a heap to the tiled floor.
Instinctively, Meg knew he was just dazed, but, actually, her attention was riveted on the handgun. Seemingly in slow motion, it tumbled harmlessly through the air…only to land right in Larry, Moe and Curly’s tank with a wet, plopping sound. Water splashed everywhere…and the gun sank to the bottom. The startled goldfish took instant refuge in their little ceramic underwater castle. Their bugged eyes stared fearfully at Meg, who stood there stupidly staring back at them.
Suddenly, she came to herself and, like Xena, Warrior Princess, in fast motion, she ripped open her purse and pulled out her pepper spray. As she turned toward the door, her heart nearly stopped when she saw Maury already there and reaching for the dead bolt. All he had to do was turn the knob and the door would open to the murdering Mafia hit men.
“No!” Meg screamed. Maury jerked around and Meg attacked mercilessly. Using her shoulder and hip, she viciously bumped the startled old man right onto the sofa. A part of her brain registered that he landed safely on the cushions and bounced onto his belly. But the gun’s stock had also hit the cushions and the weapon popped out of Maury’s hands. It hit the terra-cotta tiles lengthwise and skittered away in a crazy circling motion.
Meg knew it was now or never, but she couldn’t move. She stood in front of the door, close enough to touch it. Her breaths came in pants; her pulse raced. Open the door, Meg, just do it. Well, she’d love to, only she couldn’t make her muscles work, could she? She stood frozen in place, knowing both Joe and Maury were only momentarily incapacitated. Who knew how long that would last? In the next second, either one of them could recover, grab her away from the door and stupidly put himself in harm’s way, meeting those thugs with guns in their hands.
Even if—miracle of miracles—Joe and Maury prevailed, they could still get arrested. For murder. It would be worse for Maury, being in the mob, but that would make Joe his accomplice. Oh dear Lord, they’d go to prison and end up some big sweaty guys’ bitches.
Meg blinked, becoming aware, in the next second, of a bigger concern. The bad guys outside had to know by now, given all the noise on this side of the door, that their quarry was trapped. Why, they could open fire at any second and hit Joe or Maury or Larry or Moe or Curly.
That did it for Meg. No one was dying today, not if she could help it. Mewling in terror, her fingers numb and clumsy, she fumbled with the dead bolt and jerked the door open. The startled men stood clustered together on the tiny front porch, staring mutely back at her. All three of them dropped their gazes to the canister in her hand. Rocco, who finally looked scared, opened his mouth to say something; but Meg cut him no slack.
Without warning, she opened fire, shrieking like she was the one being attacked, and sprayed the hell out of the three men. Screaming now themselves, clutching at their eyes and faces, they stumbled back and fell to the ground, where they rolled around, curling into protective fetal balls.
Even though they had their hands over their faces, their cries for mercy could still be heard. But Meg, still spraying, was beyond granting it. Completely panicked, she acted on pure instinct. Then, all of a sudden, her trigger finger locked. It wouldn’t allow her to spray anymore. That meant her job here was done. Still terrified, not quite believing the men wouldn’t reach out and grab her ankles if she turned her back—she’d seen that movie—Meg kept her canister aimed at her enemies and quickly shuffled backward into Maury’s apartment.
She slammed the door, threw the dead bolt and turned around, leaning her back against the solid wood. Breathing hard, her eyes closed, she felt the canister slip from her nerveless fingers and heard it roll harmlessly across the floor. Meg feared she was going to be sick. Or would collapse. Locking her knees to keep her balance, she pressed a hand to her stomach to stem the nausea. She opened her eyes—and nearly screamed before she realized the man standing in front of her was Joe.
“I got ’em,” she said.
“I know.” In his hand was the soaked handgun, which he held down at his side. His gaze roved over her face. “They could have got you instead, you know, Meg.”
A frightening realization, but one she could handle, at this belated point. “I never thought about that.”
“I didn’t think you had. By the way, this gun—” he showed her the one he held in his grip “—isn’t even loaded. Neither is Uncle Maury’s shotgun.”
“They would have killed you both.” It was a flat statement of fact.
Joe nodded. “Probably. Just so you know, that was the bravest and the most stupid act of heroism I’ve ever seen. But remind me never to make you mad.” He smiled, but he didn’t touch her, as if he knew he shouldn’t—not just yet. “You said you love me, Meg.”
“I do.”
His blue eyes darkened. “I love you, too. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Before she could reply, Maury—who was on his knees on the sofa and staring out the picture window—chortled and captured their attention. “Whew, you gave it to those guys good, Meggie! Look at ’em—like babies they are. Listen to ’em screamin’. Joey, you got to marry this girl.”
Shock was receding enough that Meg could feel emotions slowly returning. Uppermost was amusement at Maury and embarrassment that he would say that. She smiled a weak, wavering smile at Joe. “No, you don’t. And I’m fine, to answer your question.” But in the next instant, she wasn’t so sure. Something troubling hovered on the edge of her consciousness, but she couldn’t quite grasp what it was.
Joe obviously picked up on this. “Meg?” Hastily, he put the handgun on a small table next to him and gripped her arm supportively. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Meg shook her head. “I don’t know. Something.” Fear once again gripped her. “But there’s something about those men, Joe. Something not right.”
Apparently, her reply faded his concern. Chuckling, he released her arm. “Hell, nothing’s right with them, honey. They’re criminals. These guys will be put in jail for a long time because of your actions. You just did your country a great service—”
“Oh my God, Joe, that’s it!”
“What’s it?”
“Putting criminals away.” One hand clapped loosely over her mouth, her other planted against his chest, Meg gazed up at him in horror. “Oh, no.” The something wrong had popped brightly, like a camera’s flash, into her mind, leaving her feeling sick.
“Are you afraid they’ll send someone after you, some sort of vendetta?”
“Oh, someone will come after me, all right. But it won’t be the Mafia.”
“It will be if we don’t call the cops on these guys. They won’t be incapacitated all that long—”
“No, Joe,” Meg said plaintively, “you don’t need to call the cops. What you need to do is listen. I think I just made a big, fat mistake. I think we all did.”
Joe looked unconvinced. “You’re still in shock, Meg, from all this—”
“No, I’m not. Listen to me.” Meg grabbed a handful of his shirt. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t think those poor men out there are Mafia at all.”
Irritation claimed Joe’s features and she let go of his shirt. “Are you kidding me? You’re going to change your mind again?”
“Not exactly. Joe, I now realize that I’d never seen two of them before. The third one is the guy who did all the talking for the limo lizards. But didn’t you notice how these guys, including our mobster, are dressed?”
“No, I’m sorry, but I was a little preoccupied. What difference does it make how they’re dressed?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Joe, they’re not the same three guys. Only one of them is. And none of them is in mob clothes.”
He stared at her. “Mob clothes? You mean they’re not in black? So what?”
“They’re dressed in jeans and ball caps now. And they have on these dark all-weather jackets with three big gold letters on them.”
Looking more confused now than irritated, Joe shook his head. “What are you talking about? Some designer logo? A brand of beer? A football team?”
She shook her head no…slowly, fatalistically.
Joe’s eyes widened, some of his confidence seeming to leach out of him. “You’re starting to scare me, Meg. What are the three letters?”
“Oh, Joe.” Her chin trembled. “F. B. I.”
THREE MORNINGS LATER, Meg woke up slowly and reached out across the satin sheets as she turned over in the huge heart-shaped bed draped in red velvet. As she knew it would, her hand met the muscled firmness of Joe’s warm, nude body stretched out next to hers. Smiling, she swept her hair out of her eyes and cautiously raised up on her elbow. She didn’t want to wake Joe. She wanted to stare at him while he slept. He was so beautiful. So perfect. But all she could see of him was his head and shoulders. Magnificent in their own right, yes…but not, by any stretch of the imagination, the only scenic views the man offered.
Meg smiled at his sleeping form. He was lying on his back, his legs spread, one arm flung over the side of the bed, the other over his head. She considered the light in the room, dim but sufficient. She could do this. Daintily pinching the edge of the sheet with her thumb and forefinger, she slowly lifted it up and peeked—
“Meg, we’ve talked about this.”
Shrieking her surprise, she dropped the sheet, which billowed softly down to cover Joe again. She stared into his merry but accusing eyes. “Hi. I thought you were asleep.”
“I know.” He stretched mightily, like a contented cat, flinging an arm out to capture her and pull her to him.
Ablaze with happiness, she rested her head on his bare shoulder, which he bumped up to get her attention.
“And what’s the rule when I’m sleeping?”
Thoroughly enjoying herself, Meg ran her hand over his wonderful chest with its smooth, tan skin and light scattering of dark hair. “I’m not to be a pervert and check out your package when you’re not awake.”
“Exactly. And what’s the rule when I’m awake?”
“I can do whatever I want to you anytime I want, in public or private.”
He chuckled. “No, it isn’t, and you know it. Instead, we can…?”
“We can both enjoy each other—” her voice took on a singsong quality “—and do whatever the other one consents to.” She tapped a fingernail against his skin. “Remind me, should we ever get married, not to write our own vows. Yours would be a series of rules, all of them starting with ‘Thou shalt not.’”
“Very funny.” He kissed her hair.
Safe and happy, warm and content within the circle of his arms, Meg said, “Do you like it here in Las Vegas?”
He shrugged. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t want a steady diet of it, but it’s fun for now. I’m just glad we talked Uncle Maury into flying out here instead of driving cross-country in that un-air-conditioned old jalopy of his.”
“No kidding. I couldn’t have come if he’d insisted on driving, what with school starting back next Monday. But can you believe Vera Warden? Who knew what a wild and crazy woman she was away from work? I was so embarrassed watching her up on stage doing a bump and grind last night with that comedian.”
“Yeah, I was nowhere near drunk enough to witness that and not be scarred emotionally. But at least Uncle Maury approved.”
Meg idly sketched lazy circles with her finger around Joe’s nipples, first one, then the other. “Wendy was pretty shocked when I called her out in Texas to tell her everything that’s happened. Wow. Mrs. Warden is not only Maury’s employee but also his girlfriend. I told you those white boxers with the red hearts he packed were significant.”
“I remember that.” Joe shifted about as if uncomfortable—or aroused—and quickly grabbed Meg’s roaming fingers. “You have to stop that…for now.” He kissed each fingertip and held onto her hand. “I just wish our two favorite senior citizens—along with Larry, Moe and Curly—”
“By the way, you were so cute holding that big plastic bag of water and traumatized goldfish on your lap during the entire flight out here. You’ll be a good father one day.”
“Right. Anyway, I was saying I wish Uncle Maury and Vera Warden weren’t in the adjoining room.”
Along with Joe, Meg stared at the locked and bolted door across the room on their left.
“Too freaky,” Joe added.
“All those, uh, sounds they make…I mean, how old are they? They go at it like two rabbits, Joe. I don’t think we’re keeping up.”
“I’m not even going to try. I just hope I have the same kind of stamina when I get to his age.”
Meg rested her chin on Joe’s chest. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about in that department. Not if the last five days have been any indication, my little stud muffin. I’m just glad I’m here with you and not in prison.”
“Yeah, it was kind of touch-and-go there for a while on Sunday and Monday at the police station.”
“No kidding. I thought I was going to have to kiss my freedom goodbye.”
“Along with your reputation. And what were you doing flipping through those mug shots? Looking for a suitable big sweaty chick?”
Meg gave his chest a playful smack. “That did not happen.” Sobering, she laid her forehead on Joe’s ribs. “I pepper-sprayed three FBI agents, Joe.”
“Hey, they’re fine. By now. I guess. Anyway, how were you to know Rocco was undercover on a sting to catch the real Ferlinetti family?”
When she raised her head, Joe lovingly smoothed her hair back from her face. She smiled her thanks. “If we’d only answered our hotel room door in Ybor City, he would have had a chance to tell us he’d slipped away from the real mobsters long enough to let us know he was with the law. Actually, he did—through the door—but we didn’t believe him.”
“Well, it did seem suspicious, after all. First, thugs come pounding on the door, and then a few moments later, someone knocks claiming to be a federal agent.”
“It was just like a movie, wasn’t it? There he was, telling the mob boss up in New Jersey that he and those actual mobsters would take care of us, when really he was trying to protect us and not get himself killed at the same time. And we kept putting him on the spot by confronting him, didn’t we? Not once did he give himself away. He was really good. He even got away from those goons so he could contact Maury to get his cooperation, but the old guy kept running away or wouldn’t open the door.”
“Yeah, well, none of us is going to be offered a Mensa membership over our actions in this.”
Meg grimaced. “Me, especially. Those poor men, Joe. They show up at Maury’s to tell us what’s been going on and how it’s over now. And what do I do? I go screaming out the door like a crazy woman and assault three federal agents.”
“Like I said, you didn’t know. At least they picked up the real bad guys at the airport before they could get to Uncle Maury. And how about that old dude? Ice water in his veins. Said he didn’t know why the Ferlinettis were after him, and he had no idea what money they were talking about.”
“Until they granted him full immunity. Then he told them everything.”
“Like I said. Ice water in his veins. The man has guts.”
“I’ll say. He used the mob’s money to finance and build the South Tampa apartment complex where I live, Joe—and got away with it! That property is worth millions. And the little sweetheart is going to leave it all to you.”
“Along with The Stogie, don’t forget. Now there’s a real treasure. But you know what’s most embarrassing to me about this whole thing?”
Meg chuckled. “I think so. The keys?”
“Amen. It’s all so obvious now.”
“Yeah,” Meg said, “Naming the apartment complex Bay Water Keys.”
Joe burst out laughing. “God, Meg, the old man took the money, invested it in property, shredded the letter he’d signed years ago swearing to Freddie Ferlinetti that he’d keep the money for him, then went out one night in a boat by himself and threw the lock-box and keys in the sparkling waters of Tampa Bay. All the proof gone forever. I should be shocked and appalled, but I’m not. It’s just too damned, I don’t know, off the chart.”
Grinning with him, Meg looked onto Joe’s eyes. “Speaking of being shocked and appalled, Joe, I have something I want to say to you.”
“All right.” With great affection, he caressed her cheek and roved his gaze over her face. “What’s on your mind?”
“First, since we’re in a honeymoon suite in a hotel called The Sand Castle, which is much nicer than the one we tried to build last Saturday in St. Pete, and since this is Las Vegas, home of wedding chapels, and I don’t like being the fake Mrs. Smith, who has no big diamond ring—”
“Are you asking me to marry you, Meg?”
She took a bolstering breath that did nothing to ease her excitedly pounding heart. “And that’s not all.”
“Isn’t the fact that there’s nothing I’d rather do than marry you enough?”
Happiness flooded Meg. “You’re moving to Tampa.”
“I am?”
Meg raised her eyebrows at him. “Don’t start that again, Joe. Where’s the property Maury wants to sign over to you now, so he and Mrs. Warden can live in sin and travel? I believe it’s in Tampa. But here’s a compromise. We can divide our time between Denver and Tampa. I want to keep teaching—”
“Even after our own children come along?”
Suddenly shy, she looked down. “We’ll talk about that later. So maybe summers in Denver, the school year in Tampa, and alternating holidays in the snow and the tropics with our families? How’s that sound?”
“Like your friend Wendy is going to be totally jealous.”
“No, she won’t be. She loves me.” Meg frowned, biting on her bottom lip. “You’re right. She’ll kill me. So will my mom. And my dad and brother. And your parents and sister. Oh God, Joe, are we doing the right thing? Maybe we should wait—”
“No. It’s our life, Meg. They’ll all come around. And now I have something I want to say.”
“That you love me?”
“No—well, yeah, I do, of course. But I was going to say I want to seal the deal with you.” When Meg stuck out her hand for a handshake, Joe playfully batted it away. “Funny.” Then he said in a low voice, “I want to make love to you.”
Meg’s eyes widened with anticipation. She slid down into the covers and raised her arms to him. “Cowboy, I love how you negotiate.”
Joe rolled over on top of her and took her in his arms. “You do? Then you’re really going to love how I—”
Meg cut him off by pulling his head down and covering his lips with hers. The long, slow, sensual kiss took over, causing time and place to slip away as their tongues did slow battle and their hands explored each other’s bodies. Within moments, their breathing became shallow, rapid. Their gentle kneading and unhurried massaging became fevered, grasping motions. Their whispered words of love became low moans of pleasure. And their desire to enjoy this moment, to prolong it, was supplanted by the primal need to be one, to be whole.
With the earthy scent of Joe in her nostrils, with the heated feel of him atop her, and with the sight of his naked magnificence filling her vision, Meg wrapped her legs around his lean hips. “Take me, Joe. I need you now. I’ll always need you like this. All my life. I love you.”
Joe’s intense blue eyes had darkened with desire. “I love you, too, Meg. I have since I saw the curve of your spine and the nape of your neck in that dressing room last week. We’re going to be great together.”
With that, he entered her, sliding easily into her softened, welcoming center. Meg sighed with contentment as all her senses coalesced in that throbbing place. Though Joe filled her, she arched her hips to take him in even more fully. Her body, impatient for the loving dance, began to move slowly, sensually. Joe met her every thrust with a powerful one of his own, until they moved in perfect concert. Giving herself over to the pleasure, Meg closed her eyes….
“Meg,” Joe whispered into her ear, his rhythmic pace never slowing, “we forgot the condom.”
She opened her eyes and whispered back. “We sure did. So what do you want to name this child?”
Joe chuckled. “How about Rocco? Rocco Rossi.”
Meg opened her mouth to protest, but with the power and potency of his lovemaking, Joe swept away her ability to form coherent thoughts. Arms and legs wrapped around him, Meg’s entire being centered on what he was doing to her—and what she was doing to him. Nothing and no one existed but her and him. And this moment. And this bed—
And that god-awful pounding on the adjoining door accompanied by Maury Seeger’s grating voice.
“Hey, Joey, Meggie, you in there? Wake up! We gotta pack and get outta here right now! I just seen Big Diamond Brody downstairs in the casino, only he didn’t see me. He musta followed us here from Tampa. Hey, can you guys hear me? You’re awfully quiet. What’s going on in there?
“Vera, honey, go around to the hall door and use that pass key I got from the front desk. See if the kids are in their room. I’ll keep talkin’ in case they are. Hey, you guys, remember I said I wasn’t running from the Ferlinettis? I wasn’t lyin’. It was Brody who called me last Sunday at home and said he was coming down from New York for his diamonds. Only, I ain’t got his diamonds. They’re in the lockbox at the bottom of the bay. But I got a map hidden at home that shows where I dropped the box. I just hope no fish ate the keys to it. Anyways, we gotta get back there right now and find those diamonds before he kills me and everybody in my family. That includes you and Meggie.
“Hey, Joey? Meggie? Whadda ya doin’ in there?”