“WHAT’S THE MATTER with you, man?” Cade Hardesty flopped into the bleacher seat next to Gabe and nudged him with his elbow. Beer sloshed from his plastic cup onto Gabe’s Top-Sider shoes. “Not a cloud in the sky, the Yanks are ahead by three and Sabathia just struck out the side. And you’re sitting there looking like you lost your best friend.”
Gabe dabbed at the stain on his left shoe with a napkin. “Maybe I’m rooting for the Sox.”
“Fat chance,” Cade said when the cheering died down from Teixeira’s lead-off single. “Your mind’s been somewhere else the whole game. Bad week at work?”
“You could say that.” The Park Avenue case was turning out to be a huge headache. No physical evidence. No motive. Nothing even missing from the apartment. And the only witness who could put the defendant in the area at the time of the murders was waffling more than Brett Favre in the off-season. It’d be a miracle if Gabe got it past the grand jury.
He wasn’t having any better luck with Victor. Gabe had managed to dig up the name of his old caseworker, but she wasn’t returning his calls. Maybe Monday he’d track her down at her office. Better that than disappoint Devin.
Devin.
Two times he’d been alone with her, and both had ended the same way. With him hot, hard and horny. He had to keep reminding himself that their arrangement was a business deal, nothing more. That they couldn’t keep their hands off each other was just an added complication. And the last thing he needed in his life right now was complications. Not when he was so close to climbing the next rung of his career ladder.
“Wanna talk about it?” Cade drained his beer and waved to the pretty, ponytailed vendor making her way up the aisle.
“What are we, girls?” Gabe sneered. “What’s next? We paint our nails and give each other makeovers?”
“Hardly.” Cade winked at the vendor and gave her a twenty. She blushed and handed back his change and two beers, one of which he passed to Gabe. “Ten bucks says next round I get her number.”
“No bet.” Gabe shook his head. He wasn’t an idiot. Women flocked to Cade. He had an easygoing charm Gabe had never been able to master. Plus, the guy looked like a California surfer: buff, blond and perpetually happy. The polar opposite of Gabe, who had once been called Heathcliff on the moors by a particularly astute lit major he’d dated.
“Just as well.” Cade shrugged and swigged his beer. “I’d hate for your week to get even worse.”
A buzzing in his back pocket stopped Gabe’s snappy comeback. He stashed his beer under his seat, pulled out his cell phone and swiped a finger across the screen to unlock it.
One new message. From Devin.
He hesitated, almost afraid to read it. Did she want to schedule their next little adventure? Or call the whole thing off? And which answer was he hoping for?
“Devin?” Cade peered over his shoulder. “Why’s Elvira, Mistress of the Dark texting you?”
Gabe winced at the nickname he and Cade had come up with for her back when Holly had first brought Devin home to Stockton. She’d reminded them of the horror hostess, with her wide eyes, full mouth and long inky black hair. She’d acted like her, too, all moody and mysterious.
But she wasn’t, not really. Okay, she was sassy and sharp and sarcastic as hell. But she was also full of light and life and...
“Are you going to open it or stare at your phone all damn day?” Cade asked.
“Open it.” Gabe tapped the screen, thankful that Cade had interrupted his thoughts before they crossed into the danger zone. The strains of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” rang through the stadium and the crowd stood for the seventh inning stretch and sang along.
Gabe joined them—in the standing, not the singing—and read Devin’s message to himself.
Phase two. Tomorrow. 7:00 p.m. My place.
“Phase two of what?” Cade stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him, his eyes locked on the screen.
“Stop doing that. It’s an invasion of privacy.” Gabe turned away from his friend and texted back.
Where are you taking me this time?
He only had to wait a few seconds for a reply.
It’s a surprise. You’ll like it, I promise. No dancing.
He grinned and tapped out another message.
That’s reassuring. But how will I know what to wear? I don’t want to be caught with my pants down, so to speak.
Her answer came quickly.
I’ve got it covered. Just get your butt to my place. And don’t be late.
With a chuckle, he stowed the phone back in his pocket and sat.
“So are you going to tell me what the hell’s going on between you and Devin?” Cade crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.
“It’s nothing. Really,” Gabe added when Cade raised an eyebrow.
“Fine. Don’t tell me, your best friend since kindergarten. The guy who took the fall for you when you broke your mother’s antique vase. Who helped you move to your first apartment in the city, up five flights of stairs. In July. With no air conditioning. Who—”
“Okay, okay.” Gabe held up his hands in mock surrender. “I get the point.”
He paused, debating how much to reveal and opting to leave out his part of the bargain. He had a feeling not many people knew about Devin’s brother, and he didn’t want to be the one to open that can of beans. “She’s helping me with a problem at work.”
“On a Saturday night? At her place?” Cade rolled his eyes and took another slug of beer. “And what, she’s a lawyer now? Last I heard she tended bar and tattooed the masses.”
“Yes, yes and no, she’s not a lawyer.” Gabe reached under his seat for his beer. Expensive Scotch and fine French wines be damned, some occasions called for a plain, old American Budweiser. And a ballgame on a sweltering summer evening was one of them.
“Then how the hell is she helping you?”
Gabe stared down at the field. Teixeira had a huge lead off first, daring the catcher to pick him off. “I’m running for DA. Filed the papers last week.”
Cade clapped him on the back. “Holy crap, man. That’s fantastic. You’d make a great district attorney. New York would be lucky to have you.”
“Thanks.” Aside from Holcomb—and Devin—he hadn’t told anyone his plans, not even his family. Cade’s support meant more to him than Holcomb’s. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t get him any votes. “But they won’t have me if I don’t get my boss’s endorsement. He wants me to be more relatable. A man of the people. That’s where Devin comes in.”
“What’s she going to do? Turn you into some sort of political puppet?”
“Not exactly. Just loosen me up a bit.”
“You know, there are professionals who do that kind of stuff. Image consultants, I think they’re called. The captain brought one in to help the department deal with the backlash from that moron Frazier’s sexist tweets.”
“Yeah, I thought about calling one of them. But then I met up with Devin, and she offered to help, so...” Whatever lame excuse he was about to give got mercifully swallowed up by the cheers of the crowd as Teixeira stole second.
“Have it your way.” Cade shrugged and turned back to the game. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. That girl is trouble.”
Right, Gabe thought as he tried to pay attention to what was going on down on the field. Now where I have heard that before?
* * *
“HERE.” DEVIN DRAGGED Gabe into her apartment and thrust a pile of clothes at him. Blue Converse low-tops, faded jeans and a gray Pogues T-shirt. “Put these on.”
Gabe checked the tags. “How’d you know what sizes I wear?”
“Holly.” Devin gave herself a mental gold star for resourcefulness.
Gabe blinked. “You called her in Istanbul?”
“It was a fashion emergency.” Devin pushed him toward the open bathroom door. “Now get your butt in there and put them on. We’ve got places to go and people to see.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He shot her a smile that could have powered the entire northeast grid, stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
She sagged against the wall and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She needed this to work better than her last brilliant idea. Gabe would probably bail on their arrangement if she screwed up again. And without him, her chances of finding Victor were next to nil.
She’d been patient, not wanting to bug Gabe for information about her brother. But it had been over a week. A little push wouldn’t hurt, would it?
“Any word on Victor?” She bit her lip and waited for his answer.
“Not yet.” His voice carried through the closed door. “I found his caseworker, but she hasn’t returned any of my calls. If I don’t hear from her by Monday, I’ll...damn.”
“What’s wrong?” She moved to the door.
“These jeans are a little tight.”
She barely suppressed a guffaw. “That’s how they’re supposed to be.”
“My underwear is bunching up.”
“Then take them off.” She licked her lips, imagining him gloriously naked under all that blue denim. “It’ll be our little secret.”
She hoped to hell the rustling behind the door meant he was following her instructions.
“Uh, what should I do with these things?” he asked a minute later. “And the rest of my clothes?”
Jackpot.
“Just throw them in the hamper in the closet. I’ll wash them for you. Consider it your reward for being a good sport.” Not to mention insurance she’d see him again. Were guys as attached to their boxers as women were to their thongs?
The bathroom door creaked open and Gabe strode out with all the confidence of a runway model.
“Do I pass muster?” He did a slow turn for her inspection.
Pass? He’d gone straight to the head of the mother-loving class.
She’d gawked at him in a suit. Ogled him in business casual. But in the quintessential male uniform of faded jeans and a simple T-shirt?
Yum diddly dum dum dum.
The jeans hugged his delectable ass and showcased muscular thighs. The soft cotton shirt cupped his pecs then fell loosely over his taut stomach and abs, ending at his waistband. She sucked in a breath. Clearly, the guy hit the gym regularly. No one got a physique like that sitting at a desk all day. Even if he did bike to work.
“That bad?” Gabe raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Uh, no. You look great.”
Lame, lame, lame. Time to cut her losses and get him out in public where she’d have less of a chance to make a complete fool of herself.
She grabbed her purse from the couch. “Let’s go.”
He followed her to the door. “Are you planning on filling me in on your plan?”
“We’re going to a pub crawl in the Village.” He started to speak but she cut him off. “Before you say anything, it’s not all about the party. I learned my lesson last time. This is a cultural event.”
“How is schlepping from bar to bar getting progressively more wasted cultural?”
“It’s a literary pub crawl. Actors take us on a tour of bars where some of New York’s greatest authors hung out, drank and wrote. Edgar Allen Poe. Eugene O’Neill. Louisa May Alcott. And it’s all for charity.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a knuckle tattoo.”
“Wow, Devin that sounds...”
Her heart skipped a beat or ten while she waited for his reaction.
“...perfect. What’s the charity?”
She let out a long breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding and reached for the doorknob. “Turn the Page. We train volunteers to go into schools and work with kids who are struggling with reading.”
She swung the door open. Always well-mannered, Gabe held it for her as she walked through. “We?”
Oops. She hadn’t meant to let that slip. As usual, her brain went on strike around Gabe.
She locked the door behind them.
“Yeah, I help them out sometimes.” More than sometimes, but this wasn’t the time for true confessions. This night was supposed to be about getting Operation Loosey Goosey back on track.
“Sometimes, huh?” Damn. Looked like Mr. State’s Attorney was just starting his cross-examination. With a hand on her back, he escorted her down the stairs. “Why is it I get the feeling you’re holding out on me?”
“How should I know? I’m an open book.” They reached the foyer and she stopped, her arms spread wide in a look-at-me gesture. “What you see is what you get.”
Tough. Uncomplicated. Alone.
“You can’t fool me. You want everyone to think you’re a tiger.” He tapped a finger to her chest, right above her racing heart. “But deep down you’re just a big ole pussycat.”
“Am not.” She pushed open the door to the street and headed outside, needing to put a little distance between them. Who the hell was he, acting like he knew her better than she knew herself? And damn him for being right.
“Sure.” Gabe sprinted to catch up to her. “That’s why you’re helping me win over Holcomb.”
“Payback,” she tossed over her shoulder. “For helping me find Victor.”
“And why you’re reading to underprivileged kids.”
“I like Harry Potter.”
He snickered. “If you say so.”
“I do.” She stopped at the corner. “Here we are.”
“Already?”
She motioned toward the blue-and-white sign overhead. “The White Horse Tavern. Watering hole to icons Norman Mailer, Hunter S. Thompson and Frank McCourt. And the start of our tour.”
Gabe smiled and took her elbow, pulling her to the side as a group of what looked like college students spilled out of the bar. “What are you, one of the guides?”
“Right.” She shrugged off his hand, annoyed at the tingles spreading up her arm. “Like anyone would follow me anywhere.”
“I would.” He held the door open—that gentleman thing again—and waved her inside. “I did. I followed you here.”
He was so close she could practically feel his six-pack pressing against her back. Her stammered response was swallowed up in the chaos of the bar as they made their way toward a crowd gathered across the room. A woman at the center broke from the group when she spotted Devin.
“Chica! You made it.” She gave Devin a quick hug.
“I said I would. And I never break a promise.”
“Who’s the guaperas?”
Devin coughed discretely. “Ariela, Gabe. Gabe, Ariela.”
He held out his hand. Ariela took it, holding on a little too tight and a little too long for Devin’s liking. Not that Devin had any say in it. She and Gabe were friends. Not even. Acquaintances, really.
Who wound up with their tongues in each other’s mouths almost every time they saw each other.
“What’s a guaperas?” he asked. “Should I be insulted?”
“I wish.” Devin crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“Far from it.” Ariela eyed him up and down, the glint in her baby browns telegraphing her appreciation. “It’s nice to finally meet one of Devin’s friends. She’s one of our best volunteers. Every Tuesday, like clockwork.”
Devin shot her friend a look that could have stripped paint. “Ariela’s brother owns the tattoo parlor where I work. She’s the one who got me involved with Turn the Page.”
“Every Tuesday, huh?” Gabe’s normally somber eyes flashed with playfulness.
“Thursdays, too, sometimes, when we need someone to fill in. Devin’s a real lifesaver. I wish my other volunteers had half her dedication.” Ariela checked the time on her smart phone. “Time to get this show on the road. I’d better go corral the tour guide. I’ll catch up with you both later.”
“Thursdays, too,” Gabe teased as Ariela sauntered back to the group. “That’s a lot of Harry Potter.”
“It’s hard to say no to Ariela. She’s a force of nature.” A pair of fellow volunteers waved Devin over to the bar, and she elbowed her way through the crowd toward them.
“Is there anyone you don’t know in this place?” Gabe trailed after her.
“I don’t know her.” Devin jerked her head toward a statuesque blonde entering the bar. Way overdressed, probably in designer duds from head to toe. Not a hair out of place. Definitely not someone who’d stoop to associate with a tattoo artist/bartender with an earful of piercings and a piss-poor attitude.
Gabe stiffened and put a hand on Devin’s shoulder, stopping her. “I do.” His voice was strained. “That’s my ex.”