REALITY CHECK: I was naked under the covers with Dylan Foreman.
Omi-freakin’-God! I had to pull those covers back to look at the two of us all over again. Yup, there we were, the two of us, in all our naked glory.
I got laid!
Twice!
The second time wasn’t quite as fast as the first, mainly because Dylan kept distracting me by exploring areas that heretofore I would have said were not especially erogenous. His newly shaved face (and luscious, luscious lips) made acquaintance not just with my newly shaved parts, but also with the inside of my wrist, the crook of my elbow, the point of my shoulder. And I’d explored right back.
“Want me to get the flashlight, Dix?” Dylan asked with a chuckle.
Ah, as tempting as that idea was, I declined. And I lowered the covers once more. “I should get going.”
“You don’t have to go yet.” Dylan said it like he meant it.
“Well, okay... maybe a few minutes longer.” It was more symbolic than anything. More, okay, I’m not just doing the screw-your-brains-out-for-a-few-hours-and-running thing. But I wasn’t foolish enough—nor was Dylan, I’m sure—to think this wasn’t going to complicate things. I snuggled back into his arms again. “We do have lots to do, though.”
“I know, but what are we gonna do in the middle of the night? Everyone’s sleeping.”
(Ohhh, frig! Where I could go with that!)
“By the way, mind if I take my socks off now?” He was already looping the big toe of his right foot into the rim of his left sport sock.
“Of course.” I blushed at the reminder that I’d asked him to put the socks on after his shower. Rushing a guy into bed before he could take his socks off was one thing; asking him to put them back on again was quite another. Naturally, he’d razzed me about it, but being Dylan, he took it in stride. More than in stride. He’d turned it to his advantage...
Okay, Earth to Dix. Come in, Dix Dodd. (Or should that be come again?)
Oh boy. We’d done it.
Everything changes now, I thought, and felt a pang.
All change didn’t have to be bad change, though. I angled my head on his chest just enough so I could peer at him through my lashes. He was wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Not in a troubled way, but definitely lost in thought. I lowered my gaze again, tracing a finger through the light patch of hair on his chest.
What had I expected? That he’d be freaking out? Was it better that he wasn’t freaking out? Or maybe he was, but was just doing it quietly. Maybe he’d suddenly say something about having to get up early in the morning and would I mind locking the door on the way out?
Oh, God, had I looked up at his handsome face and expected to see—
“Regrets, Dix?”
Did I? A dozen thoughts flitted through my mind, but with the weight of Dylan’s eyes on me, I shook my head. “No. No regrets.”
He looked at me steadily, those brown eyes unreadable. Damn that pause between his question and my answer. He’d caught it. “What about you?” I asked.
He didn’t miss a beat. “Not a one.”
And I believed him. So yeah, I had places to go. People that I definitely had to talk to. But, maybe, just maybe, I could spare a few more minutes wrapped up in Dylan’s arms. But just a few. This investigation was still under way.
We were getting closer, though. On that thought, my mind started churning again, worrying at the “facts” as we knew them. I know I tensed. I know I tightened and clenched my fists as I began sifting through the details—every single one of them. Mentally, I lined them up. Turned them around. Bumped them up against each other. Then a couple of them bumped back.
Oh, I love when things bump-bump back.
I’d run everything I’d learned tonight by Dylan earlier, of course. Filled him in on the blackmail scenario.
But what was I missing? Who was Albert Valentine having an affair with? How did Telly, and Faynelle for that matter, fit into the whole thing?
Did they, in fact, fit into it?
And when I sighed, Dylan did too. Then we both were sitting up in bed. And then... I clutched my chest and groaned experimentally.
“Jesus, Dix! What is it? Are you okay?”
“I need to go to the hospital, Dylan. Now!”
“So do you want to run this by me again?” Dylan said. “Just what do you hope to accomplish here?”
No, the guy wasn’t slow by any means. And though he wasn’t agreeing with me wholeheartedly on this excursion, he wasn’t exactly protesting.
I was currently flat on my back on a narrow, not-too-comfy hospital bed in the ER exam room, sprouting wires from beneath my johnny shirt, with one hand on my chest, a grimace on my face.
Dylan poked his head out from behind the sliding beige curtain, then returned his attention to me. “Safe to answer.”
I dropped the grimace, then looked at the little johnny shirt the emergency nurse had insisted I put on. My white, white legs (yeah, the ones I’d shaved just hours ago) looked practically scraped under the blinding white lights, all the way down to my grey sport socks.
Wow, that really was sexy. I crossed my legs at the ankles, waggled the upper sock-covered foot in that attractive way.
“Dix...” Dylan was getting impatient as he waited for my answer.
“I’m having chest pains.” I said with a smile.
“No, you’re not.”
I shrugged. “You know that and I know that. But Dr. Lincoln Crotty doesn’t know that. I want to talk to the man.”
“He’ll know you’re faking it.”
“Maybe I’m having an anxiety attack too,” I said calmly.
“Lincoln Crotty surely is not the only doctor on duty tonight.”
“True, but chances are he’s the only cardiologist on duty tonight.”
“What if his shift’s ended?”
Okay, now Dylan was just trying to burst my bubble. “Always have to have a cardiologist covering. I’m betting they do 12-hour stints. We brought Gaetan in about six hours ago, and he was attended by Crotty, so—”
“Would you care to make a wager about that?” A slow grin was starting to spread on Dylan’s face, like a pat of butter melting on a griddle. “Want to bet Lincoln Crotty is gone for the day?”
Oh, I knew that smile! That was his competitive grin. He already thought he was the winner.
Yeah, well, I had a grin of my own. “Twenty bucks,” I said. “No, fifty!” Didn’t want to sound too confident.
Dylan pffted. “Don’t be such a wuss, Dix. Money’s boring. Make it an interesting bet. Something worth our while.”
“Okay, here’s an idea,” I said. “If you win, and the good doctor has departed, then I clean your apartment. If I win and he’s still here, you clean my condo.”
Dylan looked at me, slightly horrified. “Are you crazy? That’s hardly a fair bet.”
“What?”
“Where do I begin? The last time I asked, you were still dusting with your hair dryer.”
“Hey on high, that sucker will blow the dust off anything.”
Dylan leaned close. “I have a better idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Oral sex.”
I was going to make a comment to the effect that he’d already blown the dust off something else, but I left that alone.
“Dylan, do you really think you should say things like that to a woman who’s having a heart attack?” Well, the old ticker must be hammering like that for some reason! I’d just finished making love with Dylan not an hour ago, and yet that stirring in the belly was, well, stirring, again.
What was it with this guy? Oh, yeah. Lean, fit body, great kisser, sure hands and a really big—
“You are most definitely not having a heart attack,” he said dryly. “But hey, if you’re too chicken to make that bet, I totally under—”
“You’re on.”
His smile was smarmy. Ah, but mine was just a tad smarmier as Dr. Lincoln Crotty walked into the room, and pulled the beige curtain aside.
“You again!”
I feigned surprise to hide my delight (I’d just won a bet with Dylan! For oral sex!). “Why, Doctor Crotty, I’m amazed you’re still here! Would you have bet that Dylan?”
Being an obnoxious winner—yet another thing that’s underrated.
“What are you doing here, Ms. Dodd?”
Yes, Dodd. I’d had to give my real name when I registered. It’s on my OHIP card.
“My chest hurts.” Shit! In my bet-winning delight, I’d forgotten the whole grimacing, chest clenching thing. “The pain’s right about—”
“Horse shit.”
I was pretty sure that wasn’t a technical term. Wow, this guy’s bedside manner really sucked.
Crotty pulled a rolling stool over beside the bed. (Jesus, I had one of those slide down pap smear flashbacks—from the 90s! Yeah, seriously overdue.) I clenched my knees as he sat.
“Why are you really here, Dix Dodd, PI?”
He left the extraordinaire part off my moniker, but I let it go—this time.
Then he glanced at Dylan. “And I see you’ve brought your young assistant, Mr. Foreman,” he said, his tone completely condescending.
Dylan tensed. “No need to talk over me, Doc. I’m right here. Can handle the really big words myself and everything.”
“Oh, really? Well, here are some words for you both: I should have the two of you ejected. Gaetan Gough didn’t say so, but I know damned well it was you, Dodd, dressed up like that priest earlier in the evening. I should call—”
“But I’m betting you won’t.”
His eyebrows soared. “Oh? And what do you want to bet?”
Dylan guffawed.
And at that reminder of the bet I’d just won with Dylan, my heart started tripping faster. I could tell because we could all hear it, thanks to the monitor I was plugged into. I saw Dr. Crotty’s attention zoom to it.
“Sure you don’t want to check out my heart, Doc?” I asked.
“I guess I’d better,” he muttered, clearly not pleased at the prospect but also not wanting to risk the very slight possibility that I might have a real, actual problem.
Dylan turned discreetly as Dr. Crotty opened the hospital gown and applied the business end of his stethoscope to my chest. But already my pulse rate was slowing. I knew it, and so did the tattletale monitor.
“Are you aware you have a heart murmur?” Crotty asked.
Dylan turned then, surprised.
“Yes. But it’s nothing. I’ve had it since I was a teenager. Probably longer.” Crotty straightened and I pulled my gown closed. “My doctor says it’s functional.”
Dr. Crotty slung the stethoscope around his neck again. “And he would know this from imaging your valves?”
“’scuse me?”
“Did he send you for a cardiac ultrasound?”
“No, nothing like that.” Why were we talking about my itty-bitty murmur?
“Then how can he know it’s functional?”
“I don’t know—because I’ve never been pre-medicated for dental work and haven’t dropped dead?”
“That could be proof of nothing more than the fact that you’re damned lucky.” His brows drew together sternly and he picked up my chart. “I’m going to send you down the hall for cardiac imaging so we can see what those valves are doing.”
“Right now?”
“No time like the present. I mean, that’s what you came in for, right? Your heart condition?”
“No! I mean, yes. I mean, maybe I could come back?”
“Fine.” Crotty scribbled something on my chart. “Central Scheduling will be in touch, and follow up will be through your family physician. Hopefully that’ll be the end of it.” What he really meant was hopefully he’d never see me again. He tucked the pen back in his pocket. “Well, then, I’ve checked your heart. OHIP will be happy. Now, how about you tell me what the hell you’re really doing here?”
Ah, straight to the point. Maybe I did like his bedside manner after all. “Why do you hate the cuddle club so much?” I asked.
“You’re kidding, right?”
I shrugged. “Humor me.”
Crotty wasn’t hooked up to any monitors, but I could definitely tell his blood pressure was rising. “Where do I begin? They take money from unsuspecting souls, manipulate them, addict them to that damned club. Kids like my Brandy... sweet, innocent young people get hooked and then—”
He cut his words off before his head exploded. Yep, it was that red. “Brandy spends a lot of money at the club,” he continued. “And no, money’s not the issue. That daughter of mine is just too damned smart to get mixed up in a foolish thing like that. She’s going to follow in the family footsteps and become an MD. Or an MD/PhD researcher, if her mother has her way.”
“This must piss you off to no end.”
“What pissed me off was that those old men had their hands on my daughter! And her friends.”
“Eva and Zoey, right?” I prompted.
“Yes, Eva and Zoey. They practically grew up in our home. Zoey’s family lived next door, and Eva’s mother worked for us. Brandy is very close to them still, especially Eva. She’s such a fragile girl. Brandy has always thought of her as a kid sister. I never did like the idea of them going to that club, but now...”
“But now that you know that Gaetan Gough has been using hormones to arouse the clientele, you like it even less?”
“I suspected it was something like that all along. Why Brandy didn’t see it for herself, I don’t know. But now maybe—finally!—I’ll be able to talk some sense into her. Now—”
Paging Dr. Crotty. Paging Dr. Lincoln Crotty.
“Sounds like I have an actual patient.” He stood and looked down at me. “No more chest pains, I trust?” Without waiting for a reply, he moved toward the door, but turned back to say one more thing. “Get him.”
“Pardon me?”
“Get Gaetan Gough. I don’t know who hired you to investigate that club. But close Gough down. What’s going on at that club is just wrong.”
He had no idea.
Dylan waited outside that curtain as I tore out of that oh-so-fashionable (not!) hospital gown and put my clothes back on.
As we left the hospital parking lot, I glimpsed Dr. Crotty’s distinctive white vehicle in the physician’s parking lot. I bit my lip. Okay, confession time. “Dylan, about our bet...”
“Yeah, you won, Dix. I know.”
“Well, actually, it wasn’t a fair bet. I saw the white Lexus with the L CROTTY license plates as we drove in.”
“So did I, Dix,” Dylan answered. “So did I.”