Catch Her If You Can (7 page)

Charlie was sitting at the kitchen counter when I returned. He was playing with a stick of the Wrigley’s Big Red gum he always has on him since he quit smoking. The uncharacteristic droop to his shoulders stirred a grudging sympathy.

“So what’s the story?” I asked as I rounded the counter to retrieve two mugs from the cabinet. “What kind of hole did you dig yourself into?”

“I borrowed some money.” He peeled back the foil paper, folded the gum, and popped it in. “The guy who loaned it to me wants it back. With interest.”

“How much?”

“Fifteen thousand.”

“Fifteen
thousand
!”

“Yeah,” he said miserably. “I know.”

I’d never seen him play anything steeper than the quarter slots during our brief marriage, but Vegas has a way of sneaking up on you.

“Gambling debts?”

“Doctor bills.”

“But I thought . . .”

He has a good job, or did. With full medical coverage.

“Aren’t you still working for Anderson Construction?”

“Yeah, but their insurance doesn’t cover cosmetic surgery.”

I stepped back, blinking in surprise, and conducted a quick head-to-toe.

“I probably shouldn’t ask, but inquiring minds want to know. What did you have altered?”

“Not me. Brenda. Her back was hurting her something awful ’cause of all that weight she carried up front, so her doc recommended a breast reduction.”

I couldn’t contain myself. I didn’t even try. This was too, too delicious. Planting my hands on the counter, I let loose with loud, raucous whoops.

“I know.” Charlie popped his Big Red and gave me a sheepish smile. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it.”

I hooted for several more moments before sobering up enough for a thought to occur. You can’t live and work in Vegas without becoming friends with at least one topless performer. I’d bummed around with several. Thus I knew breast surgery usually ran closer to five thousand than fifteen. When I mentioned as much to my ex, he nodded.

“Yeah, I know. But Brenda figured as long as she was going under the knife, she might as well get a tummy tuck and butt lift, too.” His grin slipped out, cocky as ever. “I gotta tell you, Sam, the woman looks good. Really good.”

“Just what an ex-wife wants to hear about the woman who got it on with her husband,” I drawled.

Like Dr. Penelope England, Charles William Spade is immune to sarcasm. That’s one of the traits I like best in both of them, dammit.

I didn’t want to feel sorry for the dope. And God knows, I would have cheerfully consigned Brenda Baby to an eternity of backaches and sagging butt cheeks. Yet pity tugged at me when my former husband’s grin faded and he stretched a hand across the counter to cover one of mine.

“Help me get the loan sharks off my back, Sam. Please.”

“I wish I could, Charlie. Honestly. But this reward . . . I wasn’t the one who took down number two on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. I may not be able to claim any of the reward money.”

“The news reports said you could.”

“Yeah, well, there’s an added complication. I was on duty at the time of the shooting. The military has all these rules about gratuities and gifts and such. A reward could fall into the same category.”

“The shooting happened, like, three days ago. You haven’t checked out these rules?”

“I was too busy checking out penalties for war crimes.”

“Huh?”

I was in no mood to try and explain Snoopy’s flesh-eating tendencies.

“Never mind. Look . . .” I hesitated, knowing I would kick myself for this in the morning. “If anything breaks on the reward, I’ll do what I can to help you, okay?”

“Thanks, babe.”

“You’re welcome.” I filled the two mugs and shoved one at him. “Now drink your coffee and hit the road.”

He cradled the mug in both hands to blow away the steam. He had strong hands, I acknowledged reluctantly. Big and tanned, with blunt-tipped fingers and trimmed nails. He knew how to use them, too. We’d had some wild times in those first days and weeks and months. I remember once when we . . .

“. . . on the couch?”

I jerked my gaze from his hands to his face. Heat crawled up my neck. Were my thoughts that obvious?

“What?”

“It’s too late to hit the road. How about I spend what’s left of the night on your couch? I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“No.”

“Why not? What’s the big deal?”

“Think a moment. How would you explain spending the night with your ex-wife to your current wife?”

“Geez, Sam. It’s not like you and I are gonna jump into bed with each other.”

“You got that right. Now finish your coffee and leave. I have plans for tomorrow morning that don’t include you.”

“We’re just talking a few hours here.”

“You are
not
spending the night, Charlie.”

His blue eyes lost their spark. Shoulders slumping, he nodded. “All right.”

Okay, okay! I know what you’re thinking. I’m a spineless wimp. That’s what I was thinking, too, as I stalked to the closet, retrieved a pillow and blanket, and threw them onto the sofa.

 

I went to bed too tired to shave my legs or shower off the chlorine from the pool. I sincerely regretted both omissions when I woke the next morning to the scent of yet another pot of coffee and the murmur of male voices.

Grimacing, I glanced at the digital clock beside my bed. Six twenty. Terrific! The one morning Mitch had to get off patrol early. Before I’d had time to send Charlie on his way or spiff myself up for a reunion.

I pulled on the tank and sweats I’d discarded last night and padded to the bathroom. The image that greeted me in the mirror produced a groan. But there wasn’t much I could do about it at this point except splash water on my face, scrape the fuzz off my teeth, and drag a comb through my chlorinated hair.

I’m not a morning person to begin with, and the sight of my former husband and current lover sitting across from each other at my kitchen counter, shooting the breeze, didn’t do much to brighten my day.

“Good morning,” I mumbled, not real sure of the protocol for occasions like this.

“Hey, babe.”

That came from Charlie. Mitch’s greeting included a smile and the crinkly thing at the corners of his eyes I liked so much.

“ ’Morning, Samantha.”

“I see you two have met.”

Nodding, Mitch rose to pour me some coffee. He was in his Border Patrol greenies but had shed his utility belt. It was draped it on the back of his stool, along with his floppy brimmed boonie hat. I could see the effects of his long night in his face. Dark gold bristles were sprouting on his cheeks and chin. The squint lines framing his hazel eyes cut deeper than usual.

The first time I’d met Border Patrol Agent Jeff Mitchell, he’d reminded me a little of Charlie. Same approximate height, same broad shoulders, same ropy muscles. The resemblance didn’t score him any brownie points at the time.

Only after I got to know him did I learn to appreciate the difference between a grown man and an overgrown adolescent. Mitch possesses an inbred sense of duty and a strength of character my ex has yet to develop.’Course, he’s almost ten years older and a century more experienced than Charlie. Maybe there’s hope for Spade yet.

“You look tired,” I observed as Mitch handed me a mug.

“I am.”

The kiss he dropped on my mouth said just the opposite, however. I felt the sizzle all the way down to my bare toes and couldn’t wait to send Charlie on his way. Easier to think than do, I soon learned.

“Your husband’s been telling me about his problems,” Mitch commented, hooking a hip on his bar stool while I propped my elbows on the countertop and cradled my coffee in both hands.

“
Ex
-husband.”

I experienced an odd twinge as I stressed the point. Mitch is divorced, too. For almost four years now. Yet on the rare occasions he mentions his former spouse, he generally omits the prefix.

“I told Charlie I might be able to help him.”

“You’ve got a spare fifteen thousand lying around?”

I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Mitch works long hours and lives a pretty Spartan existence when not on duty. I’ve been trying to domesticate him. Even got him to spring for a leather sofa a few months back. We needed one big enough for us both to get horizontal. The rest of his place is still pretty bare, though.

“Mitch knows someone in Vegas,” Charlie volunteered. “He says this guy might be able to ease some of the pressure on me.”

I’d lived and worked in Vegas. I knew darn well that cold, hard cash was the only way to ease the kind of pressure he was talking about.

“Right,” I drawled. “And I’ve got this beachfront lot in Florida I’ll sell you cheap.”

Charlie wouldn’t quite meet my eyes. Not a good sign, I knew, but I didn’t say anything more until he finally departed. When the door closed behind him, I turned to Mitch.

“How much did you give him?”

“Just enough to keep his creditors from hammering spikes into his kneecaps until he comes up with the rest.”

I chewed on my lower lip. I didn’t really want a person or persons unknown to hammer a spike through Charlie’s knees. Not anymore, anyway. It just didn’t sit too well having Mitch contribute to the Brenda Boob Reduction Fund. Nor could I guarantee he’d ever see his investment again.

“Aside from acting like a total jerk most of the time, Spade’s not all that bad,” I said, frowning. “But it’s anyone’s guess when—or if—he’ll pay you back.”

“That’s between him and me. Besides . . .”

His mouth curved in a lazy smile. Sliding a hand into the waistband of my sweatpants, he tugged me into the V of his thighs.

“I consider the money well spent. It got rid of him, didn’t it?”

My pulse skipped. Wishing to heck I’d forced myself to wield a razor last night, I hooked a prickly calf around his.

“True.” I searched the tired lines carved into his face. “You sure you’re up for this?”

Grinning, he tugged me closer. “What do you think?”

Whooo, boy! He was most definitely up for it.

So was I. Hunger sparked hot and sweet as I popped the buttons of his uniform shirt and dragged the tails free of his belt. Greedily, I slid my palms over soft cotton and hard muscle. His hands went to my hips, cupped my bottom. We were mouth to mouth and pelvis to pelvis when his cell phone pinged.

Groaning, I tried to distract him with a tongue-sucking kiss. The damned phone kept on pinging.

“Don’t answer it!”

Despite my mutter, I knew I was wasting my breath. That inbred sense of duty I told you about is as much a part of Mitch as his sexy grin and gold-flecked eyes. So I didn’t get
too
bent out of shape when he reached for the phone clipped to his utility belt.

I expected him to check caller ID and, if the gods were merciful, let the call go to voice mail. I didn’t expect his brows to snap together and his expression to turn all hard and stony.

“I have to take this.”

I disengaged, wondering why the tendons in his neck had knotted. He flipped up the lid but didn’t say hello. Didn’t identify himself. Just snarled into the speaker.

“You know better than to call me at this number.”

He turned away, his entire body rigid. I hitched my sweatpants higher and tried to decide whether to stay where I was or give him some privacy. His next words killed my internal debate.

“Jesus, Margo! How could you let this happen?”

My eyes popped. What the heck was this? Former Spouse Week? First Charlie Spade shows up on my doorstep. Now Mitch’s wife—
ex
-wife—calls out of the blue. Not being particularly shy or discreet, I listened with unabashed curiosity to the terse, one-sided dialogue that followed.

“Yes . . . No . . . I will.” His knuckles went white. “I said I will!”

The cell phone snapped shut. When my tough, macho Border Patrol agent turned to face me, the look in his eyes shoved my breath back down my throat.

“It’s Jenny.”

Oh, God! The teenage daughter Mitch had seen only twice in the past four years. The daughter he’d shipped off to Seattle with her mother for their own protection. The daughter some lowlife named Rafael Mendoza had made vicious, unspeakable threats against.

“What . . . ?” I couldn’t breathe, could barely speak. “What about Jenny?”

“She’s run away.”

MY delicious anticipation of long hours spent in and out of bed with my handsome Border Patrol agent evaporated on the spot.

“Is Margo sure Jenny’s run off?” I asked with a catch in my throat.

Mitch didn’t talk much about the circumstances that had sent his daughter and her mother out of his life. He’d told me enough, however, for dread to hover front and center in my mind until he nodded.

“Jen left a note. Said she’s tired of Margo coming down on her all the time. Informed her mother that she’s going to hang with a friend for a while. Someone Margo doesn’t know.” He scraped a hand over his jaw. “I have to fly up there, Samantha. I have to make sure she’s safe.”

“Of course. Want me to check flight schedules while you call your boss?”

“Thanks.”

He had his cell phone to his ear before I unzipped the laptop I’d deposited last night on the glass-topped dining table that did double duty as my desk. I powered up, eavesdropping shamelessly while I waited for the icons to blossom on my MacBook. Mitch’s boss must have known the circumstances behind his separation from his only child. He agreed to put the Border Patrol agent on leave with minimal discussion of the reason for it.

I found a Southwest flight departing El Paso in a little over two hours. After a quick input of Mitch’s credit card number, he was booked.

“I need to change and get my vehicle back to the yard,” he said, his mind clearly already at twenty thousand feet and winging north. “Mind picking me up at the station and dropping me off at the airport?”