Fat Chance (24 page)

Instead, the lock jiggled, the top flew open, and a crazed-looking Jill grabbed me by one leg and one elbow, lifted me as if I weighed nothing, and tossed me into the dark, diesel-scented water.

I
SWALLOWED MY FIRST GULP
of oily salt water as I kicked my legs to keep from drowning. I was choking, coughing, and scared. There was enough light from approaching police cars for me to make out the
Checkout
racing out of the marina. I opened my mouth to yell for help, but the wake of a wave slapped me in the face and forced a second painful rush of water into my lungs.

I heard a splash in the distance, but my vision was blurred from tears, water, and my tenuous battle to remain conscious. The water rushed into my mouth, and my nose and my chest burned from holding what little breath remained in my body. I was blinded when I sank lower. Just as I tried to process the fact that I was going to die, I felt someone grab my waist and shove me back to the surface. I coughed and sputtered, then let my head fall back against the solid body
of my savior. I would have thanked him, but my head swirled into complete blackness.

“Y
OU’RE NOT MAKING IT
up?” I asked Becky as she held my hand while Doctor Adair, my new cosmetic surgeon best friend, continued to put stitches above my ear.

She smiled and made a cross over her heart. “I swear to God. I’ll take you to see him as soon as all your cuts are cleaned and tended. The weird part is,” she began with a little laugh, “Sam got shot in the head, but you look worse.”

“But he’s not dead or brain injured or—”

“A .22?” Dr Adair asked.

“Yes,” Becky answered.

I tried to look at the doctor and was instantly admonished to keep still unless I wanted a big scar. “How did you guess that?”

“If you’re going to get shot in the head, that’s the best caliber possible. It’s a small projectile.”

“But it still went into his face,” I argued.

“I haven’t seen the patient, but my guess is it entered the skull at just the right angle to clip the occipital bone, and that’s enough to change the direction. Then the bullet travels around the skull instead of through it. Still, your friend was mighty lucky.”

If he wasn’t trussing me closed like a turkey, I probably would have kissed the doctor for explaining how Sam had survived with a relatively minor injury.

I, on the other hand, had stitches in my swollen lip; stitches on both sides of my head; and a do-over set on my arm. My hair was damp and matted, except for the two places where the doc
tor had shaved it off to sew me up. I wasn’t in any huge hurry to look in the mirror.

“What about Jill?” I asked as the doctor finished up.

Becky gave my hand a squeeze. “Last report I saw, the boat was surrounded by Coast Guard cutters. Looked a lot like Kennedy’s blockade during the Cuban missile crisis.”

“I don’t think Jill will back down,” I said.

“I don’t much care,” Becky said. “Is Finley free to go?”

“I’m off to write the discharge orders now. You will finish all of the antibiotic and use the ointment, and you need someone to check on you every hour for the next twenty-four hours. I stitched you up, but that has no effect on the concussion.”

“We’ve got her covered,” Becky insisted.

“Thank you,” I said to the doctor, hearing the speech impediment as my numb lip continued to swell.

Nearly an hour passed before I was wheeled up to post-op to see Sam. He had gauze wrapped around his head, an IV in his arm, and his eyes were bruised and closed. Mine teared just remembering the sound of the shot and the acrid smell of gunpowder and burned flesh.

Liv was in a chair next to his bed, thumbing through a magazine. Jane was on the opposite side, resting her head on her folded arms at the edge of the bed.

Machines blipped and bleeped all around me as Liv stood to allow Becky to maneuver me in my wheelchair to his bedside. I ran the back of my hand along his cheek. There was something very comforting about the feel of his warm skin.

His eyes fluttered open, and he swallowed loudly. “I’ve…never…seen…so…hideous,” he struggled to say.

I lifted my hand to cover my mouth. “I’m so sorry,” I choked, tears streaking down my face.

“What?” he said, struggling and obviously in some sort of narcotic haze.

“If it wasn’t for me, you’d never have been hurt.”

He reached up and grabbed at my hand. “Crazy woman shot me.”

“I stole your phone.”

“Now that,” he said, his voice scratchy, “you’ll have to make up to me.”

“I will.”

“Go home. Sleep. I’m fine.”

“You are a medical miracle,” I corrected. “I’m sure they want to check you over thoroughly.”

Becky came around to give him a kiss. “I left everyone’s phone numbers with the nurse. You need anything—
anything
—and we’re here for you.”

Liv and Jane kissed him too. I couldn’t; my puffy lip wasn’t exactly well-suited for kissing.

A
S
I
PREDICTED
, J
ILL
Burkett did not cooperate. Instead, with news helicopters buzzing overhead, the boat surrounded by about twenty-plus boats and ships, she stood on the deck, stuck the gun in her mouth, and tumbled into the water.

Me? I’d have left her for chum, but the authorities retrieved her body, ending the one-woman murder spree.

That was almost six weeks ago, but I still had the occasional nightmare and fading scars to remind me of my ordeal. Grudgingly, Vain Dane—with a push from Tony, according to the
prevailing gossip—allowed me to work from home until Dr. Adair removed my stitches. It worked out okay, since my friends worked out a shift system so neither I nor Sam, once he got home from the hospital, was left alone.

Sam went back to work after a few weeks. And he started dating the nurse from the ER once he got back on his feet.

My mother came by when she returned from visiting my sister. Her main concern seemed to be that my scars wouldn’t be healed by Lisa’s wedding. Oh, and she gave me a bill from Total Plant Replacements, since all the inconsiderate traitors in her apartment died due to my abject neglect…even though said neglect happened while I was recuperating from a near-fatal attack.

Other than going to the grocery store in the wee hours of the morning—in the new, champagne-pink-colored Mercedes CLK convertible I leased—I laid low until my lip was back to semi-normal and I’d found a way to hide the re-growth where my hair had been shaved.

Patrick made the mistake of dropping by when Jane, who worked out religiously, was on duty. She was quite specific about which orifice he should shove his flowers up and gave him ten seconds to go away or she’d be the one doing the shoving.

Jane visited and made sure I kept current on my scheduled payments to Harold so the remodel stayed on track.

Tony sent flowers and a card. Or more accurately, his secretary arranged for the flowers. I knew this because the card was typed and I recognized the arrangement. It was the classic Dane, Lieberman employee floral spray. Tulips and daisies in a brightly colored vase. I’d probably sent a hundred of them in my years at the firm. I should have been grateful that they acknowledged my ordeal, but a small part of me was a little disappointed that Tony didn’t drop by. Not that I wanted him to see me at my worst; it
just meant that I’d misread the signals and he wasn’t interested in me after all.

The most notably absent person was Liam. Not a call, not a card, not a peep. Guess he wasn’t that into me either.

Tonight everything would change. Becky and Liv were taking me out to dinner to celebrate my return to visually normal. Jane was going to try to make it as soon as she finished a couldn’t-get-out-of meeting.

In addition to the car, I’d splurged on a pale pink, sleeveless, BCBG dress, with a ruffled collar and the most adorable pair of Zanotti heeled sandals accented with light pink crystals—to-me-from-me gifts for passing my online continuing ed course with the highest final grade in the class.

Because the ruffle was such a focal point, I slipped on a pair of gold hoops and added some bangles to each wrist. Deep fuchsia lipstick obliterated the scar, and two discreet hairpins ensured that the scars on my head were concealed.

I couldn’t do anything but apply bronzer to the scar on my arm, but I was thrilled to see that the one above my knee was so faint that it was impossible to see.

When Becky came to the door promptly at seven on Saturday night, I was ready, except for switching purses to the oversized leather clutch I’d scored on an eBay auction.

“Ready to rejoin society?” Becky asked.

“I am. You look great,” I said as I locked my apartment door behind us. In theory, I had another week until I moved into the beach house, but on a stealthy nighttime visit two weeks ago, I didn’t see how that could happen. I’d worry about that next week. “New skirt?” I asked.

It was silk and in her signature shade of rust, with a leg-baring slit on one side. She paired it with a simple cream shell and lots
of big, clunky, amber jewelry. I offered to drive. Wanted to, actually; it was a lot of fun to sit behind the wheel of the two-seater Mercedes, but Becky insisted that we take her environmentally friendly hybrid. That made her the designated driver, which was actually a plus for me.

“Marks?” I asked. The City Place restaurant was a spot we reserved for very special occasions.

“Nope. We found a new place.”

“Where?”

“Chill. It’s a surprise.”

When she headed east on Okeechobee, I figured we were going whole hog and dining at one of the restaurants at The Breakers. But then she passed The Breakers and sped to Chilian Avenue.

“Oh. My. God,” was all I could manage when I saw my house. Even before I got to the front door, I saw window treatments.

Liv greeted me with a big smile and a glass of champagne. “Welcome to Chez Tanner.”

My jaw dropped. Sam, Liv, and Jane—the cagey liar—were inside, along with every stick of furniture. Every piece of art was hung. Every window was dressed. Fresh flowers adorned the table, and candles floated in the pool. Something wonderful was in the oven, filling the kitchen with the scents of thyme and lemon. The dining room table was set for six, and I was honestly stunned speechless by the transformation.

I went from room to room,
oohhh
ing and
ahhh
ing. It was perfect. I ran to Sam and gave him a big hug. “When did you do all this?”

“I am a limitless well of talent.”

“You are,” I agreed. “You shouldn’t have been working so hard,” I said as I gently ran my fingertip over his fading scar.

“I had help,” he said.

I turned to my friends and smiled. They all shook their heads. Becky said, “Not us.”

As if choreographed, the doorbell chimed. I liked it. It sounded expensive. I assumed it was Sam’s new boyfriend.

I assumed wrong. Liam walked in, carrying a cake box. After the long absence, I felt as though I was being introduced to his handsome face for the first time. It was a special moment.

“Sorry I’m late. I had a thing.”

Thing?
Moment over.

“B
ECKY COULD HAVE DRIVEN
me home,” I said as I sat in the passenger’s seat of Liam’s Mustang, raising my voice to be heard over the rattle coming from some loose part. “My apartment is completely out of your way.”

Even though it was dark, the dashboard provided enough illumination for me to see the sexy half smile and amused lines on his profile. “It’s not a thing.”

“Everything with you is a thing,” I said as I nervously twisted my bracelets.

“Try, ‘Thank you, Liam, I appreciate the ride home.’”

I sighed. “Thank you for the ride home. And thank you for having my dress cleaned and sent to my apartment.”

“You already thanked me. You sent me a card. The scented pink envelope was a first for me.”

“Mocking my stationery? Fine. Next time I’ll scribble something on a napkin.”

He laughed, which only seemed to pour fuel on the conflicting emotions smoldering in my stomach. I twisted my bracelets
harder and faster, relaxing only when he reached the parking lot in front of my apartment.

I tugged on the antiquated handle and stepped clear of the sputtering, I-don’t-want-to-die engine, but not before it belched a big cloud of pungent blue smoke.

“You don’t need to walk me to the door,” I said, feeling the heat of his presence behind me as I nervously fumbled with the key.

Liam reached over my shoulder, gently covered my hand, and easily guided the key into the slot.

The door swung open, but I didn’t move. My pulse quickened, and I could only manage small, uneven breaths. His body was against mine. I could smell him, feel him, and knew that all I had to do was turn around and all these months of wanting and wondering would finally end.

The better angels in my brain tried to shout down the needy demons urging me to go for it. As the seconds passed and I heard and felt his ragged breathing, I knew the demons had won.

Turning my hand in Liam’s palm, I laced my fingers with his and wordlessly pulled him inside. The door closed and he turned me in his arms. “This is a lot better than the last time I had you in my arms.”

“That was months ago,” I said, sure he could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

He pulled back slightly and eyed me suspiciously. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Forget it,” he said as his head dipped toward mine.

I raised my hand and placed a finger against his warm, slightly parted lips. “Tell me.”

He shrugged and smiled. Not his normal smile, but an almost
bashful one that really pushed me off balance. “It’s nothing.”

“No, it isn’t. As soon as you tell me, we can get back to the kissing part.”

Bashful melted into sly and sexy in the blink of an eye. “The last time you were in my arms was after Jill tossed you into the ocean.”

The blinking of my eyes became literal instead of figurative. “I thought Fire and Rescue…”

He was shaking his head. “I heard about the shooting at your apartment and raced over. Sam’s pulse was strong, and he tried to tell me something about a woman before he passed out.”

“You left him there?”

“I called an ambulance. I found your list in the bedroom printer and called the cops, thinking Melinda had you. But she’d already been found dead, so I had the Palm Beach police run up to the Gilmore mansion. No one home but the help.”