Friends and Lovers Trilogy 02 - Charmed (10 page)

Chapter Eleven

Nothing like being the bearer of bad news.
Murphy wanted to comfort Lulu by hauling her into his arms and kissing the misery from her brow. Instead, he tightened his grasp on her shoulder and allowed her to process. Sofie knew her sister well. The news that she’d been drugged hit hard. He felt her sway, mourned the devastated look on her face.

He cursed himself a bastard for delivering the blow.

Lulu glanced up as though she’d heard the mental chide, and whole-heartedly agreed. “I need some fresh air.” Tight-lipped, she shook off his hand and stalked out of the room.

Murphy whistled low, and regarded the ragtag team with arched brows. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy. “Give us a moment.”

“Better you than me,” Jake grumbled.

“I won’t be shut out,” Sofie said.

Gallow and Jean-Pierre seconded her decree.

Murphy nodded. “Noted.” He caught Lulu on the screened porch righting a bicycle she’d knocked over in her wake.

“I don’t believe you,” she said without turning.

“I know.” Rather than trying to calm her, he allowed her to blow through the outer door. First chance he got, he’d safe-proof the chaotic porch and replace the busted lock. The absence of a man in this household was glaring. He followed Lulu down the front steps—nearly tripping over that damned jack-o-lantern—and across the lawn. He fell in beside her as she race-walked toward the beach. “You’re angry.”

“No, I’m upset. There’s a difference.”

“I heard you have a hell of a temper.” His lip twitched. “Sorry I missed it.”

“I’m not.” Her pale cheeks flushed pink. “It’s not a pretty sight.”

He’d lay odds it was a beautiful sight, but he kept that bet to himself. She radiated a natural beauty and a charged innocence that blew him apart like a nuclear missile. Maintaining professionalism in her presence was a trial. This was a definite first.

She continued her purposeful trek up the asphalt sidewalk, gaze fixed on the blue horizon.

He scanned the perimeter.

Upscale houses. Manicured lawns. Luxury cars parked in driveways. A man trimming hedges. Up ahead he saw kids skateboarding on the boardwalk and a yuppie couple rollerblading. Nothing suspicious. Unless you counted the oncoming platinum-haired, elderly woman walking her long-haired, pipsqueak dog. They wore matching yellow sweaters, rhinestone chokers, and flowery hats with rolled brims. Poor dog.

“Lulu!” The woman waved and trotted toward them, her garish red lips curved into a face-splitting smile. The dog trotted, but didn’t smile. Probably hated the hat. Who wouldn’t?

Lulu lifted her hand in a half-hearted greeting. “Good afternoon, Flora.”

The woman pressed a hand to her ample, sagging bosom. “Who’s your friend, dear?”

“This is Murphy. Murphy, this is Flora.” Lulu reached down and scratched the chin of the snow-white dog. “This is Fluffy.”

Flora and Fluffy. Murphy grinned. The princess kept colorful company. But instead of engaging in conversation, Lulu murmured a polite, “Have a nice day,” and kept walking.

“Toodles!” Flora smiled and waved.

Murphy waved back. “Neighbor?” he asked Lulu.

“The neighborhood gossip, actually. But she’s nice.”

Naturally.
He held his tongue until they’d scaled the sun-bleached steps of the southern end of the world famous boardwalk. Five miles north: the Atlantic City casinos. And Oz. “There
are
some not-so-nice people in this world, Princess. Bad people who do bad things.”

“I know that. I just don’t … I don’t mix with bad people.” She grasped the wooden railing, stared out at the deserted beach and the white-capped Atlantic, and took a deep breath.

She’d grown up in her grandmother’s house, had probably played on this beach as a child. How often had she escaped to this place to clear her head? To seek calm? He itched to know this woman. From her background, to her dreams, to her favorite brand of toothpaste. Getting to know someone, engaging in small talk, had never been more appealing.

Murphy moved in beside her, forced himself not to cover her hand with his own. Touching her, even in comfort, was dangerous. She looked amazing in her button-down shirt, cargo pants, and high-top sneakers. Her golden curls blew wild in the tangy ocean breeze. She was a spirited tomboy. A sexy enigma. And vivid images of last night only exacerbated his misery–the dancing, the kiss …
Focus, man.
“I know you don’t want to believe that you were drugged, hon, but I’m pretty sure you were.”

Her cheeks burned red. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the endearment, a careless slip, or because of the subject matter. He pressed on. “Judging from your behavior and the symptomatic side effects, my money is on MDMA. In small doses it’s a relatively harmless stimulant. A mood elevator that produces a euphoric state. Enhances sensations. Lowers inhibitions.”

She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead as if trying to push back the memory of her provocative dancing. Transparent as hell, she was reliving and regretting last night’s escapades, and he knew it.

He took advantage of her silence. The more she knew, the safer he could make it for her. “MDMA is a tablet, candy-like in appearance. It comes in various colors—blue, yellow, pink—and it’s stamped with a logo. Different logos for different brands. Anchors, rabbits, hearts, skulls … Sound familiar?”

“No.” She gripped the railing tight, rocked back and forth on her sneakers. “Wait. Yes.” She glanced sideways at Murphy. “Someone in the bathroom offered me a mint. It had a smiley face on it. I thought it was cute. It tasted awful, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to make her feel bad. I think she liked me.” She blushed. “You know,
liked
me.”

Murphy’s brow rose. “You mean she was a lesbian.”

“I suppose she could have been bi. Or just a really friendly straight person. According to Jean-Pierre, curious women float over from Flying Monkeys once in awhile. Gay, bi, straight. I’m not very good at reading the signs. I guess I don’t really care. If a person’s nice … I
thought
she was nice.” She pushed off the rail and began to pace. “I can’t believe it. I broke a basic rule.
Never take candy from strangers.”
She thunked her forehead with the heel of her hand, once, twice. “How could I be so stupid?”

“You’re not stupid, you’re trusting.” He smiled to ease her distress. “There’s a difference.” A subtle difference in his experience, but he kept that thought to himself. “Let’s get back to the person who gave you the mint. Is that the same person who approached you later on the dance floor?”

“No. That was a man.” She stopped in her tracks as a little kid zoomed by on his bike. She stared after the boy, and then turned and gawked at Murphy. “If this hits the newspapers, Princess Charming will be tarnished for life. I can see the headlines now:
DOPED UP STORYTELLER SEDUCES BODYGUARD!
Lead line:
In a bizarre twist, princess pukes on bodyguard’s boots.
What will the parents think? What will the
children
think? I’m supposed to be a role model!”

Murphy suppressed a grin. Her predicament sure as hell wasn’t funny, but her whimsical views warmed even the dankest subjects. “They won’t think anything because they won’t know. Those at the club who asked were told that you had a virus. They have no reason to believe otherwise. Now about the man on the dance floor … did he say anything?”

“No.” Agitated, she shoved a hand through her wild curls. “He just smiled. He was coming toward me, at least I think he was. He could have been heading past me.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Not clearly. It was crowded and dark, and I wasn’t exactly coherent.”

“Tall? Short? Fat? Thin?”

“Average.”

“Young? Old?”

“Middle-aged.”

“Short or long hair? Dark or Light?”

“Short. Dark. Brown, no black.” She shook her head. “I’m not very good at remembering people. In my line of work I meet so many. I have to see someone a few times, have a discussion, although …”

Murphy inched forward. “What?”

“I did feel as though I’d seen him before.”

“Can you place him?”

“No. It might come to me later, but just now, no.” She massaged her temples. “I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

He smoothed her windblown curls from her tortured face. “I know.”

She swallowed hard, backed away from his touch and resumed her pacing. “Besides, my reaction makes no sense. He didn’t do anything. Didn’t say anything.

He just
smiled.
Maybe I was just, you know, whacking out because of the drug.”

Murphy angled his head. “It’s possible. Paranoia is a side effect. But I’m not convinced. There’s a lot to be said for gut feelings. I think you sensed the guy was bad news.”

She paced, chewing on a thumbnail. After a few seconds she turned to face him. “Okay. I’ll buy that I was drugged. It’s not easy, but it does explain my …” she rolled her eyes, “unusual behavior. It was unfortunate, and I feel really stupid and angry, but that’s what I get for ignoring something every five-year-old should know. That other part though, the part about the obsessed admirer, I just don’t believe it. Why should I?” She swept her arms wide. “Look at me!”

“I’m looking.” And he sure as hell liked what he saw. She didn’t flaunt her figure, but it didn’t take much to imagine her in the raw. He’d laid hands on those plentiful curves when they’d danced. And, whereas today her clothes bagged, last night’s T-shirt and jeans had hugged in all the right places.
Oh, yeah.
He liked what he saw.
Sexy hair. Bountiful breasts. Great ass.
But the attraction went beyond the physical.
That,
he decided, was the scary part for him, and, more than likely, the strongest appeal for the stalker.

He dragged a hand over his face.

Ticking off a list of her admirable qualities seemed like a dumb-ass thing to do, so he simply said, “Charismatic fireballs tend to light fires. I’m sure this isn’t the first guy who’s been hot for you, Princess.”

She snorted, tossed up a hand. “Yeah, right. But thanks for trying.”

Murphy bristled. This wasn’t modesty. She honestly didn’t get it. What did this woman see when she looked in the mirror? “Uh-huh. Well, like it or not, you’re the girl of this man’s dreams. He sent you a specifically orchestrated gift. Pearls in a seashell. Last night I cranked up that music box. It played a song from that movie we watched.”

She blinked at him, retreated a step.

Miss Goody Two-shoes was backing away from the obvious, so Murphy got in her face. “Your first party yesterday. What did you appear as?”

“A mermaid. But that could be coincidental.” She paused, sighed. “Or not. Okay. So maybe one of the men at the party–one of the catering staff, or a relative or friend of the Ditellis’–has a secret fetish for mermaids. Maybe he sent me a gift, an inappropriate gift, but that doesn’t mean he’s
unsavory.
And how in the world does that tie into my being drugged at Oz?”

“You said the man on the dance floor looked familiar. Is it possible that you saw him earlier yesterday at the Ditelli party?”

She moistened her lips and swallowed hard as recognition flittered across her face.

“There’s your connection.” It also meant that Bogie had been at that party. Ten to one the Ditellis were mob connected. “Did this guy approach you at the party? Did you get a name?”

Clearly overwhelmed, she shook her head. “No. He was standing with a group of men, cheering the kids on as we did the crabwalk race. They caught my attention because they were so loud. Actually, he wasn’t cheering. He was just watching. Me.” She palmed her brow. “I didn’t think anything of it. People watch me all the time. I’m an entertainer. Although …”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She was holding something back. He wanted to pry, but sensed it wouldn’t get him anywhere. He could almost see her erecting protective, fairytale castle walls. Everything ugly and evil relegated to the moat.

She moved back to the railing and gazed out at the sea. “This is crazy. Things like this don’t happen to people like me.”

Murphy thought about his upstanding parents. “Unfortunately, yes, they do.”

She turned slowly, her nut-brown eyes swirling with suspicion. “How do you figure into this?”

He wondered when she’d get around to asking. Wondered if the truth would cause her to lower her defenses and let him in, or to shut him out completely. This wisp of a woman challenged him simply by being. His antithesis, she represented the beauty of the soul. His senses vibrated with the need to conquer and possess.

Bogie wasn’t the only one in deep.

“Yesterday, I received a tip that you’re in danger. That tip came from a trusted friend. Given my friend’s line of work, I have good reason to believe your admirer is mob connected.”

“I see.” Her lips twisted into a skeptical smirk. “What does your friend do?”

“He’s a special agent with the FBI. Organized Crime Program.” Murphy tore his gaze from her luscious mouth, willed himself to check his raging testosterone.
What the hell?
He wasn’t a puberty-cursed teen. He was thirty-nine.
Two months from forty. Two months from middle-freaking-age.
“He’s undercover just now, so it makes things tricky. I can’t seek him out, can’t enlist the aide of authorities. Not without compromising his case and, more importantly, his safety. So, until he can provide me with more information, we’ll have to operate on the side of caution.”

Brow raised, she perched her fists on her hips. “An FBI agent and a mobster. Jeez, this is better than one of my loonytales.”

He ignored her sarcasm and plowed on. “We have two choices. The easiest solution entails canceling your upcoming performances until further notice. I can protect you more effectively if you’re out of the public eye.”

“Are you nuts?” she shrieked. “I have responsibilities, obligations. Children are counting on me. Forget it, Murphy.”

He figured as much.

She hugged herself against a brisk wind. “Even if I did put stock in this madness, I’m not going into hiding just because some idiot schmuck thinks I’m his ideal!”