Friends and Lovers Trilogy 02 - Charmed (6 page)

Chapter Seven

Murphy had known the moment something was amiss. Lulu had spent the early part of the evening sitting at her table, sipping her soda, leaving once to visit the ladies room. Thirty-minutes later and she was the life of the party. Her excessive energy and provocative dancing had given him a heads-up and a hard-on. No doubt her “admirer” had been equally aroused, the sick bastard.

Given her behavior and the symptomatic side effects, Murphy suspected MDMA otherwise known as Ecstasy. The popular club drug lowered inhibitions and increased awareness and feelings of pleasure. Whoever had slipped her the illegal stimulant had intended to take advantage. A cynical conclusion, but one based on experience and facts. Not to mention his gut.

Fortunately, a few of those side effects—overheating, dehydration, and anxiety—had kicked in, prodding Lulu off the dance floor and into his arms.

Unfortunately, she was experiencing an extreme reaction.

He parked the Jag in front of her house, retrieved his Glock. The game was on. He regarded the unwitting target with a frown. She’d maneuvered herself into a tight ball, her thighs clutched to her chest, her forehead resting on her knees. At first he thought she was crying, but then she turned her head and looked at him, dry-eyed.
Thank you, Jesus.
Usually he wasn’t bothered by tears. But there wasn’t anything “usual” about this woman.

“I’m so sorry,” she said for the umpteenth time.

“Stop apologizing.” Realizing he sounded curt, he opened his door and stepped outside, cursing the stars as he rounded the car. For chrissakes there were worse things than a woman hurling on a man’s boots. The “unfortunate incident,” as Jean-Pierre had dubbed it, didn’t even make Murphy’s Top Ten List. Between his Marine Expeditionary Unit missions and his executive protection assignments, he’d seen some damned disgusting shit. He had a cast iron stomach, nerves of steel, and a closet full of shoes.
Hell, all she’d had in her stomach was cola. Cleaning up had been a cinch.

Convincing her friends that he would be the one driving her home had been more complicated.

He’d waited until the concerned crowd had dispersed and Jean-Pierre had escorted her into the club’s head before sharing a few choice words with Gallow. No wonder Jake got along with the guy. They walked the same walk. Sexual preference aside, they both treated women with a tangible reverence. The term chivalrous came to mind, along with fearless. Lulu’s dark-suited champion had proven a pain in the ass even after the phone discussion in which Jake had told him to trust Murphy and to do whatever he advised, no questions asked. Per Jake’s request Gallow didn’t question, but he’d sure as hell said his piece. He even went into detail about which bones he’d break, and in what order, if Murphy were to harm even one curl on Lulu’s head–that’s if Sofie didn’t kill him first.

He’d listened in earnest. Well, at least he hadn’t laughed. No use insulting a man whose intentions were honorable. Even his twinkle-toes boyfriend had grit. Throughout the confrontation, Frenchie had managed to look semi-intimidating even in his tight leather pants and orange paisley shirt. In reality, Murphy could drop the pair without breaking a sweat. Not because they were gay, but because he was good. His team would argue
fuckin’ scary.

As for Sofie … A man-magnet with a kiss-ass mentality?
He actually looked forward to meeting this woman. Lulu had mentioned she was out with a friend. He didn’t think she was home yet.
No car in the drive. No lights in the windows.

No lights.
“Son of a bitch.” He opened the passenger door and helped Lulu out, that home security lecture tripping off his tongue. “Leave on a couple of lights when you’re out at night,” he said as he escorted her toward the porch. “A burglar’s less likely to target a house if he thinks someone’s home.”

“We don’t have burglars,” she said, shivering beneath her shaggy jacket. “This is a nice neighborhood.”

“An affluent neighborhood. And there’s always a first time.” Actually, he was more concerned about a stalker than a thief, but for some reason he shied away from the subject. A few hours ago he’d been itching to give her a wake-up call. Now he wanted to shield her from the ugly reality that she’d been drugged, possibly by a sexual deviant–a man almost certainly connected to the mob. Maybe it was because she looked so damned young in her pigtails, cartoon T-shirt, and hot-pink high-tops. Or because she smelled like lemons and bubblegum. Or maybe because he was beginning to think that she was the real deal. A chaste soul. She actually thought she’d caught the flu. Wait until she sobered up and remembered that she’d suggested they steal away for a hot slam. His words, not hers.

The hell of it was, he’d been tempted. Bad enough that he’d been turned on
watching
her dance. When she’d practiced those seductive moves on him he’d nearly maxed out. Though petite in stature, she wasn’t bone skinny or overly defined. She was soft. Feminine. Possessing the winsome appeal of one of those lush women featured in Renaissance paintings.
Imp and angel. Lethal combination. Much like Madonna and whore. Easy to see how she’d picked up an admirer.
Easy for him anyway.

Convincing Lulu would be a trial. He’d never known a woman less conscious of her sexual appeal.

“I’d invite you in,” she said as they breached the busted outer door and weaved through the assorted boxed paraphernalia. “But I don’t want you to catch whatever bug I picked up.”

“You’re not contagious.”

She pressed a trembling hand to her damp brow. “How do you know?”

“I’ve seen this before.”
And worse.
Like early in his protection career when a diplomat’s son had overdosed on heroine. A standard op turned clusterfuck because the team leader, a man Murphy thereafter disassociated with, hadn’t known his ass from a hole in the ground. “I really need to speak with your sister.” Since she still thought he was somehow connected to Sofie, he worked that angle. No way was he leaving this woman alone.

She turned and faced him, eyes narrowed in confusion. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead and sighed. “Oh, right. The thong.”

There was that. He also wanted to know about the other gifts that had been delivered over the past few days. According to Lulu, there’d been quite a few. Had they been specifically addressed to Sofie? Had the cards been signed? Or, like today, had they been anonymous?

Mostly he wanted an excuse to come inside. This op was no longer covert. He was moving in. He’d tell her tomorrow after the effects of the drug subsided.

She glanced over her shoulder at the darkened door and shivered. “Actually, I have to admit I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Before she could change her mind, he stooped down and groped under the welcome mat for the key he just knew was there. Sure enough, his fingers touched metal. He checked his annoyance, tripped the lock, and moved inside.

Lulu brushed past him, flipping on lights as she moved from room to room. He stuck close, raising a brow when she turned on the television
and
the radio. What the hell? Then she paused on the landing and wrung her hands. “Have you seen the upstairs?” she asked, staring up into the darkness. “Viv hasn’t redecorated in years, but it’s really quite interesting. Four bedrooms, a bathroom. Lots of nooks and crannies. Sofie and I grew up here. One of our favorite games was hide and seek.” She worried her lower lip. “Lots of places to hide.”

Then he got it.
Paranoia. Another side effect.
Or maybe it was a gut feeling. He knew about those. His own gut told him that they were alone. Chances were her admirer had seen her leave the club flanked by three men, and had watched her drive away with one. The creep was probably off fantasizing about their next encounter. Still …

Murphy would’ve told her to wait, but then she might’ve felt abandoned. Instead, he offered his hand and took the lead. Her grip was cold and clammy. He could feel her tension mounting with every step.
Hell.
He made small talk for her benefit, asking about her childhood, her sister, their similar career choices. When Jake had called earlier he hadn’t had much to report yet–other than that Lulu was thirty-one, divorced, childless, and working part-time at the Carnevale Casino as a juggler, in addition to operating a freelance storytelling business. She’d racked up a helluva lot of speeding tickets, but, other than that, she was clean. The only thing that had surprised him was the fact that she was thirty-one. It made her naïveté all the more shocking. And sweet.
Shake it off, man. You don’t do sweet.

“Entertainment is in our blood,” she said in a soft, scratchy voice. “We have a theatrical background that can be traced back for generations. Actors, dancers, variety artists. Various degrees of success and fame.”

Her voice trailed off as they hit the top step. He could feel her pulse tripping beneath his touch. He cursed himself for planting the image of a burglar in her mind. Yes, he wanted her to be more cautious, but he hadn’t meant to scare her. He knew her reaction was heightened by the mood-elevating drug; but dammit, her fear was real, and it turned something inside of him.

“Where’d you learn to juggle?” He wanted to keep her talking, to occupy her thoughts with something other than bogeymen. Although he sensed no immediate danger, he’d make a show of inspecting every room. Anything to put her at ease.

“How did you know I juggle?”

Because Jake told me. Because I saw you juggling batteries this afternoon when I tailed you. Shit.
“Because I saw a juggling magazine downstairs.”
True.
“And three neon rings in the living room corner.”
Also true.
“Given all the props in the backseat of your car, I just assumed they belonged to you.”

“Oh.”

He flipped a switch, flooded the hall with light, and then tugged her toward the first room. “So?”

“Oh. I learned from my Grandpa Marino. His circus skills were amazing. He was featured on
The Ed Sullivan Show
a few times.”

He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “No kidding?” She smiled, and his insides twisted.
Well, hell.

“That’s where he met Viv. She started out as a puppeteer. She can do these really funny character voices. Anyway, she was only sixteen at the time, but Grandpa was a goner. Love at first sight. He waited for two years, until she was legal, before he made his play. Can you imagine?”

“If she’s anything like you …” He stopped cold, stunned at his words.
What the hell?
He broke physical contact, switched on the bathroom light and, after a quick inspection, motioned her inside. “Why don’t you freshen up? I’ll look in the other rooms. Check out those nooks and crannies.”

“Murphy, I …” She blinked up at him with those long-lashed, nut-brown eyes. Rocked back and forth on her sneakers. Those freaking pink high tops did him in. “I feel so stupid. I’m never this jumpy. I just … you mentioned a burglar and I … Tomorrow I’ll find a better hiding place for that spare key.”

Saints be praised.

She shut the door and he continued his search. Four bedrooms. Lots of hiding places. No bogeyman. The last place he checked was Lulu’s closet. He skimmed through the colorful array of costumes, surprised to find that her wardrobe extended well beyond that of a fairytale princess. Native-American princess. Celtic-warrior princess. He stopped when his fingers connected with the blue-green sequins of a mermaid tail. He eyed the form-fitting lower-half. The sequined bra-like top.

He thought about the silver seashell and that pearl thong.

“Is everything okay?”

He turned and dragged a hand down his face. She stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around her middle. Her face was scrubbed bright pink, her hair loose and damp. She’d changed into pale blue, terry cloth sweats and a pair of fuzzy mouse slippers—but he imagined her in that mermaid get up.

“I took a quick shower,” she said, shifting self-consciously, probably because he was staring. “I thought it might make me feel better.”

“Did it?”

“Not much.” She moved to her dresser, slathered her hands with cream and dabbed pink-tinted balm on her lips.

Mermaid. Ocean. Shells. Pearls.

Thong.

She’d mentioned pulling a double today. He wanted to ask her if she’d been a fairytale princess on both jobs. Had she played the mermaid recently? When? Where? Who’d hired her? But that would have to wait until tomorrow. She still looked ready to claw out of her skin. He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost one in the morning. Do you want to go to bed? I can hang out downstairs, watch CNN, wait for Sofie.”

“I don’t think I can sleep right now. I feel … I’m not …” She lifted a hand to her cheek. “My eye keeps twitching. I’m overly tired, I guess, but I’m not sleepy.” She turned to him, eyes brimming with hope. “I thought we could watch a movie. You know, until Sofie gets home.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

She didn’t move, so he took her hand and led her back downstairs.

“My collection is pretty extensive, but I’m in the mood for something light. Something,” she shivered, “uplifting.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” She led him over to her video and DVD collection.

He hated to break it to her but all of her movies, from the Doris Day classics to the Meg Ryan comedies, were light and uplifting. No twisted or tormented endings for this woman. The Disney movies alone took up two shelves. “How about this one?”

“The Little Mermaid?
“ She beamed up at him. “I just watched this one last night for inspiration. But I don’t mind watching it again. It’s one of my favorites.” She handed him the DVD. “You put it in and get it started. I’ll get us something to drink. We don’t have any hard liquor. Sofie has some wine—”

“Water’s fine.”

“Okay. Good.” She hurried toward the kitchen.

Murphy shut off the radio and loaded the DVD player. He closed the living room curtains and flicked off the majority of the lights. On the off chance the stalker
was
out there, he didn’t want him pulling a Peeping Tom.