Love on the Boardwalk (5 page)

Huh-uh. Brad refused to have this whole thing put back on him. “And I thought we were just out for a fun day to cheer me up.”

“No reason we can’t combine work and pleasure.”

She had a squirmy, wheedling tone to her voice that told Brad not to take her statement at face value. As did her rapidly batting lashes and pursed lips. Trina was all innocence. Which set all of Brad’s instincts on red alert.

“
Is
this work? Is this the actual case Joe sent you down here to wrap up?”

Her gaze skittered away. “No. Yes. Maybe.” Brad took a hold of her chin and gently steered her to look him in the eyes. That was all it took to focus her on the truth. “I mean, no, I finished Joe’s case. I took a bunch of pictures of a deadbeat dad who claims he can’t afford child support stuffing bills into dancers’ thongs. Made copies of the receipts for all his lap dances and bar bills, too. But at the club two nights ago, I saw this guy. Acting all shady. Doing some sort of under-the-table business with a bunch of dancers. Even though nobody’s footing the bill, if I manage to crack this wide open and take him down, this could be my first solo case. One that Joe hasn’t pre-screened and judged to be simple enough for me.”

Jumping in with both feet was great—if you knew how to swim. The way Darcy told it, Trina changed careers as often as a new video of some drunk pop idol went viral. She never stuck at one very long. By his count, it was just about time for her to get bored of sleuthing. Which meant he had to keep her out of harm’s way just long enough for her to get distracted and switch over to something else. “You mean one that’s safe enough for you.”

Her hand waved through the air, dismissing Brad’s caution. “Shorty’s bad news. I know it. All the dancers at Club Eden are decent, hardworking women that don’t deserve to be caught up in whatever crap he’s pulling. If I can help them and prove myself, it’s a win all around. So I’m taking a couple of vacation days to dig into this. What if there is something bad going down? And I had the chance to stop it, stop someone from getting hurt, and just missed it? I’d never be able to forgive myself. I’m going to tail him.”

“Not with me. I’m a Maryland State Police detective.” For good measure, he whipped his badge out of his pocket and flashed it at her. Figured the visual aid might help drive his point home. “I can’t randomly tail people without cause. That’s police harassment.”

“I do have cause. I overheard him last night on the phone. He mentioned ‘making a payoff for the goods.’ He’s supposed to meet someone here.” She jabbed her finger onto the face of the pinball machine for emphasis. It set off a cascade of balls and bells and dings. “Right now.” A quick look at the thin silver watch around her wrist twisted her face into a scowl. “Well, ten minutes ago, actually.”

Big surprise. Tongue firmly lodged in his cheek, Brad said, “The criminal class isn’t known for their punctuality.”

“I’m not kidding. I’ve been watching Shorty for three nights. He’s very suspicious.”

Brad would humor her. As long as he could also splash a little cold reality on her face. “Suspicious how, exactly? What, did he scratch his nose? Wink and nod at a dancer while he shoved a dollar bill in her thong?”

Trina barreled ahead, ignoring his question. “Now he’s got this meet and payoff. Who knows what it could be? Drugs? Blood diamonds? Payoffs?”

To be fair, since it was odd to hear the term
payoff
in a casual conversation, Brad took another look at the short guy. He was doling out tickets to the clerk while pointing at a large—and badly faded—pink rabbit hanging from the ceiling. With his back now to them, Brad could confirm no gun bulge at the small of his back, either. His head hadn’t dipped toward his watch, as it would if waiting for someone. No poking at a smart phone. In other words, the only crime he appeared to be committing was wearing pants that should be confined to nursing home patients. And if Brad handed out tickets for tacky pants, most of AC would have citations before lunch.

Taking her hand, he pulled Trina back to his already loaded skeeball. He turned her so that she could still watch her so-called “suspect” while he started launching balls at the small metal cup. Guess all that target practice paid off. Every one dropped right in with a tinny clang. “You’ve been training for how long now?”

“I started full-time with Joe four months ago.”

Because he did think of Trina as a friend, and appreciated her enthusiasm, Brad resisted rolling his eyes. And laughing out loud. Instead, he ripped off the long string of tickets that spat out and cued up another line of balls.

“That’s not long enough to hone your instincts. That’s not long enough to do anything but figure out how to work the coffee pot and start memorizing all the investigative lingo. Look, first-year med students are famous for coming down with every random and rare disease they study. Investigation works the same way. Newbies see bad guys in every furtive glance, every pause, every quickened step. There’s a joke around the precinct that cops fresh out of the academy would haul Santa himself in on trespassing and covert surveillance charges.”

Scooting back a few steps, Trina wrapped her hands around his to stop him mid-swing. “I hear you. Truly. It may be nothing. But...what if I’m right?”

Talk about the perfect question. Seeing as how Brad had the perfect answer all queued up to shut her down for good. “Exactly. What if you are?” He paused to let the implication sink in—but then figured he’d better come right out and say it. “‘Cause the last time you did this, you ended up staring down the muzzle of a gun. Do you really want to push your luck and experience that again?” Slowly, her head shook side to side. “Leave the sleuthing to the professionals. Joe will tell you when you’re ready to fly solo. It’s just too dangerous to try and skip ahead.”

“Can we at least stay here till he leaves?”

Brad didn’t enjoy being the one to drain her enthusiasm dry. Even though he knew it was for the best. And there wasn’t any harm in sticking around for another five minutes to watch nobody show up to meet the guy. “Sure. But then I’m going to turn the tables and cheer you up. Take your mind off of potential cases and criminals and get back on track with having fun today.”

A smile ghosted across her lips. “Really? How?”

He had a couple of ideas. Funny, neither of them dovetailed with his original plan to spend the week drinking and gambling and moping. “Wait and see. Now go pick out a prize. That’ll get you up close and personal with Shorty for a couple of minutes. Long enough to see that he’s not doing anything suspicious and he’s not reaming someone out on the phone for being late.” Brad thrust the tickets at her. “I’ll win another set of those for you, to buy you some extra time.”

“You’re so sure you can win? These games are set up for people to lose most of the time, you know.”

“When I aim at something, I hit it,” he said simply. Then he launched another wooden ball through the air and didn’t even bother to watch. Just listened as it clattered into the cup. “And when I want something, I get it.” Yeah, he’d used that line on women before. It usually resulted in them tumbling straight into his arms.

Trina tossed her head and winked at him. “Me, too.”

Brad choked out a laugh. He’d never gotten that response before. Trina kept surprising him. And he wondered now if she’d keep doing it in bed, too. ’Cause they were sure headed there. As long as he could keep her attention on him and off of imaginary trouble. How hard could it be?

Chapter Four

“Why’d you want to meet me here instead of just coming along in my car?” Trina asked. Not that she entirely minded taking the trip back to her B&B solo. It gave her the opportunity to follow Shorty to his car and make a note of his license plate to run later. Just because Brad couldn’t see the potential for trouble in Shorty didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

She was on board for whatever fun he had in mind today. But it’d take a lot more than a pair of hypnotically blue eyes and a stern talking to in order to make her give up on this case. Or what she thought might be a case. This could be her chance to not only do some good and stop a crime, but also prove she was ready to fly solo. If she decided to keep training as P.I., that is. Which was a pretty big “if” right now.

“It’s a surprise,” said Brad as he took the porch steps two at a time. Ridiculous how manly that made him look. Even his hot pink T-shirt didn’t make him any less manly, because it was from the Baltimore Marathon team relay. So it made Trina imagine those tan, muscled thighs of his eating up the asphalt, and that in turn made her heart pump faster.

Trina angled her arm up toward the forest green awnings that matched all four levels of the green-shingled roof. “Welcome to the Rabbit’s Foot Inn.”

Running his hand along a brick pillar, Brad asked, “Why are you all the way down here in Ventnor?”

Such a man-type question. Women would ooh and ah over the inn’s prime boardwalk location. Appreciate the wrap-around deck on the second floor. Notice how the rust-colored window trim popped against the yellow walls. Trina was a little disgruntled that Brad hadn’t commented on the adorableness of her home away from home. “All the way? We’re five minutes from Atlantic City. And staying here costs practically nothing.”

“Why’s that?” His suspicious-cop face, that look of carefully smooth blandness with one cocked eyebrow, fell into place. “It sure looks pricey.”

It’d be nice if he’d been as wary of Shorty as he was an inexpensive inn. “Joe hooked me up. He’s friends with the owner. Or more than friends. I think they have their own hooking up when he visits, if you know what I mean.”

“I get it,” he said with a grimace. “No need to go into positions or anything. I’d never be able to look Joe in the face again.”

Yup, men were odd. Because it gave Trina hope for her own sexual future that a couple of fifty-somethings were still raring to go at each other. She pushed open the door. “Come on in—I want you to meet Pearl.”

“Sounds like a stripper name,” he muttered.

“It is. Or rather, it was.” Pearl posed with one hand on the cherry wood banister and her hip shot. Cut-off denim shorts showed off dancer’s legs that still were slim and toned. Her jet-black pixie cut spiked into a dozen different directions. More noticeable than all that, though were a set of magnificent breasts that kind of leapt up and smacked you in the face if you dared look away. According to Pearl, they were the best money could buy. “I started out as a pole dancer, and I’m proud of it. I was the best on the strip. I’ve had more famous men stuff their hand down my G-string than you could even begin to name.”

“How about I don’t waste our time with trying?” Brad loped forward, hand extended. “Bradley Hudson.”

“Pearl Cantorini. It is a genuine pleasure to meet a handsome, strapping man like yourself.” She turned to Trina, still holding Brad’s hand. “You picked a doozy, honey.”

From someone with Pearl’s vast experience with men, that meant a lot. “Thanks.”

“Is he as good as he looks?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Take a load off.” Pearl dragged Brad into the parlor. His tall frame seemed to shrink the entire room. He looked askance at the lime sherbet-colored walls trimmed in white and the old-timey furniture like he was scared something would break if he even brushed past. “Sit and tell me all about yourself.”

This oughtta be good. Pearl subjected everyone who walked through her doors to an inquisition, from the mailman to her penthouse suite guests. Trina leaned against the door frame and bit back a giggle as Brad perched on the edge of a delicate settee. A vampire balancing on a wooden trellis couldn’t look more uncomfortable. “What do you want to know?”

Pearl circled the room, trailing her hand along the edge of the white baby grand piano, then along the fireplace mantel. “So many things. Do you like kids? Are you a man of action or a thinker? Scotch or rum?”

He squared his shoulders and withstood the assault manfully. “I’ve got a passel of nieces and nephews I love to spoil. I prefer to do my thinking and action simultaneously, preferably at a dead run. I’ll drink whatever you put in front of me. But my drink of choice is dark rum.”

“Excellent.” Pearl rummaged in the liquor cabinet and came up with three shot glasses and a bottle full of liquor darker than molasses. “We’ll do a toast to Trina, on account of she’s such a doll.”

Brad glanced at his watch. Trina didn’t have to look at hers to know that it was far shy of noon. Still, he nodded his agreement. Because really, who could say no to Pearl? And it warmed her heart to watch the muscled hunk making nice with her quirky hostess.

“She is indeed.” He stood to take his glass, and passed one to Trina. “What should I know about you, Pearl?”

The older woman preened under his attention. “So nice of you to ask. Many men don’t go any further than wanting to hear stories of the good old days when I stripped. But that life’s behind me. Now I’m a semi-retired professional slots player.”

Brad’s head shot up as he paused, mid-sit. “I didn’t know that was a thing.”

Whew. Trina had been equally surprised. She knew the world was full of unusual jobs. Even had firsthand experience, thanks to that really crappy month she’d spent on the Eastern Shore of Maryland at a chicken farm checking the sex of baby chicks. Still, she had felt kind of stupid for not knowing you could play slots for a living. Maybe a little more research on AC besides just watching every episode of
Boardwalk Empire
would’ve been a smart idea.

“Oh, yes.” Pearl eased into a rocking chair and downed her drink in one quick swallow. “I get all the guests breakfast, then I pop up to the casinos for a few hours. Then I head home for a lunch break and a nap, and go back up for the early bird special and another stint at the machines. It keeps me busy.” Holding out her empty glass, she waggled it side to side in a silent request.

“It keeps your nose in everyone’s business still, too,” Trina pointed out. She brought over the rum bottle to top Pearl off.

“That’s just a perk as much as the cash is,” Pearl cackled, slapping her thigh with her palm. Glass held high, she said, “To Trina Trimble, the sweetest private dick I know.”

A sip at her own drink nearly turned into a spit take. Trina glanced at Brad, who seemed to be biting his lip to keep from laughing. “Um, professional investigators don’t use that term anymore. It has a squicky connotation now.”

“I know. That’s why it’s so much fun to yank people’s chains by saying it.” Another loud cackle before the older woman turned her attention back to Brad. “What is it you do for a living? Underwear model? Weight lifter?”

Brad’s overwhelming masculinity clearly had made as much of an impression on Pearl as it had on Trina. Good thing she was old enough to be his mom. Trina didn’t think she’d stand a chance if Pearl decided to throw herself at Brad. The woman had amazing boobs
and
charisma.

“I’m a detective with the Maryland State Police.”

Pearl rocked all the way forward and grabbed both armrests. “Are you here on a Mafia sting?”

“Should I be?” Brad lobbed the question back smoother than a volley at Wimbledon. Not that Trina cared that much about tennis. But she did love to watch the men with their muscled thighs and short shorts run around and sweat.

“Somebody always is. For all the good it doesn’t do. The Mafia’s as bad as cockroaches. You can stomp on as many as you see. But once the lights go out, they start skittering around again.” She waved a hand in the air as she rocked back. “Impossible to get rid of completely.”

Interest sparked in Brad’s eyes. “Sounds like you’ve racked up some personal experience. I’d be interested in hearing any stories you might want to share.”

Trina had only been here a week, but had already heard some pretty entertaining stories from Pearl. And if even half of them were halfway true, they were all the more amazing. Definitely not the sorts of tales to be telling the police, however. Not without checking several statutes of limitations.

Cocking her head as if considering, Pearl asked, “Are you wearing a wire?”

Brad stood and spread his arms and legs wide. His grin held a bit of a dare. “Do you want to pat me down?”

“Do I want to? Don’t tease me with idle promises, boy.” Pearl jumped out of her chair. The jut of her chin and the angry squint to her eyes let both of them know just how she felt about the question. “I’d have to be a mouldering corpse not to want to run my hands all over you. I’m on an estrogen patch, you know. Because of menopause. It revs up my libido.”

That was obvious. Any more revved and Pearl might self-implode.

“I’ve got dibs on him,” Trina reminded her.

Just to be on the safe side, Trina crossed to Brad and laid a hand on his shoulder. The heat radiating through his shirt kind of made the whole room fade away—the glass jars of seashells on the mantel, the sand dollar coasters on every end table, even the rose-sprigged couches. There was only the hard hotness beneath her hand, and the matching heat flaring in his eyes as he looked up at her.

Yeah, they’d chatted with Pearl for long enough. “I’m going to go change for our mystery date. Pants and no sandals, right?”

“You got it.” Brad stood to walk her to the doorway.

Trina paused one step into the hall. Dust motes danced in the light streaming through the stained-glass window above the front door. “I don’t usually let my dates tell me what to wear. This had better be worth it.”

“Hey, if you don’t enjoy yourself, you’re welcome to take off the clothes I made you put on.”

Trina giggled the entire way up the stairs. She didn’t care if they were going to sort donations at a food pantry or listen to some boring political speech. This was going to be fun.

* * *

After being on the road for half an hour, Brad turned his head over his shoulder and yelled, “Well, what do you think?”

His voice came through loud and clear through the microphone in her helmet. Which meant they could have an actual conversation, even though the motorcycle beneath them was whizzing down Atlantic Avenue. But all she could manage in response was an upturned thumb she waved in front of his face.

Putting it all into words would’ve taken too long. The growling vibration of the wide hog between her legs? Super sexy. Pressing up against Brad’s long, wide back and lacing her palms across his rock-hard abs? Super-duper sexy. Trina goggled at the large white houses—almost mansions, really—with green-tiled roofs along the wide avenue. Colorful flowerbeds edged every green lawn. This late in the season, every bush and tree heavily drooped in leafy abundance. At every intersection she could glance left a block and see a glimpse of the shimmering ocean.

They might be all of two miles from the Atlantic City border, but it felt a million miles away. The peaceful seaside village—without all the sleek cars, of course—probably looked much the same back in the 1940s. Sun warmed her arms from the cloudless sky. It was a perfect day. With the perfect, yummy man.

Crushed oyster shells sprayed to the side as Brad stopped the bike. He tugged off his helmet, which Trina reluctantly took as her cue to let go of his waist. She’d have been happy riding for another hour, all snuggled against his back.

After hopping off, he asked, “Are you coming?”

Trina eyed the distance to the ground. Thought about the hundreds of pounds of bike between her legs, and how easy it would be to topple over onto herself. She couldn’t even get her toes to reach past the foot pegs. No, staying right here seemed altogether safer.

Brad gently removed her helmet. Trina tried to shake out her hair like a slo-mo seventies supermodel. Chances were better that it looked like she was having trouble cracking her neck. With a half-smile, Brad tugged at the end of her hair. “What happened here?”

C’mon. Not like his hair was photo-ready, either. She jerked away from him. “Helmet head. Similar to hat head, but worse, I imagine.”

He stowed both helmets on the handlebars. Then raked a hand through his own thick mane. “I’m not picking on you. I meant, when I met you in June your hair looked like it does now. But last night it wasn’t this strawberry color—it was wine red. And long enough to touch your butt.”

Aha. The seasoned detective picked up on tiny details. He wasn’t the only one, though. She’d noticed that he’d shaved this morning. And that the bump on his nose probably meant he’d either played football as a kid or broke it taking down a bad guy. Oh, and the way the hair on his legs felt crisp and silky at the same time. “The wig comes with the Club Eden uniform. Sorry, I don’t even notice it. Just like the false eyelashes they make me wear. Apparently all their customers want to be smothered in a blanket of hair.”

He tugged on the front strands again. “This is better. No smothering risk. It suits you.” Brad hooked the hair behind her ear, fingers tracing around and down to the lobe. It sent a full-body chill through Trina.

“Thanks.”

In one swift move he picked her up beneath her arms and lifted her off the motorcycle. Being a healthy, lust-filled twenty-seven-year-old, Trina took the opportunity to flatten her palms against a truly excellent set of pecs. Because when life gave you the chance to feel up a hottie, it’d just be stupid not to follow through.

His grip slid down to steady at her waist. “Are your legs wobbly? That can happen to first-timers on a bike.”

“No. I mean, uh, yeah. But I’m okay.” With a final pat, she stepped away. “I loved it.”

“Good. ’Cause if you hated it, you’d have a long walk back.” Flashing a quick grin, Brad took her hand. “Welcome to the eighth wonder of the world.”