Lucky Streak (20 page)

Mike groaned, picked up the phone and bargained for more personal time, promising his superior his firstborn, should he ever have one, in exchange for this being the last—if open-ended—time off for a long, long time.

Then, with Jason's laughter and “I told you so” ringing in his ears, Mike headed back to Stewart and his hot babe of a wife.

 

M
IKE ARRIVED
at his father's house feeling out of breath, though he'd had an hour in the car to unwind. But once he let himself think about the press swarming his hometown, he'd had an uneasy feeling that things were about to blow up.

“Dad!” Mike yelled as he stormed into the house.

“We're in here,” Edward called.

Mike exhaled a long breath. Relieved, he took the steps two at a time—to find his father and
Clara
in the kitchen. “I thought…” Mike trailed off. “Where's Amber?” he asked instead.

“Haven't seen her. Not that I've had time to do anything more than listen to this woman's yammering on about the past. Like I still care.”

A smile spread over Clara's face. “Did you hear that? He admitted he once cared!”

“Ms. Deveaux, have you seen Amber?” Mike asked.

“This morning, when I arrived and then again during lunch. But not since, now that you mention it.” Clara's brows furrowed.

“She's not in the garage or the boathouse. I just came from there,” Edward said.

Clara walked to the sink and poured Edward water, though he hadn't asked for any.

He accepted it and took a sip.

Mike shook his head. The connection between these two was the strangest thing he'd ever seen.

“Amber knows better than to wander off until her trouble's resolved, doesn't she?” Clara asked.

Mike sure as hell hoped so, considering he'd clearly instructed her to stay put.

“Amber told you about King Bobby?” Mike asked Clara.

He was surprised Amber would confide in a stranger about her problems, but then, she probably no longer considered Clara a stranger. Amber had an uncanny knack for bonding with people she'd just met. Like him, Mike thought, recalling their initial meeting in Vegas. The memory of that black dress and her curls hanging down her back set his body on fire all over again. When he got his hands on her…

Clara shook her head. “No, Amber didn't say anything.” She waved her arm through the air. The tinkling sound of her bracelets followed. “I just sense there's evil somewhere around her.”

“Just swell,” Mike muttered. “I can't believe I'm asking this, but…general evil? Or evil right now?” Mike had no idea where Amber had gone and if
Clara's insight, whatever it was based on, could help him find her, he wasn't too proud to ask.

“When I first said evil, I meant recent, but now that you're asking, there may be more.” Without another word, Clara rose and headed out of the kitchen.

Mike followed her to Amber's room. Edward followed and surprisingly for his father, he remained quiet. So Mike did the same. He waited, anxious and uneasy, but willing to give Clara the benefit of the doubt.

“Yes, I can feel her better in here,” the older woman said. “I wasn't paying much attention to her needs earlier,” Clara admitted. “I was too happy to be here with Eddie again.”

Mike's father stiffened, but before he could interrupt Clara, Mike clapped his hand over his father's forearm. “Please. Wait.”

To Mike's surprise, Edward relaxed enough to assure Mike he wouldn't throw one of his tantrums.

“But I know she's been bored and feeling useless. She mentioned as much at lunch,” Clara said.

“Useless? The house is spotless! I still can't find Stinky's favorite toy—”

“Hush!” Clara said. “A woman needs to be in charge of her life or else she feels powerless. That's what Amber's feeling.” She met Mike's gaze. “I'm sorry. I should have listened more carefully for the hidden meaning. It didn't come to me until now.”

“That's okay. Anything she said that you can remember will be helpful.”

Because if she ran away or went to take care of King Bobby or Marshall by herself he'd throttle her.

Clara sat down on the bed and ran her hand over the comforter and a chill rushed through Mike. “The only thing we talked about was how I wanted Eddie to help me look for a new place for my shop. He's being a stubborn cuss, but I'll win yet. Amber also mentioned wishing she could go into town and check things out for herself…”

“That's it! Thank you!” Mike hugged the other woman. “She went to town to clear the cobwebs from her head.” It was the most logical assumption.

Because Mike's gut told him she hadn't run off on him again. Why did he trust in her that way? he wondered.

He didn't have time to figure it out.

“If she calls, find out where she is and tell her to stay put,” Mike told his father and Clara.

“She can't call,” they both said at the same time.

Mike closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Dad, we are turning the landline back on,” he said as he ran for the door, ignoring Edward's bellowing about evildoers finding him.

Paranoia, Mike thought to himself. A
psychiatric
symptom, he thought, giving Amber credit.

He'd find her. Then he'd give her hell for taking such a risk with reporters roaming around town. At
first he'd only worried about them exposing her, but now he was worried in general. Because after the chill Mike had experienced at Clara's words, there was every likelihood King Bobby Boyd was here, too.

And as a cop, Mike's gut had been too reliable to ignore.

 

W
ITH ONE OF
M
IKE'S
old baseball caps on her head and dark sunglasses, Amber strode through town. She'd even found an old camera in the garage that she'd hung around her neck, hoping to look like one of the media searching for information on Jason Corwin. Her disguise had worked.

She'd purchased a cup of coffee at Dunkin' Donuts and wandered around the local streets, appreciating the fresh air and change of scenery. She'd noticed one or two For Sale and For Rent signs on side streets and she'd taken notes to pass along to Clara later.

The only close call she'd had occurred when she'd caught sight of Derek walking out of the law firm Englebert and Rowe. She'd forgotten that he rented office space from them. Luckily for her, he'd headed to his truck and driven away instead of sticking around. She toyed with the idea of going into the Diner on Main Street, and having a meal she hadn't had to cook herself.

She walked past the front windows, planning to check the menu hanging there, when she caught
sight of a large cowboy hat. Reflex and panic kicked in together and she backed against the brick siding, out of view.

“Anyone could be wearing a cowboy hat,” Amber muttered as she ordered her breathing to slow. But she couldn't control the rapid-fire beating of her heart or the trickle of sweat working its way down the front of her shirt.

She edged closer to the window, hoping to get a better look at the face beneath the large brim. Between her dark glasses, which she refused to remove, and the glare of the sun, the man's face wasn't clear. But his huge size was.

“King Bobby, in the flesh.” Amber quickly backed against the wall once more.

Somehow he'd tracked her here, leaving Amber with a choice. She'd been faced with many potentially life-changing decisions in her time. She'd remained with the father she loved but the lifestyle she hated rather than live with a sense of normalcy at her grandparents'. She'd trusted in Mike, a man she'd just met instead of walking away from the most sizzling attraction she'd ever experienced.

Amber had taken a gamble on Mike and she couldn't regret how that choice had turned out. And yet for the last week or so, she'd been hiding out from King Bobby, unable to find Marshall, living in limbo. Worse, she'd been unable to move forward with her husband, assuming he'd want her when this was over.

Well, no more. Her father hadn't raised her to be a coward. She was going to face King Bobby Boyd and reclaim her life. Once and for all.

 

I
F
K
ING
B
OBBY HAD HATED
Boston, he hated this little dinky town of Stewart even more. Everything was small and scrunched together. Hell, even the service in the only diner in town wasn't up to the King's standards. Nobody came over to take his order and his choice of beer on the menu consisted of piss water.

“Hey, little lady, bring me a rack of your best ribs,” he called to a plump waitress rushing between tables.

She gave him a nod, then disappeared through the swinging kitchen doors.

So far his mission here was a bust. He'd tried asking questions about Amber or Detective Michael Corwin, but people in town weren't talking. They'd clammed up, thanks to the hometown athlete who'd been caught cheating. Numbnuts, King Bobby thought, without bothering to learn the man's name. If he was going to cheat, he should have had the brains not to get caught.

About the only thing this town did have going for it was its loyalty to its own. Nobody was talking to strangers, and King Bobby, with his ten-gallon hat, didn't look like a local. He didn't
sound
like one, either. These darn people had a stupid-sounding accent, he thought.

But if he was going to locate Detective Corwin's
family, he had to find someone willing to talk. Since the locals were keeping mum, he'd just start asking the reporters if they'd heard of the Corwins.

“Here you go.” The waitress interrupted his planning as she set down his meal.

He glanced at the plate and spoke the first thing that came to mind. “What in the name of Texas barbecue is
this?
” he asked, staring at the tiny baby backs slathered in sauce. Looked like little peckers, they did. “They're
wet,
” he added.

The woman scowled at him. He'd hate to be the poor sap she came home to at night. Women like her were the reason men got themselves mistresses.

“Well, of course they're wet. They have barbecue sauce on them,” she said. As if he was dumb. And blind.

“In Texas, the only thing wet in a barbecue is our whistle after we drink beer.” Another sore subject, given his choices in this joint. “Barbecue is dry rub, honey. And the ribs look like they were ripped off a prize hog, not off some pet piglet in a tutu.” He laughed at his joke.

She didn't. “Hey, Mel, there's a problem with the ribs!” she called into the kitchen before turning back to King Bobby. “And I'm not your honey.”

“Don't I know that,” he muttered.

She started to grab his plate, but he stopped her.

“Never mind. This is obviously as good as it gets around here.”

“Never mind,” she screamed back to the so-called chef.

“Honey—I mean, little lady, can you bring me whatever's on tap?” He tried for a little more respect.

“Damn out-of-towners,” she muttered under her breath as she went to get his beer.

He tucked his paper napkin into his shirt, ready to pick up the poor excuse for a rib, when a female voice interrupted him.

“Mind if I join you?”

He glanced up. And into the eyes of the woman he'd been chasing halfway cross the country. “Well, well, well, if it isn't Amber Corwin, the Little Lady Thief.”

A
MBER'S HEART POUNDED
in her chest as King Bobby Boyd looked her over like meat hanging on a rack. She didn't know if he was going to slice her, dice her or spit her back out.

“Isn't this a coincidence,” he said in his lazy Texas drawl. “Have yourself a seat.”

Acting unfazed wasn't easy, but Amber did as he said, easing herself slowly into the booth across from him. “Hey, King Bobby, long time no see.”

He raised an eyebrow, or at least she thought he did. It was tough to see beneath his hat.

“You've given me quite a run for my money.”

She forced a casual shrug. “Not really. You just have to know where to look. Obviously you did or you wouldn't be here now. So, why in the world have you been trying to track down little old
me?
” Putting on her best Texas accent, she pointed to herself with her thumb.

He let out a hearty laugh. “I like you, Amber Rose, I really do. Or I did, till I realized you'd asso
ciate with someone who'd con King Bobby out of his hard-earned cash!”

Amber narrowed her gaze. So he didn't realize her role in helping Marshall? Or was he trying to trick her into an admission? “What makes you think Marshall didn't win fair and square?” she asked him.

“Because he ran faster than the Road Runner once that guy at the table pegged you for someone he'd met in L.A.” Propping both elbows on the table, he leaned forward. “I'm many things, little lady, but I ain't stupid. Once I put all the pieces together, I knew that game stunk to hell 'n' back.”

Amber swallowed hard, still not willing to concede anything. “You don't have proof.”

“I got two people who went underground, that's proof enough for me,” he said, his voice rising, probably along with his blood pressure.

“Calm down before you give yourself a stroke,” Amber said to the red-faced man. “What do you want from me?” she asked him.

“Well, now, that's more like it. I want your friend Marshall. Or is he your lover and that's why you're protectin' him?”

Ew, Amber thought. “No! He's not my lover! He's my—” She was about to say business partner, but caught herself before she admitted too much to King Bobby. He could guess all he wanted, but she refused to give him any ammunition. “He's my
friend and an old friend of my father's. Anyway, that's beside the point.”

“Not really. I saw how he looked at you. The man was interested in more than poker.”

Because they'd put on a convincing act for the table, Amber thought. Just not convincing enough or King Bobby wouldn't be sitting in front of her now, guessing their con all too accurately.

Instead of replying to King Bobby, she remained silent.

“Just tell me where he is. Or better yet, tell me where my money is and we'll call it even.”

Amber exhaled slowly. She didn't like Marshall much these days, but she couldn't turn him over to this man. Besides, as much as she hated to admit it, they were guilty of the same crime when it came to fleecing King Bobby. It didn't matter that she'd justified her reasons as more moral or altruistic than Marshall's.

Which was exactly why Mike couldn't forgive her,
she suddenly realized. Nausea swept over her at the painful conclusion.

“I don't know where Marshall is. Or your money.” Her share of the winnings were in Mike's bank where they belonged.

King Bobby cleared his throat. “I can make your life pretty uncomfortable, missy. I got friends in places a lady like you knows nothin' about. But since you're so dang pretty, I might have to settle on talkin' things out on your man. Somethin' tells me that law-
enforcement hubby of yours won't like a public scandal involvin' his new wife.”

Amber reached for the only weapon she had, the one word of ammunition Mike had supplied her with before leaving town. “No, Mike wouldn't like a scandal,” Amber agreed. “Anymore than Emmy Lou would like to know about that
mistress
you've been keeping behind her back.”

As she grasped at her only straw, Amber broke into a cold sweat, hoping King Bobby would find himself faced with a quid pro quo—that neither he nor Amber could afford public humiliation.

His already-red face turned the color of beets. “How in the tarnation do you know about that? Nobody knows the King's personal business!”

Yes! Amber silently applauded. But instead of outwardly reacting, she waited for him to calm down and make the next move. A trickle of sweat ran down her chest, but she ignored it, knowing she was well on her way out of trouble with this man.

“Damn, I knew you were a smart one,” he muttered. “I shoulda just denied it.”

Amber shook her head and tried not to laugh. “Thank you,” she said.

“Just 'cause I can't touch you, doesn't mean I can't still go after Marshall.”

“You'll have to find him first,” Amber said, not the least bit sarcastically. She meant it.

“Nothin' stays buried for long,” King Bobby said.
“Hey, honey,” he called to the waitress, “get the little lady here a light beer.”

The woman scowled at him, but she headed for the tap.

“I really need to be going,” Amber said.

“Not until we toast our mutual agreement to leave our secrets buried. What do you say?” King Bobby asked with a grin.

It wouldn't hurt to do as he asked, she figured. Especially if he left town and she'd never have to see him again. “You've got yourself a deal.”

“Good. And while we're at it, we'll toast to me findin' my money another way—and you lettin' me know when you hear from your old boyfriend. Because trust me, he'll be turning up again one day.”

Amber raised her brow. Now that she'd made peace with King Bobby, she hoped she'd never hear from Marshall again. But King Bobby didn't need to know that.

As long as The King was happy, Amber was free.

“Bring on the beer,” she said, relieved. A few more minutes and this nightmare would all be over.

No sooner had they clinked glasses and toasted than a loud, throat-clearing noise sounded in her ear. “What the hell is going on here?” Mike's voice reached a dull roar.

Amber winced, knowing how bad things must look. “Listen, King Bobby and I—”

Ignoring her, Mike glared at the big man in the
booth. “If you've so much as whispered a threat in her ear, I promise you'll answer to me.” And if his words weren't enough to send tremors of fear shooting through the big cowboy, his stance was.

Legs parted, arms folded across his chest, muscles bulged beneath his black T-shirt and his thighs appeared rock solid even encased in denim.

A quick glance at King Bobby told her he wasn't impressed, but Amber was. She rose from her seat. “Everything's fine,” she assured him.

His gaze narrowed. “You promised to stay put.”

“Hey, watch how you talk to the little lady,” King Bobby said.

“That's rich, coming from the man who's been stalking her across the country. Which ends
now,
by the way.”

“Um, Mike?” Amber interrupted, wanting to tell him she and King Bobby had resolved their issues.

“I can handle this,” Mike said to Amber. Then he turned to King Bobby, leaned down and stared into the big man's face. “Listen up. I have enough information on you, your mistress and your little love nest to keep you and your wife tangled up in divorce court for years to come. And something tells me your other associates won't want to deal with someone who's caught up in a scandal. People in your circle prefer to keep a low profile. So if you don't want to keep your sleazy criminal friends and the life you have now, I suggest you leave
my
little lady alone.”

Amber couldn't control the squeal that escaped at his use of the word
my.
Warm chills flooded her, at odds with her earlier realization that Mike couldn't possibly understand or forgive her for her past. But she was determined not to walk away from him until she'd bared her soul and heard his response.

Just in case.

King Bobby chuckled. “Y'all are really interestin', that much I'll tell ya. Detective, you need to chill.
Your
little lady and I already traveled this road and reached us an agreement. So why don't you just join us for a beer?”

“No. Thank. You.” Mike clenched his jaw. “You said your business is finished?” he asked.

King Bobby nodded. “Until she hears from her pal Marshall, right, honey?”

“Right.” She crossed her fingers behind her back.

“And where will you be in the meantime?” Mike asked.

“Where the land is as big as the ribs,” King Bobby proclaimed. “I'm gettin' the hell out of the Northeast as soon as I can.”

“I'm holding you to that,” Mike said.

“King Bobby's a man of his word,” the other man said loudly.

Mike treated him to a curt nod, while at the same time clamping his hand around Amber's forearm. Not hard, but not gently, either.

He was furious, Amber knew.

“In that case,” Mike said, “we're out of here.”

Knowing better than to argue, Amber let Mike lead her out of the diner for what might be their final showdown.

 

M
ARSHALL WAS DAMN PROUD
, if he did say so himself. Doing an end run around that idiot King Bobby had been a brilliant move. Instead of the King finding Marshall, Marshall had found the King, and the big Texan had done Marshall's work for him, leading him right to Amber.

His gut burned with acid as he thought about what he'd just seen. Amber and King Bobby, sitting there, drinking beer and shooting the shit.
About him?
Marshall's blood fired up at the thought and anger pulsed through him at her betrayal.

There was no other explanation. No other reason why King Bobby would be laughing with Marshall's ex-partner unless Amber had given the King the information he needed to come after Marshall. If Amber had handed over the names of his close friends and associates, it was only a matter of time before someone slipped up and betrayed him.

He couldn't remain out of sight forever. King Bobby would find him eventually.

Damn Amber, anyway. She was
his
partner.
His
woman. They'd belonged together and now she'd turned on him. And why? For that cop husband of hers she'd known for less than one week. Well, he
hadn't looked happy finding her with King Bobby, either, but she hadn't protested when the guy put his hands on her and dragged her out of the diner.

Last time Marshall had seen her, Amber Rose had warned him not to touch her ever again. As if he was scum. When he finally got her alone, she'd see the difference between a pansy-ass cop and a real man.

And Marshall would make sure it was a lesson she'd never forget.

 

N
OW THAT
M
IKE
had Amber by his side, he vacillated between being furious at her for leaving the house, and being overcome with relief that King Bobby hadn't hurt her.

He didn't say one word on the car ride back to his father's place. He needed to calm down first and, typical of Amber, she understood his anger and remained silent. Unfortunately, by the time he parked the car in front of the house, his tension and frustration hadn't eased.

Once inside, he found a note on the entryway table from Clara. He read her neat handwriting with Amber glancing over his shoulder, her fragrant, arousing, now-familiar scent seeping into his pores, magnifying every emotion he felt for her, both good and bad.

He was wired.

Tense.

On edge.

The note stated that Clara and Edward had gone to town, looking for store space and for dinner. The craziness of it all didn't escape him. Mike couldn't begin to figure his father out and at the moment, he didn't care to try. He was solely focused on his wife and the fact that
they were alone.

He slowly turned to face her. Her sunglasses were still perched on her delicate nose, her baseball cap askew on her head, and she stared at him intently with those beautiful, knowing eyes.

“Mike—”

“I came home and you weren't here,” he interrupted her. “No one knew where you'd gone.” He'd never been so bone-chilling scared in his life.

“I know, and I'm sorry.”

“And then I find you breaking bread with the man, forging agreements, making promises—”

She winced at his description. “You have to know that I would never turn Marshall over to King Bobby. I only said that to keep the guy happy. Not that I think I'll ever hear from Marshall again, but I wouldn't give him up to King Bobby.” She wrinkled her nose in thought. “Even if he deserves to be taught a lesson. Heaven knows I've learned one,” she said quickly.