The Dimple Strikes Back (26 page)

I picked at the blanket. “How many times do you think me playing dumb will keep me out of jail?”

Silence. Not what I wanted to hear. What the hell good is being with an accomplished liar if he can’t lie when it will help? He rubbed my back and said, “But you’re very good at playing dumb.”

And that was when the real sobbing commenced. Every single negative, hurtful, fearful emotion splattered across the duvet, and I fought to keep from dry-heaving. Sam emitted a low, keening noise of distress. Tears were his undoing and flailing his only response. With stiff hands he patted my shoulders and ‘there, there’d’ me.

I used my out-of-control emotions to my benefit on set the next morning—my snippy fight with Danny’s ex-husband character went beautifully, and JenX finally seemed to have forgotten about the incident with my mother. It had been nearly a week since I’d heard from the evil witch, and that was fine with me. Even Shelley was staying mostly out of my way.

If I squinted and tilted my brain to the left, everything in my life almost seemed normal. Having Sam back at my side, and on my side, and humping my side made everything so much better.

Only one more personal matter to attend to.

As everyone packed up for the morning, I pulled Danny aside. “Can I speak with you?” I turned on my most charming smile, and he nodded and let me tow him gently to my trailer. A quick peek told me that Shelley was wonderfully absent for freaking once.

I gestured to the couch, and he sat. I grabbed his favourite kind of sparkling water and handed it over. You can’t butter up health-conscious actors, but you can hydrate them.

“I’ve treated you shabbily, and I’m sorry,” I began.

He shook his head. “No—”

“Yes. Look, you are so amazing. You’re kind and funny, and were I not previously attached, I’d be on you like hot butter on pancakes.” My stomach rumbled, which elicited a laugh from him. Damn, all these butter thoughts were getting me in trouble. “I don’t usually run around kissing men and leading them on and then dropping them again. I’m sorry.”

His face lifted into a wry smile. “You never promised me anything. But”—he scratched his chin—“is it unmanly to admit my feelings got hurt?”

My heart cracked in half and oozed like an egg. Boy, I needed dinner. “Shit. I’m not that great, anyhow. I’m kind of a pain in the ass.”

“Yes.”

I cocked my head, waiting for more. Nope. Damn—tough crowd. I cleared my throat, swallowed my pride and said, “Well, I just wanted to clear things up. I adore you, and I want to be friends—both for the sake of the movie and for my sake.”

I held my arms in the universal invitation for ‘let’s hug it out’, and he obliged me with a strong, warm squeeze that held me tight. Very tight. Firmly. He pulled me practically into his lap. His hands smoothed down my spine and kept drifting…

“Okay, great.” I pulled back and took a steadying breath.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “You have a lovely ass.”

I laughed—a feminine giggle full of sauce.

He winked and stood up to leave. “Thank you for speaking with me. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date.”

Only the tiniest twinge of jealousy nipped at me. “Good of you to let me know.”

“Too bad for you.”

“Obviously.”

Chuckling, he left. I sagged onto the couch, feeling good. It wouldn’t take too much convincing to get Sam to take me out for pancakes with butter, and eggs. Where was he, anyhow? I glanced at the clock on my phone. Holy crap, it was late. The crew would be done packing up by now—they were hard-working, burly magic. After they finished, the museum’s cleaning staff would sweep in to fix whatever was left. Only a few hours before opening time.

I lay down to wait for Sam. The trailers were tucked away at the back of the property, and nobody seemed to care when we came and went.

My phone rang, and I lazily fished it out of my pocket. Mom! Hell, no. Not ready for that conversation. Or non-conversation of me talking and her pretending the things I said weren’t English.

I set the phone on the table and closed my eyes again, a blanket snuggled around me.

I’d just begun floating in the bliss of almost-sleep when I heard the door click open.

“Hi, baby,” I murmured. “Are you hungry?” ‘Are you hungry?’ was our special code for ‘Samantha is hungry, so feed her’.

“Yeeeeaaaahhhh, get up.”

Ugh. I turned away from Shelley’s voice to face the back of the couch.

Something hard pressed into my head. “Get up and come inside. You gotta do the thing.”

I peeled my eyes open. The something hard felt suspiciously like a gun.

The door banged open. “Shit!” Sam, rescuing me. “Everyone, just stay calm.”

“Get
up
,” Shelley repeated.

I knew the drill well enough to obey orders from gun-wavers and/or hair-snatchers. My stomach fell, and fell, and fell. Tingles suffused my fingers with stiff energy. I swung around and sat up in one motion, and raised my hands for good measure. Shelley had adorned herself with a ski mask.

“She imprisoned the cleaning crew and guards,” Sam said.

“What?” Bile rose in my throat.

“Yeah, time to take the gold thing. The moldy coat.” She threw a duffel bag at my head. “Now,” she added with a helpful gun shake.

“Shelley,” Sam said, gently, like you speak to a squirrely-looking dog, “Samantha doesn’t need to participate. We’re the experts. Let me go in with you, and I’ll have it stolen in no time.”

Shelley reached into her sweatpants, which said ‘hottie’ on the butt, and pulled out another gun. The couple who’s imperilled together, obeys together. And that’s how all of us ended up inside the quiet British Museum main atrium, ready for burglary.

We both knew where it was. Sam grabbed my hand and held it as if we were on a beachy stroll. Shelley followed, leisurely, gun pointed, her phone in her other hand. Not even a grand larceny attempt would tear her away from whatever the Internet had to offer. Who could blame her? I’d rather read the moronic Tweet stream of my least favourite politician than be where I was.

Sam pulled me closer and grabbed my bottom. “Is now really the time for this?” I hissed.

What he whispered in my ear wasn’t a tender nothing, but a tender recounting of his plan. His butt-grabbing was a distraction. Literally. Every ten feet or so he’d stop talking, continue fondling, and I’d have to poke him to continue. No wonder all his crime bosses were women—men were far too easily distracted for this sort of thing.

My belly gyrated anew, and a wave of dizziness wound through me like a tornado of horror. This was really happening. I would be that girl who was once sorta a movie star, but finished in a British prison because she screwed the wrong dude after he screwed the wrong gal. Maybe I’d sell my story and use the money to pay a larger woman in the clink to beat up people on my behalf. All of my butt-fondlers in the future would have to be female.

I don’t even remember the walk to the Ancient Europe gallery. I blinked, and we were there, Shelley absentmindedly pointing the gun, Sam taking me by the shoulders and giving me a hard look in the eye.

“I love you,” he mouthed to me.

“I love you, too,” I said out loud.

Sam approached the case containing the cape. It was mounted on a pedestal inside it, so the golden wonder appeared to be floating inside the Plexiglas. Two lights were directed towards it, and they cut through the relative darkness of the rest of the gallery. Oh, how it shone. Breathtaking. Or maybe that was my inability to catch my breath.

He worked his way around the case, examining, deciding where to start. Finally, he stopped between Shelley and the case itself, blocking her view of me.

I took out the heavy, metal object he’d handed to me on the way. I slipped it through my knuckles, the weight of it somehow putting my thoughts into stark relief.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Shelley said, her nasal voice drawing out every syllable into a misshapen mess.

Let’s go,
I thought. I closed my fist and turned, keeping my hand out of her view from every angle. The closer I got to her, the more my teeth chomped together. I raised my arm. She glanced down at me, her eyes unfocused. “Yeeeeaaaahhhh,” I said as I clutched my brass knuckles and punched that monster in the fucking jaw.

Bam! Her eyes widened for a hot moment before the force of the punch spun her backward and sent her splatting across the wooden floor.

Sam fell to his knees beside her. “She’s out cold! You’re amazing!”

“I don’t go to the gym for my health.”

I dropped the knuckles and swayed on my feet. Sam stood and said, “Are you okay?” I tried to nod, but suddenly everything went pink and hazy, and I clutched my stomach. Then my mouth. But nothing could stop the tidal wave of vomit that poured from me. Sam leapt out of the way, so I threw up all over Shelley’s hottie pants. And her shoes. And—

“Dammit, you threw up on the gun!”

I spat the last of the grossness out of my mouth and wiped my hand across my lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Sit down.” He gave me an un-gentle shove, and I landed on my butt. Nose squinched, he turned Shelley by the shoulder and yanked her other gun from the front of her pants.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded. And burped.

“That’s my girl.” He crouched beside me. “I have to do my thing now. Shelley was always the least of our problems. I have some jobs for you, okay?”

“Okay.” Holy crap, did I feel better. I’d flattened horrible Shelley, and my stomach seemed happier than it had in a week.
That’s for my crowning glory, yyeeeaaaahhhhhh.

“One, tie up Shelley. Two, check to make sure the cleaning crew and guards are still on ice.”

“Holy crap—they’re dead?”

“No, I mean, tied up. She said something about stashing them in closets. But for God’s sake, don’t let them see you.”

“What if they’ve got free? Do I knock them out? No, I can’t—I did a PSA about not falling asleep when you drive. Knocking people out is just plain against my platform.”

“Wha—what?”

I huffed a breath and squeaked. “Sam!”

“Ugh.” He backed away and stood. “Sorry, but you smell like—”

My hand flew up and covered my mouth. “Oops, sorry.”

He waved his hands. “S’ok. Just bind dorkus here, and check on the people. I’m not asking you to hurt anyone. You know me better than that.” Black leather gloves appeared on his hands as if by magic. He probably had them stashed them on his person at all times. “Here.” He tossed something to me.

I sucked in a breath and caught the small bundle. “Gloves of my own?”

“Who loves you, baby?” He pulled me in for a kiss, but turned away at the last moment. “Maybe you could find breath mints, too.”

I nodded and took off towards where I knew one of the curator’s offices to be. After a quick search around, I found some shipping tape and a pack of gum. I’d grown an aversion to gum since I met Shelley, but this was an emergency.

It gave me a glowing joy to bind Shelley’s hands and feet with the tape, even though she reeked of my stomach problems. However, I considered that she was partly responsible for my likely ulcer, so she deserved what she got.

Then, I ran to the main entrance with its high, rounded white ceiling. A diamond pattern criss-crossed it, and it make me feel like I walked around the inside of a Faberge egg. The grandeur of the surroundings was marred by the thumping and muffled voices I heard coming from a closet marked ‘private’ on the edge of the room.

Upon closer inspection, it appeared that Shelley had sealed the door shut from the outside using a screw through the door edge and into the wall. They were safe in there. I said a little prayer of well-wishing and continued on my way.

I had no idea where the guards hung out, so I jogged from gallery to gallery, down the stairs, through the offices. This place was huge—my agent would be proud of me, getting real-life experience for my role
and
exercising at the same time.

I discovered two guards imprisoned in a pantry off a break room, next to the security room. A uniform shirt hung on a chair in the kitchen, so I figured they’d just begun their shift. Again, I left them inside and stayed quiet—couldn’t have them knowing I was out and about during the robbery. On the break table sat the screw gun and screws in a plastic bag. I grabbed them and ran.

When I returned to the cape’s gallery, Sam stood in front of the object of our desire. Still on its pedestal. Inside the case. “What the hell have you been doing?”

He turned to me, his dark brown eyes glinting wickedly. “We’re not stealing the cape.”

“What about Valerie?”

Taking a step towards me, he said, “Is that gum in your mouth?”

“Yup.”

He grabbed the back of my head and pulled me in for a brief, intense kiss. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

I pressed my lips together. At some point, I needed to decide to become a part of the team. I mean, if he was willing to make deals with foreign governments and put himself in harm’s way with every criminal in the hemisphere just to spend nights in front of Mel Brooks movies with me, then I needed to take a step towards meeting him in the middle. “Yes, I trust you. What’s the plan, thief-man?”