The Dimple Strikes Back (29 page)

I laughed and stood as well. “I’m happy to help, but this is bordering on harassment.”
Dammit dammit fuck aaaaahhhhh!
“If you’re going to continue treating me like a criminal,” I shot eyes at the woman detective, still awash in sympathy, “then I must have my attorney present.” This was not an empty threat on my part—my brilliant attorney, Deborah Diaz, Attorney to the Stars, had hopped on a plane the moment the story broke. She was already in London.

The cops agreed with me, and that was how I found myself getting ready to slog to a police station. Ha ha, no, not for the first time. But for the first time on this continent! I was an
international
embarrassment.

I ducked into the bathroom Sam occupied before we left in order to consult with my Chief Evasive Officer. I yanked on the door to the shower and froze.

Sam was gone.

Chapter Sixteen

Worth My Weight in Gold

How cosmopolitan it was, branching out into a new country’s penal system. Deborah met me at the police station, all sassy chestnut pixie cut and ‘stab a bitch’ black spike heels. Her going rate of obscene dollars/hour was so worth it.

My unfriendly neighbourhood detectives ushered us into a little room with a mirror—definitely not two-way, wink wink. Deborah and I smiled at one another, but said naught besides her advice of “Don’t say a word about anything.”

We waited. And waited. Thirty minutes went by. I guessed this was to make me sweat things, but, per usual, the cops were the least of my problems. Where the hell was Sam? He’d crawled out the freaking window and shimmied down a drain pipe like Spider-Man. I couldn’t blame him, because, you know,
criminal
, but I felt abandoned just the same. What if Valerie had got him again? Deborah patted my sweaty, cold hand, and I told myself that as long as I said exactly nothing, I’d be okay for now.

After another twenty minutes or so, the male detective entered the room. I sat up straight, but Deborah maintained her air of “I’m already vacationing in the south of France, that’s how sure I am this is all going away.”

“I’m assuming you’ve wasted enough of Ms Lytton’s valuable time?” Deborah intoned. Sure, my valuable time—eating pizza and humping. I had important business to be out of jail for!

But what if this was it? What if my unlucky luck had finally run out? They knew everything. Hell, maybe Valerie had told them everything, and they’d throw me in jail for not coming to the police, for allowing the cape to be damaged, for letting vile persons walk around the movie set. I’d be fired, and sued, probably. By the museum, the production. Me in prison, Sam in prison. Everything wonderful in my life ripped away in an instant. My heart ran so fast I nearly spun myself out of the chair. My eyes hurt, and I reached out to grasp Deborah’s hand, and my forehead broke into a fever, and—

“She’s free to go.”

What? I slid sideways and collided with Deborah, who put a firm grip on my arm and squeezed. Hard.

She rose gracefully, like a ballet-dancing pit bull. “I trust this will not happen again? I’d hate to have to tell the international press about the Metropolitan Police and their incompetent detectives. You have a red-handed thief in custody, or don’t you remember? Have you lost her?”

He seemed to possess no good reply, so we left the interrogation room. Air whooshed into my chest once again, and my sticky, gross feeling fled the farther away from the little room we got. Why the hell had they dragged me down here just to let me go?

We sailed out of the building, Deborah snarling sweetly at all in our path, and me trying not to look like I’d got away with something. I hugged her in the cab, and she asked me if she should know anything.

“Do you want to know?” I asked.

She laughed and held up her hands. “Not unless I must. I have to say, Samantha”—she leaned closer—“you’re definitely one of my most interesting clients. More fun than keeping an A-list drug addict out of the news when he shows up naked in a stranger’s house wearing a tin foil condom.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

Smiling, she replied, “I don’t spill secrets.”

“That’s why you make obscene dollars per hour.”

She smoothed her cashmere skirt with diamond-bedecked hands and nodded.

I dodged the photogs in the lobby of the hotel by going in through the service entrance. A helpful waiter showed me the way, and I tipped him enough to make him grin and, hopefully, be quiet.

I trudged into the room and threw my handbag on the couch. “Watch it,” said the couch.

“Sam! You abandoned me! I—”

“Samantha, meet James.” My paramour removed the purse from his legs and pointed to a tiny man standing beside a potted plant. He was one of the most distinguished men I’d ever seen, his medium-brown skin contrasting beautifully with his grey suit, his hair perfectly salt-and-peppered.

A spook, of course.

Sam said, “James is my buddy from Her Majesty’s Government.”

James waved jauntily. At least he was a friendly spook. Were all spies in Britain named James, after Bond?

“You’re more beautiful than even in your films,” James exaggerated.

Finally! This was how I expected to be treated by law enforcement. What was the point of being a rich American movie star if you were forced to pay for your crimes like some schlub?

I poked at Sam’s feet until he made room for me on the couch. Quietly, I waited. I’d learned enough about Sam’s world to know when to shut up and let someone else speak. Besides, my fib bank tilted dangerously towards empty.

James obliged me. “The police will not question you about the unfortunate business at the museum again.”

Thank you, British Jesus. Relief flooded me almost like an orgasm. I nodded my gratitude and remained silent, which earned me a sneaky smile from my lover.

Spooky handed me a card with a phone number on it. Only a phone number. “Call me if you are bothered by the police again. Thank you for thwarting the robbery attempt.”

I smiled and shrugged. Sam began laughing, his eyebrows up. James shook his head. “Charming.” With that, he picked up Sam’s suitcase, which I just noticed had been sitting at his feet, and left. Sam didn’t seem to mind.

First thing I did was get my ass to the minibar and screw off the top to a tiny bottle of Scotch. After a nice, long pull, and the fire in my throat that came with it, I said to my darling one, “Spill it. And if you don’t tell me everything, so help me, I’ll divorce you.”

“We’re not married.”

“I’ll marry you only to divorce you. That’s how serious I am.”

He reached towards my Scotch bottle. “No way,” I said. “I earned this.” I took the second—and last, dammit—pull of Scotch and bent to examine the other offerings. “You can have merlot, vodka, tequila or beer.”

“Beer, and come here. I recount stories of my brilliance better when I’m within boob-grabbing distance.”

Me and my helpful titties sidled to the couch and plopped down. One hand on his beer, one down my shirt, he began. “I’m sorry for running out on you, but I knew I had to do something before they poked more holes in your story than a Swiss cheese.”

“I don’t think they poke the holes in Swiss cheese. They form because of gas or something.”

I received a boob squeeze for that science fact. “I called James, who has been helping me get straight with the British authorities in exchange for information about stolen art buyers. He agreed to make the police drop you as a suspect.”

Uncurling myself from his arms, I said, “But why would they do that?”

“In exchange for the Mold gold cape.”

“But…the cape is in the museum. It never left.”

“The cape has not been in the museum for several days. It just left this hotel room in that suitcase.”

I leapt to my feet. “What?”

He grinned, his hair flopping over his forehead like a naughty puppy. “I stole it the day before Shelley pulled her bullshit.”

My breaths came so fast and heavy, he actually got up and guided me back into a sitting position. “You okay?” he asked, his voice full of laughter.

“You bastard! You stole one of the most—you fucking stole from the British Museum! How did you do that?”

“Well”—he brushed a lock of hair behind my ear—“I’ve stolen from the BM before.”

“What!” I pushed him away and took a hard, incredulous look at him. He didn’t appear unrepentant in any way, shape or form. In fact, pride glowed from his skin like an unholy light. “Wait—you didn’t
just
learn how to break into the BM. You already knew.”

One boob grab.

“Do they know you stole something else?”

A head shake
no
. A smirk. Another boob grab.

“So…what you were waiting on…was…a copy?”

A third boob grab.

“Holy shit—the copy was made of real gold?”

He nodded and heaved out a breath. “It physically hurt me to pay that much money. Do you have any idea how much gold is an ounce? Not to mention my metallurgy forger. She don’t come cheap, especially for such a famous job at a rush. She made her own alloy to mimic the ancient composition.”

I fell backward onto the arm of the couch.

“Why? Wasn’t there another way?”

“Maybe.” He ran a hand across the back of his neck and sagged into the cushions. “But I was breaking my word to the British authorities, endangering everything I’d spent a fucking year trying to fix. Valerie kept threatening you—”

He shuddered, and I realised guiltily that whatever Valerie had said to me, she’d given Sam a lot more detailed threats. I pulled his hand into my lap. He squeezed mine and gave me a look with such soulful green eyes that I turned to mush. “I knew I needed a trump card, and I figured having the actual cape would save us in the end, one way or the other. And it did.” He made a wry face. “If we never had to give anyone the real thing, I thought we could buy an island with it.”

Wow. Wow. “You traded the real cape for my freedom?”

He blinked. His lashes were wet. I threw my arms around him. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll give me a chance to make everything up to you.”

“Sam.” I pulled back, my own eyes pouring freely by now. A wave of love swelled in my chest, almost hurting. It was wonderful. “No. You don’t need any more chances. You have nothing to prove to me. I love you, and I’m never letting you go.”

His lip curled, and he stared at his hands. “Really?”

And then we were both crying and hugging and kissing. Truth be told, it was all a little snotty, but wonderful just the same. He gave me such a feeling of peace, after the trials and tribulations. They were worth it, if I got this crazy man in the end. I think I’d needed a bold man of passion to break me out of the doldrums of my life. I could have walked away a thousand times, but I didn’t. He was in my blood, in my soul.

He was my soul.

I planted a soft kiss to his brow and he held me. After a while, I put his hands on my boobs, and he soon forgot his high emotions. Boobies heal—that’s just a fact. “Please tell me they’re going after Valerie?”

“Yes. I’ve sicced James on her. He’s given us a security detail in London until she’s caught.”

“Yay!” I squeezed him around the neck until he made chokey sounds. “Are they going to give you the fake cape back?”

He gave a shout of laughter. “No fucking way.”

“… At least
I’m
rich.”

The dimple gave me a wink. “That’s what I’m counting on. Why else do you think I’m here?”

Chapter Seventeen

Maui Owie

“Pass the sunscreen, please.”

“No.”

I sat up on my elbows and peered at my darling lover. He sprawled out next to me, his tanned skin glowing in the sun like a pornographic Coppertone ad. “Do you want me to turn into a sunburned blob? It will clash with my hair.”

Sam scooted closer to me on the giant blanket guarding us against the hot sands of a Maui beach. “Of course not. But I take my job as Rubber of Sunscreen very seriously.”

Well. Who was I to deny him his job? Especially when he’d so recently abandoned his life’s work on my account.

I took a quick peek around to make sure there were no camera phones pointed in our direction—I didn’t know if I was vain, paranoid or realistic, probably all three—and lay on my back to give him access to everywhere my bikini wasn’t covering. It would probably take him twenty minutes to apply the sunscreen, so I settled in for a long, titillating rub down.

After Super Hero Sam rescued me from the London police, flying in to save the day arrayed in a golden cape, the craziness in our lives just stopped. Production resumed, and I was able to think about my role in the film unfettered for the first time. A boring life is highly underrated.

I even made up with Danny, who, as tabloids revealed, had been dating a professional gymnast and a famous literary author whilst also snogging me. Cool, cool—we most certainly had not been an ‘item’. The press, however, took my side in the whole thing, as I was the It Girl du jour for a couple of weeks.