The Goddaughter (4 page)

I shrugged. “Wouldn't want to eat a horse. I like them. Skunks, not so much.”

“Not sure they have skunks on the menu here. They may have brunch though. I can personally vouch for the—”

“Holy cow, Pete—that's her!” I was out of my seat and pointing through the restaurant window.

“What?”

“Right over there, talking to that man. The blowsy blond with the huge—crikey She's turning away and—she's going to leave the mall, Pete! I have to follow her.”

“Hold on while I leave some cash—”

I grabbed my purse and pushed away from the table. “I'm going after her!”

I ran. Chairs fell, and a few people swore.

Behind me, someone was yelling my name.

CHAPTER
NINE

T
wo hours later, my purse was singing “Shut up and Drive” again. I held my breath, then made a dive for the cell phone.

“Gina?”

“Um…hi, Sammy. I was just going to call you.” I held the phone close against my mouth. “I may not be able to make that drop tomorrow.”

Silence. “Where the hell are ya?”

“It's not that I don't know where the shoes are. I can actually see them from here. It's just that I gotta find a way to get them off the goddamn thief who's wearing them, without causing a riot.”

Another pause. “Where are you?” Sammy said again.

I tried to sound casual. “In a restaurant.” A restaurant in a very big airport, but he didn't have to know that. And I wasn't exactly
in
the restaurant, but I could see it from here. I tried to shut out the noise of the planes with my hand.

“In Buffalo?”

“Er…not exactly.”

“Where,
exactly
?”

“Would you believe…Toronto?” I hoped he wouldn't.

“You're kidding me. You're back in Canada?”

“She got in a car and drove to Toronto! I couldn't tackle her in public—there were two police cars in the parking lot on a coffee break. I could see the cops gabbing through open windows. Blondie would have screamed the house down if I tried something. What was I to do? She was wearing the bloody shoes, and I had to go after them.” It was obvious. Why couldn't he see that?

“Paperboy still with you?”

Now I gulped. “Um…yeah, actually.”

Sammy swore. “And he don't know anything about this, right?”

I was silent.

“Sugar, you're gonna have to marry the dude, or we're going to have to whack him. You've got twenty-four hours.”

I clicked the Off button. We were in the lineup for the airline counter. I looked over at Pete, who smiled back at me. A nice innocent smile. What a nice guy. Given the choice, I hoped Pete was a commitment kind of man. For his sake.

“You didn't tell him we were at the airport,” Pete said. He raised one eyebrow.

I squirmed a bit. “Why alarm the poor man? He has enough to worry about.”

Besides, I had no idea where we were going.

Luckily, Pete had an answer for that.

“Her luggage tag is for Phoenix. How do you feel about making a trip to the desert?”

I took a deep breath and released it slowly. Good thing I had the company credit card on me. We moved to the head of the line. Then we were signaled over to the ticket counter.

I slapped my plastic down and asked for two seats to Phoenix.

“Just a minute—” said Pete, reaching for his wallet.

“Not now,” I whispered back.

The clerk was a little brunette whose big brown eyes had latched on to Pete. He smiled back.

“The flight is almost full. I can get you on it, but not two seats together. One in row fifteen. One in row twenty-three.”

“Nothing together?”

“Sorry, ma'am.”

Ma'am? Since when had I become my mother? I sighed.

“We'll take them.” Four hours to Arizona sitting beside someone I didn't know, or worse, some guy with garlic on his breath. I was gonna hate it.

“Do you have luggage to check?” the clerk asked.

“Just carry-on.”

Ticket lady handed Pete the tickets and the boarding passes. Never mind that I had paid for them.

As we walked away, Pete said, “Look, I didn't mean for you to pay for my ticket. Let me—”

I waved dismissively. “We're supposed to be traveling together. It's all part of the cover.”

He murmured something about paying me back later. That had me wondering. Did he mean the money? Or was this some other form of “payback”?

Next stop was airport security.

I'm always nervous going through security. Call it a professional hazard. I told myself that I wasn't carrying anything this time, so what's to worry? My passport was clean. So what if it wasn't my real name… the initials were the same. Gloria Grant. Easy to remember.

Guess Pete never noticed.

Pete sailed through pre-clearance with no problem. Smiles all around. I didn't even register a glance. So far, so good.

“Gate's this way,” Pete said. “Want to grab a book or magazine?”

“Do they sell drugs?”

He smiled again. “No drugs, but a good book will pass the time.”

He ushered me toward one of those sell-everything stores. I grabbed a bag of nuts and two candy bars. A book cover caught my eye.
Rowena Through the Wall.
I didn't know the author, but the cover was cool. A couple were locked in a passionate embrace. I flipped it over.

“It's one of those time-travel stories. Might be fun,” I said.

“Did you pose for the cover?”

I elbowed him in the side but had to admit the heroine did resemble me. Pete grabbed a couple of sports mags. He snatched the book and goodies out of my hand and went to pay.

As we walked to the gate, we heard loud male voices. At the entrance to the waiting area, I stopped with eyes wide and shuddered. I closed my eyes, then opened them again, hoping things would be different.

It was still all there. A group of older men in sports jerseys had obviously started happy hour early. On the other side were enough nuns for a choir. And not one but two crying babies. Pete led me to a pair of empty seats. At least we would be together until they called the flight.

One of the would-be jocks saw Pete and came over.

“Hey, you're that guy. The sportswriter guy.” He turned back to the group before Pete could answer. “Hey, Larry. It's that sportswriter guy.”

Larry came over, preceded by a huge beer gut. I don't think his knuckles were dragging on the ground, but it was close.

“Aren't you—?” Larry scratched his head in deep thought.

“I told you, he's the sportswriter guy.” Another inebriated chubby bloke ambled up.

“Pete Malone,” Pete offered. He was smiling widely.

“Naw, that's not it.”

I choked on air.

“Hey, Bob, what's this guy's name? You remember.”

“Dick? Dick something.”

“That's it!”

Pete shook his head. He wasn't smiling now. Pete was a newspaper guy. It wasn't nice to be mistaken for another sports reporter on some local
TV
station.

I, however, was having a great time.

“Sure it is. Watch you all time. How about those Leafs, eh?” He socked Pete/Dick in the shoulder. “Wait till I tell the guys back at the club. I met Dick What's-his-name.”

“Nice ta meet ya, Dick.”

The two ambled back to their group.

“I may have to kill someone,” Pete said. He was gritting his teeth.

“Let me introduce you to my family,” I said back.

CHAPTER
TEN

T
he cell phone in my purse was singing again. I ignored it. It rang exactly eight times. I reached in to turn it off. For once in my life, they couldn't reach me. It felt good.

“Is she still there behind me?” Pete asked.

“Yup.” I spotted Blondie as soon as we came to the waiting area. So had the jocks. Blondie seemed to be enjoying some attention. A short skirt and low-cut clingy top will do that. Several of the sports-jersey guys were leering. The Pete/Dick contingent were not too far gone on booze to miss Blondie's obvious attractions. Both of them. And if those were natural, I was the Queen of Sheba.

“This is the first boarding call for flight
640
to Phoenix, Arizona. Would people needing assistance and parents traveling with small children murph murph murph…”
The words faded into general noise. I looked around for Blondie and saw her get up.

Pete squeezed my hand. Moments later, it was time for the rest of us to board. We filed onto the plane. I took the seat in row fifteen, and Pete went farther down.

I felt lonely. This wasn't good. I shouldn't be growing so attached to this guy. It was dangerous in just so many ways. For one thing, I had a job to do on this trip. For another, there was the family… You never could tell how they would react to an outsider.

I put my carry-on up in the overhead bin and prepared to sit. A man in a T-shirt and tattoos tapped me on the arm.

“Your husband.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Asked me to trade seats with you.”

“My husband did that.” I looked down the aisle. Pete waved. I smiled back. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

The tattoo man nodded. I got up, and he looked me over.

“Lucky man.”

“He certainly is.”

Pete moved over to the middle seat to give me the aisle. The fellow by the window seat was working on a BlackBerry.

“I didn't know we were married,” I said. “Chivalry is not dead.”

“Not dead, but the price has gone up.”

“Hmmm?”

“Wasn't enough to make us married. I had to lay a hundred on him to get him to move.”

Now I grinned. “I'm worth it,” I said brightly. I reached for the seatbelt.

Pete leaned back and looked me up and down as if trying to decide. I slapped his arm.

“Since we are married, the proper response is ‘Yes, dear.'”

Pete laughed out loud. “Yes, dear.”

The babies had settled down to whimpers. The jocks were asking when the bar opened. The nuns were praying. What the heck. I offered up a Hail Mary myself just as the plane started to back away from the gate. Pete took my hand.

I don't mind airplanes. But it kind of felt nice to have my hand held, so I didn't say anything.

Once in the air, Pete poked me to get my attention.

“So…we got on the plane. We're following Blondie to God's country. A little unexpected for a weekday. Not that I mind going on an adventure. But I gotta ask do we actually have a plan for getting back the shoes?”

I shrugged. “It's complicated. But here's what I've been thinking.”

And I told him.

He stared at me, eyes wide, and shook his head. Not a good sign. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

“Okay, can you think of a better plan?” I was a little miffed.

“Oh, no. This is your event. You get to do the master planning. I'm just along for the ride. And to pay for dinner.”

“Right!” I said happily. “I remember. This is our dinner date. I get real food. I love real food. I am so not a salad girl.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“What?” I glared at him. “You don't think I look undernourished?”

Those wonderful hazel eyes twinkled. “You look great. You look perfect. I mean that. You have one hell of a figure.”

I could feel myself blush. My face was searing hot. There was only one way to answer this.

“Why, thank you!” I said. “I work hard to keep each part well fed.”

Now he roared. His laughing woke the baby two rows over, and it started wailing. Then the other baby joined in.

The guys in the sports jerseys were getting louder.

I ignored them all. A girl has to keep her composure.

After the free coffee and soda pop came (beer and wine extra), Pete decided to watch a movie. We shared the snacks, and I settled into my book.

At the end of the movie, the cart came around with the stale sandwiches. Pete asked for a pop.

“Want anything?” he asked me.

I shook my head. “I can wait until Phoenix. Then I want a real meal. Steak and a baked potato, with sour cream
and
butter. Fried mushrooms. A side of asparagus. And cheesecake.” Oh yeah. I was ready for a pig-out.

Pete grinned. He shook his head. “Always, you surprise me. How's the book?” He took a swig of pop.

“Great! Really funny,” I said. “I like the sex.”

He choked on the pop.

The captain came on the pa system and told us about the altitude we were flying at (33,000 feet), when we would get to Phoenix (at 4:05 their time) what the weather would be like when we got there (hot), and things we could do once we got there.

He had a nice voice.

“When you're in Phoenix, be sure to visit the Arizona Biltmore Hotel, which was designed in the
1930
s by Frank Lloyd Wright and his students. I've stayed there and can personally recommend both restaurants.”

Restaurants! Yum. I was hungry.

There was a pause. Then a female voice came over the pa, fainter but more strident.
“You never took
me
to the Biltmore. Oh no,
I'm
only good enough for Motel
5
!”

“Shut up, Charlene. You never complained at the time.”

“At the time, I didn't know you were married!”
said the female voice.

“Sure you didn't.”

Pete looked at me. His eyes went wide. “They forgot to turn off the mic,” he said.

The cabin went quiet. The drunken guys stopped hollering. Absolutely everyone was focused on the drama beyond the cockpit door.

“I'll bet you take your wife to the Biltmore. I bet you've stayed there lots of times with her.”

“Charlene, I told you. We don't have sex anymore.”