Alibi In High Heels

My heart caught in my throat and I quickly crossed the lobby to him.

Okay, fine, I tried to quickly cross the lobby. But thanks to Wonder Boot I didn't do anything quickly anymore. I saw him thank Pierre, grab the duffel and turn to go.

'Jack!' I called.

He spun around, his jaw immediately tensing at the sight of me.

I hobbled toward him, double time. But if there are three things that don't mix, they're a freshly waxed marble floor, a pair of crutches, and a blonde in a hurry. My eyes intent on Ramirez's frame, I moved one crutch a little ahead of the other, then felt it slide out from under me. As if in slow motion, crutch one went left, crutch two went right, and I slid down squarely in the middle, my arms flailing as my face planted firmly onto the floor.

I heard Ramirez mutter a 'Jesus,' under his breath, then he was suddenly at my side.

'Are you okay?' he asked, lifting me up by my armpits.

'I think so,' I replied. Only it came out more like, 'I ink ow' as my lip was already rapidly swelling.

Ramirez looked at me, his eyes doing a quick assessment of my person. He reached one hand out and ran the pad of his thumb lightly along my injured lip.

My breath caught in my throat.

'Jack,' I whispered.

His dark eyes met mine.

And he quickly pulled his hand away, clearing his throat. He turned and swiftly picked up his duffel bag from the floor.

'I never got to thank you for bailing me out in Italy,' I said.

No response.

'Thank you.

'So, you're leaving?' I asked. Though the answer to that was pretty obvious.

He nodded. 'Captain called. They've got a double homicide in Brentwood.'

I bit my lip to keep from protesting that there was a double homicide here. Because, sadly, between his captain and me, I already knew who'd win out.

'My flight leaves in two hours,' he continued, making for the door.

'Wait,' I called, gathering up my crutches and hobbling after him. 'Please, just let me explain.'

He shook his head. 'You don't need to.'

'I want to.'

He didn't stop, if anything his pace picking up as he stalked purposefully toward the front doors.

'It didn't mean anything,' I said, trailing after him. 'You have to trust me, this was all just a big mistake.'

He stopped just short of the front doors, then turned, his face inches from mine.

'Please don't go like this,' I said.

He took a deep breath, shaking his head as he blew it out. 'Like what, Maddie?'

I swallowed. 'Mad.'

He gave me his best Bad Cop stare. 'I'm not mad.'

'You look mad.'

'No.' He paused. 'I'm disappointed.'

I bit my lip. Wow. Somehow that was even worse. 'In me?' I squeaked out.

He looked at a spot just over my head as if searching for the right words there. Finally he seemed to find them, giving me a long stare. 'In us.'

Again, worse. 'Look, I don't know how many times I can say, it, Jack. I'm sorry. It was mistake. We all make mistakes.'

He shot me a look.

'Okay, fine, some of us make more than others,' I conceded. 'But, come on. Nobody's perfect. You have to trust me when I say that this meant nothing.'

'Trust you?' he said, throwing his arms up in the air. 'Trust you? Right, the way I trusted you to still be in the room when I finished brushing my teeth?'

I bit my lip. 'Okay, that was a dirty trick.'

'Damn straight,' he ground out through clenched teeth.

'But I only played it because you didn't trust me. It goes both ways you know. Trust is a 50/50 street.'

He narrowed his eyes and growled deep in his throat.

'Okay, 60/40.'

He stared at me for a long moment. Then shook his head. 'Look, I've got to go. I'll miss my flight.'

'So that's it?' I asked, feeling tears back up in my throat. 'You're just leaving?'

He shot me a look. Almost sad. Almost regretful. Totally final. 'Yes, Maddie. That's it.'

And then he walked out the door.

Chapter Sixteen

I didn't have the heart to watch Ramirez's cab drive away. Instead I ducked into the cafe and ordered myself a decadent hot chocolate. A large. With whipped cream. And a chocolate pastry. It was shaping up to be that kind of day.

And the thing that upset me most as I dug into my chocolate indulgence was that even though it was me that had screwed up this time, Ramirez had been far from Mr. Perfect up until now. Hadn't I forgiven him when the captain had called interrupting our evening at the Venice pier last month, even when Jack had promised he'd take me on the giant Ferris wheel? I'd been bummed, but I'd understood. I'd forgiven him.

And when we'd planned a weekend getaway to Palm Springs and then at the last minute he'd had to cancel because of a murder/suicide by the Hollywood Bowl. All our plans, ruined. Our first vacation together. The non- refundable deposit on the time share condo, the brand new bikini that I'd shopped all day for to find just the right cut that made my legs look long, my tummy look flat, and my barely B's into something that resembled cleavage. But had I complained? Okay, fine I'd complained a little. I mean, it was a rocking bikini gone to waste. But I'd been understanding. I'd known that when he said he was really, really sorry about canceling, he'd meant it. I hadn't stalked off to sulk (much) and I certainly hadn't gotten on the first flight out of the country to avoid him.

I'd said I was sorry. I'd told him the kiss didn't mean anything. If he couldn't get past it… well, maybe he didn't deserve someone as understanding as me anyway. Besides, it's not like Ramirez had any claim on me. It's not like we were married or anything. I was a single girl. I could kiss whomever I wanted. Not that I wanted to kiss Felix, but, well, if I did I could. And I shouldn't have to grovel at Ramirez's feet for forgiveness.

Deciding that anger was a much more appealing emotion than grief I continued this train of thought all the way though the lobby and out to a waiting cab. By the time I arrived at the Carrousel de Louvre, I'd worked myself into a pretty nice indignant rage, even if I did say so myself. I hobbled out of the cab, making angry little divots in the grass with my crutches as I passed the tents, hobbled across the courtyard and into the workroom.

If Jean Luc had seemed stressed before, he was a stressed guy on crack now. He paced the length of the workroom, arms waving above his head, French, Italian and English all jumbled together as he spoke, antacids popping into his mouth one after another.

I slipped into the room, trying to get Ann's attention before Jean Luc drafted me to fit models.

'Pssst,' I whispered in Ann's direction. She was standing next to Angelica, instructing the seamstress on just how high the hem was supposed to go on the leg. I noticed, with a pang of regret, that Angelica was already dressed in her makeshift replacement pumps. I'd done a key-hole design along the front and sprayed the heels a gold color to match the rim of her skirt. They were passable. But certainly nothing to write home about.

Or mention in your style column as the next best thing to hit feet since Jimmy Choos.

'Ann,' I whispered again, waving my hand to get her attention. She finally looked up and saw me, clomping to the door in her clogs.

'You're early. Great. You can help with the girls in the back. We've got Polaroids of each outfit, if you can help