Killer in High Heels

pressed against mine, I really didn’t care.

He nodded in response, his eyes going dark and intense as they honed in on mine.

“Are you going to kiss me now?” I whispered as he leaned in closer.

He nodded again.

And then he did. Slowly this time. Taking his time as he nibbled his way from one side of my mouth to the other. I think I sighed out loud.

“Forgive me yet?” he whispered.

I shook my head. “Uhn uh.”

He kissed me again, this time using a little tongue.

“How about now?” he murmured.

“Nope.”

His lips dipped back in. This time using a lot of tongue.

“Now?”

“Maybe just a little.”

He pulled back, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Tell you what, let me really make it up to you.”

My hormones were suddenly charging like a new MasterCard at Bloomies. I could think of about a hundred things he could do to make it up to me, all of them involving his tongue.

“How about you spend tomorrow taking in a show, doing some shopping…”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he talked right over me.

“…then I’ll take you out to dinner tomorrow night.”

I shut my mouth. “Like a date?”

“Right. Like a date.” He smiled.

Our first date. I bit my lip. He was driving a hard bargain.

“Okay,” I felt myself saying. “A date. On one condition.”

His smile widened. “Anything.”

“Leave Bruno at the club. I want one night alone with you. No pagers, no work.”

His smile wavered just a little, but he finally gave in. “Deal. But,” he added with a wink, “then you have to do something for me.”

Uh oh. “Does this something involve condoms?”

His grin widened again. “Okay, two things.”

Be still, my beating heart.

“I want you to stay away from the Victoria Club.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off again.

“Look, I’ve spent the last six weeks being Bruno-who, by the way, is not a very nice guy-to see Monaldo behind bars where he belongs. Trust me when I say Monaldo is not the kind of person you want to piss off, Maddie. Please, just go home.”

He had a point. Mr. Creepy was pretty…well, creepy. Not someone I particularly wanted to meet again.

But there was Larry to consider. It was becoming painfully obvious Larry was involved with some not-sonice guys. Maybe even wise guys. How involved, I wasn’t sure. And by the time Ramirez got enough to proof to put Monaldo away, who knows how many other jumpers might have taken a header off the Victoria’s roof. Bobbi was missing and Hank was dead. Odds were stacked against Larry.

“Promise me you’ll go home?” Ramirez prompted.

I put my hand behind my back and crossed my fingers. “I promise.”

Ramirez looked so relieved I almost felt guilty.

“That’s a good girl.”

I narrowed my eyes again. Almost. “‘Good girl’? What am I, a cocker spaniel?”

That wolfish grin slid across his face again. “You’d rather be a naughty girl?”

I clamped my mouth shut, at a loss for a good comeback to that one. Thankfully I didn’t need one, as he leaned in close and his lips brushed against mine.

Maybe it was the fact that he’d actually asked me on a real date. Or maybe the fact that he admitted he liked me and hadn’t been blowing me off for the last six weeks. Or maybe it was just the fact that the most action I’d seen in months was on Joanie Loves Chachi reruns. But as Ramirez nibbled on my lower lip, I suddenly found myself thinking a whole mess of very naughty girl thoughts.

I nuzzled closer, running my hands through his thick hair. Ramirez put his hand up my shirt and I think I blacked out for a moment.

He growled in my ear. “Six weeks is a long time.”

Tell me about it.

His fingers were fumbling with the clasp of my bra, and mine were frantically working on his belt buckle. Which, by the way, was harder to break into than Fort Knox. I had just given up and was pulling his T-shirt off instead when the door to the hotel room burst open.

“Did you see how Madonna was looking at me? He was so into me, I could totally-oh. Sorry.”

Marco and Dana paused in the doorway. Ramirez muttered a curse in Spanish.

Ditto for me, pal.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” Dana said, looking from my dangling bra to Ramirez’s untucked T-shirt. “But we were worried about you.”

I could feel my cheeks filling with heat. Though whether it was a flush of suppressed hormones or embarrassment I’d be hard pressed to say.

“No problem. I was just leaving anyway,” Ramirez said. He shot me a heated look. “Tomorrow night?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak for fear of blurting out something totally inappropriate. Like, “Wait. Stay. A couple more seconds and I swear I’ll have that belt buckle figured out!”

“Mmm, mmm! Honey, that man is deeeeee-lish,” Marco said, watching him go.

“What is he doing here?” Dana asked. “What about The Oath?”

“Screw The Oath, honey. That man is H-O-T hot! Whew!” Marco began fanning himself.

Once I got my hormones back under control, Dana raided the minibar and I filled them in on what Ramirez had told me. Which wasn’t technically breaking my promise to him. He had said the information didn’t leave the room. And we were still in the room. See? Promise kept. (Sort of.)

Dana was such a good friend she didn’t even say “I told you so” when I got to the part about Monaldo’s family connections. Okay, well I might have seen her mouth it to Marco behind my back while I went for that second mini bottle of tequila, but my head was fuzzy enough by then I couldn’t be sure.

Once we’d drained the minibar, I slipped into my ducky pajamas and flopped onto the rollaway. I closed my eyes, visions of Larry in fake Gucci boots overlaid with Monaldo’s soulless eyes and the black tarp covering the unfortunate Hank. Worst of all, as I drifted off to sleep, I was assaulted by visions of Ramirez, drippy candles, soft music, and our perfect first date.

From the depths of a fabulous dream about Ramirez’s tongue doing acrobatics across my stomach, I heard the William Tell Overture erupting from my purse. I automatically reached for my cell. Ouch. A pain shot up my left side. I rolled over. A pain shot up my right side. I gingerly pulled myself up on my elbows, rubbing my neck. It felt like I’d fallen asleep sitting up in one of my Irish Catholic grandmother’s formal dining chairs. I blinked a few times. No dining chairs. It was worse. I’d slept on the lumpiest rollaway in the entire state of Nevada. I rubbed my neck, cringing, as I pulled my phone out of my purse.

“Hello?”

“Maddie? It’s Mom.”

Yikes! I sat straight up in bed. Then whimpered as pain shot up both my right and left sides.

“Uh, Mom. Wow. Hi.”

“Hi, sweets. I’m so glad I caught you in. How is Palm Springs?”

“Right. Palm Springs.” I glanced around the motel room. Marco was snoring like a little piggy beneath his frilly blue mask and Dana was sprawled sideways across the other double, her limbs dangling off the side. “It’s great. Really. Really. Great.” I cringed. I hated guilt.

“Oh good. I’m so glad you’re having a nice time. Did you visit that little boutique on Palm Canyon yet? The one