I seriously hoped Dana had an Advil in her purse because the tension headache had just started flirting with migraine territory.
“I’m fine, Mom. F-I-N-E.”
“This is all your father’s fault. He dragged you into this. I could kill that man.” She paused. “Woman. Whatever.”
I rubbed my temple. “Let’s not bring Larry into this, okay?”
“Oh, my sweet, sweet, sweet baby. You always were so protective. So caring. So loving.”
So in denial.
“But don’t you worry, Maddie,” she continued. “Mommy’s here. It’s okay if you want to cry.”
“I don’t want to cry.” What I wanted was an aspirin with a tequila chaser.
“Oh, my brave baby! Don’t worry, honey, we’re going to take care of everything.” Then I heard a funny sound in the background. Almost like an announcement over a loudspeaker.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing. Just the 317 in from Dallas.”
I froze, pure dread washing over me. “Mom,” I said very slowly. “Where are you?”
“The airport, of course.”
“Mom, please don’t tell me…”
“Don’t worry, honey, Mrs. Rosenblatt got us tickets on the first flight out. We’ll be there in no time. Just hang in there and don’t admit to anything!”
“No, Mom, you don’t need to-”
“Mommy’s on her way, baby!”
“Mom, please, I’m-”
“Oh, they’re calling our flight. I’ve got to go.”
“No, Mom, wait-”
“Hang in there, Maddie. Keep the faith alive! We won’t let them lock you up. Freedom!” she cried, doing a bad imitation of Mel Gibson in a kilt.
Then the line went dead.
I stared at my cell. In the past twenty-four hours I’d been to a biker bar, a drag funeral, and a prison. I’d been lied to, photographed, and arrested. I’d had a reporter follow me, my wig-wearing dad run from me, and both the mafia and the LVMPD threaten me. And now Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt were on a plane to Vegas.
I dropped my head into my hands, wondering what else this day could possibly throw at me.
And then I found out.
A black SUV pulled up to the curb and the passengerside door opened. Ramirez was sitting at the wheel, his face covered with a sexy growth of day-old stubble, his eyes dark and dangerous.
“Get in.”
Chapter Fifteen
I got in. With just the tiniest bit of reluctance, I settled into his passenger seat.
I know, I know, just minutes ago I’d been hoping he’d be here to pick me up and here he was. Wish granted. Only in Maddie’s perfect world I’d envisioned him giving me a big hug, a tender kiss on the lips with maybe even a little tongue action. (Tender tongue action. You know, like, I-missed-you-and-worried-about-you-every-second- you-were-in-jail tongue.) But instead, I’d gotten a barked order. Get in. Not exactly the words of endearment every girl longs to hear. Which left me wondering, was I a girlfriend? A suspect? Or just a girly blonde who kept messing up his case?
But, like I said, I didn’t argue.
I buckled my seatbelt silently as Ramirez pulled away from the curb.
“Thanks for getting me out,” I finally said, as he rounded the block.
“You’re welcome.” Then added as an afterthought, “Just don’t make me regret it.”
“Who me?” I asked in mock innocence.
He pinned me with a look. Right. Not in the mood for prison humor.
“Um, so where are we going?” I asked instead as he navigated the darkened streets.
“Back to my place.”
Despite the totally unsexy day I’d had, I felt my hormones zing to attention. “Your place?”
“Uh huh.” He nodded. “The only reason you’re not sitting in front of a judge right now is that I convinced him to release you into my custody. So,” he said, giving me a dark look, “I want you where I can keep an eye on you.”
“You mean you don’t trust me?”
He smiled a slow, crooked smile. “Nope.”
I should have taken offense, but honestly, I couldn’t say I blamed him.
I sat in silence as Ramirez wound us through downtown, ending up two streets from Las Vegas Boulevard in a neighborhood populated with motor inns, convention centers, and low cost buffets. Amazing how just two blocks from the Strip the price of prime rib plummeted to $3.99 a plate.
Ramirez pulled his SUV into the parking lot of the Lucky Seven Lodge, a twenty-unit motel done in peeling turquoise paint and rusted wrought iron. A kidneyshaped swimming pool, drained of water, sat next to the street while a neon sign over the front office advertised free HBO. Or rather “Free H O.” Their B was on the fritz.
“This is your place?” I asked as he parked and shut off the engine.
“What can I say? Bruno doesn’t get paid a whole lot.”
“Yeah but you’re not really Bruno.”
He shrugged. “Okay,
We got out of the car and Ramirez led the way up to unit 13, a room on the second story that overlooked the parking lot. I could hear Metallica pounding from the room next door and a group of college kids yelling and drinking two doors down. Not exactly what I’d call homey, but it beat sleeping on sheets stamped “Property of the Clark County Jail.”
Ramirez plopped down on a double bed, done in a pastel desert motif, that took up most of the room, then proceeded to whip out his cell phone. “Checking in,” he explained, keying in his pin number.
I followed his lead, digging my cell out of my purse. The little battery symbol was flashing a “low” sign, but I hoped it would be enough to let Dana know where I was. Luckily she picked up on the first ring.
“Hey, it’s me,” I said.
“Ohmigod Maddie! Are you okaaaaaaaaaay?” she shrieked into the phone.
I held it away from my ear, sure that tiny dogs all the way from here to San Bernardino were yapping in protest. “Yes. I’m fine.” Sort of.
“Ohmigod, after they took you in Marco and I went straight to the Victoria and told Ramirez about your arrest, but we’ve both been worried sick about you. What happened?”
I quickly filled her in on my brush with the law, the discovery of Bobbi’s body and my theory about Larry’s frame up. She made the appropriate shrieks and gasps (especially when I told her how they’d confiscated my shoes), and when I’d finished asked, “So, what do we do now?”
“I don’t know.” And I honestly didn’t. I was fresh out of ideas, good or otherwise.
“Tell me where you are now and we’ll come pick you up.”
“Oh, well, I, uh…” I looked over at Ramirez, jotting notes down on a pad of motel stationery as he listened to his messages. “I’m actually kind of still in police custody.”
Ramirez turned his head and raised an eyebrow at me.
What? It was mostly the truth. And to be honest, I was tired. I mean
“Oh, okay,” Dana replied, though I could hear the question in her voice. “Well, I talked Slim Jim into giving
