Killer in High Heels

“Where are we going?” I asked as I stumbled over my feet, trying to keep up with him. “Hey, not all of us have 6?1? long, I-can-leg-press-a-Buick strides, you know.”

“I am going to convince Monaldo he was not just zapped by some nosy blonde’s mother,” he answered, not slowing his pace any. “And you are going to wait for me. Then I am going to drive you to the airport and personally put you on the first plane back to L.A. Got it?”

“But what about Hank and Bobbi and Lar-”

But Ramirez cut me off, giving me that death look again.

Right. Never mind.

He pushed me ahead of him through a door in the back of the club leading out into a small parking lot behind the building. A handful of cars filled the spaces, mostly second handers spotted with an impressive variety of dents and dings. Two long black Town Cars that I recognized as Monaldo’s preferred method of transportation were parked in the spaces up front. In the back corner of the lot sat Ramirez’s black SUV. He marched me in front of him and unlocked the doors with his remote before shoving me into the backseat.

“You,” he said, pointing a finger at my nose, “stay.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not a puppy, you know.”

His eyes narrowed again. “No, you’re not. You’re a little pain in the ass that’s driving me up a wall. And, by the way, you’re also running precariously close to being hauled downtown for obstruction of justice, assault with a semi-deadly weapon, and pissing off an officer of the law.”

“You made those last two up.”

His eyes narrowed into fine slits. “Don’t try me.”

I gulped. Trust me, trying Bad Cop’s last nerve was not high on my list of to-dos.

“I’m sorry,” I said instead.

His eyes softened just a little, his jaw relaxing as he rubbed one hand over his eyes. “Maddie, you make me crazy, you know that?”

“I know. And I’m sorry,” I said again.

He shook his head. Then let a little half smile play at the corner of his mouth. He reached one hand out and fingered a lock of my hair. “It’s a good thing you’re so cute, you know it?”

Generally I’m not fond of being called cute. Cute is for drooling babies, dogs in sweaters and cartoon teddy bears with rainbows on their bellies. I prefer “beautiful,” “sexy,” even “da bomb” in certain situations. But somehow, delivered with Ramirez’s husky growl and dark bedroom eyes, the word “cute” instantly switched my lever from cold to hot in two seconds flat.

Suddenly being in the backseat of his car didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

His hands left my hair, snaking around my middle as his lips moved in slow motion toward mine. The heat from his body suddenly washed a menopause-worthy hot flash right through me. His tongue brushed against my lower lip and he let out a low groan. Or maybe I groaned. I wasn’t sure which. In fact, I wasn’t sure of anything except the warm, wiggly feeling settling somewhere in my panty region and the fact that I was a freaking idiot for not sleeping with this guy last night. Seriously, what was I thinking?

His hands slid down my arms, encircling my wrists as his thumbs caressed slow, small circles on my skin. He was kissing me in earnest now and I was so engrossed in the heady rush of hormones Mr. Big Guns had coursing through my body that I didn’t even realize what he was doing until I heard the unmistakable click of metal on metal.

“What the-?”

I broke our lip-lock just as I felt something cool circle my left wrist. I looked up. Ramirez had handcuffed both my hands to the headrest of his car.

My turn to give the death glare. Remember that whole cold-to-hot thing? I could go the other way too. Much faster.

“What the hell is this?” I yelled, jingling the two-inch metal chain between my wrists.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the handcuffs, “is to make sure you’re still here when I get back.”

I stuck my chest out, mustering up as much indignation as a woman handcuffed to an SUV could. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?”

Ramirez pinned me with a look. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right?”

And with that he shut the car door and I heard the automatic locks click down as he walked away.

Great. Oh, this was just great!

I admit, in those lonely weeks of waiting for my phone to ring, I’d played out more than one scenario involving me, Ramirez, and a pair of handcuffs. But none had ended like this! That was it. This whole couple/non-couple thing we had going on was so not happening. If he though he could treat me this way and still get a sneak peek at my sexy Frederick’s lingerie, he was more delusional than both Mrs. Rosenblatt and her spirit guide!

Men. They were nothing but trouble anyway. I mean, really, look where the men in my life had gotten me. Handcuffed, fingerprinted, jailed…then handcuffed again! That’s it, I washed my hands of the whole lot of them. In fact, I was actually looking forward to flying home, sitting in my cozy studio and spending the evening alone with Joanie, Chachi and the Keebler elves. Now those were my kind of men.

Minutes ticked by, during which my hands grew increasingly numb and my list of tortuous ways to get back at Ramirez grew increasingly longer. I was up to number five (stuffing rotten eggs down the seats of his precious SUV) when my purse rang on the seat beside me. I looked up at my hands. Crap. I shimmied my butt over to the far side of the seat and lifted the purse strap with my foot. Had I actually attended Dana’s Power Yoga classes instead of just signing up and blowing them off in favor of a pint of Chunky Monkey, I might have been able to lift my purse high enough to grab the phone with my teeth. As it was, I made it to my belly button before the strap slipped off my foot and the bag fell to the floor. Luckily, my cell spilled out onto the floor mats. I slipped off one slingback and managed to hit the “on” button with my big toe.

“Hello?” I shouted in the direction of the floor.

I leaned as far down as I could to hear the response. It was faint, but I could make it out.

“Maddie, it’s Felix.”

Fabulous. Speaking of men I’d like to seek revenge on.

“What do you want?” I shouted, stretching my head down between my knees to hear the response.

“I need to talk to you.” He paused. “Are you alone?”

I looked around the backseat. Unfortunately.

“Yes. Why?”

“Because I have someone here who wants to speak to you.”

I heard noise as the phone was passed. Then an all-too-familiar voice rose up from the floor mats. “Maddie, honey?”

I froze.

Larry.

Chapter Seventeen

“Larry!” I shouted, leaning so far south metal cut into my wrists. “Where are you?”

He hesitated. And I feared for a minute I’d lost the connection.

“Larry? Can you hear me?” I asked, my voice starting to go hoarse from shouting.

“I need to talk to you,” he finally answered, so quietly it was barely more than a whisper. “But I don’t want to do it over the phone. Can we meet somewhere?”

I looked back up at the handcuffs.

“Uh…I’m kind of tied up at the moment. Can’t you just tell me what’s going on now?”

“No. No, it’s too…I’d feel better doing this in person.”

I sighed. “I’m not exactly mobile at the moment.” Understatement alert.

“Fine,” Larry responded. “I’ll have Felix come pick you up.”

“No, I-”

But he’d already handed the phone back to Felix. “Maddie, where are you, love?” he asked.