Baby, Don't Go Read online

  “Shit.” His laugh was brief and sour. He stalked back to the living room and threw himself into a chair.

  Daisy trailed in his wake. “I guess not, huh?”

  “Let me put it this way, cupcake: this is the last damn time I bother calling the cops. It’s a waste of time. I don’t know what it is with me and the police, but they never believe a word I say.”

  “Must be your prep-school charm.” She moved behind him to rub his tense shoulders, digging her thumbs into the knots of frustration at the base of his neck.

  Nick wilted. Damn, just when he thought he had her all figured out, she went and did something sweet like this.

  “I’m not used to being treated like a congenital liar,” he admitted, conveniently forgetting that he hadn’t been one hundred percent truthful with anyone since this whole mess had begun. He did, however, recognize just how much he took his position in life for granted. Hanging his head as Daisy’s fingers worked magic on the kinks in his neck, he said on a huff of laughter, “God, I even evoked Uncle Greg’s name. I can’t believe I did that.”

  “Who’s Uncle Greg?”

  “Senator Gregory Slater. He’s an old family friend. He and Dad went to Choate together.”

  “Choate.” She dug her thumbs in deeper. “My. How grand.”

  Wincing, he reached over his shoulder and snagged one of her wrists. He guided her around the arm of the chair, then gave a tug and tumbled her into his lap. “It rhymes with goat, doll face; how grand can it be?”

  She laughed, and suddenly he felt good.

  “You have to understand,” he explained. “I used to hate it when my classmates did that sort of thing—threw around family names to get themselves out of jams. And here I am, doing the same thing in order to convince a twelve-year-old cop I’m not a tabloid photographer.”

  Daisy drew her head back. “Why would he think that?”

  Oh, shit. Nick’s mind went blank. Way to go, genius. What grandiose lie are you gonna tell this time?

  Fortunately, she saved him when her eyes went round and she demanded, “Just who is this married woman, anyhow?”

  Thank you, God. I’ll be worthier; I swear. “Nobody. It’s not important.”

  She looked as if she’d like to argue, so he bent his head and kissed her. Her mouth promptly went all soft beneath his, and what started out as a defensive maneuver immediately took on a life of its own. A low moan sounded in his throat and he shifted her in his lap for better access. He kept the kiss soft and suctioning, trying to see how long he could keep his tongue to himself.

  Daisy caved first. The tip of her tongue slicked over his lower lip, and he sucked in a breath. He widened his mouth over hers to encourage deeper penetration, but for several moments she teased him with no more than the very tip. He found himself holding his breath. Finally her tongue slid in, rubbing against his own.

  He groaned aloud and kissed her with a force that pressed her head back against his shoulder. Ripping his mouth away moments later, he breathed raggedly as he stared down at her. “I itch real bad, Daise.” He tenderly rearranged a pale spike of hair that had drooped over her forehead.

  “Ummm-hmmm?” Her chocolate-brown eyes had a drowsy, willing cast to them. “And?”

  “And I wondered who I have to kill to persuade you to help me scratch it.”

  “Nicholas, honey, you don’t have to kill a soul. You just have to ask me real nice.” She cupped his jaw in her palm and gently bit his lower lip.

  “Ah, God, Daisy,” he murmured and shuddered in surrender. “Please.”

  13

  J. FITZGERALD allowed the very young patrolman plenty of time to exit the building before he rose from his chair and left the office. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” he said to his secretary as he passed her desk.

  The afternoon sun reflected blindingly off the chrome of the cars parked outside the office building. Blinking against the glare, he pushed through the revolving door and stepped out on the sidewalk. He ignored both the sun, which was warm on his shoulders, and the alfresco art fair going strong in Union Square as he walked briskly past it on his way to a pay phone a couple of blocks away. Arriving at his destination, he dialed a number and dropped in the proper change. The phone rang twice before it was picked up.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s going on, Autry? I just had a visit from the police regarding Coltrane.”

  Autry cursed beneath his breath. Then he said, “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Douglass. I tried to get hold of you earlier, but your secretary said you’d be out of the office until two.”

  “Obviously I got back early. What the hell is going on?”

  “We ran into a slight problem.”

  “Tell me something I haven’t already figured out for myself. What slight problem?”

  “You know the blond we told you about the yesterday? The babe we saw movin’ in?”

  “Yes, yes, what about her?” He’d already told Autry he didn’t give a damn about Coltrane’s sex life.

  “Turns out she’s not his squeeze, like we thought. She’s his hired muscle.”

  “What?”

  “We surprised the two of them late this morning in Coltrane’s garage. But it turns out the surprise was on us. Jacobsen grabbed her to use her as leverage—you know, to force Coltrane to cooperate? And she fuckin’ tosses him clear across the hood of the dude’s car! She’s fast and she’s good. She took a punch from Jacobsen and still got the drop on him with her gun.”

  The respect in Autry’s voice sent a trickle of ice down J. Fitzgerald’s spine. “Are you trying to tell me you won’t be able to recover my photos after all?”

  “No! Oh, no, sir, not at all. I’m just telling you what’s what. She managed to catch us by surprise one time. But now that we know who she is and what she’s capable of, it’s not going to happen again. We fully plan to do what we were hired to do, Mr. D.”

  “Good.” He nodded with satisfaction. “See that you do. Burn Coltrane’s place to the ground if you have to. I don’t want those photos surfacing.”

  Mo heard Reid’s voice coming from the study and walked over to see who he was talking to.

  He was on the phone. “William, this is Reid Cavanaugh. Great message on your machine, pal. Listen, I’m in a serious financial jam, and I wondered if you could lend me a hand.”

  Leaning against the doorjamb, she eavesdropped with impunity. And her heart sank lower and lower with every call she heard him place. She was still standing there when Reid finished up several moments later. She watched him toss the receiver back in its cradle, saw him dig the heels of his hands into his eyes and swivel around in his chair. When his hands dropped to his lap and he saw her, he gave a start.

  Then he smiled, that slow, sure smile that still had the power to make her heart stagger like a drunk. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to hear you leave three messages and talk to Biff Pendergras.” She hesitated but felt compelled to add, “It wasn’t exactly what I thought you had in mind when you said you’d make it your mission in life to turn around my financial woes.”

  The warmth went out of his smile. “What did you think I’d do, Mo, go to my family?”

  “No! Oh, no, I never meant…” She trailed off miserably. Reid’s financial philosophy differed radically from that of the rest of the Cavanaugh men. She thought it was probably their constant criticism of nearly everything he’d ever done since the day he was born that had led to his proclivity for throwing his money at lost causes. It was either a knee-jerk reaction to their lockjaw conservatism, or a deliberate attempt to drive them crazy. She’d never figured out which. The older Cavanaughs were all about the bottom line, and Reid was about people. They were all so driven, and Reid was laid back. But she knew from experience that he couldn’t be pushed. God knew, she’d made the mistake of trying often enough—and look where the two of them were now. She drew in a deep breath, then eased it out. “I only meant—”


  “Because I’ll go to them if I have to, okay? But understand up front that they’ll be a last resort.”

  “I know that, Reid. I don’t expect you to go to them at all. Honest. It’s just…I don’t see where calling up deadbeats who’ve already defaulted on the loans you’ve made them is going to help anything.”

  “Dammit, Maureen, are you going to ride that merry-go-round for the rest of your life? Just once it would be nice if you’d have a little faith in me.”

  She opened her mouth to say that she did have faith in him, but the truth was, if this was his idea of the way to save her hide, then she wasn’t sure that she actually did. And before she could find something to say that would bridge the chasm she felt cracking open at her feet, he’d already brushed past her and walked from the room.

  “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news, doll face. Which would you like to hear first?”

  Daisy looked away from a contact sheet of the Trevors that was clipped to the drying line. She watched Nick catch the corner of a another contact sheet between his wooden tongs and lift it from the fixer, or whatever the solution was that finished the developing process. “Oh, the good news, by all means.”

  “I don’t have a single appointment the rest of the day.”

  “Whoa, Nellie, stop the presses!” She eyed him suspiciously. “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what’s the bad news?”

  “I’ve got an anniversary gig this evening, and cupcake, it’s gonna be huge.”

  “Dammit, Coltrane!”

  He grinned at her. “Yeah, I knew you’d be pleased. Be ready to hit the road by seven. And Daisy, it gets even better.”

  She waited for him to tell her how. When he didn’t, she stubbornly resolved to wait him out. She leaned forward to peer at all twelve frames of the Morrison family’s contact sheet. He truly was a fabulous photographer.

  Nick poked her in her side. “Come on. Ask me how it gets better.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite.” She turned to face him. “How does it get better?”

  “It’s formal.”

  Her heart sank down to her knees. “How…ducky.” She hated dressing up. She’d never been one of those girlie-girls who seemed to know through osmosis everything there was to know about clothing and makeup. Consequently she rarely had a clue about what was appropriate.

  “You want me to take you shopping for something to wear?”

  Even though Daisy recognized the offer as a helping hand, it was like a cattle prod to her pride. “I don’t need you to take me shopping, Coltrane! I’m neither a ragamuffin nor a charity case—I’ve got plenty of stuff I can throw on.”

  Nick held up his hands. “Whoa, sorry. I didn’t mean to squeeze your toes.”

  That’s when she should have shut up, of course, but some mysterious alchemy kept her digging the pit deeper and deeper. “The women you hang with aren’t the only ones who’ve got a gown or two in their closets, you know. How dressed up are we talking?”

  “Black tie.”

  “Yeah, well, fine. No problem.” Oh, Daisy, you could burn in hell for that. “Excuse me, will you? I’m just going to step outside for a minute.”

  She walked out of the darkroom, closed the door, leaned back against it, and promptly began to hyperventilate. She didn’t own a stitch of clothing that came close to qualifying as black tie formal. She wasn’t even sure what that was.

  Luckily, she had friends who did.

  Pulling herself together, she extracted her cell phone from her pocket and punched in a number. “Reggie?” she said with breathless relief the minute he picked it up. “Help. I’ve really gone and stepped in it this time.”

  Nick had visions of Daisy pulling some leftover bridesmaid atrocity out of her closet for the Dillons’ reception. Since he wanted her to blend in, the possibilities that popped into his mind produced moments of nail-chewing tension, and he had to bite his tongue several times during the afternoon to keep from reiterating his offer to buy her something appropriate. He managed to do so only because he knew how prickly her pride was, and because—face it—even if they attired her in the ultimate gown, she’d probably insist on accessorizing it with a plethora of weaponry.

  So what the hell. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he rolled his shoulders. She was going to look like a bodyguard any way you cut it, and that was bound to generate a host of questions as to why he should need one. So if he accepted that as a given, why go out of his way to insult her by pointing out that she wasn’t very fashion-smart? Particularly when it wasn’t always true. He had to admit he kind of liked her kick-ass schoolgirl look.

  As the hour grew closer for them to get ready, however, and she hadn’t even suggested that they go to her apartment to raid her closet, he found himself growing more and more irate. What was going on here? Did she think a dress would just magically deliver itself to his door?

  As it turned out, that’s precisely what happened.

  Just before five o’clock he heard a clatter of footsteps on the exterior staircase. Daisy pulled her gun and held it at her side as she strode down the short hallway. She waved Nick back when he followed her, then plastered herself against the wall and demanded, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me,” said a voice he couldn’t immediately place.

  Blondie slid the pistol back into its inside holster and unlatched the lock. “It’s about time,” she said as she pulled the door open a crack.

  “Yeah, well, making sure you have just the right ensemble takes a while,” the voice retorted dryly.

  Nick walked up behind Daisy and reached over her shoulder to pull the door fully open. Reggie stood on the other side with another man who looked vaguely familiar. Reggie held a garment bag and the memory-tickling stranger had an ancient leather train case in his hand. “Reggie.” Nick gave Daisy’s secretary a nod. “What’s going on?”

  Reggie grinned. “We’ve come to dress Cinderella for the ball.”

  “They’ve come to drop off a gown. I can dress myself, thank you very much.” Daisy made a grab for the bag.

  Reggie blocked her with his shoulder. “That’s debatable,” he said, eyeing her rumpled khaki skort and the Tweetybird crop top she’d grabbed to replace her nail-hole-damaged blouse. “But even giving you the benefit of the doubt and agreeing that you can at least dress yourself, what do you plan to do for makeup?”

  “I’ve got a lipstick around here somewhere.”

  The other man made a rude noise. “That’s why I’m here, chickie. Now get out of the way, ’cause we’re coming in. And don’t give us any shit, Daisy, because we went to a lot of effort to find this stuff for you. So you can either step aside or make the alterations yourself if it doesn’t fit right.”

  Daisy rolled her eyes. “A size ten is a size ten—how far off can it be? I’m not looking for perfection; it just has to get me through one lousy evening.”

  “It has to fit well enough not to get in your way, Daise,” Reggie said. “We brought you a choice of outfits and both heels and flats that will go with them. I assume you’ll want to wear the flats, but these outfits were designed for heels and the hems may be too long.”

  “Will you move?” the other man demanded. “Reg said you had to be ready by seven.”

  “That’s two hours away, for heaven’s sake,” she protested. But she fell back from the doorway as the men determinedly advanced. “It doesn’t take two hours to get ready.”

  The makeup man shook his head sadly as Reggie closed the door behind them. “Those ovaries are positively wasted on you, hon.”

  “I gotta disagree,” Nick said at the same time that Daisy said, “Oh, stuff it, Benny.”

  The missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “That’s who you are!” Nick stared at the slender young man and saw impeccable makeup and a pair of heels no human being should be able to navigate in. “I couldn’t place you, but you’re the transvest—uh, the guy in the park.”

  “Transvestite,” Benny said dryly. “You can
say the word.”

  Daisy gave Nick a look of disgust. “Good God,” she said as she tromped down the hall and made a sharp left to the bedroom. “You should see the look on your face. If this were a cartoon, you’d have a light bulb going off over your head.”

  “Well, hey, excuse the hell outta me. I haven’t had a lot of experience with high-heel-wearin’ guys dropping by my place.”

  “I know what you mean,” Reggie said sadly. “Since AIDS, I’ve had a lot fewer dropping by mine, too.”

  By then, they were all in Nick’s bedroom. Daisy turned to Reggie and gave an impatient flap of her hand. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  He hooked the bag over the top of the closet door and unzipped it. “We brought you two choices,” he said, hauling them out. “Whaddaya think? The gown or the pants suit?”

  “The pants suit,” Daisy promptly decided, while Nick, with one look at the skimpy bronze evening gown, said “The gown.” She scowled at him, but he didn’t care. He wanted to see her in that dress. Propping one shoulder against the wall, he crossed his arms over his chest and settled in to watch the show.

  Reggie reached out to pat Daisy’s forearm comfortingly. “I want you to try them both. It’s just a matter of which one first. Hopefully, either should work for you, because Benny and I picked them out not only with an eye toward the occasion, but for accessibility to your weapons. But one may work better than the other—we won’t know until you give them a try.”

  Clearly he knew how to placate her much better than Nick had learned to do, for she said agreeably, “Okay, you’re the expert.” She shucked out of her shorts, then, before Nick could say anything, pulled the T-shirt off over her head.

  “Lose the bra, too,” Benny advised. “Both the gown and the camisole that goes with the pants suit have li’l bittie straps. So unless you’ve got a strapless on…”

  She reached behind her to unhook her bra.