Love, Lattes and Danger Page 7

  “Sorry, Ames.” She has the most beautiful hair.

  She straightens her shoulders and lets out a deep breath. “No, it’s a good idea. What about you?” she challenges.

  “Me?” I’m as dismayed as Amy, but I see the sense in it. “Yeah, me too.”

  She picks up a disposable razor, gives me an evil grin, and pretends to shave her head. Only, I’m sure it’s not her head she’s got in mind.

  “Let’s get something to eat first. I need strength to face the ordeal.”

  “You?” Her eyes fire.

  We pay for our purchases—courtesy of Ziccon—put on our new clothes and walk toward a pizza joint farther down the wharf. “Jeez, no wonder they call them tourist traps.”

  “What, you think five bucks is high for a comb?” she teases as she fumbles through the bag and pulls it out. She runs it through her hair, making faces when she hits tangles.

  Thinking of the haircuts, I grumble, “You’ll look like a pixie and I’ll look like a skin head.”

  “Bald is beautiful,” she sings.

  “No doubt. But have you ever noticed it seems to be more attractive on men that are bulked up more than guys my size? My face is too narrow.”

  “We must all make sacrifices for the good of the cause,” she says piously. Knowing I’ll have to deal with it too has lightened her mood.

  “I’m not thrilled about seeing Piper with no hair on my head.”

  “Will Tyler be there?”

  “I’d be surprised if he’s not.” Gravity pulls at my shoulder muscles.

  She gives me a sympathetic bump. “Here we are.”

  With a wide, practiced smile, the hostess approaches and asks, “Patio or inside?”

  The patio is set up on the pier and looks inviting.

  “Patio,” Amy replies.

  “Inside,” I counter.

  Amy immediately understands, too much visibility.

  “Inside is fine,” she agrees.

  The hostess heads toward window seats overlooking the ocean.

  “Can we have that table?” I point at a seat where I can watch the door.

  “Of course.” She smiles.

  Our chairs scrape across the floor as we sit down. Our waitress arrives and I order. “A pitcher of Coke and two large pizzas, one cheese and one sausage.” I turn to my sister, “That work for you?”

  “Oh yeah and an order of breadsticks,” she adds.

  Our waitress looks us over. “I have no idea where you’ll put it.”

  “We have high metabolisms,” Amy says with a sweet smile.

  “You must have.” The waitress sticks her pencil in her tight blond corkscrew curls and sashays away.

  Amy’s stomach rumbles, causing her to turn beet red. She pushes on it with her hand. “I’m starved.”

  “Me too.”

  When the waitress brings back our soda, I gulp down half a glass. The fizzy caffeine sends energy jolting through my system. After she leaves, Amy asks, “How’s our money holding out?”

  I shift and pull the company credit card from my wallet and hand it to her. Her eyebrows shoot up. “I’d forgotten about this.”

  I tamp down the guilt that has acid spurting through my stomach.

  “Oh, Joel, you’ll get him in trouble.”

  I wonder if this is how kidnap victims feel who become brainwashed and attached to their keeper. Still, I know in my gut Leif is a good man. I ruthlessly thrust back the guilt. “Did you know he grew up on the north side of Philly? You got to be tough and smart to come out on top in that area. Besides, I seriously doubt they’ll question anything on this card as long as we don’t charge too much. And we’ll be gone before anything can be traced. Once he remembers he gave it to me, he’s going to be cutting it off anyway.”

  She doesn’t look happy, but nods her understanding. “What do we do when that’s cut off?”

  I lean forward and lower my voice. “I got the number of Moss’s credit card, just not the card itself. I was afraid that would raise too much suspicion. We’ve just got to figure out how to use it. Over the phone or online will be no problem. Just won’t do us a lot of good face to face. But we’ve got Davis’s for that.”

  She throws her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. When she removes it, she says in a high-pitched whisper. “Oh my God. How did you do it? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

  The waitress arrives with our food, ending our conversation.

  “Thank goodness,” Amy says after the waitress leaves. “I thought about crawling over the table and gnawing on your arm.”

  I laugh and reach for a huge piece of sausage pizza. Amy reaches for the cheese. We consume the pizzas and breadsticks in record time. I pat my distended belly. “Ice cream?”

  “Preparing the lamb for the slaughter, whoops, the shearing?” She goes off into a fit of giggles and pounds lightly on the table.

  I’m mildly alarmed. “Not getting hysterical on me, are you?”

  She waves a hand in a dismissive gesture, still chuckling.

  “Actually, we probably should go into deeper disguise mode if we are going to be walking around town. I don’t expect anyone to be here, but you never know. Stranger throws a wide net. And now Ziccon may be in on the chase as well.

  That sobers her up. “Gotcha.”

  “We need to find a place that has a unisex bathroom,” I continue.

  “Maybe the library?” she suggests.

  “Good idea.”

  Just then, the waitress comes back with our bill. “Here ya go, hon.”

  “Thanks.” As I reach for it, she drops it and it flutters to the ground. I lean over at the same time she stoops to pick it up. We both grab for it. As she picks it up, she gets a good look at my face, which the ball cap I wear low on my head has partially covered. That and I’ve made a point of not looking directly at her and have kept my hand in front of my face. My voice is distinctive enough.

  “Oh my God, your eyes are the most beautiful shade of turquoise,” she croons, voice carrying. Crap, this is all we need. “Contacts right?”

  “Right.” I take the check and rise, forcing her to move. The chances of her being questioned by Craven or someone that’s after us is small, but it never hurts to be careful.

  “Well, have a good day.” She flutters around and finally leaves.

  We pay the bill and hustle down the street.

  “Oh, what beautiful eyes. Contacts right?” Amy says in a falsetto.

  “Stifle it,” I warn.

  “Doing a little cougar shopping are we?” she teases.

  I make a snip-snip gesture with my fingers. That closes the subject.

  As we walk along the marina, Amy stops and points at a small shelter painted gunmetal gray. “Look, there’s a men’s, women’s and unisex.”

  “Good eye.” I walk up and try the door of the unisex bathroom. “It’s locked.”

  “Knock on it,” Amy suggests.

  I pound on the door.

  “Just a minute,” a female voice says.

  Five minutes later, a harried-looking young woman comes out with two toddlers in tow. “Couldn’t you have used the men’s?” she asks irritably.

  Then she sees Amy. Her eyes widen before they narrow. “Hmmph. You should be ashamed.” Her back stiff, she marches away.

  Heat floods my face. “Evil-minded biddy.”

  Amy is overcome with a fit of the giggles.

  I jerk my head toward the door and we hustle inside. “Okay, sis, give me the scissors and comb.”

  She complies. Her lips, which normally tilt up in a sunny smile, droop downward. I pull a bunch of paper towels from the dispenser. “Here, hold these out to catch the hair.”

  “I wish I could at least give them to Locks of Love.”

  “Next time.” My chest tightens. My sister is such a lovely little soul.

  I pull a long dark strand away from her head and hold it for a moment, the texture
silky against my fingers. I take a deep breath and snip. We both cringe as I place the blue-black lock on the paper towel. After that, it gets easier. I snip it short in the back then grab her face in both hands. “Hold still,” I order as I study her features then go back to my snipping and clipping.

  “It’ll grow out. It’ll grow out,” she says it over and over in a singsong voice.

  When I finish, I blow out my breath in satisfaction and let her look in the mirror. Her eyes widen. With the cut, they seem to fill her face and accentuate her fine bones. “Nice cheekbones, kid.”

  She fluffs her hair and preens. “Not bad. Have you thought about becoming a stylist?”

  I shudder theatrically. “I don’t think so.”

  She sticks the towels filled with hair in the wastebasket. “Your turn.” She pulls off clean paper towels and hands them to me. “Could you bend down a bit?”

  I squat and mentally replay Amy’s mantra in my head. It will grow out.

  “What’s our plan?” The scissors snick, snick, snick. I’m surprised she hasn’t asked for the razor. I fully expect to look like a skinhead before it’s over. It’ll grow out. It’ll grow out.

  Someone knocks.

  “Just a minute,” she yells.

  “Hurry up,” a woman responds. A child begins to wail. “Mommy, I need to go.”

  “Better use the other,” Amy calls. She turns back to me. “Now hold still and let me finish up.”

  I focus on the current disaster, my sister giving me a haircut, and try not to think about how I’m going to get a baby away from Stranger.

  I keep waiting for her to ask for the razor, but she just keeps cutting. After what feels like forever, she steps back and squints at me. “We should have picked up some mousse.”

  “Mousse?”

  “Yeah, for the bedhead effect, and you need to keep the stubble on your chin going. Take a look.”

  I glance into the mirror and don’t let on how relieved I am. “Not bad. Not bad at all. If it weren’t for the eyes—”

  “Contacts,” we say at the same time.

  “Once we get settled long enough to order a pair we’ll do that. For now, tinted glasses and hats will have to do,” I say.

  “Right.”

  “Now we better clean up and get out of here.”

  Chapter 11

  I cautiously stick my head out the door to make sure there’s no else around that’s going to get the wrong idea. For once, my luck is in. “I should buy a lottery ticket.”

  “Say what?”

  “Never mind, let’s get out of here.” I practically push Amy through the door.

  “Will you stop?”

  If anything, I step on her heels. Instead of getting mad, she begins to giggle. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Don’t worry about it? What that woman was thinking is sick, wrong, and evil.” I can feel my face heat up.

  She manages to turn her laugh into a cough, though the corners of her mouth are still twitching. “Forget about it. She doesn’t know us from Adam.” She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Look.” She points to the end of the street at a hardware store.

  “Good job spotting that.”

  “Glad these dolph-eyes are good for something.”

  I reach in my wallet and give her a twenty. “Would you pick up the paint and I’ll try Piper again?”

  “Will do.” She takes the money and heads toward the store.

  “No pink,” I call after her.

  She waves over her shoulder.

  I try again. Lunch sits like a rock in my stomach as I wait for her to pick up. “Come on, Piper, pick up.” Once again, it goes into voice mail. I click off and trail into the store after Amy. She’s already at the counter with three cans of spray paint in her hand. She raises her eyebrows.

  I shake my head.

  She pays for the paint, thanks the clerk, and walks toward me. “No luck?”

  I open the door for her. “No. I hope she’s okay. And that her grandfather is as well.”

  We walk in the direction of the boat.

  “Does her grandfather have health issues?”

  I thump my heart. “Weak ticker.”

  “She’s probably at work or forgot her phone. It hasn’t been that long since you called her.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. What color did you get?”

  She skips ahead, holding the sack out at arm’s length. “You’ll have to wait and see,” she sings.

  I’m getting seriously concerned. “You promised no pink.”

  “Well, technically I didn’t promise.” She looks at my face and relents. “It’s not pink.”

  “Or lavender.”

  “Or lavender.”

  We’ve reached the boat. She reaches in for a can.

  “Not here. Let’s go a little way down the coast and pull in. Even though it means if I have a heart attack, we’ll be too far away for anyone to get to me in time.”

  “You are so funny.” She laughs.

  “Yeah, funny. Hardee har.” I start the boat and head down the coast where I find a secluded inlet and dock the boat.

  “We won’t be able to paint the whole thing you know,” Amy informs me.

  “Figured that out. We just want to change the looks of it. Get as close to the bottom as you can without getting it in the water. We don’t want to pollute the ocean and kill anything.”

  “Figured that out,” she throws back at me.

  “Toss me a can of paint and I’ll start at the bow. You can take the stern.”

  She lobs a can of paint at me. I catch it and manage to keep the top of my head.

  “Oops, sorry.”

  I look at the paint lid. “This is canary yellow! Could you have found anything more noticeable…other than pink?”

  “They aren’t going to be looking for a bright yellow boat.”

  I mull it over. “Yeah, you’re right. Good going.”

  We start spraying. I swear I feel the boat shudder. I pat the inanimate object. “It’s a girl thing,” I commiserate. I finish my can and grab another. We have just enough to finish. If you look along the bottom, you can see streaky white lines.

  “Not bad huh?” Amy’s grin is huge.

  “Not bad.”

  It’s a warm day. The sun is bright overhead. I wipe perspiration out of my eyes. “It shouldn’t take long to dry. I think I’ll try Piper again.”

  “Sure.” She doesn’t mention the obvious. That if Piper had my message, she’d return my call.

  I call again. The phone rings and rings. I hang up.

  “What now?” She sits down in the comfortable leather co-pilot seat.

  “We wait for it to dry.”

  “And after that?”

  I sink into the seat behind her. “We head for Piper.”

  “Instead of the lab? If you’re doing this because of me—”

  I cut her off ruthlessly. “Tyler and his uncle broke in once. In big part because his uncle is a SEAL. You know Stranger doubled his security after that. It wouldn’t be impossible to get in but it would be damn difficult. What we need is for Stranger to bring the baby to us.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  “We enlist reinforcements.”

  “I still don’t get it.” She reaches to twirl a strand of hair then drops her hand when she remembers it’s no longer there.

  Though the idea galls me, I plow ahead. “I’m hoping one of Tyler’s relatives will pretend to be a big gun and buy the baby. Or maybe even Piper’s gramps. We have the credit cards. We could get cash from them.”

  “I doubt if it’ll be enough.” She sticks her chin in her hand, her expression glum.

  “No, of course not. We pretend we’re playing Monopoly.”

  She frowns in confusion then figures it out. “We don’t know how to make counterfeit money.”

  “No, but I think Tyler knows someone who does.” I hate asking Ty
ler for anything, but for my daughter, I’ll do it.

  The static of the radio interrupts our conversation.

  “He scares me.” Amy whispers. Her face is pale, her eyes huge. Unconsciously, she rubs her sore arm.

  I lift up her chin. “You’re never going back to the lab, Amy. I promise you.”

  She smiles tremulously. “Best brother ever.”

  “Best sister ever. Now, let’s head for California. Are you ready?” I reach over and touch the side of the boat. It’s damp but it’s going to have to do.

  “I was born ready.”

  “Stealing my lines?”

  She laughs and draws up the anchor. I rev the throttle and we head down the coast.

  I yell above the purr of the motor and swish of the waves. “Other than stopping for gas, I plan to drive straight through. This baby goes eighty knots. It should put us there by morning.”

  Anticipation tightens my gut. I’m going to see Piper. Do I have a chance with her? Can I take her away from her human boyfriend? Before I met Piper, I had a strictly hands-off policy about getting involved with someone who was spoken for. But love and lust can screw with the most noble of intentions. Even if she married Tyler, I’d fight for her. We belong together. I know it. The question is does she?

  Chapter 12

  Other than a couple of stops for gas, we’ve driven straight through.

  I pull into a private cove and let the boat idle. “Ames, we’re here.”

  Amy, who’s been dozing in her seat, comes awake with a snort. “We’re at Piper’s?”

  “I think so.”

  “Can you imagine living on an ocean? It would be like living in heaven.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where’s her house?”

  I point up.

  “Are you sure we’re at the right spot?” She looks around.

  “She described it a hundred times in the lab and I’ve checked it out on the map. There’s only one way to be sure. Toss down the anchor, will you?”

  The water splashes as the anchor hits. We jump out. “There should be a trail over…”

  “There.” Amy points.

  “That’s it.” Excitement courses through me. Pebbles roll down the dirt path as we climb.