Tom shrugged. “Passed out, more likely. Too much tequila and adrenaline aren’t a healthy combination.” He pulled his cell off his belt, punching in 911. “This is Tom Ames again, Toleffson. We’ve got a home invasion here.” He listened for a moment, then shrugged. “Nah. It’s just Dempsey, and he’s out cold. But we need somebody to come collect him.”
Erik’s voice on the phone was loud enough for Deirdre to hear, although she couldn’t make out the words. She figured that was just as well, given the volume.
She knelt beside Craig’s prostrate form. “Is the chief coming?”
“Yeah, he said he’s on his way.” He knelt beside her. “We probably need to detach Doris. I don’t want them taking her along with him.” He stood up again, and walked toward the kitchen.
“How did she get out anyway?”
He returned, carrying a pair of grilling gauntlets. “I opened the cage as we walked by. I figured she might provide a distraction.”
“Some distraction. She might have gotten hurt.”
“Yeah. I didn’t think she’d go this far.”
Doris was still clamped tight to Craig’s hand. Deirdre thought she could see blood seeping around the wound. “Is her bite dangerous?”
“She not venomous, but she’s got some teeth on her.” Tom pulled on the gauntlets, then knelt on the other side of Craig. “And I’d just as soon she didn’t sink them into me instead of Dempsey. Get that tequila, please.”
“You want a drink? Now?”
“Nope, but Doris might. Take one of those tissues and soak it. I’m going to flip her upside down. You wave the tissue in front of her nostrils so she gets the fumes.”
Deirdre thought of several things she needed to ask, most importantly exactly where Doris’s nostrils were, but she decided to ignore them. She saturated the tissue in the tequila, then watched Tom flip Doris upside down, pulling gently on her dewlap as he did. Deirdre waved the tissue in the general vicinity of where she thought the nostrils might be, hoping that Doris didn’t decide to go from Craig’s hand to hers.
After a moment, Doris opened her mouth. Tom flipped her right side up and delivered her speedily to her cage. Deirdre stared down at the neat circle of bloody indentations on Craig’s hand. It looked like he might need stitches.
Or at least she really hoped so.
Tom was still awake at three a.m. Not that it was by choice. After turning Craig over to Toleffson and promising to show up in the morning to sign a statement, he and Deirdre had had a thoroughly enjoyable victory celebration in his bed. Deirdre had promptly dropped into the sleep of the just. Tom hadn’t. Now he lay there, feeling her soft weight in his arms, and wondering when the other shoe was going to drop.
It couldn’t be over now. Could it?
Deirdre moved in his arms, snuffling. “Go to sleep,” she muttered.
He kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry about it.”
She raised her head, yawning. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
“Not without you. Now tell me what’s bothering you.”
He took a breath and blew it out. “I know what you did.”
She raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Come on, Deirdre, I made my living playing poker for a few years. I know the feel of a shaved deck. I wasn’t sure until we played seven-up.”
She shrugged. “Docia showed me how years ago, when I was a kid. She gave me a shaved deck for magic tricks, and then she showed me how to play cards with it. I tried it a couple of times—never for money, though. I thought I could help you if you played blackjack. But I don’t know poker very well. When you switched to five card draw, I couldn’t do much. Does it matter?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to beat the SOB on my own. Besides, it’s hard to throw somebody the right cards on five-card draw. You were just as likely to screw things up. I was afraid you’d try.”
“I thought about it. You scared me to death when you lost those first two hands.”
He shook his head. “It takes a hand or so to learn how to read somebody. Between trying to figure Dempsey and trying to keep you from messing up the game, it took me a couple of hands. But that’s why I said three out of five.”
She grimaced. “I should just have given Craig lousy cards. It would have been more effective.”
“You made up for it in seven-up.”
She grinned. “I did, didn’t I? Good thing I gave myself the deuce, though.”
Tom stared down at her, unsmiling. Part of him wanted to yell. He’d never used a crooked deck in his life.
Deirdre’s grin curdled slightly. “Don’t you dare get all holy with me about being an honest player, Tom Ames. Not with Craig Dempsey. Not after what he did to the Faro. If I could have tackled him and forced him to sign the damn statement, I would have, but he outweighs me by a ton. So I used guile.”
Tom blew out a breath. “Still…”
“No.” She shook her head. “You need to learn to let other people help when they want to. Like Clem and her dinner menus. And Bobby Sue with Leon. And me. We care about you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t expect that. People work for me. They’re not obligated to give a damn.”
“They care about you,” she repeated. “They’re the closest thing we’ve got to a family. Both of us.”
“Your father…”
“Is maybe not as bad as I thought, but right now I’d still trust my Faro family farther than I’d trust him.”
“Your ‘Faro family’?” He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. Sue me.”
Tom sighed. “I’d rather shag you.” He slid his hand down to her hip, feeling the slight jut of the bone against his palm.
“Good,” she said, “that’s what I had in mind too.” She ran her tongue along the edge of his collarbone, then dipped down, sliding tongue and teeth in a line across his chest and stomach.
He closed his eyes. Wherever she ended up was okay with him.
She placed her hands on his thighs, then arched herself over him to slide her tongue around the tip of his cock. He gasped in a quick breath as she leaned forward, taking him deeper. Her hands reached beneath to cup him, one fingernail scratching along the underside until he gasped again.
He looked down at her, at her dark head moving against his body. As he watched she opened her eyes, gazing up at him, smiling.
“Jesus,” he croaked. “Come here.” He pulled her up, settling her in his lap, his cock jutting against her. She adjusted herself to take him in, pulling him into her dampness and heat, then she placed her hands on his shoulders, staring down at him, eyes wide, and began to rock against him.
Tom kept his gaze on hers as he felt heat flowing from the depths of her, as his own body began to strain. He placed his hands on her hips, moving her in time to his own rhythm, joining her, joining them to the beat of his pulse, the rhythm of his body. Deirdre’s hands tightened on his shoulders, and she moaned, moving against him more desperately.
Her breath came in small sobs, her body stiffening in his hands. “Tom,” she panted, “I can’t…I need…”
“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, you can. Now.”
She convulsed against him, her body pulling him deep, setting off a series of shocks through his spine, heat rushing upward like an electric charge. And then he was plunging into her, stabbing deep, his voice ringing in his own ears as he shouted.
Deirdre collapsed against his chest, sliding her arms around his neck, her breath hot against him. After a long moment, she raised her head slightly. “You’re the nicest thing that’s ever happened to me, Tom Ames. You and the Faro. I wonder what I did to deserve you.”
For one of the few times in his life, he couldn’t think of a single coherent thing to say. “Likewise,” he muttered finally.
From the living room he heard a scrabbling of claws against glass. “Doris doesn’t approve,” Deirdre murmured.
“Doris is probably jealous.”
Tom didn’t blame her a bit. He pulled Deirdre close again, still buried deep inside her, not even trying to pull loose. His eyelids finally drooped, and he rested his cheek against her hair.
The nicest thing that’s every happened to me.
That sounded about right.
As he drifted off, he wondered if he could locate a male iguana somewhere. Why shouldn’t Doris have a chance to feel this good too?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
By Saturday afternoon, with Chico and Leon’s help, Tom had managed to get the beer garden into minimal shape for the show. He was glad for once that Junior Bonner didn’t draw the same crowds as Frankie Belasco. They’d probably be able to handle a medium-sized turnout, and if Junior suddenly got popular, they could always pull some tables and chairs out from the main room.
He’d located another washtub for the beer and he and Chico had dragged a keg out to the space behind the makeshift bar. He was still trying to decide whether to leave the frozen margarita machine inside or bring it outside when he heard somebody yelling in the main room.
He ran back through the door just before Chico did, grabbing Leon’s push broom out of his hands in case he had to persuade somebody to shut the hell up and get out of his bar.
Depressing how routine that request was becoming.
The man who was doing the yelling looked too old to be one of Dempsey’s minions. Also too well-dressed. He wore a silver-gray suit with a subdued tie, accompanied by a cream-colored Stetson and what looked to be hand-tooled cowboy boots. If he was a thug, Tom decided there was more money in thuggery than he’d ever realized.
“Where’s the goddamn owner of this goddamn dive?” the man yelled. “And where’s my goddamn daughter?”
Tom stepped in front of him, doing a quick size assessment. The yeller was maybe an inch shorter, and definitely soft. Also, he appeared to be in his early sixties. Tom figured him for a one-punch wonder, but that one punch would probably be good. “I’m the owner here,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
The man turned furious eyes in his direction. Furious and oddly familiar. “You the asshole who kidnapped my baby?” he bellowed.
Tom heard a sigh, and suddenly noticed Nando standing at the end of the bar, well out of reach. “Mr. Brandenburg, I’ve already told you. Your daughter is safe. Tom here is the one who rescued her. The kidnappers are in Austin being arraigned. Chief Toleffson is out on a call, but when he returns, he can…”
Brandenburg ignored him. “You,” he snarled at Tom. “You take me to my daughter. Now.”
Tom shrugged. Right offhand he couldn’t see any reason not to. “Last time I talked to her she was next door. We can go over and see if she’s still there.”
Deirdre took one more quick look around the shop. She’d managed to push most of the junk into the back room so that the main room looked neat, at least. And, of course, the walls and shelves had all been painted. She hadn’t really had a chance to put down the rich brown acid stain she wanted to use on the floor yet. Still, the shop looked acceptable. Neat, professional, and ready for her father.
She’d heard him yelling at least a half block away, and she figured he’d head to the bar first. After all, she didn’t even have a sign up yet, and she didn’t know whether Craig had told him about the shop. In fact, that was one of many things she was hoping to find out.
She ran her hands over her hair to smooth it a little, and pulled down her T-shirt. At least it was for Fat Jack’s Pizza. If she’d known her dad was coming, she’d have dug out the one for Rustler’s Roost.
The yelling next door reached a crescendo and then stopped. Deirdre took a deep breath. Show time.
Tom pushed open the door, his expression blank. “Someone to see you, Deirdre.” He stepped aside and Deirdre was face to face with her father for the first time in over a month.
He looks old.
It was the first thought that popped into her head. Either her father had aged a decade or so since she’d last seen him or she hadn’t realized just how old he’d looked before.
“Hi, Dad,” she said softly.
Her father took a long shuddering breath. “Dee-Dee,” he said and then stopped for another breath. “I got a note at the office. Said you were kidnapped. A million dollars. And then some asshole from the FBI showed up. And you left all those phone messages. I thought…” He closed his eyes for a moment, then seemed to pull himself together. “I don’t know what I thought. Are you all right?”
“Yes, Dad. I was kidnapped, but it didn’t last very long. Tom rescued me.” She smiled at him, then caught sight of Nando leaning in the doorway with Chico and Clem. “Along with the police. Everybody helped. So everything’s okay now.”
Her father stared at her blankly. He looked a little like a man who’d just stepped off a particularly steep roller coaster. After a moment, he shook his head. “Who’s this Tom who rescued you?”
“That would be me.” Tom leaned easily against the counter behind her. Deirdre resisted the urge to join him. “Tom Ames. I own the Faro next door.”
Her father looked at him, then nodded. “Thank you, then. For saving my daughter.”
“My pleasure.”
Her father started to say something else, but Deirdre cut him off. “You owe him more than that, Daddy.”
“I owe him?” His eyes began to take on some of their old spark again. She felt a little like smiling.
“Craig Dempsey hired men to break up Tom’s bar after you sent him down here to force me back home. You need to pay him for the damages.”
Her father stared at her for several moments, open-mouthed. “What?” he said finally.
She waved an impatient hand. “Craig followed me down here like you told him to do. When he found out I was leasing this shop and working for Tom, he tried to bribe him to fire me and break my lease. Tom wouldn’t do it, and Craig decided the best way to force me back to Houston was to drive Tom out of business. Since Tom’s business was hurt because of your orders, you need to make it up to him.” She folded her arms across her chest.
Her father closed his mouth for a moment, and then opened it again to bellow. “Goddamn it! I never gave that pissant Dempsey orders to do anything except find you and offer you your job back. I sure as hell didn’t tell him to hire anybody to break up a bar. If I ever see that SOB again, I’ll hang his scalp on my desk.”
“I may be able to help you there, Mr. Brandenburg.” Nando grinned. “Mr. Dempsey is currently in residence in one of our jail cells, after being picked up last night for invading Mr. Ames’s home and threatening him and your daughter with a gun. Of course, if you want to scalp him, you may have to get in line behind my boss.”