Cat in a Hot Pink Pursuit (54 page)

Now . . . if he wanted her to wear this dress, he'd want
her to wear his present. She fought the tiny clasp to a
TKO and went to the mirror to adjust the lay of the delicate centerpiece on her collarbones.

Maybe a bit subdued for the dress but not bad. She
shook her head. The curl was creeping back into her colored hair but she still looked so radically different to her
self. Max wouldn't believe it. Maybe she'd keep the
color. It made what she'd always considered her luke
warm blue-gray eyes look startlingly strong. Why be a Lucille Ball redhead forever, even if hers was natural?

Temple scavenged among the shoe racks in her wall-
long closet, rejecting several candidates before finding
the pair of purple satin sandals she'd got on sale at Designer Shoe Warehouse.

Perfect, the mirror said. You look way too hot, the
voice in Temple's head warned the blonde in the mirror.
So? Her date had just faced a huge personal shock. Might
as well take his mind off of it. He seemed to be in the mood. Besides, what could happen at the Bellagio that
they couldn't backtrack from . . . which they'd gotten
very good at . . . in a heartbeat?

“
Wow. You look like a movie star," Temple greeted Matt
at her door.

He was wearing a cream blazer over an open-necked cocoa silk shirt that showcased his unusual brown-eyed blond coloring.

“You took the words right out of my mouth."

“Then we'll really wow them at the Bellagio."

“
Not that I want to obscure your glory but do you have
some sort of wrap? Could get chilly later."

“
Oh." She'd figured they'd use valet parking but maybe
not. "Just a sec.”

She darted back into the bedroom to raid her scarf
drawer for an airy lavender and silver-thread stole-thing.

Midnight Louie, stretched out on the bed, opened one green eye to watch her swing the stole over her bare shoulders. He looked like he was winking approval.

“Back before midnight, boy," she reassured him, as if he cared.

When she returned to the foyer and grabbed her tiny silver evening purse again, Matt opened the door. Before she could glide through, his finger touched the necklace in recognition.

Temple stopped as if hitting an invisible wall.
"Looks even nicer on," he said.

“
It's lovely.
I I. . .
just needed the right occasion to
wear it."

“This is the right occasion.”

When his finger dropped away from her skin, she felt like someone who had been released from a spell and hurried out into the short hall leading to the elevator.

The one-floor elevator ride was a study in awkward silence.

When the door slid back, Electra Lark was waiting for them. Mega-awkward.

Actually, she'd been waiting for the elevator.

Electra stepped back in mock awe, clutching her hands
over the terminally floral muumuu covering her buxom body in the region symbolizing her heart.

“
I'm stunned. Don't you two look like escapees from
the top of a wedding cake; good enough to eat! What's
the occasion?'
There was nothing to do but step out into lobby and ex
plain themselves.

“
Dinner at the Bellagio," Temple said.

“That'll set you back! Must be a big celebration."

“
I wrapped up a big account," Temple said, just as Matt
said, "A family reunion."

“Well." Electra looked from one to the other, speculative, surprised, and pleased at the same time. "Temple, love the hair! Nice to have such snazzy tenants add class to my lobby. Enjoy yourselves."

“
We will," Matt promised in farewell, ushering Temple
down the side hall to the parking lot at the rear.

She giggled as they left the landlady behind. "Suppose
that reaction means she's used to seeing us in our
scruffies."

“
And separately.”

The parking lot was only half full.

Temple came to a full halt again as they emerged into the still-warm night air. "That's right! I get to ride in the Crossfire."

“
The Hesketh Vampire would hardly do for that get-up."

“
Guess not." Mention of the silver vintage motorcycle
that had been Max's, then Electra's, and now was Matt's
to borrow when he pleased drew a thin curtain of what
Temple would from now on consider "Catholic guilt"
over her mood.

Matt established her in the passenger seat of the low silver car. She oohed over the leather interior and futuristic dashboard until they were well underway.

“Regret not waiting to buy until the convertible model came out?" she asked.

“
Not really, given both our needs to avoid too much ex
posure to the sun."

“I suppose my Miata ragtop was a dopey purchase but
it's great to tool around town in, and I wear a vintage
straw hat with a built-in scarf I can tie on. So forties."

“Risk taking is good for the soul," he said, while Temple decided to reparse his last comment about the Crossfire convertible being dangerous to their skin types.

It was true. Natural blondes and redheads were sun-sensitive. Skin cancer was an ugly reality in a sunshine state like Nevada. So why should Matt be thinking of the Crossfire in relation to her skin tones as well as his?

Hmmm.

The Circle Ritz building, dating from the fifties, had been erected amazingly close to the Strip. Nowadays, it
couldn't afford the location, had it not already snatched it.
In moments, they were cruising the Strip's overheated
neon length. The Paris Hotel's festive balloon floated
above the traffic like a tattooed moon fallen to earth. The Mirage's volcano flashed fire and outroared the MGM-Grand lion. The Hilton's chorus line of neon flamingos pulsed their hot-pink plumage.

They were heading south.

“The Bellagio—" Temple was about to point out that
the hotel was north from where they were now. They
were heading away, toward the Crystal Phoenix Hotel's
neon namesake looming large on the right. It vanished
into their wake.

“I decided someplace off the beaten tourist path would be better," Matt said. "That all right?"

“Uh, sure. All the restaurants in the Bellagio cost an arm and a leg and a first-born child, anyway.”

He just smiled at her. The dashboard lights made his features look, not eerie, as that kind of theatrical uplighting usually did, but gilded.

For some reason, Temple felt that the tiny metal purse on her lap required the tight custody of both hands.

In moments, the Strip was glittering history in the rearview mirror. Oceans of bedroom communities twinkled across the broad valley floor.

Max's place was somewhere out there.

And then the desert darkness swallowed even that,
leaving only the Crossfire's headlight beams sweeping
the deserted highway ahead. From the darkness all
around came the intermittent rhythm of the one mysteri
ous light glimpsed now and then. Who lived way out
there alone, you wondered. What were they doing now?

What were they doing now?

Temple racked her brain for some new chichi restaurant out in the boonies but she could only think of Three O'Clock Louie's at Temple Bar on Lake Mead. That was definitely not chichi and not in the direction they were heading.

An antsy little spasm started in the pit of her stomach.
This was ridiculous! She was with Matt. He wouldn't
take her anywhere she didn't want to go.

He wouldn't take her anywhere she didn't want to go. Oh.

When he reached a break in some barbed wire (all this land was owned, no matter how deserted looking), she glimpsed another of those cryptic highway mile markers. Fifty-one, it read.

Fifty-one! Area 51. But, no, that was farther north
than this.

Temple cringed as the Crossfire jolted over a winding
sandy road. Hard on the brand-new suspension.
"Where are we—?"

“
The horses know the way," Matt said. "Don't worry.”

“I'm not worried." Liar.

He'd had such a huge shock back in Chicago. Finding
a father he'd never known and thought was dead. She remembered the Matt who'd been obsessed about tracking
down his stepfather. He'd been relentless, angry, explo
sive sometimes. She hadn't glimpsed that side of him for
a long time. Still .. .

The headlights finally revealed another sign.

Salt Cedar Springs.

For a moment, Temple had thought it read "Saltpeter
Springs." She giggled to herself. Nervously. "I didn't
know there was a restaurant way out here.”

Matt turned off the engine. Turned to her. "It's Alice's restaurant. You can get anything you want.”

Then he came around and opened the door. She
stepped out onto sand.

The car's headlights revealed an expanse of water. The
surface was so gently riffled by the wind that it resembled
the tiny ridges of sand dunes in the uncertain light. Silk moiré.

Temple peered around for a source of light. There was none but the sickle moon and the shimmer of headlights on the water. And, if she turned around to look back, the distant ground-bound aurora that was Las Vegas.

“Matt—?"

“You remember. Isn't this familiar?"

“Yes and no."

“It's a natural spring in the desert. Been here for centuries. That salt cedar tree, the giant weeping willowlike one there, is maybe five hundred years old."

“It's spectacular, but—”

But . . . Matt was leaning back into the car. Music
started pouring into the empty desert night. "Sometimes When We Touch.”

He came around the open door, carrying a white box. "You still don't get it, do you?”

Temple nodded. "Call me incomprehensible.”

He took something out of the box and slid it around her
left wrist. Scent exploded on the dry desert air, intense, sweet as syrup, yet amazingly delicate.

A white moonflower blossomed on her arm. Three of them. Gardenias.

“
Matt. We did that prom night thing, way back
months ago."

“That was you taking me to my high school prom, the one I never went to. This is me taking you to yours, the one you went to but never liked.”

Temple brought the gardenias to her nose. Did any
scent in the world pack such an intense emotional punch? "I had a prom night," she said. "You didn't."

“That's the single nicest thing anyone ever did for me. Thought I'd return the favor."

“
You don't have to. I'm a veteran. Been there, done
that."

“Not the right way. You asked why I bought the Crossfire. I bought it to take you to the prom."

“Me? Your car? Why?"

“
Don't you remember? Curtis Dixstrom and his fa
ther's dweeby Volvo station wagon?"

“Oh, yeah. I told you that so long ago and you remember every detail? No, the most handsome popular guy in school didn't ask me to the prom. Yes, I was humiliated
going with some fourth-tier guy who wanted an excuse to
get a lot closer to me than I ever did to him. But . . . that's life. That's high school. I'm ashamed I was ever so stupid and shallow. If I ran into some Mr. Hot Stuff Who Didn't Ask Me today I'd be bored to tears in two minutes. I bet
my actual date would be a lot more interesting. I grew up.
He grew up. The guys and girls who had it all in high
school never did. You don't have to make up one damn thing to me."