Lacey Luzzi: Sprinkled: A humorous cozy mystery! (Lacey Luzzi Mafia Mysteries Book 1) (26 page)

Clay had thankfully packed my bathing suit along with half my closet in a used Target baggie. Nice of him to give me options, but apparently he paid zero attention to girls’ clothing choices at the gym. While he checked in, I gave Marge a nod and scurried past mumbling ‘bathroom emergency,’ and she shooed me on.

For once, my emergency actually had nothing to do with intestinal issues and had everything to do with not looking forward to speaking with Anthony again so soon.

I quickly threw my stuff in a locker and slipped into my bikini – meant for sunbathing, not workouts – and ducked into the pool area. I was in the hot tub before anyone could say ‘Sprinkles.’

For the first time all day, my shoulders loosened as I slipped up to my neck in the bubbly water, still a tad light headed from the champagne. I let my head roll back and the thoughts of fear and anger and frustration seeped from my head away with the fingers of steam climbing from the surface of the water to the heavens.

“Doll.”

Anthony’s voice slipped into my brain like a dream. My thoughts morphed into a sexy montage of the trainer in his stretchy black shirt, the little emblem in the corner bulging every time he moved and his muscles flexed. Then he started to take off that stupid shirt and I could see his abs without that silly layer of fabric between it. I wanted to touch it, to kiss the tattoo on his neck, to run a thumb over that mysterious scar on his left eye…

“Doll, you’re moaning.”

I opened my eyes. Anthony stood above me, looking down with a smirk on his face. With my head resting against the edge, my view of his face was obstructed by his bulging muscles and… well, other parts of interest.

I started, splashing water into my eyes and immediately clapping my hands to my face to clear my fuzzy vision. I could feel the mascara running down my cheeks and was positive I resembled a testy raccoon.

“What the heck are you doing?” I asked.

“You’re not allowed to sleep in the hot tub. It’s unsafe.”

“I can take care of myself,” I mumbled. I pulled myself up on the edge of the hot tub put one foot on the slippery wet floor. As if someone had sloshed a bottle of champagne straight into my head, my legs went wobbly and my vision blurred. I yanked my other leg out of the water, but my first leg went skidding and I could feel myself sliding into a dangerous form of the splits…

Then I felt Anthony’s arms under mine, pulling me securely into a standing position. I was so weak from the warmth of the water I couldn’t control my limbs. I let my head rest against his firm, comfortable chest, not caring whether my sopping wet hair soaked him straight through. I put an arm over his shoulders, but the other side of my body started to slide away.

He snaked his arm around my lower back and brought me close, his hands tight on both my hips in a very, very appealing way. He pulled me close to him and I wrapped my arms around his neck. Probably, it looked like we were slow dancing to a silent orchestra, to anyone that happened to be watching.

His thumb gently rubbed my stomach as if he was doing it unconsciously, but it brought flurries of fireworks bursting inside. I nuzzled even closer to him.

“Doll, are you okay? What happened?”

I couldn’t control the giggle that bubbled up inside. It started slowly and burst out like lava until I was doubled over laughing hysterically, one of Anthony’s arms around my waist, securely supporting me from sliding all over the pool deck.

“You won’t believe me if I told you.” I hiccupped. “I visited a Russian ‘ho who told on me to her pimp. Then he tried to shoot at me, but he already killed my date yesterday, probably. Meg shot at him with her sprinkly gun and he got nicked in the shoulder. So we escaped to my ex-boyfriend’s house, but my car thunked pretty good while I was driving, so I needed champagne because Blake was hooking up with Perky Tits.”

“You left something out,” he said.

“I didn’t have sex with him, if that’s what you’re asking.” I pointed a wobbly finger at where I thought his eyes might be.

Anthony was watching me with a curious expression. Though I couldn’t quite be sure since I was seeing two of him at the moment. “You’re wasted, Doll.”

I waggled my finger at him. “No. I can’t be. I didn’t drink that much. And I was okay when Clay picked me up. Well, kinda. But he misted me and it woke me up. Then kablooey. You happened.”

The corner of Anthony’s mouth quivered, and I couldn’t tell if his lips were going to curve up or down. “Hot tubs intensify alcohol. Even if you were only a little drunk when you got here, the heat and steam will make it worse.”

“Well, that’s awesome,” I said. “Whoever discovers that will find me to be a pretty cheap date.”

A funny look came over Anthony’s face. I quieted my laughs and did my best to stand straight. I thought I was doing a pretty good job, but Anthony’s hands didn’t leave my waist. In fact, I was standing closer to him than ever, my pelvis brushing against his sweatpants.

“I’m sorry I’m getting you all wet,” I said, staring down but doing nothing.

One of Anthony’s hands came up and brushed lightly over the top of my breast – which, in his defense, was on a decent display in my skimpy suit. I got tingly all over and almost lost my balance again.

Anthony pulled me roughly closer and put one hand near the nape of my neck. He whispered against the side of my head, just above my ear. “Doll, you don’t know wet.”

And just then, I was pretty sure I’d like to find out.

“Now get dressed.” He offered me his arm like a gentleman, and I pouted a little bit.

His face didn’t change, but he did tilt my chin up with his hand as he marched me to the locker room like a prisoner.

“You need to sober up, and we need to talk,” Anthony said.

“About what?” I asked. “Are you finally gonna tell me how you know everything about my love life and why you were trying to kill me?”

He sighed. “I wasn’t trying to kill you. But yes, it’s time you get some answers. Now go.”

I stumbled into the locker room while he watched me go from down the hall.

“Hustle,” he commanded.

“You’re not my trainer anymore. I’m firing you,” I yelled back.

“You can’t fire me – I’m working for free.”

I yanked a random towel from a hanger and covered my body with a dramatic flourish. “Then you don’t get any more of this.”

I turned and flounced around the corner, sneaking a quick glance behind me. I thought I’d seen a ghost of a smile flicker across his face, but by the time I peeked, it was gone, his arms were crossed, and we were back to business.

I stood under the hot shower for a prolonged period of time, half to cool myself down from the encounter and half because I really like showers. When a male voice called “Maintenance” into the doorway, I yelled back, “Occupied.”

I closed my eyes and infused my hair with sudsy water. It was a delicious experience, the coconut scent mixed with the thoughts of a steamy Anthony and the warm water heating me to the core – for a moment I could believe I was on a tropical island.

Except the wonderful scent came to a sudden end and the smell of alcohol tickled my nose. I opened my eyes to two burly men in janitor style grey jumpsuits. One of them was holding a rag drenched with something, probably where the crisp scent originated from. Their intention became clear moments too late as one of them held my arms and the other held the rag to my mouth. All of the sudden, I remembered the name of that scent.

Chloroform.

Oh, damn,
was my fleeting thought as the world blacked out.

Chapter 21

I came to in a sudden jolt of movement, twitching awake as if in a bad dream that I mostly couldn’t remember. There’d been some jostling, a few slaps to my face and now excruciating pain in my wrists. I hadn’t realized I’d been bound, and when I’d jerked awake I’d twisted my wrists into odd angles against hard, metal material. I glanced upwards, craning my neck backwards and saw a leopard print set of handcuffs strapping my left wrist to a bed post and a ball of yarn securing my right arm to the other bedpost.

I was still wearing my skimpy swimsuit, which was only a little damp now, and I wondered how much time had passed. The bedspread had a wet outline in the shape of my body. I closed my eyes and blinked them a few times to get my bearings. The room was an explosion of pink and frills, as if the girliest monster had vomited all over the place. There was a fuchsia rug that was fuzzy and thick, lamps all around with various shades of red and pastel shades and bulbs. The trim around the outskirts was glittery paint and over the bed to which I lay strapped was a pink, gauzy netting draping down the sides.

I would’ve loved this place if I was three years old, had dreams of becoming a princess, and was not strapped hostage to the bed frame. As I was neither three-years-old, especially feminine, or free to move as I pleased, I hated it. My stomach was still queasy from whatever I’d been knocked out with, and the brightness of this place was only making the champagne from earlier bubble in my stomach. Not in a pleasant way.

I was alone in the room and quickly started twisting the hand tied with yarn to see if I’d be able to wriggle out of the makeshift bondage. I got nothing for my efforts except a beautiful red bracelet around my wrist where skin used to be.

Just as I started working on the handcuffed wrist, the door opened and Vadim entered. He looked shorter and uglier than usual, his squashy nose a reddish purple, his arm frozen in some sort of Frankenstein posture. Then I remembered Meg had shot him and he’d probably been bandaged up pretty solid. Served him right.

I did my best glare at Uncle Vadim – though I needed to stop calling him that, or it’d slip out unknowingly one of these times.

“Where is it?” he asked.

I wriggled around and flapped my feet, but the only good that did was dig my arms further into their restraints. Instead, I tried to get enough saliva gathered up in my mouth to spit at him, but I had a terrible case of dry mouth, as if I’d just eaten an unripe persimmons. How did they manage to spit under these circumstances in the movies?

“Tell me.” Vadim walked close and narrowed his eyes. “Beech.”

“Beaches are nice,” I said. “I’d like to be on one right now.”

“On a beech?” His eyes widened at the prospects. “Trina.”

“No, not her.” I rolled my eyes.

“Right, right.” Vadim stroked his chin as if he expected to grow an evil beard instantaneously.

Trina’s presence was obvious before she arrived, the smoke rings floating though the door ahead of her.

“Never mind,” Vadim said, his eyes not turning towards his Russian hooker. “She change her mind.”

Trina shrugged and plopped herself down on a beanbag chair, the fabric also unsurprisingly a flushed pink. It matched Trina’s painted on cheeks, and was slightly less shocking than her cotton candy colored lips.

“Is fine,” Trina said. “I not interested, anyway.”

“You’re not my type of beach,” I said.

Trina had the dignity to look offended.

“That’s right,” I added. “I prefer bigger beaches. I like myself miles of beach.”

Vadim’s eyes were bugging out of his head and I could almost hear his mind clicking through thoughts about other uses for me.

“I’m kidding,” I said to him. “I’m not actually into beaches.”

“Stop messing.” Vadim furrowed his brows. “Tell me where it is.”

“Where what is?” I asked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“How you say…” he turned to Trina, who blinked a few times in response. With a low growl, he turned back. “The drugs.”

“You need to explain to me what you’re talking about.” I nodded at my hands. “It’d help if you could remove these.”

“No. Not happening. Your fat friend not here to save you today,” he said.

“She’s not fat. She’s large-structured.”

“You no know where is the good stuff?” He frowned at Trina, but kept his shifty eyes on me.

“No, I was looking for it. I was sent here to find it – so if you don’t have it, then I’m royally screwed. And I’m not happy about it. I hoped you stashed it.”

“The beech is too late,” Trina said to Vadim. Rings of smoke framed her words. “She’s stupid. Behind about nine steps, they say.”

“What is she talking about?” I glared at Vadim, who was staring right at Trina’s chest, as if it were her breasts that had spoken. “Loser, she has a face,” I said. Trina looked up at me. Her smooth face semi-crinkled in what I guessed was shock. Then she shrugged. But she gazed at me now in a different way than before; almost as if she didn’t want to kill me.

“I see, I see,” he said. “Yes, she is very slow. Makes sense. I thought smart, but I was wrong.”

I cleared my throat and raised my eyebrows.

“I had the good stuff, but you missed it. It was stolen from me weeks ago.” Vadim paced back and forth. “And I want it back.”

“What? That’s not fair. It’s not yours. Plus, who has it now?” My mind raced – had I been on a wild goose chase the whole time? Or had I just uncovered the next obstacle in my never-ending first assignment?

“Maybe I tell you if you promise to help me find it.” Vadim pulled a knife from his belt and leaned over the bed, resting the knife against my chest. I dared not move; the end of that sucker glistened and shone with menace.

“Pr-prom-promise,” I gasped, trying to breathe more evenly than I ever had before.

“Tell her,” Trina said. “You’ll kill her anyways.”

And I hated her again.

“Yes, you’re right.” Vadim nodded. “But not until she helps me. Maybe if she finds it, she lives.”

“Dealio,” I said. “No problemo.”

Vadim cocked an eyebrow. “So the Luzzi shipment came in and my men took the cocaine.”

“Who’s your men,” I asked. “Andrey?”

Vadim let a low whistle escape his lips. “Andrey, Andrey, Andrey. He was a part of the team, but he was a disgrace. No, they were led by Michael. Nobody suspected Michael because he looks Italian.”

“Isn’t Michael Italian?” I asked.

“Of course not. Michael works for any team that pays him right.”

My jaw hung open. I’d kissed him, invited him to a family meal, baked him cookies, albeit runny and burnt. And he’d lied about being
Italian?
“Oh, that bastard.”