The Next Right Thing (Harlequin Superromance) (12 page)

But she’d changed. It wasn’t so much that the truth hurt as growing wiser did. She’d always thought the term
growing pains
referred to physically growing, but it was as agonizing, maybe more so, to grow emotionally.

With great effort she stood, crossed to her purse and picked it up. Her back was to him, but she didn’t turn around. She’d seen, heard, felt enough. Call it pride, but she didn’t want him to see the injury stamped on her face. Even a ton of makeup couldn’t hide that.

As she walked toward the door, he said something but she didn’t pay attention. Had to go, get away as fast as she could. Stepping into the hallway, she shut the room door behind her and blew out a long-held breath.

As she headed down the hallway to the elevators, she swiped a tear off her cheek.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A
LITTLE
AFTER
ONE
the following afternoon, Cammie was back at the Cave, strapped into her corset and dealing cards to a sixtysomething woman whose platinum pageboy matched the color of her pearls. She had been sitting at the gambling table for several hours playing poker while smoking gold-tipped cigarettes and nursing a gin and tonic. None of the activities seemed to entertain her, as though gambling was more of a duty than fun.

R.J. materialized next to Cammie, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Yer doc appointment,” he growled. “Time f’you t’go.”

Cammie nodded in agreement. When she got into work this morning, she’d told him she had a doctor’s appointment at two o’clock and needed to leave work early. The appointment was actually for Trazy with a vet.

A shimmer of movement caught her attention. Across the casino, near a bank of slot machines, Delilah waved at Cammie. The older woman wore a shiny metallic outfit that made her look like a life-size bullet. A bullet with cleavage, of course.

Delilah mouthed something while pointing to her feet.

Cammie frowned. “What?” she mouthed back.

A ridiculous exchange because it was impossible to hear with all the jingling slot machines and buzzing conversations, and she doubted either of them could lip-read at twenty feet.

Delilah leaned over and straightened, holding high some kind of box that sparkled under the overhead lights. She mouthed something again.

“Wha’s Del holding?” R.J. flicked his lighter and fired up a cigarette.

“Something from her gift shop, I guess.” Cammie slid a new hand of cards to the woman at the table.

“Why’s she pointing at th’exit?”

Delilah, the glittery contraption in one hand, pointed the other at the door. Her red-slicked lips dramatically shaped more words.

“S’mthin about taking it outside,” R.J. interpreted.

“Impressive,” Cammie muttered. But then, after several decades being a pit boss and keeping an eagle eye on everyone and everything, R.J. could probably read lips in the next county.

“Therz th’guy again,” he groused.

Next to Delilah stood a tall man wearing a pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt. He was pointing at the exit, too.

Marc.

Cammie’s heart stuttered as her mind attempted to rein in her swirling thoughts.

He still wants an answer.

He never had feelings for me.

Damn, he looks hot.

“I’ve got to get off ground zero,” Cammie mumbled. “Make up my mind, face the facts, get on him.”

Over the top of her cards, the woman’s gray eyes peered curiously at her.

“I meant
over
him,” Cammie corrected.

R.J. exhaled a stream of smoke as he continued staring at Delilah. “Why sh’keep holding tha’disco ball?”

A stressed-looking dealer dressed like Alice Cooper approached R.J. The two of them stepped away, discussing something in low tones.

“Life’s a little like poker,” the woman said in a gravelly voice. “You either accept the hand you’re dealt, or you shake it up and make it different. If I were you, ducky, I’d stick with
on.
” She slid several cards toward Cammie. “Three, please.”

A bit taken aback, Cammie was dealing the cards when Val sidled up next to her.

“Where y’at?” Val wore a new curly blond wig and a scantier version of her already scanty sailor outfit.

“I’m okay.”

“Uh-huh.” Val smiled at the woman, who nodded before taking a sip of her drink.

“You got yourself a humdinger cat carrier for Trazy,” Val said.

Across the room, a smiling Delilah held up the sparkling kitty carrier.

“Saw it earlier when I was in the gift shop getting gum,” Val continued. “Has a little mirror inside and some mice made out of pink felt. Supercute.” Her heavily mascaraed eyes opened wide. “Hold me down, mama. Is that guy next to Del your lawyer boy?”

R.J., like a vampire, materialized again in a cloud of cigarette smoke. “Val, back t’yur table. Cammie, Jeffrey’s taking over. On yur way out, tell Del and th’boyfriend of yours to stop distracting my dealers.”

“He’s not my—”

But R.J. was making a beeline to another table where a drunk was arguing with the dealer.

Cammie turned to the woman who calmly laid out her cards. “Full house,” she said.

“You’re telling me,” Cammie murmured.

Minutes later, Cammie was changing her clothes in the employees’ locker room when Val entered.

“Delilah said to tell you she’s put the kitty carrier outside the exit door, the one we leave by on breaks. Ya know, where we first found Trazy.”

“Is Marc out there, too?”

“Oh, Lord, I hope so. That boy’s so hot, you could fry an egg on ʼim.” Seeing the look on Cammie’s face, Val turned serious. “Aw rite, ʼfess up, Snooper. What you done gone and done?”

“We had a heavy talk last night.”

“How heavy?”

“I asked him if he’d ever had feelings for me.”

“Extra heavy. What’d he say?”

“No.”

Val winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“What about his job offer?”

Cammie shot her a glare. “He made that offer last night over dinner. How do you know about it?”

“You’re not the only one who knows how to snoop.”

“Delilah said something,” Cammie guessed.

“And it sounds like a sweet deal. So where y’at?”

“He still wants me to take it. I think.”

“You don’t know?”

“I left right after he said he’d never had feelings for me.”

“No talk? You just up and left?”

Cammie nodded.

“Where were you?”

“His hotel room.”

Val arched a shapely eyebrow. “You leavin’ out the good parts of this story?”

Cammie rolled her eyes. “We weren’t in his bed, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

“Shame. But walking out without saying goodbye? That’s cold, girl.”

“Didn’t mean to be. I was afraid if I spoke I’d—”

“Show your feelings,” Val finished. “Okay, rewind to the job-offer part. Who said what last?”

“I said I’d think about it.”

She considered this for a moment. “Okay,” she finally said, “it’s time to stop thinkin’ and take it.” She held up her hand to halt Cammie from butting in. “You told me once that being a P.I. meant you worked alone a lot. Finding this Gwen person means the most contact you’ll have with lawyer boy is an occasional phone call, right?”

“We may need to meet in person. Sometimes there’s paperwork to go over, that sort of thing.”

Outside the lounge, there was a loud electronic screech followed by thumping noises on a microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced a male voice, “it’s time for our hourly superstar show on the Shamrock a-Go-Go Stage!”

Another screech and a muted curse. “Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but we’re experiencing a minor technical difficulty. Just a few moments and we’ll be ready.”

Val checked herself in the mirror. “I keep tellin’ you to get past your brain side, Snooper, but maybe I’m wrong. That brain side can protect your heart, make it possible for you to work together again.”

“But I’m tired of being Miss Unrequited! It makes me feel so...pathetic.”

Val leveled her a look. “Lots of things in life are worse than bein’ around somebody you’re hung up on. So you’re sweet on him. His deal’s sweet, too. What you got here is a real candy man ready to give you some goodies, like being a private eye again, and you’re worried about your heart? Get over it. You and me got a business in our future, and you stagnating in heart troubles ain’t gonna get us there. Got it, Sherlock?”

Cammie stared into her friend’s eyes, reminding herself that one of the things she most liked about her friend was her straightforward style, but ordering her to work again with Marc? That crossed the line, damn it.

But, hell, Val had a point.

A good one.

Marc was opening a door and Cammie would be a fool to not walk in.

“Got it, Watson,” she quietly answered.

* * *

A
FEW
MINUTES
LATER
, Cammie stepped outside. Breezes whipped the air. A blackbird swept through the air with a piercing ki-ki-ki. In the shaded area underneath a bottlebrush tree sat the sparkling kitty crate like a hidden treasure. On the top of the crate, the word
Trazy
shimmered in pink.

“Hi, Cammie,” said a familiar voice.

With her long hair pulled back in a braid, wearing a pink-and-orange tie-dye dress and sandals, Emily looked like a throwback to the 1960s. Except the shadows in her face didn’t reflect peace and love.

“What’s wrong?” Cammie asked.

Emily shrugged. “Nothing.”

As if Cammie believed that. She looked around. “Marc here?”

“In the car.” She gestured toward the sea of cars in the lot. “We’re parked next to that tall palm tree. The green Prius. Runs on gas and electricity.”

Cammie had a good idea who picked that out. She hadn’t paid much attention to the eco-car last night when she rode with Marc to the hotel. “You’re a good influence on your father.”

“I try.”

“Are you coming with us to the vet?”

“I’ve got a cat allergy.” She rubbed at her nose in a very unconvincing way. “I volunteered to stay here with Trazy until you came out. Somebody named Delilah’s picking me up—I’m going to hang in her gift shop.”

Before Cammie could ask how that came about, the girl continued talking.

“That cat looks so doo-doo-mama in her glitter crate. Did you know there’s even a cat-size mirror in there?”

“I heard. Doo-doo-mama?”

Emily shrugged. “You know, so out of fashion.”

“Like a smashed disco ball.”

The corners of the girl’s mouth quirked. “Yeah, like that. I mean, who puts glitter on a cat crate?”

As though on cue, the back door to the casino opened. Delilah stepped outside.

Cammie didn’t think she’d ever seen someone’s mouth literally drop open, but at the moment Emily’s did.

“Darling, you’re as adorable as Marc said. I’m here to escort you to the gift shop. We’ll have to walk past the fun stuff because you’re underage, but when you’re twenty-one, Aunt Delilah will show you how to play backgammon and order the perfect martini.”

“What’s going on?” asked Cammie, filling the gap for the stunned Emily.

“I’m giving Emily a lesson in retail management,” Delilah said, “and if there’s time, I’ll teach her to knit, as well.”

“I meant,” Cammie said, “what’s with the vet appointment intervention?”

Delilah pursed her shiny red lips. “We’re...helping you, dear. By the way, Frankie mentioned that tomorrow is your day off, and I’ve had a wonderful idea! Let’s try on bridal dresses at Bergstrom’s Bridals in the morning. They have the cutest line of gowns called Princess Fantasies, which are utterly enchanting. They come in all kinds of yummy pastels—I think you’d look fabulous in a peach or apricot.”

Two words flashed through Cammie’s mind.
Oh, crap.

“Delilah,” Emily said softly, “would you mind giving me a moment alone with Cammie? I have something to say to her.”

“Of course, dear! I’ll wait for you just inside this door.”

Emily smiled awkwardly. “I don’t want to lie to you. I don’t have an allergy. And I don’t really want to do this gift shop thing—”

“At least you’re not stuck in a Princess Fantasy. A fruit one at that.”

“Yeah, that sucks. If it helps, you don’t look anything like the princess type.”

“Thanks. I guess.” Cammie gave her head a shake. “Anything else, or did you want to hang out here and commiserate about being stuck in Delilah’s retro-glitter world?”

The girl hung her head for a moment. When she lifted it, her eyes were filled with confusion and pain. “I never liked Gwen. I don’t know exactly what happened, only that he might lose his law license over something she did. He’s so...zonked over this.” Emily worked her mouth as though she wanted to continue talking, but no words came out.

“I, uh, never liked Gwen, either, but we don’t need to say more than that on the subject.”

Emily started pacing. “Ever since we got to Vegas, he’s been happy. Not crazy happy or anything like that, but happier. But then I haven’t seen him in so long, I don’t know what’s happy for him anymore.” She halted, kneaded the air with her hands as though shaping an idea. “I think he’s happier because he believes you’re going to help him. I mean, who else can?” She started pacing again. “My mother should, you’d think, but she’s too busy nonproductively consuming time. Anyway, my parents are like Tolstoy and Shakespeare, you know?”

Cammie was mentally jogging to keep up with the girl’s random thoughts. “No, I don’t.”

“Tolstoy was repulsed by Shakespeare. Called him stupid, tedious, worn-out. That’s kinda how my mom talks about my dad. I have to listen to that stuff all the time and I hate it. I tell her I don’t want to be in the middle, but she doesn’t listen to me, doesn’t respect how I feel, just goes on and on how he didn’t watch over his own dad well enough. That my grandfather is no better than a common criminal, and his imprisonment tainted their law practice and its earning capacity.” She swiped at her flushed face. “Did you know I haven’t seen my granddad in person since he went to prison? I’m too young, they say, to be allowed visitation rights because he is my grandfather, and juveniles are only allowed to visit natural or stepparents.”

“I’m sorry, Emily.”

“My mom... It’s always about money. I guess whatever happened with Gwen is about money, too, but nobody tells me. I’m not stupid, though. A lawsuit’s brewing.”

The girl abruptly stopped pacing, clutched her arms around herself and drew in a shaky breath.

“My mom’s getting ready to marry her fourth husband. Some guy named Barry or Bernard. All I know about him is he has
earning capacity.
That’s all she cares about! Not if I’m doing well in school or if I have any
real
friends or if—” She clamped shut her quivering lips.

Cammie waited, but Emily didn’t say more. The palm fronds swished in the breezes and Trazy meowed.

“You’re upset,” Cammie said gently. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us to the vet’s?”