Wrong Number, Right Guy Read online

  And what’s up with that? Ozzie is some kind of awesome chef? Ha. I never saw that coming. I smile at all the things that just don’t make sense about that guy. He’s a giant beast of a man, but no one is afraid of him, even when he’s yelling. He has their respect, but not out of fear. Now that I think about it, I guess he has mine too. Even though he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with me, he saved me. Not just once, but twice. And now he’s given me a place to stay, so I can return home in the light of day without worrying about a stalker following me in his car. Bad guys lie low in the daytime, right? It’s much riskier for them to come after me when people can see them. Maybe it’s naive of me, but it’s the darkness and the cover it offers them that I fear.

  Heck, maybe I could get one of these Bourbon Street Boys to come and check my house before I go inside tomorrow, to make sure it’s all safe. The idea makes me both warm and tired. Safety. Big muscular men to protect me. Yay. It’s got to be past midnight, and the room is surprisingly comfortable. They have a great air conditioning unit in here—just cool enough to get rid of the humidity, but not so cold I can’t fall asleep like a little baby being held in its momma’s arms . . .

  I’m just starting to drift off when the smell hits me.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper, inhaling to make sure it’s not just a nightmare I’m having. “Felix, was that you?” My eyes fly open.

  When I hear a groan, a sliding sound across the floor, and a grunt, I realize that Felix and I are not alone in the room. Turning my head to the side, I see the giant beast—Felix’s girlfriend—lying there next to my cot.

  “Holy crap, Sahara, does your owner have gas masks around here anywhere? Because he should. Damn.” I put the sleeping bag over my face and try to breathe.

  Forget comfortably warm and tired. I’m wide-awake now, living in the nightmare that is a hellhound’s intestinal gas.

  “Jesus, what do they feed you, anyway?”

  I hear another noise and turn my head toward the doorway. The dim light from something in the kitchen illuminates Ozzie’s head and shoulders.

  “Can I help you with something?” I ask from under the sleeping bag that’s acting as a not very effective gas mask. I really hope he doesn’t think that smell came from me.

  He sighs heavily. “Come get in my bed.”

  I blink a few times, not sure I heard him correctly. The stench could be affecting my hearing—it’s that strong. I thought I heard an invitation to heaven leave his lips, but that can’t be right.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I meant take my bed. I can’t have you out here sleeping on that cot.”

  Flashes of those satin sheets have me breaking out in a cold sweat.

  “Uhhhh, no thank you.” No way. I’m no nympho, but I can only be expected to endure so much. Being in his bed, in those sheets, with him standing there with that chest and those arms. No. Just . . . no.

  “I’ll take the cot,” he says, persistent rescuer that he is.

  My voice goes up into a higher register in my effort to sound carefree. “No, that’s okay. I love camping. This cot is awesome. Really. Keep the bed. I’ll be fine.”

  He walks farther into the kitchen. “Thibault’ll give me a ration of shit if I let you sleep out here. Come on—I promise I won’t bother you. Just take the bed. The sheets were washed today.”

  I swallow with difficulty. I can see his naked body so clearly in my mind. The fact that he’s wearing that tight shirt is not helping erase the images. Sometimes I hate that I’m a photographer. All I need is an outline of muscles, and my brain fills in all the rest.

  “I’ll tell Thibault I refused. Don’t worry.” I wait for Ozzie to leave. I’ve practically engraved an invitation for him to beat it out of here at this point.

  He tilts his head, reminding me of a confused canine. “I don’t get it.”

  “You don’t get what?” I let the sleeping bag slide down from my face a little. Testing the air tells me I’m probably safe breathing it again, which is great because it was getting stiflingly hot under that thing.

  “I’m offering you a real bed in a room with a door you can lock, and you’re telling me you’d rather sleep on that hard cot out here in the kitchen?” He lifts his nose to the air. “It smells like sausages out here.”

  I sigh, knowing that as difficult as it may be to dispense it, a little dose of honesty will be very effective at making this guy go away. I’m getting the sense that Ozzie is a very cut and dried kind of person, so here goes nothing . . .

  “Listen, Ozzie, I appreciate the hospitality, but I’m not going to sleep in your bed. It’s not the sheets being dirty or the fact that the cot is comfy that’s making me say no, okay? It’s that they’re satin. And they’re yours. So just go to bed, okay? And take your smelly dog with you, because that’s not sausages you smell in here; she’s got gas.”

  He stands there and stares at me. The heat from his gaze starts seeping into my bones. The time for honesty is gone, gone, gone. Now I just have to lie to get rid of him.

  “Honestly, Ozzie, you’re kind of creeping me out right now.”

  “Is it the beard?”

  He sounds so vulnerable, I can’t help but giggle. I think I actually struck a nerve with that insult. Oops.

  “No, it’s not the beard, okay? Your beard was hideous, but it wasn’t scary. It wouldn’t keep me out of your bed.”

  Holy crap. I can’t believe I said that. My ears are on fire. Go away, honesty!

  “I’m sorry if I came off rude earlier.”

  Thank goodness he didn’t pick up on that innuendo I slathered all over that last comment. I can breathe normally again. Almost normally.

  “You weren’t rude. Well, okay, maybe you were a little rude, but it didn’t bother me.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrug, not sure why myself. “I don’t know. It just didn’t.”

  Another long pause occurs before he speaks. “You’re not like I expected you to be.”

  “Oh yeah?” I yawn really loudly, my eyes falling closed on their own. It’s way past my bedtime, and now Ozzie’s being nice. It makes me feel like snuggling down into this bed and going to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll have the energy to spar with him some more. “Prob’ly ’cuz I’m Little Bo Peep. I totally blend.”

  My mind wanders to that day I took pictures of that philandering creep in the park, and I smile in my half-asleep state. So busted. I took over fifty shots of him with his arm draped around that girl half his age, kissing her neck, giving her a gift wrapped in a jewelry box. Maybe he’s the guy who shot my car tonight. I frown a little as my mind wanders over that potential nightmare.

  “I guess maybe you could blend a little,” says a deep voice off to my right.

  I’m too tired to place it.

  “Go count your sheep then, Little Bo Peep,” the voice says, soothing in timbre and pitch. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I picture a bunch of fluffy white sheep jumping over a fence. Boing, boing, boing. So peaceful. So nice. So tiring. But then a giant black one with curly horns on its head comes up to the fence and just stands there, glaring at me.

  “Well?” I mumble, annoyed that it’s keeping me from sleep. “Get it over with. Jump already, you hairy beast.”

  Someone chuckles.

  And that’s the last thing I remember before waking up in someone’s kitchen, completely confused and staring at the text from my sister that woke me out of a sound slumber.

  Sis: If you don’t call me back in ten minutes, I’m calling the cops. I’m not kidding. Call me. Now.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Hi, Jenny.” My cell phone is cool against my cheek.

  “Hi, yourself. Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all morning.”

  I yawn, trying to stretch my back out a little. That cot was a bad idea. I have sore spots in the most uncomfortable places. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. What time is it?” I squint at the stove but can’t read the digital cloc
k from where I’m sitting.

  “It’s eight forty-five. Don’t you have a shoot today? Where are you? Home?”

  “Holy shit! No, I’m not home. Not even close.” I jump to my feet, spinning around, trying to locate my shoes. I find them shoved way under the cot.

  “Oh, crap. Do you need me to go over there and cover for you?”

  “Yes! Go now! I’ll be there . . . I don’t know. Soon.” I’m trying to place where exactly I am. The Port. Okay. Now I remember. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  My sister laughs. “One-night stands are a bitch, huh?”

  “That’s not what this is.” I fall over trying to get my shoes on standing up. My words come out as grunts. “Why aren’t you at work today, anyway, coding computer programs until your fingers fall off?”

  “They’re apps, May, apps. And I have this weekend off. Besides, Sammy’s sick. I couldn’t send him to day care if I wanted to.”

  I sit on the cot so I don’t hurt myself, sliding my feet into my shoes and using my finger at the heel to get them to cooperate. “Okay, go to the studio and stall them.”

  “Stall them. Right. And how exactly do I go about doing that?”

  “I don’t know—hint around that their hair’s a mess or something. Put them in the dressing room and tell them I’m picking up a new lens and will be there by nine-thirty.”

  “Ten-four. And I’ll expect a full explanation of your evening when you’re done for the day.”

  “You got it. All the dirty details, I promise. See you in thirty.”

  “See ya.”

  She hangs up, and I throw the phone down on the cot. “Felix!” Sorry for waking you up, Ozzie, but I have to go, go.

  I have my shoes and hair band on and the sleeping bag folded up and placed on the cot before I realize that no one is responding to my yell.

  “Felix! Come on, baby—time to go!”

  Nothing.

  I stare at the hallway leading to Ozzie’s bedroom. Should I go in there? What if he’s naked?

  My feet move without conscious thought on my part. One minute I’m next to my cot, and the next I’m standing in the entrance to his bedroom, and there’s no nakedness happening anywhere. Damn. The bed is made tight enough I could probably bounce a quarter on it, and there’s no sign of either dogs or humans.

  After a quick trip to the bathroom, I’m back in the kitchen, where I find a note on the counter.

  Took the mutts for a walk. Be back soon. Will escort you home.

  I look at the clock in the kitchen. It’s already almost nine. I’m never going to make it to the studio in time if I have to wait for Felix, and I cannot afford to lose this job. “Dammit!”

  I run back to my phone and send a text to Ozzie, but the beep of its receipt comes from his bedroom, telling me he left without his phone.

  “Double dammit!”

  I grab the pen used to leave me a note and scribble out a reply on the back of the paper.

  Had to go, clients waiting, my studio’s at 1001 Vet. Mem. Blvd., would appreciate you bringing Felix by, but I can come back and get him later today if necessary. Thanks for your hospitality. Tried to text, but you left your phone here.

  I was hoping that Ozzie would come back as I was writing the message out, but no such luck. I’m about to walk away, but then something makes me go back and add to my note. I don’t want him to have any hard feelings over what I said last night, not while he’s babysitting my furbaby Felix.

  Sorry about the beard thing. It wasn’t too horrible, but you’re much handsomer without it.

  There. That should soothe any hurt feelings he has over it. I smile as I race through the ninja room, and keep on grinning when I see that he’s left the door cracked enough for me to get out. There’s no digital code to hold me back now. The garage door is wide open too. I spare only a glance at the bullet hole in my driver’s side door before getting into my Sonic and speeding out of the Port like there’s a drug dealer on my tail.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The very happy and well-photographed family isn’t out the door thirty seconds before Jenny is all over me for details.

  “Okay, spill it, sister. I want to know everything from start to finish. Leave nothing out.”

  I sit down on my stool and grab a bottle of water from the small fridge I keep nearby. Cracking the top, I sigh. “It was crazy. Completely and totally crazy.” I gulp down half the bottle as my sister absorbs my intro.

  My nephew Sammy pipes up from the play area in the corner. “Tota-wee cwazy.” His sisters are at a birthday party, thank goodness. He’s enough of a handful even just by himself. Thankfully, his naptime fell during the shoot, or Jenny and I would be wrecked right now.

  I lower my voice, knowing anything he hears could get repeated in front of his father. “Remember yesterday how you went out to get a new phone?”

  “Yes.” She holds it up and wiggles it at me. “Like it?”

  “Yes.” I roll my eyes at the bright purple case on it. My sister is a freak for that color, has been all her life. “Anyway, I got a text yesterday evening, and I thought it was from your new phone.”

  She looks down at it. “I did text you.”

  “I know. But so did someone else.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and show her. “See? Look.”

  She frowns as she reads through the texts. “I don’t get it.”

  “I thought that person was you. I thought you had a temporary phone, and that was your temporary number. So when I thought you asked me to come to Frankie’s, I went. I thought you were there with the kids, losing your mind or something.”

  I wait for that to sink in as she continues reading.

  “Oh. Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  She looks up at me. “So what happened? You went to Frankie’s and I wasn’t there, obviously. And by the way, I can’t believe you would actually think I would go to Frankie’s with the kids. That place is a dive.”

  “I wanna go to Fwankies!” Sammy yells. He’s too busy pulling the head off a Barbie to look at us, but that doesn’t mean his ears aren’t completely tuned in.

  “Oh, Jesus.” My sister closes her eyes and inhales deeply, letting the breath out really slowly as she relaxes her body. She’s doing the calming meditation thing that keeps her from blowing her stack. She used to do it about once a day. Now she does it at least once an hour.

  “We didn’t say ‘Frankie’s’; we said ‘McDonald’s,’” I say loudly, winking at Jenny.

  She rolls her eyes when Sammy jumps up and starts running around the studio.

  “McDonawd’s, McDonawd’s, hoo-way, hoo-way, fo’ McDonawd’s!”

  “Great.” She throws up her free hand. “Let’s go pump the kid full of trans fats and sodium. Excellent plan, May.” She closes her eyes and shakes her drooping head.

  I pat her leg. “Never mind. He can wait. Besides, I can’t go anywhere until I get Felix.”

  Jenny looks around on the floor. “Why am I just realizing he’s not here?” Her head jerks up. “Where is he?”

  “He’s where I was last night.”

  The gleam comes back to Jenny’s eyes. “And where might that be?”

  I point to the texts on my phone. “I went to that place mentioned there that’s not McDonald’s, and while I was looking for you in the back room, something happened—a gunshot went off or whatever, and this guy, this big hairy biker guy shoved me out the back door and into an alley.”

  “Whaaaat?!!” Jenny grabs me by the arms and shakes me. “Are you okay??!!” Her face is two inches from mine, her eyes full of sisterly concern.

  I wiggle out of her grasp. “I’m fine, as you can see.” I try to smooth some wrinkles out of my shirt as I finish my story. “Anyway, I tried to go home, but then, when I realized someone was following me from the bar, I took a detour and lost him. And then the guy I was texting gave me directions to this security company’s address, and I spent the night there.”

  She narrows her eyes
at me. “And why do I get the impression that I’m only getting a very small part of this story?”

  I grin. “Because you are?”

  She whacks me on the arm. “Tell me! You know how boring my life is.” She glances at her son, who is now struggling to get into a dress. He already has some pink heels on. My studio is awesome for playing dress-up.

  “I guess I stumbled into some sort of police sting or some undercover thing, and whoever was there shooting stuff, I guess thought I was worth following.”

  “Oh my god, that’s awful!” Her eyes tear up.

  “No, it’s fine.” I don’t know why I think she’s going to believe me. I don’t even really believe me. It’s not like this shooter is going to disappear. I guess I’m lucky he doesn’t know my home address, at least.

  “Of course it’s not fine.” She looks me over more carefully. “Were you hurt?”

  “No, not a scratch.”

  She points at my face. “I see scratches.”

  “Okay, so some minor scratches. That was from some wood chips.”

  She waits for more, but I say nothing.

  “Wood chips,” she deadpans.

  “Yes, wood chips. They flew up and hit my face. It’s no big deal.”

  “I don’t get how you were in a bar and ended up with that on your face.”

  She’s getting mad now. I either have to tell her everything or get mad in response as a getaway tactic.

  “Just tell me.” She sighs heavily. “You know I have no life. You know if anything happens to you, it’ll be me picking up the pieces.”

  “Those are two very compelling reasons not to say anything, actually.”

  “Fine. You want to play hardball? I can play hardball. How about this . . . if you don’t tell me, I’ll go away for a week to the cabin and leave you with my children.”