Lucky Break (45 page)

“He seemed sad when he left.”
 
Cody spoke volumes with those simple words.
 
He knew.
 
And he understood.

“Cody, thank you … for everything.”

“It’s what I do.”

“Roam the world healing people?”

He paused. “I never thought about it that way, but, yes, that’s exactly what I was meant to do.”

“And you do it well.”

He was Miss P’s Teddie—both of them roamers.
 
I only hoped he didn’t break her heart.

I muted my ever-present Luis Miguel CD as I absorbed the beating heart of Vegas in all her finery.
 
Even the fountains shot green and red as they danced.

One thing was bugging me—like an itch just under the skin, I couldn’t shake it.
 
I dialed Jeremy.

His voice sounded better.
 
And he was once again taking my calls.
 
I chose to se that as a good sign.

“How good are you at delving into bank records through the back door?”

He didn’t even laugh—Miss Goody Two-Shoes, he used to call me.
 
I bet I just shot that out of the water.
 
“Whose?”

“Kimberly Cho and maybe Mrs. Holt Box while you’re at it.”
 
I watched families and couples gathered around the Bellagio fountains.
 
And thought about how innocence can live right next to guilt and you’d never know it.
 
“Can you do it? It’s for a good cause.”

“I know somebody.
 
It’ll cost you.”

“I’ll pay, just …”

“I know, don’t let anyone trace it back to you.”

I tapped on the steering wheel in time to the Andrea Bocelli Christmas song that wove its way in through the rag top as I accelerated past the Bellagio—the fountains had to have music to dance to.
 
“You know what?
 
I don’t really care.”
 
Teddie was that important.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled as he said the words.
 
“I won’t let them throw you in the slammer.”

“If I go, we all go, so I’ll be in good company.”
 
Friends bound by felonies.
 
The wrong thing for the right reason—I could live with that.

Cielo was still humming as the crews worked to put the last minute polish on.
 
The foreman met me as I came through the doors.
 
A small man with a bark like a drill sergeant and an air of efficiency completely negated by the too large hardhat that almost covered his eyes, handed me a hat as he started reading from the punch list like he was giving orders.

I set the hat aside as I listened.

He glanced, then barked, “This is still a construction zone.
 
We haven’t had the final nor been green-tagged, although I expect it any minute.
 
The inspectors are here.
 
There was as slight glitch with the HVAC.
 
It’s been remediated.”

I smiled and left the hat where I’d put it.

He’d seen my signature in the lower right corner on his checks, so wise man that he was, he said no more.
 
Only a few things on his list needed my personal attention.
 
I asked about the others, giving orders of my own.
 
When we’d worked through the list, which hadn’t taken anywhere near as long as I feared, I said, “I’m going to swing through JC-Vegas.
 
I want to gauge the status myself.” I shut his smirk down with a look. “Give me half an hour and meet me at the suites.”

“Yes, ma’am.”
 

A seventies playlist accompanied my ride to the top floor.
 
Mental note: change that.
 
The Athena had been retro, not on purpose, though—one of the last of the original properties to be repurposed.
 
Cielo was a far cry.
 
Savory smells greeted me as I stepped off the elevator.
 
When Jean-Charles was upset, he cooked to calm himself, center his emotions.

Instead of following them through the public sections, I used my owner’s privilege and master key to let myself in through the back.
 
Rinaldo at the stove, Jean-Charles next to him, taking notes and giving instructions.
 
Each dish would be detailed, the recipe available, but the chefs would be expected to have it all committed to memory.
 
Plating instructions by the service station.
 
Prep instructions across the kitchen where I stood now.
 
Opening night, the kitchen would be like a symphony, everyone playing their part in the melody, blending into an artistic masterpiece.
 

Absorbed, neither man noticed me.
 
I slipped behind Jean-Charles and put my arms around his waist as I always did.
 
My heart pounded.
 
How would he react?
 
He’d said he loved me.
 
He made me believe it.

He stiffened, then put his free hand on mine and leaned his head back.
 
From behind, I pressed my cheek to his.
 
I caught Rinaldo’s amused glance as he kept cooking.
 
“Kids,” he muttered.

“You are here,” Jean-Charles whispered as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Of course.” I brushed my lips against his skin, savoring the tingle.
 
“I never should have left.”

“I was an ass.”

“Yes.”

He turned into my arms, wrapping his around me, after he discarded his notepad.
 
“I have been thinking of you from the moment I sent you away.
 
I am so sorry.
 
I wanted to tell you; I didn’t know how.”

“You just did.”
 
I buried my head into the crook of his neck.
 
“I’m sorry, the most powerful words.”

“After I love you,” he whispered, his breath warm, his arms home.
 
“Sometimes, I am a fool.”

“Aren’t we all?”

There was no let-go in his hug.
 
“You left.
 
My words were horrible; yet, you sent the doctor.”

“Of course.
 
I can be stupid, but God willing I’m not petty.
 
I love you.
 
I love Christophe.
 
How either of you feels about me won’t change that.
 
And, since all Dr. Ellis has done since he showed up is work miracles, I asked him for one more.”

“He took over and instantly everything changed, everything was better.
 
Christophe, he is okay.”
 
His voice hitched.

“I know.”

He leaned back but didn’t let go.
 
“I was out of my mind with fear.
 
Can you forgive me?”

“For what?”

He pressed his forehead to mine, savoring, drawing strength from the connection, I thought, since that’s what I was doing.
 
“There is something I want you to see.”
 
He grabbed my hand and led me out of the kitchen into the hallway.
 
He presented an owner’s card at the elevator.
 
He met my cocked eyebrow with a smile.
 
“Sometimes I can get what I want.”

Way more than sometimes, I thought.
 
A charming Frenchman in America, he could write his own ticket.
 

While Cielo had thirty public floors, it actually had one more.
 
Two apartments comprised the entire floor.
 
The larger of the two was a guest suite for dignitaries and others with security concerns.
 
I’d spent countless hours reviewing every detail of that suite.
 
The other, the owner’s suite, I hadn’t thought about at all.
 
Jean-Charles stopped in front of this suite, waved his card, then depressed the handle when the lock clicked.
 
He pushed the door open slightly, then stopped, reaching back to grab my hand.
 
“Close your eyes.”

The set of his jaw told me arguing was futile, so I did as he asked.
 
I held his hand with both of mine and took baby steps, trusting him to lead me.
 
I felt the space around us open.
 
Maybe it was the echo, or the air, but I felt the expanse.
 
He wormed his hand out of mine, then with both hands on my shoulders he positioned me as he wanted, then let go.
 
“Okay, open them now.”

I waited for a minute; I could feel the smile tickling my lips, the frisson of excitement at the surprise that tingled through me.
 
I always pretended not to like surprises, but that wasn’t honest.
 
I was a better giver than receiver, but still, who didn’t like to be surprised with a gift?

I eased my eyes open, then gasped out loud as I moved slowly in a circle, drinking it in. This was no overnight surprise.
 
They’d finished out my apartment.
 
We stood in the most perfect room—a great room with a wall of windows that invited the magic inside.
 
The magic mile of the Strip stretched to the horizon, the Babylon bookending the view on the far end.
 
A small kitchen gleamed behind the arc of a counter against the wall opposite the windows.
 
Apparently, no expense had been spared. “It’s perfect.
 
But commercial appliances?”

“I will cook for you, in private.”
 
He had a gleam in his eye that would be fun to explore.
 
“You like it?”

I turned once more before answering.
 
The furniture mimicked my own in my apartment-that-was, the artwork by the same artist, but there was room for new treasures, new memories.
 
“It’s perfect.”

His enthusiasm infectious, he reached for my hand.
 
“Come.”

Laughing, I let him pull me along.
 
“When did you do this?”

“Miss P, she did most of the work.
 
We knew you would not pay attention to your place, so we did that for you.”
 
He stopped at the entrance to the bedroom.
 
“This is a place for you, but it is not your home.
 
Your home is with your heart.”
 
Pressing his hand over his heart, he had a moment of doubt.
 
I saw it in his eyes.

“With you and the children.”

A smile banished his worry.
 
“Yes, this.”
 
He pulled me into the room.

Again, perfection, from the bright colors of the duvet, to the hardwood floors, to the hidden window coverings.

Jean-Charles gently tugged me forward.
 
“The bathroom, as you say, is to die for.”

“In light of recent events, I’m seriously considering eliminating that tired phrase from my vocabulary.”

“A very wise thing.”
 
A hint of serious.
 
“Worry only brings what we most fear.”

Another man who knew but didn’t apply the philosophy to himself.
 
He and my father needed to go on a personal discovery retreat.
 
Just the thought made me cringe.
 
Maybe it was just the curse of the Y-chromosome, since I saw myself so clearly and all.
 
Maybe we all needed a kumbaya weekend.

He opened the door with a flourish.
 
“Just like home.”
 
A jetted soaking tub built for two, a shower that could also handle multiples, a vanity with two sinks, twin mirrors, and face-friendly lighting.
 
A CD player sat between the sinks and I couldn’t resist punching play.
 
Then I laughed out loud.
 
The theme from
Thomas the Tank Engine.
 
A special memory.
 
“That isn’t going to become our song, is it?”