It All Began in Monte Carlo (42 page)

She shuddered. “Don't remind me.” The Cosmo was icy, delicious. She was a sucker for this girly pink drink.

“Lev was right,” Mac said, his eyes on the entrance. “Here she comes.”

Kitty Ratte in her blue-and-white wrap dress, skirt swinging open to show her thighs, trotted, knock-kneed, into the bar. Her eyes lighted on Lev, the first really attractive man she had seen in ages.
And
he was alone.
Perfect
. Without looking round, she climbed onto a stool near him.

“A glass of red wine,” she said to the silver-haired barman, who never, ever looked at her. He poured the wine and pushed the glass across the counter.

She sighed and ventured a shy smile at Lev, chin down, eyes up, teeth agleam. “The service used to be so much better here,” she said to him. “When a woman ordered a drink she was always offered a bowl of nuts or pretzels, or olives. Now—” She shrugged and looked appealingly at him, crossing her legs and allowing the split skirt to fall away from her thighs, “nothing.”

Lev had been on his cell phone but now he closed it. He called the bartender and ordered olives. When they came he pushed the bowl toward Kitty. “Like the last supper,” he said, unsmiling.

Puzzled, she bit into an olive, took a gulp of the wine. It was not her first of the day; she drank at least a bottle and a half, maybe two every night, plus what she drank at lunch.

“Last supper? Whatever can you mean? No, don't tell me, let me guess.” She arched her brows, grinning at him. “You are wondering where to go for dinner, is that it? I can recommend some good places. Really good.”

“You can? I thought maybe you'd be inviting me home, so you could cook for me. I heard you make pretty good meatballs.”

Kitty frowned. What did he mean? Meatballs? What did he know? She glanced round, spotted Sunny and Mac at a table . . .
oh my God . . .

“Sunny,” she called, climbing off the barstool. “Oh Sunny
darling,
I'm so glad to see you. Where have you been?”

She was about to run over to her when there was a commotion at the door. She turned to look. Three armed policemen stood there, looking back at her. And behind them was Eddie Johanssen, with that woman Pru, and Allie Ray, who was holding Sunny's little dog.

“Allie, Pru,” she called, ignoring the cops.

Allie turned her head. The woman Pru, who anyway Kitty hated, backed into the foyer. Eddie turned and followed her. “Eddie,” she cried. But he was gone. She would get him later, go to his room, nail him this time. No threat would be beyond her.

She looked at Sunny, saw she was watching her with cold eyes, a cold face. She saw the cops striding toward her, turned to Lev. “What's going on?” she cried, clutching his arm.

“They're coming to arrest you, Kitty,” he said calmly. “Better let them get it over with, after all we don't want a scene, now do we?”

The cops were all around her now; they had her trapped up against the bar; one put his hand on her arm. “Kitty Ratte,” he said, in French, “you are under arrest for blackmail, attempted blackmail, prostitution, dealing in drugs, and administering drugs to unknowing persons, which, as you must know, is a federal offense.”

The meatball was a federal offense? Kitty let out a yelp of laughter as she pushed his hand from her arm. She looked at him, looked at Sunny and Mac, turned and looked into Lev Orenstein's cool dark eyes. “Bastards,” she yelled. “You bastards.” And then she began to scream.

It was quite something, Sunny thought, horrified, watching Kitty being hauled away by the cops. The woman was to get what she deserved. Which, Mac said, would be a lot of years behind bars.

Shaken, Allie and Pru came back with Eddie. “Bitch,” Allie said, shuddering.

Pru glanced at Eddie and smiled. They both knew she had a better word for Kitty.

They all kissed and hugged, and Tesoro sank into Sunny's lap, then leaned over and gave Mac a quick nip on the hand.

It was as though they had never been away. Life was normal again. Sitting in the bar in Monte Carlo where it had all begun, they drank the rosé wine, to celebrate.

 

There was a clatter of heels at the entrance, and expecting more conflict, Sunny turned to look.

A young woman stalked in. It was the bride, the one in the white silk-satin sheath dress, blond hair pinned up with a spray of jasmine and a crescent-shaped diamond brooch. She was carrying a tiny bouquet of lily of the valley.

The bride.
Sunny's brows rose and she nudged Allie and Pru. Of course the men had already noticed her.

The bride stalked, heels clacking, to the bar, hitched herself onto a stool, flung down the lilies and said, “Martini,
s'il vous plaît, monsieur.
”

The silver-haired barman mixed, shook, poured, placed it in front of her. The bride downed it in one long gulp.

“Jesus,” Pru said, awed.

The barman's eyes met Sunny's. Her brows raised in a question. He smiled. A first for him. “Second thoughts,” he explained.

“Or even third or fourth,” Sunny said.

Suddenly, trumpets sounded from the hall; the strumming of guitars; singing . . . getting louder as they approached.

It was a full-fledged Mexican mariachi band, the kind Sunny had grown up with because of her Mexican father and their ranch with the Latino cowboys.

Singing “Guadalajara,” the musicians strolled over to the bride, who swiveled on her stool and sat, wide-eyed, staring at them. The trumpets blasted enough to lift the roof and the bride put her hands over her ears, laughing.

“She's
laughing,
” Sunny said to Allie.

The mariachis parted. They turned to face the entrance, the
trumpeters blasted a fanfare as a young Mexican man appeared in the doorway, as golden-skinned and dark as his bride was fair. He stood for a moment, then stretched out his arms, looking at her across the room. Appealing.

Everyone held their breath as he began slowly to walk toward her. The mariachis parted as he drew close. Still the bride sat, eyes fixed on him. He stood in front of her now. Their eyes linked.

Then she slipped from her barstool, smoothed down her short white shift, picked up her lilies of the valley and looked at him. “I'm ready now,” she said with a radiant smile.

The mariachis burst into song, and the young man took her hand and they walked laughing out into the night.

“Oh my God,”
Allie said. “Did you just
see
that?”

“Of course we did.” Pru had found a tissue and was dabbing away her tears. “Wasn't it just the most beautiful thing ever?”

“You should have seen her before,” Sunny said, recalling the bride's previous solo visits to the bar.

Mac looked at her. He took her hand. “I vote we drink to the bride and happy endings,” he said, squeezing the hand of the woman he loved. And that's exactly what they did.

 

 

It was a couple of days later, Eddie was still in Monte Carlo. He was working out his problems with his wife and was now to get equal custody of his children. His heart had lightened.

He drove to Nice, stopping on the Promenade des Anglais, leaning on the rail, looking out over the pebbly beach. It was empty. Its loneliness appealed to him and he walked down the steps, crunching his way to the sea. A couple of beach stands were still open, though most had closed for the season. He liked the emptiness. It cleared his head.

He stopped to watch a sleek, black young dog bounding in and out of the water, happy in that mindless way of just fun, enjoying the moment. It had no collar and Eddie guessed it probably belonged to no one and had no concept of where its next meal was coming from. Right then, though, the dog did not care.

It was a philosophy Eddie suddenly decided to adopt. He would change his ways. His work. His world. His life. Watching the dog's sheer antic pleasure, Eddie saw his own overcrowded, pushing, striving world exposed.

He whistled to the dog. It raised its head, looked at him. “Hey, boy,” Eddie said, then saw it was a girl. Head down, she came at him in a fast joyous gallop, sliding to a crash against his legs. Eddie
laughed out loud and bent to hug the dog. Its fur was wet and sand-filled and suddenly it broke away and shook itself furiously, sending sand and seawater all over him.

“Good dog,” Eddie yelled, and the dog picked up its front paws and danced around him, barking. He could swear there was a smile on her face.

He took off his belt and the dog stood while he slipped it around her neck, then walked friskily beside him, back up the steps to the promenade. Eddie took her to the nearest vet.

“No microchip,” the vet said, checking her ears. “No collar. Ribs too prominent, no food in that stomach, I can tell you. She's a stray all right.”

“Not anymore,” Eddie said.

With the dog bathed, vaccinated and fed, he returned to the hotel. The tired dog collapsed at the foot of the bed as he got on the phone.

At the cottage, Allie and Ron were stuck on the sofa, plastered legs up, playing gin rummy, so Pru answered. She was wearing her jeans and the brown sweater, as well as mascara and lip gloss. She felt she looked good. A new woman, in fact. If only she knew what she was going to do next, everything would be okay. Empty futures were scary things.

She picked up the phone on the fifth ring. “Perrin residence,” she said.

“Pru?”

“Eddie?”

“I have something to tell you,” he said.

“I hope it's good.”

“It's good. It's wonderful. In fact I'm bringing it to meet you.”

“It?”

“A silly black dog, just like Lovely. Not a perfect Lab but there's a bit of that in her somewhere. I found her on the beach and now she's asleep on my bed, here at the hotel. Can I bring her to meet you tomorrow?”

Heart jumping with joy like the dog's, Pru put her hand over the phone and called out, “Allie, can Eddie bring his new silly dog to meet us tomorrow?”

“Of course he can,” Allie called back. “The more the merrier.” Her eyes met Ron's. Brows raised, she said, “Could there be something in the wind?”

Ron grinned. “There could,” he said. “I mean when a guy brings his dog to meet a woman . . . well, what else could it mean?”

It had all begun in Monte Carlo. Or had it? Sunny wondered. Wasn't the truth more like it all began in Malibu, when she left her pink diamond heart-shaped engagement ring on Mac's pillow, with a goodbye note? When she had changed her life, and his?

Now, they were back, sitting on rickety old chairs on the deck of Mac's small house overlooking the Pacific. Pirate, beloved friend, was at Mac's feet and Mac had a glass of good red wine in his hand and a smile on his face. Tesoro crouched warningly at Sunny's side, ready to attack if necessary . . . which meant if Mac so much as laid a hand on her, which anyway Sunny was fervently hoping he would.

She remembered Maha telling her to take the chances life offered. Maybe she had not meant only the jewel-courier job. Maha had a sixth sense, she knew things, understood in a way ordinary mortals did not. Perhaps what she had really meant was for Sunny to take a chance on what life was offering her now. Take a chance on Mac, on their freedom, together. Sunny wished Maha luck. She knew she would need it.

The events of the past couple of weeks seemed far away from this peaceful spot; far away from her and Mac, whose hand snaked out now to grab hers. She smiled at Tesoro's warning growl. Mac was looking at her, those deep dark blue eyes that knew her so
well . . . How could she ever have thought of being with another man, even one as sympathetic—and handsome—as Eddie? It had simply been one of those moments, one of those things; timing, sadness, loneliness . . . a feeling that she had lost her way . . .

Mac raised an eyebrow, still looking at her. She smiled. He put the glass of wine down on the chipped white metal table, got up and held both hands out to her. “Come with me,” he said, pulling her up.

Lying naked on the bed, he held her close, body to body. She felt his heart beating. And then they were kissing, deep kisses that sent jolts of pleasure through her. With his hand in the small of her back, he pulled her even closer. Why did it feel so good when he did that? She felt so possessed, so part of him, so owned by him . . . so together . . .

Much later, they lay, bodies slick with the sweat of their lovemaking, high on serotonin and adrenaline, deep with passion spent, drowsy with love for one another's bodies, beautiful in their thoughts, in their heads, their eyes linked in that thousand-mile gaze as they slowly returned from their tumultuous joined journey.

A melody drifted through Sunny's head. What was that song? “All You Need Is Love”? She thought it was probably true.

 

Ferdie and Giorgio were caught trying to smuggle the diamonds out of India, via Goa. They were arrested and charged with the murder of Rahm Singh and the gatekeeper. They were also charged with conspiracy in the string of jewel robberies, including La Fontaine, with theft and receiving stolen goods. They would face all charges in Mumbai.

 

Kitty Ratte faced her own charges, along with her coconspirator, Jimmy Franklyn. Kitty was a true psychopath, with absolutely no concern for the devastation she brought to other people's lives. For her, the next step, blackmail, had been easy. It wasn't hatred for men that drove Kitty; it was hatred for women; women who offered more than she did. More than she ever could.
Real
women.

She and Jimmy were found guilty of blackmail and six other counts of extortion, prostitution, selling drugs, and administering drugs to others, a federal offense. Kitty went away for a lot of years. Jimmy slightly less.

 

Maha Mondragon disappeared back into Mumbai's teeming slums, a clever woman who had played the wrong cards. There is
always a price to be paid for what you want to be, and you have to be willing to pay the price. Maha was not a bad woman; she was a woman driven by circumstances and defeated by poverty.