Cop a Feel Page 19

  “I think I might make the New York Times bestsellers list,” Shoshanna told me. “My agent said I’m a shoo-in, but I won’t believe it till I see it.” Her eyes were huge and her excitement made my eyes water.

  “My God,” I gasped. “That would be amazing.”

  “I know,” she shrieked, and jumped into my arms. I hugged her little body tightly to mine, but when I tried to put her down, we realized our rubber had basically fused together.

  “Oh hell,” I groused as I literally peeled her off of me. “Rubber is for fucking tires—not clothes.”

  Shoshanna, who found the humor in everything, grunted with joy and went to find a notebook. I supposed this, too, would make its way into one of her books.

  “You guys ready?” Luke asked from the other room.

  “Holy Mary Mother of God in a jockstrap,” Shoshanna shouted. “My son is one hot motherfucker.”

  Fear paralyzed me. If Shoshanna thought he looked good, there was a fine chance he was wearing a matching rubber jumpsuit. I slowly left the bathroom and sighed in relief when I saw him. He had on his leather pants and a strategically ripped shirt. Kind of Flash-dancey. He looked silly, but Shoshanna was right. He was hotter than hell. What the hell couldn’t he carry off?

  His eyes narrowed to slits when he saw me. “What are you wearing?” he inquired with immense displeasure.

  “Rubber,” I hissed, and flipped him off. “Don’t you crawl up my ass about it either. I feel like an alien and I look like a hooker. I warned you that it would be bad.”

  “You’re my alien hooker and I forbid you to wear that.”

  “There is so much wrong with that statement, I don’t know where to begin. Shoshanna, put the fucking notebook down.”

  She sheepishly dropped her notebook and pen and slunk to the other room. “Let me know when you’re ready,” she said, trying to swallow her glee.

  “You.” I poked him in the chest. “Are not the boss of me. If I want to look like a rubber hooker from hell, I damn well will and you have nothing to say about it.”

  “You are going to cause me to shoot someone,” he informed me.

  “Are you serious?” I was flabbergasted. It was just an outfit, for God’s sake.

  “Deadly,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

  I realized I could turn this into a win-win situation if I wanted to . . . I hated the outfit. It was rubber and smelled weird and my ass cheeks hung out of my skirt. If I caved, he would be happy and so would I. Rolling the consequences of letting him win around in my brain was interesting. If he got his way with my hideous clothing choices, I would be more comfortable, but he would have gained far too much ground. I paced the room and tried to figure out whether letting him win would outweigh my loss of power.

  “Nope.”

  “Nope?” His eyebrows raised in displeasure.

  “That’s right. Nope. I’m wearing this, and if you don’t lay off, I’ll remove my panties.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Try me,” I snapped, getting up in his face.

  He grabbed me by the arms and put his lips to my ear. “I want to fuck you so bad right now it’s not funny. Every man that looks at you tonight will want the same thing and that makes me insane. You are a walking wet dream and you belong to me. You got a problem with that?”

  “I should, you arrogant pig, but I just can’t think of it right now.”

  He chuckled and then dropped the real bomb. “Oh and Candy, just so you know . . . I’m in love with you.”

  “Don’t you dare say that,” I yelled at him. WTF? What right did he have to say something like that? “You cannot say stuff like that. Do you hear me?”

  He smiled his wicked sexy smile and watched me unravel. “You can yell all you want, but it won’t change a thing. Oh . . . and don’t worry, baby. You don’t have to say it, but I know you love me too.” He winked, slapped my rubber-covered ass, and walked over to the door.

  I thought my head was going to explode. “You are such a conceited fucktard. I should shoot your ass,” I stammered. “You have no idea what’s inside my head. You are so full of yourself and . . . and assholish.” Jesus Christ, I did not just say assholish. It wasn’t even a word.

  “What the hell is happening in here?” Shoshanna asked with concern.

  “I told her I loved her; she cussed me out and threatened to shoot me.” He grinned.

  I flipped him the bird and shoved my Glock into my purse.

  “Sounds like love to me,” Shoshanna said, giving her son a high five.

  “That’s what I thought too.”

  “Holy hell, you people are nuts,” I shouted. “We’re gonna be late. Move it. Now.”

  I gave them the silent treatment all the way to the signing while Luke grinned and stared at my tits. Shoshanna, clearly taking her son’s side, bounced like a ball and hummed the wedding march. This fucking day couldn’t be over soon enough. The thought of the lesbian sisters coming sounded like a vacation compared to being ganged up on by my kinda boyfriend and his insane almost-mom.

  Wait . . . did he really mean what he said? Fuuuuck, I think he did.

  Chapter 22

  Shoshanna sat at a long table covered with her books and swag. Jim sat to her left. He was wide-eyed and positively giddy. He really was something to look at. I noticed Luke’s disapproving stare as I discreetly checked Jim out. He moved his hand to where his gun was hidden and raised his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes and laughed. He was crazy. One hundred percent certifiable . . . and I loved it. Dammit.

  Shoshanna stuck her fingers in her mouth and let loose with one of her deafening whistles. I’d seen the move coming and quickly covered my ears. Jim wasn’t so lucky. He blanched and covertly checked his ears for blood. The chatter in the room ceased and the large group waited with excitement.

  “Everybody, my hotter than Satan’s underpants son, Duke LeHump, has created my new signature move.” She raised her little arms in the air. “I would be fucking honored if all of you would do my move until you leave. It makes me feel proud and I hope to hell all of you are wearing deodorant.”

  I’d never seen so many hands shoot up at the same time. It was like a unison bust of two hundred and fifty people. Amazing. This was going to make a potential nightmare doable. I had to hand it to the fucktard. He was brilliant.

  “Now form a nice line and I’ll start signing! Oh, and I want you all to meet my new protégé. He’s mind-bogglingly talented and I’d read the goddamned phone book if he wrote it. He’ll be published next year and will be happy to sign anything you got!”

  “Will he sign my boob?” a busty gal in a leather ball gown asked.

  “I don’t know.” She turned to a red-faced Jim. “Will ya?”

  “Um, sure,” he said nervously. Shoshanna was like the Fairy Godmother from Cinderella. She was full of magic, and I was sure this was only the beginning for Jim.

  “What’s that sexy writer’s name?” another fan yelled.

  “His name is Jim . . . Jim, um . . . What the hell is your last name?” Shoshanna shouted, clearly forgetting Jim was seated right next to her.

  He winced in pain. I was sure his ears hadn’t healed from the whistle. “It’s Jim Kallenminski.”

  “What the fuck kind of name is that?” she bellowed. That was rich coming from someone who called herself Shoshanna LeHump. “That’s just not gonna work for an author. I have a great idea,” she gushed, and stood up on her chair. “We’re gonna give Jim a new last name! Are you Street Walkers in?”

  The crowd went nuts and names came flying faster than the employees running around in Frisky Business when I walked in to buy my rubber hooker outfits.

  “LeHump,” someone shrieked.

  “Already taken.” Shoshanna laughed.

  “Williams.”

  “Peterman.”

  “Fauntleroy.”

  “SexyAss.”

  “Jameson.”

  “That’s it!” Shoshanna bellowed. “
Jim Jameson. Are you Irish?” she asked a laughing Jim.

  “No, but I like the whiskey.” He grinned and a few of the gals in the front melted.

  “Sold!” Shoshanna hugged Jim, sat down, and got to business.

  I kept my eyes on the crowd while Luke watched the ones closest to Shoshanna. We worked together like a well-oiled team. No words were necessary. It was perfect. I felt the tingle and was secure in the knowledge he was on the same wavelength. I couldn’t believe he could really give this up. Granted, it wasn’t our usual job, but there was still risk involved. Hell, had I become an adrenaline junky? Stop. No time for thinking about anything other than finding and eliminating the threat.

  The mass of fans came in all shapes and sizes. They were mostly women, with a few men thrown in here and there. The excitement was palpable and the questions were many.

  “Shoshanna, is the next book Bruce and Donna’s story?”

  “Yep, I love those two bastards and I can’t wait to see what happens to them,” she answered, and signed the woman’s book.

  “What’s going to happen? Will they be able to work it out?” The woman was a mess, truly on pins and needles about two people who weren’t real.

  “That’s to be determined,” Shoshanna told her. “But I’m watching them carefully.” She glanced over and winked at me. No fucking way. Were Luke and I actually Donna and Bruce? I was going to kick her little purple rubber butt when we got back to the room. Of course that wouldn’t be for a while since Luke had a pageant rehearsal after the signing. Lord, I hoped he’d worn his underpants tonight . . .

  The crowd was fairly calm and respectful. It was evident that Shoshanna was adored and revered. It was actually fun to watch. I noticed Luke looking on with pride and I almost got choked up. Refocusing on the crowd, I froze. Luke’s head snapped to me and his eyes zoned in on my subject. What the hell was Pat of the unidentifiable sexual orientation doing here? My stomach felt light and my hand went to my gun. As if this person knew they’d been caught, Pat’s gaze met mine. Pat’s eyes grew huge. Pat turned and quickly ran out of the room. Was it fucking Pat? Was Junsen here too? Had I missed something major during that interview? I turned to Luke and mouthed, “I’m on it.” He nodded and tensed. I knew he would stay with Shoshanna and keep her safe. I had an ambiguously sexed suspect to chase.

  I was seconds behind Pat and saw her speed-walk down the hall and turn to the left. Girl. I’d just think of her as a freakin’ girl . . . Hauling ass, I avoided the meandering crowds as much as possible. The damned thigh-high stiletto boots I wore were making the chase somewhat difficult, but I’d dealt with worse. Like the time I’d taken a knife to the thigh and had to run a mile to the pick-up point. Now that sucked.

  Pat slipped into a door marked cleaning closet. I had her. Her ass was mine. Opening the door, I found her standing there with a mop in one hand and a squeegee in the other. She was trembling and her eyes were wild.

  “Hi Pat.” I smiled and leaned back on the door, making her escape impossible.

  “What do you want?” she snapped, shaking like a leaf and brandishing her mop like it was a sword.

  “I think that’s my question, among a few others.”

  “You will not get me fired, copper,” Pat shrieked, and made a mad dash for the door.

  I put my left foot out and tripped her . . . him . . . it. As she went down, I gave her a swift undercut in the stomach, knocking the wind from her lungs. When she hit the floor, I dropped down and slammed my knee into her lower back, yanked her arms behind her, and bound her hands with the strap of my purse.

  “That was really fucking stupid, Pat,” I said, giving the leather purse strap a little extra yank for good measure. “First of all, I’m not a fucking copper. I’m a cold-blooded DEA agent who enjoys shooting shit. You made me run in stilettos. I don’t appreciate that. I could have twisted my ankle and then I would have been really mad as opposed to just mad.”

  “What’s your fucking problem?” Pat grunted, gasping for air.

  “Apparently you are. Why’d you run?”

  “Because.”

  I waited for more but it didn’t come. “Wrong answer.” I pressed my knee into her spine and she screamed. I hoped no one was directly outside the closet. This would be kind of hard to explain.

  “I’m not supposed to be here,” she choked out. “I called in sick and I don’t have any more sick days.”

  “Right.”

  “I swear,” she whined. “I could lose my job if you say anything. I need my job. I’m saving for transitional surgery.”

  Still no clarity on her sex, dammit . . . Irrelevant. “Why were you at Shoshanna’s signing?”

  “I wanted to get Junsen a signed book and plead Junsen’s case. She loves Shoshanna and I love Junsen. I thought maybe we could have a three-way relationship.”

  Jesus, this was getting icky. “Let me get this straight. Junsen loves Shoshanna and burned bras on a football field to prove her dedication to her. You love Junsen so you’re going to get a signed book from Shoshanna, the woman Junsen loves, to prove your adoration to her and possibly begin a three-way.”

  “Yes,” she hissed.

  “And you called in sick and could lose your job . . .” It was so fucking stupid, it had to be true. “What do you know about the notes?”

  “What notes?” Pat asked, bewildered.

  “The threats on Shoshanna’s life.”

  “What?” Pat grunted. “I know nothing. I’m a pacifist.”

  “Could have fooled me with the mop and the squeegee thing you had going.”

  “Look I have a rap sheet and I freaked,” Pat whimpered. “I’m just starting to get my life together and you could screw it up.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I ran a fake Viagra ring and sold to major pharmaceutical companies.”

  “Holy shit, you’re Limp Dick Smith?” We’d been making jokes about that case for three years. Everything in my gut said Pat was not our man . . . or woman, but proof was necessary. “Do you have ID on you?”

  “Yes, back pocket.”

  I pulled out the wallet—a man’s wallet—and checked the ID. Pat Smith, age thirty-one, sex . . . scratched out with a pin or nail. WTF? I grabbed my phone and called it into Steve. After about a ten-minute wait, I had my answers. Pat was most definitely Jesse Limp Dick Smith. Her foray into a life of crime had made national news and been fodder for every late-night talk show for months. Pat, aka Jesse, had gotten off on a bizarre technicality that I couldn’t recall and had gone into the witness protection program because there were thousands of furious men that wanted her dead. But the real proof was Steve’s latest information. While I had my knee embedded in Pat’s spine a message had been left on Shoshanna’s bugged cell phone. A muffled woman’s voice had left a cryptic message—“Time is up.” The call had been too short to trace.

  “Alrighty-roo,” I said. “I’m going to let you up. You’re leaving the convention and going back to Minneapolis tonight with some local law enforcement guys who will make sure you don’t come back.”

  “Are you going to turn me in to the university?”

  “No, I’m not, but you and Junsen need to get it through your heads that Shoshanna is straight.”

  I loosened the purse straps and helped Pat up. On unstable feet, she extended her hand to me.

  “What’s that for?” I asked, taking her hand and shaking it.

  “For keeping my secret. You’re a tuff-ass mo-fo.”

  “Thank you. You really are going to have to leave,” I said, feeling a little bad about her limp.

  “I know. It was stupid for me to come in the first place. I just thought . . .”

  “Look, go home and tell Junsen how you feel. You never know what might happen if you just lay it out there.”

  “Yeah,” Pat said, rubbing the raw skin where the straps had been. “Maybe I will. Oh and Candy?”

  “What?”

  Pat inhaled deeply and blew it out slowly. “
I was born a hermaphrodite. I’m saving up to become a woman. According to my therapist, the Viagra thing was payback because of my deep-rooted hatred toward men.”

  “Okay . . . wow,” I muttered, unable to come up with anything more profound. “Can you get back to your room alone? Your escorts will be here in a half an hour.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Will you call me when you get back to Minneapolis? I haven’t told many people my deal, and I think we could be friends.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Part of me felt great and the other part was completely skeeved out. She waited, expecting rejection. Was she really that different from me? I lived a half-life too, telling no one what I really did or who I really was. I’d only recently found friends and I’d spent a good portion of my life with a vendetta. I was able to fulfill my anger on the right side of the law . . . Pat had fulfilled hers on the wrong side.

  “Yes, I’ll call you. I’m new to the friend thing, so I don’t want anything too overwhelming or time consuming, but we could give it a shot.” I heaved a huge relieved sigh. I knew I had done the right thing when I saw her shy and grateful smile.

  “Okay, I’ll catch you back in the Twin Cities.” She limped out of the cleaning closet and left. I took a brief moment to gather myself and headed back to Luke and Shoshanna. I eyed every woman I passed. Who in the hell was it? The lesbians needed to get here now.

  Chapter 23

  Rehearsal was a treat after the bizarre takedown in the cleaning closet. Luke was up to speed. He’d spoken briefly with Steve and I’d filled him in on the rest.

  “Did you have fun?” he asked, grinning.

  “Yeah, at first I did,” I said thoughtfully. “But then I felt bad and Pat asked me if I wanted to be friends and I realized I wasn’t that different from her and I told her as long as she didn’t take up too much time, I would try it out.”

  “Wait. What?” He was totally confused. It did sound strange . . .

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Too hard to explain.”