"Running to the rest room." Without giving her sister a chance to respond, Margo rose and made her way through the crowd on wooden legs. Had she lost her mind? This was crazy — whatever this was.
Reincarnation? Margo didn't know much about such things, but it seemed to her that people weren't reincarnated back into the same lifetime they'd left. Were they? Wouldn't that disrupt the space/time continuum? Or something?
Gibberish. She squared her shoulders and turned down the dark hallway leading to the rest rooms. A movement at the end of the hallway caught her attention — another door opening and a redheaded woman slipping through it.
Margo didn't hesitate. She shoved open the same door and realized it was some kind of storage area, with another door leading outside. What was Raquel doing back here?
"Come on, Séamus," Raquel said to the stacks of boxes. "Cut me some slack here. She's on to me."
Was Raquel talking to herself? "Who's Séamus? And who's on to you?"
Raquel slowly turned to face Margo. She drew a deep breath and held her hands out at her sides, palms up. "He's… an angel."
Margo looked around the deserted room again, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears she could barely hear anything else. "Your… guardian angel?"
"I guess you could say that, with the emphasis on guard. Never gives me a moment's peace."
"Who are you?"
Raquel stared at Margo for several seconds. "I think you know."
Margo shook her head. "No, I don't." She backed toward the door. This was insane. "You have Nick's eyes, and you know things Nick knew. But he's dead."
Raquel nodded, and resignation filled her expression. "And he's going to stay that way."
"Who are you?" Margo repeated, reaching behind her for the doorknob.
"Séamus, let me be myself now." Raquel glanced toward the ceiling. "Please?"
Margo needed air, and Raquel needed a good psychologist. "I'm going back to watch the show now," she said carefully, not wanting to upset Raquel. "How about you?"
Raquel just stood there, staring at Margo, taunting her with her dead husband's eyes.
"Are you Nick's sister?" she finally asked, though she knew Nick didn't have any siblings.
Raquel shook her head, her smile sad. "I'm—"
The door behind Raquel burst open, admitting a gush of chilly evening air. The door obviously led to the parking lot. Men's hushed voices and lots of grunting and groaning followed. Raquel shoved Margo behind a stack of boxes.
They waited while the men hauled several boxes into the room and piled them beside the door.
"Boss says we can retire on what this shit'll bring," one man said. "I'm ready for that."
The door Margo and Raquel had entered through opened, and two more men entered. "This all of it?" one man asked.
"Yeah, boss."
Margo's reporter antennae twitched. Was this the drug operation Jared was investigating? She peered around the edge of a box. Two of the men wore suits. They could have been doing a Laurel and Hardy imitation — one overweight, one tall and thin.
All she had to do was keep quiet until they left, then she could give Jared at least a partial description. Maybe that would help his investigation.
And then she would deal with Raquel — whoever she was.
Margo swallowed the lump in her throat, remembering those eyes. Nick's eyes. How could it be?
Something soft brushed against Margo's legs. She knew from its purring that it was only a cat, so she forced herself to relax. She'd always had a cat as a child, but with Nick's allergy, she hadn't had one since. Maybe she'd get a cat now.
Raquel, less than a foot away from Margo, glanced down at the friendly furball.
And sneezed.
8
Nick tried to toe the cat away from his shapely leg before he sneezed again, but when someone knocked away the box in front of him, he figured the cat was the least of his problems. The walking allergen scurried away, leaving the scene of his crime.
The man knocked another box aside and made a grab for them, but Nick dodged him, grabbed Margo's hand, and dragged her out of their brief sanctuary and toward the door. "We were looking for the ladies' room. Wrong turn. Sorry."
An iron grip stopped Raquel's hand just shy of the door knob. "Shit," Nick said.
"That ain't very ladylike," the man taunted. He shoved Nick and Margo toward the center of the room. "Got us a couple of problems here, Boss."
Henry Mllman had been in Raquel's office just yesterday, and he had called earlier this afternoon. Raquel and Margo were in big trouble here, unless the lecherous old fart didn't recognize the attorney he'd tried unsuccessfully to proposition. Getting rid of Raquel's hair and makeup had been brilliant. Nick had turned down the retainer Mllman had offered and what he'd called his "magic in bed." Weasel.
Millman narrowed his already beady eyes and shoved the omnipresent, unlit cigar into the corner of his mouth. "Don't I know you?"
Nick shrugged, but Mllman took a step closer, jabbing his cigar toward Raquel for emphasis. "I've seen you somewhere before." He turned his attention to the two men who'd hauled in the boxes. "Tie 'em up for now. After the place closes, take care of the problem."
Nick was supposed to be here to help Margo — not get her killed. What a mess he'd made of things. Again.
"Waitaminute here," he said, desperate. "All we did was get lost on our way to the bathroom. Is that a crime around here?"
A tall, skinny guy stepped into the light. Nick recognized him immediately. He'd always suspected Charlie Fritz was on the take, and now he knew. He'd had more than a few run-ins with the guy in court as Nick — never as Raquel. At least that was some consolation.
Séamus, get us out of this.
Nothing. Now that they were in really serious trouble, Nick's guardian had pulled a vanishing act. Just perfect.
"Sly, you stay here and guard these two," Charlie said, eyeing Margo closely. "Reporter."
Nick should've realized Margo might be familiar to these bastards, too. To her credit, she didn't utter a sound. Nick prayed for a miracle. He'd screwed up Margo's life once, and now he'd put her in danger.
The one called Sly put two chairs back-to-back, and the others forced Margo and Nick into them. Sly wrapped a nylon rope around them both, securing it under the seat of a chair, completely out of reach.
C'mon, Séamus.
Charlie left the room, and Millman stood back from the dirty work, staring at Nick. His gaze dropped to where Raquel's overblown breasts jutted out between the ropes. Perfect. Just perfect. Humiliate me all you want, Séamus. Just don't let them hurt Margo.
Millman shoved the cigar between his flabby lips and said to his goons, "You got a delivery to meet. Come back and take care of these two during the last act. No one will hear them over the music and screaming dames."
"Let us go," Margo said, her voice strong, her worry undeniable. "We'll forget everything that happened here."
"Yeah," Nick added, remembering how and why he'd convinced himself he was in love with Margo Knutsen all those years ago. She was brave, honorable, and beautiful. What wasn't to love? But he hadn't loved her enough. "Let us go."
"In your dreams." Millman's eyes widened suddenly. "I got it now. You're that bitch lawyer who was too good for me."
Nick sighed, not bothering to answer.
"Good for you," Margo whispered.
"Now I don't feel so bad about havin' to shut you up. Sly, you and Harry need to move the truck before somebody gets suspicious." Millman chuckled as he waddled through the door that led into the club.