“I’ve got some business to attend to.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you tonight for dinner.”
“Okay…” Lucy lay back down and closed her eyes. “Sounds good.”
Chapter Nine
Lucy’s mind floated on a fuzzy endorphin cloud. She lay supine in a leather massaging chair, her white robe cuddling her in its snuggly embrace. The very talented Rosa had already worked out every kink in her body. The kneading of the machine at her back was all gravy.
Cello and violins serenaded Pachelbel’s Canon in D from the atrium heavens, and Lucy sipped a fresh lime and mint mojito through a straw. She couldn’t remember ever being more relaxed. She was buffed, polished, and lubed. Hell, an oil change would have been less thorough than the work over by the “saints” who ran the Cathedral Spa.
Saints. In a Las Vegas cathedral. How appropriate. She grinned at the connection, and her smile cracked her dried face mask.
“You okay?” the facialist asked.
“Ahhh haa,” Lucy murmured.
“I’ll have that off in a minute. Then you can talk.”
No rush. Lucy loved the whole not-being-able-to-talk thing. She had not uttered a word since Alec had left. Just a few hums, and ah-has, an occasional nah. The Cathedral saints spoke the language-of-spa most fluently.
The facialist placed a heated towel over her supposedly gold-infused face mask. Who knew? Gold was for more than just doubloons these days. Her Ph.D course had really neglected the age-reversal qualities of the rare metal. She’d have to email the curriculum director. This time, her smile came easily under the softening mud.
The woman pulled off the towel and wiped away the mask and several layers of skin. Her face and neck felt tight. After moisturizing the skin with magical lotions, the aesthetician blotted her face gently with a towel.
“There you go.” The woman gathered up her supplies and patted her hand. “You have time for one more service before lunch. Would you rather have hair and makeup or a mani pedi?”
Choices, choices. Lucy had never had her makeup professionally done, but her ragged cuticles and nails were a sight. Makeup or nails? The makeup came with hair, too. Done deal.
“Hair and makeup.”
The woman smiled. “Good choice.”
Lucy wondered if she would have said “bad choice” if she’d gone with nails.
“I’ll let Amanda know you’re ready for her.” The woman left, leaving Pachelbel in her wake.
Lucy closed her eyes, drifting back into the ether. Deep breaths filled her lungs with oxygen-infused air until a niggling feeling tightened her neck. Someone watched her. Her eyes popped open, and she looked around the room.
A man stood at the atrium door. It was Bruno, Gino’s henchman. How did he get there? He gestured his hand toward her, motioning for her to come into the hallway, but Lucy shook her head. What was he doing? They didn’t need her. She’d already dropped off her glasses with the print on them.
Bruno pulled a keycard out of his pocket and held it up to her before mouthing, “It doesn’t work.”
Mary, Joseph and Peter. They wanted her to get the new key card. “NO,” she mouthed. Bruno reached for the door handle.
“Excuse me!” Lucy’s under-used voice squeaked. Her mojito slipped from her hands and spilled on the floor.
Alec’s masseuse, Lilly Belle, pushed away from her post at the wall and walked to her.
At the door, Bruno looked pointedly at Lilly Belle and scowled. He pulled out his cell phone, turned on his heel, and left.
“Testa di merda.” Lucy thumped her head back on the pillow. Her heart raced in her chest like a jackhammer splitting concrete.
“What did you want?” the Viking-looking woman asked.
“I dropped my cup.” Lucy managed the quick excuse.
The woman looked incredulous, like she couldn’t believe Lucy had disturbed her over a spilled drink. “Guess you’re done with it, then.”
“Yep,” Lucy answered. She was done—done, done, done. Her goose was cooked. Charred. Gino would know where she was now. But where was Joey? Her stomach flopped over and fisted under her ribs.
A pretty brunette with magenta streaks in her hair hustled into the atrium. Three assistants followed carrying equipment. In no time, they had her drink cleaned up and a hair salon set up around her massage chair.
“Wow.” Lucy commented on their efficient hustle.
“It’s nice, huh?” Amanda gave a carefree laugh, obviously used to providing over-the-top service. “Mind if I tilt you back? I’ll wash your hair while you tell me what you’d like.”
“Could I get my cell phone? I think it’s in my locker.” She looked at one of the assistants. He shuffled off to the changing room without a word.
“Is this red your real color?” Amanda asked.
“Yes.”
“Very nice, but you could use some highlights on the top.”
“Oh, I really need to get going. I just thought a quick wash and blow out—”
“We have the coolest diamond extensions that I can weave in at your scalp,” Amanda said, not listening to her. “Some strawberry blonde on top would be perfect.”
“Ah, can I just do simple?”
Amanda stepped back, her face affronted. “I don’t mean to brag.” She held her hands to her side like Vanna White in a new dress. “But I am something special in stylist circles. I can’t just let you stroll out of here with a plain-old blow out. You need a touch of Amanda.”
A touch of Amanda.
Lucy let the ridiculous phrase land in her mind. She was safe from Bruno and Gino as long as she stayed with other people. She could figure out where Joey was while Amanda worked. “Okay, but don’t cut the length.”
Amanda began mixing color in little bowls, while an assistant tore precise foil strips.
The young man came back from the locker room and handed her the cell phone. “Thank you,” Lucy said before dialing Joey’s number. It rang once before his voice mail message came on.
“Hello?” Joey’s voice said. “Hello?”
Lucy knew better than to try to talk to the annoying recorded message that made it seem like he had answered. She waited for the beep. “Joey,” she said. “I had a vis-i-tor. I need to talk to you. Call me.” She hung up and typed in a text message to his phone: CALL ME.
Pressure built in her chest. She could have been strapped to an electric chair instead a leather massaging chair. Relax. Relax. Breathe. She instructed her tense body, but it did not listen.
P words: petrify, post traumatic, powder keg, pulverize… She started her calming exercises. She was safe. Bruno would never dare attack her in front of witnesses. And they needed Joey. Her breathing steadied and her vision cleared. The stream and violins trickled back into her consciousness. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
Her phone beeped. It was Joey. PARTY UNDERWAY. NEED ICE.
She blew out the last of her panic. Joey was fine. Fine enough to ask for freakin’ ice, which was no doubt code for the new security card. Aggravation coursed through her and she shook her head.
Joey and Gino could damn well get their own “ice.” She wasn’t doing it this time. They would have to find their own way into the exhibit. Gino couldn’t blackmail her with hurting Joey if he couldn’t call her or get close enough to her to deliver the threat. And it was Joey’s own damn fault for not getting out of town.
STORE RAN OUT OF ICE. She typed the text with pounding strokes. PARTY IN RIO. TICKETS IN MY CAR. TURNING OFF PHONE. She leaned back and closed her eyes, forcing air into her tight lungs.