Janet Evanovich - Motor Mouth

“I wasn’t counting on so much light,” Felicia said.

“Maybe we could steal a car and leave him in valet parking,” Rosa said.

“What’s to the side, past those trees?” Felicia wanted to know. “Looks like there’s a driveway going somewhere.”

“It’s for deliveries to Monty’s,” Hooker said.

“I think we got a delivery,” Felicia said.

Hooker cut his eyes to her. “You sure it’s okay with God?”

“I’m not getting any messages,” Felicia said. “So I’m thinking it’s okay.”

Hooker dimmed his lights and pulled into the driveway, close to the delivery door. We wrangled Huevo out of the front seat and set him on the little cement pad in front of the door.

“How they going to know what to do with him?” Felicia asked. “Maybe no one recognize Mr. Dead Guy.”

I went to my bag and returned with a black Magic Marker and wrote OSCAR HUEVO in big letters on the top of Huevo’s head. We all got back into the SUV, Hooker cranked the motor over, and Beans started barking. He was doing his bird-dog impersonation, his attention riveted on Huevo.

“What’s wrong with him?” Rosa asked. “Maybe he thinks we leave his chew toy behind?”

And then we saw it. The dog. It was a big scruffy mutt, and it was creeping in on Huevo. Huevo was a dog magnet.

“This won’t work,” Felicia said. “God won’t like it if Mr. Dead Guy turns into dog food.”

We got out of the SUV, picked Huevo up, and put him back into the passenger seat, next to Hooker.

“Now what?” Hooker asked. “Does God have a plan B?”

“Go back to the parking lot,” I told him. “We’ll just put Huevo on top of a car. The dog won’t be able to reach him there.”

“What about cats?” Felicia asked. “Suppose some kitties find Mr. Dead Guy?”

I cut a death glare at Felicia. “God’s just going to have to deal with it.”

“Yeah,” Rosa said, “if it’s all so big-deal important to God, let him keep the cats away.”

We returned to the lot and slowly drove around. Hooker stopped at the end of the second line of parked cars. He was looking at one of the cars and grinning. “This is the car,” he said.

I looked past Hooker. It was Spanky’s gift car from Huevo. It was a brand-new, shiny red Avalanche LTZ sport utility truck. The vanity license plate read DICK69. Most likely sounded good on paper.

“What’s Spanky’s truck doing here?” I asked.

“Huevo probably invited him to spend a couple days on the boat,” Hooker said.

We hauled Huevo out of our SUV and put him into the back of Spanky’s truck. We sat him with his knees tucked up, facing the road behind him, looking like he was waiting to go for a ride.

“There’s something funny about the dead guy,” Rosa said. “From this angle, I could swear he got a stiffy.”

“Have some respect,” Felicia said. “You’re not supposed to look there.”

“I can’t help it. It’s right in front of me. He got a big boner.”

“Maybe it’s just rigor mortis,” Felicia said.

Hooker and Gobbles went over and took a look.

“Died in the saddle, all right,” Hooker said. “I hope I don’t go blind from seeing this.”

Felicia made the sign of the cross, twice.

A half hour later we were back in Little Havana. We dropped Rosa off, Hooker hung a right at the next cross street, drove one block, and pulled to the curb in front of Felicia’s house. It was a two-story stucco deal, crammed into a block of identical two-story stucco deals. Hard to tell the color in the dark, but peach was a good guess. No yard. Broad sidewalk. Busy street.

“Where are you going now?” Felicia asked Hooker. “Are you going back to your condo or your boat?”

“Sold them both. Didn’t get enough chances to enjoy them here in Miami. We’ll check into one of the hotels on Brickell.”

“You don’t need to do that. You can stay with me tonight. I’ve got extra room. And everybody would like to meet you in the morning. My grandson is here. He’s a big fan. Just pull around to the alley in the back where you can park.”

Minutes later, Gobbles was tucked into a bunk bed above Felicia’s grandson, and we were standing in a bedroom that was charming but roughly the size of a double-wide bathtub. It contained a chair and a twin bed…and now two adults and a Saint Bernard. The curtains on the single window were mint green and matched the comforter on the bed. A crucifix hung on the wall over the headboard. We had the door closed, and we were whispering so our voices didn’t carry through the house.

“This isn’t going to work!” I said to Hooker.

Hooker kicked his shoes off and tested the bed. “I think it’ll work just fine.”

Beans looked around the tiny room and settled onto the floor with a sigh. It was way past his bedtime.

“I like it,” Hooker said. “It’s homey.”

“That’s not why you like it,” I said. “You like it because there’s only a twin bed in here, and I’m going to have to sleep on top of you.”

“Yeah,” Hooker said. “Life is good.”

I unlaced my sneakers. “You make a move on me and life as you know it will be nonexistent.”

“Boy, that really hurts. Have I ever forced myself on you?”

“I’m talking about wandering hands.”

“Jeez,” Hooker said. “You’re a real spoilsport.” He unzipped his jeans and had them halfway off his ass.

“What are you doing?” I whisper-shouted.

“I’m getting undressed.”

“No way!”

Hooker was down to his T-shirt and Calvins. “Darlin’, I’ve had a long day. I lost a race, I stole a truck, and I left Oscar Huevo DOA in an Avalanche. I’m going to bed. And I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’ve had just about all the excitement I could handle in one day.”

He was right. What was I thinking? I wriggled out of my jeans and cleverly removed my bra without removing my T-shirt. I carefully stepped over Beans, crawled in next to Hooker, and tried to find a place in the bed. He was against the wall on his side, and I was plastered against him spoon fashion, my back to his front, wrapped in his arms, his hand cupping my breast.

“Damn it, Hooker,” I said. “You’ve got your hand on my breast.”

“Just holding on to you so you don’t fall out of bed.”

“And I’d better be wrong about the thing poking me in my back.”

“Turns out I have a little energy left for some more excitement.”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Did you ask the man in the boat?”

“Do not even think about the man in the boat. The man in the boat isn’t interested. And you’re going to be sleeping on the floor with the dog if you don’t get a grip on yourself.”

I opened my eyes to sunlight pouring in through the pretty mint green curtains. I was partially on top of Hooker, his arm draped around me. And I hate to admit it, but he felt nice. He was still asleep. His eyes were closed, and a fringe of blond lash lay against his suntanned, stubbled face. His mouth was soft, and his body was warm and snuggly. It would be easy to forget he was a jerk.

Barney, Barney, Barney! Pull yourself together , the sensible inner Barney yelled. The guy slept with a salesclerk .

Yes, but it wasn’t as if we were married, or even engaged. We weren’t even living together , Barney the slut answered.

You were dating…regularly. You were sleeping together…a lot!

I blew out a sigh and eased off Hooker. I slipped out from under the quilt, stood, and stepped over Beans and into my jeans.

Hooker half-opened his eyes. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft and still husky from sleep. “Where are you going?”