Joanne Rock - Love So Tender - Taking Care of Business / Play It Again, Elvis / Good Luck Charm

Steve pursed his mouth, waiting for her to continue.

Her laughter petered to a cough. “Sorry, Steve, but you have to admit that this Elvis stuff is hysterical. I’ll bet the impersonator there is a real hoot, isn’t he?”

Steve closed his eyes and decided to withhold the full extent of his undercover duties for now. “See if our informant can find out any other details about the Lundy wedding—what kind of car they’ll be arriving in, how big the wedding party will be, that kind of thing. And of course, a name would be great.”

“Will do. So, have you met all the players over there? We need a description of all the employees so we’ll know who’s who when the arrest goes down.”

“You have the owner’s picture on file, right?”

“Right.”

Steve hesitated as Gracie’s pixie face rose in his mind’s eye…along with the sensory details of her shocking kiss. Just the memory of her pink mouth on his elicited a response from his body. He set his jaw, then said, “The only other person I’ve met is the wedding director. Gracie Sergeant, female, thirtyish, short platinum-blond hair, violet-colored eyes.” He bit the end of his tongue as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Violet-colored, huh?” Karen made a thoughtful noise. “With little golden flecks?”

He frowned, disgusted with himself. “I’ll call you later.” He cut off her laughter by disconnecting the call.

Steve pulled his hand down his face and forced himself to concentrate. Karen’s information meant that he might have even less time to prepare for Lundy’s arrest than he’d thought. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by Gracie Sergeant’s eyes. Or legs. Or mouth.

Or tattoo.

Turning in the direction Cordelia Conroy had gone, Steve walked down the hall past an office and what appeared to be the drive-through window, to a set of double doors that opened onto a covered concrete patio at the rear of the chapel. Cordelia Conroy stood next to a birdbath that had been filled with sand to serve as an ashtray. The behemoth basset hound sat near her feet. In a corner of the lot, the rear fins of a pink Cadillac peeked out from under a cloth cover.

When Cordelia saw him coming, she took a last drag on a short butt, then snubbed it out. After a few seconds’ hesitation, she withdrew another cigarette from a pack and offered him one. His throat itched, but he shook his head. He’d quit smoking six times and this time he meant it.

While he watched, Cordelia lit her second—or third?—cigarette and took a deep drag. Well into her sixties, she was still an attractive woman, albeit a little rough around the edges. Street smart, he realized. And wary.

He stopped a few feet away and leaned against a column that held up the metal roof over the sparse patio. The hound dog moseyed over and sniffed at his boots.

“Is Mulcahy your real name?” she asked finally, on an exhale.

“As far as you’re concerned,” he said.

“You’re not what I expected.”

He kept his expression noncommittal. “What did you expect?”

She leveled her gaze on him. “Not some good-looking buck who hits on my wedding director.”

He blinked. “She kissed me.”

The woman flicked ash. “I didn’t see you putting up a fight.”

Steve squirmed, feeling like a naughty teenager instead of an undercover agent. “I was simply going along.”

Cordelia looked all around, as if she were afraid they would be overheard. “This situation is dangerous enough without you getting involved with my employees.”

“I understand. But I have to interact with them for things to appear normal.”

She took another drag, then nodded. “I know, but don’t overstep your bounds. Especially where Gracie is concerned. She’s…susceptible.”

He pressed his lips together and nodded curtly, hoping to end the awkward conversation. Wasn’t it enough punishment that he couldn’t get his mind off the abbreviated kiss? “I just received more details from our informant, who says that the wedding might take place sooner than we expected, and that the bride booked a—” he pulled out his notebook “—an Aloha Teddy Bear package?”

Cordelia frowned. “We have an Aloha Las Vegas package and a Teddy Bear package, but not an Aloha Teddy Bear package.”

He scratched his temple. “So it could be either one. Do you keep a record of what the customers request?”

“Of course—that’s Gracie’s job.”

“I’ll need to see the reservations for the upcoming week.”

Cordelia nodded. “I’ll get Gracie’s book.”

“I’d like photocopies.”

“We have a copier in the office.” She exhaled and ground out the half-smoked cigarette. “Mitch Lundy’s been operating on the wrong side for years—why the sudden resolve to bring him in?”

“In the nineties the Bureau cut him some slack for testifying against an associate and putting him away—as long as Lundy stayed legit. But a few years ago, he slipped back into his old businesses—prostitution, drugs, money laundering. He’s ordered at least eight hits. He’s more arrogant and dangerous than ever.” Steve frowned. “To Lundy, eluding the FBI is just a game, and I want to put an end to it.”

Cordelia pressed her lips together. “So what exactly is going to happen?”

Steve was momentarily distracted when H.D. sat down solidly on his boot. He tried to maneuver his foot out, but the dog was a block of panting dead weight.

“Best-case scenario,” he said, “we’ll be able to figure out which reservation is Lundy’s and alert our agents to stand by. He’ll be apprehended after he leaves your property.”

“And the worst-case scenario?” Cordelia asked.

“Worst case is that he sneaks in and I don’t have enough time to call for backup.”

Her eyes narrowed. “But you’ll still wait to arrest him until after he’s off my property.”

“That’s the plan,” he said. “But I have to be honest with you, Ms. Conroy—Mitchell Lundy is a dangerous criminal who’s played cat and mouse with the Bureau for years. If something goes wrong, we’ll still seize the opportunity to arrest him.”

“Even if it puts my employees in danger?”

“Civilian safety is always our first concern,” he said, and stubbornly, a civilian with white-blond hair came to mind.

“Are you sure you’ll recognize this Lundy fellow?”

“If I see his eyes—he sustained a wound to one eye that left a permanent and recognizable scar.”

“What if he recognizes you?”

“We’re operating under the assumption that he or his people have a file on all the agents in the state.” He frowned. “That’s why I agreed to wear the costume—I doubt if Lundy will suspect Elvis. I understand there’s a wig and sunglasses?”

“That’s right.” The shadow of a smile played on her lips, then disappeared. “Are you carrying a gun?”

“Bureau policy, ma’am.”

She nodded, then straightened. “Well, Mr. Mulcahy, you have a job to do, but so do we. If you want to fit in here at TCB, I suggest that you do whatever Gracie tells you to do.” She frowned. “In regards to work, that is. Until you make the arrest, we need for you to be a convincing performer for our customers.”

He nodded, but his stomach felt tangled. And he wasn’t sure what bothered him most—the thought of impersonating the King, or working closely with Gracie Sergeant.

“Come along, H.D.,” Cordelia said, and the hound lifted his fat rump from Steve’s instep. Steve shifted his weight to send blood back to his foot, then glanced at the pink Caddy. “Ms. Conroy?”

She turned back. “Yes?”

“Does the Caddy run?”

“Not for a year now.”

“Care if I take a look under the hood?”