The Bourbon Kings
Page 47
Once again in drive, she barged back into traffic and headed in the direction she’d come in. She was not returning to Easterly, however. She was going to—
All at once, the car went dead. Everything stopped—the engine, the air-conditioning, the dashboard lights. The only things that worked were the steering and the brakes.
As she jabbed at the start/stop button, she watched her frantic, impotent action from a distance, noticing absently how ragged her fingernails were, the ends snapped off, the perfect cherry-red lacquer chipped. Forced to admit the engine wasn’t coming back on, she jerked over to the side of the road so she wasn’t rear-ended and—
Sirens sounded out in the distance and she looked up into the rearview mirror.
The Charlemont Metro Police car that pulled in behind her kept its lights on as it skidded to a halt. And then a second unit settled onto the shoulder in front and backed up until the Phantom was blocked in.
Both officers approached her with their hands on their holstered guns, as if they were unsure whether they were going to need to use the weapons.
“Get out of the vehicle, ma’am,” the taller one said in a commanding voice.
“This is my car!” she hollered through all the closed windows. “You have no right to—”
“This vehicle is Mr. William Baldwine’s, and you are not authorized to use it.”
“Oh, my God …” she whispered.
“Get out of the car, ma’am—”
Shit, she didn’t have her license. “I’m his daughter!”
“Ma’am, I’m ordering you to unlock your doors and vacate the vehicle. Otherwise I’m going to charge you with resisting arrest. As well as operating a stolen vehicle.”
SIXTEEN
“Of course I’ve been waiting for you.” As soon as Lane spoke, he put out his palms to Lizzie, all hold-up, wait-a-minute. “But only as a friend. Who wanted to make sure you got into work okay.”
Damn, she looked good. She was once again in her black Easterly polo and pair of khaki shorts, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail … but somehow, she seemed exotically beautiful.
Then again, it had been over twelve hours since he’d seen her.
A lifetime, really.
As she rolled her eyes, he caught her trying to hide a smile. “I’ve done the drive a few times, you know,” she said.
“And how was it this morning?”
There was a pause … and then something magical happened. Lizzie burst out laughing.
Covering her mouth, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you look like hell. Your hair is all—” She waved a hand around his head. “—a mess, your eyes are barely open, and are you aware that you’re weaving back and forth even though you’re sitting down?”
He grinned. “You should see the other guy.”
“Tough, was he?”
“His hood ornament is now his earring.” Lane lifted up an arm and flexed his biceps. “Real man over here—”
As a set of sharp footfalls came toward them, Lizzie glanced over her shoulder and muttered something under her breath.
Turned out it was that English butler making a beeline for her—except the guy pulled up short as he saw Lane.
“Will you excuse us, Lane,” Lizzie said quietly. “I’ve got to work something out here.”
“Work out what?” he asked the butler.
The Englishman smiled in a way reminiscent of a mannequin at a men’s store. “Nothing that you need to be concerned with, Mr. Baldwine. Miss King, if you would be so kind as to come to my office when you are finished with—”
“What’s happened?” Lane demanded.
“Just a misunderstanding,” Lizzie muttered.
“About. What.”
Lizzie focused on Mr. British Holier Than Thou. “The champagne flute order was cut, and he thinks I called Mackenzie’s and changed it, but I didn’t. I’m happy to help with setup when the stemware and plates arrive, but I’m not responsible for coordinating any of that part of the order. The tents and tables are my job, and they’re exactly what and where they need to be.”
Mr. Harris’s eyes narrowed. “This is a conversation best conducted in my—”
“So it has nothing to do with her.” Lane smiled coldly at the butler. “And you’re done here.”
Lizzie put a hand on his arm, and the contact was such a surprise, it actually shut him up. “It’s okay. Again, I’m happy to do whatever I can to help. Mr. Harris, do you want me to go speak with Mackenzie’s and try to figure out how to fix this snafu?”
The butler glanced back and forth between them. “I know what I ordered. What I cannot explain is why only half the count arrived here.”
“Look, I don’t want to tell you your business,” Lizzie said. “But mistakes on their end have happened before. What we need to do is find out what else is missing and give them a call. It shouldn’t be a problem—did you put the order in personally or go through Rosalinda?”
“I utilized Ms. Freeland, and I gave her the proper counts.”
Lizzie frowned. “She knows how much we order. She’s done this for years.”
“She assured me all would be taken care of. I assumed that the only explanation was someone else on the account reduced the number.”
“You go find her, and I’ll get Greta and start counting through everything. We’ll get this sorted—at least we found out today and not tomorrow morning.”
All at once, the car went dead. Everything stopped—the engine, the air-conditioning, the dashboard lights. The only things that worked were the steering and the brakes.
As she jabbed at the start/stop button, she watched her frantic, impotent action from a distance, noticing absently how ragged her fingernails were, the ends snapped off, the perfect cherry-red lacquer chipped. Forced to admit the engine wasn’t coming back on, she jerked over to the side of the road so she wasn’t rear-ended and—
Sirens sounded out in the distance and she looked up into the rearview mirror.
The Charlemont Metro Police car that pulled in behind her kept its lights on as it skidded to a halt. And then a second unit settled onto the shoulder in front and backed up until the Phantom was blocked in.
Both officers approached her with their hands on their holstered guns, as if they were unsure whether they were going to need to use the weapons.
“Get out of the vehicle, ma’am,” the taller one said in a commanding voice.
“This is my car!” she hollered through all the closed windows. “You have no right to—”
“This vehicle is Mr. William Baldwine’s, and you are not authorized to use it.”
“Oh, my God …” she whispered.
“Get out of the car, ma’am—”
Shit, she didn’t have her license. “I’m his daughter!”
“Ma’am, I’m ordering you to unlock your doors and vacate the vehicle. Otherwise I’m going to charge you with resisting arrest. As well as operating a stolen vehicle.”
SIXTEEN
“Of course I’ve been waiting for you.” As soon as Lane spoke, he put out his palms to Lizzie, all hold-up, wait-a-minute. “But only as a friend. Who wanted to make sure you got into work okay.”
Damn, she looked good. She was once again in her black Easterly polo and pair of khaki shorts, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail … but somehow, she seemed exotically beautiful.
Then again, it had been over twelve hours since he’d seen her.
A lifetime, really.
As she rolled her eyes, he caught her trying to hide a smile. “I’ve done the drive a few times, you know,” she said.
“And how was it this morning?”
There was a pause … and then something magical happened. Lizzie burst out laughing.
Covering her mouth, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you look like hell. Your hair is all—” She waved a hand around his head. “—a mess, your eyes are barely open, and are you aware that you’re weaving back and forth even though you’re sitting down?”
He grinned. “You should see the other guy.”
“Tough, was he?”
“His hood ornament is now his earring.” Lane lifted up an arm and flexed his biceps. “Real man over here—”
As a set of sharp footfalls came toward them, Lizzie glanced over her shoulder and muttered something under her breath.
Turned out it was that English butler making a beeline for her—except the guy pulled up short as he saw Lane.
“Will you excuse us, Lane,” Lizzie said quietly. “I’ve got to work something out here.”
“Work out what?” he asked the butler.
The Englishman smiled in a way reminiscent of a mannequin at a men’s store. “Nothing that you need to be concerned with, Mr. Baldwine. Miss King, if you would be so kind as to come to my office when you are finished with—”
“What’s happened?” Lane demanded.
“Just a misunderstanding,” Lizzie muttered.
“About. What.”
Lizzie focused on Mr. British Holier Than Thou. “The champagne flute order was cut, and he thinks I called Mackenzie’s and changed it, but I didn’t. I’m happy to help with setup when the stemware and plates arrive, but I’m not responsible for coordinating any of that part of the order. The tents and tables are my job, and they’re exactly what and where they need to be.”
Mr. Harris’s eyes narrowed. “This is a conversation best conducted in my—”
“So it has nothing to do with her.” Lane smiled coldly at the butler. “And you’re done here.”
Lizzie put a hand on his arm, and the contact was such a surprise, it actually shut him up. “It’s okay. Again, I’m happy to do whatever I can to help. Mr. Harris, do you want me to go speak with Mackenzie’s and try to figure out how to fix this snafu?”
The butler glanced back and forth between them. “I know what I ordered. What I cannot explain is why only half the count arrived here.”
“Look, I don’t want to tell you your business,” Lizzie said. “But mistakes on their end have happened before. What we need to do is find out what else is missing and give them a call. It shouldn’t be a problem—did you put the order in personally or go through Rosalinda?”
“I utilized Ms. Freeland, and I gave her the proper counts.”
Lizzie frowned. “She knows how much we order. She’s done this for years.”
“She assured me all would be taken care of. I assumed that the only explanation was someone else on the account reduced the number.”
“You go find her, and I’ll get Greta and start counting through everything. We’ll get this sorted—at least we found out today and not tomorrow morning.”
