Private Vegas (Private 9)

“Really? Not where I come from. Listen to me. You’ll chop a few vegetables, throw them in a bowl, make a salad. After that, all you have to do is open the wine and pour me a glass. Sound okay? Still with me?”

“Yes, I’m with you.”

She was. She was so with him, it was ridiculous.

They passed Il Cielo, a place she loved that wouldn’t require her to make a salad or wash dishes. Instead, she could put on this really lovely dress she’d just bought, black, gauzy, deeeep neckline, short very flirty skirt.

There would be air-conditioning in the restaurant, no sweat, and after dinner, they could go back to her house and sip wine out by the pool and listen to music. For a little while.

“I’m gonna grill the fish that I’ve been marinating, thank you, and it’s going to be the very best snapper you’ve ever tasted. And then, Justine, I’m going to clean the grill. How long has it been since that grill got a good shine?”

“I don’t know. Never?”

“That’s what I thought. So, after dinner, after I clean the grill, I’m going to show you a couple of moves you’ve never seen before.”

Justine laughed loud and long. He was making a good case for staying home, that’s for sure.

“Here’s a preview of one of them,” he said.

He stopped running and she pulled up short, put her hands on his chest. He looked right into her eyes. Then he got a grip on her waist and brought her close.

Justine’s insides fired up and heat flashed through her body, making her want to get naked, right then and right there, with the cars honking at them—she was that damp and hot and hungry for him.

She looped her arms around his neck and pressed up against him, and he kissed her, softly at first, then got into it really good as the dog ran around their legs, corralling them, tying them together with his leash.

“Good one,” she said when they broke from the kiss.

“I’ve got a few more of those I’ve been saving up for you,” he said with a grin. He kept his eyes on her, looked as messed up as she was, his mouth still soft from their kiss.

He said, “But you’re going to have to wait. Until after I clean the grill.”

Chapter 120

THIS WAS ONE of those times when the news was too big to text or e-mail or even say on the phone. I wanted to tell Justine, and I wanted to see her face when I told her.

I drove to Wetherly, a neat little street in the flats, and parked outside Justine’s three-bedroom 1930s house that was just as solid and sweet as a house could be.

A lot of cars were parked along her block. School was out and it was a pretty summer night. Kids rode by on bikes, sprinklers slapped at the lawns; TVs turned the windows blue and added a cool glow to a nice domestic scene.

Justine’s car was in her driveway and I was glad that she was home. I took the walk to her front door. Rapped on it. Rang the doorbell. Called her name.

There was no answer, so I went around back to her yard that is fenced in for Rocky and curtained with shrubbery. There’s a patio back there and also a pool.

As I approached the backyard, I saw Justine picking up some glasses and a wine bottle from a table by the pool. Her hair was wet, and she was wearing a white terrycloth robe. Cool jazz came over the speakers, which explained why Justine hadn’t heard me at the door.

Before I got to the chain-link fence, I called out so I wouldn’t startle her.

“Justine, it’s me.”

But she jumped anyway and grabbed her robe at her throat. Then she saw me through the leaves and said, “Jack, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve got news,” I said. “Why don’t you go around front and let me in?”

“What’s the news? What happened?”

“Nothing much. Maybe just proof that God exists. Or that there’s justice in the world.” I laughed, opened my arms expansively. I couldn’t wait to tell her.

“This had better be good,” she said. She put down the glassware and came closer to the fence.