Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand (Kitty Norville 5)

Squealing like a teenage groupie, I clambered into the front seat. Fortunately, the bellhop had opened the door first. I was all ready to just leap into the boat of a car.

“Where did you get this?” I asked as he pulled out of the drive.

“You know you can rent anything in this town?”

“Where are we going?”

“Just you wait.”

The front seat was big enough for a whole family. I slid all the way over, squishing right up next to Ben. He smiled indulgently, and I couldn’t stop grinning. I didn’t care what the plan was, tooling around Vegas in this monstrosity seemed the perfect way to spend the afternoon.

Five minutes later, I discovered the rest of Ben’s plan. All my questions were answered as we turned the corner and pulled into the lane of a drive-through wedding chapel.

My eyes got real big. I just kind of stared up at the sign, suddenly weepy.

Seventies Elvis, complete with shining pompadour and white spangled jumpsuit, leaned out of the window, looking bored.

Ben said to him, “Can we hurry up and do this before a meteor drops on us?”

“Sure thing, bro,” the Elvis drawled.

It was perfect.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” I said, digging for my phone. “My mom’s going to kill me. I mean really kill me this time. I have to tell her.”

“Kitty, we can’t wait,” Ben said. “We’ll block traffic.”

Exactly how many people got married at the drive-through every day? I’m not sure I wanted to know the answer to that.

I’d already dialed my mother. “Kitty?” she said when she answered. “Where are you? We’re about to go out for brunch, and if you and Ben want to—”

I turned on the speaker phone. “Hi, Mom? I’m sorry we couldn’t give you more warning. But things got crazy.” Uh, yeah, you think? “Just listen.”

“Kitty!” she argued.

Paperwork was handed back and forth. Souvenir photo snapped. I held up the phone while Elvis officiated.

“Do you, Benjamin O’Farrell, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?”

“I do.” He clasped my hand, squeezing tight.

“And do you, Katherine Norville, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?”

“I do.”

“Then I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride. Thankyouverymuch.”

I totally jumped Ben, right there in the car. Well, not totally. But I did throw myself at him, wrap my arms around him, and kiss him with all the enthusiasm I could muster. He hugged me back, his hands kneading me, his returning kiss equaling—or bettering—my own enthusiasm. Like we were challenging each other to top ourselves. I could have done this for the rest of the day.

I could hear Mom say, “Kitty! What’s going on? Is this what I think it is?” over the speaker. Ben took the phone out of my hand and folded it shut.

“Hey,” said Elvis. “You cats are going to have to pull on through. Get a room.”

I looked up at him, my grin wild and my gaze feral. “We’re not cats. We’re wolves.”

Ben stole one last, lingering kiss on my mouth before extricating himself from my grip to drive the car. “Come on, let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Tires squealed as he gunned the car out of the driveway. We slipped into gridlocked traffic on the Strip. Just sat there, arm in arm, gazing at the sunlight blazing off the towering signs and buildings around us.