“And we need you both for this.” She gestured to the room with candy on literally every surface. Even the windowsills!
“You said it was cover.”
“It is. But that doesn’t mean there’s not work to do. Don’t worry, the charities are real, and we really will deliver the Easter baskets.”
“I can honestly say I wasn’t worried about either of those things.”
“But we need the bad guys looking in the wrong direction.”
“If there are bad guys.” He knew it was childish to cling to the hope that the people who might or might not have murdered Lillith’s mother didn’t exist and this was all some odd misunderstanding culminating in his reversal of fortune, but he couldn’t help hoping.
“While my friends and I are investigating, you’ll be here doing this, which, while tedious, is safer than you and Lillith being out and about on your own. Now listen, Rake—this is important.”
“As opposed to all the unimportant stuff you’ve already told me?”
She ignored the sarcasm as well as Lillith’s giggle. “You have to look like you’re doing anything but protecting someone incredibly valuable. You have to make people believe you’re an oblivious American idiot who’s just in town to have fun and you aren’t worried about a thing except getting everything in your wallet replaced because you jumped into the canal—”
“Fell!”
“—like a typical American moron. And you lost your passport during your drunken shenanigans in Lake Como the night before. And you can’t go to the cops because you defiled—”
“Hey!”
“—a public park. So you’re earning your keep by filling and delivering Easter baskets and just killing time until your paperwork’s replaced.”
“This sounds like the plot of a terrible on-demand series.”
“Tough nuts.” Delaney shrugged. “It’s what we’ve got.”
“But that’ll take—” All the chocolate and pastels and Peeps
(they’re STARING at me)
were making it hard to think. “Hours.”
“Longer.”
“Maybe a couple of days, depending.”
“Yep. And remember: Lillith is the priority, and you don’t exist.”
“I totally agree.” Wait. “Of course I exist!”
“Nope.”
Were he and a woman he’d just met really debating his existence in a room full of eggs and baskets and fake Easter grass and Peeps while his possible illegitimate child looked on? And, speaking of that, wasn’t it past Lillith’s bedtime? What was her bedtime? And shouldn’t she be in school, instead of hiding in hotel rooms? Who was in charge of that stuff? Given how self-possessed and mature she seemed, Rake wouldn’t have been surprised if Lillith was in charge of that stuff. “Delaney. I absolutely exist.”
She shook her head so hard, long dark waves of hair tumbled into her face, and with a flick of her head, she jerked them back. “Not without paper. Not without plastic, not these days. You’re officially a nonentity—at least as far as the Italian government is concerned.”
“You leave them out of this. And what the hell is with that accent, anyway?” he demanded, aware that he was deflecting even as he deflected like crazy. “Where are you from?”
“Minnesota.”
“Oh.” That explained it. Not really a twang, and not quite Canadian. A drawl, but not really. A twang, but not quite. It was like the people there couldn’t make up their mind, and the only news that ever came out of Minnesota was weird news. Or updates on the Mall of America. “I really don’t get Fargo. The movie or the show.”
“Yeah, I’m not surprised, but see, the thing about the movie— Wait. Really? This is what you want to talk about?”
“No,” he admitted.
She’d leaned forward to discuss Fargo but now settled back. “Besides, even if you weren’t persona non grata, even if you had tons of ID to show the consulate, which you don’t, which is your own fault, which they’ll think is hilarious—”
“I wouldn’t tell them the truth, duh.” God, what was it about the woman that brought out his inner middle schooler? He only used duh with Blake, and then only under enormous provocation. Like when Blake spoke. Or breathed. “I’d say I was mugged.”
“So your very first instinct, when dealing with the Italian consulate, is to lie like a rug. When you’re already in their black books for defiling—”
“Hey!” He nodded toward Lillith. A little respect, please, for the child who might have been conceived during the defiling.
“Fair point,” she said and, to his surprise, dropped the subject. Except not really, because the follow-up was, “And think about this: Even if you had lots of backup ID to prove you’re who you say you are, which you don’t, it would still take a while for them to get you a new passport. What would you do in the meantime?”
“Starve and die?” he guessed.
“Or work for your room and board, help me with Lillith, and help us figure out what’s going on. And if all three of those sound like too much, at least the first two.”
“Fine. I’m in.”
She smiled, an utterly wicked grin that was as charming as it was off-putting. Off-charming? “Wise choice. And I’ll tell you something else—you can use the shower first. In fact, I’m gonna have to insist on it.”
Lillith coughed politely. “Me, too.”
He grimaced. By now the vile water had dried and his hair was in clumps he was afraid to touch. The thought of a shower was almost enough to make him sob. Or shout—but a glance over at Lillith, who had somehow dropped off to sleep in the middle of the negotiating—put paid to that idea.
Poor kid, he thought, almost knocking Delaney over in his haste to get to the bathroom. Tough breaks. Tough life.
A sad story, sure. But hopefully not his problem. From a genetic standpoint, anyway.
Sixteen
Drunk Rake was annoying yet fun, and Canal Rake was smelly yet bitchy, and New Dad Rake was intense yet flighty, but Desperate Rake was adorably/selfishly clueless.
There had been, as her employer had warned, considerable whining. But not as much of it after the shower and new clothes, both of which had delighted him. The minute the shower spray hit him, she heard him let out a long, rumbling groan of pleasure, an amazing sound that she felt in her belly, of all places. Gotta give it to him, that voice was verbal velvet, and if his adventures that day had hidden his appeal, they hadn’t obliterated it.
When he’s on his A game, guy’s prob’ly a force to be reckoned with.
Good thing for me he’s not, then, huh?
And, of course, the night before he’d tried to help her, though he’d been falling-down drunk. Cripes, she wished she could get that out of her head. She was not a damsel, and certainly not in distress. And Rake Tarbell was no prince.
She dug up the clothes she’d brought for him, then went to the bathroom door and rapped on it.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhh myyyyyyyyyyyy Gaawwwddd that’s soooooooo gooooooooo—eh? Delaney?”
“I’ve got clean shorts and a T-shirt for you. Okay if I put them on the counter?”