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“You want my honest opinion?” He took a step closer to her. “I love the way you look. The problem is that every hoodlum in the bar is going to love it, too. I can’t help you find Ramon if I’m too busy fighting off all your admirers.”
“In the first place,” she said, her voice low and tight, “I never asked you to fight anyone. You’re barely able to walk, much less defend my honor. And in the second place, it may surprise you to learn that not every man looks at a woman as a sex object.”
His jaw tightened. “This has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with that blouse you’re wearing. Or should I say, barely wearing.” He frowned at the way the red peasant blouse exposed her creamy white shoulders and generous cleavage. “Don’t you have a sweater or something you can put on?”
“A sweater?” She rolled her eyes. “It’s ninety degrees in the shade.”
Standing so close to Chloe made it seem more like a hundred and ninety. He reached out and pulled up the elastic neckline of her blouse, tugging it up to her chin. “There. That’s much better.”
“I think you’re overreacting,” she muttered, tugging her blouse back down but keeping it on her shoulders this time. “But I don’t have time to argue. We’re here to find Ramon, remember?”
“Just let me do all the talking.” Trace moved toward the door. “This Ducky woman may be the owner, but I’ve heard she’s a real wacko. She’s been married four times.”
“That hardly makes her crazy,” Chloe said wryly. “Just unlucky in love.”
“Her husbands were the unlucky ones. They’re all dead.”
She stopped short.
“Just what are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m just telling you she’s a rough old broad who needs careful handling.” He smiled. “But I’m sure I can soften her up. Women find it hard to resist me.”
“It must be your modesty.”
“Must be.” Then his smile faded as his gaze flicked to her blouse. “Let’s make this quick. And try not to draw attention to yourself.”
She didn’t say anything as he held the door open for her. He followed her inside, taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the haze of smoke in the air and the low lighting. An old Hank Williams tune wailed from the jukebox, accompanied by the shrill bells and whistles of the two pinball machines in the corner.
Trace had only taken three steps inside the bar when a burly bouncer blocked his path.
“I’d like to see some identification.”
“What about her?” Trace asked, watching as Chloe walked past the bouncer unimpeded.
“What about her?”
“You didn’t card her, so why single me out? You can’t seriously believe I’m under twenty-one.”
“Must be your baby face,” the bouncer sneered. “You’re one of them pretty boys that all look about twelve years old.”
No one in their right mind would ever call the bouncer a pretty boy. He wore his dark hair in a military-style crew cut and had a long scar running along his forehead, just above his bushy eyebrows. His nose veered a little to the left.
Trace could see Chloe frowning at him from the bar. “I’m twenty-seven. So why don’t you quit wasting my time.”
“Why the hell do you keep stalling? Got something to hide? I want to see some ID and I want to see it now.”
Trace could either argue with the cretin or join Chloe. “Fine,” he muttered, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Only he came up empty. Both pockets were empty. “Damn.”
“Got a problem, pretty boy?”
Trace definitely had a problem—and his name was Ramon. Not only had Chloe’s little brother sicced his Chihuahua on him, he’d also stolen his wallet. Which meant Trace had no money, no credit cards, and no identification.
This just wasn’t his day.
“Would you believe somebody stole my wallet?”
The bouncer snorted. “That’s original. I’ve tossed out underage teenagers with more imagination.”
Before Trace could reply, Chloe ambled over to them. “What’s going on here?”
“Let me handle this,” Trace said.
The bouncer’s eyes narrowed. “Is that any way to talk to your girlfriend?”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” she interjected.
The bouncer turned to her. “That’s good to hear. Why don’t you let me buy you a beer? Then we can have a little private conversation.”
Trace stepped in front of Chloe. “Forget it. She’s off-limits.”
“Trace…” she began.
But this was one time Trace didn’t intend to let her interrupt him. He took a step closer to the bouncer. “The woman belongs to me. If you have a problem with that we can handle it outside.”
The bouncer smiled, the light reflecting off the gold crown on his front tooth. “Lead the way.”
“Neither one of you are going anywhere!” Chloe exclaimed, stepping between them. Then she glowered up at the bouncer. “What exactly is your problem, Viper?”
“Viper?” Trace echoed, looking from Chloe to the bouncer.
“Meet my cousin,” she said, nodding toward the bouncer. “Viper D’Onofrio. Viper, this is Trace Callahan.”
Viper shook his head. “Another pretty boy. Why don’t you go for a real man, like my lawyer? That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. He told me he’d really like to date you.”
“Your lawyer is a slimeball.”
“Maybe so. But just think how useful it would be to have him in the family. Free legal advice twenty-four hours a day.”
“If you think it’s such a great idea, you date him,” she retorted. “Besides, I’m not here to talk about my love life. I’m looking for Ramon.”
“Your brother Ramon?”
Chloe arched a brow. “How many Ramons do you know?”
He shrugged, avoiding her direct gaze. “Even if I did see him, I’m no snitch.”
“Then I’ll have to ask Ducky. You told me she knows everything that goes on in this place.” Chloe looked around the crowded bar. “So where is she?”
Viper hesitated, his suspicious gaze flicking over Trace. “What about this guy? He claims he doesn’t have any ID. How do I know he’s not a vice cop disguised as a jerk?”
“If I was a cop I’d arrest you for impersonating an ape. Now, as soon as we find Ramon we’ll find my ID. He has my wallet.”
She closed her eyes with a groan. “Oh, Trace, he didn’t.”
“He did. Unless the Chihuahua ate it.”
Viper flashed his gold tooth. “Sounds like Ramon is finally living up to the D’Onofrio name. Now my cousin Chloe here is another story. She’s a downright embarrassment to the family. In fact, we used to call her Squeaky, ’cause she’s so squeaky clean.”
Chloe glowered at him, which only seemed to amuse her cousin.
Viper gave a low chuckle. “And because she was always squeaking on all of us, a real tattletale—ow!” he yelped, his words abruptly cut off as a tiny woman with short, iron-gray hair twisted his ear between her bony fingers.
“That’s enough out of you, Virgil D’Onofrio. I’ve told you before to stop harassing my customers.”
“But, Ducky,” he protested, as she pulled him by the ear toward the bar.
She reached over the counter and pulled out a bucket and sponge. “If you don’t have anything better to do, you can mop those bathroom floors. I want them shining by the time you’re through.”
Viper rubbed his red ear. “But, Ducky….”
She planted both hands on her narrow hips.
“And if I hear one more ‘But, Ducky,’ I’m going to use that sponge on your mouth—after you’ve scrubbed those floors.”
Trace found himself suddenly approving of the buxom, chain-smoking, tough-talking dynamo. Even if she did look like a charter member of the Hell’s Angels.
Viper paled and backed away, obviously smart enough to take her threat seriously. “Yes, Ducky.”
“And don’t just barge into the ladies’ room without knocking like you did last time,” she admonished as he disappeared behind the men’s-room door.
The little iron-haired tyrant lit a cigarette, then turned back to Trace and Chloe. “Welcome to Ducky’s.”
Chloe smiled as she turned to her date. “Trace, I’d like you to meet my grandmother, Ducky D’Onofrio.”
5
CHLOE BIT BACK a smile at the stunned expression on Trace’s face. She probably should have told him sooner, but the man seemed to bring out the worst in her. Especially after he’d practically accused her grandmother of killing off her husbands. Ducky might not be totally legit, but she wasn’t dangerous. Or, at least, not lethally dangerous.
Ducky enveloped her granddaughter in an affectionate hug. “It’s been too long, Chloe. Now, let me take a good look at you.” Ducky stepped back and held her at arm’s length. “Not bad.” She reached out to pull the peasant blouse off Chloe’s shoulders. “There, that’s much better.”
This time Chloe’s smile broke through when she saw a muscle flex in Trace’s cheek. She had to give him credit, though—he exercised surprising restraint.
Ducky turned around and elbowed Trace in the ribs. “Bet you find it hard to believe I’m old enough to be a grandmother.”
He placed a hand over his ribs. “Well, I…”
Ducky glanced at her granddaughter. “Is he always this slow or is he just overwhelmed by a double dose of D’Onofrio beauty?”
Chloe leaned over to kiss her wrinkled, rouged cheek. “You’ve been making men speechless for the last forty years, Ducky. What do you think?”
Ducky snorted. “I think it’s a shame you never went into the con game, girl. You’re one smooth talker.”
“Then I should be able to talk you into two ice-cold beers—on the house.”
Ducky cackled. “You’ve got ’em. Go on and sit at my special table. I’ll be right there.”
Trace watched her grandmother bustle off toward the bar, a dazed expression on his face. Coping with more than one D’Onofrio at a time tended to have that effect on people. Especially when one of those D’Onofrios was Ducky. Chloe loved her spry, unconventional grandmother, despite her flirtation with the wrong side of the law.
Ducky had been there after Chloe’s mother went to prison, providing advice and comfort. Intensely loyal to everyone in the family, Ducky had taken a special interest in Chloe. She’d encouraged her granddaughter’s dream to go to design school and even cosigned her college loan papers. Ducky might not be your typical grandmother, but Chloe loved her fiercely.
“She’s really your grandmother?” Trace whispered as they seated themselves at the secluded table.
She nodded. “My father’s mother. Only she doesn’t allow her grandchildren to call her anything but Ducky.”
He scowled at her. “You might have told me sooner.”
She batted her eyelashes at him. “But, Trace, I thought you already knew everything.”
Before he could reply, Ducky arrived at the table with three frosty bottles of beer in her hands. She held Trace’s bottle just out of his reach. “I don’t serve a drink to a man unless I know his name.”
“I’m Trace Callahan,” he replied.
Chloe leaned forward. “Ducky, we can’t stay long.”
Ducky sat down at the table. “You’ll stay long enough for this Callahan to tell me what his intentions are toward you.”
“My intentions are strictly honorable,” Trace assured her.
“That’s too bad,” Ducky replied with a disappointed sigh. “A man with strictly honorable intentions isn’t much fun. Have you even kissed her yet?”
“Ducky!” To Chloe’s consternation, a hot blush crept up her neck. “This is only our first date. Besides, we’re not here to talk about…kissing. We’re here about Ramon.”
“What’s that boy done now?”
“He’s in trouble,” Chloe replied, glossing over the finer details. “I have to find him. Has he been here this evening?”
Ducky shook her head. “No, but he was here last night. Had some bimbo with him, too.”
Chloe’s eyes widened. “A girl?”
“More like an Amazon,” Ducky said with a cackle. “Ramon definitely had his hands full.”
“Who was she?” Chloe asked.
Ducky shrugged. “Beats me. I was busy in the back. I just got a glimpse of her.”
“What about Cousin Viper,” Trace asked, “didn’t he ask to see her ID?”
