She trained her blue eyes on him, looking so bloody sympathetic, Cal gave in to temptation. Snaking a hand around her nape, he kissed her. It was hard and brief, left him hungry for more than a taste. But for now, it had to be enough. “Thank you.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome. Now let’s go find your sis.”
When they entered the building, Cal stopped and gazed around. For some reason, all the stores had Moorish architectural features and looked as though they belonged inside a Moroccan town. He raised his eyes to the barreled ceiling painted to look like the sky. Cal tried Jules’s number once more. “She’s not answering.”
“She’ll turn up. Probably once she’s run through your money, but she will turn up.”
They wound their way around tourists and past kiosks, when suddenly, the artificial sky darkened. Thunder boomed.
Monica leaned over. “The rain show. Not that exciting. Come on, security is up ahead.”
“Well acquainted with the security here, are you?”
She donned a stony expression. He’d hit a nerve. She’d probably done something minor when she was young, and Allie had no doubt thrown a wobbler.
As they walked, Cal kept a lookout for Jules. Every flash of pink caught his eye. Every dark-haired girl captured his attention. But she could be anywhere.
At the security station, Cal described Jules. The man used his two-way radio to communicate the information to someone, somewhere. They paged Jules’s name over the PA system and alerted the various shops that he was looking for her. All pretty fucking useless.
“Why don’t we split up?” Monica asked. “You take one side of the shops, and I’ll take the other.”
Cal nodded. “Yeah.”
“Do you have a picture of her? It’ll give me something to go by.”
Cal scrolled through his phone, glancing at hundreds of photos. Mostly shots of cars he’d worked on, in various states of repair. A few of Babcock, when she was still healthy enough to sit on the terrace and look out at the beach. He finally found a pic of Jules on her nineteenth birthday. She hadn’t worn nearly as much makeup then as she did now, and her hair was shorter. She wore a birthday tiara and showed off the sapphire earrings he’d given her as a present.
His stomach dropped. He had picture after picture of the cars he’d worked on, but only one of his sister.
“Here she is.” His voice sounded gruffer than usual, thick with emotion. He showed Monica the photo and glanced away. Cal really was a crap brother. That seriously needed to change.
“She’s pretty. You guys have the same eyes.” Monica glanced up at him, scanned his face. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been a selfish bastard.”
“I would never describe you as a selfish person, Cal.” She reached out and gave his arm a quick squeeze. “I’ll take this side and meet you in front of the theater.”
Cal nodded and moved off. Monica was being very kind to him. He wasn’t sure he deserved it.
* * *
Cal was a lot of things—handsome, funny, a fantastic lover…but selfish? Not even close. Monica had seen him give money to strangers, and he was kind to everyone. She didn’t know the whole story with his sister, but from the way it sounded, they didn’t see each other very often. So Cal probably didn’t understand that sisters were a pain. Monica had two to prove it.
Over the next three hours, she and Cal tried to divide and conquer, looking in every store, bar, and restaurant. They asked sales people and wait staff if they’d seen Jules. Monica wasn’t sure the girl had ever been here. Cal had described his sister’s revealing outfit, and Jules’s short, gold skirt sounded second-glance worthy. Surely someone would have noticed. But they struck out over and over.
Finally admitting defeat, she and Cal walked back to the car. Monica gazed up at him. His eyes were serious. She was used to seeing him wear a smile, but now, Cal’s mouth leveled into a straight line, and his wide shoulders climbed upward, tense and strained. She wished she could reassure him somehow, but she didn’t know what to say.
This must have been how Allie used to feel when Monica pulled shit like this.
When Cal’s phone rang, he practically ripped it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “I don’t have time now, Mum.” Then he froze. “What? She’s with you? For how long?” That worried look on his face morphed to anger, hardening his features, turning his eyes into green glaciers. “I’m on my way.” He punched the End button. “She’s been with my mother most of the afternoon. That fucking little brat.”
Chapter 13
Monica held on to his arm. His biceps bunched under her hand. “Cal. Remember, patience.”
He turned those cold, angry eyes on her. “I’m brassed off with Jules, make no mistake, but Pixie should have called me hours ago. She’s meant to be the adult.” He jerked his arm from her grasp. “Do you mind driving me out to her place? I could take a cab, if you’d rather.”
She dismissed his biting tone. “Of course I’ll drive you.” And Monica hoped he’d calm down a little before they arrived. Cal was good-natured and very easy to be around. She had a feeling it took a lot to push him over the edge. Between Pix and Jules, they’d given him a hard shove.
As she exited the parking garage and pulled onto the Strip, she shot him a look. Dusk had set in, painting the horizon in shades ranging from deep pink to light peach. The neon signs popped against the darkening sky. “She may have had her reasons, Cal. Your mom, I mean.”
He shook his head. “Don’t think so. Pixie is unreliable at the best of times, and self-serving always.” He clamped his mouth shut and faced the passenger window. Other than giving her directions, he didn’t say another word the entire trip.
When Monica arrived at Pixie’s house and rolled past the heavy wooden gates and up the long, circular drive, security lights glowed. Near the house, Paolo waited for them with a little Pomeranian in his arms.
Cal turned to her as she braked. “You don’t have to stay, Monica. Go home, do some work, sit in your unfurnished house, and have a good evening.”
He started to get out of the car, but she pulled on his sleeve. “Don’t pull that shit with me, okay? I don’t deserve it.”
With a bitter twist of his lips, he nodded. “You’re right. I’m taking my foul mood out on you. I apologize. You were brilliant today, calmed me down when I was about to lose my rag. I appreciate it. But don’t feel like you have to stick around.”
“I’ll wait to see if you need a ride.”
He smiled then. A wan, tired smile, but it was something. Better than the frown he’d been sporting all afternoon. “Thank you. I’ll have to make it up to you somehow.”
“You took care of Ryan last night. I’d say we’re even.”
Cal grimaced. “That’s right. Don’t remind me.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then got out of the car.
While he strolled toward Paolo, Monica went to the front door and used the knocker. A maid answered the door and led the way to the large, open living room. This was the first time Monica had been to Pixie’s house—the palatial palazzo. Mediterranean architecture on steroids.
The walls, the furnishings, the rugs—all white. The only color in the room was Pixie, lounging on a tufted, modern chaise, thumbing through a glossy fashion magazine. She looked up when Monica stepped into the room. “Hey, Pix.”
The older woman’s brows rose a fraction, and she unfolded herself from the lounger. “Darling! How are you?” She dropped the magazine and strode forward, taking both of Monica’s hands. At five foot five, Monica was hardly statuesque, but Pix made her feel like it. Diminutive in stature with sharp features in a heart-shaped face, she looked a dozen years younger than she actually was. Vitality swirled around her, affecting everything in its path. Monica felt a little more alert just sharing space with Pix. Cal must have gotten the charisma gene from his mom.