In Emmylou's Hands

“None of your business,” came the answering growl.

Yep, honorable...with a heaping helping of ornery on the side.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_0a914da5-6abc-5656-b9d3-851ad8540646)

PARKING UP THE street in a black pickup truck with a pair of binoculars trained on Ramona’s house was not the smartest reconnaissance plan Sol had ever been part of, but the Fullers had collectively vetoed his suggestion to get the police involved. So the next best option seemed to be to watch the house for Ramona’s husband or both of them to leave and to hope for an unlocked door or window, which Joe Wayne seemed to think was likely.

Looking around the run-down neighborhood, Sol couldn’t imagine such a scenario. This was a far cry from neat and tidy Taylor’s Grove and his own house, which he’d bet had never been locked since the day his grandparents moved in. But it confirmed that his decision to follow Joe Wayne and EmmyLou had been the right move, despite her protests that she didn’t need his protection.

Damn stubborn woman.

Joe Wayne came into view, slinking around the side of the house, head darting back and forth, guilty as sin and looking every inch the part. He sprinted to the edge of the driveway and up the street toward EmmyLou’s car. Sol hurried from the truck to hear his report.

“She’s in the backyard.”

A break—finally! “Did you arrange to get your keys?”

Joe Wayne shook his head. “Not Ramona. Patsy. She’s around back. And I seen the legs of my jeans laying out by the garbage, too. My guess is Ramona made herself a pair of shorts to get rid of the evidence.” He caught his breath on a wistful sigh. “I heard her husband tell her they was out of baloney and somebody was gonna have to go get some. Maybe it’ll be him. And maybe it’ll be soon.”

The temperature was creeping up to the point of being uncomfortable, and Sol was itching to get back to the beach house and the breeze off the Gulf...and the prospect of solitude once EmmyLou and her brother were out of his hair.

“I have an idea.” EmmyLou’s breathless exclamation raised his body temperature—and his disgruntled attitude—even more. “Let’s call your phone, and when they answer, we’ll pretend you’re an undercover CIA agent.” The brown of her eyes deepened with excitement, sending Sol’s memory soaring back to the night they spent together, which, in turn, reminded him how far he’d dropped on her scale of desirability. “We’ll say there’s a bomb planted on the cycle and they need to move it to the road with the keys and the phone, and we’ll come by and pick it up.”

Sol mustered his most condescending snort. “That may be the most ludicrous idea I’ve ever heard.”

“That so?” If the convertible top had been up on EmmyLou’s car, she might’ve ripped it in her hasty exit from the driver’s seat. “I don’t hear you coming up with anything better. I drove all night to get here, and I’m going to have to do it again tonight to get home for work tomorrow. I’m ready to go back to my hotel room and get some sleep, but instead, we’re standing around, roasting in this heat all afternoon, waiting for an event that might not happen.” She slammed the door and leaned back on it, crossing her arms in a pose that was somehow beguiling in its belligerence.

“If you’d stayed home, you wouldn’t be having to deal with this.” Sol shifted his eyes to Joe Wayne. “Look, I’ll just go to the door, and when she answers, I’ll ask for the keys and your phone.”

The male half of the Fullers squinted a wary eye. “What if he answers?”

Sol shrugged. “I’ll ask to speak to Ramona.”

“And he’ll throttle you on the spot.” Joe Wayne’s shrug mocked his own. “No questions asked.”

EmmyLou didn’t say anything, only glared at Sol as she stomped around to the trunk of her car and got out a bag, slinging it across her shoulder.

“What’s in there?” he asked.

“Hair tools and makeup. I’ll tell Ramona she’s won a makeover. When I get her alone, I’ll tell her who I am and get the keys and the phone.”

Joe Wayne’s face broke into a pleased grin. “That just might work.”

“No!” Sol exclaimed. Didn’t the woman have any sense of danger? “You’re not going in there.”

“Watch me.”

She walked fast. Sol had to break into his awkward jog to catch up with her. When he did, she turned a scowl in his direction. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m not letting you go in there alone. I’m your assistant. Perry.”

“My assistant is Demitri.” Her scowl morphed into a smirk. “And he’d never let his hair look like that.”

“Today he does.” Sol couldn’t recall if he’d combed his hair this morning...or yesterday. It was one of those things that didn’t seem too important anymore.

The conversation stopped as they stepped onto the front stoop. EmmyLou rapped on the door as Sol let out a sharp breath.

* * *

THE WOMAN WHO answered the door had obviously been a real looker at one time, but her features had settled into a premature hardness that aged her maybe a decade, if Emmy was any judge...and she usually was. The husband hovered a few feet in the background, looking even meaner than he’d sounded over the phone.

“Hi there.” Emmy gave a warm smile and extended her hand. “Ramona?”

The woman didn’t return the smile or take her hand. Instead she scanned Emmy from head to toe and back. “Who’s asking?”

“I’m Chloe Cramer from the Beauty Bar Salon, and this is my assistant, Demitri. Ramona’s name was drawn as the winner of a surprise makeover from our salon. Is she here?”

“A makeover? No shit?” Ramona’s smile softened her face and gave a glimmer of the pretty girl she used to be. “I’m Ramona. Come on in.”

Emmy shot Sol a triumphant grin. This was going to work. She stepped inside with him close at her elbow. Lifting her chin confidently, she covered the distance to the giant man in the Save The Squirrels, Eat More Possum T-shirt, whose tattoo-covered arm muscles bulged as he crossed them over his broad chest. “And you must be the lucky guy in this pretty woman’s life.”

“Naw, I’m her husband,” he snarled.

Emmy wasn’t sure if he’d meant that as a joke, but she kept her smile fixed. She hadn’t realized Ramona had moved to stand beside her, and she gave a startled jump when the woman’s hand squeezed her arm.

“Are you going to do it here? Right now? I never won nothing before. This is the best thing that ever happened to me!” The woman actually squealed with delight.

“I...uh. Well, actually, we usually try to do it when the husband isn’t home, so the final look is a surprise for him, as well.” Emmy’s mouth was moving so fast, she just let it go and prayed what she said sounded plausible. “If we can move somewhere more private and work out the details, we’ll figure out a better time for us to come back.”

“How long you need?” The husband threw a menacing look Sol’s direction that caused Emmy to shudder. “I don’t like leaving my wife with a strange man in the house any longer than I have to.”

Augh! She should’ve anticipated that Sol’s hotness would be a liability. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about Demitri. Does he, love?” She forced a giggle and patted Sol’s chest before turning back to the brute. “He’s head-over-heels in love with his husband, and they make absolutely the most adorable couple you’ve ever laid eyes on.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, making the grin he turned on Sol more threatening. “Yeah. I figured as much.” His eyes darted to Emmy. “So, how long you need?”

“An hour,” she said.

“And a half,” Sol added, his voice sounding an octave lower than usual. “We don’t want to have to rush.”

“I’m going for a beer.” The husband brushed past them, deliberately bumping hard into Sol, who stumbled against Emmy but quickly righted himself.

“Pick up some baloney while you’re out,” Ramona called before the door slammed, and then the questions bubbled out of her. “Are you gonna do color? And cut it? I’ve been thinking about going shorter. And will you do makeup, too?”

Emmy waited until she heard the vehicle start up outside, then held up her hand for Ramona to stop. “Ramona, I’m sorry. I’m actually Joe Wayne Fuller’s sister, and I’m here to get his phone and the keys to his motorcycle.”

Ramona pulled back, her face hardening into the old crone again. “You mean there ain’t no makeover? You lied about all this just to get the stuff from me?”

“Well, yeah.” Emmy shot a help me look at Sol, but he just smiled and crossed his arms over his chest. “I hate to do it, but we couldn’t think of any other way to get to you without making your husband suspicious.”