Love So Tender: Taking Care of Business / Play It Again, Elvis / Good Luck Charm

He gasped. “I was only gone for a few minutes—how…?”

“It was nothing big, and it won’t happen again.” She made a note on the calendar for the seven-thirty wedding. When she looked up, Lincoln was gaping at her.

“Are you kidding me? You kissed the man already? Was ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ playing?”

She nodded, feeling like a fool.

He sighed. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, sweetheart. No one can fight those lyrics. Besides, the man screams ‘affair.’”

She held up both hands. “No way. I’ve sworn off affairs, remember?”

“Oh, right. Well, maybe he’s the settling down type.”

Grace shook her head. “He went to great lengths to explain that he was not interested in marriage—now or in the future.”

He frowned. “Kind of presumptuous of him, wasn’t it?”

“It was in the context of business, but I got the point.” At least her brain had understood.

Lincoln scrutinized a rose in one of the bouquets he held. “What’s his name?”

“Steve Mulcahy.”

“Nice name.” He frowned. “What’s his story?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why would someone who looks like him be working in a place like this?”

Gracie frowned. “Thanks a lot.”

“You know what I mean. I love TCB, but wedding chapels aren’t exactly a magnet for straight, great-looking guys. What kind of photographer aspires to this job?”

Admittedly, the same thoughts had crossed her mind. She shrugged. “Maybe he’s between jobs, or is down on his luck.”

“Right. Maybe he’s a gambler,” Lincoln said. “Maybe he lost his real job, and he’s desperate.”

Gracie somehow couldn’t reconcile the description of a quasi-loser to Steve, even if she had only just met the man. Something about him radiated power and authority, but Lincoln had a point. For some reason, though, she wanted to think the best of Steve Mulcahy, and that alone troubled her.

Gracie made a rueful noise. “Desperate is what I’m banking on. No offense to Roach, but without a good Elvis, our bookings are way down. Somehow I’ve got to talk the man into singing and swiveling his hips.”

Lincoln grinned.

“Don’t say it,” Gracie said, giving him a stern look.

“Okay,” Lincoln said in an innocent voice. “I won’t say it. But I can think it.”

Gracie sighed. So could she.

CHAPTER THREE

STEVE’S PULSE ratcheted higher as he listened to his partner on the phone.

“So,” Karen said, “our informant thinks that Lundy could show up sooner than we’d planned—maybe the day after tomorrow. The good news is she was able to give me a few more details about the wedding that Lundy’s bride booked.”

Steve removed a small notebook from his pocket. “Go ahead.”

Karen cleared her throat. “Apparently, they booked the Aloha—” She stopped and giggled, then recovered. “The Aloha Teddy Bear package.” Then she laughed out loud.

Steve pursed his mouth, waiting for her to continue.

Her laughter petered to a cough. “Sorry, Steve, but you have to admit that this Elvis stuff is hysterical. I’ll bet the impersonator there is a real hoot, isn’t he?”

Steve closed his eyes and decided to withhold the full extent of his undercover duties for now. “See if our informant can find out any other details about the Lundy wedding—what kind of car they’ll be arriving in, how big the wedding party will be, that kind of thing. And of course, a name would be great.”

“Will do. So, have you met all the players over there? We need a description of all the employees so we’ll know who’s who when the arrest goes down.”

“You have the owner’s picture on file, right?”

“Right.”

Steve hesitated as Gracie’s pixie face rose in his mind’s eye…along with the sensory details of her shocking kiss. Just the memory of her pink mouth on his elicited a response from his body. He set his jaw, then said, “The only other person I’ve met is the wedding director. Gracie Sergeant, female, thirtyish, short platinum-blond hair, violet-colored eyes.” He bit the end of his tongue as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Violet-colored, huh?” Karen made a thoughtful noise. “With little golden flecks?”

He frowned, disgusted with himself. “I’ll call you later.” He cut off her laughter by disconnecting the call.

Steve pulled his hand down his face and forced himself to concentrate. Karen’s information meant that he might have even less time to prepare for Lundy’s arrest than he’d thought. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by Gracie Sergeant’s eyes. Or legs. Or mouth.

Or tattoo.

Turning in the direction Cordelia Conroy had gone, Steve walked down the hall past an office and what appeared to be the drive-through window, to a set of double doors that opened onto a covered concrete patio at the rear of the chapel. Cordelia Conroy stood next to a birdbath that had been filled with sand to serve as an ashtray. The behemoth basset hound sat near her feet. In a corner of the lot, the rear fins of a pink Cadillac peeked out from under a cloth cover.

When Cordelia saw him coming, she took a last drag on a short butt, then snubbed it out. After a few seconds’ hesitation, she withdrew another cigarette from a pack and offered him one. His throat itched, but he shook his head. He’d quit smoking six times and this time he meant it.

While he watched, Cordelia lit her second—or third?—cigarette and took a deep drag. Well into her sixties, she was still an attractive woman, albeit a little rough around the edges. Street smart, he realized. And wary.

He stopped a few feet away and leaned against a column that held up the metal roof over the sparse patio. The hound dog moseyed over and sniffed at his boots.

“Is Mulcahy your real name?” she asked finally, on an exhale.

“As far as you’re concerned,” he said.

“You’re not what I expected.”

He kept his expression noncommittal. “What did you expect?”

She leveled her gaze on him. “Not some good-looking buck who hits on my wedding director.”