King Cave (Forever Evermore, #2)(135)

Sighing heavily, I tossed the paper and waited for the cab to arrive, Bonnie my companion, while making myself eat, exhausted and completely feeling like shit…but I had my duty to contend with. And as luck normally liked to f*ck with me, when my cab arrived I quickly found I was screwed. I jumped into the cab and told the man he would be driving me all over the city, and that I would pay him every half-hour until we arrived at my destination. He only sat there, staring back at me. Then, he started gibbering.

Uh.

In Spanish.

God hated me. That was all I could reason as my brain swam. Lifting a finger, I quickly dialed Pearl on my cell. All the while, the cabbie wouldn’t shut up.

Pearl didn’t answer.

I called Jack. No answer.

Sighing in resignation, I dialed Ezra, not wanting to disturb him, but needing him nonetheless.

“Sweetheart?” he answered on the second ring, sounding groggy. A pause, then a holler, “Wait, where the f*ck are you?” That tone was one of worry and irritation and being flat out pissed.

“I’m doing my duty,” I explained, my tone letting him know it was the last thing I wanted to be doing. “I’m sorry I’m not there for you right now, but I need to find the brat as Elder Zeller,” and it had definitely been Elder Zeller and not Ezra’s dad speaking, “reminded me this morning.” I paused, sticking one finger in my ear to hear past the cabbie, then said quietly, “I really am sorry I’m not there for you.”

I heard him sniff, and he spoke just as quietly. “I understand, sweetheart, and you were here for me last night when I needed you the most.” There was a long pause, then he cleared his throat, his voice gruff, “Who the hell is the f*cker in the background?”

Ah, yes. “Do you speak Spanish?”

There was silence over the line before I heard a broken chuckle — only the barest remnant of his normal self — as he managed to find a smidge of humor in my situation amongst his heartache. “In a bit of a pinch?”

My sigh was heavy. “Yes. I’ve decided God hates me.”

Ezra snorted. “If God hates you, then I’m definitely number one on his hit list.”

“We should go to church sometime.” I wasn’t really joking.

“Agreed.” It didn’t sound like he was, either. “A little love from above would be appreciated.”

“Not really what I meant.”

His voice was tired. “I know, although, it doesn’t make what I said any less true.”

I rubbed my ear, the driver damn near to giving me an impossible headache with his constant jabbering. “So, do you speak Spanish or not?”

“Of course,” he rumbled, and then he started speaking Spanish in my ear, sounding a helluva lot more yummy than the idiot in front of me.

When he stopped talking, I cleared my throat hard. “One day, I’d really like to know what you just said, but in the meantime, can you explain to this guy I want to drive around town and pay him every half-hour until I get to my destination?”

Now he sounded snippy. “Only if you promise to call regularly to keep me updated.”

My lips thinned. “Really, Ezra? Blackmail, right now?”

“If it makes you call me, then yes.”

My eyes crossed. His demanding logic boggled the mind. Whatever. “Fine.” I needed him right now. “I’ll call you regularly for updates.” I probably would have, anyway. “Now, will you talk to the man?”

“Yes,” he murmured, sounding pleased with himself.

Ugh. I held my phone out to the driver, saying slowly, “Talk to the arrogant *.”

“I heard that!” Ezra shouted over the line as the driver took the phone. “I’m in mourning here, dammit. Cut me a little f*cking slack!”

Feeling a smidge guilty for being grumpy, I watched as the driver used my phone and spoke so fast I wasn’t sure at first if Ezra would be able to catch it all. But apparently he had no problem because the driver chuckled, glancing back at me.

His eyes hooded.

He fluttered a hand at my chest. Gibbered.

Then lower. Gibbered.

He listened, then went rigid, and quickly turned his back to me. Gibbered faster than ever. Nodded. Chucked the phone over his shoulder into my lap, and started driving.

Gingerly, I picked up my abused phone and asked into the receiver, “Do I even want to know what you said to the man?”

“Fucking pervert,” Ezra rumbled absently, a definite growl sounding in his tone. “All I did was ask him to verify what you were wearing, not to explain your assets in vivid detail.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I murmured, “I love you, baby, and I know you’re going through a horrible time right now, but you still managed to try my patience to the breaking point.”


A few phone calls and many miles later, I was at 3091 Salamanca Lane, Las Vegas, Nevada. I stood on the sidewalk in the afternoon daylight, staring at the building the die was telling me to enter. The cab driver sat two blocks down, waiting happily after not only driving me to this destination, roaming the city for hours with me pointing directions, but also after receiving a huge tip — bribe — in his grubby hands to wait a half-hour to see if I would need him again, after I literally used my fingers to tell him how long to wait and pointed at his dashboard clock.