Deadly Gamble by Linda Lael Miller Page B

clothes, so a trip to the Laundromat was critical. I needed some cash, too, and I wanted to stop and look in on Lillian before I left the area. “Four o’clock?” I ventured.
    â€œJust in time for cocktails,” Uncle Clive said, and gave me unnecessary directions. I hadn’t been to Cactus Bend in a lot of years, it was true, but I still knew the general layout of the town. Guess it was sort of like riding a bike—one of those things you don’t forget, no matter how traumatized you are.
    After Clive and I hung up, I immediately put a call through to Jolie.
    â€œTravers,” she answered. Evidently, her assistant, who usually screened calls, either hadn’t come in yet or was otherwise occupied.
    Sweet memories washed over me at the sound of Jolie’s no-nonsense voice. My life changed for the better when I was thirteen, and Jolie was a major factor in the turnaround. Lillian met Jolie’s dad, Michael “Ham” Hamilton, a recently widowed security guard, in Ventura Beach, California. They’d fallen madly in love, and Lillian had finally settled down. There was never a wedding, as far as I know, but Lillian took Ham’s last name, and it was definitely a good match. Jolie hadn’t accepted Lillian, Greer and me right away, but in time we’d melded into a family.
    Lillian had loved Ham so much that, when he’d decided to take a job in Phoenix, she’d willingly followed him. Jolie, Greer and I had all come along, of course, though Lillian had insisted on home schooling Greer and me. I don’t know if she ever told Ham the whole truth, or any part of it. I do know that she was happy with him, and when he died nearly a decade into their relationship, she went on the emotional skids.
    â€œHell-ooo,” Jolie prompted.
    I laughed. “Don’t hang up,” I said. “It’s Mojo.”
    â€œGive me one good reason why I shouldn’t slam this phone down in your ear,” Jolie shot back. “I haven’t had so much as an e-mail from you in three weeks.”
    â€œI’m heading down that way, and I’d like to see you.”
    â€œReally?” Jolie sounded pleased. “You wouldn’t jerk a girl around, would you?”
    â€œIt’s for real. I’m sorry about the e-mails—I’ve just been…well…distracted.”
    â€œBy what?” Jolie demanded suspiciously.
    â€œThings,” I said evasively. “I’ll tell all when I get there, I promise.”
    â€œFreakin’A,” said Jolie.
    â€œI have some business to attend to tonight, and you’ve got work in the morning. How about tomorrow night?”
    â€œI’ll even change the sheets on the hide-a-bed,” Jolie said, with one of her rich laughs. Jolie’s voice matched her dark-chocolate skin. She was smart as hell and beautiful enough to be a model or a TV star. If she hadn’t worked an average of eighteen hours a day, she’d have had men making pilgrimages to her door on their knees.
    â€œAnybody sharing your bed these days?” I ventured hopefully.
    Jolie’s sigh was telling. “No. How about you?”
    â€œTucker and I are on hiatus.”
    â€œMmm-hmm,” she agreed skeptically.
    I let that one pass. “It’s really okay for me to crash at your place? I wouldn’t want to impose.”
    Jolie gave a snort. “Just don’t sneak off in the middle of the night, like you did last time. I swear, Mojo, sometimes I think you turn into a she-wolf at the full moon, or something.”
    â€œWhat is that supposed to mean?” I retorted, hedging. I knew exactly what Jolie was talking about. It hadn’t happened in a while, but occasionally I had nightmares, full of faceless characters in black hooded robes, grabbing at me with skeletal fingers. My own personal crew of Dementors. On the referenced occasion, I was staying at Jolie’s place. I’d gotten out of bed at