Page 108 of Speak of the Devil

Maggie perks up and looks in my direction. “It was good to see you again.”

“You, too.”

“Maggie, do you think Shane’s still my Marty?” I have no idea what Cat means, but she’s smiling like it’s a good thing.

Maggie rests her arm on the back of the couch and angles toward her. “No.”

“No?” Cat asks, surprised. “I thought?—”

“No. This is your Henry, Nurse Cate.” Maggie reaches her hand out, and Cat takes hold of it between both of hers. “It’s not about one kiss. It’s about a lifetime, an eternity together, creating a family, and loving each other through the years.” Maggie says, “Martys are fun. Henrys are forever.”

Turning back to me, Maggie taps her watch. “Seal the deal, Mr. Big and Strong. Time is a tickin’.”

I wink, and she winks right back. Cate takes my hand when I come around the couch, and says, “She’s a spitfire.”

“She sure is.”

We walk into the sunshine and down to the corner. Holding my fob for me, she says, “No dings.”

It’s funny how that car used to be my pride and joy. Now it’s the cargo inside. “Good to hear.” I hand her the Toyota keys as we stroll to the Ferrari. “It was good to see you in action.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” she says. “I have to say if I weren’t already charmed by you . . .” She signals back to the building. “Seeing you in there with Maggie would have done it.”

“She’s a nice lady and thinks highly of you.”

Humility creases her cheeks into a smile. My sweet girl. “Before I forget, I got you a diagnostic assessment with Dr. Lazlo in Beverly Hills. Unfortunately, he’s so booked, he can’t see you for six weeks.”

Always thinking of me.“Thank you. I appreciate you doing that for me.”

“I’ll help however I can. I’ll send you the details so you can check the tour schedule for any conflicts.” She starts to lean in for a kiss but stops herself and looks back at the building. Taking my hand, she pulls me to the other side of the car. “Dragging me into the shadows to have your way with me?”

“I wish.” She throws her arms around my neck and kisses me instead. It’s a solid substitute. Pulling back, she sinks back on her heels, but since she’s standing on a curb, she’s closer to eye level. “So what happened this morning? Did you talk to Roberta?”

“I talked to Roberta.” Why does doing the right thing feel so fucking wrong?

“And? What did she say?”

I run my fingers through my hair and glance toward the intersection. It’s not the light that has my attention. It’s a long lens.Fuck!“Get down.”

“What the hell?” She’s lying in the dirt, pushing herself up and then dusting her hands off. “You got my white coat dirty.”

“Sorry, babe.” I peek up, still spying the lens just above the bushes at the corner.

She huffs. “I like the way you get to lie low on the cement while I’m tossed in the flower bed. What the hell?”

“There’s paparazzi taking photos of us.”

She whips her head back to look, her hair flying over her shoulders. “Where?” she asks.

“Down at the corner. They’re not great at hiding. Most of the time, they don’t bother. They want that picture, the face front photo. It sells better for them.” She scoots to the curb next to me and sits with her head lowered. “A photo of us kissing . . .” I scrub a hand over my face. “Fuck.”

“What do we do?”

“I’ll call Rochelle. She’ll take care of it.”

Wrapping her arms around her legs, she asks, “Who’s Rochelle?”

“She’s the one who handles these situations for the bands at Outlaw Records.”

---