Lucky Devil Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Cast of Characters

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Looking at your driver’s license.” Lucky raised it out of her reach, but JoJo went for it…and found herself against him. He was solid as a rock…and warm. Beneath sleep-mussed hair, he looked dangerous. Her breath caught in her throat and she retreated.

  “JoJo Weston. Five seven. Hundred and twenty-four pounds.” He checked her to be certain.

  “Satisfied? Now maybe you better show me your license.”

  His grin was wolfish. “You’re free to look for one.”

  He raised his arms, inviting her to search him. But the thought of touching him sent a rush of confusion through her.

  “Maybe you’d like to check out my bedroom instead?” he said.

  “Does a line like that work often?”

  “Often enough. They do call me Lucky—”

  “Yeah, but I think they mean bad luck.”

  Dear Reader,

  What is it about mysterious men that always makes our pulse race? Whether it’s the feeling of risk or the excitement of the unknown, dangerous men have always been a part of our fantasies. And now they’re a part of Harlequin Intrigue. Throughout the first half of 1996 we’ll kick off each month with a DANGEROUS MEN title. This month, meet Lucky Donatelli in Lucky Devil by Patricia Rosemoor.

  Lucky is the brother of the sexy but secretive Nick from Pat’s earlier DANGEROUS MEN title, Drop Dead Gorgeous. He and JoJo Weston—the best friend of the heroine of that earlier book— find themselves in more than one kind of trouble in the seductive red rock country of the southwest.

  With our DANGEROUS MEN promotion, Harlequin Intrigue promises to keep you on the edge of your seat…and the edge of desire.

  Regards,

  Debra Matteucci

  Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator

  Harlequin Books

  300 East 42nd Street

  New York, NY 10017

  Lucky Devil

  Patricia Rosemoor

  To Linda Sweeny—for her usual. “bull.”

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  JoJo Weston—The dancer sought peace of mind on a friend’s ranch, but found more trouble than she’d ever imagined.

  Lucky Donatelli—He would have done anything to send her packing back to Las Vegas.

  Lester Perkins—Had her kidnapper escaped the psychiatric ward to get revenge?

  Caroline Donatelli—How far would the possessive sister go to keep her brother from making a “mistake”?

  Vincent Zamora—Was the wrangler being paid to cause JoJo’s “accidents”?

  Paula Gibson—She had tastes too expensive for her secretary’s salary.

  Rocky Franzone—Was he reallly looking for a job as a wrangler?

  Adair Keating—The Hollywood stuntman wasn’t exactly what he seemed.

  Prologue

  Newspaper clippings spread across the scarred coffee table of the dingy motel room revealed nothing new, nothing to grasp on to. So far, they had given up no solid ideas on how to proceed. But they had to, given time. Yet there was none to waste, for time was of the essence.

  Concentrate!

  Maybe if arranged in a different order…A little shuffling of the lurid headlines wouldn’t hurt. The tattered clippings moved around, replayed like a deck of cards until they came up with a winning hand.

  There. That was better.

  Vanished Show Girl Held Hostage…Bride-To-Be’s Experience No Honeymoon In Vegas… Maintenance Man “Protects” Beloved…Dancer Hidden Below Showroom…Show Girl Released After Week’s Ordeal.

  The headlines, now in logical order, told her side of the story.

  The accompanying photographs told yet another lie.

  The slender woman staring out of the grainy photos appeared ragged, raw, emotionally drained. Her face was too pale, a splash of freckles—the curse of natural redheads—prominent across her nose. Her wide mouth was parted, not in a smile, but as if she were trying to suck in air. Her eyes were dark pools of pain.

  All in all, she personified innocence unfairly assaulted.

  An act. A ploy for sympathy.

  She was good at that, eliciting compassion from the unsuspecting. From men especially. Did this come naturally to her? Or had she developed the talent in classes as she had her dancing? Maybe she should have been an actress. She’d fooled a lot of people. But not everyone.

  Some recognized the truth.

  JoJo Weston was a slippery sort, a tarnished gypsy who had gotten only part of what was coming to her. Unfortunately, she’d escaped her fate with the help of her loyal friends. Too bad for her. Better had she never risen from her dungeon. Better had she died there. Then she wouldn’t present such a problem.

  A temporary situation.

  JoJo Weston had no idea of what was in store for her. She thought she’d had a scary experience before; she was in for one hell of a roller coaster ride now.

  With some determined help, fate was about to take another shot at her…and this time, she wouldn’t escape.

  Chapter One

  Flying out of the Caribbean, JoJo Weston ran as if the hounds of hell were on her heels. She could have taken one of the limos, but the traffic on the Strip was at its peak. Running along the tourist-packed sidewalks was faster, even in heels.

  Only two blocks to the Fantasy Wedding Chapel, where her unsuspecting best friend was about to marry the man she loved—unsuspecting that the maid of honor had forgotten the groom’s ring, that is, and had returned to the hotel long enough to fetch the thick gold band. JoJo now wore the ring on her thumb, where she couldn’t misplace it.

  A red light stopped her in her tracks. Taking a deep, slow breath, she looked around at the other people piling up at the corner to cross the street.

  That’s when she saw the figure lurking behind a couple of brawny college-age guys slightly behind and to her right. JoJo started at that bony frame, those glasses that bobbled on the too-small nose. Then the image was swallowed by the crowd now shoving her forward.

  The light had changed.

  Heart pounding wildly, JoJo stumbled off the curb. A middle-aged man in plaid shorts and a garish Las Vegas T-shirt grabbed her upper arm and saved her from a fall.

  “You all right, miss?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  But she wasn’t all right. Might never be again.

  JoJo forced herself to move, her legs carrying her across the street in slow motion. Every step was an effort. She felt overheated, slightly dizzy and filled with a familiar and growing dread. Though she kept checking the crowd around and behind her, she didn’t see anything ominous.

  And yet the threat wouldn’t subside.

  Nearly every hour of every day, JoJo was uncomfortable in her own skin. Often, the sensation of someone following her, watching her, made the hair at the back of her neck stand up. She knew it was because of what had happened to her—she was experiencing some kind of delayed shock syndrome that had yet to play itself out. Even knowing that, her imagination wouldn’t rest. For the past few weeks, she’d been looking over her shoulder wherever she went.

  But she ha
d never before thought she’d seen Lester Perkins, who she knew was locked up in a psycho ward at the county jail, awaiting trial.

  Several cars now sat outside the Fantasy Wedding Chapel, including the ‘68 Corvette Mako Shark that belonged to the groom, and a more sedate if equally expensive limousine that belonged to his father. JoJo knew the handful of invited guests who could come had arrived.

  Unfortunately, Sasha’s parents had been forced to cancel flying in from New York when her dad broke his leg. And one of Sasha’s sisters was ready to go into labor at any moment and needed the third sister to supervise her kids. Everyone had been disappointed, but Nick would send Sasha’s family a video of the wedding and fly them all into Las Vegas later for a family celebration.

  Entering the air-conditioned chapel, JoJo tucked away the fear that she was teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown. This was her best friend’s wedding, for heaven’s sake, a day to be happy. She almost ran into the groom, dressed in a tropical white silk-blend suit and yellow-and-purple flower-printed silk shirt, a fancier version of what she thought of as his hotel uniform. Nick Donatelli, the owner of the Caribbean, was both her boss and her friend.

  “Sasha’s been looking for you,” he said, nervously pulling a hand through his dark hair. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah, just out of breath,” she assured him, unused to seeing Nick looking unsure of himself. “I’ll go find her right away.”

  She felt his intent green gaze follow as she made her way down the hall to the bride’s room, where Sasha Brozynski was worriedly poking at her tawny tresses.

  “Stop fussing or you’ll ruin it,” JoJo chided in the most natural tone she could muster.

  “There you are!” Swinging around in her seat, Sasha widened her amber eyes at the sight before her. “What happened to you?”

  JoJo caught a glance at her own disheveled appearance in the mirror. “Oh, no,” she groaned.

  Her naturally curly hair had frizzed. The brilliant yellow silk, fashioned into a flowing, loose halter-top gown was damp beneath her arms and around her breasts. Her makeup had simply melted in the June desert heat.

  “You look like you ran a marathon.”

  JoJo lifted her thumb. “I had to go back to the hotel for this. In our rush to leave for the chapel, I left Nick’s ring in your room.”

  Sasha rose, her lush six-foot frame accentuated by her unusual wedding gown—a silk sarong fashioned from the same yellow-and-purple material as Nick’s shirt. “Sit,” she commanded.

  JoJo slipped into a chair before the mirrored wall, and Sasha attacked her frizzy hair with a curling iron, saying, “You’ll be good as new in no time.” When JoJo didn’t respond, Sasha frowned at her through the mirror. “You are all right?”

  Not wanting to put a damper on her friend’s wedding day, JoJo thought to lie. And she would have if the fear chasing her had remained vague and at a safe distance. But her brush with the recent past had been too close for her nerves. She had no one else to tell who would understand.

  “I thought I saw him.”

  “Who?”

  “Lester.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “I know.” A fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach made JoJo shudder. “But I swear he really was there in the crowd for a moment before he disappeared.”

  “It’s guilt,” Sasha proposed. “We promised to visit him and haven’t come through.”

  At the advice of Nick’s lawyer, who felt they should distance themselves, at least until after the trial.

  Sasha went on. “You saw someone who reminded you of Lester, is all.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “You got to stop focusing on it. Stop being victimized by a man who can’t hurt you anymore.”

  “Lester never wanted to hurt me.”

  Secretly in love with JoJo, the mousy maintenance man had sworn to protect her from her own fiancé, who had turned out to be somebody else. Somebody dangerous. A murderer. In some part, she owed Lester.

  “Yeah, but Lester did hurt you, if not physically, then in spirit,” Sasha said.

  Knowing her friend was right, JoJo sighed. “I keep seeing shadows where there are none,” she admitted. “I think I need some time off.”

  “I tried to tell you.” Sasha put the finishing touches on JoJo’s red curls and fluffed them out with her long, brightly painted nails. “You don’t just get over something like this instantly. I should know. You need time off away from Las Vegas.”

  Directly after being released from her temporary prison, JoJo had returned to work as if nothing had happened. She’d figured dancing was the best medicine, and for a few weeks, she’d been fine. Then the memories and her imagination had gotten hold of her. Oh, she was still able to forget for a few hours at a time, during her performances. Trouble was, there were twenty-four hours in a day.

  “Maybe I should take a short vacation,” JoJo admitted. “A few days away from everything familiar would do me good.”

  “A few weeks would be even better. Nicky will understand. I’ll talk to him.”

  “When you get back from your honeymoon will be soon enough.”

  Fixing her makeup, JoJo took heart in the idea of getting away. A rest cure should do the trick, get her back on track. Only when she felt centered again could she get on with her life. Only then could she figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of it. Thirty-something was practically over the hill for a dancer. She needed to look at the big picture without blinders on.

  “That’s better.” Sasha traded the curling iron for a blow dryer that she snapped on low. “Now raise your arms so we can dry your pits.”

  FILLED WITH SILK palm trees, real tropical flowers and colorful birds in cages, the chapel was decked out to resemble a garden paradise. A multitiered rock fountain splashed into a pool behind the minister. Nearly a dozen guests, including Nick’s father, Salvatore, and sister, Caroline, were seated in rattan cushioned chairs. Vito Tolentino, who worked for Sally, was Nick’s best man.

  As happy as she was for Sasha and Nick, JoJo couldn’t help feeling a little weird listening to the vows and seeing the rings being exchanged, as she’d planned on a wedding of her own a mere two months before. What a disaster marrying Mac Schneider—rather, Marco Scudella—would have been. He’d used her in his quest to get revenge on Nick, after murdering an uncooperative show girl Nick had once dated.

  And JoJo was painfully aware that she might not have survived the honeymoon had there been one.

  Ironically, only two men in her life had ever asked for her hand in marriage. A murderer and a man old enough to be her father. She remembered Oliver Phipps fondly, though. Actually, she’d thought of the lonely man as a substitute father—she’d lost her own as a kid. And he’d lost his daughter to cancer. They’d met when he’d helped finance a Broadway show she landed a part in, and they’d become immediate and fast friends.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife,” the minister intoned.

  Before her, Nick pulled Sasha into his arms and kissed his new wife like a man crazy in love. JoJo swallowed hard and smiled, happy for the two of them. Oliver had asked her to marry him to keep her from leaving New York. She’d been flattered, but had gently turned him down because she hadn’t loved him as a wife should love her husband. As Sasha so obviously loved Nick. And as she’d unfortunately loved the man who’d turned out to be Marco Scudella.

  Cheers from the audience broke up the kiss. Both Sasha and Nick were grinning like fools.

  “So let’s party!” Sasha ordered.

  The reception was held at the chapel, with a waiter and waitress passing out canapés and flutes of champagne.

  “To the lovely bride and the lucky groom,” Vito toasted.

  Everyone lifted their glasses except Nick’s sister, Caroline, who’d never liked any woman her brother showed too much interest in. Not even JoJo, though she and Nick had merely been good friends.

  Caroline inched closer to JoJo, murm
uring, “This is all your doing,” in a scathing tone.

  It gave JoJo the distinct feeling that Caroline blamed her for Nick’s marrying Sasha. “I wish I could take the credit,” she returned. “But Nick merely found Sasha irresistible.” Caroline opened her mouth again, but JoJo forestalled her. “Maybe if you concentrated on your own life, you wouldn’t have so much time to interfere with your brother’s.”

  Caroline gave her a look of pure poison and slipped away. JoJo was staring after her when a male voice too close to her ear startled her.

  “I’d like to make a toast to you, too.”

  JoJo whipped around and looked into eyes in a brilliant green shade that every member of the Donatelli family seemed to possess.

  “What did I do?” she asked Nick’s father.

  Sally gave her an intense look. “You went through lotsa grief a coupla months ago, and I feel responsible.”

  “You weren’t involved.”

  “Not directly, no. But still…bad feelings between the Scudellas and Donatellis were born long before you.”

  “My getting in the middle wasn’t your fault,” she assured him.

  Sally Donatelli had been a big crime boss at that time, she knew, and though Nick had sought to legitimize the “family business” while Sally was in jail, no one was certain exactly how well he’d succeeded. And Marco’s father, Carmine, had been Sally’s chief opponent in the old days. Maybe even now. She didn’t want to know. She liked Sally, and since he was Nick’s father, she wanted to keep on liking him.

  “I have respect for you. You’re a brave woman.”

  “I don’t feel very brave,” she admitted. “I keep wanting to look over my shoulder wherever I go.”

  “Maybe it’s this town. Ever think about going back to New York City?”