then Carreen, and told them to talk to the rest of the family. The phone kept ringing so she took it off the hook. Rhett would know why when he got a busy signal. He would call her on her cell.
Close to one, she trudged up to his bedroom and crawled onto the bed. She took Rhett’s pillow and held it close, the faint scent of his cologne lingering, keeping her from sleep.
She waited. For that one phone call from Rhett. Just to let her know he was okay.
CHAPTER 26
Rhett rolled over, pain exploding in his head, flashes of bright light sizzling like white heat. Every limb ached. Every muscle throbbed painfully.
He opened his eyes slowly. Or tried to. Only one did. The other seemed frozen. He reached up to rub it and found the lid swollen shut and crusted over. Probably blood.
He tried to glance around without moving his head and found that he was next to a metal dumpster. The smell of rotten trash wafted around him. His stomach lurched as a wave of nausea hit him. He opened his mouth and vomit spewed.
Surprisingly, he felt a little better. Barely.
Where was he? Sunlight streamed in a faint band so he figured it was early morning. But where? And how did he get here, wherever here was?
Rhett pushed against the dumpster and forced himself to his feet. He wavered, clutching the open trash bin for support. He looked down and saw his clothes askew, both shoes missing. Instantly, he felt his back pocket. No wallet. He slipped his hand in his front pocket. No car keys.
Had he been mugged? He couldn’t remember. Everything seemed fuzzy.
He glanced down and saw black pants, badly soiled from the garbage heaped around the concrete alley. His gray dress shirt was torn. His knuckles were raw, as if he’d been in a fight he couldn’t remember. He thought he’d been wearing a jacket and tie but saw neither.
His cell phone. It was in his jacket pocket. Slowly, he took a few uneasy steps around, looking for it. He needed to call Cassie. Why wasn’t he with her?
The funeral.
That’s the last thing he could remember—and that asshole, whatever his name was, snapping shots of Zak’s casket as Rhett tried to deliver the eulogy. He guessed they weren’t for the family scrapbook, either. Some tabloid paid the worthless cousin off.
He needed his phone. He didn’t have a dime on him. How could he get Cassie?
Rhett stumbled over to a door. Maybe they would have a phone he could use. He rapped hard on it for several minutes before it jerked opened.
“Whaddya want?” A big, beefy, bald guy with tats up and down both arms glared down at him.
“I need a phone,” he said, his voice unsteady.
“Sorry.” The man slammed the door. The movement knocked Rhett off-balance and he hit the pavement hard.
He stayed down, trying to catch his breath, wondering what his next move should be. He still couldn’t think clearly. Everything seemed hazy. He laughed, wishing he had a script that would tell him his next move. Rhett Corrigan, action hero, always knew what to do. Rhett Corrigan, real-life victim, hadn’t a clue.
The door opened again. Rhett looked up and saw a scantily dressed redhead frown down at him.
“Oh, my God. Lenny, get over here. Right now!”
The tattooed giant reappeared. Or at least he looked like a giant as Rhett eyed him from the ground.
“Get him up!” Red shouted. “Get him inside.”
Lenny hoisted Rhett in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder. He groaned at the quick movement. Then he was inside the building in some kind of office.
“Put him in the chair,” Red instructed. “Get him a shot of whiskey.”
Lenny ambled off, leaving Rhett slumped in a chair next to a desk.
“Are you Rhett Corrigan?” asked the woman.
He started to nod, but Roman candles went off in his head. “Yeah,” he mumbled, not proud to own up to his real identity but not having any better ideas.
“Oh, honey. Someone worked you over good.”
“Where am I?”
The woman smiled at him. “You don’t remember, do you?”
Rhett frowned. “Remember what?”
She patted his hand. “The Pussycat Lounge. You came in late yesterday afternoon and put away more than your share. Last I saw, you were headed out the back with Zoe around nine last night. I figured you had a little something private going on with her.”
The woman thought a minute. “That slut. She probably set you up. Her boyfriend is a scumbag. Deals dope outta the laundromat two