The Cop and the Chorus Girl by Nancy Martin Page B

wants to slug you.”
    â€œSlug me! That’ll be the day!” Dixie was steamed. “What’s got him so upset?”
    â€œMe, I guess.” Flynn seemed to know his way around the theater very well. As they plunged into another hallway and down a flight of stairs that even Dixie didn’t know existed, Flynn explained. “One of the tabloids is running a big story about you and your new love interest in tomorrow’s edition. A thoughtful editor figured Joey ought to have an advance copy.”
    Dixie’s spirits rose. “Oh, good! He’s furious about you?”
    â€œI suppose that’s good from your perspective,” Flynn said wryly. “But I like my face the way it is at the moment, and I don’t want it rearranged by one of Torrano’s goons.”
    Dixie had to admit she liked Flynn’s face, too. But she said, “I can’t avoid Joey forever.”
    â€œYou can avoid him for a couple of days. You won’t be able to talk contracts with him yet—not until his jealous rage has cooled off.”
    That plan made sense to Dixie. “All right, but where are you taking me now? Back to my hotel?”
    â€œHell, no. If he’s got spies in the hotel, he can get one of his leg breakers in there, too.”
    â€œLeg breakers!”
    Mistaking her exclamation for a question, Flynn said, “Guys who’ll get their jollies by breaking your pretty knees if Joey tells them to do it.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t!”
    â€œOh, wouldn’t he?”
    To tell the truth, Dixie wasn’t sure. She hadn’t known Joey Torrano for long, but his reputation was one of a merciless criminal. Of course, she’d only seen his suave side, but Dixie knew she’d only seen Joey under the best of circumstances. Now things were different. If Joey was truly angry at being stood up at their wedding, he might show his true colors.
    â€œOkay,” Dixie said, breathless from their run through the tunnels under the theater. “Where in tarnation are we going?”
    â€œMy place,” Flynn replied, and he dragged Dixie out into the sunlight.
    The impact of the sun wasn’t nearly as intense as the information he’d just given her. “Your place! Wait, Flynn! I can’t—I can’t leave in this costume!”
    â€œYou’re not going back to your dressing room.”
    â€œI need some clothes! I can’t go out like this!
    Flynn spun around and frowned. Then he whipped off his leather jacket and put it around Dixie’s shoulders. “There. That’ll have to do.”
    â€œBut I—”
    â€œLeave the wig,” he ordered, giving Dixie’s fake hair a yank. He tossed the blond wig back into the theater building and then pulled her to the curb. “It’ll make you less conspicuous on my bike.”
    â€œOn your—” Dixie resisted when she saw the Harley parked on the street. “Flynn, I can’t go riding around the city on your motorcycle while wearing this—this—”
    â€œNo choice,” he said. “Let’s go.”
    â€œBut—but, Flynn—”
    â€œWhat’s the matter?”
    Dixie didn’t have the courage to tell him. Truth was, she’d rather sit on a cactus and eat ten pounds of chili peppers than find herself alone with Flynn for any length of time. But she couldn’t come up with the words to explain her fear.
    â€œLet’s go,” he commanded when she stayed silent.
    No choice. Dixie climbed onto the back of his motorcycle and held on tight.
    Flynn started the bike with a hard kick and revved the noisy engine. The whole machine throbbed with power. The Harley leapt forward and roared down the street. Flynn drove the bike with swift precision, weaving in and out of traffic. The New York streets began to fly by.
    Dixie hadn’t been in the city long enough to recognize much of anything except 42nd Street and the hotel where