She stopped so suddenly, he almost passed her up. Her brow wrinkled. “He sang? He made movies?”
Steve glanced from side to side. “Didn’t he?”
Her chin went up. “The man is an icon.”
Steve started to smile, then swallowed it when he realized she was dead serious. “Right,” he said solemnly.
She gave him a suspicious look, then continued down the hallway, her sandals flapping against her heels. “The Burning Love chapel is on the right,” she said, pointing to a set of white double doors. “It seats fifty. The Graceland chapel is on the left—it’s smaller and our most popular venue, the one we’ll be using this afternoon.” She tilted her head. “You do know how to take photographs?”
He gave a little laugh. “Yeah—that’s the job, right?”
“And you can operate a video camera?”
He nodded—he’d certainly filmed enough crime scenes. A wedding couldn’t be too different, he thought wryly.
She looked relieved. “Good—that’s one less thing I’ll have to do. It’s been just me, Cordelia, Roach, Lincoln and H.D. for a couple of months now, and everyone’s been filling in wherever they could.”
“Roach?”
“He’s one of our ministers.”
“Ah. And Lincoln?”
“Another minister—they swap shifts with Cordelia. Oh, and Lincoln’s also our florist—he’ll be here soon. I’ll take you back to meet Cordelia in a few minutes—she’s working the drive-through.”
“Drive-through?”
She nodded. “It’s our most popular feature, open twenty-four/seven. That’s why we need three ministers to pull shifts.”
Steve pursed his mouth—hmm. He wasn’t keen on marriage, but if a couple were hell-bent on doing it, a drive-through sounded less expensive and less painful even than a justice of the peace. With a fifty percent chance of failure, why not at least go the cheap route?
“We offer full-service packages in the chapels from 4:00 p.m. until midnight.” She smiled. “As the evening progresses, we tend to get drop-ins.”
As people became more inebriated, he thought. “How long do the ceremonies last?” He needed to get a handle on day-to-day operations as quickly as possible.
She shrugged. “It depends. The Love Me Tender package is our most basic, and usually takes about twenty minutes. The Aloha Las Vegas package is our most comprehensive, and takes about forty minutes—forty-five if they order a hula dancer.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Hula dancer?”
She looked sheepish. “I, um, wear a grass skirt.”
At the thought of her in a grass skirt, his sex stirred. He shifted and cleared his throat. “What happened to your photographer?”
“He met someone during a wedding, got married and moved to Alabama.”
“Oh.”
She shrugged. “It happens a lot. The turnover rate here is pretty high—a lot of people wind up getting married and moving on. I guess it comes with the territory.” She seemed a little sad, then suddenly looked hopeful. “You wouldn’t happen to be married already, would you?”
“No,” he said, more emphatically than he meant to. At her worried frown, he held up his hand. “But don’t worry—I have no intention of getting married, in the near or distant future.”
One delicately arched dark eyebrow raised. “Oh? Confirmed bachelor?”
Her eyes were smiling—mocking? Her lips were as plump and pink as fruit, and he unwittingly moistened his own mouth. “Yeah.”
She looked relieved. “Good. I’m tired of training people for this job—which happens to be the most important as far as the customers are concerned.”
She resumed walking, and he followed, working his mouth from side to side. He assuaged the slight pang of guilt that Gracie Sergeant might be burdened with more work when he left, with the knowledge that she would be safer on the streets of Las Vegas with a slippery thug like Mitch Lundy behind bars. Then a question popped into his head—was the fetching Gracie herself already married?
He decided not to ask. It was none of his business, and it was best not to become involved with the employees. When it came time to finally take Lundy into custody, he didn’t want to be distracted.
He glanced at her slender tanned legs and again felt a tightening in his groin. It didn’t mean, however, that he couldn’t enjoy the view.
She opened a door, revealing a deep closet with shelves on either side lined with dated camera equipment, shabby background cloths and a mind-boggling array of tacky props. He picked up a dusty pink lei and had a flicker of panic about his tolerance. “So what kinds of pictures do most couples expect?”
At his feet, H.D. sneezed violently, then shuffled toward Gracie, who was in the back of the closet, flipping through a clothing rack.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice muffled. “The cameras and tripods are already in the chapels and they’re top of the line.” She looked back with a grin. “If I can take decent pictures with them, then they’re almost foolproof.”
“So you don’t need a great photographer.”
“Well, the video camera is a little more tricky,” she offered over her right shoulder, drawing attention to the tattoo of a four-leaf clover there. He’d never been fond of tattoos, but against Gracie’s smooth skin, it seemed more like…jewelry. Nice. And a bit eerie, considering he carried a four-leaf-clover key chain.
“Of course, the most important thing is the suit.”
He nodded, and it was a few seconds before her words sank in. “Pardon me?”
“The suit,” she said, turning and holding in front of her a large white jumpsuit with a wide pointed collar and jeweled studs down the rather low-cut front. She sighed. “It’s going to be a little big for you—Roach has been filling in since our last guy left—but it’ll do until I can take it in.”
Steve stared at the jumpsuit, realization dawning with horror. “Me…wear that getup?” He laughed. “No way.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He backed up, shaking his head. “I mean I’m not wearing that.”
“But the customers want the Vegas Elvis package, and this is the suit.”
He waved his hands. “Oh, no. I’m not dressing up.”
She frowned harder. “Cordelia said you understood that this was part of the job. In fact—” she stepped over the dog and extended the vile suit toward him “—it is the job. You’re our Elvis.”
CHAPTER TWO
GRACIE SERGEANT watched emotions play over Steve Mulcahy’s handsome face: shock gave way to denial, and denial gave way to controlled annoyance. His cobalt-blue eyes went from icy to molten in a blink as he straightened.
“I’m not an Elvis impersonator.”
Gracie inspected his lean physique again—broad shoulders, narrow hips, long legs…the man was perfect—er, for the job. Top that with his blue-black hair, piercing eyes and—she swallowed—sensuous mouth, and she had a feeling she was experiencing a little of what women must have felt when standing next to the real Elvis. The man was knee-weakening gorgeous.
It was a good thing