Free Hot Stuff by Flo Fitzpatrick Page A

for playing tour guide.
    â€œDid you know that Bollywood films started with silent flicks? And that over eight hundred movies are made each year? And villages all over India have pirated films imported so folks can see what’s what in Bombay? And that most of the actors don’t do their own singin’? They lip sync and songs get recorded later at a studio usually by one or two people.”
    He winked. “But Jake has his actors do their own voiceovers and he even uses a script. And the plots! Wait till you hear Jake’s latest with Asha Kumar. You think the duet with the tiger was wild? Hang on to your undies!”
    I didn’t listen to the recital about Bollywood for long. As a movie buff and sometime dancer, the topic fascinated me, yes, but right now I just wanted to know what Brig had done since leaving the hotel this morning.
    â€œBrig. Stop with the lecture. I love movies, but I can’t focus, and I boned up on Bollywood before I got on that plane two days ago. So, some other time we’ll exchange info on all the Masala movies made in the last eighty years, plus all the celebrities in India, including Spot the tiger. Now, will you please tell me what’s with the cryptic statement about learning a lot? Where have you been and what have you been doing and what have you discovered?” I groaned. “Great. I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours and I’m already rattling on as much as you are. I shall endeavor to be calm and collect my thoughts. So, Mr. O’Brien, where on Shiva’s good earth have you been?”
    He looked around the tent as if expecting to see thugs popping out of clown cars or animal cages at any time. Not that either of us would have been surprised.
    â€œI have been to the Taj Mahal Hotel. Your previous residence, albeit a short-lived one. Quite nice, by the way. First class. I see why the snotty Brits stay there.”
    â€œYes? Can you dispense with the Irish political sentiments for a moment and get on with it?”
    His face darkened momentarily, then he nodded.
    â€œAh. Well, then. Miss Tempe Walsh is listed as checked out. Raymond Decore is not.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI couldn’t determine who did the actual checking out of the checkout, mind you. But I did learn that Miss Tempe Walsh’s things had been removed from her room by a gentleman.”
    I wavered between stunned, ticked, and scared. Ticked won by a hair. “They got my stuff! Damn! I had a really cute little outfit I planned on wearing just for the Ganesh festival closing ceremony thingy two days from now. I’ll bet it was Mahindra’s ugly obese goon, Avi the knife thrower. I’m sure Fat Thug Avi will enjoy traipsing through Bombay in a multitiered skirt with a conch belt and a green tank top. Why did he have to steal my clothes? Oh crap. My passport too. I hid it in my suitcase.”
    Brig watched me with amazement. “Tempe. Don’t you get the point of this? They knew where you were staying. Conch belts can be replaced. By the way, if you’d hinted you wanted one, I’d’ve included a nice belt in the basket of clothes from this morning. I saw several at Kemps.”
    â€œOh, Brig! That reminds me. Thank you. I owe you a ton. And you have great taste. You picked exactly what I would have and I’m overwhelmed. But I can’t keep the earrings, gorgeous as they are. Way too pricey. I’m no dope. Those are not rhinestones swimming just below the sails.”
    He shook his head. “First of all, you don’t owe me. Secondly, thank you for the compliment. Thirdly, you are going to keep the earbobs because I got them much cheaper than I care to tell you. Those are tiny little diamonds, and they look lovely on you, and I owe you for making you dance at the ladies club last night.”
    I put my hand up to stop him. Pointless.
    He went on. “Tempe, let me finish. I knew you weren’t thrilled with