Don't Look Down (10 page)

“You told me you stole it.”

“So I’m an idiot. And you’re who, Lara Croft, Tomb Raider? Give me a break, Patty. Where’d it come from?”

“Patricia,” the Ex snapped. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Don’t try to frame me. Your hubby did that, and look what it got him.”

“My
ex
-husband. Ex, ex, ex!”

“Like I give a shit. You just planted a ring on me. A stolen one, obviously.” She took a breath, making a quick assessment of the situation. “And much as I hate to use the big guy for leverage, I’ve got Rick on my side. Spill.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s fine with me.” She pulled her cell phone off her belt and flipped it open. “He’s speed dial number one, Patty.”

“Patricia!” Patricia slammed her open hand on the table. “This is all your fault anyway! The way he looks at you…I thought, well, it worked for that bitch. Maybe it’s his new touch, his early mid-life crisis that he likes to shag thieves. And then I mention to him how naughty it would be for the two of us, and he practically throws me out of the house.”

“You can’t really blame him for that.”

“That used to be my house,” Patricia continued. “And now I’m—I’m stuck with this stupid thing,” and she waved a fist at
the ring, “and you’re going to ruin everything. Go ahead! I’ll just go to jail! Maybe they’ll put me in a cell next to Peter.”

“No, you’d go to women’s prison,” Samantha corrected.

Sobbing, Patricia sank her head onto her folded arms. Samantha thought it was probably just for show, but the Ex did have some acting skills. Some pretty good ones. From what Rick had said and what she’d observed, though, this helpless routine might not be an act. She was a cold, arrogant snob, sure, but she also had the worst judgment in history.

Samantha picked up the ring. It was good quality platinum, and the diamond seemed genuine enough. Even without the benefit of magnifier it still looked like maybe five carats. Wherever it had come from, once the owner noticed it was gone, the cops would be looking for it. She looked along the inside of the band. “‘For my love LH,’” she read. “Did you break in to get this, or just slip into somebody’s bedroom when they weren’t looking?”

“What does it matter?”

“It’ll matter when the cops are called and the vic starts going over who was there when it went missing.”

Patricia lifted her head. Her mascara was waterproof, but that didn’t keep her eyes from being red and puffy. “The ‘vic’?” she repeated. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“The victim, Patty. Answer the question. Break-in, or convenience?”

“I was at the Harkleys’ for a dinner party. I went upstairs to use the bathroom, and it was there in the bed stand of the master bedroom. I thought…I thought—”

“I know what you thought.” Samantha closed her fingers around the ring. “The Harkleys.” She remembered seeing them at the Everglades Club, an older couple with a ton of
money inherited from mining and oil. And she remembered five years ago when they’d been in possession of a Mayan crystal skull. That thing had creeped her out. She’d never been happier to unload an item on a buyer. “When did you take it?”

“Last night.”

From the expression on Patricia’s face, Patricia had realized that she should cooperate with the questions. Nobody could fake hope, and Mrs. Addison-Wallis wore a large measure of it. Sam frowned. She was being a sap, and she was going to regret it. At the same time, she knew how much it must have hurt Patty to have Rick turn his back, whoever’s fault it had been. The thought of him being there close enough to touch and not wanting anything to do with her…The pain of the idea slammed like a bullet into her chest.

And there was something else, too. The lure of danger, the thrill of going somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be—it pulled at her. She’d turned down Venice; didn’t she deserve something in return? Especially if she could write it off as a good deed.

“Samantha? Sam? Do you think…Would you…”

With a breath Sam put the ring back into her shirt pocket. A good deed. That’s all it was. Something to give her some positive karma marks. “I’ll take care of it. But if you breathe a word of this to anyone—
anyone
—I will see to it that you die a horrible, painful, slow death.”

Whether she believed the threat or not, Patricia nodded vigorously. “I won’t. I won’t say a word. I swear it. I won’t forget this, Samantha. If you ever need anything, you let me know.”

“Right.” Any more of this happy puppy dog crap, and she was going to puke. Especially when she was already hum
ming with the thought of a quick B and E. Samantha stood. “I have some interviews to finish.”

“Of course. I’ll just let you get on with it, then.”

Patricia led the way back to the reception door. Before she could pull it open, though, Sam blocked it with her hand. “One thing, Patty.”

The Ex swallowed her obvious irritation. “Yes?”

“Stay away from Rick.”

With a peal of laughter, Patricia headed through the reception area for the outside door. “Of course I will.”

Yeah. Sam believed that.

Sunday, 11:48 p.m.

R
ichard stood in the library window, gazing down at the lighted front drive as the Bentley pulled up. He stayed where he was, sipping his brandy, as Samantha clambered from the car and trotted up the shallow marble steps, passing out of sight as she neared the front door.

She’d said she had a client to deal with, and that she would be home by midnight. She’d made it by twelve minutes. Whoever the new client was, he apparently kept late office hours. Rick gave a slow smile. The last time she’d met with a client, she’d come home and tied him up for chair-breaking sex. Not that he liked her being bored and frustrated, but it did seem to be his duty to help her work through those issues. And his day of coordinating meetings and revamping offers hadn’t exactly been thrilling.

Refilling the snifter, he headed for the hallway and down the main staircase to meet her at the second landing. “How was it?” he asked, offering her a drink.

She took the snifter and sipped at it. “Boring. I’m sorry I missed dinner. Did you guys save me something?”

“‘You guys?’” he repeated. “Hans and myself, I presume?”

“You’re my guys,” she agreed, setting the snifter on the railing and stepping into the circle of his arms for a long, deep kiss. “You taste like brandy and chocolate,” she murmured, snuggling into his chest.

“Brownies. Hans was quite upset you weren’t here to sample them fresh from the oven. And yes, ‘we’ saved you some pot roast.” Slowly he slid his arms around her waist, lowering his face into her wavy auburn hair. Paradise. But at the same time it didn’t feel like wild sex night. “Come upstairs,” he murmured. “I stole the can of whipped cream.”

“Mm, fattening.”

That wasn’t quite the response he’d expected. The hard-on he’d been working on since she drove up faded a little. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. I brought a few receptionist applications to look at. I can do that over pot roast.”

She slipped free from his arms, recaptured the brandy, and turned back downstairs. Rick studied her relaxed, graceful descent for a moment as he leaned his elbows on the railing. She did not look like a former thief who’d been dealing with frustrating and mundane duties all evening and needed to work off some adrenaline. “With whom did you meet?” he asked.

Samantha glanced at him over her shoulder. “Nobody you know. I don’t think it’s a job. More for practice, really. I’ll be upstairs in a little bit.” With that she vanished in the direction of the kitchen.

Richard knew her pattern by now. When she was bored or frustrated, she wanted to work it off—usually with him, naked. The woman who’d just headed in to eat pot roast was relaxed and sleepy. She’d already had her adrenaline fix tonight.

Worry teasing at him, Rick followed her. Hans had gone
to bed, but he’d left a covered plate in the oven with a note of directions. Detailed ones. Evidently the chef knew Samantha pretty well, too. “Mind if I keep you company?” Rick asked, sliding into the kitchen chair opposite her.

She nudged the brandy back in his direction, then stood to claim a Diet Sprite from the beverage refrigerator. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

“I think the more interesting question is what’s on yours?”

Knocking her knuckles against a paper-filled folder as she passed by the table, Samantha picked up a hot pad and gingerly removed her plate from the oven. “Hiring a receptionist. You should have seen some of the applicants. There were a couple of guys, and I swear one of them is a body builder. He’s at the top of my list.”

“Very amusing. How do you know I’m not acquainted with your almost-client? Jellicoe Security only works with the best, and those are the people in my sphere, too.”

“Snob.”

“Who is it, Samantha?”

She glanced up at him as she peeled off the wrapping of tin foil. “You’re cute when you’re suspicious.”

So much for beating around the bush, though another thought had occurred to him, anyway. “You were digging into Charles Kunz’s life, weren’t you? Frank told you he would keep you apprised. Leave the investigation to him.”

“I figure I can find out more than he can, and much faster. Besides, it’ll keep me out of other trouble. You want me to stay out of trouble, don’t you?”

“I don’t see how sneaking around in the dark and talking to your old cronies is staying out of trouble.”

“How about you do things your way, and I’ll do them mine?” She stabbed a green bean. “And I’ll solve this before
the cops do. In fact, I’ll bet you a hundred bucks that I put this all together before Castillo does.”

“I’m not going to wager over something that could get you hurt.”

“Ha,” she retorted, shoveling in another mouthful and clearly perking up at the argument. “You won’t wager because you know I’m right. My method against the cops’.” Swallowing, she smiled darkly at him. “Come on, Rick. Bet me. Back up that hot accent with your big old wallet.”

Obviously she was going to look into Kunz’s death whether he wanted her to or not. Therefore, if he could use this opportunity to prove that her nefarious life couldn’t get her results any better or faster than the police, it would be worthwhile. He wanted her to stay straight, if for no other reason that if she didn’t, eventually the trail of thefts she’d left would catch up to her. That could ruin him, but he wasn’t precisely worried about himself. In addition, the mercenary part of him couldn’t help thinking that if he could prove her wrong, he could use that to pull her further from her old life and into his.

“You’re on,” he said crisply, offering his hand. “One hundred dollars that Castillo and legitimate police work will solve this case and find the killer before you can manage it.”

She dropped her fork and gripped his fingers. “Deal, Brit.”

Castillo needed to work fast, because if Richard knew one thing, it was that Samantha hated to lose—and that she didn’t do so often. He had his own connections, though, and as long as it was legal, he didn’t see why he couldn’t help out the Palm Beach Police Department. Civic duty and all that. Samantha would lose, and he would win—which as far as he was concerned, would be the bloody best thing for both of them.

Breaking into the Harkleys’ and replacing the damned ring last night had been a piece of cake. They hadn’t even updated security in the five years since she’d last gone in—which made the whole episode almost too easy. It had been okay, thrillwise, but definitely hadn’t topped out the meter. On a hunch she’d lifted the videotape from the previous night while she disabled the equipment for her own moonlit stroll. Having a little extra ammunition to use against Patricia might come in handy.

The wager over pot roast, though—there were no maybes about that. It definitely had some potential. The first thing she needed to do was find out more about the jewelry and the paintings that had gone missing at the time of the murder. That might help answer the question of whether the plan had been murder
and
robbery, or whether one had just been a matter of convenience and bad luck.

She wasn’t a big believer in luck, though, and so she decided to begin the morning with a phone call to Frank Castillo to give her a starting point. That, however, would entail getting out from under Rick Addison, and at the moment she was enjoying where she was far too much.

Gasping at the quickening slide of his hard body inside hers, Samantha lifted her ankles and locked them around his hips. “Rick,” she moaned breathlessly, running her fingers around his flat male nipples.

Heat and arousal and safety. All three words were heady, and finding them all in the person of Rick Addison was enough to give her multiple orgasms. She was working on her third right now.

“Faster,” she panted, lifting her hips to meet his humping.

“No,” he grunted, catching her mouth in a hard, deep kiss. “I’m keeping you pinned here all morning.”

What a way to go
. “That’s one way to win the bet,” she
managed in between spasms of pure pleasure, then pulled him down hard and twisted. She ended on top, straddling him and fully impaled. “Oh, God,” she murmured, lifting up and down on him. “But maybe I won’t let you.”

His elegant hands kneaded at her breasts, his hips rising to grind up into her over and over again. “That’s cheating,” he groaned.

After that both of them seemed to lose the ability to communicate verbally. Her entire body clenched and released. With a cry she collapsed on Rick’s chest, while he held her hips down and finished himself off inside her.

She lay across him, panting, and waited for her second favorite part of their lovemaking. Slowly his arms lifted to wrap around her, not confining, but comfortable. Safe.

She’d been in several relationships before, all of them short-lived, and most of them ending because she got bored or lost interest, or needed to leave the country for a job and he decided she must have a lover somewhere else. She’d never been with anyone for three months, and she’d never craved anyone the way she did Richard Addison. And it wasn’t just in bed; she liked talking with him, and eating with him, and the way he always made an excuse to hold her hand.

“Samantha?” he murmured, stroking her hair.

She kissed his throat, feeling his strong, fast pulse beneath her lips. Intoxicating—and she didn’t use that term lightly, or often. Not until she’d met him, actually. “Hm?”

“I’m not going to try to change your mind about Kunz, but—”

“Good,” she interrupted, straightening onto her hands to look down at him. “Because I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Let me finish, Yank. Just be careful, will you? I want you to stay out of prison as much as you do.”

She relaxed. “I’m always careful,” she cooed, stretching her legs out beside his.

“No, you’re not.”

“I’ve been picking up some magazines for the office,” she said, wrapping her free arm around his shoulder, resting her cheek on his chest. She liked to hear his heartbeat. “
Cosmo, Harper’s Bazaar, Woman’s Day
, stuff like that.”

“And?”

“And did you know that after three months couples start to move out of their honeymoon period, noticing the flaws of their significant others and becoming less focused on sex?”

Rick snorted. “Then we’re safe. I already know about your flaws, and I don’t have any.”

“Jackass.”

“And as for becoming less focused on sex,” he continued, pulling her farther across him and lifting her face to look up at her from inches away, “fuck that. I want you every minute of every day. You know how I feel about you.”

Her chest tightening, Samantha slipped from his grasp and sat up. She hated when he talked like that—not because she didn’t like hearing it, but because more and more, she did. If she let him, Rick would consume her, trap her into his life and make her think that was precisely what she wanted. It might be, eventually, but she couldn’t let herself fall into it without analyzing who wanted what, and what was best for her.

Shit, she’d spent the entire twenty-four years of her life learning that she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself, and that inevitably people would work toward their own safety and comfort and happiness rather than someone else’s. And she wasn’t an idiot, either. If she got caught while she was with Rick, his empire would pay for her blundering. So of course by pushing her to go straight he was looking out for
himself as much as he was for her. It was the way of the world, even for big shots like Rick.

“Samantha?” he said quietly, sitting up beside her. “Don’t go up the pole about it.”

“I’m not freaking out. Even with the weird lingo you’re cool—I’ve told you that.” She shook herself. She’d done a B and E last night, and
he
didn’t even know about it, much less the cops. But the fact that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—tell him about her foray…Fuck, she needed to focus. “But I think you’re just trying to distract me and win the bet,” she improvised.

He kissed her shoulder blade. “Have it your way, my love. I’m not in a hurry for anything but breakfast.”

She drew a breath. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Maybe I’ll eventually come to my senses. I’m taking a shower. Stay out. And ask Hans if he’ll make me up some pancakes, will you?”

Before she could scoot off the bed, Rick caught her hand. “You never told me that you’d be careful.”

“I did yesterday.”

“That was yesterday.”

“All right, your lordship. I’ll be careful.”

As soon as she’d showered and they’d eaten breakfast down by the pool, Samantha jumped in the Bentley and headed into town. On the way she dialed Frank Castillo’s cell phone. Whatever Rick might have assumed about her nefarious methods of investigation, she needed to know what had gone missing from Charles Kunz’s house.

“Castillo.”

“Frank. It’s Sam Jellicoe. Do you have a sec?”

She could hear the surprise in his voice. “Sure. I’m in the office.”

“Can I meet you somewhere?”

Silence. “Yeah. The office.”

“Frank, don’t be a—”

“Is this a favor for me or a favor for you, Sam?”

She scowled. “Fine. I’ll come see you at the office,” she said, her throat tightening.

“Okay. I’ll grab a doughnut for you.”

“Chocolate with sprinkles. See you in about fifteen.”

Her hand was shaking when she flipped the phone closed with her chin. Her father must be whirling in his grave at the idea of his daughter volunteering to walk into a police station. New life, new insanity, she supposed. And she’d made a damned bet with Rick—one she wasn’t going to lose. Especially not when that would mean failing Charles Kunz.

It dawned on her that she hadn’t asked Rick about his visit with Patricia yesterday morning; considering what had transpired—the break-in she’d done last night to return the diamond ring—avoiding the subject altogether seemed the wisest thing to do. At the same time, he hadn’t brought Patty up, either. With that knight-in-shining-armor crap he liked to do, his silence wasn’t all that reassuring. At least Solano Dorado didn’t have a guest house the Ex could move into—though thankfully that didn’t feel like Rick’s syle.

Secrets. They both kept them—and the better she came to know Rick, the less she liked that he had them. For perhaps the first time, she understood his frustration with her.