Don't Look Down (12 page)

“In here,” he called. “Your office.”

“Hey, you have your own office, man,” she returned. “The big corner one. Stop stealing my peppermin—”

She stopped as she rounded the doorway. Stoney sat in her chair, facing the doorway. In one of the two opposing chairs, her blond hair in a ponytail that looked a great deal like Samantha’s, sat Patricia.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Patricia flowed to her feet. “I just wanted to chat. To see how your evening was.”

“Right. Why don’t we go down the street for a cup of coffee?” If there was one thing she didn’t want, it was for Stoney to find out what she’d been up to last night, and for whom she’d done it—especially after she’d turned down the Venice gig. The only thing worse than that would be if Rick figured it out. “Starbucks or something?”

“Oh, yes.” With a polite nod at Stoney, Patricia joined her
in the hallway. “That black man is very large,” she whispered as Sam gestured her toward the lobby.

“Yes, he grew up that way. To repeat, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I wanted to know what happened with the ring. You don’t just expect me to sit about and wait for the police to come knock on my door.”

“One could only hope.”

“I beg your pardon? You said you would help me. If you think you can use this to try to poison Richard against me, I will make certain you get the blame for it.”

Samantha bit back her first response. She’d been careful in her conversation with Castillo not to admit to ever doing anything illegal. With Patricia she needed to be at least as cautious—especially now that she’d broken into a house for the Ex. Yep, her instincts had been right on the money when she’d lifted that surveillance tape. “I made sure the police won’t be knocking anywhere around you, Patty. Play nice, and I’ll keep it that way.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Patricia asked stiffly.

“I hope you don’t have to find out.” There. That seemed vague enough, considering that she didn’t know precisely what was on the tape yet.

“Fine.”

“Good. I have work to do now, if you don’t mind.” Sam hit the elevator call button and then turned back toward the office.

“But I thought we were going to have coffee.”

Samantha closed her eyes for a moment.
Crap
. She already needed to pee. “One cup,” she said, turning around again.

The Starbucks down the street had a half-dozen tables clustered on the sidewalk outside. As they reached it, Patri
cia took a seat at one of the empty tables. “I’d like a mocha latte,” she said, setting her Vera Wang purse on her lap.

“So go order it,” Sam returned, leaning against the wall. “I don’t even like coffee.”

Patricia cleared her throat. “I don’t like to order things,” she said in a lower voice. “It’s so confusing in there.”

More like it was beneath her dignity. With a deep breath Samantha pushed away and entered the shop. Okay, so her motives for tolerating Patty were selfish; she was genuinely curious about the woman who’d netted Rick Addison, little as he seemed to like Patty now. Luckily Starbuck’s had non-coffee strawberry freezes, so she ordered one of those along with the Ex’s mocha latte. She paid, hefted the cups, and headed for the door. Now Patricia owed her four bucks in addition to her freedom. In the doorway, though, she paused.

A tall, golden-haired man about her age sat in the chair beside Patricia. He was good-looking, with a Florida tan, Ray-Bans, and a Body by Jake set of abs. Something about him seemed very familiar, and she spent a moment studying him.
Damn
, if it wasn’t Daniel Kunz. Charles’s son.

He leaned over and kissed Patricia on the mouth, then pushed his chair back and stood. Not wanting him to escape until she’d gotten a little more information on this very interesting turn of events, Sam shoved open the glass door. “Here you go, Patty,” she said, setting the mocha on the table. “Who’s your friend?”

Patricia’s cheeks actually reddened. “He—I—”

While Patricia stumbled around, he stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Daniel Kunz. You’re Sam Jellicoe.”

“I am. And I was sorry to hear about your dad,” she said, shaking his hand. Strong grip, no hesitation.

“Thanks.” Both his grip and his gaze lingered for a mo
ment before he freed her hand and looked back at Patricia. “I’ll see you for lunch, right?”

“Of course, Daniel.”

“It was nice to meet you, Sam,” he said, nodding. He gave Patricia another swift kiss on the lips, then headed down the street toward the cluster of high-rent office buildings.

Now this was interesting—and possibly extremely useful. Samantha took a sip of frozen strawberry while she waited for Patricia to put together whatever version she wanted of what had just occurred.

“Daniel’s an old family friend,” the Ex said after a moment, as she fiddled with the cardboard wrapper around her coffee cup. “He’s very friendly.”

“Right. He didn’t kiss
me
like that. He’s the one who got you into the Everglades Club, isn’t he?” That made sense; if even Rick had trouble getting tickets at the high-profile event, it would have been impossible for someone who hadn’t been to Palm Beach for three years. Especially for someone with a relatively limited income.

“You can’t tell Richard!” she burst out. “Just because I’m lonely doesn’t mean I’m interested in Daniel. We’re just friends.”

“You said that already.” Samantha pursed her lips. Obviously Patricia was consumed with the impression she might be making on Rick, but Sam tended to look at this a little differently. Daniel Kunz had been wearing a white polo shirt and shorts, looking like he was fresh off the tennis court. Fit, relaxed, and well-rested, and thinking of both food and females—that hadn’t just been a casual look he’d given her. He was a guy who liked to get laid, and that had definitely been on his mind.

What he hadn’t looked like was a son who’d just lost his father, or even a close acquaintance grieving for a friend.
Neither did he look worried that what had happened to Dad might happen to him. “Where are you having lunch with him?” she asked.

Patricia hesitated. “At his home. I’m helping him set things up for the wake.”

“Take me with you.”

“What? No!”

“Daniel’s father was a…friend of mine,” Samantha hedged. If she’d had a chance to know him better, she thought that might have been true. “I’d like to help.”

“We don’t need your help. I doubt you’ve ever thrown a party in your life.”

“I’ve attended plenty of them.” Of course she’d attended so she could case the joint and then rob it later, but that was beside the point. “Besides, I thought maybe I could assist my friend Detective Castillo. He was assigned to Charles’s case.”

“You’re friends with a policeman?” Patricia lifted a delicately arched eyebrow. “How fascinating.”

“Be fascinated all you want, but you’re taking me to lunch.”

“I am not.”

Okay, time for the gloves to come off. “I have the video of you taking that ring.”

She blanched. “You—”

“I took it for your protection, and I kept it for mine. Don’t make me deliver it to my detective friend.”

Patricia clutched the coffee cup so hard the plastic lid popped off. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I’d dare just about anything. All I want is access to that house.”

“I don’t suppose I have a choice, if you’re going to blackmail me.”

Wow, that was definitely the theme of the day. “That’s right. I’m blackmailing you. What time should I pick you up?”

“Noon. I’m staying at The Breakers. Don’t come in. I’ll meet you out under the portico.”

“The Breakers. Nice. They have a great spa. No Motel 6 for you?”

“In your dreams,” Patricia muttered.

She said something else into her mocha, but Samantha couldn’t make it out. Sam didn’t much care what it was, anyway; she’d found a way to get into the Kunz house. Who would have thought that Patricia Addison-Wallis stealing a ring might be useful?

Monday, 10:48 a.m.

“I
hope you’re not planning on signing this thing,” Tom Donner said, flipping through the thirty-page contract. “This guy’s got some balls. I’m surprised he got cornered into selling at all.”

“One might almost think he’s trying to make me overvalue Kingdom Fittings. Draw up our version of the deal, and we’ll see if we can get Leedmont to see the light.” Richard leaned against the back of his chair, facing away from the conference table and toward his koi pond in the front of the estate. “He did come out to Palm Beach, so maybe he’s willing to listen to reason. Take out the nontermination clause, put in a tiered benefit program for long-term employees, and let’s make the board of directors a reasonable counteroffer that doesn’t have me supporting them for the rest of their lives.”

“Gotcha.”

For a long moment Richard heard nothing but papers rustling. Somewhere out there, beyond the pond and the stands of palm trees, hidden among the walls of glass and
steel, Samantha Jellicoe was hunting. He should have kept his bloody mouth shut. Instead, in trying to prove to her that she could live without resorting to old habits, he’d pushed her into using them. Talking about cutting off his nose to spite his face. Now he needed to make sure she lost this wager—for both of their sakes.

“Did you bring the police report?” he finally asked.

“I brought it. The captain wasn’t happy about handing it over. I’m starting to owe people favors, Rick. And that means
you
owe people favors.”

“I’ll deal with it.” Richard turned around, picking up the folder Tom slid at him. “Anything interesting?”

“We never used to work this way.”

“Things change.”

“Gee, I wonder why.” Tom exhaled noisily. “The report’s not complete, since the investigation’s ongoing.”

“They haven’t made much progress.”

“The murder only happened a couple of days ago. I get why Jellicoe’s interested in this; besides the whole thief thing, she feels—”

“What do you mean, ‘the whole thief thing’?”

“Well, she was the top cat burglar around here, and now somebody’s pulled a job right under her nose. Bet that pissed her off.”

“It’s not like that,” Richard said stiffly.

“Fine. Then she just feels guilty about letting Kunz down. Totally selfless stuff.”

“And your point is?”

“Why are
you
asking me to get police reports, instead of her?”

If it had been anyone else, Richard wouldn’t have answered. Tom, though, had been his closest friend for better than ten years. And Tom provided a certain balance of opin
ion where Samantha was concerned—a balance that otherwise didn’t exist.

“I made a wager with Samantha,” he said gruffly, settling into his chair to look through the police report more closely. Tom was right; there wasn’t much there.

“What kind of wager?”

“A hundred dollars that the police could solve the murder through legitimate means more quickly than she could do it through whatever methods she could conjure.”

“A hundred bucks is chump change for you guys.”

“The amount’s not the point. It could have been a nickle and we’d be treating it the same way.”

“So you pretty much dared her to break the law,” Tom offered.

“No. She was going to break the law, anyway. I told her the investigation could be done better by the authorities.”

“Hence the favor-owing to get confidential police reports that Kunz’s family hasn’t even seen.”

Richard glanced up at the attorney. “I’m just keeping track of my team. And I’ll continue to do so.”

“Right. Anything else you want me to get for you? China patterns in the Kunz pantry? Or should I just go work on this twelve million dollar international pipe fittings deal?”

“Actually,” Richard returned, keeping a tight hold of his heating temper, “can you have your secretary set up a lunch for me with the governor? Today, if possible. Tomorrow’s acceptable.”

“Rick—”

“Never try to out-sarcasm a Brit, Tom. And I’m going to win this wager. You get the new proposal ready.”

Rick stood, taking the folder with him as he left the conference room. Donner might be right about his focus, but logic had no place in obsession. She was out there, and if he
couldn’t know where, he at least could know what she was doing. And to know that, he needed to think like she would. Hopefully the report would give him some clues.

True, he’d taken the side of the law. That didn’t mean that he just had to sit on his ass and watch, however. Nobody had said he couldn’t nudge things a little if he saw a direction.

“Rick.”

He turned around as Tom caught up to him along the gallery hallway. “What?”

“Don’t get pissed at me or anything, but if you want this Kingdom Fittings deal, it’s gonna take more than having my team rewrite the proposal. You still have to convince Leedmont to sell. He’s the key vote.”

“I’m working on it.”

“No, you’re not. You’re working on winning a hundred dollar bet, not a twelve million dollar company.”

“I’m doing both. And I’m coordinating that humanitarian relief program in eastern Africa, chairing a committee on solar power applications, reviewing a preliminary profit statement, revamping a propo—”

“Okay. I get it.”

“So if you’re going to begin that crap about Samantha being too big a risk and bad for my health or whatever it was you tried the last time I was in Florida, save your breath. Do your job.”

“I am.”

Richard took a step back toward Donner. “Samantha’s not going anywhere if I can help it. If you can’t deal with that, feel free to fax or e-mail me your letter of resignation.”

“Jesus, Rick. I’m not going after Jellicoe.” Tom cleared his throat. “I’m just saying I’ve never seen you lose focus
during a negotiation. Not even when you were dumping Patricia. This is dif—”

“It
is
different.” Taking a deep breath, Richard forced himself to back down. “I’m not losing focus. I’m expanding it. She’s been clean for three months, but I’m getting this feeling that she’s…looking for an excuse to slip.”

“It’s gotta be tough, I’ll admit. Like being a stuntman at the top of your game and being forced to work at kids’ parties as a clown or something.”

“Thanks for the analogy.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t finish. What if she gets offered work in the new Vin Diesel movie or something? You think she’ll keep making balloon animals?”

“She’d better.”

“Uh-huh. That’ll work. Threats.”

“Well, hopefully I’m more important to her than her old life,” Richard returned, tired of bloody theoretical scenarios. “If the two of us part company, it won’t be because of something I have or haven’t done. I’m not making a mistake with Samantha. If it comes down to it, everything else can go to hell. I love her.”

“Okay. That’s what I needed to know.” Tom gripped his shoulder, then continued past him toward the front door. “I’ll make sure nothing goes to hell. I’ll be at the office if you need something.”

Richard watched him head down the stairs. “Thank you, Tom.”

“Yeah, if you want to thank me, quit firing me.”

“No promises.”

The cell phone on his belt rang in the familiar tri-tone that meant Samantha was calling. Shaking himself, he flipped it open. “Are you in jail yet?” he asked.

“Been there and gone, studmuffin. I’m—”

“What?” he interrupted, turning back into his office and closing the door as one of the security guards strolled down the hallway on patrol. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“Yeesh. And I thought you’d be pissed that I called you ‘studmuffin,’” her voice came back, relaxed and amused.

She wasn’t in any immediate danger, then. Good as she was at playing games, he could still read her voice. Rolling his shoulders, he sat behind his desk. “I was saving that for later.”

“Okay, then. I just stopped by Castillo’s office. Don’t have a heart attack.”

Richard took a moment to absorb that. It was significant, both that she’d voluntarily visited a police station, and that she’d told him about it. “All right. No heart attack.”

“Good. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to Charles’s funeral with Frank if you’re not going. Are you?”

“The card came by messenger this morning,” he returned. “I thought you might want to go.”

“Great. I’ll call Frank and cancel on him. And I might have something else going that I’ll tell you about, but I need to figure a couple points out, first.”

She was getting very good at making him insane. “That’s fine,” he said coolly, refusing to take the bait. Trust. Whether he trusted her to stay out of trouble or not, she had to believe that he did.

“Okay.” She was silent for a moment. “Rick?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I’m glad you didn’t stay in England.”

“So am I.”

He smiled, lowering his shoulders as he clicked off the call. From her, an admission like that was as telling as a kiss or a caress. Answering Tom Donner’s question was simple:
as long as Samantha continued to try his way of life, yes, he would risk losing a deal or two. With a slight smile he dialed his New York office and then logged onto his computer for a joint statement review. He didn’t plan on losing anything.

Samantha entered the small Pompano Beach television repair shop. A harried-looking woman relayed information from the cell phone at her ear to the young, scraggly-haired guy sitting on a stool behind the counter. A large TV squatted between them, wires and guts hanging out.

“Hey, Tony,” she said, and the tech looked up.

“Julie. He’s in the back.”

With a nod Samantha picked her way through the clutter to the door at the back of the shop. Tony thought she was a druggy and his boss her dealer, but that was fine with her. “Bobby. How’s it going?”

The round man with thinning hair seated in a chair that looked far too flimsy for his girth, lowered his biker magazine. “Julie Samacco,” he rumbled. “Long time no see.”

Jeez. She cringed every time she heard that pseudonym. Thank God Rick didn’t know about it, or he’d die laughing. Still, it served its purpose, and it was easy to remember. “I’ve been out of town,” she returned. “I’ve got a question for you. An answer is worth a hundred.” She placed five twenties on a nearby TV.

“Ask away.”

Bobby LeBaron was one of those low-rent fences who’d buy bronze candlesticks and toasters. From the variety of high-value items that had gone missing from the Kunz estate, the burglar hadn’t been a high-price cat on contract for a particular buyer. A street hood couldn’t have gotten in and out without alerting the household, but any burglar with experience could have. And Bobby knew a lot of those guys.
“You know anything about a cat with a recent load of cash money on hand?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, how about rubies or a Van Gogh?” They were both pretty much out of his class, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“Nope.”

“Would you mind asking around for me? It’s worth another hundred.”

With a grunt of effort Bobby stood. “You know what kind of shop this is?”

Samantha frowned. “Yes.”

“Television repair. You know what that means?”

“Enlighten me, Bobby.”

“It means we got a lot of TVs. And they’re on all day. We get talk shows, soaps, repeats of entertainment shows from the night before. Shit like that.”

The hairs at the back of her neck began to prick. “Good for you,” she returned, making note of the screwdriver a few inches from her left hand. She’d always thought of Bobby LeBaron as crude and a little sleazy, but otherwise harmless. On rare occasion she’d been wrong, though, and she wasn’t going to ignore the suspicion creeping up her spine.

“Yeah, good for us. I especially like
Hollywood at Seven
. They show movie premieres, like the one for the new Russell Crowe film in London two months ago.”

Shit
. She didn’t mind that a few of her higher-class contacts knew who she was, but dumpers like Bobby would sell her out to the cops. Hell, she only knew him because he and Stoney used to go to the track together on occasion when she was a kid. Of course the cops knew where she lived now, and Bobby didn’t have anything more on her than they did. It was just the damned principle of the thing. “So do you not
know anything because I didn’t tell you my real name, or because you actually don’t know anything?”

Brown eyes fixed her with an annoyed gaze. “Shit. I had Martin Jellicoe’s kid running my track bets, and Stoney never even told me. You really going legit?”

“Probably.”

“Damn shame. No. I ain’t heard of any cat with a new wad of cash or any million-buck paintings. And if you’re straight, from now on you make an appointment like my other customers.”

“That’s fine.” As Samantha turned back for the door, she retrieved eighty dollars from the pile she’d set down. “Then I pay the same rates as your other customers. Your sign out front says twenty bucks per consultation. Have a nice day.”

“Bitch.”

She let him have the last word. After all, she had an answer and eighty bucks back. The shady life could be costly, and she might need the cash elsewhere.

“How many jobs have you lined up for Jellicoe Security?”

“One.” Samantha turned her back so Stoney could zip the back of her yellow Chanel dress. She’d pulled the blinds on her office window—no sense in giving Donner a thrill—but she needed to look the part when she picked up Patty for lunch.

Stoney zipped. “The Kunz one, or a real one where you get paid money?”

“A real one. And a 10K flat fee.”

“Well, that’ll keep us in Diet Cokes, anyway. Whose house? One of Addison’s buddies?”

Samantha hesitated. “It’s not a house, and it’s definitely not one of Rick’s friends. Just the opposite.”

“Right.” He stepped backward as she turned around. “It’s me, Sam. The guy who told you the tooth fairy was fake.”

Samantha’s lips twitched in a quick grin. That had been an interesting conversation. “It’s not my fault I thought she was a cat burglar.”

“Who wouldn’t?” he returned. “The point being, you can tell me what’s going on. I know you’re still working on Kunz.”