Don't Look Down (13 page)

“Oh, so like I’m making up this new client?” She wiggled her fingers in front of her. “Woooo, he’s invisible.”

“As long as his money’s not invisible. Somebody needs to pay for your services.”

“I know that. And he will. But this is kind of…strange, so I’m going to talk to Rick first.”

He looked at her. “But not to me.”

“The client’s not a business rival of yours. I’m trying to be good, Stoney, but I’m new at it.”

“And so far this seems like so much more fun than earning a million bucks for two days’ work in Venice.”

She closed her eyes for a second. Jesus. With Stoney and Rick pulling her in exact opposite directions, she was going to split in two. “Maybe it’s not more fun, but I’m trying to acquire a taste for doing the right thing, okay?”

Stoney took a deep breath. “Okay. Anything new with the dead, nonpaying client, then?”

“I’m still trying to figure out just what happened. What if it meant something that he died right after he contacted me about security?”

“Maybe it did, but that doesn’t make it your fault—or your problem. What
is
your problem is twelve thousand dollars in rent you have to pay every month, and it sounds like you have something going with that. Of course it also sounds like you’re trying to do it all yourself and you’re getting stretched a little thin.”

“Business sucks.”

“Sam—”

“Okay, okay. I don’t mean that. Not yet, anyway. Just give me a couple of days. Then we’ll put some business ads in newspapers and on the radio and start acting like a real company.”

“It’s a deal. For now. I’ll go through the call-backs. And hey, how many paintings do you think we need for the decor in here?”

Sam hesitated. “That depends. Where are the paintings coming from?”

“Same place as the furniture. I’ll take care of it.”

“Six week rentals again?”

He grinned. “I don’t know yet.”

Samantha dug into her purse, making sure she had a couple of paper clips and some copper wire in addition to her keys. The tools of the trade—of her trade, anyway. Rick had once accused her of trying to be MacGyver, but hell, Mac could build a plane out of paper clips. She could just open doors with them.

“Are you going to tell me where you’re going, all fancied up?”

Somebody should know, just in case. “I’m going to lunch with Patricia. She’s taking me over to the Kunz place.”

Stoney stopped in his tracks. “You’re doing what?”

“She knows the son. Daniel. I said I’d go to help out with setting up tables and decorations and shit for the wake.”

“Oh, my good glory,” he said quietly, grabbing her arm. “Just remember two things, Samantha Elizabeth Jellicoe.”

The middle name. Uh-oh.

“One, you can get as close to these people as you want, but don’t you ever forget that you’ve stolen from half of them. They aren’t your friends. They’re your marks.”

“Clients,” she corrected. “They’re my clients now. Potential ones, anyway. What’s number two?”

“Number two, whatever I think of you pretending to settle down with Rick Addison, he’s got it bad for you. You hanging out with his ex is a bad idea. A very bad idea.”

She wasn’t all that sure she was pretending anything. “I’m getting information about Kunz. That’s all.”

“Sure it is.”

Sure it was.

Patricia was waiting at the edge of The Breakers’ covered valet drop off. She’d donned a nice dress of pastel greens and yellows with metallic beads around the waist and hem. It had to be either a Donna Karan or a Marc Jacobs. Samantha stifled a grin as she unlocked the passenger door. Before, she’d made a point of knowing which designers were hot because she had to mingle with marks who spent a great deal of their income looking fashionable. Now with Rick as her companion she’d become one of the fashion elite.

Patricia had also put a white billowy scarf over her hair and donned a dark pair of sunglasses. Evidently she didn’t want anyone to recognize her and realize with whom she was driving about town.

“Nice scarf,” Samantha said as she roared out of the drive and headed toward North Ocean Boulevard.

“It was a gift,” Patricia said stiffly.

“From Daniel?”

“That’s none of your affair.”

Samantha smiled again. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”

The sunglasses lowered for a moment as blue eyes gazed over the rims at her. “I don’t like you.”

“I’m not your biggest fan either, Patty. What you did to Rick was—”

“No worse than what he did to me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“He ignored me. Oh, when it was convenient or he needed a companion he would take me out to dinners or lunches or parties, but that was it. The rest of the time he had his meetings in Tokyo, his contract-signings in Milan…Half the time I didn’t even know where he was. And after a while I really didn’t care.”

“He said you didn’t like to travel.”

“There’s a difference between travel and what he did. Who wants to fly to Tokyo to be left in a hotel for three days? After the first three months of being on a plane and not even knowing where we’d landed I’d had enough of that, believe me. You’ll see.”

Samantha glanced sideways at her passenger. Rick had been making an effort to be around as much as he could, but it was all too precious and still too new to use for bragging rights with Patty. And she had no guarantee that the Ex wasn’t describing her own future, anyway. She’d be long gone, though, before she ever got as desperate as Patty.

“Hey, I just stick around because he’s got two personal chefs,” she said instead.

Patricia waved her hand dismissively. “Anyone can have a personal chef,” she returned. “Peter and I had one. I had to let her go when Peter was arrested. Damned legal fees. Now I just have a woman who comes in to cook and clean for me.”

“So you still have the house in London,” Samantha said, pulling up to the wrought-iron gates of the Kunz estate. Coronado House lacked a few acres and several thousand square feet on Solano Dorado, but just about everything outside of Donald Trump’s Mar-a-Lago did.

“My attorney will be putting it on the market any day now. Unfortunately, Peter’s lawyers have already put some sort of lien on it.”

“More legal fees?” Putting down her window, Sam pressed the call box.

“By the time this trial and the appeals are finished, I’ll be a complete pauper. Peter’s so selfish, doing this to me. He might have just admitted to everything and gone to jail. Then at least I would have been left with something.”

“Who’s calling?” the voice on the intercom said.

Better not to confuse anybody until she was inside, Sam decided. “Patricia Addison-Wallis, to see Daniel.”

“And who are you?” the voice demanded.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Patricia grumbled, leaning across Samantha. “She’s a friend. I will not sit out here and be interrogated.”

The gate swung open.

“Very nice,” Samantha complimented.

“It has nothing to do with you,” Patricia returned. “It’s unseemly to be seen waiting out here.”

The Coronado House estate boasted only two stories, and the sprawl of the building wasn’t as pronounced as Solano Dorado. The architecture of both were in the same Mediterranean revival style, as most of the large properties in Palm Beach were—the architect Addison Mizner was practically worshiped as a god around here. Everything worth anything had to be built in the image favored by him.

She’d seen the blueprints, but they didn’t describe the decor. Surprisingly, once a stern-faced butler wearing a black band around one arm showed them into the foyer, Coronado House’s homage to old Spain ended. The foyer was more of an atrium, a steel-domed spiderweb filled in with glass and open to the light of the Florida sky above. Tropical plants hung from the web in wire baskets, while towering palms softened the lines of the staircase and the open, arched entryways into other rooms of the house.

Where everything in Rick’s house reflected an ageless antiquity and sophistication, Coronado spoke of manipulated wilderness. “This is nice,” Samantha said, turning a slow circle and not surprised that she preferred Rick’s understated control and sense of elegance.

“Hm,” Patricia murmured. “I always feel like I should have bug spray to hand.”

“‘Always?’” Sam repeated. “How many times have you been here?”

“Patricia,” a female voice said from above them.

Sam turned to look as a slender, brunette-haired woman in hip-hugging black Versace slacks and a white peasant shirt glided down the curving staircase. Now that she knew Daniel’s face, recognizing another Kunz of similar age was simple. This had to be Laurie, the daughter. Kunz’s late wife must have been a Miss America to overcome her husband’s lack of stature and stick appendages in their offspring.

“Thank you so much for coming by to help me with this,” Laurie continued as she descended. “Everything is just so…overwhelming. Whoever thought of holding a party when someone dies obviously never had to do it himself.”

“I’m so pleased I could help,” Patricia said warmly, going forward to greet Laurie and give her a fake two-cheek kiss at the bottom of the stairs.

“With all the events already scheduled for the Season, it’s been almost impossible to find a caterer.” Laurie returned the almost kisses and then faced Samantha. “You’re Samantha Jellicoe,” she said.

“Patricia said you might need some more help,” Sam offered, not approaching or offering her hand or her cheeks.
Whoo
. She knew hostility when it was being beamed at her.

“Are you certain you’re not here to steal something?”

Alarms began going off in Sam’s skull. “Excuse me?” she
returned, deciding on a tone of disdainful disbelief and declining to point out that from her observations the Kunz wake was more likely to be targeted by bored society dames than by her. She refused to be surprised any longer by the number of people who knew her secret identity.

“I don’t know why my father wanted to hire you,” Laurie went on, navigating a slow circle around Samantha, “but I found the file he was making up on you.”

“A file?” Patricia said, coming back to life. “What kind of file?”

“Newspaper clippings of her appearances with your ex-husband, a few archived Internet articles about her father—he died in prison, did you know?—and some notes on robberies my father thought she’d probably done.”

Great. An ambush
. “Thinking’s easy,” Samantha returned. “Proof’s hard. My dad did some crappy things. He paid for them.” And for some that were hers. “We’re not all like our parents though, are we, Laurie?”

“I didn’t know you were bringing friends, Patricia,” Daniel’s smooth voice came from the doorway to the left.

He’d changed into jeans and a loose polo shirt, the quintessential Florida trust-fund beach bum down to his black flip-flops. His gaze, as this morning, focused on Sam rather than Patricia.

“Oh, she’s not a friend,” Patricia said, brushing past her to reach Daniel. “She doesn’t really know anyone in Palm Beach, and I felt sorry for her.”

This was becoming more and more interesting. Much as Samantha had wanted to see the rest of the house, the information she was getting right there in the foyer was probably more useful than taking in the view. She knew the layout already from the blueprints. The hostility, though, was beginning to interfere with the task at hand. She needed to analyze
all of this, but not while people were trying to accuse her of things.

“I know a few people in Palm Beach,” she noted, keeping her attention on Daniel. It was instinct, she supposed, always looking for an opening, a weakness, a way to get whatever it was she wanted. And she sensed that she was more likely to get it from him than from Laurie. “I’m only here because I liked your dad. Good luck finding a caterer.”

Not waiting for the butler to return and open the front door for her, she headed back out to the drive and the Bentley. She wasn’t worried about Patricia; the lady, despite her obvious helplessness in some areas, had a genuine gift for getting what she wanted. With one exception.

Once she was back out on the street, Sam pulled out her phone and speed-dialed Rick. Her father had always taught her that the first person she needed to think of and be concerned about was herself. That had changed over the past few months, and that weakness was probably the main reason she’d decided to retire from a life of crime. Whether she was annoyed with him or not, frustrated at the way he kept trying to manipulate her life into what he wanted it to be or not, his was still the first image she thought of in the morning and the last one she conjured at night. And if she knew him at all, by now he’d probably hunted up a few leads of his own.

“I was just thinking of you,” his voice came, without preamble.

She smiled. “Were you? What did I do this time?”

“Nothing. I decided to have a Diet Coke.”

Samantha laughed. “Great. You associate me with a soft drink.”

“It’s rather your signature, don’t you think?”

“I suppose it could be worse.”

He was silent for a moment. “What’s up?”

God, he always knew. But she could use that to her advantage. “Nothing much. My lunch date cancelled.”

“How fortunate that I was just about to head out to Café l’Europe for lunch, then.”

“Oh, you were, were you? The Diet Coke was just to whet your appetite?”

“I was thirsty. Are you anywhere close enough to join me?”

“Sure. Twenty minutes?”

“I’ll see you there.”

To paraphrase Sherlock Holmes, something was afoot. Her tingling Spider sense said that nothing about Charles Kunz’s murder had been ordinary, or accidental. At least some of the answers were still at Coronado House. Unless she was mistaken, she’d seen some of the clues already. And maybe Rick had a few more for her, if she asked the right way.

Monday, 12:53 p.m.

A
s Richard handed his SLR key over to a parking valet, Samantha walked up to him from down the street. She would have parked the Bentley around the corner; she hated giving up her keys and the location of her car to someone else.

Something troubled her. He’d heard it in her voice over the phone, and he could see it now, in her face. Richard drew a breath, advancing the last few steps to meet her. “You look great,” he said, taking her hands and spreading them to view her better in her short yellow dress and matching sandals.

She’d been meeting someone who would expect these clothes. He could probably make a few guesses, but it would mean more if she told him. He’d always been patient, but since becoming acquainted with Samantha, he’d learned to turn it into something of an art form.

“So do you,” she said, leaning in to place a peck on his lips while she smoothed the lapels of his charcoal gray jacket.

“That won’t do,” he returned, tugging her in against him
and lowering his mouth over hers. Heat speared through him at the touch, as it always did. Obsession. It seemed the more refined his tastes, the more primitive his needs. And she’d moved to the top of his list practically from the moment they’d met. He’d stopped trying to figure it out logically, because logic obviously had nothing to do with it.

“Okay, you look really great,” she amended, favoring him with a smile as she freed her mouth and one of her hands. “Buy me some chow.”

“I don’t believe they serve ‘chow’ at Café l’Europe, but I’ll see what I can do. A chili dog, perhaps?”

“With bratwurst.”

“If you eat that, you’re not coming home.”

The maitre’d nodded as they entered the restaurant. Despite the small crowd waiting for seats in the bistro, a table in the formal dining room would have been reserved for them—or it should have been, since he’d called to make reservations the moment he’d hung up with Samantha. After a bare moment of well-disguised scrambling the head waiter appeared to lead them through the cool, dim room to a place against the large front window.

“Thank you, Edward,” Rick said, shaking the waiter’s hand before he held the chair for Samantha.

“How much did you slip him?” Sam murmured, sitting.

He took the seat across from her. “That’s gauche. My thanks will appear in the tip.” Another waiter appeared, and he requested an iced tea for himself and a Diet Coke for Samantha.

She waited until they were alone again, then tapped his finger with her spoon. “You already ate, didn’t you?”

“I had an apple,” he conceded, leaving out the roast chicken and fresh bread and thankful he always carried breath mints.

“You’re a good guy, Rick.”

He smiled. “I keep telling you that.”

Her smile joined his, her thoughtful green eyes studying his face. “Do you know what I want to do right now?”

Rick placed the cloth napkin across his lap. He should have asked for a less conspicuous table. “Tell me.”

Samantha picked up a bread stick, examined it for a moment, then slowly licked the length of it. “Mm, salty goodness,” she murmured.

“Christ. Cease and desist before I split my zipper.”

“Oh, then I would have to sit on your lap in my short dress to protect your modesty.” She leaned forward, gazing at him serenely. “Comfortable?”

He snorted, not certain whether she was actually feeling that randy or whether she was trying to distract him from asking any sticky questions. “No. My only consolation is that later I’m going to see to it that you do everything you just suggested.”

Samantha straightened again, biting off the end of the bread stick. “Until then, can I run something by you?”

And there she went, changing personas again. “I’m supposed to be able to think now?” he returned, torn between amusement and umbrage. “You forced all the blood out of my brain.”

“You’re still smarter than the average bear.” She took another bite. “What’s your opinion of the Kunz kids?”

His brain began to refill, deflating his cock. All business now. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether this is about the wager or not. The wager that
you
made, by the way.”

Samantha blew him a raspberry. “Okay, whatever. I can always con my way into their house and find out for myself.” She sat back and finished off the bread stick. “Or maybe
Laurie needs a new best friend.” She grinned without humor. “Or maybe Daniel does.”

Bloody smashing
. “What do you want to know?”

“How well do you know Daniel?”

“Daniel. Better than a passing acquaintance, not quite a friend,” he returned.

“What’s your opinion of him? What’s he like?”

Richard looked around, making certain no other diners could overhear their conversation. One didn’t criticize one’s fellows in public—only in select company who wouldn’t credit you with the gossip. “Officially he’s a vice president in the Kunz Manufacturing Company. Unofficially, I doubt he’s ever gone into the office except to shag his father’s latest secretary.”

“He doesn’t seem stupid,” she commented, angling her eyes beyond him and straightening. “Not from what I’ve seen, anyway.”

He didn’t need to look to know the waiter was approaching with their drinks. Samantha ordered the fettuccine while he requested a table salad with vinaigrette. As soon as the waiter left again, Samantha shoved the basket of bread sticks across the table in his direction.

“Table salad? I hope your first lunch was heartier, because you’re going to need more energy than that for later, babe.”

At least she hadn’t gotten into any mortal danger this morning on whatever mission had required that sexy, sophisticated yellow dress, or she wouldn’t have been so horny for him. He wondered whether she realized how well he could read her. “I’ll manage,” he returned, wishing they could forego lunch altogether, “and no, Daniel’s not stupid. He’s just lazy about business.”

“All the money came from Daddy’s efforts, right?”

“Yes. He and Charles always seemed to get along well,
though. Charles might have been disappointed with his lack of ambition, but Daniel did bring in some tennis and yachting trophies. I think that satisfied everyone concerned.”

“For putting him somewhere between acquaintance and friend, you seem to know his character pretty well.”

He nodded. “I’m observant.”

“What about the daughter, Laurie?”

“Laurie owns a real estate agency,” he commented, beginning to wonder whether this was Samantha being idly curious, or something more. As he’d said, he’d made most of his fortune by being observant. “She’s the smart sibling. Again, as far as I could tell, Charles seemed to dote on her, even more than on Daniel.”

“Probably because she was earning her own paycheck. So what happened to Mom?”

“Cancer. Nine years ago or so, I believe.”

“Who did that affect the most?”

No sympathy from Samantha, but then her mother had dropped out of her life when she’d been five. “I don’t really know. Daniel would still have been in high school. Laurie too, or just starting college. I didn’t know them, then.”

“Okay.” Ice cubes tinkled as she swirled her glass. She frowned into her soda. “Have you ever been inside their house?”

“Coronado? Once, for a Fourth of July party. Sorry, but I really didn’t notice security.”

“That’s all right. I don’t know what I’m looking for, anyway. I have the specs on the blueprints.”

“So this
is
about the wager.”

Samantha grinned. “Maybe.”

“Mm-hm. Change the subject.”

“Fine. How was your morning?”

“I rejected a sales offer from Leedmont and sent it back
with Tom for revisions, and called Sarah in London to arrange for the rest of the Kingdom Fittings board to fly to Palm Beach on my dime.”

“Rick, you don’t—”

He lifted a hand. “If I don’t get to give you business suggestions, love, you don’t get to give them to me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Speaking of which, there’s something I should probably tell you.”

“So tell me.”

“You won’t like it.”

Richard gazed at her. “That’s never stopped you be—”

“Who’s that?” she interrupted, her gaze somewhere beyond his shoulder.

Somewhat glad the chaos of his diverse business had prepared him a little for Samantha’s quicksilver mind, he shifted to glance casually behind him. “Who?”

“The guy with Laurie Kunz.”

“How do you know that’s Laurie?” She’d never set eyes on the older Kunz sibling that he knew of.

She shot him an annoyed look as the waiter appeared with their lunch. As he set the plates on the table, Samantha touched his hand and smiled up at him. “Could you help me?” she cooed, all clueless green eyes and open innocence. “I wanted to give my condolences to Laurie Kunz, but I can’t remember the name of the man with her.”

The man actually blushed. “I—” He looked over his shoulder. “Oh. That’s Aubrey Pendleton.” The waiter leaned closer. “He’s a walker.”

“Oh, really?” Samantha lifted an eyebrow. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem, Miss Jellicoe.”

Richard dug into his salad. He didn’t know why, but there were times—frequent times—that he felt like he was back in
public school where Samantha was concerned. If only it were that simple, that he could get her name tattooed over his heart and he would know she wasn’t playing a game. Changing the chameleon aspect of her character might change the essence of who she was—and he wasn’t certain he wanted that. “Feel better now?” he asked finally.

“Definitely. Aubrey Pendleton’s not a bad-looking guy.”

In the guise of taking a sip of iced tea, Rick sent the bistro crowd another look. Tall, with blond hair just going silver and a George Hamilton tan, Pendleton had the handsome, ageless look of precisely what he was—a professional escort. No female in Palm Beach liked to attend a society event alone, so walkers like Pendleton made themselves available for escort duties to young and old women, alike. His presence with Laurie Kunz was a little surprising, since she’d never lacked for company as far as Richard knew, but perhaps he was just a friend of the family.

Samantha knew more than she was admitting, but this wasn’t the setting to explore that. They both knew that things couldn’t continue with them pursuing contrary agendas and with her apparently pushing the limits—or threatening to—where the wager was concerned, but he’d been doing his homework over the past three months. Watching and listening frequently netted him more than confrontation. The last time he’d pushed his agenda on her, she’d headed for the airport. With the Kingdom Fittings deal pending, he didn’t have the time to go chasing after her again.
Honey, Rick, not vinegar
.

She paused as she lifted a bite to her mouth. “He’s not as pretty as you are, of course.”

“Thanks.”

With a chuckle she sipped her soda. “I’m just clarifying. And thanks for meeting me for lunch.”

“My pleasure.” Yes, honey was definitely the way to go.

Her grin deepened. “Do you think we’ll eventually end up killing one another?”

Richard grinned back at her. “Probably.”

When they left the restaurant they both turned their cell phones back on. Samantha’s rang immediately, in Stoney’s telltale “Raindrops” theme. “
Hola
,” she said out of habit. Blending was the key, and just because the call came from Stoney’s cell phone didn’t mean it was Stoney calling.

“Honey, I think I found something you might be interested in. Can you meet me at Gressin’s Antiques?”

“I’m about fifteen minutes away.” She looked toward Worth Avenue. “Who’s at the office?”

“A sign that says ‘Back in five minutes,’” her former fence returned. “Coming?”

“I’ll be right there.”

Before she could head down the street to where she’d stashed the Bentley, Rick snagged her arm. “What were you going to tell me that I won’t like?”

She might have been the one with the near photographic memory, but he never forgot anything, either. Crap. She needed to tell him about Leedmont, but she was pretty sure how he would react—and she needed to meet up with Stoney. Still, the longer she kept quiet, the worse it would be when she spilled the story. “One thing first. I don’t know all the details yet, but whatever happens, you have to pretend you don’t know anything about it.”

“That’s a bit vague.”

Sam folded her arms across her chest. “I’m serious, Rick. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be telling you this at all. It’s got to be an ethics thing. So you have to promise me.”

He didn’t like it; she could see that on his face. People like Rick didn’t appreciate being dictated to. But they
didn’t like being left out of the loop, either. After a long few moments he nodded. “I’ll remain ignorant, whatever you tell me. Unless it endangers your health or mine. I promise.”

Blowing out her breath, Sam took a last look around. As long as they didn’t start yelling, nobody was close enough to have a clue what they were talking about. “I got a paying gig this morning.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Thanks,” she returned, meaning it. “It’s not actually in my area of expertise, but the client didn’t have anywhere else to go, and I think he’s being screwed over.”

“Okay.”

“The client is John Leedmont.”

Rick blinked. “The same John Leedmont with whom I’m fighting over Kingdom Fittings.”

“Yes.”

“I see.” His lips thinning, he took a few steps down the street and then returned to her again. “What did he hire you for?”

Samantha shook her head. Ethics might be a sticky area, but she did know a couple of things about it. “That’s between him and me.”

“Sam—”

“No, Rick. I told you because you two are doing business, and I didn’t want you to get blind-sided. I’m not telling you the details.”

“You know you can trust me not to betray your confidences.”

“I know I can. But that’s not my point. If you want to fight about it, okay, but I’d rather not.”

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I don’t expect you to tattle to me. But I didn’t expect that your first paying client would be someone whose company I’m trying to take over, either. What if—”