Don't Look Down (19 page)

Of course nothing like a schedule change would faze her. “Mm-hm.”

“On the other hand, maybe Leedmont just wants them to be able to enjoy the nice Florida weather.”

“Your other theory’s better.”

“Thanks. So move the meeting back where it was.”

“I can’t. That would mean that I’m petty and I can’t handle him.” He wondered briefly whether she knew anything helpful, but refrained from asking. She’d said she would let him know if her work affected his. Richard blew out his breath. “I should just write off the whole bloody thing. We could go fishing instead.”

“Ooh. Fishing.” She shook her head. “I pulled you too far into my mess and distracted you when you’ve got your own deal working. I’m sorry.”

“Nobody pulls me anywhere I don’t want to go. Not even you. Truth be told, I’m just not that interested in it. It’s a
good investment, but plastic pipe fittings don’t really—how do you Yanks put it?—float my boat.”

“So you power through it and look for something that interests you more for the next time,” she stated, her face surprisingly serious. “Don’t you? I mean, what would Rick Addison do if suddenly he just didn’t like his line of work anymore?”

He took her fingers. “Is this about me, or about you?”

Samantha shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re bored about a meeting that could net you eight million bucks, and I have your business rival and a nonpaying dead guy for clients. Maybe we should move to Detroit and sell auto parts.”

Laughing, Richard kissed her delicate thief’s fingers. “Now that would be boring. Even with you for a partner.”

She sighed deeply. “I suppose you’re right. Okay. I’m going in to work. What’s on your new and improved schedule?”

“I’d best finish the contract revisions so Tom’s office can put together our proposal, and I’ve got a little work to do on Patricia’s project.”

“Great. Just remember, I suggested auto parts.” With a nod she started to her feet, swiping her soda as she went.

Richard hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her back across his lap. “Let’s go out to dinner tonight. You choose the place.”

“You have a big meeting tomorrow now.”

“I’ll manage. I want to go to dinner with you.”

“That’s better than fishing, anyway.” She cupped his cheek with her free hand and kissed him. “It’s a date. And can I borrow the Mustang again? Stoney’s still got the Bentley.”

He was about to suggest that Ben drive her to work, but Ben needed to head for Miami to pick up the Leedmont board of directors. “Certainly. Just don’t scratch it.”

“You never said that about the Bentley.”

“The Bentley’s yours. I’m not giving over my man car to anyone.”

She laughed. Hugging him, she licked the curve of his ear. “Too bad Reinaldo’s here,” she whispered. “You would get
so
lucky right now.”

She bounced off his lap and vanished down the hall, still laughing. Grimacing, Rick went back pretending to read the
Journal
until he could stand without embarrassing himself.

There was no sign of the Bentley when Samantha pulled into the parking structure. She put the Mustang into park, but stopped her hand halfway to turning off the car. What was she going to do here at her office, anyway? Sift through receptionist applications? For all she knew, Stoney had already hired somebody. Orchestrate a marketing campaign? Ooh, that was good. Maybe she could find a tactful way to advertise that her first potential client had actually been murdered the day before he’d hired her, and that she handled hooker blackmail on the side.

“Fuck,” she muttered, yanking Daniel Kunz’s business card out of her pocket. She needed to get all of this resolved before she could move on to mundane things like ordering her own business cards. And there was that damned word again.
Mundane
.

It took five rings before the connection went through. “This had better be important,” Daniel’s gravelly, annoyed voice came.

Oops. She’d forgotten it was barely eight o’clock. “Hi, Daniel. It’s me, S—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice sharpening. “Give me a number, and I’ll call you back in five.”

She gave him the number and hung up. Hm. No names
from his end. The name “Sam” wasn’t all that suspicious—unless the other person he didn’t want to include in the conversation knew who “Sam” was. So Daniel and Patricia were sleeping together. And Daniel was making a play for her, at the same time. “Slime.”

She took the five minutes to call Castillo.

“Did you go to the wake?” Frank asked as soon as the call connected.

“Didn’t you?”

“Yeah, right. Anything interesting?”

“How come I could just walk into Charles’s office at Coronado House?” she returned. “Did you run out of yellow tape?”

“Hey, if it was up to me the whole house would be covered with crime scene tape. But it’s not, and Forensics pulled all the prints and took all the photos they needed. So is that why you’re calling me? To make fun of my tape distribution?”

“If anybody in the family sells something of Charles’s now, is that okay?”

“Technically not. It’s a murder investigation; and even if it wasn’t, insurance has the assets impounded. Lots of hands want a piece of his pie. Why?”

She wasn’t about to mention the BMW, especially if it warned Daniel that she was snooping in his direction. Samantha narrowed her eyes. “I have a hunch about something. If it happens, I’ll let you know. But which hands are you talking about?”

“Sam, if you know some—”

“Frank, which hands?”

“Christ. I liked it better when you weren’t calling me. Pretty much the usual—a sister and her family, two business partners, and his kids.”

“Two business partners?”

“Yep. Nobody’s been ruled out but…well, between you and me, they just want their business assets unfrozen.”

Maybe so, but whether her money was on Daniel or not, she wasn’t turning her back on anyone. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Sam, I expect you to tell me if you know any—”

She hung up on him. That was the problem—in her line of work, there wasn’t that much difference between knowing and suspecting. Frank, though, required pesky things like evidence.

The Bentley rolled in beside her. “Okay,” Stoney said as he climbed out of the car, “I can kind of see why you like tooling around in one of these.”

“Ha!” she chortled. “I told you so. How are you going to go back to the crapmobile after this?”

“Maybe I’ll take a look around for something,” he admitted, leaning into the open passenger window of the Mustang. “But it’s gonna be a little less showy. Maybe a Lexus.”

“That’s a start,” she conceded. “Hey, get in here for a sec.”

He complied, climbing into the Mustang and closing the door, then manually rolling up the window. He knew the game. No sense letting any of their legitimate business neighbors overhear their private conversations.

“What’s up now? I’m not pretending to be Addison’s butler again.”

“Nothing like that. Has anybody called you about the Giacometti?”

“Nope. No sculpture, and no paintings.”

Damn. She hoped she hadn’t scared the thief off. At least he hadn’t seen her face—but she hadn’t seen his, either. “Okay. If—”

Her phone rang. Five minutes on the dot. Samantha’s heart thudded a little as she answered. The old adrenaline rush. “Hello?”

“Sam,” Daniel’s voice came. “I thought you might be calling.”

“Oh,” she returned, injecting coyness into her tone, “and why is that?”

He chuckled. “Did the Brit burst a blood vessel when he saw us together?”

“No, I think he believed the story about the Giacometti. So did you have anything special in mind, or did you just want to know if I would call?”

“That depends,” he returned, all smooth charm. “How do you feel about boats?”

Boats. Boats meant water, which meant isolation and sharks and drowning and not the remotest chance of escape. It was bad enough that Rick kept trying to talk her into going deep sea fishing. “I like cars better.”

“Well, you’ll like this boat. Meet me at the Sailfish Club docks, slip thirty-eight, in half an hour.”

“I’m not—”

“Come on, Sam. I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Let me dazzle you with my charm and good looks.”

“All right. Half an hour.”

“What the hell was that?” Stoney demanded as she returned the phone to her belt.

“I’m following a hunch.” At the Sailfish Club. Interesting.

“A hunch about whom?” he asked distinctly, disapproval written all across his broad face.

“Daniel Kunz,” she returned. Keeping secrets from Stoney was both counterproductive and potentially dangerous—if she did vanish, someone needed to know where she’d gone.

“I saw his picture in the paper the other morning,” Stoney said, gazing out the front window. “He’s not bad-looking.”

“Oh, come on. It’s just business, and you know it.”

“
I
may know it, but I notice that you took that phone call here and not at Rick’s.”

“Why make waves when I’m just trying to get a peek below the surface? Now get out of the car. I have to go to the pier.”

He didn’t budge. “I don’t like this, Sam. You should tell Addison or somebody.”

“Why? What possible difference would it make?”

“It would make a difference.”

As far as her safety was concerned, she’d told the person she needed to, but she knew what Stoney meant. For a guy who’d never been married, he had a pretty good handle on relationships. “Fine. I’ll drop in and tell Donner,” she decided. Then if the attorney ratted her out to Rick, at least she’d already be on the boat.

“Okay.” He pushed his door open again and climbed out of the Mustang. “And by the way, are we ever going to hire a receptionist?”

“I thought maybe—Yes. Just keep…doing what you’re doing, and I’ll be back on track in a couple of days. I made 10K last night. I just have to call Leedmont and pick up the check.”

“As long as we’re making some money, then. I won’t even point out that 10K’s chump change for you.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly.

“Just don’t get killed working for the dead guy.” Shaking his head, he left the parking garage. Sam drew a breath, then followed, though she headed across Worth Avenue to the glass and chrome building housing Donner, Rhodes and Chritchenson. She wasn’t surprised that the Boy Scout would be at work already, but she was surprised that he agreed to see her without delay.

“What did you do now?” he asked, making a show of lounging behind his big mahogany desk.

“Nothing.”

“Right. You’re here socially.”

It was tempting to argue with the lawyer just on principle, but she only had twenty-five minutes before she was supposed to be at slip 38. “I’m going on a boat with Daniel Kunz,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m only telling you in case something happens to me, so Rick won’t wonder where I disappeared to.”

“‘On a boat with…’” he repeated, straightening a little. “What the hell for?”

“Because he invited me.”

“That’s a pile of sh—”

“I think he might have had something to do with his dad’s death, or at least with the robbery. So tattle on me if you think it’s necessary, but I just wanted somebody Rick trusts—somebody I…trust, to know.”

“Wow. I bet that hurt.”

“Shut up, Yale. Don’t you have some contract work to do for Rick?” She pushed away from the window and headed for the door again. “The board’s flying in early, and that meeting’s Saturday, now.”

“He already called me. I’m not the one who’s distracted,” he retorted.

“Rick’s pretty focused. If he wasn’t, it would probably be because somebody keeps tattling to him about his girlfriend’s whereabouts when she’s investigating a murder.”
So there
.

“I’ve only got Rick’s best interests in mind.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “So do I.” With that she slipped back into the main office and out to the elevators.

Okay, so it was both Rick’s and her own best interests she had in mind. And maybe they were occasionally at cross
purposes. This morning, though, with the limited amount of time she had to figure it out, just doing what she did best seemed the logical course of action. Even if that something included Daniel Kunz and a boat.

Friday, 8:37 a.m.

S
amantha parked the Mustang at the Sailfish Club at the edge of Lake Worth and found slip 38 without any problem. Daniel stood on the pier waiting for her, a picnic basket in one hand. She looked past his shoulder toward the water.

“That’s not a boat,” she stated, pushing away the memory of her shark dream the other morning. She’d already changed LeBaron’s ring tone.

He laughed. “Technically, it’s a yacht. A small one. Watch your step,” he said, offering her a hand to help her over the railing.

She could have made it over the railing with her eyes closed, but Daniel obviously liked to show off, so she took his hand and made a dainty jump on board. “What’s it called?”

“
She
,” he amended, climbing aboard himself, “is called
The Destiny
.”

“Nice. Yours, or the family’s?”

“Mine now, or it will be as soon as the paperwork goes through. Dad bought it for me, mostly.”

Had that been impatience in his voice? That pesky homicide investigation might be delaying his plans. She’d keep that in mind. “Because you race them?”

“Because I win. Like I said, she’s small, but she’s got a big engine.”

“Ah. Just the way I like ’em.”

“Good.” With a charming smile, he set down the basket and headed up the ladder to the small bridge. “Can you untie that line at the bow?” he asked, gesturing.

“Sure. That’s the front, right?”

“Yes, it’s the front.”

So far, so good. The more ignorant she could be, the more he could talk and be the big man on campus—or on yacht, rather. As she untied the heavy line she automatically noted where all the life preservers on deck were and surreptitiously kicked the box in the bow labeled
RAFT
. It felt solid enough. Locked, but that wasn’t a problem.

Even knowing where all the emergency gear was didn’t leave her feeling any better. On land she could always find a way out in case of trouble. On the water that proposition was much more complicated. Planes or boats—both left her feeling distinctly uneasy.

“Come on up,” Daniel said as the yacht rumbled away from the pier.

With a deep breath, Sam climbed the narrow ladder to join him. “This is nice,” she lied, resting a hand on the console to steady herself. “How often do you go out?”

“As often as I can.” He glanced at her. “Rick’s got a yacht here. Don’t you go out with him?”

“He’s never asked me. I don’t even know where it’s parked.”

Daniel chuckled again. “Berthed, you mean. That’s it, actually, right there.”

He pointed at the gleaming white yacht tied to one of the neighboring piers. It was easily the largest boat at the club, and probably on all of Lake Worth, dwarfing the sailboats around it. Unlike
The Destiny
, it had obviously been built for luxury rather than for speed. “Do you know its—her—name?”

“It used to be
The Britannica
,” he returned, “but he had it rechristened a couple of weeks ago.”

“Really?”

Daniel nodded. “Mm-hm. To
The Jellicoe
.”

She blinked. “The what?”

“You didn’t know?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“If I named a yacht after someone, I’d tell them.”

“So would I.” Well, that was interesting, but it certainly wasn’t the topic she’d come aboard to discuss. And out on the water she wasn’t going to lose her focus. “Why did you give me your number the other day,” she asked slowly, “when you knew Rick had named his yacht after me?”

“Because I saw you looking at me when Patricia introduced us, and then you were looking at me again when you made her drag you to Coronado House with that lame excuse about the wake decorations.” He turned away, angling the yacht under the bridge and into the open water of the Atlantic Ocean. “And then at the wake I was watching
you
. As soon as somebody started talking to Rick, you left him. I thought you might have been looking for me.”

Maybe, but not for the reasons he thought
. “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

He pushed the throttle forward, and the boat accelerated. “I know what I like,” he said flatly.

At least they seemed to be heading up the coast rather than straight out to sea. “And what is that?” she purred, wishing she’d added swimming laps to her exercise regimen.

“First tell me: Is it true that your father was Martin Jellicoe, the cat burglar?”

“It’s true.”

“Did
you
ever steal from anyone?”

So that was it. He wanted a confession from her to put them on more even footing—not that he’d confessed to doing anything. Yet.

“I might have,” she returned, covering her reluctance with a smile.

“What was it like?”

“I don’t like to air my sins in public,” she said, putting a hand on his arm.

He gave her that charming smile again. “Come on, you can trust me. I like sin.”

“I’ll bet you do. If I show you mine, you have to show me yours.”

“We’ll see. I told you I’d be a perfect gentleman today.”

Pushing him harder would put him on the defensive. And luckily she had stories to spare even if she needed to get specific; the statute of limitations had run out on some of her jobs, after all. “All right. It’s a rush. Pure adrenaline.”

“I get that,” he said, grinning into the wind. “I extreme ski. It’s wild.”

For a while they talked about skiing and yacht races, mostly so he would get comfortable with bragging and shooting off his mouth while she listened and made admiring sounds. After about twenty minutes he began heading closer to the shore, easing them in toward a small inlet.

“Between you and me, you still do it, don’t you?” he asked abruptly. “Steal things.”

For a brief second Sam wondered whether he was doing some investigating of his own. Did he think
she’d
killed Kunz? That would make him totally innocent, though, and
she didn’t believe that in any of her deeply suspicious bones. More likely he was hunting for a potential scapegoat in case something should go wrong. In that case, he was looking at the wrong girl. “Not for a long time. It’s not good for my health.”

He nodded, throttling down. “I get that, too. Busted my leg in three places my last time in Vail. Good thing there’re other ways to get the rush.” Daniel sniffed, pinching his nose.

Great
. It could be a motive for the robbery, though. Samantha forced a laugh. “That’s what I hear, but I think stealing’s easier on the wallet.” She looked at the shoreline. “Pretty. Where are we?”

“My private lunch and recreation spot.”

“Mm-hm. Do you and Patricia come here?”

Daniel ran a strand of her windblown hair through his fingers. “I’m here with you.”

She allowed the caress, but figured that it gave her a little more room to push. “Maybe I’m getting too personal, but your dad was killed during a robbery. I expected you wouldn’t be that thrilled with taking a thief, former or not, to lunch.”

“This is about attraction, not my dad,” he returned, using both hands to play with her hair now.

He leaned in and kissed her. She allowed that, too. “Hey, I thought you were being a gentleman today,” she said, pushing him slowly away. It took more control than she expected to make the gesture seem reluctant. Pretty face or not, he made her skin crawl. Rick said she had her own sense of honor, unconventional or not, and Daniel was treading all over it.

“What about attraction? I know you feel it.”

“Maybe I do.” Sam gave him an assessing look. “But honestly, Daniel, I need more than a boat ride to convince me that you can do more for me than Rick Addison can.”

“Man, you’re mercenary,” he said, laughing again.

She could say the same thing about him, though she kept her commentary to herself. Considering that he’d attended a funeral day before yesterday, he seemed in quite the good mood, in fact—as if he thought he’d gotten away with murder or something. Had easygoing Daniel done it, though, or had he hired somebody? She would love to know whether he’d rented a BMW. “I’m just practical.”

“Fair enough.”

He released the anchor into the water and shut off the engine. The absolute lack of concern with which he viewed her presence, considering she could easily have been involved in his father’s demise, actually shook her a little. It wasn’t exactly an admission of guilt on his part, but if he was already
that
sure she hadn’t done it, it was because he knew who
had
. Sliding down the short ladder, he picked up the picnic basket and set it on the small, built-in table on deck.

“Hungry?”

“Sure. What’ve you got?”

“It’s a little early for lunch, so I had the cook pack mostly fruit and bread and cheese. And a bottle of wine, in case it’s not too early for that.”

“My goodness,” she drawled, joining him, “someone might almost think you’re trying to impress me.”

“You’re already impressed, or you wouldn’t be here. Patricia calls you the American mutt, but I figure you’ve got more sophistication than most women I know.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“No, really. Patricia wouldn’t know a piece of art from a piece of toast. She knows fashion, but that’s about as deep as it gets.”

“And you like deep?”

“I like that you’re deep.” Daniel set out a plate with grapes
and orange slices, motioning her to sit as he took the bench opposite her. “So what do you do for fun?”

“For fun. I’m starting a security business, but you already know that.”

“You have one of those phones that has different rings for different people, don’t you? Does it help you keep your clients straight?”

So he wanted to know about her phone. That wasn’t good. “I keep my phone on vibrate.” She grinned. “I like it that way.”

“I bet. So if my dad had hired you, what would you have done to protect Coronado House?”

“I haven’t really thought about it,” she lied. “It does work out better for me that he was killed before we signed a contract, doesn’t it?”

“Come on,” he cajoled. “You can speculate, can’t you? More video cameras? Motion sensors? Some of those infrared beams?”

“What does it matter? It’s too late now.”

“Yeah, but that guy knew right where he was going, how to get in, where my dad was, how to get out. Do you think any of that technical shit would have stopped him?”

Christ. Now he was fishing for compliments. She looked him in the eye. “No. He was too good. The best I’ve seen, from what I can tell. Do the police have any clues?”

“Not a one. If he’s that good, maybe you know him.” He popped a grape into his mouth. “Maybe he’s famous.”

Was she reading too much into the conversation because she wanted him to be guilty? Was he really pushing his luck as far as she suspected? “
I
wasn’t that good,” she lied, looking down and feigning disappointment or shame or something that would make him feel even more superior.

“I bet you could hang with the big boys, Sam. I’d let you hang with me.”

She looked up again, smiling. “Are you one of the big boys?”

He leaned closer, to whisper into her ear. “The biggest.”

Samantha chuckled. “And wealthy, too. You
are
starting to look better and better.”

Daniel angled his head toward the belowdeck hatch. “So do you want to fool around?”

At least he’d asked, instead of just jumping on her. She wasn’t sure she could drive the damned boat back on her own. “I’m still not entirely convinced.”

He stood. “Okay, but I’m going down to freshen up. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here, enjoying the view.”

As Daniel disappeared through the squat door, Samantha sat back. Given her suspicions, she’d expected him to be more defensive and considerably more evasive. Of course, she hadn’t expected that he would be high; that made reading him both easier and more difficult. Quickly she opened her phone and set it to vibrate—not that she had any idea if anybody could reach her out here.

She glanced toward the hatch. He was probably getting higher right now—which could explain his pressing need for cash and his assumption that he would get away with murder. Had Charles doted on him, as Rick had claimed? It would be difficult to prove. Families, especially wealthy ones, tended not to advertise their internal problems. She needed to get a look at Charles’s legal documents to see whether Daniel’s funds had been restricted for any reason.

A quick, hard beat of excitement ran through her. All she needed was a little proof, and she could go to Castillo. And best of all, turning in Daniel would be hugely different from turning in one of her former compatriots. No torn loyalties, no risk of reprisals.

Of course she still had to get back to shore intact and then find a way to get a look at those documents. And finding the paintings and the rubies would definitely help. Samantha sighed. Apparently she was going to have to make nice with Tom Donner again.

When Daniel emerged into the sunlight again his smile was even broader—and he actually had a small streak of powder on his upper lip. Daniel Kunz was either really clever, or really arrogant and stupid.

“You missed a spot,” she noted, pointing at his lip.

With a sheepish chuckle, he ducked his head to wipe his nose clean. “So, where were we?”

“You were about to say that you’ve done some naughty things in your life, and that you would invite me to join you on the next one.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding as he reached for the bottle of wine. “We could be like the modern Bonnie and Clyde. We’d be so hot together.”

“I imagine we would. You make an interesting proposition.”

He handed her a glass of wine and took one, himself. “Here’s to interesting propositions.”

She took a swallow.
And to interesting conclusions
. “So tell me how you learned to race yachts.”

Rick pulled into the small parking lot outside Paradise Real Estate at five minutes before ten. Laurie drove a BMW, and there was no sign of it yet, so he shut off the SLR’s engine and called Tom.

“Donner,” the attorney answered after one ring.