Don't Look Down (28 page)

She pursed her lips, looking down at the paper for a long moment. “Then I want something I can turn on and off.”

Castillo shook his head. “That would mean wearing a tape recorder. I wouldn’t get a live feed, so I wouldn’t know when to come in and make the arrest—and I wouldn’t know when you have the evidence I need to make the case. Plus any defense attorney would be able to say we tampered with the evidence, and he’d be right.”

“Then I can’t wear a wire.”

“This isn’t about getting your buddy out of trouble, Sam. It’s about catching thieves and murderers and shit. It’s just a happy coincidence that doing that will help your friend.”

“I get that,” she shot back at him. “Trust me. We’ll come up with a signal, and you’ll know. I can’t help Stoney unless you get your evidence. I can follow the game plan, but I’m not wearing a wire unless I get some assurances.”

Frank glared at her, while she looked right back at him. Even knowing what was at stake, Richard found the conflict interesting. Samantha definitely had a way of attracting strong personalities.

“All I can do is say I’ll give it my best shot,” the detective finally said.

“That’s not good enough,” Richard finally put in.

“She can wear a tape recorder, but it has to stay on. If we get enough evidence without using the tape, I’ll personally lose it.”

Richard slid a glance at Samantha. She stood with her
head lowered, the very image of deep, serious thought. Finally she looked up and nodded at him.

“The modified game plan,” Rick said slowly, “is that once this is over,
I
get the tape. My attorney will review it, and then we will hand it over to you.”

“I don’t like it.” The detective folded his arms across his chest.

“You think I do?” Samantha retorted. “Like I want Tom Donner to decide whether I’m going to be in trouble or not.”

“Shit. I get the tape unmodified. Not matter what it says.”

“You get the tape,” Samantha repeated, only the clench of her fingers around the back of the chair letting Richard know how little she liked this plan.

Frank blew out his breath. “Okay. If you screw up, you’re going to have to hire me or something, because I’m going to be shit out of a job.”

“Deal,” Samantha said, offering her hand.

The detective shook it. “Don’t let me down, Sam.”

“I’ll add you to the list of people I can’t let down today,” she returned, sending a glance at Richard.

She couldn’t let him down if she tried, but that wasn’t what she wanted—or needed—to hear at the moment. It was bravado time, and they both knew it. “Just be glad you don’t have to ride a horse,” he said.

“Or hit that ball with that stick thing. I know, I’m getting off easy.” Samantha turned her chair around and sat. “Okay, let’s plan this out.”

Monday, 1:08 p.m.

“Y
ou should probably quit playing around with that,” Rick suggested.

Samantha hooked the tape recorder back onto her belt. She knew all about video surveillance, but she needed to catch up on audio tracking. When Castillo had handed her a pager, she’d actually had to ask him how it worked. “It’s neat,” she commented, looking down at it again.

He tossed his polo helmet into his sport bag. “Yes, it’s very neat. Don’t turn it on by accident.”

“I’m familiarizing myself with it. I almost wish it looked more like a recorder, though.” Taking it off again, she popped it open to see the minitape inside. “There’s got to be a way for me to flick it on and off without looking like I’m having a seizure or something, and without the cops being able to tell.”

“Let’s see it.”

She handed it over. Rick had been a little quiet since they’d left the police station, and she knew he was worried. Hell,
she
was worried, but at least they wouldn’t have to sit
around and speculate much longer. It would have to be settled one way or another this afternoon.

“I have an idea,” he said, looking up from the pager again.

“What?”

“Leave it here.”

“Rick—”

“Don’t wear it. I’ll hire every attorney in the States to defend Walter, and every private detective in the world to find something on the Kunzes. Don’t risk yourself like this, Samantha.”

For a minute she didn’t say anything. The thought, the worry, that had been eating at her since she’d gone to live with him in Devon wrenched through her gut again. “If I end up arrested in all this, what will you do?” she asked, even though she was fairly certain that she didn’t want to know the answer. Everyone looked out for themselves first. It was the first law of thievery, and of just about everything else.

He shoved a pair of socks into the bag. “I don’t know, Sam. I’ll say that your present doesn’t worry me as much as your past.”

“I broke into a house yesterday,” she returned. “That’s pretty present.” And that wasn’t even all she’d done in the past week, though it was safe to assume that was all he knew about.

His shoulders lifted with the deep breath he took. “Don’t ask me what I would do if your past caught up to you, because I—you—” He closed his eyes for a second. “You have my heart. So just don’t balls it up, okay?”

Wow. She walked up and hugged him tightly around the waist. After a second his arms slid around her, holding her tight and safe. Safe. She’d never felt as safe as she had since she’d met Rick Addison. Slowly she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “Okay,” she whispered against his mouth.

“And I still don’t like one spot of this.”

“Well, I’m not sure you’ll be all that safe riding that horse around.”

“I can see I’ll be giving you some riding lessons after this. Don’t change the subject.”

Samantha just held onto him for a minute, pretending it was lust and that she wasn’t actually drawing strength from his support and his presence and his faith. “Can I name my horse Trigger?”

“You can name it Godzilla, for all I mind.”

Reinaldo knocked on the bedroom door. “Mr. Addison, it’s after one o’clock. Ben has the limousine ready.”

“We’ll be right there,” Rick called.

“Duty calls,” Samantha said, reluctantly slipping out of his embrace and snagging the pager in the same motion. “I can’t wait to see you in your polo pants.”

“I could still withdraw.”

She snickered. “You never withdraw.”

Rick slammed his fist into the bedroom wall with enough force to break through the plaster. “Dammit, I’m serious!”

Startled, she grabbed his hand. “Hey, stop that. I like those fingers.” She turned his wrist, examining the deep abrasions across his knuckles. “That was stupid.”

“More stupid than purposely setting yourself up to be arrested? Do you have to play
everything
so close to the edge?”

She smiled at him even as she dragged him toward the bathroom. “I’m not setting myself up to be arrested. I’ll be careful.”

“That’s not good enough. I want to be right there, not out on the field where I can’t do anything.”

Her knight in shining armor. “We’re just going to be talking,” she said quietly, occupying herself with rinsing plaster dust off his hand and scrambling for a Band-Aid, and pretending that she wasn’t half ready to cry. He
did
love her. He
truly did. “The stuff I need you for will be afterward, when the cops want the tape.”

“Saman—”

Finished sticking the Band-Aid around his knuckle, she yanked on his hair to pull his face down. She kissed him ferociously, feeling both the passion and the worry in his response.

“Let’s go. I don’t want to be late,” she said after a breathless moment. “Don’t forget your outfit.”

She could practically see him pulling himself together, returning to Richard Addison the rich, suave, athletic businessman who always knew precisely what he was doing. And she wondered how many people
he
ever allowed to see the other side of him. Two, maybe? Or just her?

“It’s a uniform, not an outfit,” he said, following her back into the main room. He grabbed the duffel bag with one hand, and her fingers with the other.

“Time to go catch the bad guys,” she said, heading for the door and hoping the powers that be considered her to be in the good guy camp, at least for today.

When they arrived at the field, Rick went straight to the locker room to change, leaving Samantha to wander around the near edge of the field. It was set up pretty much as he’d said, with two large canopies covering the refreshment and donation tables, and a field of umbrella tables and chairs filling the space between them. What she hadn’t expected was that two fields were apparently going to be used, with the seats in the middle of the two. Great. The cops could only come in from two sides.

The dress of the day was sophisticated urban—which had made fitting in the pager difficult. It didn’t quite go with her white and safari-green Prada dress, but hell, she supposedly owned a business. From what she knew of Laurie Kunz, the realtor would probably have a pager on her, as well.

Her compromise was to attach it to the strap of her purse, but even that looked stupidly…obvious to someone as used to blending and keeping to the shadows as she was. With a sigh she hooked it over the inside edge of her purse, keeping the top unsnapped. If Castillo’s contraption couldn’t pick up anything from inside, that would be his own damned fault for giving her inferior equipment.

Rick had been right about the press and the celebrities, too, but she stifled her frown as paparazzi began aiming cameras in her direction. It was all part of the Addison package, and little as she liked it, at least she was getting used to it. Actress-model Julia Poole sat at one of the tables, her rocker boyfriend and a bottle of Corona beside her. Sam spent a moment looking at the tall, black-haired beauty. Julia and Rick had dated on and off for nearly a year, though from the tabloid photos it hadn’t been anything close to exclusive.

Five tables away from the Poole party, Patricia sat with a few members of what Rick called “Patty’s Pack,” which consisted of probably a dozen total women who had joined together for the common cause of commiserating with Patricia and badmouthing Rick and her. They were welcome to their fun; personally, she thought the common thread was a lack of a single personality to divide among them.

Castillo was easy to pick out; in his tan cop suit and cheap shoes, he stood out as exactly what he was. Laurie would expect his presence, though, since even with Stoney in jail, no one had been officially charged with Charles’s murder yet. Samantha presumed that Frank had backup, but if they were around, at least they were dressed appropriately enough to blend.

In the old days it would have freaked her out, knowing cops were around. Today she just hoped they would be far enough away that they couldn’t overhear, and close enough
that they could move in before any valuable evidence vanished. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about one particular gun. Score one for the semi-good guys.

Rick appeared from the stables, a bay polo pony in tow. For a long moment she just watched him approach. His leather boots came up past his knees to protect him from mallet blows, and the white trousers beneath the loose green polo shirt made him look just…yummy. Even the green helmet with his wavy black hair beneath was attractive. And this guy was going home with her.

“What do you think?” he asked, holding the mallet easily over his right shoulder.

“I so want you to wear this to bed tonight,” she murmured, leaning up along his lean body to kiss him.

He chuckled, taking the moment while he patted his horse’s neck to look past her shoulder into the crowd. “Any sign yet?”

“No Laurie. How about Daniel?”

“No. He’s on my team, so once we’re out on the field I’ll do my best to keep him occupied.”

“What’s your horse’s name?” she asked, tentatively patting the near shoulder or wither or whatever it was called.

“Middlebrook-on-Thames,” he replied.

“What?”

“Tim, for short. He has a nasty long pedigree.”

“Hence the stupid name.”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “
I
have a nasty long pedigree.”

“I know that, Richard William Addison, Viscount Halford, Marquis of Rawley.”

He kissed her again. “You got it straight, Samantha Elizabeth Jellicoe of Palm Beach.”

At that moment Daniel and Laurie emerged from the stables, Daniel with a gray pony behind him, and Laurie with a picnic basket over one arm. “Bingo,” she said softly.

To his credit, Rick didn’t turn to look. “Be careful,” he murmured, kissing her on the forehead. “I’d best go warm Tim up.”

“You be careful, too,” she said, stepping back to watch him swing gracefully into the saddle.

“I’ll be watching.”

With that Rick and Middlebrook-on-Thames trotted onto the field, to the general applause of the spectators. Sam started. She’d forgotten people were watching them. A flock of photographers approached, and she just barely stifled her urge to run.

“What are you wearing, Miss Jellicoe?” one of the women asked.

A dress
was her first response, but she knew what they wanted, and the sooner they got it, the sooner they would leave her alone. “Prada,” she answered, standing still for a minute so they could take her picture. Damn, life was strange.

“You and Mr. Addison were at the courthouse this morning. Have you set a date yet?” another of them asked.

Samantha blinked. Courthouse and a date.
A date
. Jesus Christ. “No,” she blurted, knowing her face must be turning white. “I’m still trying to figure out how he cheats at Scrabble.”

From the general laughter, she must have said the right thing, and with a short nod she made her escape. That was one conversation she was not going to repeat to Rick. Ever. Just the thought—

The referee blew his whistle, and the two teams assembled in the middle of the field. The same thing was going on behind her, but this was the game that had her attention. For a moment she wished she didn’t have to do anything but watch Rick play.

That, though, was for somebody with a different life than hers. With a sigh she flipped on the recorder, then went to find
a table with a decent view and wait for Laurie to bring by her apples—just like the wicked queen from
Snow White
. The only difference was that Samantha knew better than to take a bite.

“So is it odd or fitting that Rick and Daniel are on the same team?” Laurie asked, taking the chair opposite Samantha and setting the picnic basket on the table in front of her.

“I don’t think it’s either,” Sam replied, keeping her gaze on the players as they raced back toward the red team’s goal. “Rick’s not part of this. That’s the deal, remember?”

“I remember. I saw your court appearance on the mid-morning news. It’s a shame you couldn’t arrange for bail for Mr. Barstone.”

“Don’t push it, or I’ll increase my cut to thirty percent.”

“Not likely.”

Samantha turned her gaze to Laurie. “Just make sure you and Daniel keep up your end of the deal. Did you bring me some apples?”

Laurie lifted the lid of the picnic basket and pulled out a shiny red apple. “Are you certain you can take care of this?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Next time pick something less messy,” she commented, handing the apple to Sam.

It was heavy. Too heavy to be just an apple. Easily hiding her relief behind years of practice, Samantha set the fruit on the table at her elbow. Okay, she had robbery evidence. Now she needed murder evidence. Time to play her hand. “How are you going to make sure that Daniel doesn’t kill you the same way he did your dad? The company will go to you now, after all. Won’t it?”

With a smile, Laurie set the picnic basket down on her lap. “We’re very close. Besides, if another Kunz turned up dead, not even Daniel could charm his way out of an arrest.”

“Sure, that makes sense to you and me, but I don’t have a
drug habit. You’re kind of stuck, aren’t you? I mean, you either arrange to pay for his coke or start dodging bullets.”

Sam caught sight of Patricia waving a handkerchief at Daniel, and his responding mallet wave back. That figured. Patty would play all sides until one of them came back to bite her in the butt.

“I’d rather talk about profit margins,” Laurie returned.

“That’s pretty calm talk for somebody with a basketful of ruby reds in her lap.”

“If I’m disposing of stolen goods, then you’re receiving them.”

Wow, she was confident. Didn’t Laurie care at all that her brother had killed their father? Or was her nonchalance about Daniel because
she
had pulled the trigger? That made a damned lot of sense, but Sam needed to be sure. Time to turn up the heat.

“You know, Walter knows exactly how much a Giacometti is worth,” she said slowly.

“Which would be why he stole it.”

“Except he would have stolen it the same night that the rubies and paintings went missing. He wouldn’t go back for it a week later.”