Forever Mine (14 page)

“What’s the big deal? No one’s going to grill you about menswear. Especially once they find out you don’t have a recognizable name like Ralph Lauren.”

He rounded the first corner, nosed the car into what was little more than half a parking space, and angled his body toward her.

“Let’s get something straight. I have a name. I’ve had it since birth. And I don’t intend to show up as Mr. Rhinestone with my pinky in the air.” He made sure his tone and the expression in his eyes reinforced that his declaration was not negotiable.

A laugh bubbled up from Allie’s throat. He unleashed his cop glare and cut it short.

“Okay,” she said. “I get it. You’re straight. So are a whole bunch of other designers. It just seemed easier to tell my mother you were a friend from the Institute. She knew the few boys I’d dated in high school. Trust me, she’d never believe…
any
of them…ever grew up to look like you.”

Coming from her, the compliment turned not so much on the words but the soft, drawn out tone she couched them in. The whole combination was what made it sound all wrong. It must have to her, too, because she whipped her head forward and glued her eyes to the windshield, as if she were studying the few dust streaks he’d failed to wipe off. His gaze, which only moments before had drilled into hers with the accuracy and deadliness of a bullet, wavered. He kept a neutral expression, concealing the smile he let slowly build around his lips.

“Look, this was bound to be dicey no matter what. I’ll try to blend in like I’m not there to arrest anyone. But I never worked undercover. Any of those guys could probably come off like another Lauren, and, yes, I recognize the name.” Maybe his knowing
something
about fashion would earn him further appreciation, but all he got was the side of her face.

He checked for traffic and eased the car into the street “Maybe you should give me a heads up, in case anyone else grills me about my
tie
.”

She ignored his sarcasm. “Don’t worry. No one will care. Every man there must have a closetful of Hermes everything.” She paused for a moment. “Naturally, someone is bound to ask what you do for a living. Just mention you’re in menswear. Keep it simple.”

Even simple would be a reach.

“If anyone asks the name of your line say it’s called… Ben Sutter. That should be easy to remember. Tell them it’s carried at Target, and there’ll be no more questions.”

“Yeah.”
Target
.

She shifted position and readjusted her seat belt. “Since we’re old school mates, I suppose I’d better call you Ben.”

He nodded. “Then I’ll have to refer to you as Allie.” Strange, but he’d been thinking of her as Allie for the past few days. Her name just sort of fell into place in his mind, like they knew each other well enough to have become friends. He’d wait and see if the familiarity continued. More likely, her entangling him in the upcoming evening, hobnobbing with the rich, would cause a strain between them.

He followed the choking stream of traffic across town. Before he’d made detective and transferred to Taraval Station, he’d been in on the arrest of a man who lived in one of those multi-million-dollar Nob Hill condos, probably like the one they were headed toward. The man had had a mistress who’d lost patience and threatened to squeal to his wife. Bad move on her part. Her lover’s, as well, who’d tried to protect his assets courtesy of a bungling hit man.

Thoughts of the rich brought his mind back around to the party. “Maybe you’d better fill me in on the other guests. I take it I’ll be the only imposter there.”

She gave him a glance and exposed a tight smile. “The men are either in finance or the heads of corporations. There’ll be one or two bankers. My stepfather, Hamilton, runs a private hedge fund.”

He killed a retort and accepted what many people already knew; the world always had and always would continue to crank out the rich. Because of his job, he’d become too cynical. The night ought to be an experience, considering he’d be the only dog who never pissed on Nob Hill to mark his territory.

“The women spend most of their time appearing at or organizing charity events,” she continued. “Half my mother’s time is spent in a more productive pursuit. She designs jewelry.”

He slowed for a stop sign and gave her a quick glance. “Designing runs in your family.”

“On my mother’s side, at least. Dad has stayed somewhat truer to the freewheeling lifestyle my parents led when they lived in Berkeley.”

Her dad sounded more the type of guy Ben would prefer to spend an evening with. Certainly he sounded a lot more preferable than the hedge fund crowd, corporate bigwigs and banker pirates who were massing for a society hoedown on Nob Hill.

He made a left onto Powell and followed the cable car tracks. When he caught a light, he turned toward Allie.

“After we pull up at the building, I’ll walk you in and see you safely inside the elevator. Then I’ll find a place to park the car.”

“Aren’t you carrying this protection thing a little too far tonight? No one will think to look for me at the party. Can’t we let up this once?”

“No.”

She expelled a lungful of air in what he took as a signal of her frustration.

“The confinement is choking,” she said. “I’ve had to phone out for enough groceries to last for two weeks, ask your permission to jog on the beach, stay away from any windows. I’ve about lost all contact with my friends.”

“You chose not to relocate. Your decision meant you signed up for twenty-four hour protection. You can change your mind any time.”

“I will not let that psycho keep me from the most important goal of my life.”

“Yeah, your competition.”

“You think it’s frivolous.”

“No, I don’t. But it’s vital for you to take this whole situation with Barnett and Rix very seriously.”

“Of course I do. God, what do you think goes through my head half the time?”

“You’d better stay serious.”

Allie shivered and rubbed her arms. “You really believe in your hunch…that he’ll definitely make his way to San Francisco…to my house?”

“I’m not trying to frighten you, but Barnett is a predator. Do I need to remind you he’s suspected of killing multiple women? You do not want this man to show up at your door. For your own security, you can’t go shopping or run on the beach whenever you feel like blowing off steam.” He rested his arm across Allie’s seat back and leaned closer. “Until we catch him, you can’t invite anyone into your house. In order to keep you safe, your movements must be restricted. I’m responsible for your safety twelve hours a day and Thompson the other twelve. We will never be more than…”

“I know. Twenty-five feet away from me.”

“Unless you are in a secure environment. Understand?”

She nodded, but the way her body stiffened signaled resignation more than agreement. She’d had enough time to get used to her situation, but she obviously still chafed at the restrictions. If he were in her situation, he would have gone nuts by now. She’d pretty much kept a cool head.

“I’m not trying to make your job more difficult.”

“I appreciate the effort.”

“You work hard enough.”

“Okay, so we’ll continue to do it my way. I’d never want anything or anyone to harm you, Cinderella.”

She groaned.

Keeping her boxed up wasn’t just about protecting his impeccable record. Her safety was paramount, and he found himself giving a hundred and ten percent to that cause. She’d earned his admiration for not cutting and running. He’d grown used to being with her. Some days he even enjoyed the snatches of conversation, in spite of sometimes wanting to take one of her zippers and applying it to her mouth.

The light changed, and he tapped the accelerator. A cable car behind and to his left clanged a warning.

“There’s no need for you to walk me to the elevator or find parking,” she said. “Hamilton will have arranged for valets.”

“Valets.” He tried not to sound snide, but the whole concept bothered him.

“It saves a lot of trouble. If you’re familiar with the area, you’ll remember parking is a nightmare.”

He refrained from telling her he knew all about the parking squeeze on Nob Hill, from the time he was on scene the night the disgruntled mistress was found with her throat slashed.

“Also, I told my mother we couldn’t stay late. You have to catch an eleven o’clock flight back to L.A. They won’t start dinner until close to nine, and it’s less awkward if we leave before everyone sits down.”

Leaving early more than worked for him. A sit down with CEOs and bankers, who lived high while keeping everyone else low, would curdle whatever he put into his stomach. Where was his head when he’d let her talk him into this expedition?

Two blocks brought them to Clay Street. Ben pulled up to where a young Latino wearing a white shirt with “Valet” printed on the pocket stood on the sidewalk in front of a stately brick high-rise. Curlicue patterns cut deep into the surrounding limestone façade bordering the tall glass doors. A pair of sconces flanked the doors and spilled light onto the sidewalk. Not even inside yet and everything about his life, past and present, told him that flashing his badge was the only other way he’d ever gain entry to a place like this. Accepting the fact annoyed him further. Not because he wanted to join the club, but because the anointed were powerful people, who set themselves above everyone else. He’d never concerned himself with how the upper crust lived, and he blamed the bleak mood percolated inside his head on Allie for throwing him into their midst.

Before he had a chance to exit the car and swing around to open her door, another fellow came away from the front entrance and leaped to perform the duty.

Ben handed over the keys, and he and Allie climbed the two steps leading to the doorway of the building. No need to worry about hauling open one of the massive doors. A man about Ben’s height and build, and dressed in a blue uniform festooned with brass buttons, pulled them open and greeted Allie. Inside the lobby, easily the size of half a basketball court, a huge hammered metal sunburst fixture poured light from a vaulted ceiling onto acres of marble. Pairs of dark plush chairs clustered near walls. A central fountain splashed water from a pitcher held in a nymph’s arms.

“We’ll have to check in with the concierge.” Allie led the way to where a man in a dark business suit manned an outsized, highly polished wood desk. Ben glanced down at his own dark suit and bet he’d be the only man present not wearing a tuxedo. So much for his newly minted title: Fashion king.

Chapter Fourteen

As the wood-and-brass outfitted car ascended, Allie greeted the familiar blue-uniformed elevator operator and chatted briefly about the weather. When it stopped at the penthouse, she and Ben stepped out into a well-lit marble-floored hallway, home to a pair of tall flourishing palms. A delicate Chippendale occasional table placed beside the only door held a cut crystal bowl, the perfect receptacle for a pair of floating white gardenias.

“I’d better warn you before we go inside,” Allie said. “My mother uses the name Delilah.”

Ben expelled air through his nostrils. Maybe that was how he smothered a laugh. Whatever, his reaction was plausible and not unique. Allie always tried to provide advance warning whenever possible to save everyone embarrassment. Michaela almost brayed like a donkey, at her first introduction to Delilah, when the two first met by chance. Allie had slapped Michaela hard on the back and muttered something about her having trouble with her epiglottis. Her mother’s expression never changed, so Allie couldn’t determine if she was insulted or amused.

Allie rang the bell. An unfamiliar maid opened the door, and Allie and Ben entered the foyer where light shimmered from a crystal chandelier. After the maid had taken, Allie’s jacket and purse, Allie led the way to where the musical trill of women and deep tones of men rose above the muted strains of a piano. It gave her a kick to think Detective Sutter—Ben—might be just a little bit nervous. Heck, some of those people made
her
nervous, which was why she usually found an excuse to miss most of her mother and Hamilton’s soirees.

They entered a living room large enough to swallow the entire first floor of Allie’s house. Chairs and sofas upholstered in pale hues and side tables holding large china or brass lamps filled enough space on the two Oriental carpets to give the room warmth. A large china vase stocked with roses, lilies and gladioli sat on the piano top and scented the air.

Most of the guests were familiar to Allie, but she had only a cursory relationship with them. Her social circle was universes apart from theirs. Symphony and opera openings, the annual Black and White Ball, and endless charity and social events cluttered their calendars. Work and an occasional movie or lunch with her friends occupied Allie’s time. Every man wore a tuxedo, with Armani and Tom Ford well represented. The women shone in Dior, Ellie Saab and a half dozen other designers at the very pinnacle of the rag trade.

Allie leaned close to Ben. “You’re not expected to do much more than act civil. We’ll make the rounds then head outside.”

French doors led to a terrace where candles flickered in glass globes set on black wrought iron bistro tables. I usually hang out on the terrace when I’m roped into one of these things.”

He gave a cursory glance around the room. A frown spread across his forehead. She understood that he felt out of place. Like her, these were not his kind of people. Add to his discomfort the fact of him even showing up there was under false pretenses. Then he shrugged as if accepting his fate and the frown melted away under a half smile. If this was his party face, he wouldn’t go unnoticed by the women. Except for the waiters who passed around drinks and hors d’oeuvres, he was the youngest man present, had the broadest shoulders and, by far, the most sex appeal. It hadn’t taken Allie more than a few days to notice the sexy vibe he threw off. Or maybe it was after only a few hours. If so it was buried deep in her subconscious.