Manolos in Manhattan (40 page)

“But that’s impossible,” Devon said. “He’s been down at Central Booking for at least two hours.”

“Then either our guy’s a magician, or—”

“Or someone else signed in using Gavin’s name,” Devon finished grimly. He glanced at Rhys. “And I have a hunch it’s Clarkson.”

As D.S. Matthews and two other officers headed out, Rhys followed them. “I’m going with you.”

“This is police business,” Devon flung over his shoulder. “There’s no telling what we’ll find at the Dunleigh, or who we’re dealing with, Gordon. Whoever’s got Natalie is running scared. Stay here and let us handle it.”

“Like hell I will,” Rhys gritted out. “That’s
my
wife and baby in danger.”

Devon released a sharp breath and turned to go. “All right. But stay out of the way, or I’ll have you arrested for obstruction. Let’s go.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Ian demanded.

“Taking charge,” Mr Holland replied. “Put the gun away.” He released the safety catch. “Now.”

Ian didn’t move.

“I’m not harming Natalie,” Holland informed him, his words measured, “nor are you.”

“What?” Ian sputtered, his face suffused with rage. “You’re mad.”

“I’d make mention of the pot calling the kettle black,” Holland replied, “but I’ll refrain. Natalie’s been nothing but kind to me since she arrived,” he said. “I haven’t enjoyed anyone’s company so much since my wife died.” His expression hardened as he leveled his eyes on Clarkson. “You won’t hurt her, or bring grief to her husband.”

“Has senility set in already?” Ian snapped. “We can’t let her go ‒ she’ll run straight to the police!”

“No need. I’ve already called them.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, they should be here any moment.”

Ian’s face went from fury to disbelief. “You’re lying. If the police show up, they’ll arrest you
and
me.”

“You’re right. But I confessed my part in all of this just before I came downstairs, and the police know exactly where to find us. They’ve agreed to reduce my sentence in exchange for Natalie’s safe return – and your arrest.”

“Well, then, it’s a shame she’s not going. At least, not with you.”

Suki stood in the living room, a gun in hand and pointed at Holland’s chest. “Drop it,” she ordered the older man.

“How did you get in?” he demanded.

“The same way you did. With a key.” She smiled. “Of course, mine’s a copy, not a passkey.” She strode over to join Ian. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan?” he echoed. “It’s simple, really.” He stood up. “Rhys loves you, Natalie. Anyone can see that. He’ll pay a lot of money to get you ‒ and that baby ‒ back safely.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re going with me. We’re leaving, you and I, before the police arrive...which they will do, and soon.” His expression hardened. “Let’s go.”

“What about me?” Suki asked. “You’re not leaving me behind?”

“Of course not.” Ian’s voice was reassuring, but his eyes never left Natalie. “Keep Holland covered while I get our hostage in the car.”

He’s lying
, Natalie realized.
He’s leaving with me and he’s not taking Suki.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she told him, her voice unsteady but firm nonetheless.

“Hurry,” Suki urged. “You don’t have much time if the cops are on their way.”

“Right.” He motioned at Natalie with the gun. “Let’s go, Nat. Don’t be difficult.”

Petrified, she froze, and cast a wild glance at Holland.

“Go, my dear,” he said. He met her eyes, and his calm, steady gaze was reassuring.
The police are on their way
, he seemed to say
. You and your baby will be fine. I’ll make sure of it.

She rose on trembling legs to stumble forward, Ian behind her and Suki with her gun still trained on Holland.

“Don’t take your eyes off the old man,” Ian ordered her. “If Natalie gives me any trouble on the way to the car…” He glanced at Holland. “Shoot him.”

Natalie dragged in a deep breath and tried to calm her wild, cartwheeling thoughts. “I’ll cooperate,” she promised. “Please, don’t hurt Mr Holland.”

Ian took Natalie’s arm and pulled her across the living room. Outside, the rain continued unabated, dripping from the eaves and rushing down the gutters in torrents.

“What a nasty day,” he observed as he thrust her down the hall to the front door. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there.”

Don’t step in a poodle
, Natalie thought suddenly, and felt her eyes well with tears as she remembered her exchange with Rhys only that morning. It seemed like eons ago.

Her throat thickened. Would she ever see her husband again?

Don’t
. She willed herself to stay calm and glanced around her, desperate to find a way to escape from Ian before he dragged her out of the apartment building and into the downpour. There had to be something, some kind of a weapon she could use...

But there was nothing.

There was no Louboutin shoe with a sharp, pointy heel lying about; because of her pregnancy, she wore flat shoes these days. There was nothing, really, except...

She saw the umbrella stand by the door, her own umbrella still inside.
Oh, well, it was a long shot, but worth a try...

Natalie let out a cry she hoped was convincing and bent forward, clutching her stomach.

“What is it?” Ian snapped, his hand on the doorknob. “What’s wrong?”

“I...I’m not sure,” she breathed, and doubled over in pretended agony. “I think it’s a contraction.”

“She’s lying,” Suki called out, her words laced with scorn. “I’m no expert, but it’s too early for her to go into labor. It’s a ploy.” She snorted. “And not a very good one, at that.”

“Oohh!” Natalie gasped, and paled as a real pain caught her by surprise. Perspiration broke out on her forehead. “I’m telling the truth!” she cried, panicked. “Please – get me a doctor!”

“You’ll be fine.” Ian tightened his grip on her arm, irritation plain on his face. “None of your tricks. Let’s go.”

But the ding of the elevator down the hall startled him, and he loosened his grip. “Shit – someone’s coming,” he snarled.

The police,
Natalie hoped fervently.

She didn’t wait to find out. Jerking free of Ian’s grip, she grabbed the umbrella from the stand, and as he came at her, she thrust its tip as hard as she could straight into his groin.

He let out a bellow of mingled agony and rage and staggered over in pain. Behind her, Mr Holland knocked the gun from Suki’s hand.

“Run, Natalie!” he shouted. “Go!”

She bit her lip as another, very real pain rippled through her stomach. She dropped the umbrella and skirted around Ian, still doubled over in agony, and ran. As she scrambled out the door and down the corridor, another pain gripped her, and she fell in a ball of agony to the carpet.

Chapter Seventy-One

“Natalie!”

Rhys’s stricken face loomed above hers.

“Rhys,” Natalie mumbled, relief flooding through her even as another pain gripped her stomach. She might’ve lain here on this swirly red carpet for five minutes, or an hour; it was impossible to say. She let out a whimper. “I’m...so glad...to see you!”

“Never mind that, what’s wrong?” he demanded, his breath coming in jagged rasps. “Tell me! Are you hurt?”

“No. No, it’s – contractions.” She turned her frightened face to his and gripped his hand tightly. “At least I think that’s what they are. Oh, Rhys – I’m afraid I might be having this baby!” She began to cry.

The next few minutes were a vague blur of Rhys shouting and red and blue lights flashing outside as the police arrived to arrest Ian and Suki and took them into custody. EMTs knelt down to examine Natalie and lifted her onto a stretcher and into a waiting ambulance.

“Will she be all right?” Rhys asked one of the medics as he followed them to the ambulance. “I’m her husband. She’s pregnant. She hasn’t been shot, has she?”

“No, she hasn’t been shot. She’s fine, just experiencing some early contractions. Probably Braxton Hicks, but we won’t know until we get her to a hospital for a full examination.”

“I’m going with you,” he said, his words firm, and climbed into the back of the ambulance and sat on the edge of the jump seat next to his wife.

Natalie’s hand slipped into his, her fingers tightening as another contraction rippled through her. “What if I lose our baby?” she whispered, tears running down the sides of her face. “Oh, God – this is all my fault, Rhys, going out without telling Devon, and driving to Brooklyn, and then I
had
to go and poke my nose in that damned shopping bag…”

“Hush, darling.” His voice was low but firm. “It’s over now. You’re safe, and I promise you, our baby’s fine, too.”

She sniffled, reassured somewhat, and squeezed his hand. “Did they arrest Mr Holland?”

“What?” he said, and looked at her blankly.

“Mr Holland,” she said again. “The nice, silver-haired man who owns the Dunleigh. Did they arrest him?”

“I don’t think so. Why would they want to arrest him?”

“He stole my father’s painting, Rhys. Mr Holland took it.”

“Natalie,” he scoffed, “that makes no sense. Why would he do such a thing? He owns the Dunleigh, for God’s sake. He’s as rich as a – as a bloody pop star!”

“It’s a long story,” she murmured, overcome with exhaustion. “Mr Holland called the police earlier and gave a full confession. I still can’t believe Suki’s the cat burglar,” she added. “At any rate, his call saved me. It brought Devon, and the police. And it brought you. I just hope they don’t arrest him.”

“I don’t know about that.” Rhys kept a firm grip on her hand. “I’ve been far too worried about you to care.”

“You needn’t have worried.” She squeezed his hand again. “I think the pains are easing a bit. It must’ve been the stress. Or perhaps‒” She cast him a quick, guilty glance. “Now that I think about it, it might have been that dodgy breakfast burrito I had this morning.”

“Breakfast burrito?”

“Yes. I bought it at a bodega in Brooklyn. It was the last one. It tasted a bit...off.”

Rhys let out a shaky laugh. “Bloody hell, Natalie, if that burrito was the last one, it could’ve been in that case since yesterday morning! It’s no wonder you got indigestion. You’re lucky you didn’t get food poisoning.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. “My darling, silly, heroic girl.”

As the police thrust Ian and Suki into a squad car and drove away, Devon Matthews approached the silver-haired man standing in the doorway.

“Mr Holland?”

The older man nodded. His face was pale with exhaustion. “Before you take me in, I need to call my lawyer.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Holland frowned. “I’m entitled to one phone call, unless the rules have changed. You do intend to arrest me, don’t you?”

“No. But you’re a person of interest in the cat burglary case, so I’m sure the police will want to question you further when we get back to Manhattan. And I’ll need your statement as to what happened here tonight.”

“Of course. But...I stole Natalie’s painting.”

Devon flipped his notepad open. “I have no jurisdiction here, Mr Holland – I’m CID, on temporary loan from London. I’m assisting with the cat burglary case. At any rate, Mrs Dashwood-Gordon hasn’t pressed charges. Until she does, you’re free to go. After I take your statement,” he added.

“But – I confessed to a crime. I stole a priceless painting. Surely you need to arrest me for that.”

“Mr Holland,” Devon said, and gestured the man back inside the lobby, “you sound as though you
want
to be arrested. Why is that?”

Holland went to one of the sofas and sat down heavily. “Why? Because I’m old, detective, and I’m tired. I stole that painting, for reasons I won’t trouble you with right now, and I deserve to be punished for it. I don’t care if I spend the rest of my days in prison...my life’s become meaningless since my wife died. The penthouse apartment, the chauffeured car, the money, and the custom-made shoes and clothing – it means nothing to me any longer, any of it.”

“Where’s the painting now?”

“It’s in a safe place.”

“Tell Natalie,” Devon advised after a moment. “Tell her where it is. Then let her decide what she wants to do.”

Holland nodded slowly. “Fair enough. I will.”

“I do ask that you stay in the immediate vicinity, though. No business trips or holidays out of town until the NYPD clears you of any wrongdoing. Understood?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.” Devon smiled briefly and returned his attention to the notepad. “Now, Mr Holland, let’s get this report filed so you and I can both get home and get some sleep.”

Chapter Seventy-Two

On Saturday evening, Holly leaned closer to her dressing table mirror to put the finishing touches on her makeup. Ciaran would arrive at Chaz’s to pick her up soon. Ironically, Coco’s choice for Holly’s costume for the Halloween party at Dashwood and James tonight was a flapper.

She thought, fleetingly, of Daisy. She really needed to finish reading those letters...

Holly studied herself with a critical eye. Her hair was tucked under a platinum-blonde wig. It was styled in a short, curly bob that showed off her neck and accentuated her kohl-rimmed eyes. A rhinestone-and-pearl beaded headpiece and a silver sequined dress with a plunging neckline completed the look. A feather boa and an ivory-handled cigarette holder waited on the bed, along with a vintage beaded purse Chaz had found in a thrift store and loaned her.

Daisy would be proud.

She wondered what Darcy would wear to the costume party tonight. She’d seen his name on Coco’s list but couldn’t remember what his costume was meant to be.

Holly pressed her lips together and finished dusting her cheeks with blush. What did it matter what he wore, anyway? Ciaran said that Hugh Darcy had callously used his sister, forced her to terminate her pregnancy, then cast her aside. Only an unfeeling monster would do those things.

Holly believed it, all of it. After all, Ciaran had no reason to lie.

Darcy was a horrible man, she thought grimly as she laid her makeup brush aside, and she had no desire for a romantic relationship – or any relationship ‒ with him. Not now, or ever. Besides, she was engaged to Ciaran Duncan.