Never Con a Corgi (25 page)

Leigh's eyebrow arched. She bit back the words she was tempted to say, namely,
who are you and what have you done with Maura Polanski?
She stole a bemused glance at Allison. If Maura's less-than-irate response to opening up yet another case file with the Koslow name in it had anything to do with her daughter's presence—which it undoubtedly did—she owed the child a cookie.

Maura placed the bone carefully into a brown paper bag. "I'll get this down to the lab. It may take a while for a final verdict, but in the meantime I'd like to see if there's any more lying around where this came from." She turned to Leigh. "Do you think if we took Chewie to Bess's now, he might head back to the same spot?"

Leigh considered. A bloodhound, the dog was not. Nor was she convinced that the place where he found the bone would hold any more interest for him now than the places where he had found the dead sparrow, Brandon Lyle's body, or the empty cat food containers that fell out of Bess's recycling bin.

But it was worth a shot. "It's possible," she said dubiously.

"Let's try it, then," Maura suggested. "I need to take a look around the area myself, anyway. And ask Bess about any local gravesites."

"I know of one," Allison's small voice piped up.

The adults all turned to look at her.

"You do?" Leigh asked. "Where?"

"I've never been there," Allison noted. "But I've heard of it. It's somewhere on Mr. Clem's property—that's why we haven't explored it. But Aunt Bess told us once that there were gravestones there from the 1800s. Not a whole cemetery or anything, just like two or three from one family."

"Good memory, Allison," Maura praised. "Thanks. We'll check that out, too." She looked back at Leigh. "Can I meet you—and Chewie—over at Bess's in an hour? That'll give me time to get this bone to the lab."

Leigh nodded mutely. She was proud of her daughter's good memory, too. She just wished the child could have remembered something a little less death related.

***

Diana's face felt hot. Her entire body felt hot. Not because of the blazing July sun that was currently frying the concrete plaza in front of the high-rent skyscraper that housed Gil March's office. No. Her heat was generated internally.

She hated Gil March with a passion.

He had humiliated her once, and he had suffered for it. But apparently he hadn't suffered enough. Not when he still refused to respect her, to fear her. And he should fear her. Oh yes, he should! Yet instead, he had humiliated her.
Again
. It was not to be tolerated.

It
would not
be tolerated.

She perched her lithe body on the stone rim of the plaza's sterile, artless water fountain. The water looked hot. If she touched it, she was sure it would boil. Just like her blood.

She forced herself to a take deep breaths. Explosion was not her style. She needed to calm down. To think. To
plan
.

Her gaze passed over the pedestrians strolling in front of her—their clothing an appalling mishmash of cheap, tattoo-revealing rags and stuffy business suits. Pittsburgh's "business district" could be walked end to end in less time than it took to polish one's nails—at least, to polish them properly. She needed to get out of this city. To make a fresh start somewhere else, somewhere more exciting, more sophisticated, somewhere much, much bigger...

But not quite yet. First, she must finish her unfinished business.

She made a growling sound under her breath and shifted her hips on the stone. Her gaze scanned over the crowd again—and then stopped short.

It was
him
.

He was dressed differently from this morning: less expensively, less conspicuously. His suit was run of the mill, mimicking an executive trying to impress on a less-than-impressive salary. But this man couldn't help but wear it well. As he stepped from the sidewalk onto the plaza Diana watched no fewer than three younger women turn their heads at him. It occurred to her that she hadn't yet had the pleasure of watching him walk away from her. She would have to fix that. But not just yet.

His dark eyes met hers, and his steps changed course.

A ripple of thrill shot through her.

"Hello again, Bruce," she said invitingly, recrossing her legs. "I see you're following up on my advice."

He paused a step in front of her. "Were you waiting for me?" he said without expression.

Diana laughed. "Don't flatter yourself. I have business in this building that's nothing to do with you. Business that went wretchedly, I might add. I'm resting here to soothe my wounded pride... running into you again is an unexpected treat."

What
was
it about this man that made it so easy for her to tell the truth? The proportion of lies she told him was way below average.

"Any luck locating Courtney?" she dared.

He shook his head slowly. "Not yet. Of course, you could have tipped her off."

Diana frowned. "Why would I do that?"

He stared back at her. "Why, indeed?"

Diana's jaws clenched. She did wish she could get on his good side. Without his knowing she was trying, of course. A man like him could be so...
useful
.

Like a flame igniting in her chest, the idea arose. As it spread through her veins like hot lava, her mouth curved into a smile.

Why not?

"I told you that I don't know where Courtney is staying, and I don't," she said levelly, looking him straight in his devilish eyes. "But if you're putting yourself out to try and help her, you needn't bother. As I learned only this morning, she's well protected."

Diana watched the tell-tale muscle in his jaw. It popped out, right on cue.

"Protected by whom?" he said in a low voice.

She swallowed her annoyance at the man's obvious dedication to Courtney. She was using it, wasn't she?

"Look, Bruce," she explained, "I don't know what's up with you and Courtney, and I have no reason to care about either of you. But I do hate to see a man like you, who can obviously do better, getting jerked around by a woman like her."

Outwardly, he remained impassive. But Diana could feel the ambient air temperature rise a degree.

"I mean, I'll admit," she continued, carefully blending lies with the truth, "I made a play for March. He's married, but he's rich and he's hot. Can you blame me? But Courtney doesn't need him. She's got money of her own. What's the appeal? I mean, hell—you're
way
sexier than he is! And here you are, come to rescue her—her husband's grave not even cold yet—and she's already doing another man!"

Diana refrained from looking Bruce straight in the face. He wore murderous rage extremely well, but still—it was a private moment.

"I'm sorry," she lied, her voice sheepish. "I shouldn't have been so blunt. But that's the way it is. I thought you'd want to know."

Bruce said nothing. He lifted his head and looked up at the top floors of the office building.

Excellent.

"If you still want to find Courtney," she said with a practiced sulk, "he'll know where she is. But he's not going to tell you. He's nothing but a damned bully."

The man started to walk away, toward the building.

Diana rose, enjoying the view. "Bruce?" she said tentatively.

He turned. His face was a mask of stone.

"There's a button hidden on the receptionist's desk, near the phone. It's silent, but it rings straight to security."

His beautiful, masculine lips curved into a smirk. His eyes raked her figure again, from face to toes and back. "Diana," he said, more to himself, seemingly, than to her. "Diana Saxton."

He turned around, strode toward the main doors, and disappeared inside the building.

"What are you doing here?"

Diana whirled, then startled at the unexpected sight of Courtney Lyle, who stood before her dressed to the nines in her usual low-cut, perfectly tailored linen dress and sexy heels. Her concession to looking inconspicuous, apparently, was to wear designer sunglasses and tie a scarf around her head, á la Jackie O. Her voice was tight.

"I could ask you the same question," Diana replied slowly, stalling for inspiration.
Crap!
Why did the woman have to come here, now?

"I'm picking up something from Gil," she answered shortly. "I thought you were working at the office today."

"I finished early," Diana returned. In fact, she had been at the Lyle Development office all of about two hours. The new "business guru" was a pompous idiot who kept telling her she'd done everything wrong, and she'd left him to stew in his own juices for a while.

"Just get it done," Courtney snapped. Without another word, she turned and walked away toward the building.

Diana's pulse quickened. The last thing she needed was for Lover Boy to run into the widow Lyle prematurely. He was on a mission, and she needed for him to finish it. She watched ruefully as Courtney's long legs strutted away from her. Painful as it was for her to admit, she could understand Bruce's near-obsession with a woman
not
young enough to be his daughter. The bubblehead was terribly well-preserved. Diana could only hope to look so good at her age, dammit.

"I saw him," she called out.

The long legs stopped. Courtney spun around and whipped off her shades. "You saw
who?"

Diana said the words slowly, watching with pleasure as all color drained from the other woman's face. "Bruce Anjelo."

Courtney's breathing became jagged. After a moment of paralysis, she rushed to Diana's side and grabbed her arm roughly. "Where? Where was he?"

Diana brushed off the arm and nodded her head toward the building. "He just went in."

Courtney's wide eyes scanned the front of the building. "Are you sure? Why? How do you know it was him?"

"How else would I get his name?" Diana answered. "He came by the apartment this morning looking for you. We chatted a bit. Now he's looking for Gil."

"But why?!" Courtney demanded.

Diana shrugged. "As a way to get to you, perhaps."

Courtney's eyes flashed fire. "You're insane. You'd do anything to hurt Gil, wouldn't you?"

Diana shrugged again. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. I thought that Gil might know where you were staying; I was only trying to accommodate Mr. Anjelo. He seems determined to find and help you, even though you insist on running from him." She faked a dramatic sigh. "I really don't know why you're doing that, by the way. The man's a total hottie. Those muscles, the clothes, that shiny piece—"

"What?!" Courtney exploded. "He had a gun with him? You saw it?"

"Well, I don't think he'd strap on that holster just to carry a can opener," Diana commented. "You're not really afraid of him, are you?"

"Hell yes, I'm afraid of him! And you should be too, you vicious wench!" Courtney turned and stared up at the windows on the top floor. "Gil will know who he is," she said to herself. "He'll call security right away. Then they'll get him."

Diana's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Gil will know who he is? How could he?"

Courtney paced with short steps, ignoring her. "They'll find the gun; he'll be detained..." She stopped abruptly. "I've got to get out of here!" Without another word to Diana, she turned away from the building and strutted off as fast as her towering heels would carry her.

Diana watched her go, all confidence in her own brilliant plan suddenly flagging. She hadn't expected Bruce to do anything to Gil
now
, here in the building—satisfying as that image was. She figured the Chicagoan would just check him out, get the lay of the land; then take care of him later. Guys like Bruce didn't walk around free if they weren't also crafty.

But she hadn't reckoned on Courtney's bothering to warn Gil about her pursuer, which was an oversight. If Bruce strolled into the office on any pretext, he could be recognized. He could be questioned, even arrested if his gun wasn't legal. Worse yet, he'd lose any chance he might have had to make a good, clean hit and get out of town!

Diana looked to the left and right. She looked at the entrance, at the windows. If security did approach Bruce, what would he do? She was certain she had stirred his bad-boy blood into a full-blown jealous rage. Would he keep his cool and talk his way out of it? Or would he lose it, reach under his jacket, draw his weapon...

She let out a long, slow breath.

What the hell had she started?

Chapter 24

"Go on, Chewie!" Leigh urged, waving her arms. "Go and frolic. Be free!"

The dog gave a little skip, looked up at her happily, panted, and circled her ankles. Then he circled Allison's. Then Bess's.

Then he sat on Maura's foot.

Leigh sighed. "Your lead is off, Chewie. Go play!"

The dog jumped off Maura's foot, came closer, and stared at Leigh expectantly.

"He thinks you're going to feed him," Allison commented.

"He always
hopes
I'm going to feed him," Leigh agreed. "He also knows darn well it isn't dinner time."

Bess chuckled. "Ah well, hope springs eternal."

"Poor Chewie," Allison crooned. The dog immediately switched allegiance and thrust his wet nose against her skinny calf. "He has no idea what we want."

"Hmmm," Bess murmured. "I might have something to help with that." She ambled off toward the back of her house, while the others stood waiting in the back yard. Bess's entire tribe of cats seemed to have gathered along the window ledge of the screened porch to watch them, and the felines were in such near-perfect formation they looked like targets in an arcade game.

Chewie continued staring up at Allison, ignoring the tempting cats completely. He would chase anything that ran from him, as a rule, but he hadn't come within four feet of a cat since his first—and last—encounter with Mao Tse.

"This might spark his memory!" Bess announced, rejoining them with something in her closed hand. Chewie's ears perked immediately. "Take a good whiff, boy!" she urged, holding out the fist. "Now, go get it!" She feigned making a long throw out toward the direction of the pond.