Set Up (15 page)

She wet her lips. “She said you boasted about it. I suppose that was a lie, too.”

“I suppose you're right. You're quite sure you didn't take the other things?”

“No. Though why you should believe me, I don't know.” She spread out both hands, palms up. “I've never done anything like that. Never. And I wouldn't have this time except that Noelle was about... Oh, dear God, if Edward finds out about this, he’ll, he’ll... What do you intend to do?”

He chewed on the inside of his jaw like he was brooding over thoughts other than her muddled excuses.

“So your sister talked you into going through that little performance in Houston to get her ring back.” The quiet words belied the simmering air between them.

Amanda nodded. “You don't believe me, but it's true.”

“I'm not sure what I believe. When you opened the safe, did you see anything else in it?”

“Yes.” She tried hard to remember. “Some kind of box.” The image was at the edge of her consciousness, almost within grasp. “Brown. Leather, maybe.”

“Is that all?”

She balled her hands into fists.

He closed his own hands over them. Not with hostility but not with comfort either.

Her legs trembled again. “I wasn't going to hit you. It's a habit I have.”

“Is that all you saw?” He kept hold of her fists.

What had been in the safe when she looked inside? “There was a little box or book or something underneath the leather case. I remember Noelle's ring was lying right beside them. That was what I wanted. I didn’t care about anything else.”

He let her go. “I suppose the next thing to do,” he said almost to himself, “is talk to your sister.”

“Noelle? She won't know any more than me about your other stuff. If you’re missing anything besides the ring, then someone took them while you were...” She stopped.

“Knocked out,” he supplied helpfully.

“Yes.” She swallowed. “But it wasn't me who took them. Noelle doesn’t—”

“Someone stole them while I was under the influence of a drug you fed me, Scarlet.”

Why did I think he was easygoing?

“It would be,” he ruthlessly pursued the train of thought, “someone who knew I'd be unconscious. Someone who meant you to take the blame. If that's true, it means you're wrong about your sister. It means she set you up. Like you set me up.”

“Not Noelle.” Amanda's legs nearly buckled again. To keep from falling, she sat down on the bed. “All she wanted was her ring. Noelle wouldn't do that to me.”

“Wouldn't she? Oh, no, Scarlet, if you're telling the truth, Noelle will know a lot more about this. What the hell did you give me to knock me out so fast?”

“That date rape stuff.” Miserable, she rested her head in her hands. “Edward’s a pharmacist. He told Noelle what it was one time. She got some and we figured out how to use it.”

“Christ. You could have killed me.”

“No.” She lifted her face, aghast. “I looked it up on the Internet and it…”

Under his outrage, she faltered. “We thought it would be all right.”

The lash of his unspoken contempt mocked her. She saw her exposed breast and straightened her bodice. The seam was ripped, but she folded it together as best she could.

He was quiet for a long time. Did he believe her?

“Okay,” he said at last. “Assuming for the moment you're a victim, too, how did you get a ticket to the opening?”

“Noelle. She knew someone who wasn’t going.”

“Someone in Texas?”

“I don’t know. She said it was a friend.”

“The lady the invitation went to wasn’t even in the country and I bet Noelle never met her.”

She didn’t answer. There was no need.

He went on, “If you're telling the truth, and Noelle talked you into that moronic stunt, she had an accomplice.”

“An accomplice?” Her hands and feet felt as numb as her mind.

“Someone who knew I'd be at the Houston opening.” He threw out one finger. “Someone who had access to ticket information, to reserve your box.” A second finger went up, followed by a third and fourth. “Someone who knew I'd bring my studs. And someone who knew my combination. Your sister couldn't have guessed all that.”

“Noelle did know your combination,” Amanda said, still dazed. “Maybe she overheard you mention it to someone.”

“I don’t talk about confidential things. And certainly not in front of a woman I met once in my life.” He snorted. “If there's one thing I've learned in thirty-five years, it's how to keep my mouth shut. How do we get in touch with your sister?”

“I can call her.”
Or try to.

No wonder Noelle had been avoiding her calls.

He followed her back through the cottage to her van. Under his vigilant eyes, she got out her purse with her cell and hit Noelle’s number. A computer-generated voice answered.

Her breath went away.

The call ended. Her breath came back. “Her number's no longer in service.”

“Give that to me.” He took her cellphone and ushered her back into the cottage.

There was no need to resist.

“I kind of expected your sister wouldn't make it easy. I guess we'll have to go to her. She lives in Birmingham?”

“What do you mean to do? You can't bother Noelle. Edw—”

“Can't I?” His mouth was ugly. “Watch me.”

“It'll take four or five hours to drive there.”
That’s right. Speak reasonably. I’m good at reasoning with people.
“You can't go barging in at ten or eleven o'clock. Edward will wonder—”

“The hell with what Edward wonders.” He glanced out the window at the darkening sky. “I don't care. But you're right. It's too late to drive, and I'm too beat. It’s been an, um, exciting day. We'll wait till morning.”

“I have to get back to Atlanta. I have a shop to run. I can't stay away...”

The single raised brow stopped her words.

“You're no fool, Scarlet. You're not leaving my sight till we find your sister and she tells me where my things are. You're going to be damned lucky not to land in jail, the both of you.”

“I can't stay with you. I have to get back to my shop.”

His voice grew silky, but his mouth twisted unpleasantly. “Of course you can stay with me. We've practically spent the night together already. As I recall, we were very intimate.”

He let her stew before letting loose a mocking laugh. “Don't worry, Scarlet,” he threw over his shoulder as he pulled out his cell. “I may be a fool, but I do learn from experience. You aren't very appetizing anymore.” He pushed the screen. “Claire, your dressmaker is going to stay the night with me.”

Amanda stiffened with impotent outrage.

“Yes, Jane knows about my mystery woman and is anxious to help. Isn't that nice of her? Could the kitchen send over some food? Yep, more than cooperative. She and I are going to Birmingham, to visit her sister. Will you see if the helicopter's free tomorrow and let me know?”

Once he listened, his voice became gentle. “I hope so. Try not to worry, Bags.”

“Claire will think you and I are shacked up together,” Amanda flung at him after he hung up. “You'll make her think I’m a tramp. You're deliberately ruining my reputation.” Her protests might be useless, but she had to try.

Callaway didn't bother to answer.

“My business is built on my reputation. If it gets out that I spent the night with you...”

He spared her one cynical shrug. “You'll sell twice as many dresses, sugar. Relax and enjoy the free food and lodging, but don't look to me for entertainment.”

It might be prudent to remain silent, Amanda decided.

* * * *

Good thing she shut up. Cal was beginning to feel sorry for her the way her sister had worked her. If she was telling the truth. Which he kind of thought she was.

Yeah, right. Like he would know when a woman was lying or not.

Claire called back in a few minutes. The helicopter was booked, but she had reserved one of the company planes to pick them up at eight the next morning. “What do you think about Jane?” she asked.

Cal recognized her tone. “Do not try to fix me up with your dressmaker. You know I'm not husband material.”

“If you could find someone as nice as Jane instead of those usual bimbos you run around with, you'd be a perfect husband.”

“No way. She's, ah...” He glanced at the stiff form sitting on the sofa. “She's simply being kind enough to help with our problem.”

He ought to tell Claire exactly what Jane was, but for some reason, he didn't.

“You and Sonny and your women. I overheard him talking while ago, giving some girl his usual line. Don't you sweet-talk Jane and get her hopes up, Cal. She's nice.”

“I think the last thing she'll do is get her hopes up.”

Nor was she nice, he could have added but didn't. Amanda might be telling the truth or she might not. He’d find out the next day.

Damn, wasn't it just his luck to get tangled up with another calculating, deceitful female? Interfering in her sister's life, running roughshod over him and then whining because she got caught.

Now she expected him to believe she didn't know a thing about what her sister was doing.

Well, he was through being a sucker. Like he told her, she wasn't getting out of his sight till he found that book.

Chapter Nine

Amanda picked at leftover reception food with Callaway McIntyre while a baseball game played on television. Smoke clouded the air as cigarette after cigarette filled the ash tray to overflowing. He might appear oblivious, but she could tell he watched her every move.

Later, he put her in a bedroom across from the one where they had scuffled. “I had that bolt installed especially for you, Scarlet. You should be flattered.”

She bristled and he grinned. At least, his mouth did. “Better learn to deal with it. I don't trust you an inch, and until I have my things back, you aren't getting out of my sight unless you're under lock and key.”

Damn the man. There was a large Chinese vase on a table next to her hand, probably terribly valuable. Her fingers itched to break it over his head, but she kept herself from seizing the vase and hurling it.

Instead, she entered the bedroom and slammed the door.

The bolt turned on the outside, leaving her alone and, courage dissolving, traumatized. The one window was closed, secured by a shiny key-lock that looked recently installed. “If there's a fire and I burn to death, he'll be liable.”

Muttering defiance didn't help.

There was no phone and he had taken her cell, but she found a bathroom with a tiny window of circular stained glass sealed shut. A new toothbrush lay on the marble sink while a robe hung beside thick towels on an ornate corner rack.

Callaway McIntyre had made careful arrangements.

How long had he known? The dress. She should have realized once he’d seen it, he'd chase it down.

In the shower, she let hot water massage her tense shoulders. How could she have been attracted to him? He was rude and hateful as well as a sadist. She'd love to take him down a notch.

Not that he didn't have a right to be all those things, if he was telling the truth about Noelle.

Amanda cringed beneath the spray. Somehow she knew he was telling the truth.

There must be an explanation. Perhaps Callaway's plan to confront Noelle was for the best. Edward should be at work and need never learn about his wife's duplicity, and Amanda wouldn't be missed at the shop since Monday was her off-day.

After showering, she wrapped up in the robe and checked the bedroom window. Just to see, she told herself. A gentle tug proved it immovable. The room was a prison.

Pulling out the sewing kit she always carried in her purse, she repaired her torn dress so that it was presentable. Then she brushed her teeth, put her camisole and panties back on, and slid between the sheets.

Sleep didn’t come.

What would Noelle say? If she didn't have a good explanation, and if Callaway pressed charges, she and Amanda would be in serious trouble. Noelle had brought this whole mess on herself, but Amanda had agreed to help. They deserved any punishment Cal devised.

Except jail meant Noelle would lose Edward and Teddy for sure. And if Amanda went to jail, she could never rebuild her clientele. Her chance for success would be gone, along with every ounce of self-respect.

I let protecting Noelle cloud my judgment
.
I knew better. If we go to jail, it'll be my own fault.

* * * *

This mess was his fault, but Cal was trying his best to salvage something. For Claire's sake he had to.

She'd sent breakfast over to the cottage. French toast, muffins, bagels, and orange juice. Nothing tasted good, but he forced down a bagel slathered with cream cheese.

Amanda toyed with French toast until finally she pushed her plate away and spoke for the first time that morning. “Do you have anything for a headache?”