ACCORDING TO PLAN (2 page)

He’d just been served a piece of home-made pecan pie and coffee
when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Caller ID showed it was the cell phone
Raymond Grant received by courier that morning along with explicit instructions.
With a dark smile, Tank answered, “Steele.”

“I got your message, Agent Steele.” Raymond’s voice betrayed
tension. It sizzled through the phone. “Now what?”

“She’ll be there soon.”

“She better not get in the way. If anything happens to Harrison—”

“Nothing will happen to Harry.” Tank interrupted. “Stick with what
we agreed upon, nothing more.”

There was a pause at the other end and then Raymond came back on
the phone. “She’s here. I’ve got to go. Estelle is very upset with all of this.
Are you sure this Stewart girl can do the job?”

Tank grinned. Shelby was thorough and would follow every lead on
Harrison. He’d been amazed at how quickly she’d adapted to being a P.I. when
they started their business. The detective gene must run in the family. “Oh
yeah, she’s absolutely right for this job. I’ll be in touch.”

He ended the call and emptied three sugar packets into his coffee.
He wished he could be a fly on the wall. It’d be fun to see how Shelby handled
Estelle Grant.

If the Grant’s landlines had been tapped, as he suspected, then
Shelby’s firm being hired would cement the belief Harrison had gone A.W.O.L.
Shelby didn’t need to know Harry was in protective custody, turning state’s
evidence against a major piece of dirt referred to as ‘The Big Boss.’ To keep
Harry’s involvement with Tank’s agency under wraps, it was vital she asked questions
around town, supporting the story that Harrison was missing.

When Tank thought enough time had passed, he paid his bill,
re-mounted his bike and drove to the entrance of the Grant’s driveway. After
parking, he kicked out the stand, leaned back on the seat and got comfortable.
Shelby had some explaining to do.

This could be a whole lot of fun.

Chapter Two

I crunched up the long drive which led to the Grant’s estate and
parked in front of an enormous mansion, straight out of
Gone With the Wind
.
The façade, complete with pillars and a wraparound porch only required a
southern belle in a large, frilly hoop dress to come waltzing around the
corner.

Expecting a butler, someone like Lurch from the
Addams Family
,
my line of sight was raised when the door swung open. Slowly I brought my gaze
down to the smallest, meanest looking woman I had ever seen. A smidge over five
feet, she was almost as wide as she was tall. With one glance she summed me up
and her lip curled into a sneer. I guess I came up short.

I choked back a snort at my own pun and the little gnome must have
caught it.

“We don’t want none,” she barked and tried slamming the door in my
face.

I put my boot out to stop the door from closing, flipped open my
wallet and extracted one of my brand new business cards. “Stewart
Investigations,” I said, handing it to her. “Mr. Grant’s expecting me.”

She screwed her face into a scowl and stared at my card. Satisfied,
she grudgingly opened the door. “You stay put. I’ll tell the mister you’re
here.” She moved away with amazing speed and I stepped further inside.

Whoa.

Polished marble floors gleamed in the foyer. A chandelier, which
had to weigh a thousand pounds, hung over a mahogany table that would have
comfortably sat a family of twelve. The entrance, dominated by a central
staircase, caught my imagination and I could almost see the ghost of Rhett
Butler, looking up at Miss Scarlett.

Within minutes she returned and asked me to follow her. She ushered
me toward a room just off the entranceway. A soft, Georgia peach voice lilted
toward us.

“Thank you, Hannah. You can bring in the lemonade and cake now.”

The voice belonged to society’s darling, Estelle Grant.

“Yes, Mrs. Grant, right away.” The surly servant disappeared
beneath a thin veneer of civility.

I stepped into a stylish room, dotted with several couches and
chairs placed to draw people’s eye toward an elegant fireplace. In the middle
of this
Better Homes & Garden
vignette sat Estelle. She looked like
a porcelain doll—fragile, pink, and fluffy. In her hand she clutched a lace
hanky.

“Mrs. Grant? I’m Shelby Stewart. Your husband called earlier.”

I strode forward and held out my hand. With a slight hesitation she
placed her frail one in mine. After a brief touch of our fingers, she withdrew
and tucked her hand beneath the hanky. Although the movement was slight, I’d bet
money she wiped her fingers off. Without asking, I sat on the chair opposite
her, and Estelle’s lips pursed ever so slightly. I guess I should have waited
for the royal nod or something.

“Thank you for coming so soon.” Estelle said. “This is such a
trying time for our family.”

“Is Mr. Grant here?”

“Raymond?” She paused, her eyes shifting to the door at the far
side of the room. “He’s making a phone call. He’ll be with us shortly.”

A rattling noise announced the return of Hannah. Mrs. Grant looked
toward the door, relief evident on her pinched face. “Set it over there Hannah,”
indicating the glass coffee table in front of us.

Hannah carried a silver tray, loaded down with cakes, cookies and a
pitcher of lemonade. Under the watchful eye of Mrs. Grant she poured us each a
glass. After placing the jug on the tray, she turned to leave.

“Hannah?”

“Yes, Mrs. Grant?”

“Make sure Bobbi-Jo cleans that little mess I spotted by the gazebo
this morning.”

“Yes, Mrs. Grant.” Hannah clumped out of the room.

Estelle offered me a cookie, which I declined. As she set the plate
on the table she explained, “We had the gazebo re-stained and our dog Chester
keeps getting into the plants. The dirt he digs flies up and sticks to the
walls.”

After taking a sip of her tea she fell into silence. I attempted to
engage her in small talk, anything beyond the weather, but she either had
nothing to say, or had the personality of a dish rag. I leaned strongly in favor
of the dish rag. Ten minutes I’d never get back passed before Mr. Grant joined
us.

A tall, striking man, he strode into the room. His whole demeanor
was tense. No smile crossed his lips, but that would be expected since Harrison
was their only child.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Thank you for coming so quickly.” He
sat next to his wife.

“Shall we get started?” I asked, looking at both of them on the
sofa. Mr. Grant nodded. Not wanting to waste any more time I pulled a simple
notebook and pen from my purse and flipped open to a clean page.

“When did you last hear from Harrison? Does he call home often?”

I wanted a sense of their relationship, anything which might give a
clue to Harrison’s mind-set.

“Harrison’s been living in Los Angeles for over a year now.
Although he juggles a very hectic business and social calendar he calls home
every Sunday...” Mrs. Grant brought the hanky to her nose. She stifled a small
hiccupping sob and turned toward Mr. Grant who placed an arm around her
shoulders. With a few pats and a squeeze on her arm, she quieted.

And the Award goes to....

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. When had
I become such a cynic? Probably right about the time Tank walked out and broke
my heart. The sobs could be genuine, but that tiny voice inside my head coldly
pointed out how not one single tear escaped her carefully made up eyes.

“He hasn’t called for over three weeks.” Mr. Edwards bit out, “Not one
single phone call, e-mail, nothing.”

I noted Mr. Grant was angered by Harrison’s disappearance. Most
families were frantic with worry, not annoyed. Had Harrison done this sort of
thing before? That would explain the tension which permeated the room.

Yet, something about Mrs. Grant didn’t ring true. While we waited
for her husband, she hadn’t talked about Harrison. Not even once. In my line of
work you looked for nonverbal clues, like body language. Estelle Grant worried
more about her gazebo than her only child and sipped lemonade. An underlying
current of nervousness lay like a film across their skin, evident by the tic in
Mr. Grant’s jaw.

I began scribbling in my notepad. The Grants would think I believed
them, but in reality, I’d started a grocery list. Milk, cheese, rib-eye steaks,
chocolate buds. I scratched the steaks off. They were Tank’s favorite and I would
NOT buy food for him.

A curious thought struck me at the reminder of Tank. Could their
unease stem from the fact they knew Harrison was implicated in the murder of a
hooker? I decided to broach the subject in a round-about way.

“Has Harrison met anyone? Someone he may have gone away with?”

I watched Mr. Grant’s reaction closely.

“He met a girl, Lulu.” He spat out her name, venom tingeing his
voice. “Don’t know much about her, except he seems mighty enamored with her.
His credit card bills are staggering.”

Interesting... Harrison didn’t foot his own bills. I added bread to
the list.

Mr. Grant stood and stalked over to the window, shoving clenched
hands into his trouser pockets while he stared out over his expansive grounds.
His stance remained rigid. I’d have bet Polly’s trust fund he knew of Harrison’s
possible involvement with Lulu’s murder. It looked like he had no intention of
sharing this information with me.

Fair trade, I didn’t plan on telling him I knew Harrison was a
suspect in a murder investigation, or that Lulu was a hooker. I could play dumb
blonde all day if that’s what he wanted. Mrs. Grant took a tiny sip of her
lemonade, keeping her face averted.

An uncomfortable pause stretched between us.

I looked down at my sparse notes above the grocery list. There was
nothing here for me to go on. “What makes you think Harrison is missing and
didn’t just take off? Was he having problems at work?”

Mr. Grant turned from the window, his voice betraying anger. “My
son would never just
take off
. He loves his mother more than life—”
Estelle sobbed. “Someone stopped him from contacting us.”

The
‘someone’
caught my ear, so I made yet another note.
Shampoo. An imp of mischief prompted the next question. “Have you called the
police in Los Angeles? The authorities have been alerted he’s missing, right?”

I hit the jackpot with that question. Mr. Grant’s face turned a
mottled shade of purple and Mrs. Grant’s knuckles went snow white clutching a now
shredded hanky.
I wonder if she’ll swoon.
It was time to let them off
the hook. Without words they’d spoken volumes already.

“Well... I’m sure you’ve called them. You can always send me the
name of his case investigator if you think I need it.”

I closed the notebook, shoving both it and the pen back into my
purse. “I can’t think of anything more right now. Would you mind if I checked
out Harrison’s condo? I’d like to get a feel for his style. Maybe he left
something behind that will help.”

Mr. Grant walked over to a secretary’s desk and retrieved something
out of the small drawer. He wrote down information on a slip of paper, then
came over and handed it to me along with a key.

“Here. This is Harrison’s condo key and address.”

****

I headed down the long driveway mulling over my strange, short
visit with the Grants and came to a screeching halt when I saw Tank stretched
out on his motorbike. He looked big, bad, and dangerous.

Uncertain how to proceed I chewed my lip. I could ask him to move.
I snorted in disdain. Tank didn’t do anything but what he wanted. Me asking
nicely wouldn’t make him budge an inch. I could always drive around, but that
would tear up the manicured lawn and mow down a few well-placed shrubs.

Then the sobering thought of the Grant’s calling the cops forced me
to deal with him in an adult manner. With that in mind I climbed out of the car
and walked to where Tank reclined, looking far too casual for my taste. Stopping
just a shade out of his reach, I hooked my thumbs in my front jean pockets and
watched him watch me.

He lifted his mirrored sunglasses and slid them onto his head. “Looks
like we got us a conflict.”

“How’d you know I was here?”

I stepped back when he leaned forward, resting an oh-so-muscular arm
on his knee.

“Darlin’, when you said I could stay at the house without a fight,
I knew something’s up. You never go sweet on me, so I followed. Mind telling me
what’s going on?”

“Nope.”

“Come on. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Kinda like the old
days.?”

Bitter-sweet memories washed over me and I closed my eyes as pain carved
yet another tiny piece from my heart. The
‘old days’
when we could
almost read each other’s thoughts we’d been so in tune. But I hadn’t been as
intuitive as I thought or I’d have known he’d tired of me long before he left.

I re-opened my eyes and looked directly into his. “Wrong question
to ask the ex-wife, Tank. You’re losing your touch. I’m going home.” For a
brief moment I thought remorse flickered in those sharp, see everything eyes,
but that was most likely wishful thinking on my part. “The offer of the guest
room is rescinded. Get a motel.”

“Nice try.” He slid his glasses back on and started the bike. “I’ll
mosey on up to the Grant’s, and take a look around. Maybe have a good long talk
with Harry if he’s there. See you later.”

I watched as he throttled his bike and roared up the manicured
drive. I’d love to watch the hobbit housekeeper take him on but I had to go grocery
shopping, then home to pack for my trip to L.A.

Chapter Three

Harrison was missing, yet his parents didn’t act worried. What was
it that didn’t ring true? And why didn’t they call off the search after Tank showed
up? Something was off and danced around the edges of my brain, going in
circles. Arrangements needed to be made, so I called Polly.

“How’d the meeting go?” she asked.

“Strange is the only word I can think of right now.”

My phone teetered on my shoulder as I juggled my purse, the few
groceries I’d picked up and car keys. All this, while unlocking the front door.
“I need you to book a flight for me to L.A., day after tomorrow. Also, see if
you can book me into a hotel near Hollywood Boulevard. I’m going to check out
the area, talk to some of Hollywood’s leading ladies and want to stay at a
hotel close by.”

“Leading ladies?” Polly sounded confused.

“I meant hookers. You know. Hookers? Leading ladies?” Nothing but
dead air through the phone. “Forget it. I’ll see you later tonight.”

I ended the call and shouldered the door open. Just as I crossed
the threshold, my land line rang. I ran to the kitchen, dropped my packages and
grabbed the receiver on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, I’m glad I caught you at home.”

Why hadn’t I looked at the call display? Tension snaked up the back
of my neck. He always seemed to know when I was home.

“What do you want, Regis?”

My neighbor, Regis, had the personality of a gnat and made watching
grass grow look palatable. He didn’t get it. Not all of us were interested in
the mating habits of Puffins, or whatever held his fancy this month.

“Shelley—”

“My name is Shelby,” I forced through clenched teeth. For some
obscure reason he never got my name right. This would be hilarious, if it weren’t
so annoying.

“Yes, Shelby, of course,” I pictured him pushing his glasses up the
bridge of his nose. “I called because I have made a discovery and wondered if I
might stop by your office tomorrow.”

The fine hairs on my arms rose straight up at the thought of Regis
cornering me in my office. I’d take Tank over him every day, all day before
that happened. Time to nip this baby in the bud. “I won’t have time, my
calendar is quite full. Is this all you called about?”

“I’d hoped you would consent to dine with mother and me one evening
this week.”

I heard his bowtie spinning and the crack of his mother’s whip. “Regis,
we talked about this before. I’m going to say no,
again
. Call Penelope.
She’s anxious to show you...”
Geez, what did Penny have again?
“Whatever
it is she’s growing in her garage. You’d have a lot in common.”

“Shelley, Mother has—”

I hung up and gave my body a shake, like a kid at school who got
cootie germs. Regis phoned me on a regular basis asking me on dates,
with
his mother
. He’d latched on to me when we were kids and I could only handle
him in small doses. There was a slimy, ick factor about him and it had nothing
to do with the three pounds of Brylcreem in his hair.

Putting away groceries, I sighed when I noticed I’d purchased most
of Tank’s favorite foods. I stared at the can of whipped cream before putting
it in the fridge beside the pecan pie. I may have told him to go to a motel,
but I knew he’d stay here.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. Why couldn’t I move on? He had. I
was positive he left me for another woman. Why else would he leave what seemed,
to me at least, a wonderful, loving marriage?

Wanting nothing more than to relax I headed upstairs and threw my
purse on the bed. Maybe long hot shower would wash my heartache away. A girl
could hope.

****

Tank let himself into Shelby’s house and heard the shower. There
had been a time when he’d have joined her, but all that was gone. His rights as
her husband were on hold until she was apprised of the whole situation. Only
one other person close to Shelby knew he was a Federal Agent, and she’d sworn
on a stack of cream filled donuts, she wouldn’t give away his secret.

This case with Harrison couldn’t end soon enough for him. The slimy
little worm wouldn’t give them the information needed to close in on Big Boss.
He did let slip there was someone else involved. Someone from this town.

Tank knew he was close to closing the case, he could taste it.
Nervous energy thrummed through his veins and if he were superstitious, like his
partner Rodi, he’d bet everything on them discovering who Big Boss was.

Thinking of Rodi made him realize his inside man hadn’t contacted
him in a while. Not unusual when you work deep undercover, but Rodi always tried
to leave an encrypted message every two weeks.

Tank paused outside the master bedroom door before taking a step
inside. Nothing had changed much, except anything that belonged to him was
hidden or thrown away. A wry grin tipped his lip. Most likely thrown out or
burned. Maybe both.

He walked to the dresser and picked up a bottle of her favorite
perfume, drawing in the scent. Immediately he was transported back to the first
time he met her, at a party on the beach. Across the fire he’d been mesmerized by
the woman with hair the color of ripened wheat, cascading down her back in soft
curls. And when they’d come face to face, one of the first things he did was
kiss her.

Turned out to be a wrong move, but he couldn’t help himself. When
her gaze met his, he knew right then and there he’d marry her. It took a few
months to convince Shelby of that,
after
he’d located her. The little
minx gave him the number to a funeral home when he asked for her number.

The shower shut off and he heard the sounds of Shelby moving around
the bathroom. He stood by the walk-in closet door and leaned one shoulder
against the door jamb. Within minutes she opened the door, looking flushed with
her hair twisted up into a clip and a warm, fuzzy housecoat wrapped around her
body. She hadn’t seen him yet, so he waited until she stopped in front of the
dresser and looked into the mirror, catching his reflection.

Her eyes widened and then closed. He pushed away from the door. “Hey,
darlin’.”

****

My thoughts over the past few hours had been all about Tank, and then
I stepped into bedroom and saw him. A sense of déjà vu washed over me and I
closed my eyes so he couldn’t see my pain.

Tank’s hand on my shoulder, turning me to face him, surprised me. I
thought he’d step away, but instead he cupped my face, held my gaze and smiled
a lazy smile. The one that made me fall in love with him the first time. He
slipped a finger under my chin and caressed my cheek with his thumb. I wanted
to press into his hand and rub my cheek against his palm. It took everything
inside me to remain still.

He lowered his head and took possession of my mouth. Love, hurt,
and anger combined and spread out from my heart and through my body. I stood,
bathed in all these conflicting emotions and knew I still loved him. He broke
the kiss and rested his forehead on mine.

I had to be realistic. He might be here for only a few hours. Could
my heart take him leaving again? The cold answer was, no.

“Tank—”

“Shh…..” He silenced me with a finger on my lips. “I don’t mean to
complicate things, but I can’t stay away. And God knows I tried.” He walked
over to my king-sized bed and lay down, making it look like a doll’s toy. He
stretched out and, long legs crossed at the ankles, linked his hands behind his
head and watched me. His biceps tensed and flexed with perfection.

I turned toward the dresser and grabbed a handful of underwear,
shoving them into the cavernous pocket of my housecoat before Tank could see
them. “You can’t waltz into my bedroom—”

“Our bedroom,” he corrected.

“—and think we can go on like nothing happened. You made your
choice.”

I glanced over to the bed where he looked like the poster boy for
Tall, Dark and Dangerous. Did he get my meaning? Marital relations were
not
going to happen. Not tonight, not tomorrow, maybe not ever. He’d left me for
another woman, and my stomach clenched at the thought of him touching her.
Loving her. Tasting her—

The taste of bile was bitter in my mouth as I turned toward the
dressing room. I’d spent countless nights, crying myself to sleep at the
thought of him loving another woman the way he’d loved me. It had taken
everything inside me to crawl out of that hole of self-pity and I wasn’t going
back.

I grabbed the closest tee shirt and a pair of jeans. With my skin
still being moist from the shower, the jeans wouldn’t shimmy up over my hip as
far as I’d like, but I couldn’t leave Tank alone any longer. I re-entered the
bedroom, and stopped cold in the doorway.

My purse lay open and Tank was reading my notes from the Grant
family meeting. He held up the open book and raised one eyebrow in question. “Grocery
list?”

I stomped over and snatched the notebook out of his hand before
grabbing my purse. Everything spilled out, which ratcheted my frustration up
another level. I threw the purse back onto the bed.

“Get out!” I hissed, pointing to the door. “You have no right to go
through my private papers. And you’re staying in the guest room, not here.”
Clutching the notebook to my chest, I crossed over to the bedroom door and held
it open. “Out!”

He pushed off the bed and strolled out of my bedroom. But not
before he paused, lightly touched the exposed skin where my jeans had refused
to go further, and leaned in. His warm breath feathered my ear, “Glad to see
you still have your tattoo.”