Don't Look Down (7 page)

She scooted out the door and to the elevator with a relief not even her considerable skills could disguise. The only place she seemed more reluctant to appear than an attorney’s office was a police station.

“Does that help?” Richard asked as the elevator doors closed them in.

“I suppose so.” She held his gaze for a long moment. “Do you ever have the feeling that even though everything looks okay, it’s about to go all to hell?”

“Frequently,” he returned, remembering that he hadn’t told her yet about his agreement to help Patricia. If she found out before he could confess, the thin bond of trust between them might very well be smashed. Slowly, he reached out to touch her cheek, following the caress with a gentle kiss. He could stand a great many things, but not that. “Ready for the first wave?”

Samantha closed her eyes for a moment while she took a deep breath. “Okay. Hit me.”

For a bare moment he debated what he wanted to tell her first—that Patricia wanted to move to Palm Beach, or that she’d requested his help to do it. “Patricia’s divorcing Peter,” he began, deciding to start with the least explosive news and work his way up.

She absorbed that for a heartbeat or two. “That’s good. She really didn’t know Peter was stealing from you, then.”

“You thought that before.”

“I know, but this kind of proves it. She does have some morals, anyway.”

Richard snorted. “Not enough to keep her from shagging Peter while she was married to me, but enough for her to distance herself from him once he got arrested.”

“I didn’t say she had her priorities straight,” Samantha returned, leading the way out of the elevator as the doors opened. “When you think about it, though, Peter’s probably become really unpopular. She doesn’t want to get thrown out of her circle of Society friends—what did you call them, Patty’s Pack?”

“That term’s not for public consumption. And speaking of Patricia’s potential ostracization,” he said, gazing at her profile and wondering how she would take this, “she wants to set up a household elsewhere than London.”

Samantha stopped, suspicious emerald eyes glinting as she faced him. “Where?” she asked flatly.

“She’s looking at—”

“Here,” Samantha interrupted, crossing her arms over her pert tits. “Palm Beach.”

There was no sense cushioning it now. “Yes, here. Palm Beach.”

“She wants you back.” Her gaze held his for a half-dozen
heartbeats before she broke away, increasing her pace through the lobby and into the warm air of eastern Florida in January.

Richard followed her, a dozen denials and rebuttals fighting for position. “She does not.”

“Ooh, good retort. Prove it.”

“She needs someone to cosign her paperwork, and I’m the only one she could think of to do it. I spend time here. Hence, Palm Beach.”

“She needs—”

“And,” he cut in, warming to the argument, “and, the Society here is the type she feels comfortable with, anyway. A good dozen of her Patty’s Pack friends have winter homes here. I can’t see her moving to Dirt, Nebraska. Can you?”

Samantha dove into the Bentley that waited at the curb and actually hesitated a moment before she unlocked the passenger door for him. “No, but I can see her in Paris or Venice or Milan or New York,” she retorted. “But like you said, you’re
here
. And hey, Mr. Denial, if she has her Patty’s Pack friends in town, why is it again you’re being recruited to cosign?”

Richard barely had time to close his door before she peeled away from the curb. “You’re jealous,” he announced.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Brilliant retort, Samantha. I stand cowed. Where are we going?”

“Back to Solano Dorado. I need to think.” She shifted gears as they left Worth Avenue, hurtling them along the beach at just sublight speed. “Jesus, Addison, you are so blind,” she finally exploded. “She comes in playing the damsel in distress, and you buy all of it.”

“She did n—”

“‘Oh, Richard, I need your help,’” she mimicked, doing a
startlingly good impression of Patricia’s soft, cultured Brit—especially since the two women had barely spoken a total of five words to one another. “’I’ve left Peter, and I so badly want to make a new start, but I just don’t know how to do it on my own. You’re so big and strong and successful, can’t you see it in your heart to help me?’” Samantha canted her eyes at him. “Did it go a little like that?”

Christ
. “Maybe,” he hedged. “But—”

“See? She wants you back.”

“Well, she can’t have me. I’m taken. But she asked for my help, and I’m partially the reason she’s in this position.”

“No, she put herself on her back and
then
you put her in the next position.”

“Even so—”

“You can’t resist putting on your shining armor, can you?” she said more calmly, blowing out her breath. “And if I know it, then she knows it, too.”

“Honestly, Samantha, I think it’s more a matter of Patricia actually being helpless than her acting that way to gain my assistance. I doubt she could find a grocery store on her own, much less the toothpaste aisle.”

“But she’s not after toothpaste.”

As they stopped at a light, Richard leaned over and grabbed Samantha’s face, kissing her hard on her surprised mouth. “Don’t worry about this. You won’t have to deal with her.”

“Maybe not, but
you
will. And keep in mind that she’s got a subscriber website where she gives advice about how not to get screwed in a divorce.”

“She does?”

“Yes. Interesting stuff. You really need to spend more time surfing the ’net.”

“Shit.” Before Samantha could follow up her smug look
with more commentary, he took a breath. “I’ll make dumping the website a condition of my helping her.”

“Great. She won’t need the site, anyway, because she’ll be busy screwing you over in person, instead.”

“No one screws me over, Samantha. Ever.”

“Yet, smart guy. Yet.”

Saturday, 10:15 a.m.

P
atricia Addison-Wallis lifted her sunglasses and sank down in the driver’s seat of her rented black Lexus as a new model Bentley Continental GT sped past her down Ocean Boulevard. Jellicoe obviously had no regard for the law. But Patricia already knew that about the thieving bitch.

She considered following, but she had better things to do. They would be heading for Solano Dorado, and she had a spa appointment in forty minutes. If she cancelled with less than an hour’s notice, she would be charged for the session regardless—and she needed to be frugal these days. With an aggravated sigh, Patricia pulled away from the curb and headed back north along the boulevard toward The Breakers Hotel.

Seeing Samantha Jellicoe with Richard was dismaying. A week or two should have been more than enough for him to purge the tramp from his system, and yet after three months they were still together. For heaven’s sake, he was practically drooling on her. She’d always thought of him as dread
fully unyielding, and yet there he sat in the passenger seat while
that woman
drove his precious Bentley.

They thought she’d had no idea what Peter had been up to, stealing artworks from Richard’s property here and selling them throughout Europe. Well, perhaps she hadn’t known then, but she had picked up on a few things, especially after the arrest. Peter had had someone hire Jellicoe for a robbery. For weeks she’d looked into a way to prove it with other than Peter’s word and have the bitch arrested, but nothing had come to her attention.

As she stopped at a traffic signal, Patricia looked at herself in the rearview mirror. The bad thing about Florida, even in winter, was that the bright sunlight made the corners of her eyes wrinkle. Thank goodness for the hotel spa. Especially with the dinner party tonight. Especially with Daniel still determined to attend, even with his father’s death. It was for charity, after all, and one of Charles’s favorites.

What a stroke of luck that Daniel had been across the room from her when she’d run into Richard and Jellicoe at the Everglades Club. Richard would have been much less inclined to aid her if he knew she was seeing someone. Patricia smiled. Not that she wouldn’t drop Daniel in a hot minute if Richard should look her way again.

After all, she was simply human. She’d succumbed to a moment of weakness and fallen into another man’s arms. It happened all the time—and with her and Richard’s lifestyle, there had been so many temptations. She’d apologized repeatedly, offered to see a marriage counselor, but he hadn’t wanted any of it. So she’d done what she had to in order to prove that she didn’t sleep around on a regular basis. She’d married Peter Wallis. As for that marriage, well, Peter had been more obsessed with Richard than she was.

So now she was stuck with no husband, little money, and only the tentative beginnings of a boyfriend and a plan—and a former husband who was still one of the wealthiest, most handsome, and most charming men alive. And there sat Sam Jellicoe, driving a brand-new Bentley, sleeping in a thirty-room mansion, sharing a bed with
her
ex-husband, and apparently able to live life as illegally as she pleased.

Sam. What a stupid, masculine, unflattering name. But whatever anyone called her, the little bint had Richard. From what Patricia had been able to determine, they’d met the night of the explosion at Solano Dorado, when she’d gone to rob him. Did that turn him on now? Heavens. It must have been an early mid-life crisis, since he was only thirty-four. Well, if it was Sam’s disregard for legal conventions that excited Richard, two could play at that game. She licked her ruby long-stay lipstick, her heartbeat accelerating. Even the thought of it—and of Richard—excited her, as well.

As she drove the Bentley around the last curve of the street fronting Solano Dorado, Samantha slammed on the brakes. A 1997 Ford Taurus blocked the front gates. Leaning against the back bumper, a wiry Hispanic man with a thick, graying moustache ate sunflower seeds.

“What the devil?” Rick grabbed onto the dash as they came to an abrupt stop.

“Tell me you invited Frank Castillo over for lunch,” she said, watching as the police detective straightened to wave at them.

“No.”

Her chest tightened. “So the homicide cop just showed up to say hello. That could happen, right?”

“Shall we find out, my love?” Rick said in a voice much more relaxed than hers.

She didn’t want to find out any such thing. Hell, six months ago if she’d seen a cop at her front door she would have turned and run without looking back, whether she’d pulled a job or not. Only one thing kept her from making a U-turn now: The fact that she knew Frank, knew him to be an honest, intelligent cop. If she’d had her meeting with Charles Kunz, Castillo would have been the cop she recommended he should speak to.

“Let’s go,” she muttered, her teeth clenched, motioning Frank to get back into his car.

With a chuckle, Rick reached over to punch the gate button, and she fell in behind the Taurus as they cruised up the drive to the front door. She knew that Rick liked Frank Castillo; hell, he credited the cop with helping to save her life. That was a total exaggeration, since all Frank had done was make a long-distance call to the London cops to break down a door and arrest a suspect—it was just coincidence that she and Rick had nearly had the life beaten out of them behind that same door.

“Good morning, Frank,” Rick said, climbing out of the Bentley as soon as she had it in park.

Samantha sat where she was for a moment. Stoney had told her several times that she had a radar for trouble and the bad sense to head straight into it. Frank’s appearance alone meant something was wrong, and considering that she’d met a man yesterday who had died last night, she had a good idea why he was visiting.
Dammit
.

“Samantha, are you going to get out of the car?” Rick called.

No
. With an irritated sigh, she shoved open the door and climbed out. “Hi, Frank,” she said, going forward to shake the homicide cop’s hand.

“Sam. You look great.”

“Yeah, well, no offense, but I felt better before I saw you.”

Castillo chuckled. “I don’t doubt it. You know why I’m here, I assume?”

“Why don’t you enlighten us, Frank?” Rick said, his fingers curling around Sam’s.

Whether the gesture was out of support or to keep her from fleeing, she wasn’t certain, but the contact did give her a certain amount of comfort—unless she did need to run and he tried to stop her. She wasn’t going to prison. Not for anything.

“Charles Kunz. I’m working the case.”

“Yes, we heard on the news that he’d been killed. I hope you don’t think Samantha had anything to do with it.” Rick took a small step closer to her. “She was with me all night.”

“I think you’d probably say just about anything to protect her, Rick, but actually I’m just here to ask Sam a couple of questions about her meeting with Kunz yesterday. His secretary told me he’d had an appointment with you.”

“I—”

“Do we need an attorney, Frank?” Rick interrupted her.

“No. Not yet, anyway.”

“But I’m one of those ‘persons of interest,’ right?” Samantha insisted on clarity where cops and handcuffs were concerned.

“Not if your alibi checks out. There’s a reason I said I’d interview you myself.” The detective made a wry face. “Actually, I was kind of relieved when I found out Kunz had met with you, Sam. You have good instincts, and I thought you might have noticed if something was bothering him.”

Okay, she didn’t feel relieved, but at least Castillo seemed inclined to believe her. Maybe being acquainted with a cop did have an upside. “I was just going to get some lunch,” she said. “Hungry?”

“Sure. Does your chef still make those cucumber sandwiches?”

“You bet.”

Rick motioned Frank toward the front door and fell in beside him, Samantha just behind them. When she’d heard the news about Kunz, she’d thought of nothing more than the event itself and how it made her feel, and whether she might have been able to do something to prevent it. She was getting too complacent. Otherwise the sight of a cop at her front door would never have startled her so much. Hell, she wouldn’t have been at her front door for a cop to find her. She’d made a mistake, and the present circumstance was pure luck. And she didn’t operate on luck.

“Are you all right?” Rick whispered as she came through the front door.

Sam nodded. “I should have thought events through a little better.”

“Most normal citizens wouldn’t expect to see police at their door.”

“I’m not a normal citizen, Rick.”

He kissed her cheek. “And I thank God every day for that fact.”

Wow. That was an absurdly nice thing for him to say. She only wished that she had time to dwell on it a little. She needed to be on her guard when cops were present, though. Even ones who might be inclined to think her innocent.

Rick called into the kitchen to request lunch, and then the three of them headed out poolside. Sam took the seat at the bistro table facing the front drive, even though it seemed a little late to start paying attention now. “What do you need?” she asked when she couldn’t stand listening to the small talk between the two men any longer.

“Why did Kunz want to see you?” Castillo asked, pulling out his ubiquitous notepad and a pen.

“I’m starting a security business,” she answered.

He glanced up at her. “I know. In fact, the whole PBPD knows that. Probably the FBI and Interpol too. Jellicoe Security.”

“And what’s the consensus?” Rick put in.

“Well, everybody’s interested. Waiting to see what comes of it.”

Sam crossed her ankles. “Meaning?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, if there’s a rash of burglaries where you’ve been working, you’re probably going—”

“There won’t be,” she interrupted. “The idea’s to prevent them.”

“Okay.” He consulted his notepad again. “So did Kunz ask to see you, or did you solicit him?”

“‘Solicit’?” she repeated, lifting an eyebrow.

“Come on, Sam, I’m just looking for your take on this. If it was anybody else taking a five-minute meeting with a guy at a party, I probably would’ve sent Barney Fife to follow up. But you notice things.”

Noticing things had saved her life on more than one occasion. And she did suppose that she owed Castillo. “He asked to see me.”

“Anything specific?”

“Not really. He sent me tickets for the Everglades Club party. As far as I could tell, he was there dateless. His son, Daniel, was there, but they weren’t standing together when I showed up. Kunz was drinking vodka. A little too much, I think. He wanted to talk business, but he had something to get off his chest. He said some people of his acquaintance had been acting pretty interested in his money and influence lately. From our conversation, he was seriously think
ing about hiring a bodyguard. I suggested he talk to the police. It must have been serious, because he finally agreed. We were supposed to meet today at two to go over specifics.”

Castillo jotted notes, his gaze lifting only when she paused. “Did he give you any more details?”

Samantha shook her head. “Nope.” His parting expression nagged at her, and she sent a glance at Rick. “He was worried. Not just the usual nonspecific paranoia that wealthy people have. Really worried.”

“Did he think his life was in danger?”

“You know, he didn’t say word one about protecting his belongings. It was more about taking preventive measures in general. So yes, I think he suspected that somebody wanted him dead.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

She drew a breath, hoping he wasn’t going to start asking about her sources. “I looked over his blueprints this morning, to get ready for our meeting.”

“And?”

“He has an existing security system, but it’s got more holes in it than Chex cereal.”

“Not a complicated job for a burglar, then?”

She hesitated. This was what had worried her, that her former compatriots would figure she’d turn snitch. Her life wouldn’t be worth much if that ever happened. “Not if whoever went in there knew how the house was wired. Of course it could have just been dumb luck. Did the alarm go off?” she asked, even though she already knew. Hearing a version other than Donner’s filtered one might be useful, though.

“No. Nobody knew anything was wrong until his daughter went looking to see why he’d missed breakfast.”

“How many people live there?”

He consulted his notes again. “Eight, including the son and daughter.”

“With that many people wandering around the place, probably just about anybody with a flashlight and a pair of plyers could have done it.”

“So you think it was random?” Rick asked quietly.

There he was, trying to convince her that she hadn’t ignored her instincts and dropped the ball. If Castillo hadn’t been there, she’d probably have been unzipping Rick’s trousers right now. God, she liked having him around sometimes. Even when he led her into thoughts and discussions she’d prefer not to traverse. “No, I don’t, actually.”

The detective’s head lifted. “Why not?”

“Kunz is like Rick,” she returned. “Used to being in charge, having people listen to him. Confident, a little arrogant. Oh, don’t give me that look,” she said when Rick’s brow furrowed. “For you, that’s compliment.” She drew a breath, returning to the subject at hand. “We got interrupted by dinner, or I think he might have told me more. After we ate, it got too…chaotic.” And she’d let her attention drift from work to Rick.

The sandwiches and sodas arrived, and Castillo dug in. Rick followed suit, which made sense considering he probably hadn’t eaten much breakfast with the Ex in attendance. Sam wasn’t very hungry, even for cucumber and mayonnaise sandwiches.

“I agree that bodyguards means fear for yourself, not your cash. So you’re positive about this, right?” Frank continued after half a sandwich had vanished.

“I’m positive that that was my impression.”

Castillo chewed and swallowed. “That really isn’t much to direct an investigation, Sam.”

“That’s not my problem.”