Operation Prince Charming (6 page)

“Fleur-de-lis?” Hunter asked.

“A symbol usually associated with French monarchy. It looks like a flower with three petals joined at the bottom,” she said.

Hunter shot Pete a questioning look.

“It’s also the emblem on the New Orleans Saints football players’ helmets,” Pete said.

Well, why didn’t you say so? Hunter wanted to ask, but refocused his attention to the victim. “Anything other than the jewelry?” Hunter asked the woman.

“We kept some cash in the house—six thousand dollars—you know, in case of emergency,” she said.

“So, again,” Pete said. “You were at work when this happened?”

She shook her head and readjusted the little girl on her hip. “No, that’s the thing. My husband’s away on a business trip, but I was just at the grocery store buying milk for Jennifer’s cereal. I couldn’t have been gone for more than a half hour.”

After a few more questions, Hunter and Pete wound up the interview just as both the locksmith and the alarm installer arrived.

“Do you think we’ll get any of our things back?”

“We’ll do our best,” Hunter said.

The second victim’s house was only a few doors away, so they walked the short distance. “So, what do you think?” Pete asked.

“This guy is breaking in through front doors in broad daylight,” Hunter said. “He’s either a criminal genius or an idiot. Either way, we’ve got to put an end to his spree.”

Hunter’s cell phone vibrated. He glanced at
the number on the screen. Erica. So she was finally bothering to return his call from a few days ago. He started to let it go to voice mail, but decided to answer it.

“Oh, Hunter. I’m glad I caught you, sweetheart,” she said as if everything was going great between them. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve been here,” he said, not wanting to get into why she’d been avoiding him in front of Pete, “but I’m working now.”

“Are you free tonight?”

“Yeah, why?”

Hunter frowned as he listened to the real reason behind Erica’s call, and he wished like hell he hadn’t answered.

Ali rearranged the numbers she’d inputed into the bookkeeping program a third time, but the tallies remained the same.

The school was hemorrhaging money, and the small infusions of cash coming in hadn’t been enough to stem the bleeding, let alone stop it.

She’d added five thousand dollars from her own meager savings to keep them afloat, but it wouldn’t last much longer. The postman brought so many bills, her stomach began to hurt when he walked through the door.

Ali stared at the numbers on her computer screen until they began to dance in front of her, and then pushed away from her desk. She walked over to her office’s sole window and stared out at the street.

Like the school, the neighborhood surrounding it had fallen on hard times. The recent brutal economy had turned storefronts that once
housed flourishing small businesses to abandoned spaces.

Graffiti covered the building that used to be a flower shop, and sheets of plywood covered the broken-out windows. The bridal shop and furniture and office supply stores had met similar fates.

Now nail shops and convenience and cash-advance stores were the neighborhood’s thriving enterprises.

The only exception was the coffee shop down the block. Voted the best coffee in Nashville three years in a row in both newspaper and television news surveys, it boasted a citywide customer base.

In fact, Ali suspected the proximity of the coffee shop to the school was one of the main reasons some parents had enrolled their children in her classes. They could enjoy a caffeine break while she transformed their rambunctious offspring into little ladies and gentlemen.

Ali drew in a deep breath and exhaled. She went back to her desk and stared at the numbers again, hoping a miracle had occurred and the sums were no longer in red.

“What are we going to do?” she asked the computer screen.

She crossed her arms over her chest and massaged her shoulders with her fingertips, but she couldn’t rub away the tremendous burden
on them. Images of her aunt Rachel and the photos of generations of Spencer women who had come before them lodged themselves in her brain.

While Ali’s stint at the school would only be temporary, if she failed she’d be letting them all down, and she couldn’t let that happen.

She closed the bookkeeping program and opened up a file of ideas she’d been brainstorming.

Somehow she had to make it work.

Having no one else to turn to, Hunter knocked on the door of the one person he thought would be able to help.

Ali jerked up from her laptop screen. “Hunter?” She frowned. “I thought our next class wasn’t until tomorrow night.”

“It isn’t, but I needed to see you.” His immediate crisis overrode any awkwardness he felt at seeing her again after nearly mauling her in the restaurant parking lot.

She quickly closed the lid of her computer and stood. She wore a short-sleeved sweater in the Pepto-Bismal shade of pink she favored, and gold earrings in the shape of palm trees dangled from her ears. Just the sight of her made him smile inside.

“Of course, come in.”

“It looks like you were busy. I can come back another time.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re here now.” Ali gestured for him to have a seat as she sat down, but he preferred to stand. He paced from one end of her office to the other before stopping in front of her desk.

Hunter blew out an exasperated breath. “She wants me to go with her to the opera. Tonight.”

Ali’s shoulders relaxed, and the concern on her face melted into a grin. So much for him thinking she’d be the one person who wouldn’t laugh.

“I shouldn’t have come here.” He turned on his heel. “Sorry to bother you.”

“No, wait. I’m not smiling because I think it’s funny,” she said. “I think it’s wonderful.”

“What?” Hunter asked incredulously.

“By your expression, I’ll assume this will be your first opera? Did she mention the name of it?”

“
Tosca
or something like that,” he said, finally sitting down.

“Ahhhh.” Ali leaned back in her chair. “That’s one of my favorites. Wow, I wish I were in your shoes.”

“Yeah, me too.”

She chuckled. “Opera’s been the butt of a lot of bad situation-comedy jokes, but in reality it’s good stories told through sweeping arias, lush melodies, and so much passion. The sets and the costumes are usually just as amazing as the spectacular voices.”

Hunter watched her eyes soften as she continued the description. His gaze dropped to her glossed lips and he remembered how much he’d wanted to taste them the other night.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat to conceal his growing hardness. What in the hell was going on with him?
You’re with Erica,
he told himself.
She’s the one you want
.

Now if only his brain could convince his body, which at this very moment only desired the woman in front of him.

Ali’s voice took on a wistful tone. “It’s really beautiful.”

He cleared his throat as if the gesture would clear his head.

“Sorry for getting carried away,” she said. “I’m a huge opera fan, and it’s been a while since I’ve been to a live performance.”

“Well, I’m more of a sports fan, and I’d rather be sitting in a stadium, dome, or field catching a game.”

Ali flicked her hand in a dismissive wave. “
Tosca
is a great opera for a newbie. It has everything: love, lust, jealously, intrigue, deceit, even murder.”

Hunter shrugged. “It’s not like I’ll be able to understand any of it. Erica mentioned it was in Italian.”

“Don’t worry, subtitles are projected above the stage so you can follow along. However, you’ll
probably be too enraptured in the performance to bother with them.”

Hunter had to admit Ali’s enthusiasm piqued his interest. He’d assumed tonight was more of Erica trying to make an impression on someone, but perhaps he’d misjudged her.

She could be as thrilled as Ali about it. Hell, if she was half as excited as Ali, she’d have a good time.

Pete’s question returned to the forefront of his mind.

“When is the last time you had fun with Erica?”

If he kept an open mind about tonight, maybe they would have fun together again.

Ali lifted the lid of her laptop. “Let’s see what we can do to help you out.”

Her brow furrowed in concentration as she typed. “Ah, here we go,” she said. “Lucky for you the Nashville Opera has a study guide on their Web site. Looks like it’s chock-full of tidbits on tonight’s performance.”

Hunter heard the whirl of a printer in the background and moments later Ali handed him a printout of the guide.

“Read this over and you’ll be fine. Also, the director is giving a talk, which will fill you in on some background, an hour before the performance. So if you can make it, I think it’ll help you appreciate the experience,” she said, returning her attention to the online version.

“Thanks for all the info. I feel a lot better than I did when I arrived.”

Ali glanced at the computer screen. “Oh my God, it says the role of
Floria Tosca
will be sung by Enjolique Redmond. You are in for a treat. That sister sings like an angel.”

“Sister?”

Ali nodded. “She’s African-American. I saw her in
La Bohéme
last year in West Palm Beach, and she was amazing as poor, tragic Mimi. Oh, by the way,
La Bohéme
was also composed by Puccini. There’s a short bio on him in the printout I ga…” she paused. “I’m getting carried away again, aren’t I?”

“A bit, but I appreciate your help,” he said.

“No problem. I can hardly wait to hear what you think of it.”

“Looking forward to it,” Hunter said as he left her office. And he was indeed looking forward to seeing her again, more than he had a right to.

Ali wasn’t sure which was more pathetic.

Sitting at home alone thinking about Hunter and his gorgeous girlfriend enjoying their opera date or roaming the mall alone looking at clothes she couldn’t afford, wishing she were there with him.

She’d thought a shopping trip, even if it was only window-shopping, would cheer her up.

It hadn’t.

Ali flipped through a rack of skinny jeans with two-hundred-dollar price tags. A year and a half ago, she would have been shopping with her best friend and assistant, Kay, and she would have thought nothing of buying a pair for both of them.

Now she was too broke for pricey jeans and too jaded to let another woman get close to her.

Ali stalked out of the store into the mall corridor. Maybe she couldn’t afford new clothes, but she could drown her sorrows in a giant cinnamon roll.

She paused by the directory to see if she was headed in the right direction.

“Ali, is that you?”

Ali braced herself and forced a smile to her lips, prepared to greet one of her students’ mothers. She turned toward the voice and was surprised to see Sandy.

She smiled, genuinely happy to see her.

“Doing a little shopping?” Sandy asked.

“No, just looking,” she said. “And I want to thank you again for dinner last night.”

“Girl, please.” Sandy waved a dismissive hand. “We were glad to have you, especially me. It was nice not eating with just the boys for a change.”

Ali laughed. “And your sons are adorable. I enjoyed meeting them.” She looked around. “Are they here in the mall?”

“No way,” Sandy said. “They’re at home with Pete. I try to do a few laps around the mall a
few evenings a week. My baby’s two, and I still can’t fit in my prepregnancy jeans.”

Ali thought about how snug her clothes felt since she’d started mainlining chocolates. “I do need to do something.”

Sandy nudged her arm. “There’s no time like the present. Walk a lap or two with me.”

“Okay.” Ali shrugged, figuring she really didn’t need cinnamon rolls anyway.

They walked briskly down the long corridors, pointing out cute outfits gracing store window displays.

“When is the last time you could pull off something like that?” Sandy pointed to a skintight, strapless sundress that even made the mannequin look fat.

Ali laughed. “Never. I don’t think the Onesies babies wear are that tiny.”

Sandy sighed. “I used to go to the gym, but gave up my membership last year. I just never seemed to be able to make it over there.”

“Tell me about it.” Ali couldn’t remember the last time she’d worked out regularly. “I used to run, but it’s been so long.”

“Really?”

Ali nodded. “I was training for my first marathon, but got distracted.” More like the fact that she’d walked in on her husband screwing her best friend and her life imploded.

“Pete runs. Hunter too. But all that pounding the pavement isn’t for me.”

So Hunter was a runner, Ali thought as they continued walking. No wonder his body looked so incredible. She thought about how she’d braced her hands on his powerful biceps the night she’d stumbled. Her fingers had itched to roam up to his wide shoulders and feel their way down his broad back.

Good Lord, she needed something, all right, and it wasn’t more chocolate or a cinnamon bun. Her attraction to Hunter had reminded her how much she missed being held, touched, kissed, and having a man make love to her.

As if on cue, Sandy asked her about him. “I know we don’t know each other very well, but I was curious about you and Hunter.”

“There is no me and Hunter. He’s a client.” She averted her eyes from Sandy’s penetrating gaze. “Why on earth would you think anything else?”

“Because I saw the way you looked at him when you thought no one else was looking, and the way he looked at you.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” Ali said, walking faster. “Hunter has a girlfriend that looks like she belongs on a magazine cover, and who at this very moment he’s taking to the opera.”

Sandy didn’t appear convinced.

“Besides, I’m much too busy with my work at the school to get romantically involved,” Ali said.

Sandy stopped midstep. “Speaking of work, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

Grateful for the change of subject, Ali felt the tension ease from her bunched-up neck and shoulders. “Let me guess, you want to enroll your boys at the school.”

Sandy shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, they could use it, all right, but that’s not it.”

“Then what is it?” Ali asked her, curiosity piqued.

“I was wondering if you could show me how to replace my kitchen faucet.”