Party Crashers (26 page)

“She killed Gary,” Jolie gasped, reaching for her dropped phone to dial 911.

Sammy glared down at her detainee. “You ruined my Ralph Lauren comforter. You’re going to have to pay for that.”

“I
t’s like, I can’t decide between the Ferragamo wedges and the Stuart Weitzman boots, you know?”

Kneeling on carpet-burned knees, Jolie peered at the tortured coed over a mountain of boxes. “Why don’t you take both and decide when you get home? You can always return a pair later—if they don’t show signs of wear.”

The young woman’s shoulders fell in relief. “You’re
right
. I’ll take them both.”

“And the Dior sandals?” Jolie encouraged.

“Sure, why not?”

Jolie nodded with approval, scooped up the boxes, and trotted to the checkout counter before the girl could change her mind. Michael eyed the three boxes in her hands with an arched brow. “You’re catching on,” he murmured. “You just might last after all.”

“He says again on my last day.”

“Jolie, I understand why you’re going back to your old
job, but it’s not going to be nearly as exciting around here without you.”

“It’s not my
old
job,” Jolie declared. “I’ll be a partner.” She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Someday maybe I’ll be able to afford to buy a pair of shoes from you.”

But Michael’s remark rankled Jolie. Returning to the Sanders Agency felt as if she were taking a step backward. Not in pay, of course, but in life experience. Still, she would be secure…and alive. That was important, considering that just a few days ago her prognosis for living had not been encouraging.

She rang up the sale and thanked the customer, then glanced around the showroom, a little wistful about leaving after only two weeks.

The most eventful two weeks of her life. Leann had been charged with various and sundry crimes ranging from arson to murder to trespassing, but was already enjoying a nicely padded room at a psychiatric facility just outside of Atlanta. According to her sister Rebecca, Leann had suffered a lifelong history of mental instability, and the pregnancy had only exacerbated matters. Leann had told the police that after Gary disappeared, she was sure he was going to join her in Florida. When she discovered that instead of coming to her in his hour of need, Gary had sought out Jolie, Leann was incensed, and became increasingly distraught after her conversations with Jolie that Gary was not only still alive, but was watching Jolie—protecting her—while Leann waited in Florida, pregnant with his baby.

Suspecting that Gary would follow Jolie to Sammy’s party, Leann had made the long drive to Atlanta and had disguised herself as one of the hired help for the evening.
Apparently, after listening to Jolie’s party-crashing stories, she had decided to give it a try. Leann had heard Jolie say on numerous occasions that Sammy carried a gun in her purse—finding it had been a cinch, Leann said. She’d skulked around until Gary had appeared. When he sneaked upstairs carrying an armful of coats to the coat check room to follow Jolie, Leann had tailed him and confronted him about the baby. She said that when Gary had refused to accept the fact that the baby was his, she’d shot him through a fur stole to silence the gun and then stuck the gun in Jolie’s coat pocket—Leann said she’d have known that shabby coat anywhere.

Ouch.

Jolie touched her temple. Leann was insane, but she wasn’t devoid of feelings. The trauma of what she’d done had led to her miscarriage when she returned to Florida. The sadness of it all was so profound, Jolie could scarcely believe it had happened. She decided she might never know why Gary hadn’t told her about Leann—had he been afraid it would incite Leann even more? Had he enjoyed taunting the poor woman? Had the baby truly been his? Endless questions had plagued her over the past three days since the incident that had exposed the group of conspirators, which the papers, every bit as slogan-savvy as the Yellow Pages, had dubbed the “Buckhead Brotherhood.”

Roger LeMon was being held without bail in the murder of Janet LeMon. Russell Island had wasted no time turning state’s evidence and spilling his guts about the foursome’s evil plans to inherit their wives’ trust funds. The story was a media sensation—part of the reason Jolie was leaving her job at Neiman’s was that the security detail
had to be increased to keep reporters and assorted weirdos from dogging her.

Strangely, Leann’s appearance at the house had been a turning point for Jolie and Sammy. Sammy had admitted that she’d always been jealous of Jolie’s relationship with her father. But since the agency’s business had been sliding without Jolie’s organizational skills to keep things moving, she’d made Jolie an attractive offer to come back. Jolie had held out for a partnership, and Sammy had finally agreed. There had been no hanky-panky between Sammy and Gary, although Sammy had admitted in a rare, sheepish moment that it wasn’t for lack of trying on her part.

Beck had called a couple of times. Once they’d talked for a few minutes until the conversation had trailed off awkwardly. The next time, she had listened to his voice message but hadn’t returned his call. She knew when to make a graceful exit. Of course, that hadn’t kept her from lying awake at night thinking of him. Beck had been her first experience with full-on love, no doubt because her emotions had been running full-tilt since the day she’d met him. But eventually the bewilderment over the mess that Gary had introduced into her life would dissipate, and so would her intense longing for Beck Underwood.

“Hey, short-timer.”

Jolie looked up to see Carlotta striding toward her wearing her trademark gapped grin. “Hey yourself.”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving us to go back to Realtor Barbie.”

Jolie gave her a wry smile. “Well, she did save my life.”

“Is that all?”

“And I’m better at selling houses than I am at selling shoes.”

Carlotta nodded. “As long as it’s what you truly want.”

A little laugh escaped Jolie’s throat. “Who gets what they truly want?”

Carlotta studied her for a few seconds. “Are you okay?”

Jolie nodded. “Just a little sad, I suppose, about leaving.” About returning to her previous life.

“If it makes you feel any better, I came to tell you that you’ve inspired me.”

Jolie frowned. “How?”

Carlotta’s hands fluttered with excitement. “I don’t have all the kinks worked out yet, but I want to start a business to place products at high-class functions. I’m calling it Product Impressions. A designer would come to me with, say, a fabulous coat, then I’d hire a model to wear the coat to important places.”

Jolie grinned. “And to crash parties?”

A sly smile crawled over Carlotta’s face. “Let’s just say I would take advantage of any advertising venue that presented itself.”

“I’m sure it will be a raging success,” Jolie said, then lowered her voice. “How’s the other…situation?”

Carlotta’s smile faded. “Don’t worry—my brother and I will work it out.” Then she winked. “Call me Monday and we’ll have lunch next week, okay?”

Jolie nodded and waved goodbye, glad to have one good relationship to show for her ordeal. She crossed the showroom floor to clean up a few cardboard fillers and stray boxes. Time to clock out and go home.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning. “My shift…just…ended.” Her mouth went dry. Beck, looking much the same as a few days ago, but so good to her eyes that she was embarrassed for herself.

“Hi,” he said.

She swallowed painfully. “Hi.”

“How are you?”

“I’m good.” Desperate for something to do with her hands, she gestured vaguely toward the showroom. “This is my last day.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I’m going back to work at the Sanders Agency, except this time it will be Sanders and Goodman.”

He grinned. “That’s great. I’m…happy for you…if that’s what you want.”

Why did everyone keep saying that? She nodded cheerfully, pleased that she at least could share that news before she never saw him again, but wishing she could be as enthusiastic about going back to the agency as she rightfully should be. Jolie manufactured a smile, trying to steel herself against the physical sway he still commanded over her. “Are you shoe shopping?” she asked.

“Actually, yes.” He shifted his big body from foot to foot and glanced around at the displays. “I’m going to be needing a couple of pairs of rugged shoes to take back with me.”

Her heart jerked sideways. “You’re returning to Costa Rica?”

He nodded. “Della is doing great, and she always was much more interested in the family business than I was. I’m just not cut out for Atlanta, at least not at this phase in my life.”

She nodded. The not-ready-to-settle-down phase. “Well…congratulations.” Talking was the best distraction for her stupid heart. She swept her arm out like a game-show hostess. “Perhaps you’d like to see our Gortex boots?”

“Sure…how about two pair?”

“Okay.”

He captured her hand. “One pair of men’s and one pair of women’s.”

Jolie startled at the bolt of desire that his mere touch summoned. “I don’t understand.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Jolie, I was wondering if you might like to…come with me.”

Her eyes widened. “To visit Costa Rica?”

“No…to live there…with me.”

She blinked. “Live there…with you?”

He nodded, then entwined their fingers. “Oh, I know it’s not a partnership in a brokerage company, but I was thinking of a different kind of partnership: Underwood and Goodman.”

She was struck mute.

“Jolie,” he said softly, “do you remember when you said that people like me don’t need anything?”

“I think you’re paraphrasing.”

“Humor me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, you were right—partially. I’ve lived a charmed life, and I’ve never known what it felt like to need something.” He pressed his lips together. “To need…someone.” A flush rose on his cheeks. “The truth is, you were also right when you accused me of viewing you as a project.”

Jolie’s heart dipped to her stomach.

He squeezed her hand. “I’m ashamed to say that you were a project to fill a void in my heart. I was selfishly trying to force my affection on you when your life was crazy. Now, I’m being selfish again, but I want to take you away from the bad memories where we can learn everything about each other in a beautiful, exotic land.” He lifted her
hand and kissed her fingers. “Come with me. Think of what an adventure we’ll have.”

Her heart vaulted to her throat. “What if I say no?”

“Then I’ll have to stay in Atlanta and pester you until you say yes.”

“But…what would I do in Costa Rica?”

He shrugged. “Sell real estate, sell shoes, sell coffee beans.” He pulled her closer. “You can start over…
We
can start over. The truth is, Jolie, I’m crazy in love with you.”

“You are?”

“Since the day you crashed into me.” He lowered his mouth to hers for a slow, sensuous kiss, and Jolie felt herself crumbling, wanting, hoping. Her mind reeled at the possibilities…and the risk.

When he pulled back, he squinted. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“I…don’t have a passport.”

His mouth quirked. “That we can fix. Is that all?”

“I…don’t have boots.”

“Good thing we’re in the middle of the shoe department.”

Jolie felt engorged with emotion, yet paralyzed with uncertainty. The words were shouting in her heart, but cowering on her tongue. Could she dare say them? Snatches of scenes from the past few days flashed in her mind. Life was so fragile, so random…she had nothing to lose, except everything. She could stay in Atlanta and live comfortably and quietly.

Then something Carlotta had said came floating back to her.
“You’re too young to be comfortable.”

“Jolie,” he said, his eyes questioning. “Is that all?”

“No.” She wet her lips. “I…I love you too, Beck.” She said the words on a long breath that left her lungs empty.

“You do?”

She nodded. “Since the day
you
crashed into
me
.”

He whooped and lowered another kiss to her mouth. She poured all her hopes and dreams into the kiss. Beck seemed to understand the leap of faith she was taking and his mouth promised she wouldn’t be sorry.

“Get a room!” someone shouted.

Beck lifted his head and grinned at her, his dark eyes shining. “What do you say? My room is five minutes away.”

Jolie laughed. “I say…let’s go crash.”

“T
ake these for sure,” Beck said, holding up a pair of miniscule pink lace panties and wagging his eyebrows.

Jolie bounced a rolled-up pair of socks off his arm. “
I’ll
sort through my underwear drawer, thank you very much.” Then she looked around and sighed. Her bedroom floor was covered with cardboard boxes and crates bound for Goodwill. “Besides, I won’t have room in my suitcase for something so impractical.”

Beck tucked the panties into the pocket of his T-shirt and gave it a pat. “I got you covered.” He grinned and swooped in for a kiss. “In fact, I will personally see to the safe arrival of any sexy underwear you want to take to Costa Rica.”

She lifted her arms around his neck and leaned into him for a slow, rocking kiss. She could scarcely wait until they were in Costa Rica together. Long, warm nights lying heart to heart. She couldn’t have hoped to be this happy.

“The Goodwill truck will be here soon,” he said. “I’m going to start carrying boxes to the curb.”

Jolie nodded. “I just have a few more things to sort through.” She watched with bittersweet excitement as he hoisted a box of her former life to his shoulder and maneuvered his way through her bedroom door. She turned and caught sight of herself in the mirror of the bureau that was bound for storage. Wild, blonde curls, wide eyes, pink cheeks—she’d never looked or felt so alive.

The past week had been a flurry of packing and planning. Sammy had told Jolie she would have a job at the Sanders Agency if things didn’t work out in Costa Rica, and while Jolie was grateful for the offer, she had no doubt that she and Beck would be together always. Since the day he’d come to the department store to ask her to go with him, they had scarcely been apart. After the first couple of days of marathon lovemaking and nonstop talking, she had prepared herself for Beck to take an emotional step back, but instead, to her heart’s joy, had discovered that Beck reveled in sharing details of his thoughts and experiences now that he had found someone like-minded. They were two people who had held themselves in check emotionally until each found the person who had the same bone-lonely look in their eyes. Jolie had felt herself unfolding more every day, like a party dress that had been left in a drawer, waiting for the special occasion that had finally arrived.

With a smile on her face, she sorted through her underwear drawer, and, remembering the gleam in Beck’s eyes, threw out the sensible in favor of the sensual. Her cheeks warmed at the thought of their physical chemistry, how Beck was able to stir her senses with a look or a murmured word. At first she had to keep reminding herself that she
deserved this chance at happiness, but the affirmation seemed to be working, because she had relaxed into the idea of accepting Beck’s love.

Having exhausted the drawers in her bureau, Jolie turned to the bookshelf that made up the headboard of her bed. She pulled out
The Magic of Thinking Big
and a rueful smile played over her face at the book that Gary had insisted would change her life. In hindsight, it had: The book had given her confidence to quit the Sanders agency and try her hand at something new, and she wouldn’t have met Carlotta or Beck otherwise. On her nightstand lay a padded envelope containing a new pink leather-bound journal that she was going to mail to Carlotta—perhaps she would send her Gary’s favorite book as well to encourage her to pursue her idea for a product placement business.

Jolie thumbed through the book, and halfway through the pages stopped to reveal a white envelope simply marked “Jolie.” Frowning, she removed the fat envelope and slid her finger beneath the flap. She gasped at the stack of cash inside—all large bills. Folded sheets of notebook paper cradled the money. Jolie withdrew the sheets, hands trembling. It was a handwritten letter from Gary.

Jolie wiped at her eyes, grateful to have some explanation of why Gary had become involved with her in the first place, and what motivated his secretive behavior toward her. He must have entered her apartment and planted the envelope some time after he had talked to her from the backseat of her rental car…which explained the finger marks in the dust that she’d found, and the indications that someone had climbed through her bedroom window. She scanned the notes he’d left and decided they would go to Detective Salyers immediately to help fill any holes in the case against Roger LeMon. Then she counted the cash with growing wonder—fifteen thousand dollars.
Since her car had been returned to her, the cash Gary had left seemed extraneous.

Then an idea occurred to her. Jolie picked up the padded envelope containing the leather journal she was sending to Carlotta, and tucked two thousand dollars inside—enough to get the threatening collector off her friend’s back. The rest she bundled into another envelope and addressed it to Rebecca Renaldi. A posthumous gift from Gary, Jolie explained, to put toward Leann’s treatment. She sealed the envelope with mixed feelings pulling at her—incredulity over the randomness of how people’s lives crossed and changed each other, remorse that the same human dramas seemed to play out over and over—greed, ambition, love and hate—with unpredictable results.

“Everything okay in here?” Beck asked from the doorway.

Jolie looked up and felt a rush of love for this amazing man. She set the envelopes aside and crossed the room to slip into his embrace. Tilting her head she smiled up at him. “Yes, everything is okay.”

A little scoff escaped him and his eyes darkened with sudden desire before he lowered a kiss to her neck. “We have a few minutes before the truck gets here—what do you say we bypass okay and shoot for spectacular?”

Jolie arched into him and grinned. “Wow me.”