Sleeping with Anemone (25 page)

“It got me to thinking about who else might have seen it.”

“What do you mean? Like a professional brooch thief?”

“Where did you say you got it?”

“It was lying loose in a box of orchids, but I called our supplier in Hawaii and he didn’t know anything about it. He said to keep it unless I heard otherwise.”

Marco scrolled through the links on the first page. “Two and a half million results. We have to narrow the search.”

“Try anthurium brooch,” I said.

He typed it in, glanced down the list of links, then clicked on
Hawaiian collectibles: Antiques and Hawaiiana
. Up popped a page full of photos of flower pins, pendants, and brooches in a variety of materials. I watched over Marco’s shoulder as he scrolled down the page.

“There’s an ivory anthurium brooch,” I said, pointing to the image on the screen. “That looks a lot like the one I found.”

Marco clicked on the photo, but all it did was enlarge it. “I’ll have to get in touch with the dealer to find out more about their brooches. The pieces on this site are all collectors’ items.”

“Maybe the one you found is a collector’s item, too,” Lottie said.

“If it were valuable,” I said, “you’d think it would be packaged in a cushioned box.”

“Maybe a woman packed the flowers and didn’t realize her brooch fell into the box,” Lottie offered.

Marco dialed the phone number on the Web site’s home page, then held his hand over the receiver. “It’s an automated menu. I have to leave contact information.” He removed his hand and gave his name and cell phone number, then left a brief description of the brooch.

“Here’s a thought,” Lottie said. “Remember when the phony delivery man came by for a package he claimed was delivered to us by mistake, and that man turned out to be Hudge? Maybe we did get someone else’s package and he came to pick it up.”

“So you’re saying Hudge pulled off those kidnappings to get the brooch?” I asked.

Marco turned to look at Lottie. “When did Hudge come here?”

“Right after the flower shop was trashed,” Lottie said.

“Why don’t I remember that?” Marco asked.

“You were checking out the other rooms for damage when we discussed it,” Lottie said. “Sergeant Reilly was making out a report, and I said I wondered whether the damage was the result of a plain ol’ robbery instead of Uniworld trying to retaliate.”

The phone rang and Grace caught it out front, then came back to say that Reilly was on the line. Marco picked it up at my desk. “Hey, Sean. Yes, Abby did call. Right, and this time twelve brooches were taken. Three brooch-related thefts. We’ve definitely got something going on here, so we’ll need to file a police report. Sure. I’ll hold.”

“Abby,” Lottie said, “Gracie and I are going to close up shop now.”

“Okay,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”

Marco glanced at the clock. “Five o’clock? Damn. I haven’t been down to the bar yet.”

Reilly came back on the line, so Marco turned away to talk to him while I cleaned up the worktable. As I brushed bits of leaves and blossoms into the plastic-lined trash can, I started thinking back over the times my mom’s brooches had turned up missing. The first theft happened after I appeared on our local cable TV news station. Was that a coincidence or, as Marco mentioned, had someone with a reason to care spotted the anthurium on my hat? Was it possible Dwayne Hudge was working for a jewelry thief?

Marco ended his call and got up. “Reilly said no viable fingerprints were collected when Bloomers was trashed, and right now they don’t have any leads.”

“You mentioned that someone might have spotted me wearing the brooch. What if Hudge and Charlotte were hired to get it back?”

Marco’s eyebrows pulled together. “I guess it would explain the theft of the brooches, although I still think Jillian should be a suspect.”

“It would also explain why Jillian’s beret was snatched.”

“But it doesn’t explain why they kidnapped Tara. She wasn’t wearing a beret.”

“We were dressed alike. Maybe they were planning to hold me until I gave up the brooch.”

“That would be risky.”

“They were bunglers, Marco. And I just remembered something else. When Jillian was nabbed, she said the kidnapper told her to give
it
up. Do you remember that? The brooch has to be what they were after.”

“We could speculate all evening, and I wish I had time for that, but Reilly is sending officers to take the report and dust for prints, so while they’re here, I’ve got to run down to the bar to check on things and get my accounting done, or there won’t be any paychecks to hand out this week. I’ll be back afterward to take you home, pick up Rafe, and drop him at your place so I can squeeze in a couple of hours of work at the bar before I start on my PI case.”

I was exhausted just thinking about all he had to do. Poor Marco, dealing with stolen brooches, kidnapping attempts, wayward younger brothers, his bar, my crazy family, and me, in addition to his private investigator work. He really was my hero.

But we absolutely did have to discuss the issue about our conflicting work hours. Soon.

As he stood there in his fitted shirt, tight jeans, and worn boots, his dark hair curling around his ears, a five-o’clock shadow on his handsome face, I couldn’t resist slipping my arms around his waist. “You go to a lot of trouble for me, Salvare.”

That was all it took to get his juices flowing. His eyes darkened in that seductive way of his and one corner of his mouth quirked. “You know what I always say about pay-backs.” Then he dipped his head down for a deep, smoldering kiss—that was interrupted a moment later by a sharp rap on the front door.

Marco gave me one more quick kiss, then strode through the curtain to let in the cops.

B
y six o’clock that evening, I was at home, dead bolt and chain in place, just finishing the last bite of a turkey sandwich, when two handsome Salvare men showed up at my door, one a younger, slightly thinner version of the other.

“Hey, Hot Stuff,” Rafe said, sauntering into my apartment, “your bodyguards are here.” He winked at me. “Looking good, as always.”

“Thank you, Rafe,” I said, rolling my eyes at Marco. Rafe was a shameless flirt.

“Hey,” Marco called to him from the doorway. “Remember what I told you.”

“No prob, bro.” Rafe continued into the living room and turned on the TV, putting himself out of sight and earshot.

“Did the cops find any prints?” Marco asked me.

“Nothing useful. Just smudges, probably most of them mine, Lottie’s, and Grace’s. How the thief was able to scoop up a dozen brooches without us hearing anything still alarms me.”

“Have you told your mom yet?”

“I did, and of course Mom took it as a sign that she should make more. She wants us to lock her next batch in the glass case where we keep the crystal figurines. She said she’s going to call the pawnshops in the area to let them know to watch for her brooches.”

“At least she wasn’t upset.” Marco drew me against him. “I’ve got to get going.”

“I wish you didn’t have to work these late evening hours, Marco.”

“Sometimes it can’t be helped. I don’t plan to do it forever.”

“Can we kiss on that?”

With a little grin playing at one corner of his mouth, Marco tilted his head, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that got hotter by the second.

“Sure you can’t stay?” I murmured dreamily, as he nibbled his way along my jaw.

He pressed his lips in the hollow behind my ear, a spot he’d discovered made me go weak in the knees. “I wish.” Then he tilted my chin so he could gaze into my eyes.

“Are you going to lecture me now?” I asked, still in my stuporous state.

“Yes, so pay attention.”

“You can be bossy at times.”

“Don’t let Rafe talk you into leaving the apartment. I told him he’s your bodyguard tonight, and your safety is in his hands until I get back. Got it?”

“Word for word.” I leaned into him for another kiss and Marco happily complied. Then he tilted my chin up again.

“Don’t wait up for me. It’ll be late by the time I pick Rafe up and drop him off at home again.”

“Okay.” Or maybe I would wait up and surprise him.

We shared one more long kiss; then he had to go. “Remember what I told you,” he called as he started down the hallway.

“And
you
remember that a closed bathroom door means you have to knock before entering.”

He gave me a thumbs-up. Then I shut the door, slid the chain into place, and headed for the living room. Time to put my plan into action.

Rafe was sprawled on the sofa, watching TV. I blocked his view. “Do you really want to watch a basketball game all evening or would you rather take a field trip with me?”

Rafe swung his legs to the floor. “A leaving-the-apartment type of field trip?”

“I need to pay a visit to Nikki at the hospital.”

“She’s sick?”

“No, on duty. Nikki works there. I need some information from her.”

“Whoa. Back up, Freckles. Marco gave me strict instructions to stay
here
with you. He’ll kill me if I let you leave.”

I sat down beside him. “That’s not what I heard Marco say. He told
me
you were going to be my bodyguard this evening.”

Rafe looked confused. “So?”

“So he didn’t say you were going to be my babysitter.

There’s an important difference. Sitters watch their charges in a home. Bodyguards protect their charges everywhere. Do you see what I mean?”

“Well, yeah, except he said not to leave here.”

Rafe was such a babe in the woods. “Marco’s exact words to me were ‘Don’t let him talk you into leaving the apartment,’ which you’re not. Again, an important difference.”

A light went on in Rafe’s head. He hopped off the sofa with a devilish grin. “I’m ready when you are.”

In the parking lot, I discovered that Marco had taken his Prius, leaving me my bright yellow Vette—not exactly camouflage material. Not enough to deter me from my mission, either. Thinking it would be better if I wasn’t seen behind the wheel, however, I made the mistake of letting Rafe drive, then held on to my seat with a white-knuckled grip as we sped away from every stop sign and light between apartment and hospital. In between hanging on for dear life and ordering him to drop his speed, I explained the purpose of our trip.

“Damn! I don’t blame you for wanting to be sure Harding’s on his last breath,” Rafe said.

“So how about slowing down even more so we’re not about to draw
our
last breath?”

We parked on the top floor of the hospital garage—less chance of being seen—then took the stairs to the main level and crossed the street to the hospital. I steered Rafe toward the X-ray department in the basement and asked the volunteer at the sign-in desk for Nikki.

A few minutes later, Nikki and another tech came out of a doorway in the back, both women dressed in green uniforms. “Abby, is everything all right?” Nikki asked.

“We’re fine,” I said as Rafe gazed appreciatively at the attractive girl at Nikki’s side. “I just had a question for you.”

Rafe held out his hand to Nikki’s coworker, turning the full force of his charm on her. “Hi, I’m Rafe Salvare. And you are . . . ?”

The young woman blushed as she took his hand. “Erin Sells.”

“An X-ray technician, I see,” Rafe said.

Nikki took me aside to whisper, “Is he your sitter tonight?”

I held my index finger to my lips to hush her. “I have to ask a really big favor, Nik. Tom Harding is a patient on the second floor, and I need to know why he’s been admitted.”

“Harding’s here?” she whispered, her eyes huge. “I haven’t seen any cops on that floor.”

“He isn’t being guarded. He was released because of his health. It’s a long story that I’ll tell you later. Right now, I really need to know how bad off he is. Can you help me out?”