Don't Look Down (9 page)

Her shoulders sagged. “My life is ruined. I have only a few friends left who understand what’s happened to me, and even fewer who still want anything to do with me.”

“It sounds as though you need to hire an image consultant. That’s not my area of expertise.” He took a step sideways and picked up the end table phone, punching the intercom. “Reinaldo? Please show Mrs. Wallis out.”

“But—”

“Excuse me, I have a conference call.”

Without waiting for her to reply, Richard strode out the door and back up the stairs. Just like yesterday, his first
thought was that he wanted to see Samantha. Sternly, angrily, he pushed the idea aside and returned to his office. Damn Patricia. The last thing he needed was to smother Sam in order to reassure himself that she belonged to him, that she wasn’t like Patricia, and that he wasn’t the same man who’d loved that woman five years ago.

Patricia had been right about one thing; part of what excited him about Samantha, though he’d never admit to it, was that she was a thief. She had the ability to slip in and out of people’s lives, to liberate their possessions, without them even being aware of it until after she was gone. The fact that he was aware of it, that even with all her skills she hadn’t been able to slip out of his life—hadn’t
wanted
to slip out of his life—made her presence all the more arousing. The shit of it was, she couldn’t be allowed to do it any longer. How that would eventually alter their relationship, he didn’t know, but it wasn’t anything they could avoid. Not if they wanted to remain together. He wanted that, and he thought she probably did, as well.

As soon as he reached his desk, he dialed Tom Donner’s direct office number. Helping Patricia had become a priority, if only so she would leave him alone. He had someone else to concentrate on—and making a mistake where Samantha was concerned could mean more than losing her. Where she was concerned, mistakes could be fatal.

Glancing around as she took her seat behind the wheel of the Lexus, Patricia favored Reginald with a forced smile. This was bad. Once she was back on the streets of Palm Beach, she was vulnerable. Daniel had certainly enjoyed their night together after her little experiment at the Harkley’s dinner party. She’d enjoyed it, too. For heaven’s sake, no wonder
Sam Jellicoe stole things. She’d never been so excited and aroused in her life.

Patricia fingered the diamond ring in her pocket as she turned down North Ocean Boulevard. It didn’t make any sense. That American mutt stole things, and from the way she and Richard hung on each other at every event, they were shagging like bunnies. But when
she
did it—implied it, even—he told her to leave.

Now she was stuck with a stolen diamond ring—and with no one to help her. She couldn’t make up some excuse to visit Lydia Harkley and put it back, because the police would instantly connect its disappearance and reappearance with her. She couldn’t tell Rick, because he’d already all but called her an idiot for thinking of doing something like that. Even worse, he would only accuse her of trying to imitate that bitch, or something.

Wait a moment.
That bitch
. The idea stunned her. But Jellicoe would know what to do with the ring.

Patricia took a breath. If she were careful enough, she could even put the ring in Jellicoe’s pocket or something. Then she could call the police and be a heroine. It would be the mutt the police would be after, and it would be the mutt going to jail, and it would be Richard left with no one.

Jellicoe had an office, Daniel had said, on Worth Avenue. Smiling, Patricia headed for the shopping district. Thievery
could
pay, after all.

Samantha stopped just inside the reception area of her office. Nine professionally dressed, fresh-faced people, all busily filling out printed sheets of paper, sat on plush leather couches along the back and side wall. Stoney stood behind the reception desk, a phone to his ear.

It wasn’t so much the seven young women and two buff-looking guys that stopped Sam as it was the sight of the furniture—and of Stoney actually wearing a jacket and tie. “What the hell is going on?” she asked, shutting the main door behind her.

“Ah, Miss Jellicoe. Do you have a moment to see me in your office?” the big man returned, a white smile stretched way too thin on his dark face.

“Sure.”

She headed through the nearest door leading to the back of reception and the hallway and offices behind. As she rounded the corner, Stoney’s backside vanished into her office ahead of her, and she slowed a little to give herself a moment to think. Two things were weird: One, half the back office was piled with furniture from at least two different centuries; and two, he was wearing a damned suit.

“Where have you been?” he asked as soon as she entered the room.

“I had to run a couple of errands,” she said. “Your next door neighbor was picking your roses again.”

His gaze sharpened. “You were at my house? Which equipment did you pick up?”

“Binoculars and the spare set of lock picks.” Samantha ran her finger along the edge of the desk that now occupied her office. “Um, this is real mahogany.”

Stoney smiled. “It sure is. I knew you’d appreciate it. Don’t get too attached to it, though. We only have this stuff for six weeks.”

“Did you rent it? Why not just—”

“We’re not renting.”

Samantha returned to the office doorway and leaned out to look at the mismatched pile of tables and lamps and chairs
in the common room. It was her taste. Stoney knew her better than anyone, so that was no surprise, but this was just…weird. “Okay, explain.”

“We’re storing it.”

“Sto—”

“I know you’re trying to stay on the straight and narrow, so you don’t have anything to worry about, baby.”

“But—”

“Hey, if you don’t like it, find your own furniture.”

Great. So now she could either piss Stoney off or risk getting busted for harboring stolen furniture. “Okay. I trust you. Who are the stiffs in the front room?”

“One of ’em is going to be your receptionist, I presume. They just started showing up. We shouldn’t have published the address in the employment ad.”

“Probably not.”

“An hour ago there were twenty-three of them in there. I had to go across the street to see your Donner guy and get some application forms to give ’em something to do.”

“We’re popular already. That’s good.”

“It’s good if you’re here to help me out, Sam. Otherwise it sucks. The rest of the interviews are yours.”

Samantha blinked. “Me? I’m not interviewing anybody. That’s your job.”

“No, it isn’t. You said I’m a partner. That doesn’t mean I get stuck doing interviews instead of depositing a quarter of a million bucks in my Swiss account. And I got the furniture, remember?”

“Don’t be prissy, Stoney. Another few weeks like my last as a cat and you’d be wearing that suit to my funeral.”

He grimaced. “Yeah. Okay. But right now I’m your business partner who’s going to lunch.”

“You—” She closed her mouth, eyeing his attire again. “You’re going to lunch with the real estate chick, aren’t you? Kim.”

“That’s none of your business, kiddo.” He handed her a clipboard. “Here. I wrote down some questions to start you out. Good luck.”

He left the office. Her heart jumping, Samantha hurried after him. “Wait a minute. When are you coming back?”

“If I’m lucky, tomorrow. The door key’s in the right-hand door of the reception desk. Don’t forget to set the alarm. The directions are in the same drawer.”

“I don’t need directions for an alarm,” she shot back, still trotting behind him. This was ridiculous. She had a murder to investigate. And there were nine,
nine
, people in there, all waiting for her. “Stoney, I can’t—”

“Sure you can. You’re the boss.”

He vanished through the reception door. She stopped short in front of it.
Crap
. Annoyed and even a little nervous, it didn’t help to realize that she’d been abusing Stoney’s support in this little venture, especially considering that he seemed more reluctant to retire than she’d realized. She was supposed to be able to take advantage of him, though. That’s what family was for.

A mirror had been mounted on the back of the door to the reception area, probably so the suite’s previous occupants could check their appearance before they emerged to greet a client. She looked at her reflection, hair still in a ponytail, a simple green T-shirt with a white shirt open over it, and blue jeans. Great. She had a change of clothes in the car, just in case, but everybody out front had already had a look at her.

Samantha blew out her breath. Okay, she could do this. Hell, compared with other situations she’d been in, this
would be simple. Like Stoney had said, she was the boss. They all wanted something from her. Just another day in the life of Samantha Elizabeth Jellicoe.

She stepped out. “Okay, who’s next?”

Nine faces looked at her, while she looked back at them. After a moment a fresh-faced girl who looked about her own age stood. “I think I am,” she said in a soft Southern accent.

“Good. Come on back, and we’ll have a chat.”

After the third interview she had the hang of it—people liked to talk, so all she really needed to do was ask a leading question or two about which hours they could work and what kind of salary they were hoping for. Immediately she received a flood of information about the travails of single parenthood or unpaid college loans or bad backs or lousy ex-husbands. Sheesh. If people would learn to listen to themselves and think about impressions, they’d have a much better chance of getting a job, and she and Stoney would only have had three people to interview instead of twenty-three.

She showed victim number five back to the reception door. “Thanks for coming in. We’ll be making our decision in the next few days.”

“Thank you, Miss Jellicoe. I’m really looking forward to working with you,” Amber said, taking a step closer. “And can I ask if your boyfriend ever comes by the office?”

Great. Another Rick’s Chicks newsletter subscriber. “Yes, Stoney’s here all the time,” she returned, flashing a bright smile.

“But—”

Sam opened the door and nudged the girl out. “Thanks again. Next?”

One of the two guys, the one who looked like a hotel pool lifeguard complete with green-blond hair, stood. Before he could approach, though, another figure pushed by him.

“That would be me,” Patricia Addison-Wallis said, her dazzling smile setting Sam back on her heels.

“I’m not hiring you,” she said, before she could stop herself.

Patricia chuckled. “Of course not, my dear. I would never work for you. I did wonder if you had time for a cup of coffee.”

“Wow. Rick tossed you out again, did he?”

With an annoyed glance at their now-rapt audience, Patricia grabbed her arm and practically towed her through the private door into the back. Obviously Patricia didn’t know how little she liked being grabbed. Rather than setting the Ex on her ass, though, Sam pointed and allowed herself to be led toward the new coffee machine that had appeared in the small conference room.

“I have interviews,” she said unnecessarily, reflecting that Patricia probably knew and didn’t care about that.

“Yes, I saw. This is a lovely office. Who’s your decorator? Trezise?”

“I’m the decorator.” Well, Stoney was.

“Of course you are, dear.” Patricia seated herself at the conference table. “It’s very eclectic.”

“So am I.” Beginning to be a little amused, Samantha poured the Ex a cup of coffee. “Lots of sugar, I suppose?” she asked.

“Three cubes, please. Aren’t you having any?”

Sam sat in the opposing chair. “I don’t drink that shit. What’s up, Patty? You don’t mind me calling you Patty, do you?”

The smile tightened. “I prefer Patricia. I just thought we should chat. Being with Richard is a complicated prospect, after all, and since he’s helping me so much, I thought perhaps I could help you.”

“Help me,” Samantha repeated. “You.”

“Well, yes. Who has a better insight into Richard than I
do? We were married for nearly three years, however unfortunately it might have ended.”

“It was unfortunate that he caught you screwing Peter Wallis, you mean,” Samantha supplied. If they were going to chat, she wasn’t going to pull any punches. Not with this woman. Not after knowing how much she’d hurt Rick. “You remember, the guy who tried to kill me and Rick.”

“I had nothing to do with that.” Patricia looked down into her coffee cup, idly stirring the sugar into the mix. “I made a terrible mistake with Richard, and then I made another one with Peter. It’s not as though I’ll forget. Ever.”

Hm
. Samantha had seen Rick when he decided he didn’t like someone. He didn’t change his mind, and his anger could be…devastating. On the other hand…“So you just want to chat,” she mused, reaching into the pocket of her open shirt. “And to give me presents, I assume?” Her gaze on Patricia’s face, she produced a diamond ring and set it on the table between them. “Nice ones, at that.”

“How—” The Ex stared at her for a heartbeat, then burst into tears. “I hate this town! Nothing ever goes right for me.”

“Considering that for a minute I thought you were feeling me up and I almost broke your nose, I’d say things went okay.” Samantha stood up, going to the small refrigerator in the corner and getting a Diet Coke for herself. Yep, Stoney knew her real well. “So whose is this? It’s not yours, or you wouldn’t be giving it to me.”

“I’m not giving it to you, stupid bitch.”

So they were both being forthright. “Okay, you were planting it on me. Which doesn’t answer my question. To whom does it belong?”

“Why should I tell you?” Patricia sat up straighter. “Because now it has your fingerprints on it. You took it. There. And I’m going to call the police.”

Despite Samantha’s immediate knee-jerk reaction to flee, she sat down again and popped the top on her soda. “Go ahead. What are you going to tell them?”

“That you stole that ring.”

“And how do you know it’s stolen?” Sam took a swallow of soda. “You should think this through, you know. The cops are pretty sharp around here.” Well, some of them were, anyway.