Evening Bags and Executions (20 page)

I'd left my totally fabulous Betsey Johnson bag in my car, so when I got in I checked my cell phone. Damn. Jack had called and I'd missed him. I tried to reach him, but my call went to his voice mail.

We couldn't keep playing phone tag. I needed to talk with him before Muriel called with instructions on the ransom demand. I hadn't wanted to leave him a message spelling out the situation, but if I didn't get to actually speak with him soon, I'd have to.

I started my car and was backing out of the parking spot when my phone rang. Thanks God, Jack was calling me again.

“In what West German city did the Beatles perform in the fall of 1960?” Crap. It was Eleanor with another quiz question.

I'd read the Beatles book I'd bought—well, okay, I'd skimmed it—and I'd watched some of the stuff I'd downloaded, but I had no clue what she was talking about. So what could I do but say, “Jeez, Eleanor, you'd said your questions would get harder but this one is so simple. The Beatles performed in—”

I hung up.

What else could I do? I was already in enough trouble with Sheridan. I didn't need Eleanor ratting me out about not knowing the answer to her who-really-cares-anyway question.

I pulled back into the parking space, accessed the Internet, then called Eleanor back.

“Hamburg,” I said, and hung up again.

I'm not sure my answer really counted since I didn't answer it on the spot, but this would have to do.

My day definitely needed a boost—a big one. I headed west and took Pacific Coast Highway north. This was one of my favorite places to clear my head and put things into perspective. The view was spectacular along this stretch of PCH. High, rugged hills dotted with fabulous homes on my right, and the blue waters of the Pacific on my left, sparkling in the sunlight.

Ty floated into my head. Not long ago he'd offered to buy a beach house, if I'd move in with him. He'd sweetened the deal with a convertible and tons of new shorts, tops, bathing suits, cover-ups, sundresses, sandals, and flip-flops—okay, the clothes were my idea, but he'd have definitely been okay with them.

Now everything was different—real different. Ty was engaged—maybe. My heart started to hurt just thinking about it.

I'm not big on suspense, usually, but I hadn't wanted to confront Ty and ask him outright. I'd put it off on Marcie, and that hadn't worked out either. There was nothing left to do but handle the situation myself.

I accessed the address book on my cell phone and called Amber, Ty's personal assistant. Yeah, okay, this wasn't exactly the boldest move I could have made, but it was the only one I could manage.

Amber answered right away.

“Hi, Haley, I'm really glad to hear from you,” she said. “How are you?”

She sounded as if she was genuinely glad to hear from me. We'd always gotten along, and I didn't want that to change by putting her in a difficult position with Ty by asking a lot of personal questions about him.

“Is Ty engaged?” I asked.

Damn. I hadn't meant to say that—not so soon in the conversation, anyway.

“Engaged? Are you kidding? Mr. Gloom and Doom?” Amber asked. “No way.”

I almost ran my car off the highway.

“Oh my God, he's not engaged?” I am pretty sure I yelled that.

“Why would you think that?” Amber asked.

“Sarah Covington is engaged. Since she'd been all over Ty all the time, I figured they were a couple,” I said.

“I haven't heard anything about Sarah getting engaged,” Amber said.

“A friend of mine got a visual on her wearing a diamond ring,” I told her.

“Ty hasn't been acting like he's engaged,” she said. “But he has been really weird lately.”

Ty was stable, sensible, cautious, predictable.
Weird
for him could mean he'd taken an alternate route home from the office.

“Weird how?” I asked.

“Secretive. He used to tell me everything, now not so much,” Amber said.

“What's he keeping secret?” I asked. “Any idea?”

“It started back when he was in the car accident, remember?” Amber said.

I remembered how the hospital had called because Ty wanted me to pick him up from the emergency room. I remembered how scared I was thinking he'd been hurt, how relieved I'd felt when I saw him and knew he was okay.

“And a couple of days ago,” Amber said, “he had me hire actresses. Twenty of them.”

Okay, that was definitely weird.

“Maybe he wanted them for show. Maybe he was having a party or something?” I didn't like the idea, but it was all I could think of.

“A party with hot chicks? Ty?” Amber asked.

True, Ty wasn't the party animal that some people—okay, me—were, but I'd seen flashes of a wild guy lurking inside him. He'd had to take over the helm of the family business when his dad had a heart attack, even though I don't think he really wanted to. Five generations of the Holt's chain were riding on his shoulders. He wouldn't let the family down.

“Besides, if he was throwing a party—or any sort of social event—he would have asked me to plan it for him,” Amber said. “I can tell you for a fact that he's not having fun at anything. He's working twelve to fifteen hours a day, nearly every day.”

“That's not good,” I said.

“I'm worried about him,” Amber said. “I wish you two would get back together.”

I really didn't know how to respond, so I just said, “Thanks for letting me know what's going on.”

“I'll ask around about Sarah and see what's up with her engagement,” Amber promised, and we hung up.

I'd decided to drive out to PCH to clear my thoughts, but now all I could think about was Ty and the things I liked about him.

He always did the right thing. He was very thoughtful, extremely generous, and sensitive without being a ticket-stub-saver kind of guy. He was aggressive in business, but not ruthless, more like a chess master plotting, strategizing, looking ahead a half-dozen moves, maneuvering to get what he wanted.

Memories bounced around in my head. The image of his crooked grin I saw during our special moments, the feel of his arms around me, the way he smelled after a shower. They all settled around my heart.

I missed him.

Why hadn't I fought for us?

C
HAPTER
21

I
called Holt's with my touch-of-the-stomach-flu excuse, a personal favorite of mine, and said I wouldn't be in for my shift tonight. I didn't get any push-back, but I didn't expect to. I mean, really, what were they going to do? Working there was already the ultimate punishment.

I wasn't concerned that the outfits for the fashion show still had to be put together. Everything was so hideous I could just pick things at random the day of the show and send them down the runway, and nobody in the we-love-a-flashing-blue-light-special audience would know the difference.

My real concern was being available to make the ransom drop tonight and retrieving the Beatles bobbleheads when Muriel called with the kidnapper's instructions.

I glanced at my watch as I sat in my office. Nearly five. Why hadn't I heard from Muriel yet?

And why hadn't Jack called me back? Yeah, okay, he worked for the Pike Warner law firm, plus handled cases on the side, but I am, after all,
me
.

I couldn't take it anymore. I got my cell phone and called Muriel.

“Nothing yet,” she said softly when she answered.

“What's up with that?”

All kinds of this-would-be-awful-if-it-happened scenarios pinged around in my head: what if the kidnapper was holding out for more money; what if the bobbleheads had somehow been damaged or destroyed; what if the kidnapper was shopping them around for more money elsewhere.

“It was supposed to be tonight. We haven't heard a word. I don't know what's going on,” Muriel said. “I'm really worried that something will go wrong when you make the ransom payment. What if you don't find the right person, or make a mistake doing the exchange? What if you do something wrong and we don't get the bobbleheads back?”

Muriel sounded really tense and majorly stressed—not that I blamed her, of course—but I didn't want her to cave and blab to Sheridan that I was handling the ransom drop, then hire a real security firm to take over.

“The delay in hearing from the kidnapper is normal,” I said.

I didn't know if it was or not, but this sounded good. “It is?” she asked, and I heard a tiny glimmer of hope in her voice.

“It's just a ploy, a tactic to make you worry more, make you anxious to cooperate,” I said.

It could have been true, couldn't it? I mean, that's what happened on those TV crime dramas.

“I've got a professional private detective—my partner—standing by ready to mobilize,” I said.

I didn't, of course, but what else could I say?

And where was Jack, anyway?

“Stay calm,” I said, “and call me the minute you hear from them.”

“I will,” Muriel promised, and we hung up.

I hopped out of my desk chair and launched into total-panic mode.

Oh my God, why hadn't the kidnapper called? What would I do if this whole thing went sideways? What if I botched the ransom exchange? What if I got the bobbleheads back and Sheridan was still so upset that she shot off her mouth to all her high-profile friends and put L.A. Affairs out of business?

I really needed to talk to Jack. I couldn't imagine what he'd been doing all afternoon that he hadn't returned my call. Was he really working? Or was he playing me? Was this part of his whole idiotic
treading lightly
idea?

I absolutely
had
to talk to him. I absolutely
had
to get him to return my call.

Maybe I should leave him a message and offer to have sex with him. Maybe
that
would get him to return my call.

But I'd been mooning over Ty all afternoon, so I couldn't have sex with Jack—okay, well, maybe I could. Yes, I definitely could. No. It wouldn't be right. Having sex with Jack would reduce our relationship to nothing but a hot, sweaty, prolonged—surely—physical encounter. What would that do to our friendship? What would—

My cell phone rang. Jack's name appeared on the caller ID screen.

“Why haven't you called me?” I'm positive I screamed that.

He didn't answer—not that I gave him an opportunity. “I've been trying to reach you
forever!
I've left you a zillion messages!” My voice was really high-pitched now, and I was squeezing my cell phone so tight I thought my SIM card might shoot out.

“I was even considering having sex with you!” People in the hallway outside my office might have heard that.

“I'll be right over,” Jack said.

“No! I'm not having sex with you now!”

“Do you have a fever?” he asked.

“What?”

“Have you recently hit your head on something?” Jack asked, sounding way too calm to suit me at the moment. “Because I'm sensing some erratic brain activity.”

“Something major is going down,” I said. “I need to talk to you. Now. Can you meet me at Starbucks at the Galleria?”

“I'm on my way,” Jack said. “And if you change your mind about the sex, surprise me when I get there.”

 

I drove to the Galleria and left my car in the parking garage. Even though it was just across the street from my office, I wanted to have my car close by when Muriel called.

I took the walkway to the center plaza where the restaurants were located. It was in shadows, thanks to the setting sun and the tall buildings. A lot of people were out—tourists in Disneyland T-shirts, couples, men and women with briefcases and messenger bags who'd just gotten off work.

I didn't see Jack. He hadn't mentioned where he was or how long it would take him to get here, so I didn't know how long I'd have to wait. Yet I saw no reason to deprive myself of my favorite drink in the entire world. I went inside Starbucks and got a mocha Frappuccino and a coffee, then found a table on the plaza and sat down. I was only three sips in when I spotted Jack walking toward me from the parking garage.

Whatever he'd been doing when he'd finally called me at my office required that he be in stealth mode.

Jack looked great in stealth mode.

He had on black everything—pants, shirt, jacket. I looked great in black, too. We'd make great partners.

Jack took the chair across from me. “Something major is going down?”

The table I'd selected for our meeting was situated away from the other customers to ensure our conversation wasn't overheard. I glanced around because it seemed the covert thing to do, then leaned toward Jack.

He smelled fabulous.

Maybe we wouldn't make great partners. I think I might get distracted a lot.

“I'm making a ransom payment tonight,” I said quietly. Jack's brows drew together and he straightened his shoulders like he was ready to come out swinging—at what, I don't know. Then he dragged his chair close to mine and said, “Talk to me.”

“I'm planning a major event for Sheridan Adams. It includes a charity auction of collectible memorabilia,” I said. “The set of Beatles bobbleheads was stolen from her house, so I have to deliver the twenty-grand ransom and get them back.”

Jack shook his head. “Tell her call the police.”

“She won't,” I said.

“Tell her to hire a professional. It's too dangerous,” he said, and looked as if Sheridan was crazy for getting me involved.

“I volunteered,” I said.

Now he looked as if I were the crazy one.

I get that a lot.

“There was a mix-up at the office,” I said. “I didn't hire security for the memorabilia. Sheridan is blaming me. If I don't get the bobbleheads back she'll get me fired—not that it will really matter, because she'll tell everybody what happened and put L.A. Affairs out of business.”

Jack shook his head. “It's too dangerous.”

“It's the only way I can make it right,” I said.

“No. No, you're not doing it,” he told me.

“I need you to talk me through the ransom exchange,” I told him. “Just give me some tips.”

His expression darkened and he leaned into me. “People who resort to kidnapping aren't what you'd call stable,” he told me. “You could get hurt. Do you understand that?”

“Then lend me a gun,” I said.

Jack rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair.

“It's just for one evening,” I said.

“No.”

“A few hours.”

“No.” Jack shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

I appreciated that he was concerned about my safety, but now he was kind of getting on my nerves.

“Look, Jack, I'm doing this,” I told him, “whether you help me or not.”

He leaned into me until we were eye to eye. “No, you're not.”

We glared at each other—which, under other circumstances would have been totally hot—but no way was I backing down.

“It's not your call,” I said.

“I'm making it my call,” he told me.

“It's none of your business.”

“You made it my business,” he said.

He was right about that—which totally annoyed me.

“Look, Jack, you can't pick and choose when you want to be involved with what I'm doing,” I said.

Yeah, okay, I knew that didn't really make sense, so what could I do but keep talking?

“Like the thing in the parking lot at my apartment,” I told him. “You can't tell me you're treading lightly, then threaten a guy you see kissing me.”

His jaw tightened. He drew himself up. His breathing got heavy.

“You kissed a guy?” he demanded.

Oh my God. What was going on?

“I'm treading lightly, doing the decent thing, giving you time to get over your breakup,” Jack said. “And you kissed a guy? In your
parking lot?
”

“He was nobody,” I told him

“You kissed
nobody?
”

Yikes! I'd never seen Jack so riled up.

“It was nothing,” I insisted. “I'd forgotten all about it.”

Jack leaned in, even closer this time. “When I kiss you, you won't forget it.”

I figured that was true—but I wasn't going to say so.

This seemed like an excellent time to change the subject.

“So here's the thing,” I said. “I'm supposed to deliver the ransom money tonight, but the kidnapper hasn't called with the instructions like they said they would. Why would they do that?”

Jack fumed for another minute, then shifted into private detective mode again.

“It could mean anything, but there's nothing you can do about it. It's their game. Just be ready when the call comes in,” he said. “Get there as early as you can. Keep your eyes open. Watch for anybody who looks like they don't belong. It might be a partner. And don't—don't—turn over the money until you see the bobbleheads.”

“Got it,” I said.

Jack finally took a sip of the coffee I'd bought for him.

“Who do you suspect took the bobbleheads?” he asked.

I'd been so consumed with getting them back I hadn't put any more thought into who had taken them.

“They were stolen from the room in Sheridan's house where all the collectibles for the charity auction were stored. The room isn't easily accessible,” I said. “Probably an inside job.”

Jack nodded. “Who would benefit from the theft? From the ransom money?”

“Everybody who works in Sheridan's home,” I said. “There are lots of workers in the house and on the grounds who could use the money.”

Muriel flashed in my mind. I could easily see where she might have her fill of dealing with Sheridan Adams and use the ransom money to escape and start over somewhere else, but I couldn't imagine Muriel actually pulling it off.

“Who knew the memorabilia would be auctioned off?” Jack asked.

“Most everyone on Sheridan's staff, and anyone at L.A. Affairs who'd seen the file on the event,” I said.

Vanessa flashed in my head. What if she'd gone to Sheridan's house and somehow stolen the bobbleheads? Just to make me look bad and get me fired?

It would be so cool if I could blame everything on her.

“Who else knew?” Jack asked.

I thought for a minute or two and realized—oh my God—I'd actually told a number of people about the memorabilia and the auction.

“I might have mentioned it to a couple of people,” I said.

I'd told Mike Ivan about the auction because we'd been discussing the gift bags Sheridan wanted.

I saw no reason to mention a maybe-connected-to-the-Russian-mob guy to Jack.

“I remember talking about the party with Paige at Lacy Cakes,” I said. “She's making the Yellow Submarine cake for the event.”

“Who else?” Jack asked.

“Belinda Giles,” I said. “She's trying to buy the bakery with Paige.”

“Who else knew?” he asked.

“There's the guy at the bakery who bakes the cakes. He might have overheard our conversation,” I said. “And maybe the guy who runs a rival bakery. I can't remember if I mentioned it to him.”

Jack just looked at me.

“And Darren, Belinda's cousin,” I said. “That's all I can think of.”

Jack nodded. “And you?”

Yeah, I knew about them too—which was another great reason for the police not to get involved with the theft and ransom demand.

“And you're sure this is the real deal?” Jack asked. “Not a hoax?”

I sat there stunned. It had never occurred to me that it wasn't the real thing.