Millionaire M.D. (9 page)

But when she finally hurtled into the night a few moments later, she sucked in a lungful of frigid winter air and, out of absolutely nowhere, smiled, too.

There was nothing funny about her situation. Nothing. She needed to figure that man out, and pronto. Somehow there still seemed to be a marriage proposal hanging between them. More worrisome yet was the stunning, startling thought that he actually
wanted
to marry her. But boy…

That man sure could kiss.

J
ustin drove to the Texas Cattleman's Club, but when he parked the Porsche, he turned the key and sat there, motionless. His meeting with the guys was at eight. It was already a few minutes after. He could see lights on within the building, recognize some of the other members' cars in the lot. His mind needed to be on the plane crash and the missing jewels and serious business. Instead, all he could think about was Winona.

He was so in love with her.

Technically, loving her was old news. Heaven knew, he'd figured out his feelings for her long, long before he'd kissed her in the diner.

But that kiss was the first time he'd really dreamed, thought,
believed
that she could come to feel the same way about him. The baby was the first need he'd seen in Winona, the first dent in her emotional armor, the first emotion that she'd willingly revealed to him…but that kiss wasn't any
thing about Angel. It was about
them.
About something new and strong and powerful building between the two of them.

Justin tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking that when a man got a taste of heaven, it was tough not to want it all. Both the problems and the joys. It was possible that Winona wanted to adopt every abandoned kid in the county for the rest of their lives, and God knew the woman was stubborn, closed in, too independent to lean on him even when he damn well wanted to be leaned on. But he really didn't care. Justin was also well aware that she was confused about the emotions suddenly exploding between them, but just as Shakespeare had said, all was fair in love and war. She'd been doing a lulu act on his heart for a long time. It wouldn't kill Win to be off balance for a bit.

Not when the cause was right.

Whistling, he finally climbed out of his classy chassis, and hiked toward the building. When he stepped inside, his mood promptly sobered.

He had to quit thinking about Win. For that matter he had to quit thinking like a cockeyed dimwit in love. This was no time to be singing in the rain.

He could hear a game of poker going on in the far room, saw a few men putting on their coats, leaving the card room where cigar smoke gushed out in a fog. From old habit, his eyes shot to the Leadership, Justice and Peace motto on the far wall. The actual sign wasn't that intrusive or large; most strangers ambling in rarely seemed even to notice it. But for him, it was like making eye contact with an old friend, and abruptly he charged toward the east rooms, expecting to find the others in the standard meeting area off to the right…and he did.

The room was as comfortably overloaded with testosterone as a room could get. A fire blazed in the hearth. A boar's head hung over the stone mantel. The pool table stood under a Tiffany chandelier, untouched, rack ready. The furniture was all leather, couches and big chairs, with ottomans to put
your boots on—but no one was sitting tonight. Justin braced, feeling how much tension the others were giving off. Matt was pacing like a caged cougar, Dakota standing in the window, pensive and still. Aaron still wasn't back from Washington, but Ben was here now…typically, the sheikh had on his proper kaffiyeh for a serious meeting, and any other time Justin would have smiled. Ben was an extraordinary man who'd become a special friend, but he
did
have a way of looking like a desert warrior, between his kaffiyeh and those fierce dark eyes and rigid posture.

“For someone who's usually never late, I can't seem to catch up with a clock today to save my life. I'm sorry if I kept you waiting.” Justin strode in, feeling guilty as a shamed hound. “And hell, you're all looking as dark as a thunderstorm. Are we talking more bad news? Dakota, I take it you looked for the red diamond—”

“No. I came here earlier, intending to do just what we said—check on the red diamond and report back to the rest of you,” Dakota said. “Only when I got here, I discovered there was a problem. The wine-cellar door was unlocked.”

Justin swore under his breath. Dakota continued, “So I could have called you all, but it made more sense to wait until I informed Hank Langley as he is the owner of the Club. He said he'd inform the other members, but we five, including Aaron, would take the lead and handle the situation. So now we need to discover what's wrong together. Decide what to do together. And earlier, there were just too many people here. It made the most sense to hold up any further investigations until after dark, now. Once the poker game breaks up in the other room, we'll be the only ones here. I only wish we'd managed to get hold of Aaron before now, because I have a feeling we're going to need his advice.”

Matthew rolled his shoulders, obviously trying to shrug off the tension kinks. He also helped fill Justin in. “In principle, finding the wine-cellar door unlocked shouldn't be that much
of a shock. We already know someone stole the two stones. Obviously they got in here somehow.”

“Yes.” Ben stepped forward. “Except that the night watchman should have caught an unlocked door and reported something about it.”

“There was nothing in Riley Monroe's log in the last two nights?” Justin asked.

“Nothing written in any way,” Dakota said with frustration.

“Well, that's odd.” Justin knew, as they all did, that the older night caretaker was a hundred percent dependable. Riley may never have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was both reliable and loyal. “In the meantime…we haven't been able to track down Aaron?”

“No.” Matthew's tone expressed more frustration. “We know that he's still in Washington—which wouldn't have to be a problem if we could just reach him at either the embassy or his hotel room. But the embassy acts like he's not expected, and if he's getting messages from the hotel, he's not calling back.”

“But we left word for him to contact one of us, ASAP,” Dakota affirmed.

“Well, we know he'll call as soon as he can. It's just that with so many people involved from Asterland and Obersbourg on that downed plane—and now we presume potentially involved with our theft—well, we all know Aaron's the one with the diplomatic expertise and background.” Justin half turned. All of them could hear voices in the hall, men's laughter, louder as they moved toward the door. On a mean cold night like this—and a weekday night besides—it was unusual that the weekly poker game hadn't already broken up. But they should be alone within minutes, judging from the departing sounds of the group in the hall. Right then Justin was just as relieved to have a few more moments to study the others, anyway. “You all seem to sense that some
thing's wrong. I mean—obviously—besides the crises we already know about.”

Matthew nodded immediately. “There is.”

Dakota concurred. “Something badly wrong.”

Ben nodded, too. “I think we should wait until we are alone in the building for sure, but this is hard. Like waiting for a tornado. I feel there should be a sword in my hand. A gun. As if something were menacing in every shadow.”

“Sheesh. You guys are giving me the willies. Come on now,” Justin said reassuringly, thinking that the group would calm down if they reviewed what they knew. “We had a theft. How or why that happened, none of us know. But whoever took the two jewels was on the flight to Asterland for sure. And since we recovered two of the jewels, we're not only ahead of the robber, but he—or she—is very likely out of the country by now. In fact, as far as I know, there's almost no one still in Royal who was originally scheduled on that flight—”

“Robert Klimt,” Ben said.

“Who's in a coma.”

“Lady Helena—” Matthew reminded him.

“Who's still in the hospital, between her broken leg and the burns.”

Matthew frowned. “There was someone else. The teacher. Pamela something—”

“Yeah, Pamela Miles, the teacher who was dancing with Aaron the night of the gala.” Justin threw up his hands. “You guys saw her, didn't you? Even if you don't know her. I mean, she's a thief like Walt Disney was a secret terrorist. There's no way she could have been our jewel robber. And another local person on the flight was Jamie Morris, but she was going to Asterland to be a bride, so she's hardly a likely thief.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dakota suddenly cracked a slow smile. He knew what Justin had been doing. He always did. Dakota never hesitated to take charge of anything—actually, no one
ever had to sell any of the Club members tickets. But he'd mentioned before how naturally Justin took the healer role, somehow diffusing the stress from a situation so all of them could work together better as a team. “I haven't heard a sound since the door closed the last time a few minutes ago. I'm positive those were the last guests in the place. Lay on, Macduff. Let's get this search party in motion and find out what's what.”

Ben led the way. Actually, there was nothing mysterious about the passageway. Justin, like the others, always felt that secrets were dangerous. The best place to guard something important to you was out in the open, being honest about it—the way they'd always been honest about the three priceless jewels in the town legend. Everyone knew the legend of the jewels. No one believed it.

Although one person, Justin realized from the weight of the two stones in his pocket, obviously had.

Down a hall, past the cloakroom and rest rooms, was the giant kitchen. Beyond the kitchen was an anteroom, a spacious pantry. Inside the pantry was a door leading down several steps to the wine cellar. And at the far end of the wine cellar was a spring-loaded door. Neither the door nor the door lock was hidden from sight; they just appeared to be a natural part of the cellar wall unless someone looked closer. But the door was where the key should have worked—the key they each had.

Unfortunately, as Dakota had already warned them, the lock was already open. The door click-sprang open with the simple pressure of his hand. Inside was a stone passage. Narrow, cold to iciness, dry. Illuminated by bald lightbulbs strung from the ceiling at regular intervals. The passageway wasn't as cold as the wind-bitter night, but chilly enough to make Justin shiver uneasily.

Back in the War with Mexico—when the original Texas soldier carrying the jewels had died—an adobe church had stood on this site in Royal. The church was the original mis
sion to the area, which was why Tex Langley had bought the land next to it and formed the Club—to protect the area's heritage. The law itself wasn't so dependable in those old days.

Not now either, Justin thought. Which was really the core reason the group had originally formed and persisted in staying together. Laws in themselves had no way to right all wrongs—or protect everyone. There always seemed to be abandoned babies like Angel. Things that went wrong in peoples' lives. Things the law couldn't fix. Things no one could fix if someone didn't step in and make a commitment to trying.

“Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell,” Dakota muttered.

Justin surged forward. His vision was blocked by the other men's broad shoulders, but he sensed this was a problem specifically for him from something in Dakota's tone of voice. From one heartbeat to the next, he became a hundred percent doctor. The instant he caught sight of the crumpled body on the floor, he recognized Riley Monroe. He crouched down and felt for a pulse, but from his first look, he already knew.

There hadn't been a pulse in a long time. Probably a few days. Too damn long to do anything for the Club's old caretaker.

Over his head, the others had started moving. “Check the box for the other jewel,” Ben said in a tone full of grit.

Matthew responded, “No, the red diamond's gone, too. Nothing here.”

Then Dakota spoke, his tone as quiet as a winter night. “Justin?”

Justin understood that Dakota—that all of them—were counting on him to come up with some answers. No one had said the word
murder.
But they all knew that's what had taken place. “Well…there's a blow on Riley's head, but I don't think that's what caused his death. I think he was knocked out, then something else done to him. Not a gunshot
or a knife wound. There's no blood. My guess is, an injection of some kind—which would imply planning on the part of the murderer. And it's so cool down here that I can't guess for sure when this happened, but I would think a couple of days ago—”

“A couple of nights ago. You mean, the night the Asterland plane tried to take off?” Ben asked.

Justin used his own jacket to cover Riley's face, and then looked up. “Yes. That's my guess.”

All of them exchanged glances, but it was Matthew who sucked in a breath and summed it all up. “What a mess. We've got a dead body, a stolen red diamond, a plane crash. Tell the cops, and we risk an international incident—the worst thing that could happen when Asterland just achieved an uneasy peace with Obersbourg. And we'd risk that without knowing if our jewel thief/murderer was an American or one of the Asterland people.”

“We also have no actual reason to believe that the plane crash has any relationship to the jewel theft,” Dakota said. “The two events could be completely coincidental.”

Slowly Justin stood up. “That's really true,” he said thoughtfully. “In fact, if it weren't for the plane crash, we might not have known about the theft of the jewels for quite a while. Which makes me believe that the two incidents really might have had nothing to do with each other. But right now, I'm afraid none of that matters. We have to deal with Riley. We don't have any choice about calling in the authorities.”

“I know.” Matt cocked a foot forward. “But the question is, which authorities? Riley's been murdered. Obviously we have to call the cops. But does that mean we have to tell them everything related to the Texas Cattleman's Club and the three jewels and our whole history of missions around the world? The thing is, it's one thing to tell the cops about Riley—and another to make the whole situation public. I
wish we had someone to give us advice from the inside. There are bigger problems here than just Riley's murder.”