Snoops in the City (A Romantic Comedy) (16 page)

"Why not?" she asked, then wriggled her hips, making him grow harder. She smiled a vixen's smile. "Never mind. I think I figured it out."

Much later, after they'd finally eaten the pasta dinner and made love another time, he slipped out of her bed in the weak light of pre-dawn.

She tossed and flung out an arm, as though reaching for him, and made a soft sound of protest. Then she turned over and fell back into a deep sleep.

Exhaustion had obviously claimed her. Grady's eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, too. It couldn’t be helped. He had an early meeting with the FBI agent coordinating Operation Citygate. Grady hadn't set an alarm but the meeting weighed on his mind, signaling an internal one.

He glanced at the illuminated numbers of Tori's bedside clock. He had barely enough time to go home, shower and grab a bite of breakfast.

He pulled on his pants and shrugged into his shirt before picking up his shoes. Sighing in resignation, he went in search of Gordo and herded the sleepy cat into the cardboard carrier. She meowed in protest.

"It's only until we get to my place," he assured her.

Memories of the night intruded when he was about to let himself out of the apartment, making it impossible for him to leave without one more look at her. He walked back to the mouth of Tori's bedroom and peered inside.

She lay on her side, her hair spilled over the pillow, her lips curved upward as though she were having a happy dream.
Let it be of me
, he thought. The covers bunched around her waist left one beautiful breast bare.

Merely looking at her made him want her all over again, and it seemed suddenly silly that he'd suspected her of spying on him. Something buoyant rose inside him.

After a moment, he realized it was hope.

Tori flipped to the index page of
So You Want to be a PI?
and skimmed the tip of her pointer finger down the columns of topics. None addressed what she'd done last night.

She went back to the letter T to make sure the book didn't contain a Top Ten List of private-eye pitfalls. She couldn't find one, yet common sense dictated that sleeping with a subject would command a lofty position on such a list. Maybe even higher than wearing dark sunglasses at midnight or asking the guy you're tailing where he's going.

Yep. Having wild, mind-blowing sex with the subject under investigation was definitely wrong with a silent W.

So why had it felt so right?

She walked into her bedroom and tossed the book on her night stand, glad it hadn't been there last night. She wouldn't have noticed the book in time to hide it because all she'd been able to think about was Grady.

She ran her hand over the pillow where his head had rested and drew in a deep breath. She could still smell his clean, woodsy scent, which could be why she hadn't made the bed.

He and Gordo had been gone when she awakened that morning, the meaning of which she might have obsessed over if not for the note on her kitchen table.

Hated to leave but had an early meeting
, it read.
Will call later. G.

As far as love notes went, it was lacking. The inferred meaning, though, was clear. He'd left because he had to, not because he wanted to. And he'd done as she asked and taken Gordo, which said more than his note.

The anticipation of his call made her whole body tingle, though not nearly as violently as it had last night when he'd whispered what he intended to do to her in her ear.

Yes, it had probably been wrong to sleep with the man she had under investigation. But the case wouldn't last forever. If things worked out between them, he needn't ever know she'd been hired to follow him.

As a precaution, she picked up the paperback and put it under her bed. No sense in taking any unnecessary chances.

The phone rang. The cordless receiver that belonged on her bedside night stand was off the cradle again so she dashed for the phone in the kitchen.

"Hello," she said, not bothering to hide her eagerness. She hadn't hid it last night either.

A whispery voice came over the line. A female voice. Definitely not Grady's except familiar. Of course. Her client.

"Ms. M? Is that you?"

The caller said something unintelligible in response.

"If that's you, Ms. M, please speak up. I can't hear you."

"This is Ms. M." Her voice, louder now, still sounded furtive. "Can you talk, Jane?"

Tori closed her eyes. It was no use trying to convince Ms. M she was no Jane Bond.

"You're calling my home number," Tori said, sure that Eddie had provided it. "Nobody's here but me."

Silence came over the line. "Aren't you going to ask if I can talk?"

The question hadn't occurred to Tori. "Are you someplace you can't be overheard?"

"Yes." Ms. M dispensed with the whisper in favor of the murmur. "I'm in my office. It's private."

Where, Tori wondered, might her office be?

"I'm sure it's not bugged," Ms. M added, another thing that hadn't occurred to Tori. "So let me have it."

"Let you have what?"

"The skinny. The dope. The lowdown."

"Excuse me?"

Tori heard Ms. M sigh. "What did you find out about the subject?"

That he likes to make love with the woman on top
, Tori thought.
That he goes crazy when you nibble his ear lobe.

"Not much," Tori said. "It's only been a few days since I talked to you."

“But Detective Sassenbury said you made contact with the subject." Ms. M's disappointment traveled across the phone line like a living thing.

Had she ever made contact.

"That's true," Tori said. "I, um, met him the night of Mayor Black's party, and I've seen him a couple times since. The investigation is still in the preliminary stages."

"Surely you've formed some impressions," Ms. M said. "Tell me this. Do you think he's an honest man?"

Yes
, her heart screamed. That constituted opinion, not fact, so she kept it to herself.

"Particularly in his business dealings," Ms. M specified. "It's important I know whether he can be trusted."

"I don't have a good handle on his business yet," Tori said. "I do know he seems to be a favorite with city officials and that his company's in contention to get the contract to build the new community center."

"That's interesting," Ms. M said, "especially in light of the gossip surrounding Seahaven City Hall."

What gossip?, Tori wondered. She couldn't risk sounding out of the loop.

"True," she said. "True."

"Gossip is all it is at this point. Nobody knows for certain that anybody is taking payoffs."

Tori's jaw dropped. This area of investigation hadn't occurred to her. It should have, considering Ms. M had hired Eddie's detective agency to discover what kind of man Grady was.

"Of course, there's no reason for anybody to bribe the subject,” Ms. M said. “He'd be on the other side of the transaction."

Tori mutely shook her head, refusing to believe Grady doled out bribe money to secure contracts. "He doesn't seem the sort," she told Ms. M.

"That's opinion," Ms. M said curtly. "I learned long ago not to put stock in anything besides fact. You need to investigate his dealings with city officials and find out whether they're on the up and up."

The heated talk she'd witnessed Grady having with Pete Aiken at the mayor's party came back to her. Combined with Grady's willingness to take the blame for the golf ball that had nearly felled the mayor, something about it had bothered her.

"That's what I was planning to do next," Tori said, although the thought hadn't occurred to her.

"Oh, goody. Tell me how you'll go about it. I just love stuff like this." Ms. M sounded as though she were rubbing her hands together in glee.

Think
, Tori extolled herself.

"I may have to infiltrate City Hall," she said. There. That sounded suitably impressive.

"How?" Ms. M asked.

Tori rolled her eyes. How did she know?

"No, wait. Don't tell me. Let me guess." Ms. M's voice grew excited. "Oh, oh, I've got it. You're going to get a job at City Hall so you can work there undercover."

A job? It wasn't a bad idea, especially because the chatty City Councilman at the mayor's party had informed her an opening existed in secretarial. But the lack of a job is what had landed Tori in this mess so it was a stretch to imagine she'd be able to get one now. Unless. . .

"That's exactly what I'm going to do," she told Ms. M.

From the noises on the other end of the line, it sounded as though the other woman were clapping.

After Tori hung up, she looked up the phone number for City Hall.

She didn't seriously believe Grady was involved in illegal dealings but needed to rule out the possibility now that Ms. M had raised it.

She ignored the nagging, internal voice that claimed Ms. M wouldn't have paid to have Grady investigated if there were nothing to find.

Ms. M was obviously a businesswoman. She dressed as if she had money and had placed her last call from a private office. Maybe Ms. M needed a builder and didn't want to commit to hiring Palmer Construction until she was sure the company's dealings were aboveboard.

Then she would have hired Sassenbury Investigations to look into the company
, the little voice said,
not the man
.

"Shut up," she told the little voice.

Grady was a good man. She felt it. She
knew
it. And now she might be able to prove it.

She dialed the mayor's office and identified herself. Within a moment, Honoria Black came on the line.

"Mayor Black, it's Tori Whitley. Remember when you said I should call if you could ever do anything for me? I hope you were serious, because I need a job."

Lorelei held the bag of Lazenby products she'd bought at the Macy's cosmetics counter with her left hand as she strode through the store. Over her right arm was the requisite little black dress she'd found in the women's department.

She had other black dresses. What fashion-conscious young woman didn't? None of the others were backless, which had made this dress a must have.

Her high heels clicking on the shiny, white floor and her mind full of the sexy way she'd looked in the dress, she strode through the store with the confidence that came from familiarity.

Her head swiveled from side to side, checking for new merchandise, forever on the lookout for that certain something she couldn't do without.

Thanks to corporate America's greatest consumer tool — the credit card — she seldom denied herself. Count her as grateful the banks never asked for more than a minimum monthly payment.

The children's department occupied the rear of the store, next to the exit leading to the parking garage. The racks of tiny clothing usually served as Lorelei's signal to pick up the pace.

She accelerated, glancing toward the clothes only out of sheer habit. A darling green dress, its hem and neckline decorated with tiny daisies, halted her forward progress.

She veered, not stopping until she got to the miniature dress. She set down her bag of cosmetics and fingered the material, a soft cotton that would feel luxurious against the skin. The dress also came in a pale yellow that reminded her of hot buttered popcorn.

"Have you ever seen anything more precious than that dress? A bit pricey, I know, but well worth the cost."

Lorelei hadn't been aware of the saleslady's approach until the woman stood next to her. She looked to be in her thirties, with a practiced smile and a killer dress Lorelei remembered seeing on sale last month in career clothing.

The cloth of the child's dress slid through Lorelei's fingers, along with the price tag at which she hadn't glanced.

"Who is it for?" the saleslady asked.

"Oh, no," Lorelei said. "You don't understand. I was just. . . It's not for. . ."

She clamped her mouth shut, mildly surprised she couldn't communicate to the saleslady that she didn't have anyone in mind.

She started to explain again, only to be stopped by a mental vision of two tiny green-eyed, blond girls wearing the dresses.

"They're for my boyfriend's twin daughters. They're three and about the same size as that little girl over there." She indicated a small girl clutching onto her mother's skirt. "Help me decide on a size, and I'll take two of them. One in green, one in yellow."

Lorelei added tiny white purses, frilly white socks and pretty green-and-yellow barrettes to her purchases.

She felt quite smug by the time she pulled up to the immaculate ranch-style house where Wade Morrison lived with his adorable daughters.

If I was as self-absorbed as he claimed
, she thought as she gathered up the packages and slammed the car door,
I never would have bought gifts for his girls.