STOLEN MOMENTS

by Michelle Martin

  "Brandon, Miss Miller understands that I'm the man she wants investigating her manager," Duncan retorted. "End of story. Besides, aren't you going to be up to your eyeballs trying to solve the Giscard case?"

  "Well, sure, but—"

  "You'll be busy too, Dad," Duncan rolled on. "That leaves me to handle the Miller case. Now, if you would both get the hell out of my office, I'd like to get started."

  Colby stormed from Duncan's office, slamming the door with such fury that Emma and Harley both jumped. Without even glancing at them, he stalked past the two women and out into the hallway. Brandon, far more quietly, walked out of his brother's office. Harley stared at him, dumbstruck.

  He was beautiful! He looked like a Greek god carved from golden marble.

  "Rough morning," he said to Emma in a voice disturbingly similar to Duncan's.

  "So I gathered," she replied.

  He raised an inquiring brow.

  "This is Miss Harley Jane Miller," Emma explained. "Miss Miller, this is one of Colangco's senior vice presidents, Brandon Lang."

  "Hi," Harley managed.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Miller," Brandon said, taking her hand. She stared at it in surprise. Nothing. She felt nothing. "I'm a big fan," he continued. "I understand you've hired Colangco to help you with a business matter."

  "Yes."

  "I'm sure we'll give you every satisfaction." Brandon looked back at Emma. "Keep the press away from Duncan."

  "Right."

  With a smile at Harley, Brandon walked out the door.

  "Wow," Harley said when the door had closed behind him."

  "The Lang genes are pretty amazing," Emma agreed.

  Harley glanced at Duncan's door. "Should we?"

  "Yes. He's probably feeling like Custer at the Little Bighorn just now. It might help if he knows he's not entirely surrounded by hostiles."

  Harley tapped lightly on the door and the two walked in to find Duncan with his back to them as he stared out his corner office windows at the East River.

  "Helluva way to start the day," Harley said lightly.

  Duncan turned and, to her complete surprise, smiled. "You only say that because you've never woken up after a nightlong revel of Singers and sexually rambunctious skiers. I gather you got the gist of my morning meeting?"

  "It was kind of hard to miss," Harley said apologetically.

  "Much as I hate to say it, Duncan, the robbery had to be an inside job," Emma said quietly as she leaned against the glass conference table. "Someone on our end—"

  "Or Giscard's," Duncan pointed out. "But you're right, Em. The problem is, too many people knew how those diamonds were going to be transported from the airport to the museum. There's a lot of suspects to look over. The cops are going to have their hands full."

  "You're going to leave your exoneration up to the police?" Harley demanded in disbelief.

  "I'm going to let the police find the real thief or thieves, which will in the end exonerate me," Duncan corrected her. "That's their job, after all. Besides, any hand I might take in the case now would only look suspicious."

  "Trying to cover your tracks," Emma said, nodding knowledgeably.

  "Exactly, my dear Watson. I know I'm innocent and I have complete faith in New York's finest, so there's really nothing to worry about. Come on, let's get to work on Boyd Monroe. We can at least do something about him."

  For the next hour, Harley let Duncan and Emma grill her about her world tour. But all the while she was puzzling over Duncan, wondering how he could be so calm after being betrayed by his family, and after the police had basically accused him of masterminding the robbery, and after having his life threatened by a representative of the French mob. Had he had his nerves surgically removed? Was his skin that tough? Was his heart that hardened?

  She finally left Colangco to catch a Grayline bus tour of downtown and midtown Manhattan. Then she planned to buy a theater ticket, have lunch, and head back to her hotel to pick up her guitar. She'd make a quick stop at Manny's Music to buy some blank sheet music, and then spend the rest of the day making music. Dinner at the Rainbow Room, then The Importance of Being Earnest at the St. James Theater.

  It was a good plan, tight, compact, fitting the maximum amount of tourist and musical activity into the least amount of time. The only problem was, she felt guilty just walking out of the Sentinel Building. Duncan was in trouble, big trouble. She couldn't just wander off and make like a tourist and pretend nothing was wrong.

  He's a grown man, he's a trained professional, Harley reminded herself as she walked toward Eighth Avenue and the Grayline bus terminal. He can take care of himself.

  She said this to herself several times.

  Damn Duncan Lang! She wasn't supposed to be worrying about him, she was supposed to be enjoying her holiday! He had intruded into her plans, her thoughts, and her emotions almost from the first moment she had left the Ritz-Carlton and it just wasn't fair. She was supposed to be alone in Manhattan, the kid herself, enjoying her first adult adventure, and instead she had Duncan Lang, or his ghost, forcing himself onto her awareness, into her days, and through her dreams at night.

  This was not the stuff of freedom. It wasn't her concern that his family made ogres look good. There was nothing she could do about the fact that he was suspected of stealing a million dollars' worth of diamonds. It was also sheer stupidity to be attracted to a man who made Errol Flynn look like John-Boy Walton.

  To think that she had been mooning over the man—yes, mooning—late last night when she could have been writing songs or making music or trying to figure out her future.

  She had only known him a little more than two days—okay, two terrific days—but the point was, he shouldn't have crept under her skin like this. She was not some empty-headed, hormone-driven, spine-deficient, tongue-tied, pimply-faced, man-besotted teenager. She was a woman. A free and independent woman with a mission to enjoy the next week and a half. She was not about to let some man interfere with something she had worked so hard and risked so much to get. It was stupid. It stopped here and now.

  She bought her tour ticket and climbed to the top of the red double-decker Grayline bus and made herself be present as the bus drove past Herald Square and the Woolworth Building and through Soho. By the time it reached verdant Battery Park, Duncan Lang and his ghost were nowhere to be found and Harley felt just fine. And proud of herself. She'd done it. She'd taken the day back for herself.

  When the bus finally returned to its terminal, she dropped a few dollars into the tip bucket, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and headed for the St. James Theater. It was an almost ten-block walk, but she wanted to stretch her legs and, if she cut down to Seventh Avenue, she'd have plenty to see. Late July with its heat and humidity was not supposed to be the height of tourist season in New York, but someone had failed to tell the thousands of people crowding the sidewalks. Harley strode happily through the throngs, loving the energy rising up from the sidewalk, and all the colors and types of people, and the fast-food joints mixed in with renowned comedy clubs, hotels, and theaters.

  "I love this town," Harley murmured as she swung past Times Square and a towering billboard of Travis Garnett, rock and roll's newest superstar. She stuck her tongue out at Jane Miller's equally towering billboard. Harley was free and independent and to hell with her alter ego. She turned right onto West Forty-fourth Street

  and walked up to the St. James Theater and the ticket booth just inside the lobby as if she were an old hand at this sort of thing. "I'd like one orchestra seat for tonight, please," she informed the ticket seller through the box window as she opened her purse.

  Duncan ducked his head into the window beside her. "Two seats, actually."

  It was a bad shock. Harley jerked back. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  His mask of innocence was far from convincing. "I've been wanting to see this revival of The Importance of Being Earnest since it opened. I hear Hugh Grant is great. But then, he always is.
Two, please," he said to the ticket seller.

  "One, please," Harley countered, glaring at Duncan. "How did you even know I'd be here?"

  "You showed me your itinerary the other day."

  "And you memorized it?"

  Duncan shrugged. "Comes with the job. Two tickets, please."

  "You can't see a show tonight," Harley indignantly informed him. "You've been accused of theft and you've been hired to figure out what Boyd is up to."

  "An evening at the theater is the perfect way to take my mind off of petty distractions. Even Sherlock Holmes indulged in leisure activities when he was working on a case. Two, please," he said to the ticket seller.

  "I only brought enough money for one ticket," Harley stated.

  "That's okay. I have enough money for two," Duncan said, handing the ticket seller two hundred-dollar bills. She handed him the tickets and three twenties back. "There we are," he said brightly, tucking the tickets and change into his wallet, "our evening's entertainment is all settled. And now to lunch."

  "What lunch?"

  "Our lunch."

  "You are assuming way too much," Harley grimly informed him as they walked back out to the sidewalk.

  "Isn't it after twelve?"

  "Yes."

  "Aren't you hungry?"

  "Yes."

  "Ergo, lunch."

  "But not with you," Harley retorted. "This is my holiday, remember? Not yours, not ours, mine. It's a solo effort."

  "But you're my client. I'm responsible for you."

  "I'm a grown woman. I'm responsible for myself."

  "As my client—"

  "As your employer," Harley countered, "I get to tell you what to do and what not to do and I'm telling you now to find some other lunch companion."

  "But I need to run something by you."

  "Then run it by me here."

  "A restaurant would be more comfortable."

  But Harley had dug in her heels, liked the feel of it, and was having none of his winsome smiles. "Here or not at all. Your choice."

  Duncan sighed heavily and pulled a folded computer printout from his coat pocket. "Here's what we got on your bank records. Does anything seem out of kilter to you?"

  Harley scanned what turned out to be a pretty detailed account of her different checking, savings, credit card, IRA, and miscellaneous financial accounts designed to protect her as much as possible from the tax man. "It pretty much jibes with last month's report," she said.

  "Including the two very large deposits this month?"

  "Proceeds from the tour. Nothing looks the least bit out of kilter."

  "Damn. I was hoping Boyd was skimming something off the top. It would have made this job so much easier."

  "I thought you longed for challenge in your work."

  "I do. There's a lot going on under the Boyd Monroe surface. Financial malfeasance would have been just the tip of the iceberg, but at least it would have been a start, something we still don't have."

  "You'll come up with something," Harley said soothingly. "Look how easy it was for you to come up with an excuse to waylay me in the middle of my schedule."

  Duncan raised an inquiring black brow.

  "You could have asked me about my financial records when I checked in with you at the end of the day," Harley continued. "I've spent too many years being watched over and protected from life like I was some fragile china doll not to recognize the signs now. I can take care of myself, Duncan Lang."

  "Who said you couldn't?"

  "Don't run that number on me! You've scarcely let me out of your sight since you accosted me at Manny's Music, and today, when you have so much more that should be occupying your thoughts and your time, you drop everything to buy a theater ticket and have lunch with me. I am telling you to stop it."

  Duncan sighed heavily. "I thought I was being so subtle."

  "Oh, you're light years ahead of Boyd Monroe, but that isn't saying much."

  "Ouch!" Duncan said, cringing. "You are a handful, Harley Jane Miller."

  "How wonderfully condescending of you to say so."

  Duncan cringed again. "You have no idea the opportunity you are blowing. I have never felt protective about anyone in my life. This is a one-time offer only. It'll be something to tell your grandkids."

  Harley sighed as a grin crinkled the corners of her mouth. There he went again, shifting her emotional gears in mid-heartbeat. "Grown-up women do not need protection, and I am growing up remarkably fast." She held up a hand to forestall the argument hovering on his lips. "Courtesy I grant you and I appreciate, but overprotectiveness is just insulting."

  Duncan scowled. "Does this mean I don't get to see The Importance of Being Earnest tonight?"

  It occurred to Harley that she was battling an irresistible force, and losing, and wasn't anywhere near as upset about that as she should be.

  "Of course you can come to the play tonight." She held up one hand to stop him before he started. "I'll meet you in the theater lobby at seven forty-five."

  * * *

  At six-thirty that evening, Harley sat alone at a table for two in the Rainbow Room fending off vertigo as she looked through the plate glass windows and down sixty-five stories to the streets below. She hastily looked around the restaurant to recenter herself, loving its art deco elegance and expecting Fred and Ginger to take to the circular dance floor at any moment. But she wasn't happy.

  She was dining alone at a table for two when what she really wanted was Duncan Lang seated across the table from her complaining that debauchery wasn't all it's cracked up to be, or telling some silky story about a man he had met at a Kenyan tea party, or stealing her breath with that look she had seen more and more in his black eyes, a look that boldly declared that he saw a woman he wanted to take to bed … repeatedly.

  Her hand stilled on her water glass as she realized that she was a woman whose subconscious had been wanting exactly the same thing from the first moment she had crashed into him.

  Here she was in the world-famous Rainbow Room, with couples all around her talking quietly or laughing or dancing to the music, and she was feeling sexual again, and like a full-fledged woman for the first time in her life, and she wasn't at all sure she should do anything about it. Lust and longing were not on her itinerary. She was supposed to be spreading her wings, not looking for a holiday fling. Harley frowned. Duncan had made no secret of the fact that he was a man who had enjoyed many a delightful fling over the years, but she didn't want to have a fling with him. She wasn't sure what she wanted from Duncan, but she was certain it wasn't that.

  "Ah hell," she muttered. No fling meant no kissing, and she was beginning to obsess on just what it would feel like to be kissed by Duncan Lang. And to kiss him back.

  * * *

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  « ^ »

  All in all, Duncan thought, it had been a good day. Oh sure, he was now the chief suspect in a million-dollar diamond robbery, his family had turned their backs on him, and he had come up empty after spending nearly eight hours digging through Boyd Monroe's bank records. But still, he hadn't been arrested, his family hadn't thrown him out into the street, he had actually had something interesting to work on all day long, and he was about to sit beside Harley Jane Miller at one of his Top Five favorite plays.

  It was a very good day.

  He walked into the lobby of the St. James Theater fifteen minutes before curtain time. The ten-deep crowd melted away. He saw Harley, only Harley, as she stood against the far right wall, dressed in a sleeveless midnight blue gown that molded itself all the way down her delectable body to her ankles. Not too thin, not too lush.

  "Perfect," he murmured. It was a surprise to find he had to wade through a sea of bodies before he could finally stand before her, loving the shock to every nerve in his body when her turquoise blue eyes met his, feeling her smile as if it were a caress.

  When had any woman had this kind of impact on him?

  "Hi," she said, almost shyly, it seemed.<
br />
  "Hello, yourself," he replied. He gave in to temptation and reached out to let his fingers slide through her short brown hair. Oh, how he loved to touch this woman! She was becoming positively addictive. "You look wonderful. Ready to go in?"

  "I can't wait," she replied a little breathlessly.

  He was feeling pretty breathless himself. He sat beside her in the theater, drinking in her laughter and melding it to his own. She was life—sweet, vibrant, life. Her laughter was infectious. Her gasps at Wilde's brilliant use of language made it seem that much more scintillating. She radiated delight as she sat beside him and he drank it in. He'd been denied delight for too long.

  "Oh, that was wonderful!" she exclaimed when the final curtain call had been taken and the house lights had come up. "I want to see it again!"

  "Done. But you buy the tickets this time," he said as he took her hand and began to pull her toward the aisle. How he loved holding Harley's hand. These last few days, it had become absolutely necessary to his well-being. "Tired?" he asked as they made it to the aisle and became a part of the slow river of people moving out to the lobby.

  She shook her head, short hair silky in the light. "Energized," she retorted. "I want to see every play on Broadway now."

  They pushed through the lobby and out into the warm night air and West Forty-fourth Street

  . They turned right with most of the crowd and began slowly strolling toward Broadway.

  "I can't believe you live in New York and hadn't even seen The Importance of Being Earnest yet," she said. "What do you do with your nights?" Even in the shadows, he could see her sudden blush. "Sorry! I didn't mean to pry."

  It was very hard to stop laughing. "Well, well, well, don't you have a vivid imagination," he teased. "Unfortunately, reality falls far short. I've worked late, attended interminable family dinners, made the rounds of Mother's stultifying society parties, and escorted the boring daughters of her even more boring friends to a variety of restaurants, clubs, and charity events."