STOLEN MOMENTS

by Michelle Martin

  "Ah, now where are our manners?" cried the burly blond with every appearance of distress. "Your pardon, mademoiselle. I am Desmond Farrar."

  "And I," said the beefy brunette, "am Louis Mercer. We are very pleased to make your acquaintance."

  She gazed up at this Tweedledum and Tweedledee of the Thug Set with growing amusement. Leave it to the French to manufacture polite goons. "Charmed, I'm sure," she said with a wry grin. "What do you guys want?"

  "It is simplicity itself," Desmond assured her.

  "A trifling matter, really," said Louis.

  "We want only to know the whereabouts of Monsieur Duncan Lang," said Desmond.

  "An address would be most welcome," said Louis.

  Warning bells began clanging rhythmically in Harley's head. "But I don't know where he lives."

  "You misunderstand us, mademoiselle," Louis said. "We know where he lives."

  "We had hoped to have a private conversation with him last night," Desmond said.

  "But Monsieur Lang objected," Louis said.

  Harley stared at him. Good God, had they been brawling with Duncan?

  "That is why we have come to you," Louis said.

  "We want to know where he is currently staying," Desmond said.

  "But I don't know that either," Harley said.

  Desmond glanced at Louis. "She professes ignorance."

  "It is most disappointing," said Louis.

  Desmond sadly regarded Harley. "I fear we must impose ourselves on your company until you do know, mademoiselle."

  Harley stared haplessly up at the muscular duo before her. "But I'm telling the truth! I've only known Duncan for a little more than three days. I have no idea who his friends are or where he might stay if he isn't at his apartment. Honest!"

  Desmond shook his head. "Such an innocent face to hide so many falsehoods."

  "The world is a melancholy place, mon ami," Louis said sympathetically.

  "Mademoiselle," said Desmond with decision, "you should know that we know your relationship with Monsieur Lang is far from casual. You kissed him last night."

  "And with an ardor we could only envy," Louis added.

  Harley blanched. "You were watching us?"

  "Alas, mademoiselle, it is our job," said Desmond. "Our employer ordered us to find, follow, and seize upon Monsieur Lang. We have failed only in the last."

  "Our employer is most displeased," said Louis.

  "Okay, I'll bite," Harley said. "Who's your employer?"

  "Armand Giscard, of course," Desmond replied.

  Harley's eyes widened. "And you all think that Duncan… The robbery…"

  "Ah oui, naturellement," Louis said.

  "But Duncan doesn't have the diamonds!"

  "He stole them only yesterday and already he has sold them?" Desmond demanded.

  "No, no, no! I mean, Duncan didn't steal the diamonds and he hasn't got them now."

  Louis regarded her with a look of horror. "Has that cochon Lang compounded his crime by lying to so fair and lovely a mademoiselle?"

  "There can be no lenience for such a man," Desmond declared.

  "But he hasn't lied to me!"

  "It grieves me that we should be the ones to reveal the perfidy of a man you have kissed with such abandon," said Louis.

  "Men were deceivers ever," Desmond sadly quoted.

  Outrage vied with amusement in Harley's breast. "Look guys, I promise you that Duncan is not the goon you want."

  "Qu'est-ce que c'est goon?" Desmond asked Louis.

  "Le scélérat," Louis explained.

  "Ah oui. He is the goon we want, mademoiselle, because he is the goon our employer wants," Desmond explained.

  "This is why we have applied to you," said Louis.

  "I see," Harley said slowly. What she saw was that she faced the very real possibility of being joined at the hip for life with Messieurs Desmond and Louis if she didn't find some way to convince them of her ignorance and fast. She also saw that Duncan was in mega-trouble and it was up to her to help him get out. How to resolve the two conflicting interests was the problem. "I'd like to help you, guys, really I would," she said. Inspiration struck. "The Hamptons!"

  "Quoi?" said Desmond and Louis as one.

  "Duncan told me only the other night that his family has a summer place in the Hamptons! Wouldn't that be the perfect place to hide out until the heat dies down?"

  Harley made a mental note to stop watching so many gangster flicks on TV, while Desmond and Louis consulted with each other in undertone French.

  "Very well, mademoiselle," Desmond finally said, "it is the hideout we had not considered. Besides, you remind Louis of his sister and naturally he wishes to believe you."

  "Marie-Louise would not lie about any matter of importance," Louis avowed.

  "I, too, am inclined to think you may have provided the information we seek. Therefore, we shall say au revoir."

  "Not adieu?" Harley asked hopefully.

  "I fear not," Desmond replied.

  "It is possible," said Louis, "that if we do not find him first, Monsieur Lang will seek you out, and in that case…"

  "You will meet us again," Desmond concluded. "If you should see Monsieur Lang before we do, please give him a message for us."

  "Tell him," Louis said, "that if he returns the diamonds to us today, we will let him live."

  Harley shivered a little as the two French thugs bowed and set off down Church Street

  . She watched them go, feeling like she was in a convoluted French avant-garde film without subtitles. What a mess! It was definitely time to call in the cavalry.

  She ran back into the hotel and up to her room. The phone was in her hand before her door had even finished closing.

  "Colangco International, Duncan Lang's office," Emma announced.

  "Emma! This is Harley Miller. Duncan's in trouble."

  "How do you know that?" Emma demanded.

  "Because I was just accosted by two French goons who are looking for him."

  "Oh my God, are you all right?"

  "I'm fine," Harley assured her. "But these two guys … they looked like they'd been in a fight. Is Duncan all right?"

  "They jumped him last night, but he managed to get away. He's fine, except he is not going to be happy that you've been involved in this mess."

  "He's not?" Harley said, oddly cheered by this statement.

  "No. And neither am I. We'd better bring you in."

  "What do you mean by 'bring me in'?" Harley demanded suspiciously.

  "We need to hide you until this mess is resolved."

  "No way!"

  "Harley—"

  "I just got out of one prison and I refuse to be put into another. Besides, I'm not in any danger."

  "But those two French goons—"

  "Like me."

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. "And why shouldn't they?" Emma finally said.

  "Besides, I sent them off to the Hamptons."

  "You sent them to…?"

  "The Hamptons. Duncan told me the Langs have a summer house there. Desmond and Louis wanted to look for Duncan and I figured that was just as good a place as any to get them out of his hair for a while."

  "You know their names?" Emma said in disbelief.

  "They introduced themselves. They're really very sweet for thugs."

  Emma was laughing on the other end of the line. "Oh, this'll kill Duncan."

  "Oh God," Harley cried in sudden agony, "what if he really has gone to the Hamptons? I've set him up!"

  "He hasn't and you haven't. So take some deep cleansing breaths and relax."

  "Deep breaths. Right. Got it."

  An authoritative rap distracted her. "Look, Emma, someone's at the door. I've got to go. Are you sure Duncan's all right?"

  "As rain. Check in later, in case we find out anything on Boyd Monroe."

  "Okay," Harley said. She hung up and stared at the phone for a moment. This was not the holiday she had planned.


  Someone knocked on her door again.

  "Coming!" she called. She walked across the room and peered through the door's tiny peephole. Nausea filled her mouth. Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled open the door. "Hello, Boyd."

  He stood before her in his cowboy boots, slacks, and sports coat, but he seemed shorter than she remembered him, smaller.

  "You look like a whore!" he exploded.

  "Donna Karan would disagree," Harley retorted, her heart pounding blood through her veins in rapid-fire beats.

  His eyes widened. "And you've butchered your hair! Didn't you learn anything these last nine years?"

  "Actually, I learned a lot," Harley replied, shaking inside. "Do you want to come in, or would you rather stand in the hall and insult me so everyone can hear?"

  Surprise and sudden uncertainty lit his steel gray eyes. He stalked past her into the room. Hands trembling, she closed the door behind him. She turned to find him glaring at her.

  "It's time to stop this nonsense," he announced. "You're behaving no better than a five-year-old running away from home and playing dress-up. You're destroying your career, I hope you realize that. And what about your mother? She calls me in tears every day. Haven't you even thought about what you're doing to her? My God, when she sees you like this, they'll have to sedate her!"

  "That's enough, Boyd," Harley stated, anger replacing fear. "One more word and I'll call hotel security to throw you out on your ear."

  He started to say something, and then stopped. "You're right. I'm sorry." Harley stared at him in amazement. Those were four words he'd never said to her in all the nine years they'd worked together. "I've just been so damned worried about you," he continued, "that seeing you looking like this is a bit of a shock."

  That, Harley was certain, was an understatement.

  "Didn't Colby Lang reassure you about my good health and well-being?"

  "I'm your manager, Jane. I'm practically your father. I had to see for myself."

  "Okay. So now you've seen me and I haven't got any tattoos, pierced my nose, or shacked up with a Hell's Angel. So why don't you just head out to Los Angeles and soak up some sun and relaxation for a few days? I'll join you in a week or so."

  "No!" Boyd said sharply. He took a deep breath and forcibly unclenched his hands. "No, I want to be close at hand in case you need me."

  "I'm doing just fine on my own, Boyd. That's one of the many things you were wrong about."

  He adopted the fake sheepish smile she had always hated on him. "I know. I've been bullheaded and blind and that's really why I'm here, Jane. I want you to come back to the Ritz with me."

  "The name is Harley and the answer is no."

  He took a step closer and she felt it then—a tension wiring his body that had never been there before. "Look, I promise not to interfere in the rest of this vacation of yours. I'll be strictly hands-off. Go anywhere, do whatever you want. Just give me the peace of mind of having you nearby every night. I've been wrong about a lot of things, J—Harley, but I think you owe me that much at least."

  Her heart was hammering in her throat. Where was the harm in staying at the Ritz instead of the Millenium? Boyd was right, she owed him a lot, at the least peace of mind.

  But her intestines were twisting in her belly and her mind was screaming, No! Don't give in. Don't give up your freedom.

  Her heart began bruising her ribs again. "Sorry, Boyd. I can't. I mean, I won't. I'm nearly twenty-seven. It's time to cut the umbilical cord."

  "Dammit Jane—I mean, Harley—" he growled, his face dark with anger, "all I'm asking you to do is park your suitcases back where they belong."

  "They belong here or at the Motel Six or anywhere I choose to take them."

  Steel gray eyes bored into her. "This is unacceptable, young woman!"

  In the past, that phrase had always killed every plan, every argument, every rebellion. It was shocking to Harley how pitiful and powerless it sounded now.

  "It may be unacceptable to you, Boyd," she retorted, "but it's what I want and it's what I choose." She walked to the door and opened it. "Goodbye, Boyd, see you in ten days in Los Angeles."

  "Harley—"

  "Get out, Boyd," she commanded and watched, not even amazed, when he obeyed without another word.

  She closed the door after him and let the shaking take over for a moment. Wrapping her arms around herself, she made it to the end of the bed and sat down.

  She couldn't quite take it in. Boyd had threatened her, and she had held firm. She had even thrown him out. Where had that kind of strength and determination come from? Were Annie and Duncan right? Had these things always been a part of her? Had it really taken great strength to survive Boyd's rule these last nine years?

  She began to think so. She remembered all of the praise Duncan had given her for walking out into Manhattan alone on Sunday night and realized she deserved it. She had escaped Jane Miller, she had fended off Duncan's once-in-a-lifetime protective streak, she had stood up to a couple of French thugs, and now she had taken a stand with the man who had controlled every second of her life … and she'd won.

  Somehow an alchemy had taken place in the five days since she'd left the Ritz-Carlton. She was a very different woman from that desperate girl. She deserved a personal-growth reward, and a banana split wasn't near good enough.

  So she caught a bus to the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Fifth Avenue

  . But all through the museum, she found herself looking over her shoulder and into corners, expecting to see Boyd or Desmond and Louis watching her. But she saw only tourists and bored kids from a dozen different countries and beautiful artwork she had to force herself to enjoy.

  She gave up after an hour and walked down Madison Avenue as she had always dreamed. She strolled past the gray bunker that was the Whitney Museum, sitting with great solemnity and sense of artistic purpose amidst all the bright colors and high-end frivolity of dozens of tiny world-class signature boutiques: Versace, Chanel, Gucci, Yves Saint Laurent. This would be so much more fun if Duncan was at her side making wry comments about the haute dignity of establishments that were, when you came right down to it, just some stores peddling a product and trying to make a buck.

  Duncan. He had been attacked last night by two thugs who had not been charming to him. He had been attacked… Harley forced herself to breathe. He was fine, he was safe, he was working, and she should not be thinking about him. She most definitely should not be wanting his company. She was supposed to be exploring freedom. She wasn't supposed to be dwelling on the way his eyes had looked as they had stared at each other last night in the hotel hallway. After all, she was averse to holiday flings.

  Harley gazed unseeing at one of the displays in the amazing stone Loire Valley mansion that housed the Polo shop on the corner of East Seventy-second and Madison Avenue. She had kissed a goodly number of boys in school, but Duncan had shown her what a difference a man could make. She had loved molding herself to his hard body last night in the Millenium's hallway. She had loved the feel of his heart pounding against hers, and the way she had fit so perfectly between his strong legs, and the heat that had shimmered through her body as his mouth moved hungrily against hers.

  "Oh, stop it!" she hissed at herself, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. "Stop wanting what you should not have."

  Maybe if she'd just pulled Duncan into her room and into her bed last night, she would have gotten him out of her system and wouldn't be obsessing about him now. Except she had the most awful feeling that Duncan wasn't the kind of lover she could get out of her system.

  She glanced at her watch. Almost noon. She had promised Emma she'd check in. Now was just as good a time to call as later, and she wasn't making any excuses to talk to Duncan. She wasn't.

  She didn't even bother trying to pretend she was convinced. She just pulled his card from her purse and looked around for a pay phone.

  "Great timing!" Emma cheerfully greeted her. "Duncan wants to meet with you this afternoon in
the office around two o'clock. We need some help."

  "His office? Isn't that the first place Desmond and Louis will look?"

  "It is, they have, and you were right: they are kind of sweet. A little peeved about their wild-goose chase to the Hamptons this morning—apparently they don't like helicopters—but nice. More importantly, this is a high-security building and a higher-security office. Duncan will be just fine … as long as he stays out of Colby's way. You'd think a father would be happy the police had substantiated his son's alibi."

  "So, Duncan's in the clear on the diamond case?"

  "Well, I got the impression the police are still suspicious, but they are looking elsewhere."

  "I wish Desmond and Louis would do the same."

  "I dunno. I think I might miss them. They kind of grow on you after a while."

  They kept growing on Harley too. After she hung up the phone, she thought she saw them standing before the austere Calvin Klein cathedral, and then she thought she saw them looking at some ghastly paintings of clowns and the ocean and John Wayne an artist had set up on the iron rail fencing along the sidewalk as she turned up East Fifty-ninth Street to walk to Fifth Avenue.

  But, of course, it wasn't them.

  She stared at the Waldorf Astoria, gold eagles glimmering in the sunlight, feeling unsettled and jumpy and way too close to the Ritz-Carlton—and Boyd—for comfort.

  It finally occurred to her that this was her holiday and she could do as she damn well pleased. Where she wanted to be was the Sentinel Building with Duncan and she didn't care if she was two hours early. She began striding down Fifth Avenue

  , ignoring Bergdorf Goodman and Tiffany's. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

  "Hey," she said, walking into Emma's office, a little breathless from her walk.

  Emma looked up from a computer screen crammed with numbers. "Hey, yourself. You're early."

  "I'm sorry. I don't mind waiting. Who's the cutie?" she asked, leaning against Emma's desk and nodding at the framed picture of a very studious young man.

  "My fiancé, Lam Ying."

  "You're engaged?"

  "Got the ring and everything," Emma smugly replied, flashing a small emerald at Harley.

  "When's the wedding?"

  "The day after I get my long overdue promotion and raise."