by Mia Dymond
“Bailey,” she mumbled as she took a moment to take in the voice behind the intercom.
God, he was tall – at least an inch or two over six feet – and built like a mountain. Broad shoulders, trim waist and hips, and muscled thighs that topped equally muscled legs. Dressed in a navy blue short-sleeved t-shirt that hugged his chest and denim jeans, he didn’t appear bothered by her arrival – at least, not enough to tie her up and interrogate her. His black combat boots were the only clue to the mystery behind the man. Military-issue for sure.
She tilted her head to look into his gaze, the same blue as hers and currently focused intently back at her. Although they held warmth at this point in time, something told her he could use that same gaze to see right through her.
“Bailey,” he said smoothly. “I’m Ice.”
She nodded and cleared her throat. “I’m here to see Grace, remember?”
“I remember.” His lips split into a grin and her panties nearly slid down her legs.
“Is she here?”
He nodded. “She’s with Harvard.”
“Harvard?”
“The victim. Come on back.”
He led the way down a short hallway and then stopped in front of an open doorway. Another beefy, good-looking man sat behind a desk with his gaze focused on a computer monitor.
Ice made the introduction. “Captain, this is Bailey King. Bailey, meet Diesel.”
When the man stood and rounded the desk, she noticed a slight limp before he stopped and offered a hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss King.”
“Bailey,” she corrected while she forced her gaze upward again. Geez, these guys were tall and polite. “Are you okay?”
Diesel nodded. “Hazard of the job.” He glanced at Ice. “They’re in the conference room.”
“Thanks.” Ice grasped her elbow and urged her back into the hallway. Several steps later, they stopped and she released a breath of relief.
“Grace!” She rushed to her friend’s side. “Thank God you’re safe!”
Grace gave her a smile. “I’m fine. Bailey, meet Harvard.”
The man next to Grace nodded in introduction.
Grace extended a hand to Ice. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Grace Portland.”
“Ice.” He returned the gesture and then crossed his arms over his chest, causing his pectoral muscles to bulge beneath the fabric. Bailey worked hard not to drool.
Grace turned back to her. “I’ve chalked the incident up to some impatient idiot in a hurry.”
“What incident?” Bailey caught the concern in Ice’s inquiry. Obviously, Grace and Harvard hadn’t brought him up to speed.
“Someone ran Grace off the road on her way here today,” Harvard explained.
Still caught up in her lustful appreciation of Ice’s body, Bailey blinked several times to attempt to focus when he glanced back at her. “Were you a witness?”
“No, she called me afterwards. I just wanted to assure myself that she wasn’t hurt.” She moved her gaze to Harvard, just as tall and desirable as the other two men. “I see that Grace is in good hands.”
Grace’s cheeks pinkened. “I think we’re done for the day. We should probably head home.”
“We’ll check out the car.” Ice turned and headed out of the room, obviously not expecting anyone to argue.
Bailey followed him with Grace and Harvard close behind. “I parked right beside her and I didn’t see anything.”
Once they all stood outside, she and Grace stood out of the way while the two men walked around Grace’s white compact SUV. The sunlight bounded off the sparkle in the paint as they rounded the vehicle several times.
“I don’t see anything out of place,” Ice said.
Harvard shook his head. “No dents, scratches, or scars.” He turned to Grace. “Doesn’t look like you made contact with anything. What about the engine? Did you hear any unusual noises afterwards?”
“No. There wasn’t anything unusual other than the attack. The brakes brought me to an abrupt stop and I didn’t skid or slide.” She shrugged. “I really think he just wanted me out of the way.”
The way things looked to her, Bailey agreed with Grace’s statement but the look in Harvard’s eyes told her he wouldn’t accept anything at face value.
“I’ll follow you home,” he told Grace, “just to be sure.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Harvard, but Bailey’s here. I’ll be fine.”
“No offense, Grace,” Ice drawled, “but Short Stuff here won’t be much protection.”
“I can dial the police.” Bailey ignored his teasing. “Besides, she doesn’t live too far from me.”
Ice simply shook his head. “Him or me, take your pick.”
Bailey opened her mouth to set him straight one more time when Grace jumped in.
“Wait.” Grace reached to grab Harvard’s forearm. “We didn’t discuss strategy.”
He frowned. “Strategy?”
“Yes. I’ll draw a few sketches of your newly-designed office and we can review them tomorrow.”
“We need blueprints?”
Bailey bit the side of her cheek to keep from grinning. Harvard had no idea what he was up against. Grace had strategy for everything. Ice chuckled and she planted an elbow into his ribcage.
Grace nodded. “We’ll stay more focused with a written plan.”
“You don’t want to just dig in and see what happens?”
“Not this time.”
Harvard gave Grace an unmistakable mischievous grin. “Tempted again?”
“Severely,” the other woman grumbled.
“Then it’s settled.” Harvard moved toward a sleek, black truck parked next to Bailey. “I’ll follow you both.”
***
He parked the car in the designated spot, wondering for the hundredth time why he allowed himself to become a participant in this nonsense. He released a hard sigh. The reasoning was really very simple – he had no choice and desperation pushed him to continue.
He reached into his jacket, retrieved a white handkerchief, and wiped down the interior of the vehicle. Although he wore gloves, he wanted to make absolutely sure he left nothing behind. Then, he tossed the keys underneath the seat and exited the vehicle, determined to put as much distance as possible between him and the car. Anger fueled his footsteps. If she had cooperated, his business would be complete and life would return to normal.
He walked a few more steps when his phone rang from the depths of his pants pocket. Fear coated his nerves as he glanced at the screen and then answered.
“Were you successful?”
Although the voice on the other end asked the question, he knew the expected answer – one he didn’t have. “No, she managed to evade my efforts.”
“Did you follow instructions?”
“Yes, but as I explained previously I have no experience in matters such as this.”
“I am aware of your explanation but she is more apt to cooperate with you than anyone else.”
“Maybe, but I still don’t think I’m the right guy for the job.”
“Your opinion doesn’t matter, you are to retrieve the merchandise by any means necessary.”
He read the underlying warning in the statement and knew an argument was pointless. His contact didn’t give him the opportunity anyway.
“I’ll expect to hear from you in twenty-four hours with your next move. I will not accept an excuse.”
CHAPTER THREE
The next afternoon, Grace entered her office with her tote bag on one shoulder and a stack of mail in the opposite hand and allowed the calm, serene atmosphere to chase away the remnants of her hectic day. The light grey walls and warm blue area rugs welcomed her inside while the grey and blue striped sofa offered definite relaxation. She smiled as she glanced around the room at the framed sketches of a few of her prized projects. After a hectic day, they reminded her why she had chosen her profession.
She moved toward a round, blonde oak table
in one corner and dropped her bag on top. She had about thirty minutes before she met with Harvard – just enough time to review the sketches of his office one more time and go through the mail. She flipped through the envelopes, quickly gave each a cursory glance one by one, and then returned them to the resting place. Important correspondence generally arrived by email so the lack of interest didn’t surprise her.
Until the last one remained in her grasp.
Specifically addressed to her, the soft yellow envelope suggested personal communication of some sort and curiosity pushed her to tear it open. Once she tore it open and quickly unfolded a simple piece of white paper, she realized that the contents were not at all what she expected. Her heart pounded as she read the words, cut from newspaper print and pasted to the page:
Your employer has given you something precious that belongs to me. If you do not return the piece to the location in which it belongs within forty-eight hours, I will take matters into my own hands.
More curious than fearful, she re-read the warning a second time. Your employer has given you something precious to me. She paused. Employer? That could be several people. As far as an item someone had given her, she was at a loss. No one had given her anything other than a check. Return it in forty-eight hours? The threat was almost laughable. She couldn’t return something she couldn’t identify. Still, she knew better than to ignore it.
She quickly returned the note to the envelope and then dropped it into her tote bag. Reviewing the sketches with Harvard would have to wait, they had something more important to discuss. She draped the bag over one shoulder, grabbed her car keys, and headed out of the office.
She made the drive to Watchdogs, Inc. in record time, ignoring the speed limit and blocking out the fear of being followed. Once the note was in Harvard’s hands, he would determine whether or not to worry.
The gate was already opening as she approached. She grinned. Gotta love those cameras. She tapped her fingernails against the steering wheel as she drove past, anxious to get to the bottom of things and almost convinced the letter had been mailed to her in error.
Almost, but not quite.
Harvard held open the front door as she stepped from the car.
“Hi.” He placed a soft kiss on her lips as she entered.
She returned his kiss eagerly, careful not to let her anxiety get the best of her.
“Hi,” she said as he lifted his lips.
He took her hand, braided their fingers and then led her down the hall and into his office.
“Where is everybody?”
“In the conference room, reviewing evidence.”
“Do you need to be there? We can do this later.”
He gave her a cocky grin. “I have all that evidence committed to memory. They don’t need me yet.” He took the bag off her shoulder and placed it on the sofa. “Are you ready to show me your sketches?”
“Well, yes.” She paused to take the yellow envelope from the bag. “But I need to show you something else first.”
He nodded and she handed him the envelope, grateful that he opened it and read the contents without questioning her first. When he finally lifted his gaze, the concern was unmistakable.
“When did you get this?”
“Today, in the mail.” She released a hard sigh. “It makes absolutely no sense.”
He grasped her forearm and eased her to sit on the sofa. “Let’s break it down. Are you currently working for one client?”
“No, I have several projects in the works.”
“Are your contracts confidential?”
“Absolutely. No one knows I’m working for a client unless the client provides the information or if I’m seen at the site. Even then, I won’t answer questions or provide details without the client’s consent.”
“Have any one of them given you anything out of the ordinary?”
“No.”
“We can rule me out for sure.”
She nodded. “And no one other than Diesel, Ice, and Bailey know I’m working with you.”
“Who do you think this person claims to be your employer?”
“I’m spending most of my time with Eileen McGuire at the present time. Maybe someone knows about our association.”
“But she hasn’t given you anything?”
“No.”
“Is she in a position to?”
“She’s wealthy. I suppose she could if she wanted to.”
“Do you have information about her valuables?”
“She mentioned an extensive jewelry collection, but I don’t know the particulars.”
“Could she have given something to you without your knowledge?”
Her eyes widened as his question triggered a realization. “Actually, yes. When I begin a project, the first thing I do is clear the area. Everything is packed and moved off site to my storage locker at Storage Solutions.”
“You don’t remember packing anything valuable?”
“I don’t normally do the packing and I didn’t in her case. She packed the boxes and I hired a moving company to deliver them to storage.” She tilted her head to one side. “Should I be worried?”
“Not worried, just careful.” He took her hand and caressed the backs of her knuckles with his thumb. “I need to run this by Diesel and Ice. In the meantime, stay away from the storage unit and keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Thank you.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’ll leave the drawings for you to review.”
He leaned forward and took her lips in another gentle massage. “I’ll figure this out. Call me when you’re safely home.”
As soon as Grace left the compound, Harvard returned to his office, dropped the envelope into an evidence bag, and then clicked keys on his computer keyboard. In a few keystrokes, he learned that the letter had been mailed and postmarked from the main post office in downtown Hummingbird Bay. One brief phone call later, surveillance tapes were requested and the case became a waiting game. Determined not to wait any longer than necessary, he left his office and headed to the conference room. Diesel and Ice were still at the table when he arrived.
Ice grinned. “Did your drill sergeant finally cut you loose?”
“Something like that.” He pushed the evidence bag containing the piece of paper to the center of the table and then took an empty chair. “Grace received this in the mail today.”
Ice grabbed the bag, read the contents through the plastic, and then lifted an eyebrow. “Our perp went old-school. Not a bad idea.”
“I’ve traced the postmark and contacted the post office. The security tapes will be ready in seventy-two hours.” He shrugged. “They may not tell us much but at least Grace may be able to identify someone.”
Diesel nodded. “Fingerprints?”
“I haven’t tested it yet, but I’m betting we won’t find any.”
“What are the odds this was sent by the same guy who attempted to run her off the road?”
“I’d say pretty good. Either that, or it’s a helluva coincidence.”
“Do we even know what he wants?”
“Not a clue. It may be timing, but logic tells me to look at Grace’s current client, Eileen McGuire.” He pulled the wireless keyboard toward him and then began typing.
Ice leaned back and buckled his hands behind his head. “Any Intel?”
Harvard nodded and recited his findings. “Wealthy socialite who resides with her husband, Joseph, of twenty-five years at 123 Mockingbird Lane, here in Hummingbird Bay. Residence is a sprawling estate but adequately gated and secure. Research of the police department’s database reveals no reports of theft or intrusion. I think it’s safe to assume whatever we’re looking for belongs to her.”
“Does Grace have any suggestions?”
“She says Mrs. McGuire has an extensive jewelry collection.”
“Did Grace have access to it?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
He nodded. “She doesn’t always know exact
ly what her clients pack for storage. In this case, Mrs. McGuire packed the boxes and Grace hired professionals to move them to a storage unit at Storage Solutions.”
“Who has access to the unit?”
“Grace.” He answered Diesel’s question while he clicked keys to pull up information on the storage locker.
“No one else?”
He shook his head. “The facility is gated and each tenant is assigned a personalized code to open it.”
“Cameras?”
“At the top of each row of units.”
Ice leaned forward. “Should we search the boxes?”
“Eventually.” He moved his hands from the keyboard. “We should talk to Mrs. McGuire first.”
Diesel voiced the major frustration of the whole situation. “We don’t even know that the object, whatever the hell is, belongs to her.”
“No, we don’t,” he agreed, “but we have to start somewhere.”
“Ask Grace to arrange a meeting,” Diesel said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky. In the meantime, wire her storage locker. If that’s the only place Grace stores things, we need to monitor it.”
***
Grace pushed open the door of Royal Travel and tossed a wave at the receptionist as she rushed into Bailey’s office and closed the door.
“Hi,” she told her frowning best friend behind the desk. “You won’t believe what just happened.”
“Probably n—”
“You won’t.” Grace cut her off as she plopped down hard in a chair in front of Bailey’s desk. “I received an anonymous threat in the mail.”
“Oh my God, Grace.” Bailey stood, rounded the desk, and sat in the chair beside her. “What did it say?”
“Apparently, someone believes I have something worth a lot of money. I have forty-eight hours to return it.”
“What do you have?”
“I have no idea.”
“Was the letter any more specific?”
“Only that the object belongs to my employer and that it is precious to the author.”
