Scarlet Nights

by Jude Deveraux

Standing in front of her, he positioned her legs to either side of his hips. “There are lots of criminals, but I’ve never married anyone just to save her.” He kissed her neck. “I love you.” He kissed her cheek. “I love you more every day.” He kissed her eyelids. “When I saw you standing in the back of that summerhouse behind Vandlo, with blood all over you, for a moment I didn’t know if you were dead or alive, and I thought I was going to die.”

  “Me too,” she said as she kissed him. “When I realized that old woman was Mitzi, I knew you were in danger and—”

  “Shhhh,” he said as he held her against him. “It’s over now, and I have to go back to Fort Lauderdale on Monday. Think you can get packed by then? Except I don’t know what I’ll be driving.”

  “Your car …?”

  “Shot full of holes. What in the world possessed you to put Mitzi Vandlo in a car full of weapons? Couldn’t you have stolen another vehicle?”

  “Don’t get mad at me. Ariel did it. Your beloved Ariel, who you go out on dates with even though you’re a married man.”

  “I went out with her before I married you. And she—”

  “I hate to break this up,” Frank said from the doorway, “but everyone wants to see the woman who brought Mitzi down.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as Sara gets dressed.”

  “Don’t bother on our part,” Frank said, then laughed at Mike’s glare as he went outside.

  “I take it the paintings hidden in Mr. Lang’s secret room are signed by CAY.”

  “Yeah,” Mike said. “Charles Albert Yates. Yesterday Luke and I hauled out a lot from that room.” He lifted Sara off the counter. “There are about a hundred paintings, but there’s much more. Everything in that room is old, and I have no idea what it is. There are wooden boxes full of letters and old diaries and clothes. The kilt and shirt Lang wore on that night in 1941, the ones I heard about for most of my childhood, were in there.” Mike took a breath. “I don’t understand why no one’s found the room before now.”

  “Mr. Lang nailed the door shut,” Sara said as Mike helped her into the long dress.

  “So only he could see the contents. That makes sense.”

  “How did Mitzi find out about the paintings? And are they valuable?”

  He was silent.

  “Mike? What’s wrong?”

  “I sent photos of a couple of the paintings to the Feds in D.C. Sara, dear, you’re a millionaire. Multi.”

  Her only thought was that now they could afford to renovate Merlin’s Farm. And there’d be no worry about educating their children. And Mike could open the best gym there was. Smiling, she looked at him but saw that he was serious. “You’re the only person on earth who could be unhappy about getting a lot of money.”

  “It’s not my money. It’s yours, and you could do a lot with it.”

  Sara had to work not to groan. Mike was letting her know that if she wanted to be released from her new marriage vows he’d let her go. “Think Tess can manage millions for us?”

  “Sure,” he said, and his dimple appeared.

  She slipped her arm through his. “My mother has a list of people who want to join your gym.”

  “The question is whether or not we can get you out of bed to go.”

  “I—” she began but stopped when they stepped outside.

  Besides the fire truck, ambulance, and the squad cars, it seemed that half of Edilean was there. And when they saw Sara, they began to applaud. She was sure that most of them had no idea what she’d done, but they’d been told enough that the town was proud of her.

  She looked back at Mike.

  “Go on,” he said. “It’s your moment. You’re the hero.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “No one will ever again feel sorry for Sara Shaw.”

  If she’d doubted her love for him, it would have dissolved in that moment. It was his work that had solved the case, but he was willing to step aside to give her the glory. “Newland,” she said. “The name of the man I love.”

  Mike grinned. “Yeah, Mrs. Newland. My wife.”

  Turning, Sara went toward the people who were waiting to congratulate her—but she didn’t let go of Mike’s hand.

  Acknowledgment

  I’D LIKE TO thank the person who made this book possible, my consultant, and most of all, my friend, Detective Charles J. Stack of the Economic Crimes Unit of the Fort Lauderdale Police Department.

  Charlie, a former national champion of kickboxing and karate, and I work out together. In between pushing me to lift ever-heavier weights and hit that big bag with the gloves, he answered all my questions. Charlie instantly replied to all my many text messages, no matter where he was, in a courtroom or a meeting with the attorney general. He explained everything from FLPD retirement plans to the latest U.S. Supreme Court ruling to what the heck Muay Thai was.

  He told me truly fascinating stories about his very dangerous undercover work. (AMC wants to do a documentary about one of them!) He read the scenes I’d written of the fights and about the real Mitzi’s work, and did a great job of editing them.

  His insights into how the minds of criminals such as the real “Vandlo” family work was brilliant—and spellbinding to hear. The magnitude of the crimes he works on and the absence of any public knowledge of these criminals horrified me.

  I can never adequately express my gratitude to Charlie for his help, his intelligence, his kindness, and his never-ending patience.

  Thank you, Charlie. You’re a true hero.