The Heiress’s 2-Week Affair

by Marie Ferrarella

  No matter, it would be a long time before he got tired of hearing them.

  “There’ll be more to join her soon enough,” he promised the attractive blonde whose turn it was to interrupt the scheduled morning programming with this “Breaking news.”

  A wicked smile curved his mouth, marring his handsome features. One by one, he was going to make all the Rothchilds pay for what had been done, both to his father and, consequently, to his mother.

  “Think he can clear his conscience by throwing a few dollars our way?” he seethed, addressing the words to the air. “Was that supposed to make up for robbing us of Poppi and what was his? Well, Rothchild’s in for one hell of a surprise if that’s what he thinks.”

  The laugh that echoed within the dim room sounded more like a demonic giggle.

  He slipped his hand into his pocket and curled his fingers around the prize he’d secured last night. It comforted him not because of what it was but because he knew that Harold Rothchild grieved over its absence probably even more than he grieved for his daughter’s demise. The newscaster was saying something about robbery being the motive.

  Let them think that, he thought. Stealing the dazzling ring had just been the cherry on top of the sundae. Hitting Rothchild where it hurt most. Besides, he wasn’t stealing; he was reclaiming. The gem belonged to his family, not Rothchild’s. And his aim was to go on eliminating family members until old man Rothchild was the last man standing.

  Once Rothchild’s entire family was gone, then and only then, would he move in to bring an end to the old man’s misery. Slowly, he decided. Very, very slowly. He was going to enjoy hearing Rothchild beg for mercy.

  His father had never had the chance, he thought bitterly. Joseph Rothchild had been his father’s judge and executioner—and Harold Rothchild had stood in the shadows and watched, shaking like a little girl, too afraid of his own father to do the right thing and intervene.

  Well, this was going to teach that spineless bastard to mess with his family, the young man promised himself with mounting glee.

  Knowing he needed to go out, he looked around the small, airless apartment, searching for a place to leave the priceless ring. But there was nowhere within the three untidy rooms that he, as an accomplished thief, wouldn’t have looked in his search for goods. Thieves were rampant in this city of glitter and sin.

  The safest place, for now, he decided, was with him. So he left it in his pocket.

  His smile widened. It was the kind of malevolent look that made a man’s blood run cold, he thought proudly, catching a glimpse of himself in the cracked, smoky mirror that he passed on his way to the door.

  Besides, in the right hands, the hands of the family who were the rightful owners of the diamond, wasn’t it supposed to bring some kind of good luck? Since his father had been the one to have originally found the gem in that godforsaken mine, that meant the multicolored diamond with its hypnotic gleam belonged to his family. And that, in turn, meant that it was supposed to bring him luck.

  In a way, he mused philosophically, it already had. He’d killed Candace Rothchild and no one was the wiser. No one had seen it coming, not even Candace until the late few moments. The lying, empty-headed bitch thought she was going to have a blood-pumping roll in the sack, not receive a one-way ticket for a trip on the River Styx.

  Surprise!

  Curling his fingers around the ring, he walked out of his apartment whistling. He took care to lock the door behind him.

  Natalie watched in silence as the two men she worked with cleared out the last of the surveillance tapes. They packed the lot of them into a box that one of Matt’s people had provided. Parker had the decency to look contrite as the other detective hefted the box.

  “Sorry, Nat,” the older man apologized, and then he paused because he didn’t want working relations to deteriorate between them. “But we’ll get him—or her,” he augmented since the killer had left no indication as to gender. There was always an outside chance that Candace had been done in by a jealous wife or girlfriend who had been thrown over by her man because the partying heiress had come on the scene.

  Natalie sighed and nodded her head. It was clear to Matt that passive was not a role she played well. He waited until the two detectives had left with their booty, then looked expectantly at the young technician. Without a word, Wilson began typing, his fingers flying again.

  Natalie had caught the look that had gone between the two. Caught, too, the swift sleight of hand that had occurred when Matt had passed the technician’s keyboard. She doubted if either Parker or Davidson had noticed. If they had, something would have been said. Matt was still that good.

  “What did you do?” she asked him.

  His intensely blue eyes looked at her with amusement. “Excuse me?”

  There was a time when she would have found this charming. But that naive girl had grown up years ago.

  “Don’t try to sound innocent, Schaffer. It’s far too late for that. When Parker and Davidson came in, before they even asked you for the tapes, you did something on the keyboard as you walked by. Don’t bother denying it,” she cautioned. “I saw you.”

  “My hand slipped,” Matt deadpanned. He knew that it was just a matter of seconds before the computer was finished going through its paces and he had what he needed.

  Who the hell did he think he was kidding? Natalie thought.

  “That might fly with Parker. He doesn’t know computers—or you—the way I do.” Her eyes narrowed, pinning him. “Now, what did you do?”

  He would have thought she would have figured it out by now. “I backed up the tapes that were just handed over to your buddies.”

  Even though she’d viewed the pertinent ones, she’d still wanted to have the tapes so that she could look them over more closely. She looked at him in surprise. “You made me a copy?”

  “I made me a copy,” he corrected, then added loftily. “And, if you’re very nice to me, I just might let you have them—”

  She was not in the mood to play games—and even if she was, it wouldn’t have been with him. “You’re obstructing justice—” she began.

  “On the contrary,” he contradicted her in a mild, easygoing voice that she found infinitely irritating. “I cooperated with law enforcement. Law enforcement just took the tapes with them. You, in this case, are a private citizen, remember?”

  She pinned him with a look. “I also have a temper, remember?”

  Matt grinned then, recalling how volatile she could be—and how much fun making up afterward always was. It was hard to believe that he had once been that young, that devoid of a sense of impeding consequences to have considered allowing her to remain in his life. He knew better now.

  “How could I forget it?” And then he added, “Don’t worry, I still remember how to share and play well with others.” He looked toward the tech. “Are you finished?”

  “Just about.” Wilson pushed his glasses up his noise, something she noticed he did every few minutes. “Just gotta put it on a disk.”

  “Make it a jump drive,” Matt told him. He took what looked like a key chain advertising Montgomery Enterprises out of his pocket and handed it to the tech. “Easier to carry around.” He said the words to the tech, but he was pointedly looking at Natalie as he said them.

  He was going for “hide in plain sight,” she thought. “Thank you,” she said grudgingly.

  Matt was already walking away, and he shrugged in response. “I owe you.”

  Natalie saw no reason to dispute that. “Yes,” she agreed emphatically. “You do.”

  Three minutes later, the newly uploaded key chain in hand, she walked into Matt’s office without bothering to knock first. There was a TV on the side of the office, and he had it on, giving it his attention for the moment. But he was aware of her entrance. She still wore the same fragrance.

  Matt turned around in his chair. “Leaving now?” he asked.

  She was about to say no, but the words temporarily evaporated
from her lips. Her eyes were drawn to the TV on the back wall despite the fact that he had the sound lowered. Along the bottom of the screen was a banner announcing “Breaking news.” Candace’s photograph, taken at some other recent function, was in the upper right-hand corner as a newscaster read words off a teleprompter announcing to the few who hadn’t yet heard that Candace Rothchild, the darling of the paparazzi set, had been found dead in her condo. Because the room where she was found had been ransacked, the banner continued, foul play was suspected.

  “Foul play,” Natalie echoed incredulously, spitting the term out. “What an innocuous term for murder.”

  He was well aware that news reporting was an art form. They had to tantalize the public, taking care not to put them off so much that they couldn’t bear to hear the details.

  “Keeps the public coming back for more and still separates them from the horror of it.” Something protective kicked in within him. Leaning over, he deliberately turned off the TV. She didn’t need to be subjected to that. “Otherwise, if you showed all the gruesome details, the only ones who’d tune in would be serial killers in the making. And ghouls,” he added. He rose from his desk, guessing why she’d sought him out. “Leaving?”

  Natalie shook her head. “Just getting started,” she contradicted.

  He’d forgotten how stubborn she could be. Like a junkyard dog once she got hold of something—except a lot prettier. Still, he knew he had to give appealing to her common sense a shot. “Natalie, I really think you should leave this to the others.”

  Was he serious? “And I really think you should help me.”

  He thought that his part was over with the tapes. “What?”

  Damn, she hated sounding as if she was asking for favors, but he was right. She had no official capacity here, couldn’t rely on her badge, so this placed it in the realm of favors.

  “Believe me, this is not something I’m asking lightly, but you were the last one to see Candace alive,” she reminded him.

  “Correction, a whole plaza full of people were the last ones to see your sister alive—not to mention whoever killed her,” he added.

  She intended on asking questions until someone remembered something, or said something that would point her in the right direction. For that, she needed him, because he could pave the way for her. And, as he had already mentioned, he owed her.

  “I need to talk to Luke to find out what the argument was about, and I need to talk to the valets on duty to see if any of them noticed anyone leaving with Candace,” Natalie told him. “She was obviously smiling at someone off camera.”

  As she paused, she realized that Matt looked as if he was going to refuse her. She wasn’t about to give him the chance. She intended on hammering at him until he surrendered.

  “Now, I’m going to do this with you or without you,” she said, “but it would go a whole lot easier for me if you were there to smooth the way for me.”

  “Natalie—”

  He still looked dubious. Did having her around repulse him so much that he would deny her the right to find her sister’s killer?

  She guessed at the reason behind his reluctance. It had been eight years. She hadn’t expected time to freeze for him—the way it had for her. “Don’t worry. As soon as I have my answers, I’ll be gone. You won’t need to explain me to your wife or girlfriend or whatever.”

  “I’m not worried about that,” he told her. She didn’t realize how much of a hole her absence had left, but then, why should she? “And for the record, there’s no wife or girlfriend or ‘whatever.’”

  He wasn’t married, wasn’t involved with anyone. Natalie could feel her heart do a little leap in her chest and she tried in vain to pay no attention to it.

  “Good,” she responded crisply, “then you’re free to help.”

  He pointed out the obvious. “I’m working,” but even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t an excuse. She was determined, and he was afraid that she would push too hard and get herself killed as well.

  “We’re not going to Mars. We’re staying on the premises.” She frowned at him. “Now, are you going to help me?” She drew closer to him, as if her proximity would draw the words out of him. “Or do you have something to confess?”

  Her scent filled his head, triggering memories. Nostalgia brought a side order of yearning with it.

  Yes, I have something to confess. I never got over you. You’re a fever in my blood, Natalie Rothchild. And seeing you now has just made me realize that I was a fool to ever think I could put you behind me.

  But he kept all of this tightly wrapped inside of him. If he said anything at all, then he’d wasted the last eight years trying to make a life for himself without her. So he kept his face impassive and glanced at his watch. “I can give you an hour.”

  Eight years ago, he called the shots. This time around it was her turn. “You’ll give me as much time as I need,” she countered.

  Amusement curved his lips. “You’ve gotten tougher since I last saw you.”

  Her eyes met his for a long moment. “I’ve had to,” was all she said.

  There had been five valets on duty last night. Because of the double duty they’d pulled, they were all off now and had to be summoned back to the casino.

  “This is where your part comes in,” Natalie told him as he had the head attendant place calls to all five valets. Matt made no comment as he gave the attendant instructions.

  One by one, the valets—all young, lean men in their twenties, came straggling in. They looked bleary-eyed and somewhat bewildered. The gala hadn’t ended until two in the morning.

  Natalie decided that questioning them en masse would be simpler. In response, she heard the same story over and over again. Between regular guests of the casino and its accompanying hotel, and the attendees at the gala, all five valets had been kept hopping. They were far too busy parking and retrieving cars to take any kind of notice of the comings and goings of the attending celebrities for more than a fleeting second, if that long.

  What it boiled down to was that they all assured Natalie that they hadn’t seen who Candace might have left with. Her optimism was flagging when the last valet suddenly remembered that he had seen the flamboyant young woman exchanging words with another woman.

  “She didn’t exactly look pleased,” the valet confided to her.

  She took a guess as to who the pronoun referred to. “Candace?”

  The young man shook his head. “No, the woman Miss Rothchild was talking to.”

  Excitement instantly sparked. “Could you describe her?”

  The valet, Blake, looked at her sheepishly. “No,” he confessed. It took him a moment to continue. When he did, he avoided looking into Natalie’s eyes. “I was watching Ms. Rothchild. She was um, gesturing so hard that, um…” And then, because he seemed to suddenly realize he was talking to the dead woman’s sister, he abruptly stopped, red-faced.

  It took no effort for Matt to read between the lines. “You were watching to see if her dress would stay put or fall off.”

  The words sounded antiseptic, but the valet still looked somewhat embarrassed by what he’d accidentally admitted to. Still, he seemed aware that she was waiting for him to answer. So he made the admission to his shoes. “Yeah, that’s it.”

  Natalie couldn’t begin to describe the frustration she felt. She grabbed hold of the valet’s arm and tugged, forcing him to look up at her. “You have to remember something,” she insisted. “Blonde? Brunette? Redhead? Tall? Short?”

  The valet pressed his lips together and screwed his face up, hard. It looked as if he was straining his brain. Any second, Natalie was certain she was going to see steam coming out of his ears. Finally, he said, “She wasn’t old.”

  “Great,” Natalie murmured. “I’ll put out an APB for half of Vegas.”

  The valet looked genuinely contrite. “Sorry,” he apologized.

  Matt put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Blake,” he told him. “Y
ou can go back home now.” Matt looked at the other valets still gathered there. “That goes for the rest of you—unless anyone remembers anything else.”

  “No.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Not me.”

  “It was a busy night, Mr. Schaffer.”

  Matt nodded. “I know. Get some sleep, you’ll be back on duty soon.”

  The valets immediately cleared out, obviously relieved to be dismissed.

  Natalie turned on Matt, her hands on her hips. He’d usurped her authority, just like that. “Maybe I wasn’t finished with Blake,” she said, struggling to rein in her irritation.

  “What were you planning on doing?” he challenged. “Performing exploratory surgery on his brain to see if he was hiding something? The kid told you all that he remembered.”

  Something was nagging at her. In Natalie’s opinion, Matt had been much too lax with the valets, almost eager to send them on their way—especially the last one. Was he covering for this Blake guy?

  Or was he covering for someone else? She hated this feeling, but she just didn’t trust him. “And have you told me all you know, or are you hiding something?”

  He could only shake his head. How many times were they going to go through this? “I’m the one who called the valets in, remember? And the one who got you a backup of the tapes.” He would have thought that the latter would have gotten him some goodwill. “When did you get so suspicious of everyone?”

  There was no hesitation on her part. She fired back, “The day I found a note tucked under the pillow next to mine.”

  What could he say to that? That he had done it for her own good? That it had killed him to leave her? That he’d looked back at her sleeping face, so peaceful, so beautiful, and had almost changed his mind? That he had almost torn up the note and had wanted nothing more than to take his chances? Except that the chances he’d be taking didn’t involve him, they’d involved her and he had no right to play Russian roulette with her life for the selfish reason that he couldn’t live without her.