Crazy in Love

by Lani Diane Rich

  “Hi.” Flynn stepped aside to let him in. “What are you doing here?”

  He swallowed, raised his focus up to her eyes. “I needed to talk to you about . . . Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yes,” she said, grinning. “I have a date.”

  He stared at her, his mind going blank for a moment. “Did we have plans?”

  “No. I have plans.” She turned her back to him, heading for the bedroom. Jake waited for a long minute, then followed her in to find her inspecting her reflection in a standing mirror in the corner. “I know I promised you I’d talk to you first, but it all happened so fast that I just went with it. Gordon showed up at the office about a half hour ago and asked me out for tonight, so I thought it’d be a perfect chance for you to use that key. I called in Carole to cover your shift tonight, and Gordon will be here in about twenty minutes, so you really should get going.”

  Smooth, calculated curls of hair fell about the back of her neck and shoulders, but the rest of her typically wild mop was pulled up, held in a loose knot at the back of her head with what looked like two ornate chopsticks. She pumped her lips and swiped her pinkie lightly along one edge of her mouth. For a brief moment, Jake lost his place in the conversation, but then he remembered that she was primping for Chase, and he took a step toward her.

  “Call him. Tell him you’re not going.”

  She looked at him like he was crazy. “What? Why? This is a perfect chance for you to get into that office. I thought you’d be happy.”

  Jake pulled out his cell phone, flipped it open, and punched Chase’s number in.

  “Tucker, what are you doing?”

  Jake put the phone in her hand. “Just hit the green button. When he answers, tell him you’re not going out with him. Ever.”

  Flynn took the phone, flipped it shut, and handed it back. “No. My father asked me to take a meeting with him, and you need him out of the way for a while. Two birds, one stone. You should be gone when he gets here, though. It’s not very stealthy if he sees us together.”

  Jake flipped the phone open again. “He’s not going to see me here, because he’s not coming to pick you up, because you’re canceling.”

  He started punching the numbers into the phone, but Flynn put her hand over his to stop him.

  “Tucker, what’s going on? Last night you were fine with this.”

  He raised his eyes to hers. “Last night I thought Elaine Placie was still alive.”

  Flynn stared at him for a long moment, then pulled her hand off of his. “Who’s Elaine Placie?”

  “The girl with the rhinestone flask.”

  Flynn’s eyes widened. “The one who helped Chase get that laptop?”

  Jake nodded. “They pulled her body out of the river last night. They haven’t identified her yet, but it’s her.” He continued dialing Chase’s number and handed the phone to Flynn. “So. Call.”

  Flynn took the phone in her hand and stared down at it, then flipped it shut again and handed it back to Jake, her expression confident and determined. “I don’t think it was him.”

  Jake stared at her. “Wow. If pulling the dead conwoman out of my sleeve fails to impress you, keeping this relationship exciting is going to be a challenge.”

  “Think about it, Tucker. He hires Elaine Placie to help him steal the laptop. He pays her off. So why would he kill her? Even if she demanded more money or threatened to go to the police, he’s a reputable businessman and she was a small-time con artist. Her word against his, and he had all the power. Murder seems unmotivated. Plus, I just can’t see it. Chase doesn’t have an ethical bone in his body, fine, but do you really think he’s a murderer? I mean, really?”

  He knew she was making sense. He’d had the same thoughts himself, but had been so intent on removing Flynn from the situation that he hadn’t entertained them for long. He could think clearly later; now, he had just one goal in mind. He handed her the phone. “I can do this all night, you know.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t heard that one before.” She took the phone from him, flipped it shut, and tossed it over her shoulder, where it flew over the top of the armoire, hit the wall, fell to the floor, and skittered under the bed.

  They stared each other down. Jake felt his body go still, tight with tension in the face of her blunt determination.

  “So, what are you saying?” he asked finally. “Chase is a decent guy now? Just another eligible prospect?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to the side. “Oh, my God. You’re jealous? Of Chase?”

  “No,” he said, his voice harsher than he intended. He took a breath and started again. “No. It’s not that. But Elaine Placie’s murder just upped the stakes here, and I want you as far away from this as possible.”

  She tucked a lipstick into her purse and snapped it shut, then looked at Jake. “Do I look helpless to you?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t twist this around, Flynn. It’s not about that and you know it.”

  “I took self-defense classes for three years. I have a cell phone and a Mace key chain. Being a woman doesn’t mean I can’t think or defend myself.”

  “The sexism card doesn’t work on me. I’ve got four sisters and a mother, none of whom I’d want to come up against in a dark alley. It’s not about that. It’s about—”

  He trailed off, releasing his breath. It was about the fact that he wouldn’t be able to think knowing she was out there with Chase, especially not now that he had the visual of her in that dress. It was about keeping her safe. It was about keeping her his. It was about a million things he couldn’t name, most of which he didn’t want to. He was trying to think of a way to express this without actually expressing it when she advanced on him, hooked one leg around the back of his knee, and tried to knock him off balance, which she almost did. Jake recovered quickly, gaining his footing and grabbing her arm. He whipped her arm up behind her as he twirled her around, then hooked his free arm around her neck. She huffed loudly and a strand of hair flew up from her face.

  “Crap,” she said. “That always worked in class.”

  He leaned his head forward, his lips next to her ear. “Of course it did. But this is the real world.”

  He could hear the disappointment in her voice as she shifted under his grip. “So what are you saying? In the real world, I’d be dead now?”

  He took a deep breath, trying not to let the smell of her distract him too much. “Depends on what the guy who has you wants.”

  He relaxed his grip and she turned slowly in his arms. His hands rested on her waist and she pulled her lower lip in with her top teeth. He reached one hand up and touched her face. It was impossible, how soft her skin was. Unnatural, almost.

  “Tucker,” she said, little more than a whisper.

  He was about to lean in and kiss her when she stuffed her Mace key chain in his face.

  “Spritz spritz. You’re disabled, and I’m safe. So there. Nyah.”

  He pulled his hands away from her waist. “Gotta hand it to you, Flynn. You sure know how to kill a mood.”

  She shrugged smugly and put the Mace back in her bag. “If you want control of a scene, you give the other character what they most want, or show them what they most fear. I learned it in an improv class the Renaissance Faire people made me take. Works in real life, too.”

  “So, how’d you know what I wanted?” he asked quietly.

  She lowered her eyes and shrugged. “You’re a man. It was either food or sex and I didn’t have a turkey leg handy.”

  Jake chuckled, then went silent. His heart was still beating erratically from holding her so close, and he knew anything he said now would be pointless. She had her mind set, and short of dragging her out by her hair—which, admittedly, was tempting—nothing he said was going to matter anyway. She took a step toward him, angling her head to the side in a conciliatory pose, exposing the long, creamy expanse of her neck.

  “Just for the record,” she said, her eyes lighting p
layfully as she looked up at him, “Gordon Chase is not eligible for anything with me.”

  Jake was a little disturbed by how good it felt to hear that. “Yeah? He’s rich and good-looking. A lot of girls in town think he’s quite the catch.”

  “Well,” she said softly, “I’m not a lot of girls.”

  Jake smiled and Flynn touched his arm.

  “Look. Gordon Chase would be a big jerk even if he didn’t set you up. But he did, and for that, I want him to pay. Whether he killed Elaine Placie or not, he’s definitely connected to her, and I’m giving you a chance to find out how. So you can choose to be the overprotective alpha male and shove yourself in between us when he gets here, or you can trust me to handle myself and go get that laptop.”

  There was a knock at the door. Jake didn’t move. Neither did Flynn.

  “It’s an hour to the restaurant and an hour back, I can stretch dinner out for two hours. That should give you enough time.” He felt her fingers graze over his. “I have to spend four hours being nice to this jerk. Go make it worth my while.”

  Her hand fell from his arm, and then she was gone. Jake listened as she opened the door, barely able to keep himself from rushing into the living room and throwing a big wrench in her plans to play Nancy Drew.

  But he didn’t. He listened as she greeted Chase at the door, her voice happy and playful and innocent. He heard Chase’s smarmy, self-satisfied tones, and a few painful moments later, the door shut behind them. Jake released a breath, sat down on the bed, and rested his head in his hands.

  Realistically, he knew that the risk was minimal. Even if it was Chase who had taken out Elaine Placie and Esther, he’d publicly come to the Arms to make plans with Flynn, and was picking her up here where everyone could see them together. If he was going to come after Flynn, it wouldn’t be tonight. She would be all right. She was tough. She was smart. She was . . .

  She was amazing.

  He chuckled lightly to himself as the realization hit him full force. She’d gotten to him. When had that happened? He hadn’t noticed it, but as he thought about her going out with Chase tonight in that dress, there it was, grating at him.

  Huh. Must have been the hair.

  Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out the key Rhonda Bacon had given him, staring at it as he flipped it over between his fingers. He knew he didn’t have much time. He just hoped that whatever was on that laptop was worth it.

  It would have to be.

  Chapter Nine

  Chase emptied the last of the wine into Flynn’s glass and made a casual finger motion in the air for the waiter to bring another. His smile didn’t tink so much in the candlelight, which was a nice break, but an hour of feigning interest in golf and mutual funds was taking its toll. She glanced at her watch; she only needed to kill another forty-five minutes. She hoped that Tucker would be able to find everything he needed in that time, because that was all he was getting.

  “So, we’ve been talking about me all night,” Chase said, dumping his napkin by his plate. “I want to know about you.”

  “Well,” Flynn said, “it’ll be a short conversation. There isn’t much to know about me.”

  “I don’t believe that,” he said. “You seem like a fascinating woman.”

  I seem like a woman who’s standing between you and your commission.

  “Not really. I’m just your average girl. I’m all about shoes, shopping, and a weekly mani-pedi.” She picked up her wineglass. “The only people less interesting than me are dead. Trust me.”

  “Don’t be modest. I know you used to act. Let’s start there. Why’d you stop?”

  She put her glass down. “When did I tell you about that?”

  “You didn’t. I did some looking into you. You are a fascinating woman, Flynn Daly. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

  “Nope. Sure didn’t.” Tucker had been right about a small town with an Internet connection being a dangerous thing.

  Chase waved one hand dismissively. “I like you, Flynn. I think we’re kindred souls. And when I like someone, I like to know more about them.”

  Flynn let the kindred souls thing go, diving in on what she felt was the more important point. “So you did a background check. How romantic.”

  “You make it sound so intrusive,” he said, chuckling. “I just hired a private detective, who called your friends and family and asked a few questions. It’s how I knew that you loved Italian food. Red wine. Blizzards from Dairy Queen.” He winked. “It’s all completely aboveboard.”

  Flynn forced a smile and gripped a handful of the tablecloth in her fist under the table to keep herself from throwing a dinner roll at his head. “I think we might have different definitions of ‘aboveboard.’”

  “Oh, come on, Flynn. Everybody does that sort of thing nowadays. At least I’m up front about it. And it’s not like I pulled up your credit report or your criminal history. I just wanted to know about your likes and dislikes. I wanted to know about the things that mattered to you.”

  “And you couldn’t ask me directly because . . . ?”

  He grinned. “Because it would ruin the surprise.” He leaned to one side and pulled a small, golden box out of his pocket. It was wrapped in ornate metallic ribbon, which culminated in a big ribbon puff on the top that looked like shimmery ganglia.

  “Ugh,” Flynn breathed.

  “Go ahead,” Chase said, making an encouraging gesture with his hands. “Open it.”

  Flynn went to the job of separating the ribbon from the box. Chase simply watched her, eyes twinkling. He’d done this before, Flynn could feel it. And based on the self- satisfied expression on his face, it had actually worked.

  Good-looking and rich, she thought as she struggled with the gift. The thinking girl’s kryptonite.

  Finally she gave up on being delicate, picked up her steak knife, and sawed through it, then popped the top off the box.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, staring down into the box. It was a silver necklace with a pendant of two ballet shoes, each with a simple pink diamond at the toe. It looked like the kind of thing you’d give a little girl after her confirmation.

  Chase leaned forward, his finger lazily indicating the gift.

  “Your friend from college . . . what was her name? Alesia?”

  “I don’t have a friend from college named Alesia,” Flynn said flatly, placing the box down on the table.

  His eyebrows knit. “Whitney?”

  Flynn shook her head.

  He pulled an index card out of his coat pocket, then snapped his fingers and returned it. “Michelle. Anyway, she said how much you loved ballet slippers, that you had them everywhere in your dorm room. So . . .” He raised his eyebrows proudly, knowing the answer to his question before he even posed it. “Do you like it?”

  “Do I like it?”

  It was true; in college, she had been slightly obsessed with ballet slippers. Then during her mid-twenties crisis she and her therapist had spent ten months discovering that the ballet slipper thing was just a symbol of something she felt she’d never be able to attain, a promise she’d never be able to keep, and she had cleared out all her ballet slipper things, put them in a box, and stored them in the attic of her father’s house. To get this gift now, mere days after having finally abandoned her mother’s dream for her, felt a lot like being punched in the stomach.

  And there was Chase, all big and smug, thinking he’d just made all her dreams come true.

  Do I like it? What she’d like would be to wedge it up his left nostril with a rubber mallet. But that would be unladylike and ungracious.

  And it wouldn’t kill the forty minutes she had left.

  “You know what?” Flynn said, standing up quickly. “I’ll be right back.”

  She dumped her napkin onto her seat and took off for the bathroom.

  Aboveboard, my ass, she thought as she locked the door on the stall.

  Can’t believe he actually investigated me, she thought as she washed her ha
nds.

  Longest night of my freakin’ life, she thought as she tossed the paper towel into the bin. She glanced in the mirror and stared at herself.

  “No jury in the land would convict me,” she said out loud, then caught the reflection of something golden behind her in the mirror and her heart jumped.

  “I’m sorry, I thought I was—” she said as she turned around.

  But there was no one behind her. Her heart began to pound, and she felt a sheen of sweat form on the back of her neck. She put her hand over her chest and glanced in the mirror again, breathing deeply through her nose, exhaling through her mouth. She laughed at herself, but even to her own ears, the laugh sounded fake and shrill. She closed her eyes, inhaled again . . .

  That was when it hit her. That smell . . . She opened her eyes wide and her heart started to pound erratically. Slowly, she breathed in again, and there it was, a light floral scent that brought with it a rush of memories and emotions so powerful and vibrant that she had to hold on to the sink to keep her balance.

  Mom’s closet. A memory hit her, herself at the age of twelve, crawling into her mother’s closet, closing the door, drawing the dresses in her arms until they approximated the bulk of a person, hugging them, breathing in the light floral scent that came from the sachets her mother kept in the closet. At twelve, she’d understood the cancer and what it would bring, but it was the smell and feel of her mother’s empty dresses that conveyed what she felt—the sudden absence, the consuming grief, the aching void of loss.

  Flynn opened her eyes. There were tears on her cheeks, but she couldn’t remember crying them. How long had she been there, holding on to that sink? How long . . . ?

  But it hadn’t been more than a few seconds. It had been powerful, but brief. The smell was gone, but the feeling . . . the ache. The loss. That was still there.

  The golden glow. That was what she had seen. The glow. The same glow that she saw when Esther—

  “Mom?” she whispered, feeling a lump forming in her throat. There was nothing. No glow, no sachet scent. Whatever it had been, it was gone.