Stolen

by Carey Baldwin

  “Those aren’t mine,” Caitlin said.

  “Yes they are.” Darcy winked at her.

  She shook her head, confused. She hadn’t even looked at lingerie, much less set it aside for purchase.

  “Just the dress, please.” Caitlin pulled out her wallet.

  Darcy beamed at her. “Your boyfriend wanted to surprise you. And put your wallet away, because he’s already paid for everything—the dress too.”

  A small thrill shot through her.

  That was an incredibly romantic gesture—and quite a surprise.

  Then her heartbeat accelerated, but not from the thrill—it was too much of a surprise.

  Buying her lingerie wasn’t Spense’s style. He’d probably see it as more of a gift to himself, and he was too thoughtful for that. Excitement and confusion suddenly gave way to cold certainty.

  Spense was at home with Agatha, delivering difficult news.

  No way did he sneak over to Pearl Street for an impromptu rendezvous with Caitlin—not on a day like today.

  She heard the sound of shoes squeaking across the floor. Then she sensed a presence behind her. Pulling her shoulders back, she turned to face the man who’d developed the extremely nasty habit of sneaking up on her at unexpected moments. “What the hell are you doing here, Grady?”

  He stepped out of the corner and removed his sunglasses, revealing his black eye. “A simple thank-you will do nicely.”

  “I’ll thank you to stay away from me from here on out.” Caitlin turned back to Darcy. She was about to refuse all of the items and walk away, but then she thought about the woman’s commission. “I’ll take the dress. Sorry for the trouble, but I need you to re-ring it on my card.” Caitlin already wanted to kick Grady in the shins. Now the devastated look on the woman’s face made her want to aim higher. “It’s okay,” she told Darcy. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Please do not worry about this. It was a perfectly understandable mistake.” And it was also the last time she’d confide in a saleswoman whom she’d known ten seconds.

  So much for shopping being fun.

  “H-he said he was your boyfriend.”

  Grady shook his finger at Darcy. “I said no such thing.”

  “You certainly did. Or . . . at least you . . .”

  “He implied it,” Caitlin said. “I understand completely.” She grabbed her credit card and the dress and hurried toward the door.

  Grady swooped in front of her, bowed and opened the door in an overly polite gesture. “I’m only trying to be a gentleman.”

  “Then you suck at it.” Caitlin wasn’t going to let him reframe this to make himself seem like the innocent victim, which appeared to be his MO these days—come to think of it, that had always been his MO. “Did you follow me to Boulder?”

  “I didn’t even follow you into the shop.”

  “So this is all a big coincidence.”

  “Naturally. I have other business in Boulder. Don’t be so full of yourself, Caitlin. I’ve explained to you already that I haven’t given you a second thought since the day I met Inga. In fact, I’m here to see her sister, Asta. I was walking by and just happened to look in the window when you came out in that sexy little blue number. I decided to be the bigger person, and come in to say hello. After all, it wasn’t you who blacked my eye.” He peeked over at Darcy and pointed to his injury with a faux frown. “Besides, I feel terrible about you getting kicked off the case.”

  “You’re the one who’s responsible for that.”

  “No. That would be your boyfriend.”

  “This is ridiculous. I don’t know why we’re having this conversation. You’ve got some nerve trying to buy me lingerie.”

  “Again, I’m just trying to be nice. You were so upset with me the other day for the unfortunate incident in the bathroom.”

  Darcy edged closer. Obviously interested in the tidbits she was overhearing.

  “So I thought I’d make it up to you by getting you something nice.”

  Darcy planted her hands on her hips. “You, sir, are no gentleman. And this is about the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. You walked in this shop one minute after she did and hid in the lingerie area. You led me to believe you were her boyfriend.”

  “It’s not my fault if you misinterpreted my words.”

  “I didn’t misinterpret anything. I remember what you said.” Darcy didn’t back down.

  “What did he say exactly?” Caitlin asked, stepping shoulder to shoulder with Darcy who was proving herself more than worthy of her commission, and a perfectly good person to confide in after all.

  “I said I should check with you about your bra size, and he said there was no need because he was intimately acquainted with your breasts.”

  “36D.” Grady held up his cupped palms. “I remember them well.”

  Chapter 38

  Sunday, October 27

  5:30 P.M.

  Boulder, Colorado

  From: You Don’t Know Me8

  To: Dr. Caitlin Cassidy

  Subject: Ty Cayman

  Dr. Cassidy,

  I’m very sorry about what happened to your father. I know you’re not the type to pre-judge. I believe you are a seeker of truth. Please check out the following attachment. I’m not sure what it means, but if anyone can make sense of it, you can.

  Caitlin stared at the e-mail, her fingers hovering over the touchpad of her Mac as she debated whether or not to click.

  The moms—as they were now officially nicknamed—were in the kitchen preparing dinner. It smelled delicious. She suspected pot roast. After modeling her new blue frock for them, they’d insisted she wear it to the table tonight. No one ever dressed for dinner around here, and the request had taken her off guard, but she didn’t mind humoring them. She knew they’d been bitten by the match-making bug, and there was no reason to disappoint. She glanced at her watch. There was still plenty of time before she had to change.

  “Spense, get over here and check this out.”

  The study in her mother’s home, plagued by small windows, was an optometrist’s dream. Abandon all hope of escaping eyestrain, ye who enter here.

  She reached over and tugged the cord of an antique brass banker’s lamp. Green tinted light shone down onto her hand, making her skin look even more olive and adding a minute amount of illumination to the room.

  “Don’t open that attachment.” Spense squeezed her shoulder lightly.

  Her breath caught—like it did every time he touched her. She did her best to ignore his distracting nearness. “I’ll do a virus scan first, but did you see the subject line?”

  He leaned over her, and she caught a whiff of Old Spice. Funny how a scent that she’d once found old-fashioned and a bit overpowering now sent tingles skittering across her skin and made her stomach feel like she’d just risen to the top of a Ferris wheel. “No, just the sender . . . that is an intriguing subject line. Especially considering the fact no one can raise Cayman at the moment. How do you think You Don’t Know Me8 got hold of your e-mail addy?”

  “Came through a contact form on my website. I still have my private consulting site up.”

  “You should get rid of it.”

  “Good thing I didn’t.”

  Scanning for viruses complete.

  “You want every crackpot on the internet e-mailing you clues to your cases? I’m surprised this is the first time it’s happened.”

  She smiled before clicking on the attachment. “I think I can handle one e-mail without pulling a muscle.”

  “Suit your—holy mackerel.” Reaching past her, Spense used his fingers on the touchpad to enlarge the images. Then one by one, took screen shots, elbowing her in the process.

  “Ouch.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t want to take a chance on this vanishing into cyberspace. We should print out all of this stuff.”

  “You mean all of this stuff you didn’t want me to open?” She’d already powered up her travel printer. Less than a minute later, it began to s
pit out copies of what appeared to be pages from Ty Cayman’s passports. Next came an image of Cayman posing in a photo-booth with a beautiful young woman, who looked a little too young to be out with him.

  The image was a bit degraded. With her pulse pumping out jets of adrenaline, Caitlin first held the photo far away then brought it closer to her face. “Is that Angelina?”

  He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She gently removed them—too distracting.

  “I don’t think so, but she’s the same type,” he said.

  The dark-haired woman had laughing, blue eyes. She could’ve passed for either Angelina’s sister, or Laura’s or . . . Harriet’s.

  Caitlin clicked on a file on her laptop and called up images of all three women, lining them up side by side.

  Spense covered her hand with one of his while using the touchpad on her laptop with his other. Her body instantly responded with an ache low in her solar plexus. Her thoughts careened off topic like an escaped grocery cart. She took a deep breath and steered her mind back on course.

  Spense minimized the images, navigated to her consulting website then clicked and saved her display photo. “Don’t freak out,” he said as he maximized the other women’s photos. Now they all lined up: Laura, Harriet, Angelina . . . Caitlin.

  Her gut tightened, but she laughed off her nerves. “That’s coincidence—I mean the fact that I fit the type. But these women clearly are a type and that matters because they’re all connected to Laura.”

  “Are they? Or are they all connected to Ty Cayman? When did he come into the picture?”

  “After the kidnap,” she said.

  “Unless he was Angelina’s boyfriend.”

  She bit her tongue. “He did lie about Laura having dinner with Ron Saas. And he did disappear with no explanation.”

  “If we find out that something untoward happened to our new mystery woman—the one posing with Cayman here—it sure will throw cold water on the idea that Laura lost her marbles and killed Harriet in a compulsive re-enactment of an old trauma.”

  “If something happened to our new mystery woman, then this thing has serial written all over it. Do you want to call Hatcher or should I?” she asked.

  Spense paced to the door and back. “Let’s hold off. He’s not exactly a true believer in our predator theory. I’d rather gather a bit more intelligence first.”

  “Such as what?”

  “Such as who is she, and where is she, and who is You Don’t Know Me8?”

  “The last one seems obvious.”

  “Not to me,” Spense said.

  “Our anonymous tipster is Laura Chaucer. She’s looking for someone who’ll listen without assuming she’s gone off her rocker—Grady doesn’t fit the bill, and her parents are swayed by his opinion.”

  “How do you figure it’s Laura?” Spense arched an eyebrow.

  “I can’t be one hundred percent certain. It’s a guess, but not a wild or uneducated one. Eight is how old Laura was when she was kidnapped. The ‘voice’ of the e-mail’s author seems feminine, and there’s a lot of subtext. If the sender were sitting in front of us, we’d be analyzing her body language as much as her words. So I’m just reading between the lines, trying to pick up the tone of the sender’s communication.”

  He pulled out his cube and tossed it in the air. “I’ll play. The e-mail starts by mentioning your father. The subtext could be your father was railroaded. Please don’t let that happen to me.”

  “That’s exactly how I’m reading it. And the part about you’re not the type to pre-judge could mean you won’t assume I’m a lying, crazy murderer just because I wrote that note. My guess is Laura is trying to defend herself. This is a cry for help, Spense, and I for one do not plan to ignore it.”

  His back was to her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got facial recognition software in my suitcase. I intend to find out who our mystery woman is, and what that photograph has to do with Ty Cayman’s passport pages.”

  “He’s been traveling with the Chaucer family for over a decade. His room always adjoined Laura’s. What if she suspects him of some sort of crime?”

  “You mean like murder? It wouldn’t surprise me at all to find that this dark-haired, blue-eyed mystery woman went missing in a foreign city around the time Cayman was there.”

  Her gut was pinging an even louder warning. “The question is . . . how many cities are we talking about? And how many blue-eyed brunettes?”

  Chapter 39

  Sunday, October 27

  7:00 P.M.

  Boulder, Colorado

  Spense set the platter containing the standing rib roast the moms had prepared on the dining room table, and a drop of hot grease splattered onto his chest just below his open collar. He felt the pop and smelled the faintest odor of singed chest hair, but better him than his fancy white dress shirt. Looking down, he double-checked, then smiled. No grease stains, just a bright red burn directly on top of his sternal notch. He was good to go.

  Only he’d forgotten the matches.

  He raced back into the kitchen for them, returned to the dining room and lit two tall tapered white candles. He centered a short crystal vase loaded with red roses between them, glanced up and forgot to breathe.

  Caity stood at the foot of the table, her eyes shining like blue diamonds.

  “God, you’re beautiful.”

  “Thank you. What’s going on?” She pointed to the table, set for two.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  She tilted her head back and laughed. “I’ve had more than one surprise today, and I have to say this is definitely the best of them. Did you do this all by yourself or did the moms help?”

  He came around and took her by the hand. In spite of present circumstances, everything felt right with the world when Caity was around. “They made the dinner, but I set the table and arranged the flowers. Does that count?”

  She pulled his head down and pressed her lips against his, making his heart skip around in his chest. At this rate, he was going to need a defibrillator before the evening was over.

  “Of course it counts. Spense, this is so thoughtful.”

  “You don’t mind that I sent the moms to a movie?”

  “No . . . but I have to say, I’m a little confused. I would’ve thought after your big talk with Agatha today you would’ve wanted her close.”

  “I did. Actually, in a way, this was her idea.”

  A small wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows.

  “It was your mother’s idea to plan a romantic dinner for me?”

  “No. That’s not what I meant. I just meant she was eager for you and I . . .” This was getting all screwed up. They were supposed to have a delicious, intimate meal. He was going to loosen her up with a bottle of wine, and then . . .

  He dropped to one knee.

  “Spense!”

  It was too soon. He hadn’t warmed her up yet, and he needed to go over his speech a few more times in his head. He stuck his hand in his pocket searching for his Rubik’s cube, then pulled it out and looked down at the ring box.

  Wrong pocket.

  Right woman.

  He heard her exhale sharply.

  The words he’d been going over in his head suddenly vanished. His hand, always steady with a Glock, trembled as he opened the lid of the jewelry box.

  Looking up, his vision was blurry. His tears and the candlelight made it almost seem like Caity was wearing a halo. She looked like a dark angel, beautiful and sad.

  A warning bell sounded in his head.

  Not sad.

  He had to be reading that wrong. She was emotional, sure. What woman wouldn’t be when the man she loved was on one knee, clearly about to propose? He was emotional, too. He closed his eyes and concentrated until the words he’d practiced came back to him.

  Then he looked up and took a big breath so he could get it all out in one go. “Caitlin Cassidy, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I don’
t want to go through one more day without telling you that I want us to be together always and forever. I can’t bear the thought of ever losing you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  The room was so quiet he could hear the clock in the corner ticking down the seconds.

  His knee throbbed from being in one position too long. “Caity, hurry up and say yes, will you? My knee is killing me.”

  “Where did you get the ring?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

  Okay. Logical question. He hesitated a moment, because even to him, the truth made him sound like a lovesick puppy. But then again, if ever there was a time to own up to that . . . “It belonged to my great-grandmother . . .” he started.

  “And—and you just carry it around with you all the time?”

  “Lately, yeah.” By now, his knee hurt like hell, but it was worth it. This was about to be the happiest day of his life. “Mom was keeping it for me. But then when we were working the Man in the Maze case, in Phoenix, I picked it up from her. I’ve had it with me since then.”

  “Just on a whim?” Her face flushed.

  “Yes. I mean no.” He swallowed hard. “You remember the night in Phoenix when I found you huddled in the closet.” She’d had a terrible dream about her father, and he’d found her there, shaking and shivering.

  Nodding, she bit her lower lip. “You climbed right in there with me and held me all night. We shared our first kiss. I could never forget that, Spense.”

  “Me either. I—I can’t say for certain exactly when I knew that I was in love. But it was that moment, there, in that closet that I realized I wanted to protect you. Always. Anyway, I picked the ring up from my mother’s, and I’ve been hauling it around on all our cases ever since. I guess some part of me knew you were the one even before either one of us was ready to admit it.”

  “Spense . . .” She grabbed his hands by the wrists and tugged him to a stand. “That’s the sweetest, best proposal a woman could ask for.” She leaned into him and pressed her face to his chest. He could feel moisture soaking through his shirt.