by Cassie Miles
She turned back to Adam. “When you were talking to Pierce, did he say anything useful?”
“He mentioned glitter. He wasn’t specific, but you and Heidi were on the same topic when he said it.”
“Do you think he was talking about the glitter on her gown?”
Adam shrugged.
“That’s not very helpful. Those sparkles aren’t worth much. They’re just glass or cubic zirconia or sequins.”
“And you’re the expert on sparkly things.”
“Maybe he meant diamonds.” She caught her breath. “The antique diamond necklace from Lucien Smythe.”
That piece of fine necklace, worth eight hundred thousand, was a huge temptation for a thief—and the basis for a theory. Molly speculated, “Let’s say that somebody found out about Stan and his sneaky little thievery. Now suppose that person threatened to tell.”
“Blackmail,” Adam said.
“And the only way they’d keep Stan’s guilty secret is if he stole the necklace for them.”
“Keep going.”
“But Pierce found out about the planned theft and confronted Stan.” Excited about how neatly this all fell into place, she gestured determinedly, pounding her fist into her hand. “That’s why Pierce was attacked. So they could get away with their grand scheme to steal the necklace.”
“And the attack on you?”
“They saw me as a threat. And they came after me because they were afraid I might figure it out, too.”
Though Adam continued to nod encouragingly, he didn’t seem totally convinced. “If I were a criminal mastermind, I wouldn’t trust Stan Lansky to pull off a major heist.”
He made a good point. A big-time crook would have his own experts. “Maybe the person who’s putting pressure on Stan isn’t usually a professional criminal.”
“You’re referring to someone who owns a wedding boutique. Or works as a caterer. Or a photographer.”
“Gloria, Denny or Ronald,” she said.
“I hope you’re right,” Adam said darkly. “Because I hate to think we’re really in ‘danger, danger, danger.’”
THE TAVERN where they met Berringer was a pleasant little neighborhood spot with leaded glass windows, dark wood tables and pizza on the menu. The detective sat alone at a center table where he was finishing off the last slice of a small pizza with pepperoni. He stood to greet them, wiping the grease from his fingers.
“Don’t bother to shake hands,” Molly said. She’d rather touch a spider. “Enjoy your lunch.”
“You should try the pizza here. It’s the best in town.”
From his spreading girth, she could tell that Berringer was spending way too much time sampling pizza pies all over the greater Denver area. “No, thanks. We had pizza last night.”
“Let’s get down to business,” Adam said. “We have information about the attack on Pierce Williams.”
“Really.” Berringer’s tone was sour enough to curdle the milk he was drinking to wash down his pepperoni.
“I’ll explain,” Molly said. “When we talked before, I mentioned that several petty thefts had occurred at weddings where Pierce was the planner.”
Berringer nodded as he finished wiping his fingers and discarded the paper napkin.
Cooly, she added, “Thefts that your guys didn’t think merited investigation.”
“I should record this interview,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. “I sense a confession coming on.”
“From me?”
“Who else?”
What a jerk! “Look, Berringer, I’m trying to do the right thing in giving you a lead. And possibly in thwarting a future crime.”
“Fine. Go ahead.”
In general, she wasn’t somebody who got rattled. But talking to the cops made her tense. It was easy to flash back to her runaway youth. Most kids thought Mister Policeman was their friend. Her experience was different. The cops were the people who snatched her off the street and returned her to foster care.
Detective Berringer leaned his elbows on the tabletop. “I’m waiting, Molly.”
“Somebody stole my pen.”
There was a silence. Then Berringer said, “Still waiting.”
“It’s a really nice pen. Shiny and silver. It’s exactly the sort of object that would attract a magpie.” Oh, swell. Now she sounded like somebody from the Nature Channel. “What I’m trying to say is that I know who’s been stealing from the weddings. I think I know.”
“I don’t have time for this,” he said.
“They might be building up to a big heist. The petty theft was just practice.”
“Hate to break it to you, Moll. But I myself have, on occasion, accidentally walked off with a pen. It’s not proof.” He turned to Adam. “Have you got anything resembling real evidence?”
“Hey!” She slapped the flat of her hand on the tabletop. “I’m talking here.”
Molly wasn’t about to lie down and let this jerk steamroll over her ego. When it came to detecting, she’d match her research and insight against the likes of Ted Berringer any day. “This is my investigation.”
“She’s right,” Adam said. He leaned back in his chair. “Molly’s in charge.”
She said, “Talk to me or talk to nobody.”
“That’s just great,” Berringer muttered. “Do you have anything more than a pen theft? Real evidence?”
“You don’t have to make an arrest,” she said. “Just bring this guy in for questioning. If you put any pressure on him, he’ll crack and tell you everything.”
“I need a reason to pick him up. Have you got anything?”
Dreading what she was about to say next, Molly cringed inside. “Last night I was attacked by someone in a black ski mask. They had a knife.”
“Was it the guy who stole your pen?”
She really wanted to lie and say yes, but she stuck to the truth. “I can’t identify the attacker, but he or she was driving a white van.”
“License plate number?”
“I didn’t get one,” she said.
“You should file a report on the assault,” he said. “In the meantime, there’s nothing I can do. No real leads. No real reason to bring anybody in for questioning.”
She bit her tongue to keep from swearing. Usually, when she worked with the police through CCC, they were cooperative. “Detective Berringer, I’m not making this up. Pierce was stabbed. I was attacked. And we have reason to believe there’s going to be another crime. I need your help.”
“You need me?” He chuckled. “Much as I’d like to handle your needs, there’s nothing I can do. I can’t pick somebody up because he stole your pen. That’s not going to fly.”
“Then I guess this is goodbye.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ll wait for you in the car, Adam.”
She flounced out the door of the tavern. Though she would have liked the validation of a police presence, Molly wasn’t too terribly upset by Berringer’s refusal to help. This was, after all, her case. And she felt able to solve it…with or without police assistance.
In less than five minutes, Adam joined her.
“Sorry,” she said. It was important for CCC to maintain good relations with the police department.
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “Berringer is a jackass.”
“Did you give him the note?”
“I did. And I told him about the antique diamond necklace.”
“What did he say?”
“He’ll look into it. I had the distinct impression that this case is ninety-nine on a priority list of one hundred.” He reached over to pat her arm. “I’m sorry Berringer gave you a hard time.”
“Thanks for taking my side.”
He gave her a warm smile. “I guess our investigation is back on, Molly.”
“I’m glad,” she said. “But are you sure this isn’t going to create future problems with the police and CCC?”
“Hell, no. The reason I started CCC in the first place was to investigat
e crimes—past and present—that had the authorities baffled. This fits the bill.”
As she smiled back at him, it dawned on her that she had something else to worry about—something other than anonymous notes, knife-wielding psychos and reluctant cops. Tonight, she’d be staying at Adam’s house, sleeping alone in his guest bedroom, and Amelia wouldn’t be there as a buffer.
Adam’s bedroom was two doors away from the guest room. She could sleepwalk that far with her eyes closed. Was she ready to take their relationship to the next level? To make love to Adam?
In many ways, the idea appealed to her. They’d waited seven years for a kiss. If she left the timing up to him, they’d both be retirement age before anything else happened.
On the other hand, she still wasn’t over her uncomfortable feelings about Adam’s transformation from her mentor to a possible lover. If they made love too soon, it might ruin their friendship and working relationship. Was a kiss just a kiss? Did it mean something more? Should she go to bed with him?
“You’re quiet,” Adam said.
“Thinking.”
“About what?”
She studied his profile. His deep-set eyes focused on the road as they headed back toward Golden. He didn’t have a single hair out of place; Adam had a standing appointment with the barber every three weeks. What would it be like to run her fingers through his hair? Would he be irritated?
In her experience, lovemaking was messy and imprecise with a lot of groping. But she didn’t expect Adam to be clumsy. He never left anything to chance. Before he had sex, he’d probably memorized the Kama Sutra.
“Well, Molly. What are you thinking about?”
She wasn’t ready for this conversation. “Dinner.”
FOR MOST OF HIS LIFE outside the Marine Corps, Adam had cooked for himself. He’d learned the basics as a kid, preparing dinner for his sister when his parents were preoccupied. And he hadn’t gone much further down the culinary road. His taste was simple. Meat, potatoes and sometimes a salad.
Though the kitchen at his house was large, Molly took up a lot of space as she whipped open cabinet doors and peered into the fridge.
“Where are your spices?” she asked.
He pointed to a lazy Susan on the granite countertop. “Salt. Pepper. Sugar. Crushed red pepper.”
“That’s it? No garlic? No cayenne? No oregano?”
“Somebody gave me a spice rack for a housewarming present,” he said. “But I threw it out after a couple of years.”
“I can’t believe we’ve never cooked together,” she said. “Apron?”
“Got one.” He opened the pantry door and took a plain black apron from the hook.
“Put it on me,” she said. “I don’t want splatters on my sweater.”
He looped the top of the apron over her head, being careful not to mess her hair. Then he reached behind her to tie the apron strings. They were close—so close that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body. Close enough for another kiss.
His bedroom was right up the staircase. If he kissed her now, they might never make dinner. Not that he cared about the food. His hunger was much deeper.
“Thanks,” she said. Her voice was breathy. Her full lips parted seductively.
“You’re more than welcome.” Welcome into my heart, my life, my bed.
But Molly stepped away from his impromptu embrace and backed against the countertop. She swallowed so hard that he could almost hear the gulp. “I’m going to show you how to turn a totally boring flank steak into beef Stroganoff.”
“That’s not a lesson I’m particularly interested in.”
She turned away from him to wash her hands at the sink. “Adam, I’m not sure what to do. The idea of, um, being with you. Well, it isn’t like anything that’s ever happened to me before.”
“Why?”
“Because I already have all kinds of feelings about you.” She turned to face him. “You’re my boss. And you’re more than that. Seven years ago, you took me under your wing. You encouraged me. Everything I am today, I owe to you.”
“I’m not a saint, Molly.”
“Way back then, why did you reach out to me?”
“To turn you in for picking pockets would have been a waste. You’re bright. And kind. I’ve never known anyone so accepting. You have the people skills I lack.”
The glow from her eyes gave him immense pleasure. He wanted to please her in every way.
“Also,” she said, “you needed a secretary.”
“I’m a practical man.”
“A good man.” A frown pinched her forehead, and she bit her lower lip. He had never seen her so uncertain. In a tiny voice, she said, “I don’t know if I can be good enough for you.”
Her words knifed into his soul. Not good enough? Clearly, she didn’t know how lovely she was. She didn’t realize that when she walked into a room, it became luminous.
His gaze lingered on her shining blond hair and her sweet mouth. In her eyes, he saw self-doubt that came from her childhood, her failed marriage and her brush with crime. It would take more than words to convince her that she was worthy of the finest, the best, the most astounding treasures life had to offer.
All of a sudden, he knew what should happen next. A plan leapt into his head, fully formed.
“When we make love,” he said, “I want it to be perfect. For you.”
Her eyes widened suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“We’ll be at Heidi’s wedding this weekend. Tomorrow is Friday, and I intend to book a suite at the Brown Palace.” It was the finest old hotel in Denver. And he’d do everything right. The flowers. The wine. The classy dinner from room service. “Will you join me?”
She took both his hands in hers and squeezed gently. “I will.”
“It’s settled.”
She dropped his hands and turned back to the countertop. “Let’s get cooking. Literally.”
He was pleased with himself. Tomorrow night couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Fourteen
After their Stroganoff dinner, which Adam had to admit was delicious, he cleared the dining-room table.
Molly spread out the candid photographs from the Deitrich wedding reception across the tabletop, and they sorted through them together. It was a homey exercise, like putting together a photo album. But they were using somebody else’s wedding.
Though the poses were unrehearsed, most of the pictures were flattering—subtly catching a moment. Couples dancing. Two bridesmaids in matching gowns with their heads together. The best man holding up his wine glass for a toast.
Adam had to admit, “Ronald does nice work.”
“I had no idea he was so talented,” she said. “Maybe I should let him do those sexy pictures of me.”
“Only if I can watch.”
She held up a close-up photo of Pierce and Gloria, chatting with their heads together. “The way he’s looking at her makes it hard to believe their marriage is over.”
“Maybe the divorce wasn’t his idea.”
“How can he care about her?” Molly shook her head in disgust. “She’s a witch. A monster. She’s Medusa on a bad-hair day.”
But did he love her? Was he protecting her? Adam recalled his brief conversation with Pierce in the hospital. He hadn’t spoken Gloria’s name, hadn’t referred to her specifically. In fact, he’d said he loved Molly. “Your friend Pierce is more complex than I expected.”
“How so?”
“He’s obviously shielding the person who stabbed him. Ignoring the risk to himself.” No matter how misguided this action, Adam had to admire Pierce’s selfless sense of honor—sacrificing himself rather than betraying another. “He knows this situation is dangerous. He talked about bad people. Evil people.”
“Aha,” she said. “That’s why you got so protective and said we needed backup. Evil people. You’re thinking about professional criminals.”
“Possibly.” When Adam thought they were investigating boutique owners
and caterers, his concern for safety was low-key. He could handle an assault from any of their current list of suspects without breaking a sweat. “We need to be prepared for serious bad guys.”
She leaned back in her chair. “I’d have to say that the person who attacked me wasn’t a hit man. Much as I like to think of myself as a kung fu princess, I’m not that lethal.”
“I tend to agree,” he said. “Your attacker used a knife. If a hit man was hired to take you out, he’d use a gun.”
She winced. “I’m glad I was dealing with an amateur.”
“The assault on Pierce is a different story. If you hadn’t showed up when you did, Pierce would be dead.”
“You think it was the work of a hit man.”
“It was neatly planned. A clunk on the head. A knife in the back.”
“But the blade missed his heart.”
“By only a few centimeters.” Adam had attended several autopsies, enough to know that the workings of the human body were complex and unpredictable. “Even a surgeon would have a hard time making a sure kill with one stab.”
“If you really wanted to kill somebody, you’d slice the carotid artery.”
“That might have been the intention,” Adam said. “But you interrupted before the hit man could finish the job.”
Molly remembered her panic on that night when she fumbled in the darkness, unsure of herself and terrified. Had she sensed the presence of evil? Had she known, deep in her bones, that the person who stabbed Pierce was a killer?
The attack in the parking lot had a completely different feel. Of course, she was scared. But she was able to fight back. “Could it have been two different attackers?”
“It’s possible.” Adam returned his attention to the array of photos on the table. He held one up for her to see. “Here’s Stan.”
“Our little magpie.”
She studied the picture. Like the other men attending the wedding, Stan Lansky wore a dark suit. He was perfectly groomed and polished, looking very classy on the dance floor.
The real surprise was his dancing partner. The small, delicate blonde was a knockout. She wore a simple, elegant, floor-length gown with lace sleeves. Her hair was upswept in curls. She couldn’t have been older than her midtwenties. “Is this Stan’s wife?”
