by Cassie Miles
Molly returned to the front room to close and lock the door. Breathing more easily, she approached the three large arched windows that rose from the floor to eight feet high. Two other tall buildings interfered with a panorama of the front range, but it was still a magnificent view of snow-capped peaks. Ski season would be under way in only a month.
“Nobody lives here,” Adam said. “The closets are empty.”
But the loft was fully furnished. The leather upholstered furniture was attractive and definitely expensive though not very imaginative. “It reminds me of a hotel suite.”
“No personal knickknacks on the shelves,” Adam noted. “Not like the place Pierce lives where he’s got a bunch of athletic trophies.”
Molly wandered aimlessly, unsure of what she should be looking for. She paused at a wall display of black-and-white photographs. “Nice artwork.”
Adam stepped up beside her. “Too modern for my taste.”
A frustrated sigh pursed her lips. She and Adam were so completely different. She liked the city; he liked grassy yards. She preferred modern art. These photos were close-ups of body parts.
“It’s not abstract,” she said. “Look. There’s a belly button. And this has got to be one naked thigh on top of another. Two people. I think we know what they’re doing.”
“Sex,” Adam said bluntly. “It’s cold. Too detached.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “What kind of nudes do you like?”
“The ones I can touch.”
“That’s not very artsy.”
He smiled. “Wait and see.”
Molly felt herself beginning to blush. Looking for a distraction, she checked the signature on the photos. “Ronald Atchison.”
“I wonder how else he’s connected to this loft.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “I could call him and find out.”
“Do you think he’d say anything?”
“Maybe,” she said. “I think you shook him up yesterday. Now, he’s had time to think. He might want to come clean.”
“About what?” Adam asked.
“Yesterday, when you were in Ronald’s face being the bad cop, you mentioned fake IDs. And I think he reacted to that.”
Adam nodded. “But how do fake IDs fit in with the theft of the diamond necklace?”
“Not very well.”
Tony called out from the kitchen, “Come in here and check out the fridge.”
Like the rest of the spacious loft, the kitchen looked expensive with a top-of-the-line oven and a double-door, stainless steel refrigerator. Tony stood beside the fridge, holding the door open and pointing inside.
Molly grinned at him. “You look posed. Like one of those models who show off appliances.”
“Only not so pretty,” Adam said.
Molly looked where Tony was pointing. “I see mustard, horseradish and bottled water. There’s got to be twenty bottles in there, and it’s the same brand Denny Devlin served us.”
Tony swung open the freezer section. Inside were several prepackaged meals, ready for the microwave. But these weren’t the usual meals Molly purchased at the supermarket. The containers were plain white with the contents handwritten on the side. She took one out and read the logo printed across the top: Devlin Catering.
“That ties two of our primary suspects to this place,” Adam said.
“There might be an innocent explanation,” she said. “Maybe Pierce rents this place as a kind of corporate suite for visiting executives. Of course, he’d use the people he knows to provide services. Like Denny for the food. Ronald for the artwork. If we knew more about the other people associated with weddings, we’d likely find connections to them as well.”
“Where do the rent checks come from?” Adam asked.
“The Sylvan Company.” She’d never heard of this corporation. “When I tried to check out the company, I found nothing but a checking account.”
“Who signs the checks?”
“Nobody connected with the wedding business,” she said. “I can dig deeper into ownership, but it will take a while if this isn’t a Colorado corporation.”
“We might not have the time,” Adam said.
Tony nodded. “Not if the criminals are after that diamond necklace. The wedding’s tomorrow.”
“Tony, I’m so glad you’re going to be there,” Molly said. “What happened when you met with Lucien Smythe?”
“We worked out details for transport of the necklace.” Tony shrugged. “He’s a solid citizen. Former Navy.”
But Molly knew that Lucien was far from your typical citizen. Not only did he have a criminal record, but he’d taken it upon himself to hack off the finger of a thief.
She frowned. The more they learned, the more suspicious everyone looked. And, somehow, it always came back around to Pierce.
She took out her cell phone, intending to call him. When she activated her phone, she found the message box full. “People have been trying to reach me.”
She scrolled through the list. “Denny called. And a florist. The cake baker. Heidi called five times.” Obviously, Molly needed to pay more attention to the last-minute details for the wedding tomorrow. “There’s even a call from Pierce in the hospital.”
And that was the number she needed to contact first. With a few quick questions to Pierce, she might be able to understand the real purpose of this loft.
He picked up immediately, and she was pleased to hear him sounding healthy and strong.
“Molly, I have to ask a favor.”
“Shoot.”
“I want you to step out of Heidi’s wedding plans. Gloria will take over from here.”
Though Molly had no professional stake in this busi ness and had done very little to keep Heidi’s wedding on track, she was insulted. “Are you firing me?”
“Don’t take it that way,” he said. “I just don’t want you in the middle of this. Adam told me that somebody attacked you.”
“I handled it.” And she could handle the wedding, too. All it took was a couple of phone calls.
“Please,” he said. “Back off.”
She sensed that there was something more involved in Pierce’s decision. “Did Gloria ask you to get me out of the picture?”
“It’s possible.”
“She’s standing right there, isn’t she? She’s in your hospital room.”
“That’s right.”
It figured. Gloria had gone directly from their confrontation at her boutique to the hospital. At this very moment, that witch was circling Pierce’s bed on her broomstick. “I’m sorry she bothered you. You should be concentrating on getting better. Not worrying about weddings.”
“It’s my job,” he said. “So, we’re agreed.”
“Not entirely.” Molly had made necessary arrangements that she didn’t want Gloria to interfere with. “The additional security on Lucien Smythe’s necklace is not to be changed.”
“Additional security?” Pierce questioned. “Why?”
Good grief! Had it escaped his notice that there was a knife-wielding psycho on the loose? “The necklace is worth over eight hundred thousand dollars. Extra security can’t hurt.”
“Sure,” he said amiably. “Fine.”
“And Adam and I will attend the wedding reception.”
There was a pause. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Listen, Pierce, you were the one who asked me to look into your petty thefts.” Though her totally justifiable anger was building, she kept her voice calm. It wasn’t her intention to hassle him in the hospital. “Whether I like it or not, I’m involved. And I need answers before some hit man decides to take me out of the picture.”
“Nothing is going to happen at Heidi’s wedding,” he said.
But she wasn’t so sure. The anonymous note said that the crime would take place on Saturday at the same time as Heidi’s wedding and reception. It couldn’t be a coincidence. “We won’t go to the ceremony, but Adam and I intend to stake out the reception.
”
“Just stay safe,” he said. “Stay out of trouble.”
“Little old me? When have I ever gotten in trouble?”
“Not funny,” he said. “Anything else?”
Standing at the window in his loft, she remembered the reason for this phone call. “Your loft in LoDo. Tell me about the person who rents it.”
“I only met him once. His credit checked out. He’s an entrepreneur who moved to Denver from someplace back east.”
“What’s his business?”
“The Sylvan Company,” Pierce said. “That’s how he pays the rent.”
“Did you rent the loft furnished?”
“No way. I’m not a decorator.” He paused. “Adam asked me about the loft, too. What’s going on?”
“Nothing you need to worry about. Get well, Pierce.”
She disconnected the call and stood quietly for a moment, gazing out at the Rockies, and wondering about the connections in this loft. If Pierce hadn’t fur nished the place, why were Ronald Atchison’s artsy photos decorating the walls? Why would Denny Devlin have provided microwave food?
The missing link had to be Gloria. She’d swiped the file from Pierce’s home office, hoping to keep Molly from learning more about the Sylvan Company and the mysterious entrepreneur who rented this classy loft.
Somehow, Molly knew, this place was central to the crime. Whatever that crime might be.
AFTER A BIT of catch-up work at the CCC offices, Molly was escorted to her house by Tony, the bodyguard. She needed to pack some clothes for the wedding reception tomorrow and something to wear tonight. At the Brown Palace. In a suite. With Adam.
Yikes! There was less than an hour left before their late afternoon check-in. The butterflies in her stomach had formed a chorus line and were high-kicking like the Rockettes.
In her bedroom, she scanned her selection of lingerie. Since Molly was unable to resist pretty underthings and sleepwear, there were plenty of choices. A slinky black chemise with feathers. A sweet pink gown that skimmed her curves.
She rejected the lacy white peignoir. It was too bride-ish, and she didn’t want Adam to freak out. He was so uncomfortable around girly things. Maybe she should forget the fancy nightware altogether. But this night was supposed to be perfect for her, and she wanted to feel gorgeous.
She grabbed her cell phone and called Ronald, who answered quickly.
“Well, Molly,” he said coldly, “I see you’ve been booted from the wedding planner business in favor of Gloria.”
Ignoring his sneer, she said, “If you wanted to be really gorgeous and sexy would you wear black lingerie or pink?”
“It depends on who’s going to see it. Your fiancé?”
She had almost forgotten about her fake engagement. “Right. The fiancé.”
“Tell me about the black,” he said.
“It’s short and has feathers.”
“Perfect. Wear it with a black garter belt.”
“Yeah, sure. And maybe I should carry a whip. And I think we’ve got some handcuffs at the office.”
“Sweetie, that’s the spirit.”
Why on earth had she expected to get decent fashion advice from Ronald? “I saw some of your photo work today. At Pierce’s loft.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. Molly waited, but Ronald was not forthcoming. Gently, she asked, “Is there something you need to tell me about? Something about the loft?”
“Maybe I’ve done some favors for friends. It all seemed harmless at the time.”
“What kind of favors?”
“If I tell you,” he said, “will you promise not to tell your friend, Adam?”
She couldn’t make that promise. “No.” But she wanted the information “Yes.”
“I don’t believe you. This is goodbye until later, Miss Molly.”
She stared at the disconnected cell phone, wishing that somebody—anybody—would break down and tell her the truth. There was a conspiracy of silence among these wedding people.
Tossing the cell phone on the bed, she returned to her study of lingerie.
Holding both the pink and the black, she went into the kitchen of her cozy two-bedroom house where Tony was sitting at the table, drinking a soda. She waved the pink, then the black. “Which one?”
He swallowed hard. “Are those dresses for a wedding?”
“For tonight.” It might be a mistake to share her plans for tonight with Tony, but she didn’t have any other confidant handy. “I’m staying at the Brown.”
“With Adam?”
It was her turn to gulp. “Yes.”
“About damn time,” he said in a low rumble.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Ever since I started volunteering at CCC, you and Adam have acted like an old married couple. With none of the benefits.”
She sank down at the table opposite him. “Is this weird that I’m talking to you about this?”
“I’m a good listener,” he said. “And I have a daughter.”
“She’s fifteen,” Molly said. “This is hardly the same thing.”
“Sure it is.”
“Oh? And if your daughter told you that she was planning to spend the night with a man, what would your reaction be?”
“Before or after I broke both his legs?”
“That’s what I thought.”
But Molly had always been comfortable around men. Her best friends, like Pierce, were men. Why shouldn’t she be able to talk with a former Navy SEAL who was capable of leg-breaking? “I’m kind of scared about tonight.”
“You? Scared?”
“Right now, Adam is probably the most important person in my life. What if being, um, intimate with him messes up our working relationship? What if he doesn’t like me?”
“Not possible,” Tony said with a kind smile.
“Of course it’s possible. So many things can go wrong. I could blurt out something that turns him off. Maybe he won’t like the way I look.” She usually wasn’t bothered in the least with self-esteem issues in that department. She liked her appearance. “What if Adam doesn’t think I’m…you know…pretty.”
“He does,” Tony said. “All day today, he’s been staring at you and drooling like a dog who wants a bone.”
“Charming comparison,” she said.
“Hell, you and Adam have already done the hard part of a relationship. You know you can get along on a day-to-day basis.”
That was true. She and Adam teased. They disagreed on practically everything, but they accepted their differences. “Sex changes things.”
“For the better,” Tony said. “I couldn’t be more pleased that you two have finally figured out that you belong together in more ways than CCC. You’re a match. And it doesn’t matter what you wear.”
Still, she held up the selection of lingerie again. “Which one?”
“Sexy black,” he said. “And you’re going to be just fine tonight.”
Chapter Sixteen
Though Adam was a man who preferred to keep things plain and simple, he was enthusiastic about his plans for a romantic evening at the Brown Palace with Molly. He’d even given his strategy a title—Operation Cupid’s Arrow.
He ordered three dozen long-stemmed red roses for the suite and half a dozen candles. A Brown Palace concierge agreed, for a substantial tip, to arrange everything. Online, he checked the room service menu and preordered champagne and her favorite dinner, even though he hated asparagus.
Timing, he thought, was vital to any successful mission.
After they arrived at the suite, he’d suggest that she take a nice, relaxing bath, which was a good way to get her out of the way for the staging of his final advances. As a bonus, she’d be naked.
Then, the concierge would bring on the flowers, candlelight and dinner. When Molly came out of the tub, she’d be awed by his thoughtfulness. And she’d know how special and lovely she was.
Grinning to himself, he packed. Hopefully, he’d
thought of everything.
But wait a minute! Here was a snag. What should he be wearing when she emerged from her bath? It seemed sleazy to be hanging around in his dark blue terry-cloth bathrobe. Regular khaki trousers didn’t make a statement.
His tuxedo. He needed to bring the penguin suit anyway for the wedding reception tomorrow. He’d wear his tux to sweep Molly off her feet. Every woman liked a man in a tux. It was nearly as classic as his Marine dress-blue uniform.
Oh, yeah. He had this plan nailed.
When he picked Molly up at her house and loaded her suitcase into the trunk, he ran over the details in his head. What about music? Adam wasn’t up on the current tunes, but he was sure the hotel had a sound system. Jazz? Classical?
“Nervous?” Molly asked.
“Not a bit.” He was prepped and ready. Locked and loaded. “You?”
“This feels like a first date. But that’s crazy. We’ve known each other forever.”
“Not like this,” he said.
As he drove toward Denver, the sunset glinted off the downtown skyline. The city seemed to glisten, welcoming them.
At the Brown Palace, he turned over his car to the valet and their luggage to the bellman. He took Molly’s arm to escort her into the grand old hotel. The lobby was luxurious and impressive with a sweeping staircase, dangling chandelier and manteled fireplaces. A fine place for a fine lady.
Molly balked.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I don’t belong here,” she said. “Maybe we should go someplace else.”
After all his careful plans? The roses and champagne? Firmly, he said, “We’re staying here.”
“But I’m more of a motel kind of girl. Maybe a nice motel with a swimming pool.”
She’d picked a hell of a time to bare her insecurities. Usually, Molly charged into any situation whether or not she fit in. Consequences be damned.
“You deserve the Palace,” he said. “And we need to be here anyway. For the wedding tomorrow.”
She looked up at him doubtfully. “It does seem practical.”
“Absolutely.”
In their suite, her attitude improved as she checked out the solid, antique-looking furniture and the well-stocked bar. “We shouldn’t drink anything from here,” she said. “It’ll cost a fortune.”
