“How?”
Jack shrugged. “Who knows? But a window in Jeremy’s apartment was found wide open. Maybe the guy jumped out of it.”
The polite smile never left his face and we stared at each other, neither willing to be the first to look away.
I took a sip of my coffee and said, “Do you like extreme sports?”
I saw him look surprised for the first time since I’d sat down. “How d’you mean?”
I waved my hands dramatically. “Games. That are thrilling. And exciting.” He looked amused by my theatrics, so I said, “You mentioned being bored by your work. I figured you might do something exciting to relieve the boredom.”
Jack leaned forward. “In that case, yes. I do like excitement sometimes. Would you like to try something exciting with me?”
I paused for a split second, unable to help my mind from straying. And then I managed to say, “Being a private investigator is pretty exciting.”
“Sure.” He leaned back and we watched each other carefully.
“Do you like art?” I asked.
Jack nodded. “Who doesn’t? Whoever stole that Van Gogh must’ve had great taste.”
Ah-ha! “How do you know which painting was stolen?”
Jack smiled. “Jeremy showed me the painting when he had me over for a dinner party. When it was still hanging there, of course.”
“Oh.” My disappointment must’ve showed, but I ignored it and said, “So you’re a Van Gogh fan?”
“I love his work. What do you think?”
Before I could answer, my phone rang. Emily.
I excused myself and went off into the lobby to talk about Mr. Beard and maniacs.
“What’s his real name?” Emily asked me. “We know he’s got a record, but I can’t ask anyone to be on the lookout if I don’t have his name. There were about a dozen guys arrested in that casino fraud ring.”
I thought back. “Sorry. I’ve always thought of him as Mr. Beard. Even when he was arrested, I never bothered to find out his real name.”
“Hmm.”
I felt a prickle of worry. “Is that a problem?”
“We’ll have to figure out what his name is. Maybe he left some DNA at your place?”
“He was carrying a knife – Ian’s got it.”
“Who’s Ian?”
“Oh, he’s this really nice neighbor of mine. He’ll give you the knife.”
I gave her Ian’s number, and we hung up, but not before I asked her what she was doing up so late.
“Working,” she said with a sigh. “No wonder I’m still single.”
I agreed. “It’s these Vegas hours. Decent men…” I trailed off, as soon as I realized I was starting to sound like Mrs. Weebly.
I headed back to the café and Jack and I chatted a bit more about art and post-impressionism, and then I stood up to go back to my room.
“Why don’t I give you a free upgrade,” Jack said. “I own most of this place, after all. And I happen to know that the Presidential Suite is empty tonight.”
I stared at him. “Why would you do that?”
The words “you just met me,” and “I’m not going to sleep with you,” seemed to hang in the air. I wasn’t sure I meant that second one, but it would be a good thing if Jack believed it.
“I like you,” Jack said. “And if you don’t like presidential suites, I can always give you a honeymoon suite.”
I leaned back, narrowed my eyes and tilted my head. “Is this a bribe?”
Jack smiled and mock-raised his hands. “Whoa. Where’s that coming from?”
“I know you’re involved in the Van Gogh theft. I know you don’t want me to look into it.” Inspiration hit. “And I know you bribed the other investigator to get her off the case.”
The smile left Jack’s face and he squared his shoulders.
“Fine,” he said. His voice was light, but he crossed his arms. “If that’s what you think, you can stay in that crappy room you booked into.”
“It’s your casino. If the room’s crappy, that’s your fault.”
He smiled, his eyes twinkling with amusement again, and I turned around. I was too annoyed at the world in general to wait for a response. I didn’t mean to storm off, but I think that’s what I may have done.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I couldn’t sleep. I replayed my conversation with Jack over and over again, remembering the way his eyes sparkled and the perfect angles of his face.
Thoughts of the cupcake I hadn’t even ordered, never mind eaten, kept haunting me. Should I go down to the café again and order myself one? But then Jack would see me through his security system, eating a triple chocolate cupcake all by myself, and he might think that was an invitation to come and talk to me again. Even worse, I might spend half an hour eating that damn cupcake, and Jack would ignore me and not come and talk to me.
Of course, there was always the possibility that Jack had knocked off work, and wouldn’t even see me go down for that cupcake.
I groaned, feeling like I was in high school all over again. Except this time, I knew just what to do. I pulled up the room service menu, dialed the number, and ordered a cupcake to be brought up to my room.
I’d just finished my treat when there was a knock on the door.
I peered out through the fisheye, narrowed my eyes and opened the door.
“I’m sorry if I was rude earlier,” Jack said. “I didn’t mean to offend you, or offer you a bribe. Not that I’ve got any reason to bribe you.”
“Hmm.”
I looked at him suspiciously. In my experience, men usually aren’t quick to apologize – especially if they don’t really have anything to apologize for.
“Never mind,” I said gruffly.
Jack was standing close enough that I could smell his oceanic cologne, and I wondered distractedly what brand he wore. It was far too late to be talking with a man this good looking.
I was about to mutter a polite-ish goodnight and slam the door, when Jack said, “What’re your plans for tomorrow?”
“How do you mean?”
“Any suspects you need to badger, neighbors you need to drag around? Innocent people you need to accuse of crimes?”
I smiled. Criminal or not, it was hard not to smile at Jack. “Are you calling yourself innocent?”
“I’ve been taught by my lawyers to never respond to that question.”
“We’re working on a good lead,” I bluffed.
“So, maybe you could take the day off, tomorrow? It is Saturday, after all.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Why?”
Jack shrugged. “I thought I’d try to help you out. You’re investigating a stolen Van Gogh, you might as well check out one of the largest Van Gogh collections. Might help you better understand the, uh, motivations of the burglar.”
I looked at him. It didn’t seem like a bad idea, but… “I can go by myself.”
Jack shook his head, and I wondered fleetingly if he knew I’d ordered the cupcake. Not that it mattered.
“It’s a private collection,” he said. “I need to go with you, to get you in.”
I watched him closely, trying to read the gaps in his expression, but if he was hiding something, I couldn’t find it.
The desire to see some Van Goghs overcame the suspicions I had about Jack. And ok, maybe I was growing used to this proximity and wanted more of it. “Fine. But I don’t want to spend too long.”
“It’ll take all day,” Jack said. “It’s pretty far from here.”
“Don’t you have work?”
“I worked all of last night, and I can take time off. Come on.”
“Now?”
Jack looked at me and the corners of his mouth up. His upper lip had an exquisite curve to it, and I wondered what it would feel like to kiss that curve.
“It’s a long journey,” he said. “If you want to see it, we need to leave right away.”
I grabbed my purse and followed him out. I didn’t quite know where
we were going, but the cavewoman part of my brain had taken control again. “Follow attractive man,” she said, and that’s what I was doing. I was just lucky she hadn’t said, “Drag attractive man into cave. Now.”
***
“Where are we going?” I asked.
Jack and I were sitting in the back of a black Town Car being driven by a big man with tattoos on his neck, and I was starting to wonder if going on a longish trip with Jack was such a good idea after all.
“First stop,” Jack said, just as the car pulled up to the curb. “Is your condo.”
“Oh.” I looked up at the familiar building. “This seems like third-date kinda stuff.” The words were out before I could stop them, and I added quickly, “Or third-month. Whatever.”
Jack looked amused. “We need to grab your passport. I can wait out in the hall if you’d prefer.”
“Grab him now!” the cavewoman in my head was telling me. The rest of me was thinking about Mrs. Weebly.
“That’s ok,” I told Jack. “I don’t want Mrs. Weebly to get you.”
Jack raised one eyebrow. “The seductress next door?”
I frowned. “Grumpy old lady.”
“I’m great with old ladies! I’m sure she’ll love me.”
“Not this one.”
As we headed toward my condo, we passed Ian’s door with its deep gash left by Mr. Beard’s knife.
I turned to Jack. “I should check on Ian,” I said, and knocked.
I’d been expecting Ian to come bounding over and open the door within seconds, but it took almost a minute. He was wearing light-blue, Spiderman-print pajamas, and was rubbing his eyes sleepily.
He brightened when he saw me. “Oh, hi!”
“Hey, Ian. I hope we didn’t wake you?” He shook his head sleepily, and I said, “You still have the knife Mr. Beard stuck into your door, right?” He nodded again. “Someone from the police department’ll stop by and pick it up.”
His shoulders slumped and I detected the hint of a pout. “Why?”
“Dusting for prints.”
“I was hoping to keep it. Souvenir.”
“Maybe they’ll give it back,” I told him, trying not to roll my eyes. “You didn’t notice anything unusual after I left, did you?”
“No, sorry. Who’s your friend?”
“This is Jack,” I told Ian. “We were just heading to my place to get my passport.”
“I’ll come with,” Ian said, and closed the door behind himself. “Where are you going?”
“Somewhere with fancy security,” Jack told him.
“Is this PI business?” Ian asked me. “Are you two working together? I thought we’d be working together.”
I opened the door to my condo and stepped in. The big paper with “Surprise!” written on it in crayon was still lying on the floor, so I picked it up, crumpled it into a ball and threw it away.
“Remains of a surprise party?” Jack asked curiously, and I shook my head.
“You don’t want to know.”
I gave Ian a warning glance, and standing behind Jack, Ian mimed zipping his lips and throwing the key.
I found my passport, and we all walked out.
“I’ll see you later,” I told Ian, not really sure if I meant it, and Jack and I got back into his car.
***
Jack’s car sped north, and I said, “Where are we going?”
Jack smiled. “It’s a surprise. I promise it’ll be a much better one than whatever that paper on your floor meant.”
I looked at him warily. Almost any surprise would be better than Mr. Beard jumping out of my bedroom holding a knife, but I was still wondering if I’d made the right choice in going along with Jack.
I pulled out my phone, deciding to let someone know I was going away with Jack. But who? My mother would start praying that I was eloping with someone, Nanna would think I should’ve taken her along. My dad wouldn’t care, and Emily might start doing a background check on Jack. Finally, I texted Stone.
He called me back thirty seconds after I’d sent the text.
“Yo,” he said. “Whereabouts is this guy taking you?”
“I’m not sure. That’s why I texted you.”
Stone was silent for a few seconds and then said, “I ran his background after dinner last night. He’s a decent guy. Pillar of society and all that.”
I gulped. Somehow, I didn’t feel at all reassured to know that Stone had looked into this guy.
“He’s a playboy, though,” Stone continued. “So don’t fall for him.”
He hung up, and I sat there feeling dejected.
“You don’t look very happy,” Jack said. “Who was that?”
I shook my head and tried to put Stone’s warning out my mind.
***
“I hope we’re just going to Mexico,” I said nervously, as I waited with Jack.
We’d driven up to a door in McCarran Airport that I’d never even noticed before, let alone been through. Inside, there was a plush lobby, a cafeteria serving free food, and what looked like work stations. A woman dressed in an expensive-looking business suit had taken our passports and told us she’d do the paperwork.
Jack looked at me closely. “You’re not scared of flying, are you?”
I shook my head. I was more scared of being outside the USA with a man I’d just met. It’s not too late to turn around and leave, I told myself. But some perverse instinct made me stick around, desperate to find out where we were going.
The woman who’d taken our passports came back after a few minutes, and ushered us over to another door, where three men dressed in white pilots’ uniforms were waiting for us. Jack introduced them to me as Darren, our pilot, and James and Roy, our co-pilots. It was then that I realized we’d be flying on Jack’s private jet, and we followed the three men over to the plane.
“So, you’ve never flown commercial?” I asked Jack, once we were inside.
I was trying to act cool and not be overwhelmed by the size and luxuriousness of the plane. The cabin was large enough to fit fifty people comfortably, but there were only ten seats. Everything was cream – the walls, the leather seats, the plush carpeting – and outside the tiny windows, I could see the runway stretching out before us.
Jack smiled. “I’ve flown commercial most of my life. But now I need something that gets me places on short notice.”
I settled down in one of the plush seats, unable to stop thinking that this would make a great getaway vehicle.
Jack sat on the seat across the aisle. “There’s food in the kitchenette behind,” he said. “I hope you won’t mind if I get some sleep. It was a long night.”
“Of course.”
I watched him press some buttons, and his chair reclined into a flat bad, and then a screen slid up, blocking my view.
I wasn’t going to waste my time on my first – and maybe only – flight on a private jet. I wanted to wander around, find out what was in the kitchenette, maybe see if I could get into the cockpit and learn something about flying. But first, I pressed the buttons on the arm of my chair, just to see what they did.
The chair reclined, the seat went up, and before I knew it, my eyes closed and I drifted off to sleep.
***
“Tiffany, Tiffany, wake up.”
Jack’s voice floated over to me across the aisle, and I found myself trying to focus. A few seconds later, I was rubbing my eyes, remembering I was in a private jet, and I didn’t know where I was flying to.
“Oh, good, you’re up.” Jack sounded relieved, and I lowered the partition and looked over. “We’re going to land in a bit,” he said. “You might want to eat something.”
As if on cue, I felt a stab of hunger. I checked my wrist, but I hadn’t worn my watch this morning. “What time is it?”
“Lunchtime,” Jack said, and I smiled and headed over to the kitchenette. “There’s a chocolate cupcake from The Tremonte café in the fridge,” he called out. “Just in case.”
Half
an hour later, I’d stuffed myself with gourmet sandwiches and the cupcake, and the plane was descending. The sky outside was a bright, sunny blue. I checked the time on my phone and paled.
“The flight took twelve hours,” I said. “Where the hell are we?”
The plane bumped down onto the runway and began to taxi over to the gate.
Jack smiled. “Welcome to Amsterdam.”
I stared at him, aghast. “You brought me to Amsterdam?”
“Surprise!”
The plane slowed down and stopped, and the pilot came over to open the door. I tried not to scream, but my anger was bubbling up inside. A woman in a navy blue pantsuit was waiting for us on the other side of the door, and she escorted us through security.
I stayed silent, not wanting to cause a scene in a foreign airport. Who knew how the grim-looking Dutch officials would react to a crazy American girl causing a fuss? Maybe they’d arrest me, or maybe they’d send me to the tiny airport interrogation room I keep reading about in the news, and it’d be days before I could get back to Vegas. It was probably better to stay with Jack, and convince him to take me back home as soon as possible.
Once out of the airport, we got into the back of another Town Car. This time, the chauffeur was a slim, blond man who introduced himself as Lars. We drove through streets bisected by tram lines, and crossed tiny, picturesque canals. Numerous cyclists rode past us, and half the buildings had signs in Dutch, words that I couldn’t understand.
“How’d you like Amsterdam?” Jack asked.
I pushed a button to slide up the privacy partition between us and the chauffeur, and turned to Jack.
“This isn’t funny,” I said, trying to sound calm and collected, despite my anger. “I thought we were maybe going to Mexico. I don’t want to be in Amsterdam! You can’t just fly someone here without any warning! It’s not normal!”
Jack’s green eyes glinted. “I’m not normal.”
A sliver of fear shot through my heart. “You’re not going to kill me and leave me here are you? Or sell me into white slavery?”
I was too angry to be really scared, and Jack laughed. “Don’t be silly. I thought you’d like it, you said you wanted to see some Van Goghs.”
A.R. Winters - Tiffany Black 02 - Green Eyes in Las Vegas Page 15
