He placed his hand at the small of her back and luxuriated in the feel of her under the thin slinky material of her dress as he stepped through the open door with her. They were shown to their private room by the same maître d’ he remembered from the night of the attempted murder a week ago, only now he was smiling widely at Grace.
“Lovely place,” she said and then leaned in to whisper in David’s ear, which caused a flutter in his heart that would make his aunt Mabel proud if she knew—he would make sure she never did. He remained calm, took an inconspicuous deep breath and continued his visual review of the room and everyone in it.
“I can’t imagine a murder taking place here—not even a fake murder,” she said. The words blew into his ear and caused a frisson of nerves. He hid it and gave her the expected smile. His system was on high alert and he had to remain so, but his sensitivity to all things about Grace was killing him. He couldn’t distance himself from her. He would have to steel himself to her and pay extra attention to his surroundings.
They walked into the room where all the other guests had been waiting, and she surprised him by stepping in front of him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my pleasure to present to you our guest of honor, Mr. David Young, the new reincarnation of the late—or was that fictional?—Sherlock Holmes,” she said. People chuckled. The look on her face was a brilliant, joyful and open smile. “The Director of the Scotland Yard Exchange Program with the Boston Police Department!” Because her joy was infectious, everyone laughed. Dan caught his eye with one raised brow and a shake of his head. There was clapping all around and they moved into the room, where he started shaking hands and mingling. Dan brought him a drink.
“Don’t worry—it’s ginger-ale,” he said. “Looks like our Grace is quite a performer, costume and all. You’d never know she was under the stress of being a murderer’s target.” He waited for a response.
“She’s not performing. It’s all strictly genuine. And for some reason,” David said, shaking his head, “she’s not one bit worried about being in danger of being murdered.”
“Ah. That’s because she has you as her bodyguard, no doubt. And she has complete blind-adoration-enhanced confidence in you. She thinks of you as Sherlock or Batman or whatever, never mind that they’re fictional characters and you’re real. You’re in trouble, buddy.” Dan clapped David on the back and stepped aside for others to wish him well. David wasn’t at all sure that his friend’s prediction of trouble wasn’t the truth.
After shaking everyone’s hand and rustling Jason’s hair, they all took their seats at the table. Grace finally removed her hat and hooked it on the corner of her chair. In some bizarre twist of fate—or purposely plotted by someone’s evil sense of humor—Frenchie was seated next to Grace.
“That was a lovely speech, Grace. And your outfit is perfect! Especially the hat. Should you hang such a delicate hat on your chair that way?” Frenchie asked her.
“Oh, don’t worry about the hat. My friend loaned it to me. She said she’d never be able to sell it except as a prop for a low-budget film noir. And I told her perfect. That’s just what I need it for.” Grace smiled.
David almost dropped the glass of water he was about to raise to his lips. He did spill some.
“Watch out, David,” Frenchie said to him. He noticed she looked worried—that pinch between her pretty eyes had deepened. “This could actually be a dangerous scene, after all.” He nodded his agreement.
Jason heard the comment and so did Theresa, and their faces turned from smiling to wary at once. Whatever lightheartedness Grace brought when she walked into the room had been dispelled, as one by one, each of the guests recalled the true nature of the night’s purpose. They’d had to tell everyone about the sting in good conscience. But they’d volunteered to go along anyway.
Dan stuffed himself into the chair on David’s right and said for his ears only, “We’ll give it ten minutes and then check with the undercover staked out at Rick’s loft. I’m hoping your theory is right and they’ll look for the vase at the loft. They want the vase with the artifacts more than they want Grace. With us all here pretending the case is over, they just might try again to lift it.”
“That’ll only work as long as they believe we know nothing of the artifact in the first place,” David said.
“We were careful not to let it spill during questioning,” Dan assured him.
“But we have no idea if one of the officers might have said something about it along the way during the arrest and printing process,” David pointed out the main flaw in the plan. But there was always a potential crack in any plan to capture the bad guys. It was always best to acknowledge it before heading into the muck full bore.
“I know my guys didn’t say anything. I’ve been keeping most of this case under my hat and handling the details personally—as you know. Of course, I can’t vouch for any of the I.C.E. guys,” Dan said.
“Yes, those dratted I.C.E. fellows.” David got the intended laugh from his friend before he had a chance to obsess any further.
As the soup was being served he concentrated on his surroundings, becoming hyper-aware as his nerves were wound up another turn each minute—either caused by sitting near Grace for a prolonged period or waiting for the other shoe to drop in the murder case. Or maybe listening to the brittle laughs accompanying the brittle conversation—the only relief of which was the exchange between Jason and Grace, who seemed to be islands of oblivion to the tension in the room. David feared the undercover waiters might catch the jitters and spill the soup on him.
His ever-present phone buzzed from within his jacket breast pocket. He was the only man in the room wearing a jacket at this point.
“Phone,” he said to Grace and shoved his chair back, moving away from the table before putting the blasted thing to his ear. His movements may have remained smooth but he felt an alarming vibration of tight nerves down to his core.
He listened to the phone. Dan stood beside him, and they moved toward the door. Oscar’s unmistakable voice rasped on the line.
“What the hell do you guys think you’re doing?” The hold of David’s tension only marginally loosened its grip. Dan blew out a breath as he listened in.
“Setting a trap.”
“With my girl as bait?” Now his voice was deeper and more dangerous. The hairs on David’s neck picked up. He’d only heard Oscar speak like this one other time. Not good.
“She’s under my personal protection of course, and half the BPD undercover squad is here,” David said. “The real bait is the fake Aquinas vase we planted at Rick’s loft. The theory is that greed will win out over fear of being incarcerated by a flighty female witness. Especially when it’s Arturo Diego’s boss who’ll be calling the shots, and he’s not the one incarcerated. Any theories on who the boss might be?” David asked. Oscar paused before replying. Both David and Dan held their breath.
“My guess is someone official from Peru, but I don’t have any names—only a warning. I hope you don’t mind if I have your superb bodyguard skills backed up by some of my own personal favorites.” Oscar wasn’t asking.
“I might have a name for the Peruvian official,” David said. “You’ve confirmed a hunch I had. Mind telling me the basis for your information?” David he knew what Oscar’s answer would be.
“Now that would be like the magician explaining how he performs his magic tricks—ruins everything,” Oscar said, back to his raspy-friendly voice. “I am counting on you to wrap this up cleanly, David—and Dan too,” he said, but there was no threat to his words, only an earnest declaration. They all grunted their good-byes—including Dan.
“Even getting only as close as eavesdropping on his phone call, I felt all the old camaraderie, like we were fifteen years old again.” Dan sent a quick glance in the direction of his son Jason.
David slipped the phone back in his pocket. They stood just outside the private room in a short hallway, high in waiter traffic. David didn’t want to
stay there much longer and glanced back into the room to see Grace glancing out at him. There was no concern on her face, only the same blind adoration. Well, he admitted to himself, maybe it was plain adoration and he was assuming she must be blind.
“In that case you’d best not get any closer, Dan.” He looked at his friend.
“So who’s the hunch?” Dan slapped his back and they both turned around toward the room, where they slipped back to their chairs and spoke as if they were at a social event.
“Inspector Mateo—the man we spoke with recently. The singing in the shower at the motel sounded familiar, so I replayed the tape of our phone call,” David said in a quiet, conversational voice.
Dan nodded. “In five minutes, I’m going to call the guys at the loft, so eat your soup fast.”
The call, like the entire dinner, turned out to be fruitless, save as an exercise in tautening their tension and increasing their frustration. As they ate their dessert and were served coffee and after-dinner brandy, Rick pushed out his chair and they joined him at the small bar in the corner of the room. David watched Nick, who was disguised as a gray-haired bespectacled waiter, walk over to stand near them without directly joining them. Rick lit a cigar and offered one to Dan and David. After a quick look in his wife’s direction, Dan acquiesced. David took one without hesitation.
“Perhaps we should go out back with these.” David walked in the direction of the back alley where they’d met a week before over Nick’s prone, but live, body.
“What’s going on—any news?” Rick asked.
“All’s quiet,” Dan said. David didn’t add anything in spite of an expectant look from Rick.
“This isn’t good. We need to get everyone involved in this smuggling operation, but at least we have Diego, right? And maybe whoever else was with him is cutting his losses since we arrested his cohort,” Rick said.
“That’s a possibility,” David said, but not because he agreed. He knew Rick was going somewhere with this—somewhere he and Dan were not going to like.
“Good. Because I’m under some pressure to wrap this up. More importantly, I have to be at Boston City Hall Plaza tomorrow to make a speech in the governor’s absence. No choice, and it’s not something Nick can stand in for me on,” he said.
“We don’t have enough on the soccer player to charge him with Lester’s murder or the attempt on Nick,” Dan said. “Without more information, all we have him on for sure is attempted burglary—although I’m anticipating that I.C.E. might have enough to charge him with smuggling,”
“There is a distinct possibility,” David said, “that ICE will want him to go free so they can get his ‘cohorts,’ as you term it, for the whole enchilada, especially since they know there’ve been numerous murders involved in the operation. So you should consider this all carefully before you decide to stand up on a platform at City Hall Plaza.”
“They want the trinkets—not me,” Rick said.
“We’ll make sure the loft is watched closely while you’re out,” Dan said.
“This could be another opportunity for a sting,” David suggested. “Where’s your fiancée going to be?”
“With me at City Hall Plaza with you guarding both of us,” Rick said.
“Okay, then it’ll be the same drill as tonight. Hopefully not another exercise in futility,” David said. “We cover you and make sure the loft doesn’t look covered.” He’d have to take Grace with him too, he realized, and since he didn’t have three arms, he’d have to do something.
“Nick, what are you doing tomorrow morning?” he asked without looking at the man.
“I’m with you on an undercover assignment.” He turned to them with a smile and a gesture as if he were actually waiting on them. “I was just thinking how much I enjoyed dressing up. What disguise should I wear tomorrow?”
“Let’s keep it simple. Why don’t you wear dark glasses, a fake bald head and dark suit and stuff your shirt to show a paunch. Throw in an earpiece and everyone will assume you’re FBI,” David said with a straight face. Nick stifled a laugh and gave him a nod.
Grace walked over to them and David turned to her.
“I don’t suppose you could possibly look inconspicuous?”
“You are so sweet!” she said and she stepped closer to him. He held his ground but raised one brow, and it magically stopped her. He gave an inward sigh and regretted what his world was coming to when he was driven to stop a gorgeous woman from showing her appreciation.
But a short time later as they all left the restaurant, he knew he had the night alone with her in their suite to look forward to. He struggled in silence while she drove them with amazing concentration and speed back to the Parker House Hotel. He had no idea if he would allow her to fall into his arms tonight for one night of bliss, or if he’d hold her at bay so that he could look at himself in the mirror in the morning.
Grace had the worst case of butterflies she’d ever had in her life. Her gut was all over the place, but mostly in her throat. Every nerve ending was piano-wire taut and playing a bad tune. She could see nothing in front of her except a picture of her and David in each other’s arms as she drove through the streets of Boston as fast as she possibly could and still preserve their lives. She couldn’t possibly talk, and luckily David wasn’t inclined to shoot the breeze either. But then, he had the case on his mind, and all she could think about was how to seduce him and not regret it. She tried not to let the unthinkable creep into her head—what if he were to turn her away in a typically noble gesture?
He’d been holding himself back for sure, but his reasons for doing so caused her pain to contemplate. He didn’t want to have a meaningful relationship with her. He thought he was too old or she was too young. What she really didn’t want to contemplate was the possibility that there was something more substantial getting in his way—like his late wife.
She needed to concentrate on what she could do something about. Though she couldn’t make him younger, she could behave older. That, and seduce him into bed and drive him wild—and herself too. She couldn’t stand to pass up the chance to show him how she felt—even if it was the only chance she’d ever have. Or maybe because it might be the only chance she’d ever have. But what if seducing him to win him over wasn’t the right thing to do?
She turned the corner onto School Street and pulled up next to the entrance, where the valet took the car. They walked into the lobby while the doorman held open the door, and she could think of nothing but David’s possessive touch on the small of her back as he escorted her through to the elevators. He pressed the up button, and they stood and looked at each other.
“David…” was all she could manage to say. It came out almost in a squeak. Raw nerves had her voice pitched like a sick cat.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” he said, as if he knew everything that was on her mind. And his voice sounded perfectly calm, even serene. She couldn’t help her sigh, and as they stepped onto the elevator, some of her tension left her. She stood close to him in the space they had, and he smiled at her and pressed his arm around her. She had no idea what he was thinking and it was killing her.
They got to their room and went in. She felt every step as if she were walking the plank and she had no idea what was at the end of it.
They reached the middle of the room with the couch in front of them and their respective bedroom doors on either side of the space. He stood close, touching her in his spot. She smelled his cologne—it was like a smoother, more powerful version of Old Spice, but she had no idea what it was. She felt like the air vibrated around them, emanating from their taut cores. Or maybe it was her imagination.
She dared to look up into his eyes, and the air was shocked out of her lungs as if she were squeezed. His look blazed with powerful, yet controlled wanting. She looked back with the same wanting, and he got her message.
He covered her lips with his, and she felt his powerful passion build as his cool lips turned hot. She gave into him and fo
llowed with a mindless response to the place where the universe had shrunk to only their kiss. That was all she felt, all she heard, all she smelled and tasted: him. He smelled and tasted like a velvety dark night, and he kissed her with a force that commanded all she had. The feeling of being part of him was so strong and heady that if he hadn’t been holding her, she might have melted to the floor. She leaned against the solidness of him and breathed in that reassuring scent.
“Is this what you want?” he asked.
His raspy words caused her to stumble upright, and she blinked up at him. She felt like he’d turned into a mirage and reminded herself that her image of him probably was a mirage—he wasn’t really Batman after all, was he? He was flesh and bones and not a brick wall to lean against. She pressed her hands against him, with a shakiness inside. Her excitement from the kiss confused her, but not as much as trying to understand this man.
“What exactly do you mean by ‘this’?”
He chuckled softly in response and said, “If it’s complicated enough to require explanation, then I have my answer.”
“It is a complicated question. I have all kinds of feelings and I don’t know if yours are the same.”
“Neither do I.” He stepped back, but he kept the same indulgent smile on his face, the one that was warm and blank at the same time so she couldn’t possibly know what he felt.
She shivered and rubbed her arms. He gave her a knowing nod. That was enough for her.
“Doesn’t Batman ever get into romantic entanglements? Or is it against the rules?”
“Strictly against the crime-fighting code of behavior. I concede that it’s a different code than the one for decorators.”
“Is that a diss on decorators?”
“A diss?”
“Yeah, you know—a knock. I forgot you were old-fashioned.” She couldn’t help giving him an arched-brow smile with her comment.
“Is that a diss on middle-aged men?” His grin was back to wide and confident with no need to hide a thing. At least she knew his cool sureness was genuine. And she knew she wanted it, wanted to be part of his secure circle and share in his world. She wondered if he’d ever let her in—it was not because they wouldn’t be perfect together. She knew he wasn’t letting her in because he believed he knew what was best for her—that crime-fighting code.
The Throwbacks Page 22
