by JoAnn Ross
Shayne shrugged. “I did what it took to keep the ball in play.”
Including sleeping with her? Bliss wondered as her head pounded with increased force. Try as she might, she couldn’t completely accept that what she and Shayne had shared last night and this morning had meant nothing to him. She wanted—needed—to believe that at least a part of his heart had been involved.
But in order to find out, she’d have to ask him directly, which she couldn’t do with Cunningham and Michael here. And there was no way she ever intended to be alone with him again.
Turning down Michael’s suggestion that she call her attorney, she spent the next three hours going through her appointment calendar and a year of purchase orders, and was not at all pleased to discover how often she’d received a shipment from France or Great Britain shortly after a major jewel theft.
“That’s why you were a suspect,” Cunningham told her. “To tell you the truth, we’d begun to believe that you and your former husband were in business together.”
“We were divorced,” she returned, closing her eyes as the image of Alan’s dead body swam in her mind again. She’d fantasized about his death innumerable times, but she’d never actually meant for such a thing to happen.
“Greed is a powerful motive,” Cunningham answered. “It made sense that just because you weren’t willing to put up with the guy’s infidelity didn’t mean you weren’t willing to make whatever untaxable money you could by being part of his illegal schemes.”
Her head cleared again, the mental image of her ex-spouse blown away by the fresh breeze of renewed irritation. “You obviously don’t know me very well.”
“Not as well as O’Malley does.” His smile was rife with sexual innuendo that made her fingers itch to slap him. She could feel Shayne’s intense gaze but steadfastly refused to look at him.
“Shut up, Cunningham,” Shayne growled softly.
“Be that as it may,” she said, continuing to ignore Shayne, “if you’ve been investigating me all this time, you should know that my grandmother and I don’t live a luxurious life-style. Almost every penny I make goes right back into the shop.”
“Offshore banks exist for hiding illegal funds.”
“But you could never find an account for me.”
“No.”
She sat back in the chair, rocking slowly as she thought about everything Cunningham had said. “I have one question.”
“What’s that?”
“If you truly believed that I was capable of such criminal activities, why aren’t I a suspect in Alan’s death?”
“Because you were with O’Malley.”
“Ah, but did you ever think that he was just an alibi? That I’d arranged to spend the night away from the city, then lured Alan to The Treasure Trove, and had a hired killer—a hit man, I believe he’s called—murder him?”
“Bliss,” Michael warned quietly, “I don’t think you should be talking like this without an attorney.”
“Why not?” She turned toward him, her smile bright and horribly false. “Just think, Michael, you’re the only man I know who routinely carries a gun. Perhaps you’re the killer I hired. It makes a nice ironic touch, don’t you think? My being so clever to pit the O’Malley brothers against each other in my little murder scheme?
“Oh, but there’s just one flaw in that theory,” she continued. “I would have had to know that Shayne was your brother. And of course I had no way of knowing that since the man I knew as Shayne Broussard was such an excellent liar.”
“It wasn’t all lies, Bliss,” Shayne said quietly.
She ignored him. “Is this going to take much longer?” she asked, turning toward Cunningham. “Because I really would like to get home. I’m sure Zelda must be frantic by now.”
“I called her and explained what was happening,” Michael said. “I also called Dr. Vandergrift and asked him to drop by and make certain she was doing all right”
“Aren’t you a dear, considerate friend,” Bliss drawled, the hardness in her eyes at odds with the sweet syrup coating her words.
Michael met her scathing gaze head-on. “I try.”
The thing Bliss found most irritating was both O’Malley brothers’ refusal to crawl. Although each had admitted to having done wrong, they still possessed that steely core of self-confidence that made her want to start throwing things at them.
Now that she knew the truth, she realized that she’d been right to keep comparing the two men. Along with their physical resemblance, they were remarkably alike. Which, of course, made this entire episode even more confusing and unsettling.
She’d always considered Michael an unfailingly honest man, willing to give up a career he’d loved rather than compromise his integrity.
Shayne, on the other hand, was an unscrupulous liar who’d say anything, do anything, to achieve what he wanted. To him, apparently, the ends truly did justify the means.
How could they be so much alike, when their differences were like night and day? The question made her headache pound even harder.
Cunningham capped his Waterman pen and put it back into his jacket pocket. “I believe that’s enough for now, Ms. Fortune,” he said. “From all the evidence O’Malley’s compiled on you, I have to say that you don’t fit the profile for a jewel thief. Or a murderer. I’m certain that when I turn in my report, my own superiors will mark your part of the case closed.”
“Isn’t that a relief.” Although her tone was sarcastic, Bliss truly was relieved to discover that this might actually be the end of her nightmare. “I suppose I should consider myself fortunate that Agent O’Malley is such an excellent undercover officer.”
She stood up. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have some cleaning up to do.”
“Not today.” Risking her wrath, Shayne took hold of the tops of both her arms. “You’ve been through too much. You need to let me take you home and—”
“Let go of me, Shayne. Right now.”
“Not until we—”
“Shayne.” Michael put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Let me try.” He turned toward Bliss. “I know you’d rather hang out with a gator right now than give me the time of day, but I don’t really care how angry you are, Bliss. Because Shayne’s right. You’ve received a couple of knockdown punches and you need to get out of here.
“Besides,” he said, when she opened her mouth to argue, “Zelda was close to frantic when she heard about a body being found in the store. She was so afraid it was you, and even after I managed to assure her that you were safe, it took all my persuasive powers to keep her from racing down here.
“You need to go home. And your grandmother needs you there.”
“Dammit, Michael,” Bliss said, blinking back the traitorous tears threatening at the back of her eyelids, “I really, really want to dislike you.”
“I know.” He touched his fingertips to her temple, as if to soothe the pain he knew must be throbbing beneath the skin. “And if you want to call me every name in the book while I drive you home, that’s okay. You won’t think of any I haven’t already been called. After all those years on the force, I’ve developed a pretty thick skin.
“But let me drive you home, so you can take care of Zelda. And she can take care of you.”
He seemed to be the same warm, considerate man she’d come to care for so deeply. Since she also knew that loyalty ran deep in his veins, Bliss realized exactly how difficult a situation Shayne had put his older brother in.
That idea helped focus her anger on Shayne while allowing Michael to help her, since in truth, now that the initial shock was over, she was beginning to tremble so badly she wasn’t certain she’d be able to drive herself home.
“On one condition,” she said.
“You name it,” Michael answered promptly.
“One word about your brother and I’m going to get out of the car and walk home.”
“It’s a deal.” He gave her the first smile she’d seen since she’d arrived at The Treasure Tro
ve, then handed her his car keys. “The car’s parked right next door. Why don’t you go sit in it while I lock up here?”
She glanced around the shop, her gaze settling on the dark stain once again. “Thank you.” She took the keys, scooped Hercules from the window, then walked on wobbly legs out the door.
Shayne caught up with her on the sidewalk.
“I don’t want you to touch me,” she snapped as he put his arm around her waist.
“Tough. Because you look about ready to fall on your face.” He took the keys from her nerveless fingers, dispatched the car alarm and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”
“I don’t have to take orders from you.”
“It’s not an order. It’s a damn suggestion.”
“I’m not talking to you.” Since she was afraid she was going to embarrass herself by fainting, she slid into the bucket seat.
“Fine. Then if you’ll just listen—”
“I’m not listening, either.” She was tempted to put her hands on her ears, but deciding that would look horrendously juvenile, just stared straight ahead out the front windshield instead.
He leaned into the car. “I know I hurt you, Bliss. And I’m willing to plead guilty. But with an explanation, if you’ll only hear it.”
She snatched the keys from his hand, stuck them in the ignition, and twisted them to allow her to turn on the radio, which was tuned to an oldies rock station. Jim Croce was singing “Time in a Bottle.”
Terrific timing, Bliss mused miserably. Had it only been a few hours ago that she’d been wishing she could freeze time so she’d never have to lose the joy she’d felt after her wonderous, stolen night with Shayne?
“Dammit, Bliss—”
She turned the volume up, drowning him out.
“All right.” He shouted to be heard over the radio. “I’ll leave you alone for now. But believe me, lady, this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”
Frustrated, he grabbed hold of her chin and jerked her head toward him and gave her a quick hard angry kiss that was nothing like the sweet slow ones they’d shared this morning.
“It’s not over,” he repeated gruffly when he released her mouth. “That was just to keep you from forgetting what we have.”
As if she could ever forget. Bliss watched as Shayne strode back to the shop and paused beside his brother who was locking the front door. Although she could see his lips move, she couldn’t discern what he was saying.
“Take care of her,” Shayne instructed Michael. “She needs more than a friend right now. She needs a protector.”
Michael cut a quick glance toward Bliss, then back to his brother. “You’re thinking the same thing I am.”
“Yeah.” Shayne rubbed the back of his neck, where the muscles had twisted into a painful knot. “Whoever killed Alan is still out there. And she’s a potential target.”
“I’ll put one of my men at her house. Then I’ll get back to digging into who the guy’s been hanging out with lately.”
“Thanks.” Shayne wanted to hug his big brother, something that had been so easy to do back when he was six and Mike had gotten his kite out of a tree or untangled a fishing line. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you? That’s what big brothers are for.”
“I’m serious,” Shayne said. “If you ever need my help—”
“You’ll be the first I call. If I can find you, that is.”
Shayne turned to look over at Bliss, who appeared so small and pale in the front seat of Michael’s car. “I think that’s going to be a lot easier in the future.”
“Thinking of sticking around?”
“A guy gets a little tired of living in hotels.”
“Yeah, that’s the same thing Roarke said. Right before he moved in with Daria.”
“This is different.” No way was Shayne going to start letting Bliss measure for curtains. But neither was he going to let her get away. Not until this fever between them had run its course.
“Of course it is,” Michael said with a laugh that suggested he didn’t believe his brother for a minute. “I’ll come by the hotel after I get Bliss settled in at home. And we’ll see what we can come up with.”
The two brothers parted; Michael headed off to Bliss, and Shayne returned to where he’d illegally parked in a yellow zone across the street. He plucked the ticket from the windshield wiper, stuck it into the glove compartment with the others he’d collected during his time in the city, then drove to the hotel. It was time, he decided, that he and Cunningham had a heart-to-heart talk.
12
“I DONT KNOW what you’re talking about.” Cunningham’s expression was as smooth as glass. But Shayne suspected he knew a lot more about Alan Fortune’s death than he was saying. “If you’re suggesting that I had anything to do with Fortune’s untimely demise—”
“I’m suggesting you had someone take him out.”
“And what would I achieve by killing the man?” Cunningham countered. “If he was involved in the jewel theft ring, and it appears that he indeed was, he would have been a great deal more help to us alive. Dead men can’t talk,” he reminded Shayne.
Shayne reluctantly agreed his superior had a point Still, there’d been something niggling at the back of his mind for the past two days. Some piece of the puzzle he couldn’t quite get his hands on.
“Which is why he was killed,” Shayne surmised. “To keep him quiet.”
“That would be my guess.”
“The killer could have been a professional hit man who’s already blown town.” Shayne began to pace, trying to work out the logistics. But it was difficult when images of Bliss’s face after she’d learned his true identity kept floating to the forefront of his mind. “Or, it could be someone local.”
“Who knew both Fortunes,” Cunningham agreed.
“Exactly. Which narrows things down to the grandmother. Or Nigel Churchill.” Zelda, of course, was ridiculous. But the antique dealer suddenly moved higher on Shayne’s suspect list.
“I wasn’t aware that Churchill and Fortune were acquainted.”
“They’re old friends. In fact, Bliss told me Fortune introduced her to Churchill in the first place.” Shayne stood in front of the window, looking down on the Quarter, which harbored a lot more dangerous secrets than tourists, who tended to focus on the jazz and strip clubs, could ever imagine.
New Orleans was as layered and multifaceted as its residents, and although it put on a carefree face for visitors, Shayne knew that it also had a darker side it kept to itself. In that respect, Shayne figured, he was a great deal like his hometown.
“The problem is, if Churchill was involved in the jewelry smuggling, why wouldn’t he move stuff through his own shops?” Shayne mused out loud.
“Perhaps it was too dangerous,” Cunningham suggested. “Since he’s been trying to take over the Fortune woman’s business, it would only make sense that he’d keep track of her trips abroad. It wouldn’t be that difficult to arrange to have the merchandise smuggled in her purchases.”
“That way, if the stuff got caught at customs, Bliss would be the one holding the bag.” It made sense, Shayne decided. “But that’s awfully iffy. What if someone actually bought the item in question before the contact on this end could get hold of it?”
“That would make things more difficult,” Cunningham allowed.
“It’s too risky,” Shayne muttered.
“If thieves and foreign agents didn’t make mistakes, we’d never catch them.”
“Good point.”
Once again Shayne had the feeling that there was something not quite right with the scenario. Something that didn’t ring true. But he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“At least Bliss is off the hook.”
“I’m afraid I have to agree with you.”
Shayne lifted a brow. “Afraid?”
“It would have been a great deal more convenient if she had been the thief. We’d have closed t
his case by now and moved on.”
As they always did. Usually, by the time a case was closed Shayne was more than ready to move on to the next one. But that wasn’t true this time, and although he’d been fighting it from the beginning, he knew that the reason was he’d come to care for Bliss. More than he’d wanted to. And a helluva lot more than he’d planned.
He’d thought he was so clever, weaving his web of intrigue to capture Bliss Fortune. The problem was, he’d never expected to get caught in a snare of his own making.
“I suppose the next item of business is to pay Churchill a visit.”
“That would be my suggestion. However, since he’s left New Orleans for his store in Savannah, I’d suggest you wait until tomorrow. One more day isn’t going to make a difference at this point.”
“It sure as hell will if he leaves the country.”
“True. But I’ll put one of my other men on him for now.” Cunningham leaned back in his chair and plucked at an imaginary speck of lint on his impeccably creased chalk gray suit trousers. “I assume you’d like a day to try to make personal amends with Ms. Fortune.”
Shayne’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. In the three years they’d worked together, he’d never witnessed a single human emotion from his superior. “What’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch, O’Malley. Believe it or not, I’ve been in your situation before.” Cunningham’s eyes turned reminiscent as he lit a cigar. “It was during the height of the Cold War and she was a Russian agent I’d been assigned to recruit. I’m afraid I allowed my emotions to overrule my head in that case.”
“What happened?”
“Not only did she turn down my professional offer to become a double agent, she rejected my proposal, as well. Then threatened to turn my name over to her superiors, which effectively took me out of the Soviet spy-catching business.”
“Is she still in the business?”
A brief shadow moved across Cunningham’s gunmetal gray eyes. “I believe I heard she died in a plane crash a few months later.”
Shayne knew that if he asked the all-important question—whether or not the crash had been an accident—Cunningham would undoubtedly lie. Not that he could blame him. They were all liars; it was what they were paid to do.
