BOSS_His Wealth. His Power. His Demands.

by Maggie Carpenter

  "I know I will. At least I wasn't home, and thank God you're here," she said, taking a deep breath and looking up at him. "I'll pack up some more things."

  "Have you eaten anything this morning?"

  "No. I was going to have something when I got here, but—"

  "Let's go to Mabel's."

  "I'd love that. I'm desperate for a cup of tea. Sorry, what am I saying? You should go to Houston. I'm a big girl. You don't have to stay here for me."

  "Wrong. I do. And I am."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Just a few doors down, Scott was in his garage eyeing his loot. The job had taken three long hours, hampered by Chelsea's injuries. He hadn't driven to Colleen's, loaded the van and taken off. The stolen items had been carried from her home through the rainy night.

  Several months before, bearing fraudulent identities as a young married couple, he'd registered with a house-sitting service. It had been a stroke of luck that the Lexus parked in Tony McIntyre's motor court belonged to someone living on the same street as their current assignment. Scott could hardly believe his luck when he'd discovered a valuable collection of porcelain figurines. Chelsea had wrapped them in towels for protection, and they'd carted them back and forth through the storm. Now closely studying them, along with the other items they'd lifted, he was glad he'd made the effort.

  But not everything was rosy.

  Chelsea had begged off morning sex, claiming her elbow and knee were bothering her. She'd also been unusually quiet. He always made sure to grab some high-end clothing for her, but she'd barely looked at what he'd found for her when they'd finished for the night. He sensed she was tiring of their life just as the others had, but he didn't want to lose her. She was special, though his desire to keep her around wasn't based on affection. Chelsea was the smartest and prettiest partner-in-crime he'd ever recruited. She was money in the bank.

  Scott's instincts were right.

  Curled up on the living room sofa nursing her wounds and broken spirit, Chelsea was miserable. She'd genuinely liked Tony McIntyre, and as she'd pretended to read his Tarot Cards, she'd hated the charade. It was why she'd refused the money he'd offered. The guilt had been eating her up. She'd often seen the neighbor they'd just burgled, and though they'd never met, Chelsea could imagine how horrified the poor woman would have been to come home and find her precious belongings gone.

  Frank's card was safely hidden away, but as much as she wanted to use it, she was afraid to make the call. He could be another Scott—or worse. The doorbell rang, startling her, and rising unsteadily from the couch, she hobbled into the foyer and cracked open the door. The sight of the uniformed police officer sent a shard of panic through her body, but a second later she wanted to step outside, tell him everything, and beg him to help her.

  "Yes?" she asked, unable to control the tremble in her voice. "Can I help you?"

  "Sorry to bother you ma'am. A house was burgled on this block last night. Did you hear or see anything?"

  "Uh, no."

  "What happened to your hands?"

  "My hands?"

  "They're torn up. You should have that seen to. It could get infected."

  "It's nothing. I was taking some trash out back in the rain and I fell over the stupid hose. Hurt my knee and my elbow as well."

  "Sorry to hear that."

  "I had an early night, so, no, I didn't hear anything."

  "What about your husband? Is he around by chance?"

  "He's working in the garage."

  "Could you get him for me?"

  "U-huh."

  "May I come in?"

  "Sure."

  As he stepped into the foyer, she paused and stared up at him. There was concern in his eyes. Everything in her wanted to tell him how miserable she was, and how Scott had forced her into a life of crime.

  "Ma'am. Is there something wrong?"

  "Uh…"

  "She's not herself," Scott declared, suddenly appearing from the kitchen. "She fell over last night."

  "So she was telling me."

  "She was?"

  "Yes," Chelsea said quickly. "The hose. When I was taking the trash out."

  "Right," Scott nodded, feeling awkward under the cop's scrutinizing gaze. "How can we help you?"

  "There was a robbery down the street. Just wondered if you heard or saw anything during the night."

  "Nope. A few cars going by, but nothing out of the ordinary."

  "No dogs barking?"

  "Not that I recall."

  "Here's my card," he said, handing it to Chelsea, then looking at her intently, he added, "If anything comes to mind, anything at all, call me."

  "We will," Scott interjected, "but if there's nothing else, my wife needs to get her weight off that knee."

  "No, nothing else," the officer replied, though still focused on Chelsea. "Have a good day, and take care of yourself."

  "I will, thanks," Chelsea said, wishing he wouldn't leave, and hating herself for not having the courage to speak up.

  While Scott saw the officer out, she turned and limped back to the living room. Flopping on the sofa, she tossed the business card on the coffee table and let out a painful groan. It wasn't just her knee and elbow that were bothering her. Everything hurt. Her muscles ached, her head was throbbing, and she could feel a tickle in her throat.

  "If a cop ever comes to the door like that again, come and get me," Scott said firmly as he strode into the room. "You've got to be careful how you handle situations like that. These guys are trained. They pick up on shit."

  "Okay. Sorry."

  "I don't like having our haul in the garage with them poking around. We need to load up the van and take it over to Winston's."

  "Scott, I'm sorry. I'm not feeling very well."

  "Are you saying you don't want to help?"

  "I'm saying, I can't. My knee is killing me. My elbow and hands are killing me, and I think I'm getting sick."

  He was about to order her to get her ass off the couch, but caught himself.

  "Poor thing," he said softly, sitting down next to her. "That was stupid of me. You should take a hot bath and go to bed. I'll pick you up some chicken soup from Jerry's Deli on the way home."

  "Really?"

  "Sure. Last night was tough. You're all banged up. You need a rest."

  "Thanks, Scott. I do. I'm feeling bad. Really bad."

  "No problem. I'll take care of everything," he crooned, gently supporting her as she stood up. But helping her across the room and climbing the stairs, he smiled a wicked smile.

  Women were so easy.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Frank, Colleen, and Tony, had settled into a booth at Mabel's. Their orders had been taken and their coffee delivered, but Tony had sensed Frank had something on his mind.

  "Okay, Sherlock, what is it?" he asked, leaning over the table and fixing Frank with a steady gaze. "Something's going on in that head of yours. You found something or figured something out. It's written all over your face. Unusual for a world champion poker player."

  "Only because I'm not trying to hide anything. I had to wait until we got here and we were alone. I could get into a lot of trouble for this," he said quietly, glancing around to see if anyone was in earshot. "Colleen, your burglar may not be as heartless as you think."

  "What are you talking about?"

  Wordlessly he reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief.

  "I found this stuffed down the side of a sofa cushion."

  "A handkerchief? It certainly isn't mine."

  "No. It's mine. There's a note inside," he said, unfolding the cloth and exposing a piece of paper. "I used the handkerchief so I wouldn't touch it. You can't either. Just read it."

  "Oh, my gosh. It says, I'm so sorry."

  "This is evidence. I took it from the scene of a crime," he said in a hushed whisper. "Like I said, I could get in a lot of trouble, but I felt something when I found it."

  "Like what?" Tony asked.

 
"Like, I shouldn't turn it in, so I didn't. It was a spur of the moment decision."

  "This is bizarre," Colleen muttered, still staring at it with a puzzled expression. "If they were so sorry, why did they do it?"

  "Perhaps there was more than one person," Frank suggested. "Someone took a big risk writing that and leaving it for you. Whoever it was didn't want to be there."

  "Officer Stapleton said I was a victim of a man and woman team they're calling Bonny and Clyde."

  "Looks like you've done it again, Sherlock," Tony remarked. "I assume it was Bonny who left the note, and you're right. It couldn't have been easy."

  "They say things come in threes. I wonder if that applies to strange happenings," Colleen said with a sigh. "First there was that engine I heard running last night. Second was coming home and finding my house was cleaned out, and now I get a note of apology from one of the people who did it. What the hell is going on?"

  "What do you mean, you heard an engine running?" Frank asked as he folded up the handkerchief and put it back in his pocket.

  "I was woken up by the sound of a car."

  "You mean at Tony's?"

  "Yes. At Tony's. I'm a light sleeper, and in the middle of the night I heard a car. I'm sure I did."

  "She woke me up and I looked out the window," Tony offered, "but it was dark and absolutely pouring. I didn't see anything—although—"

  "Although?" Frank pressed.

  "For a minute I thought I saw the vague outline of a van."

  "Wasn't your gate locked?"

  "No. I forgot to turn off the entry button when I went to bed, but when I went downstairs and hit the lights, the only vehicle in the motor court was Colleen's SUV."

  "When you got up to look out the window, did you turn on the light?"

  "Of course. It was pitch black. I switched on the bedside lamp."

  "I have a theory. You did see a van, but it was probably black. It would have been difficult to make it out in those conditions. Whoever it was thought you were going to be away last night, but when the light went on they realized their mistake and took off."

  "And they were able to drive up to the house because I forgot to turn off the entry button," Tony exclaimed. "But how does this relate to Colleen's break-in?"

  "If my theory is correct, they took down the license number of the Lexus and ran the plates."

  "In case the person who owned it wouldn't be home," Colleen declared. "Holy crap."

  "That's my guess," Frank continued. "It's not tough to run a plate if you have the software. It's illegal of course, but it's not difficult to get. It's sold on the dark web. This is all speculation of course, but for the sake of argument, let's say I'm right. Tony, did you tell anyone you were going to be away on Sunday night?"

  "I need to think about this. Wait! Yes, I did! Jennifer. The girl at The Caramel Apple! The one who drugged me and pretended to be the owner of the Crystal Wand. Dammit. It must be her! She and that boyfriend of hers are behind all this! As soon as I get back to my office I'm calling the police."

  "Why wait?" Colleen said excitedly. "Call them right now."

  "Actually, I think you should hit the pause button," Frank said solemnly. "It's just a theory. We don't know anything for sure, and there's something else to consider. What if the police find them and question them, but don't have enough evidence to hold them? They could disappear and take all your belongings with them."

  "Shit. You're right," Colleen groaned. "This is a nightmare."

  "Let me do some digging. I have certain friends."

  "What kind of friends?" Colleen asked, intrigued by the comment.

  "The lurking kind," he replied with a grin. "I'm not an official P.I. I can't be bothered going through all the crap to get a license, but I may as well be."

  "This is true," Tony agreed. "There's a reason I call him Sherlock."

  "Give me a couple of days. I'm pretty sure I'll come up with something. In the meantime I have a suggestion. Why don't you both go to Houston? Get out of town. Forget about all this. Have dinner at Vic and Anthony's. Enjoy yourselves."

  "I'm not sure if that's a good idea," Colleen said. "What if the police need me?"

  "The police work at a snail's pace, but even if they do, they can reach you by phone. Give your house keys to Emily. They can pick them up from her if they have to."

  "I think it's a good idea," Tony said. "Colleen, would you like to come with me?"

  "I would. I'd love to get away from all this."

  "Great. I'll text Emily. Mabel will shoot me if I talk on my phone in here."

  "Speaking of which," Frank said, feeling a vibration in his pocket. "Let me see who this is. Huh. Unavailable. I'd better take it. I'll be back in a minute."

  "Tony, are you sure you don't mind me tagging along?" Colleen asked softly as Frank walked away. "I don't want you to feel you've been railroaded into something."

  "Mind? Are you kidding? I think it's a great idea," he said, continuing to text with Emily. "I have a satellite office there. You can work while I visit the factory."

  "That would be great. I know I won't be able to think about anything today."

  "I'm sure tomorrow you'll be able to focus. And I have just arranged a surprise for you," he said, putting his phone back in his pocket.

  "You have?"

  "I have. It's over the top, but I think you could use something over the top right now."

  "You're going to spoil me."

  "That's okay," he said with a grin, then dropping his lips to her ear, he whispered, "I'll just spank it out of you."

  "Good grief. I can't believe you just said that."

  "Of course you can."

  "Tell me more about Frank. What does he do for you exactly?"

  "Nice change of subject," he said with a chuckle.

  "I want to know. Tell me. What does he do?"

  "Whatever needs doing. I'm in good shape and I can take care of myself, but Frank was in Special Forces."

  "He's your bodyguard?"

  "Sometimes, but I hired him because he's got an uncanny way of sizing up situations and sniffing things out. Look at how he found that note. That's why I call him Sherlock. He can see right through people, and he's rarely wrong. He liked you the minute he met you. He also picked up on my attraction to you. I think he recognized it even before I did. He was worried."

  "Worried about me?"

  "About a relationship developing. He knows workplace affairs have a habit of ending badly. He's right. You know I had the same concerns."

  "Yet here we are," she said with a happy smile. "And if I may be so bold, I think we have every chance at a fairytale ending."

  "You may be so bold, and I wouldn't be sitting here if I didn't believe that."

  "Really?"

  "Absolutely."

  "How did you meet him?"

  "I tried my hand at pro poker. I thought I was pretty good until I went up against him. I'll let you in on a little secret. That's why I called the company Allin Holdings. People pronounce it Alan, and so do I, but it's actually, All in. I went all in when I started up. I put every nickel and every ounce of energy I had into that first year. It was a huge gamble, but it was a winning hand."

  "Wow. That's some story."

  "Frank has been with me since day one. He'd come to meetings, and when we'd leave he'd give me his insights. It helped me more than I can possibly tell you."

  "Sorry this took so long," Mabel declared, arriving at the table with their food. "We have a bit of a problem. I have a new kitchen hand and she thought she'd rearrange our cupboards when one of the deliveries was made. Then she called in sick. We're a person short, and we've been hunting all morning. She was trying to impress me, bless her heart. Where's Frank?"

  "He had to take a call."

  "I hope he's not too much longer. His omelet will get cold. I'd better get back."

  "She's such a lovely lady," Colleen murmured as Mabel hurried away. "She makes me feel as if I'm eating at her home."


  "There's something very motherly about her. You look as if you're feeling better."

  "I am. Just the thought of boarding a plane and getting out of town is helping, but won't we have to leave pretty soon? The airports are a nightmare these days."

  "Don't worry about that."

  "But the security lines…"

  "Will not be a problem. We won't be in any security lines."

  "Are we flying private?"

  "Of course. Did you forget who you're with?"

  "Oh, my gosh. Is that the surprise?"

  "Not exactly, and you're asking too many questions. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

  "Dammit. That's my phone," she declared, opening her bag. "It's Bob Harrison. He's the—"

  "I know exactly who he is. Don't answer it."

  "But he never calls. It must be important," she protested, but just as she was about to accept the call, Tony snatched the phone from her hands and hit the IGNORE icon.

  "What have you done?" she exclaimed. "He owns The Pink Petticoat boutique chain. I had to bend over backwards to get a deal with him. I don't want to lose it. Shit!"

  "Colleen, take a breath," Tony said firmly. "I know who he is, and I know why he's calling. I spoke to him this morning."

  "You did? When? What did he say?" she demanded, her voice rising. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Calm down. With everything that's been happening I haven't had a chance. I promise I'll give you all the gory details after we have our breakfast. You need to eat, and so do I."

  "But I want to know now!"

  "I understand that you're frazzled," he said patiently. "It's been the morning from hell, but you need to stop this blustering. I'll tell you when we get back to the office. Now eat."

  "Dammit," she muttered, picking up her fork and stabbing her potatoes.

  "Is your butt still tender?" he asked under his breath. "If it isn't, when we get there I can always lock my door and put you over my knee. That will settle you down."

  With wide eyes she gazed up at him, then broke into a soft smile.

  "Sorry."

  "No problem. I might just do it anyway."