But my emotions hadn’t stopped there. Not after Luke showed me his FBI badge.
The door opened and Detective Shuman walked in.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out.
“Making sure you’re okay,” he said.
For a second I thought he might take me in his arms—he had that look—and hold me, but he didn’t.
“I’m…confused,” I told him. “What’s going on? Did you get the message I left for you?”
Shuman nodded. “I went to Buckley’s fabric shop on Ninth right away. He was gone already.”
“He followed me,” I said, then shook my head. “I don’t know how he got to his car so fast, how he caught up to me.”
“Spotters on bicycles. It’s a big network and Buckley was wired in. One phone call from him and everybody down there was on the lookout for you,” Shuman said. “When I didn’t find Buckley at the fabric shop, I called the FBI.”
“Cool,” I said and even felt a little grin pull at my lips. “That will show them not to cut you out of a case again.”
Shuman grinned a little, too, then put on his cop-face again. “I called you but you didn’t answer your phone. I went by the store and your apartment, but couldn’t find you. I wanted to warn you that Ed might be coming after you. You told me you were coming here tonight, so…”
So Shuman and the FBI had joined forces to bring down Ed here at the party. Luckily, I’d survived their plan.
We were quiet for a few minutes. Shuman’s gaze got a little darker, a little deeper.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked softly.
No, I wasn’t okay. I was mad and scared and shaky.
Shuman glanced at the floor, then up at me again.
“Listen, Haley, I know this probably isn’t the best time,” he said, “but I need to tell you—”
The door opened again. Luke stuck his head inside.
Now I really wasn’t okay.
Luke stepped into the room. He and Shuman murmured to each other, and Shuman left. Luke pushed the door closed.
We stood there looking at each other for a minute and with each second that passed, I got madder and madder.
“You used me,” I said.
“I was undercover,” Luke said.
At least he had the decency to look contrite, but that just made me angrier.
“Is Luke even your real name?” I demanded.
He nodded. “Different last name, though.”
“So everything about you—except for your first name—is a lie?” I asked.
I’m pretty sure I shouted that.
“I was undercover, Haley,” he said again.
“I guess you’re going to tell me that everything you did was in the line of duty?” I asked.
I’m sure I yelled that.
I wasn’t finished yelling. “How we coincidently met? All that talk about shopping, and you owning buildings, and buying me a Sinful purse? It was all a big, fat lie!”
Luke didn’t say anything.
“You used me,” I said. “I was just bait in a trap you and your FBI buddies set for Ed Buckley.”
That got a rise out of him.
“The first day I saw you in the Fashion District I told you to leave, that you were in over your head. I told you that.” Luke pointed toward the wall. “When I saw you at the party, I tried to get you to leave with me. I knew what was going down and I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
Luke made perfect sense, but I was in no mood to hear it. Not after what I’d been through.
“Yeah? What about the night you came to the store after I was nearly run off the PCH. That was just to make sure your bait was okay, right?”
Luke shook his head. “No, Haley, I was worried about you. I saw the news report. I recognized your car.”
“But I never told you where I worked. You found that little bit of info in the FBI folder you have on me somewhere,” I said. “You lied to me that night, too.”
“Look, Haley,” he said softly, “I know we met under bad circumstances. But I really care about you. We’d be good together. I know we would. If you could just give me a chance—”
“No way,” I told him.
Luke took a step toward me. He wanted to hug me. I could see it in his face. But if I allowed that, if I felt those strong arms around me, that hard chest against me, and looked into those green eyes, I knew I’d be lost to him.
“I’m out of here,” I said.
I yanked the door open and marched into the next room. Special agents Jordan, Paulson, and two others I didn’t know saw me. Their eyes widened and they backed up.
Jordan—or maybe Paulson—pointed to the door.
“That’s the exit,” he said gently.
“I know!” I screamed.
I left, slamming the door so hard behind me that it shook on its hinges.
CHAPTER 26
The Holt’s Blue Jeans Blowout sale stopped for no one. Certainly not for me, not even after what I’d been through aboard the Queen Mary last night.
I’d found Marcie outside the ship’s security office and she’d driven me home while I sniffled and blubbered and told her everything that had happened. She took my side, of course, as a best friend should.
She told me I should stay home today but I didn’t want to be alone. Besides, I still had hundreds of pairs of blue jeans to tag. When I got to the store, Jeanette took one look at me and the dark circles under my eyes and decided Sandy and Bella could help.
“Damn, this is one crappy job,” Bella complained, as we all stood around the work table in the stock room. Her saucer phase continued. Today her hair looked like a teacup set.
“I think I’ll get my boyfriend some new jeans,” Sandy said, holding up a whitewashed pair. “He likes it when I buy him things.”
“Dump him,” I told her.
Maybe I wasn’t the best person to give relationship advice, but Sandy deserved better than her tattoo artist boyfriend who treated her like dirt.
Sandy paused in her work and drew in a breath. “Okay, Haley, you have to tell me the truth. Are things really over between you and Doug?”
I saw the little twinkle in her eyes.
“Oh my God,” I said. “Have you got the hots for Doug?”
“No,” she said. “Well, maybe, kind of. When he was in here the other night looking for you, we talked a little and I thought he was nice. But I’d never make a move if you were still interested in him, Haley. I swear, I’d never do that.”
“We’re done,” I told her.
“Really?” she asked.
I didn’t want to get into the whole breakup, terrorism-espionage, Kirk-Keegan-setup thing with her, so I said, “When I realized my first name wouldn’t sound good with his last name, I knew we’d never have a future.”
Sandy nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, right. Gotcha.”
“Speaking of things that don’t make much sense,” Bella said, tossing aside another pair of tagged blue jeans, “did you see that Rita was back to work today?”
Oh my God. I’d forgotten all about Rita and Virginia. I hadn’t even asked Shuman or the FBI guys about them last night.
“So where’s she been?” Sandy asked.
“She’s telling some big-ass story about how she was in protective custody by the FBI or something, because she saw some girl get shot in some parking lot somewhere,” Bella said. “Her and some woman from Virginia living in a safe house up in the Hollywood Hills, getting free food, good-looking FBI men all over the place. Claims they just let them leave last night.”
She had to be talking about Virginia Foster.
“Was the woman from Virginia, or was her name Virginia?” I asked.
Bella shrugged. “All I know is that Rita kept complaining that the woman talked funny. She kept calling the balcony the veranda and ordering sweet tea, whatever that is.”
I heaved a mental sigh of relief that Virginia was alive and well.
“You don’t believe Rita’
s story?” Sandy asked, picking up another pair of jeans.
“All I’m saying is that if that happened to me, no way in hell would I come back to this place,” Bella said, sorting through the jeans. “I’d write one of those tell-all books, I’d go on all the talk shows, and I’d get me a movie deal. Then I’d pose for Playboy.”
The stock room door swung open and Jeanette walked in. Today she had on a tartan plaid pantsuit that could easily frighten small children. I only hoped she wouldn’t feel compelled to wear blue jeans during the Blue Jeans Blowout sale.
“Haley, I’d like to speak with you about something,” she said, and joined us at the work table.
Since the last conversation I’d had with Jeanette that had started out similar to this one had landed me in this crappy jeans-tagging job, I wasn’t all that interested in hearing anything she had to say.
“Sorry, Jeanette,” I told her. “I’m kind of busy here.”
“This won’t take long,” she said. “I’ve been on the phone to Corporate ever since the incident at the checkout register with the customer that you…spoke with.”
I got a yucky feeling in my stomach.
“Corporate, it seems, agrees with your position,” Jeanette reported. “No one should be allowed to come into our store and shout at an employee, disturb our customers, or conduct themselves in a disrespectful manner.”
I just looked at her.
“Our vice president of marketing is launching a new publicity campaign featuring the Holt’s Customer and Employee Bill of Rights,” Jeanette said. “And because you inspired it, Haley, every one of our store’s employees will receive a contest prize, after all.”
Sandy perked up. “We’re getting flat screens?”
“Beach towels,” Jeanette said, and left the stock room.
“A beach towel would be cool,” Sandy said. “Hey, why don’t we all go to the beach together?”
“I’m there,” Bella declared.
“Hey, I know,” Sandy said, smiling, “let’s ask everybody to come. We’ll play volleyball and have a fire pit. And we’ll all bring our Holt’s beach towels.”
Yeah, the beach trip did sound good, even though Sarah Covington had stolen my idea and come up with yet another lame publicity campaign that would probably require she glue herself to Ty day and night for the next month.
But maybe that wouldn’t matter, anyway, after Ty got home and we had our talk.
“Ask that Doug guy to come,” Bella said to Sandy.
Her eyes got wide. “Do you think I should?”
“Hell, yeah,” Bella told her. “And see if he’s got a brother.”
The stock room doors swung open.
“Haley?” Grace called. “There’s this really hot-looking guy outside who wants to talk to you.”
Sandy gasped. “Oh my God. Is it Doug?”
I doubted it was Doug, but it could have been Jack. Or maybe even Shuman. He’d had a weird look in his eye and a strange tone in his voice last night in the ship’s security office when he’d tried to tell me something. Looking back, I wondered if I’d missed something.
Luke popped into my head but I pushed him away.
Then Ty bloomed in my thoughts and my stomach got warm and gooey. Of all the hot-looking guys I knew, I wished it was Ty waiting for me outside.
I walked out of the stock room and saw Ben Oliver.
Grace was right. Ben looked kind of hot with his shaggy hair and whiskered chin, wearing rumpled khaki pants and a wrinkled polo shirt. He looked as if he’d been up all night.
Oh my God. He’s probably been pounding the keyboard churning out his big story about finding Ed Buckley in the Textile District yesterday after I’d called him with the tip.
My spirits lifted considerably. Nobody else had thanked me for what I’d done—not Shuman, the FBI, LAPD, or Luke—but Ben had come all the way to Holt’s to express his gratitude in person.
“I guess you’re the talk of the newspaper office,” I said, smiling proudly.
“Oh, yeah,” Ben said, nodding. “I sure am.”
“Your editor must be thrilled with you,” I said.
“Emotions are running high,” he said.
“So how did it feel breaking such a big story?” I asked.
“You mean the story about the star-studded, red carpet event aboard a national historic landmark? The story about breaking up an international smuggling operation? The story about bringing down a murderer on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted List? Is that the story you’re asking about?”
I started to get a yucky feeling in my stomach.
“I don’t really know how it feels,” Ben said, “because when all that went down, I was sitting in front of a fabric shop on Ninth Street.”
The yucky feeling in my stomach got mega yucky.
“I’ve got to go,” Ben told me. “My editor’s assigned me to interview a guy who makes birdhouses out of chewing gum wrappers. Tomorrow I’m covering the opening of a sewage treatment plant. And after that, he’s got me covering the cabbage cook-off at a senior center. But I wanted to come by and tell you thanks for the great tip. Again.”
Oh, crap.
The blue jeans were all finally tagged—thanks to Sandy and Bella’s help—so I left work early. On the drive home, I called the Hyatt and asked to speak with Virginia. The clerk told me she’d checked out already. I figured she was on her way back to Charleston, anxious to sip sweet tea on her veranda again.
I called Marcie to see if she wanted to come over. I promised chocolate and beer but she told me no. She said I needed to rest. Marcie was right. Marcie was almost always right about things.
I went home and fell asleep for hours. When I woke up, I took a shower, pulled on sweats, dried my hair, and headed for my kitchen to find something to eat.
The only food in my house was a package of Oreos—my emergency stash—two slices of cheese, and half a loaf of wheat bread, so I grabbed my cell phone to order a pizza. The screen showed two missed calls and one voicemail. The two missed calls were from Shuman. I played the voicemail as I ripped open the bag of Oreos. It was from Ada.
“Haley, dear, I got a new Lexus—a convertible! Let’s go cruising. Call me,” she said.
I smiled as I punched in the phone number to Pizza Hut. So Ada wasn’t upset with me, after all. Cool. Maybe she’d let me borrow the Lexus when I put my Honda in the shop.
My doorbell rang. Listening to the phone ring in my ear, I put my eye up to the peephole.
Ty.
Oh my God. Ty was here!
I threw the phone on the sofa and yanked the door open. He rushed inside, wrapped me in his arms, and swung me around. Then he kissed me, long and warm.
In the past few days I’d questioned my judgment about Tiffany and Ed—and Kirk, big time—but seeing Ty now, I knew I wasn’t wrong about the things I felt for him.
“I missed you so much,” he said, holding me tight against him, threading his fingers through my hair.
“I missed you, too,” I said, gazing up at him. He looked a little tired, but really sexy in his suit. “This is the best surprise ever.”
We kissed again. He pulled away, stepped outside, then came back in with his suitcase and a box.
“You came straight from the airport?” I asked.
He paused. “Is that okay?”
“Sure,” I told him. I nodded toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I could make you an Oreo and cheese sandwich.”
Ty grinned. Ty had a killer grin. My toes curled big time.
He closed the front door and placed his hands on my shoulders, holding me away from him.
“When I called you the other day, I told you I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said.
Okay, that was weird. Ty wanted to talk first?
I got a yucky feeling in my stomach.
“So talk,” I told him.
“You first,” he said.
I must have given him a weird look because he said, “You told me there was som
ething you wanted to talk to me about.”
I did?
Oh, yeah, the whole yammering-about-the-economy thing. Honestly, it had bugged me while we were in London and every time that I’d thought about it since I’d gotten home. But seeing Ty now, feeling my toes curl at the sight of him, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. Only a little deal.
Still, this was my chance and Ty had asked. I figured I should tell him.
“After we make love, you talk about the stock market and stuff like that,” I said.
He frowned. “I do?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It kind of bugs me.”
His frown deepened. “I do? Really?”
I nodded.
Ty shrugged. “I’ll do anything you want after we make love.”
“Anything?”
“I’d prefer not to have to sing or dance,” he said, “but yes, anything.”
I smiled and he smiled, the kind of smile that ignored my toes and curled around my heart instead.
“Okay, your turn,” I said.
I couldn’t imagine that my worst fear would come true and Ty would tell me that he wanted to break up. Still, I braced myself.
“I want you to move in with me,” he said.
I just stared at him.
“London wasn’t the same after you left,” Ty said. “I missed you so much. I don’t like being without you. I want you to move in with me.”
Oh my God. I couldn’t believe what he was saying.
His cell phone rang. He ignored it. We stood looking at each other, neither of us saying anything. It rang again.
“Go ahead and answer it,” I said, grateful for a few minutes to think. “I’ll open the present you brought me.”
I picked up the box he’d brought in with his suitcase.
Ty pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket to answer it, then said to me, “I didn’t bring that. It was outside when I walked up.”
My cell phone rang. I placed the box on my coffee table. It was brown cardboard. No shipping label, just my name printed on the top with a black marker. I checked the caller I.D. screen on my phone. It was Shuman.
Dorothy Howell Page 23
