Stealing the Moon & Stars

by Sally J. Smith

  The usual word processing, photo editing, social networking and book and music related items were there, as well as an encrypted program labeled Gatekeepers’ Camo. It opened into a spreadsheet and seemed to have some mathematical purpose. There were no obvious help options or toolbars to give her clues as to what chores it performed or its specific purpose.

  A local business directory search located Gatekeepers’ Software in north Phoenix, near the Deer Valley Airport. She put it on her pitifully short list of things to check out.

  CHAPTER 12

  At seven thirty—oiled, powdered, and moisturized head to toe—Jordan slipped into a teal and cinnamon print silk halter dress her mother picked up at Bergdorf Goodman and brought from Chicago a couple of trips ago. Mary often bought clothes for Jordan. The two women had vastly different tastes in most things, but when it came to fashion their instincts were equally fabulous.

  The dress was one of her favorites. It flattered her shape, and the rich hues complemented her coloring. The fabric was slick and sensuous against her skin. She slipped on a pair of strappy heels and went to check out the total effect in the mirror.

  “Hmm.” The tall woman whose dress clung to every curve was decked out for nothing less than seduction. Had she dressed with that in mind? If she was truthful, the answer was ‘maybe.’ Maybe seduction was exactly what she’d been thinking about.

  She dabbed Cashmere between her breasts and on her wrists, ran her fingers through her hair for a looser tussled look, and touched up her lip gloss.

  Sitting on the living room sofa, she waited for Eddie, crossing and uncrossing her legs over and over again. She checked her polished fingernails and toes, fiddled with the fasteners on her ear hoops, and smoothed her skirt. Not even the sweeping music calmed her. When the doorbell rang, she all but jumped out of her skin.

  With a deep breath and a hand to her hair, she opened the door. There he stood.

  “Hey.” His voice seemed even huskier than usual.

  “Hey,” she whispered. “Come on in.”

  Eddie was devastatingly handsome in his black leather blazer. Her guess was lamb; her fingers on the buttery softness of its sleeve confirmed it. The blazer hung open. Under it a gray and black cashmere sweater clung to his rock-hard torso.

  “You look great, Marino. Nice threads.”

  “And you,” he lifted her hand and she swished for him, “are wicked beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” She fell silent.

  The awkward moment was broken when Eddie tilted his head. “ ‘Rhapsody in Blue’?”

  Jordan gave him a thumbs-up. “You ought to know. You gave me this one.”

  “Always was a sucker for Gershwin.”

  When she studied at the Sorbonne and American University in Paris, her lover, Etienne, had given her Indochine CDs in an attempt to influence her taste in music. He was ten years older and too hot for his own good. His unkindness to her and efforts to change everything about her proved to be unhealthy.

  Their affair was steamy and complicated. He’d made her feel bad about herself. Jordan didn’t like wanting him. The break-up was damaging. Thank God her brother Alec was in Paris at the time studying at the Cordon Bleu. If a woman could die from a broken heart, Jordan might not have survived. For many weeks, Alec was her only comfort.

  She shook off the memory. Controlling was not Eddie’s style.

  She invited him in for a glass of wine, but Eddie wanted to leave right away so they wouldn’t lose their table.

  Not likely. Eddie was as dangerous as he looked and you’d have to be a complete and utter moron to do something as stupid as give away his reserved table.

  For pleasure, Eddie drove a 2006 Porsche Boxster convertible. It was black as the night, sweet as sugar, and just as sleek as Eddie. He loved it about as much as he loved anything. His work vehicle was an all-business four wheel drive Ford Ranger, but when Eddie just wanted to drive, what could be better than the Boxster?

  The top was up, and the sports car interior was intimate and cozy. His cologne enveloped her.

  Eddie mixed casual conversation with business small talk.

  He had finished his surveillance assignment watching the twenty-something mistress of a sixty-something grocery store magnate. It turned out the girl loved the old fart and wasn’t seeing anyone else. Gina would be billing it out in the morning.

  Jordan planned to attend the Moon & Stars Children’s Cancer Foundation’s annual charity ball Saturday night at the Phoenician. Most of the principals in the case would be there.

  “Costumes, right?” He wrinkled his nose.

  “Not your bag?”

  He laughed. “Nah. No costume balls for me, but I bet you’re a sailor’s wet dream in a costume.” He looked sideways at her.

  She couldn’t resist. “Oh, yeah, baby. Sexy? You know it. I’m thinking of going as Mrs. Potato Head.”

  She waited to see what he had to say.

  Marino never disappointed. “Boss lady, you’re gonna rock that spud.”

  When they arrived at the restaurant, Eddie wouldn’t give up his keys to the valet. Rather than spoil the evening with an altercation, he let her out at the front entrance and parked the Porsche.

  She knew how they’d find the car when they came back from dinner. Eddie’s idea of parking his Porsche was to take the middle out of two spots. The rubber cones he kept in the forward storage compartment were placed on either side of the car, in front and back.

  He may call me “baby,” but I’m pretty sure the Boxster’s his first love.

  The first time Jordan observed the ritual, she asked, “A tad protective, are we?”

  “A man’s gotta take care of what’s his.” She still remembered the way his eyes smoldered when he said it.

  He came back to her at a slow jog. She smiled. He smiled back, offering his hand. She slipped hers into his. A perfect fit.

  The maître d’ greeted them. “Eddie Marino, my man.” The two did their man-shake thing, grasping each other’s right hand and patting the other’s shoulder with the left. “How’s your father, Jordan?”

  “He’s well. They’re flying in tomorrow, maybe for the winter.”

  “They still thinking of opening a restaurant here?”

  “Mm-hmm. I think they’re getting closer.”

  Eddie put his hand at the small of Jordan’s back. Staking a claim? Maybe, but it did feel good there. Right, too right. Was this dinner a mistake?

  Their table was perfect. Near the big stone fireplace with the Grecian columns.

  The food and service at Madrid were always good. The venue was beautiful, warm, and inviting. Intimate in spite of its large capacity. Eddie and Jordan had been there many times—lunch, wooing clients or stopping after work to connect at happy hour and discuss their separate workdays. This was their first dinner alone since the sexual awareness had become so intense.

  To Jordan, it was one of the most romantic places in town. Yes, indeed, really romantic. Better be on my toes tonight.

  Eddie ordered a Dewar’s for himself and a Gray Goose appletini for Jordan, both on the rocks. While they sipped their drinks, they considered the menu and debated the pros and cons of this dish or that.

  Dinner was leisurely and pleasant. They didn’t actually talk much but were comfortable without conversation, content to enjoy the competent smooth jazz trio whose soft dinner music completed the ambiance.

  Jordan begged him to split a decadent chocolate dessert with her.

  It was over this awesome gooey delight he asked about the new restaurant her parents planned to open in Scottsdale.

  “If the new place is as successful as their steakhouse in Chicago, it’ll be a gold mine.”

  He spooned a bite of moist chocolate cake and warm syrup into her mouth.

  “You’ve probably told me before, but I forget. Where’s the Chicago steakhouse?” He reached across the table to wipe chocolate syrup from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. He licked the syrup off his thumb. Hi
s eyes never left hers. It didn’t seem contrived or overt but spontaneous and natural.

  It didn’t matter. Whatever else it was, it was hot.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth. “It’s on Superior Street,” she had to pause for breath, “just a few steps off the Magnificent Mile.”

  Eddie nodded and licked the spoon. “Magnificent Mile.”

  Stop it, will you? He had to know what he was doing. “You know Chicago?”

  “Don’t really know it. Used to go there on business sometimes, back in the day.”

  He pushed the plate to her side of the table, but she waved away another bite. “No more. Spare me. Please.”

  In more ways than one, Casanova.

  The dinner service slowed then stopped altogether, and the place went into a more romantic nightclub mode. The lighting was low. The band was great. The song was “Moonlight Lady.”

  Eddie stood, slipped off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair.

  “Let’s go.” He pulled her onto the dance floor. “I love this song.” When she hesitated, he drew her closer and murmured, “Humor me.”

  They swayed, their bodies fitting together like two parts of a whole. So right.

  If Eddie wasn’t her business partner, she’d be all over him in a heartbeat. He was a successful businessman in his own right, so she didn’t worry he’d be after her trust fund the way she suspected other guys were.

  Physically, he was just her type—tall, dark, strong, and handsome. Men were measured against that specific cliché for a reason.

  As far as intellect goes, while he wasn’t a college grad, his rich life experience more than made up for it. He was way smarter than the average bear. Plus, there was the bonus of his irresistible wit and charm. He made her laugh.

  Too bad she’d dubbed him Sir Strictly-off-limits.

  He moved his hand down to her rump and pulled her against him, turning his hip into her. There was no grinding or coarse suggestion in it, just a small adjustment to allow their bodies to move as one across the dance floor. And move they did.

  It was devastating and magical. She caught her breath as the heat rose all the way to her face. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and his matched hers.

  He turned his face so just the corner of his mouth touched hers. She turned too. They kissed. Soft. Sweet. A kiss so tender, she might have wept.

  While the music played on, she laid her head on his shoulder. “No.”

  His voice was unsteady. “You’re sure?”

  Jordan nodded against the soft cashmere of his sweater, not trusting her voice.

  “Jordan, there’s no good reason we can’t—”

  “Don’t kid yourself. There are a lot of good reasons not to get involved.”

  “You’re the one kidding yourself. We’re already involved.”

  “No.” If he pressed any harder, she might not be able to withstand his sensual assault.

  He stopped dancing and exhaled once, hard and deep, like he was clearing his lungs—or his head. “Maybe we should call it a night.”

  “Maybe we should.”

  CHAPTER 13

  He hadn’t said a word since they got in the car. Jordan hated the silence between them.

  When she couldn’t take it anymore, she turned to him. “You mad?”

  “No.” It was very matter-of-fact. “Can’t be mad at you.”

  “I’m sorry.” She laid her hand on his thigh. “I just—”

  “Don’t be sorry, love.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “It is what it is. In the end, it’s all good.”

  She leaned her head against the headrest and relaxed, letting the mellow haze of the evening’s liquor woo her. Chet Baker crooned “Someone to Watch Over Me,” his voice low, sexy and as intimate as a Sunday morning snuggle in bed.

  A thrilling sensation blossomed until it was all around her, everywhere. Seduction. The romantic lure of the song, Eddie’s virile presence so close beside her, the way his hands slid smoothly over the wheel, his strong profile in the subdued light, his tongue moistening his lower lip and the rhythm of his shallow, even breathing. Something stirred inside her and uncoiled like a slithering serpent.

  Stop the car, Eddie. Pull over. Make love to me. Right here. Right now. She was suddenly so filled with desire, she caught her breath.

  I need you. I can hardly stand it. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Why not? What stopped her? It wasn’t as if she were a virgin. Maybe she was expecting too much from sex with Eddie. But what if he let her down? What if she let him down? That’s dumb. It would just be another sexual encounter. Wrong. With Eddie Marino, it would never be just another anything. Maybe she was afraid of going full throttle. Maybe she was afraid of him. Yes? No? Ah, hell.

  She fought against the raw feelings.

  Another mile or two and he cleared his throat. “I have some stuff on Cloverton Insurance.”

  Thank God, a distraction. “Yes?” her voice cracked.

  “Cloverton Insurance set up the bogus lease for Lenncore. It’s privately held by Anthony Vercelli.”

  She was instantly coherent, maybe even sober, and all thoughts of lovemaking evaporated. “Vercelli the mob guy?”

  Without taking his eyes from the road, Eddie nodded.

  The indirect light from the Porsche’s dash defined his pressed lips and set jaw.

  “Lenncore’s lease was paid for by Vercelli’s company?” She was stunned. Did that mean the foundation was being ripped off by organized crime?

  “I know Anthony Vercelli, know him better than most.” His voice was hard. “Worked for him after I got out of the service—sort of a security job.”

  “What? You worked for a known criminal?”

  “Not proud of it,” he said.

  That he admitted working for a man considered to be a ringleader in organized crime deeply troubled her, but worse was the knowledge she had missed that juicy bit when she vetted Eddie. How did that happen? Maybe she wasn’t such a hotshot gumshoe after all.

  “I was never convicted of anything or even arrested.”

  He didn’t say he was never involved.

  They would definitely need to talk about this, but that conversation was better saved for another time. Instead, she forced her mind to function logically. “So, Vercelli owns Cloverton Insurance. Does that mean he owns Lenncore Systems too? Is he the one stealing money from the foundation? That doesn’t make sense. That kind of money—eight hundred thousand dollars, a little here, a little there—doesn’t sound like the kind of money a man like Anthony Vercelli would take the risk for.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “I don’t get it,” she said.

  “I don’t get it yet, either, but I can tell you one thing— Vercelli doesn’t like people poking around in his business. If they interfere, it can get ugly.”

  “So, what are you trying to tell me?”

  “Not trying to tell you, sweetheart, telling you. If Vercelli is involved, this case just got a lot more complicated.”

  It was after two in the morning, and she couldn’t sleep. The gooey chocolate dessert, along with the cabernet, vodka cocktail, awesome zinfandel, and Amaretto coffee churned in her belly like an outboard motor. Dumb. She never was much of a drinker. Why’d she pick tonight to have a go at matching Eddie drink for drink?

  Idiot.

  She pounded her pillow and rolled onto her side. When that didn’t work, she drew her knees up and curled into a ball. When that failed as well, she tried mind-over-matter to quell her queasiness.

  Eddie’s stomach probably wasn’t sloshing around like a stormy sea. He seemed unaffected, in fact, completely sober. Sober enough to scare the life out of her with his news about the mob.

  Nothing much kept Jordan from sleeping, except work, like tonight. Vercelli’s involvement made the case a whole lot more complicated.

  Anthony Vercelli was known to be dangerous, and she had the disturbing feeling she didn’t realize the half of it. The
y would have to approach the investigation with extreme caution.

  Her upset stomach began to quiet. She yawned and stretched. Tomorrow. They would have to approach the investigation with extreme caution tomorrow.

  She snuggled into the familiar comfort of her bed, drowsy and warm. The evening replayed in her mind like a video with the Chet Baker background track from earlier in the evening. The dinner. The dancing. The kiss. The drive home and the moment she nearly lost control.

  And Eddie. Oh, yes. Eddie.

  I must be crazy for not jumping him every chance I get. My head says no, don’t do it, not a good idea, but my body says definitely crazy, woman. Hit that.

  Their relationship had to be resolved and soon. She’d been dancing around her feelings for him since the day they met. The confusion was not only debilitating but also getting in the way of one of the biggest cases they’d ever snagged.

  Get your head around it, Jordan. It’s time to put on your big girl panties.

  Her phone sounded a generic ring tone, so it wasn’t anyone she knew.

  Who wants to sleep anyway? “Hello.”

  “Jordan Welsh?” A woman’s voice.

  “Yes.”

  “This is T-Metro Security. There’s been a break-in at your office.”

  “A—a break-in?” Stuttering, dammit.

  The T-Metro agent went on. “We’ve notified the police. They’re on their way.”

  Jordan swung her legs out of bed. Her feet hit the ground. “I’m coming.”

  “If you arrive before the police, stay away until they—”

  She hung up. “Not frigging likely.”

  It only took her five minutes to throw on some clothes and make it out the door. Not knowing what to expect, she dressed for functionality—jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of high-top leather sneakers. A denim jacket was in the backseat of the car if she needed it.

  Sadie paced in nervous excitement at the unusual middle-of-the-night activity. There was no time to reassure her.

  She backed out of the garage onto the street, which was dark and oddly unfamiliar at such a late hour. “Call Eddie.” Her voice trembled a little from the adrenaline, but that wasn’t all. Charged like a high-voltage battery, her whole body vibrated as she waited for the connection to be made.