Hot Secret

by Sherryl Woods

  Michael opened his mouth, but Molly cut him off. “And if you dare tell me to leave it to the Miami Beach police, I’ll scream.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Good.”

  “There is something I would like to know, though.” At her nod, he said, “Why is it that you are constitutionally unable to leave well enough alone? I could understand it when it was your condo president and we thought the murder weapon belonged to you. But this time? I don’t get it. This kind of idle curiosity can get you killed.”

  “It’s hardly idle curiosity. I was assigned to keep things running smoothly for this production. Instead, the director winds up dead. You’ve met Vince. If you were me, would you want to go to work tomorrow morning without some answers?”

  “Molly, the man can’t hold you accountable if some lunatic pulls a gun and shoots someone.”

  “Vince can and, believe me, he will. Especially if he happens to get half a dozen calls from county officials wanting to know how the hell he could have allowed this to happen? He is more than willing to throw the burden of answering that question off on me. Surely you’ve dealt with the occasional boss who survives by passing the buck.”

  From Michael’s expression, she could tell that he had.

  “True,” he said. “Okay, let’s make a deal, then. If you have a theory about what happened, you’ll tell me about it and let me do some unofficial snooping. If you find something concrete, you’ll tell Sergeant Jenkins at once and let him check it out. You will not stick your own neck out. Deal?”

  With those brown eyes pinning her in place, Molly would have made a deal to sell her soul. “Yes,” she said finally. “I promise.”

  Even as she said the words, she had a feeling they were likely to have about as much substance as her wedding vows. She’d meant them heart and soul at the time, but after a while they had lost their meaning.

  The apt comparison came up again an hour later, when she and Michael left the elevator in her condo just in time to run smack into her ex-husband, who was prowling the hallway outside her apartment. Hal DeWitt ruined his good looks by glaring at her. He was obviously in a foul temper.

  “Where’s Brian? I’m taking him home with me,” he announced without so much as a by-your-leave.

  “He’s outside and no, you are not taking him anywhere,” she retorted, glaring right back at him. The man always brought out the worst in her. Since he often chose to ignore his son unless he could use Brian to gall her, she had no doubt about his motive in showing up today. He’d read about the murder and decided she was once again endangering his child.

  “I won’t allow him to live with a woman who’s a damned jinx.”

  “Jinx,” she repeated incredulously, her voice climbing.

  “Two men are dead,” he reminded her, a stubborn, accusing set to his jaw.

  “Not because of me, they’re not.”

  Since he couldn’t win that argument, he directed a scathing glance at Michael. “Who’s he?”

  She made the introductions warily, watching as Michael seemed to sum Hal up with a quick once-over. Hal was still a very good-looking man, obsessive about staying trim and keeping a year-round tan despite the well-publicized risk of skin cancer. Unfortunately, he was well aware of his attractiveness. He’d skated through life on little more than his charm and his easy smile. Both were wearing thin, along with his carefully styled dark hair, which no longer quite covered his receding hairline.

  Given a little time and vastly improved objectivity, Molly had finally come to see Hal DeWitt for what he was—a shallow, vain man who took delight in belittling everyone around him. His cutting remarks no longer had the power to hurt her. That didn’t stop him from making them, however.

  He waved the local section of the Sunday paper in front of her. “Just look at this! There you are, smack in the middle of another murder, your picture on page one. Don’t you give a damn what your son thinks of you?”

  Molly could practically feel Michael tense beside her. He took a protective step closer.

  “Brian seems to think his mother is a very special woman. I’d say he’s got it nailed,” he said to Hal. His voice was deceptively mild.

  Hal’s face reddened. “This is none of your business. We’re talking about my son.”

  Michael stepped toward her ex-husband, but Molly put her hand on his arm to stop him from defending her. She was getting better all the time at standing up for herself. Lord knew, Hal gave her enough practice.

  “He’s my son, too, and don’t you ever forget it!” she reminded Hal coldly. “If you want to come inside and discuss this rationally, fine. If not, you can leave.”

  “If I leave, I’m taking Brian with me.”

  “No,” she said with icy calm. “He will spend next weekend with you as scheduled, but he will not leave here with you today. I will not have his life disrupted because of your whims. If you so much as think of violating our custody agreement, I’ll have you arrested and charged with kidnapping.”

  “And I will be only too happy to make the arrest,” Michael offered.

  Hal’s expression turned mean. “This is between my wife and me.”

  “Your ex-wife,” Molly corrected. “And as far as Michael’s willingness to haul you off to jail, I will be only too thrilled to accept his help—” she regarded Hal meaningfully—“if it comes to that.”

  Few people ever talked to Hal DeWitt that way, and up until recently Molly had been no exception. He seemed stunned by the change in her. Sometimes, she thought wryly as she waited for his decision, she was every bit as startled as he was. Sparring with Michael had sharpened not only her wits but her self-esteem. He took her opinions seriously, something her husband had never done.

  Whatever cockiness Hal had been feeling visibly drained right out of him. He salvaged some tiny measure of dignity by stalking off to the elevator without another word.

  When he’d gone, Michael looked as if he were sorry he hadn’t had the chance to throw a punch. Hal often made Molly feel that way as well.

  “Do you think we ought to go down and make sure he leaves without taking Brian?” he said.

  Molly shook her head. “The last thing he wants is to be labeled a kidnapper. He’d rather act the martyr. He’ll get a lot of mileage out of that.”

  “How long did you stay married to the guy?”

  “About six years too long. I should have left when Brian was a baby, but I thought he ought to have a father, even if I had to put up with a lousy husband. I figured I only got what I deserved. Then one day, not all that long ago, I might add, I woke up to the fact that I was a pretty decent, capable woman and I stopped doing mea culpas over robbing my son of a dad. I don’t do anything to stand in the way of Hal and Brian having a relationship. I’ve never said one harsh word to Brian about his father and I hope I never will.”

  “Staying quiet must test your willpower.”

  “Oh, there are days,” she admitted. “It’s funny, though. I think Brian’s figured Hal’s shortcomings out for himself. No doubt one of these days Hal will blame me for that too.”

  “Maybe he’ll just wake up eventually and realize he ought to be damned proud of having such a savvy kid.”

  Molly chuckled. “I’m afraid you’re crediting Hal with the ability to handle more introspection than he’s capable of. The man doesn’t mind gazing in the mirror, but he doesn’t waste a second trying to understand what’s in his heart.”

  He studied her with obvious concern. “You okay with what went on just now?”

  “I’ll survive.”

  “I could stay.”

  As tempting as the idea sounded, Molly shook her head. She wasn’t going to turn to Michael out of loneliness and need. Whenever they finally got around to changing the nature of their relationship into something more intimate, it would be because the timing and the motives were right for both of them.

  Michael took a step closer and Molly found herself backing up against the wall. Her
breath snagged in her throat as he braced one arm on each side of her. “We have some unfinished business between us,” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. His fingertips skimmed her cheek. “One of these days we’re going to have to take care of it.”

  Molly’s mouth seemed to go dry. As she moistened her lips with her tongue, Michael’s gaze never left her mouth. Finally, when the tension between them was tightrope taut, he bent his head and slanted his mouth over hers. Instead of taking, though, as Hal had always done, Michael seemed to be giving her strength, filling her with something unfamiliar. It felt tantalizingly like joy, bursting inside with the radiance of sunbeams.

  On the other hand, it might have been pure, unadulterated lust. It was impossible to think straight with all that hard, male sexiness and heat pressed against her. One more dizzying second and she was likely to forget all those commonsense warnings.

  “Whoa,” she said, ducking under his arm and frantically trying to get the key to go into the suddenly impossible-to-find lock.

  Michael stilled her trembling hand, took the key, and had the door open in a heartbeat, no small feat considering exactly how fast her heart was pounding.

  He rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip. “I gather that’s my cue to leave.”

  Molly summoned up the last remnants of her common sense. “Yes,” she agreed.

  A man of less conscience would have heard maybe in her breathless voice. Michael merely winked. “Soon, sweetheart. Soon.”

  Molly watched him stroll down the corridor. As soon as the elevator doors closed behind him, she collapsed against the wall. If she’d had a hankie, she’d have waved it to cool her overheated flesh. If she’d lived at Tara a century or so ago, she’d simply have swooned and been done with it. She would have blamed it on her corset, though. Self-deception had its merits, especially when she didn’t care to deal with the alternative emotions.

  The door across the hall inched open. Liza poked her head out. “Coast clear?”

  Molly nodded.

  Liza stepped into the hall. “Lordy, lordy,” she murmured. “I do believe I felt the earth move clear in there.”

  “You were watching?” Molly said indignantly. “Everything?”

  “Your ex and I had just finished having a depressing tête-à-tête when you arrived. Considering his lousy mood, I couldn’t very well abandon you.”

  Molly grinned. “I don’t suppose you ever considered actually announcing your nearby presence or maybe even joining us out here for the festivities?”

  “Actually, I saw my role as backup. Not that you needed it with the hunk prepared to rush to your rescue.”

  “Weren’t you satisfied then that I was in good hands?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And?”

  “You wouldn’t have wanted me to miss the end, would you? This was definitely R-rated stuff. Maybe X-rated. To be perfectly honest, I was ready to come out here and invite the man in myself if you turned him down.”

  “I’m glad you controlled yourself.”

  “Yes, well, with murder uppermost on everyone’s mind these days, I figured it was best not to risk it.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Did you-all figure out the killer over quiche?”

  “Afraid not. Speaking of which, I’d better get inside and work up a new statement for the media.”

  Liza shook her head. “I doubt you’re going to need one. Vince is on the air as we speak telling the world that he will personally see that the killer of the great Greg Kinsey is brought to justice.”

  Molly gaped at her. “How does he intend to do that?”

  “Beats me. I think it came as a surprise to that Sergeant Jenkins, too. He looked as if he wanted to stuff his beefy hand straight down your boss’s throat and rip out his tongue.”

  “I know the feeling,” Molly told her. “It comes over me at least once a day.”

  Inside her apartment, the phone was ringing. With Liza trailing along behind, she went inside and snatched it up before the answering machine could kick in.

  “Molly, it’s Veronica Weston. I’m terribly sorry to bother you on your day off, dear, but I have a bit of a problem. You did say you wouldn’t mind helping me.”

  “Of course, Veronica. What can I do?”

  “Actually, it’s Jeffrey.” She lowered her voice to a discreet whisper. “Something’s not quite right about this visit. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he knows something about the murder.”

  Molly’s breath caught. “You think he did it?”

  “Oh, no, of course not,” Veronica said in an unconvincing rush. “I just think he knows something he’s not telling me.”

  “Have you asked him if he’s keeping something from you?”

  “Well, of course I’ve asked. He simply looks at me with this odd little look in his eyes, then he goes off somewhere. I’m telling you it’s giving me the shivers.”

  “I can understand why that might be disconcerting, but what can I do to help?”

  “I thought perhaps we could meet for drinks. You could ask a few pointed questions.”

  “I think we probably should leave the pointed questions to the police,” Molly said nobly. Liza silently applauded, though her expression was disbelieving. Molly scowled at her.

  “Besides, if he won’t talk to you, why on earth would he talk to me?” she added.

  “Actually, since you were here when he arrived and you were with those two policemen, I may have given him the idea that you were here in an official capacity as well.”

  “You told the man I was a cop!”

  “Not specifically,” Veronica said offhandedly. “I just sort of left him with that impression. It’s not the same thing as lying. You can see that, can’t you?”

  Actually, Molly thought the distinction was pretty slim. Michael would absolutely love to hear that she was running around town impersonating a police officer. Then, again, perhaps she owed it to Greg to do whatever she could to find out what had happened to him and why. She was only going over to have drinks with the man. What was so terrible about that? The answer to that probably depended a great deal on whom you asked. She decided not to ask anyone.

  “I’ll be there in half an hour as soon as I make arrangements for my son. Your suite?”

  “No, dear. We’ll meet you in the lounge in the lobby.”

  If she hadn’t been so busy trying to squash her own guilt, Molly just might have paid more attention to the note of satisfaction in Veronica’s silken voice.

  • • •

  Jeffrey Meyerson looked like a character from a Noel Coward drawing room comedy. Elegant and precise, with a dapper red silk hankerchief tucked in the breast pocket of his white linen jacket, he was armed for his interrogation with a martini in one hand and his rapier wit. Molly might have been charmed if she hadn’t been so certain it was all an act.

  Veronica sat stiffly by his side, her eyes hidden by her trademark rhinestone-trimmed sunglasses, her brow furrowed with concern. If she’d been aware of the lines the worry sketched on her face, she would have been horrified. She gulped down a double vodka and waved the empty glass imperiously in the direction of the waiter.

  “Veronica, dear,” Jeffrey scolded mildly. “One’s your limit.”

  She ignored him and reached for the second drink the instant the waiter set it on the table.

  “Mr. Meyerson,” Molly began.

  “Jeffrey.”

  “Jeffrey, then.” She smiled at him. “I’m a little confused about your sudden arrival yesterday. Veronica never mentioned that she was expecting you.”

  “I told you, my dear, it was to be a surprise. I simply couldn’t bear being away from her another minute. Since I had this trip to Rome, I impulsively decided to route myself through Miami.”

  “From Los Angeles?”

  His expression grew puzzled. “Of course.”

  “Then I must admit, I’m more confused than ever. It was well after midnight when y
ou arrived at the hotel. The last flight from L.A. arrived in Miami hours before that on Saturday.”

  “I went by the location before coming to the hotel,” he said without missing a beat. “That’s how I knew about what had happened to Greg. The news was being discussed by everyone. There were policemen all over the place at Veronica’s trailer. Naturally, I wanted to learn all I could before coming to the hotel. I knew she would want to hear the latest news.”

  “You never once considered that she might be a suspect herself? He was found in her trailer, after all.”

  He regarded her indignantly. “Absolutely not. Veronica is not capable of murder. Besides, what reason would she have? Gregory Kinsey idolized her.”

  Veronica and Molly both gaped at that, though the actress recovered more quickly than Molly.

  “That’s a very strong word,” Molly suggested.

  “Strong, but accurate. Everyone knew how badly he wanted her for this film.”

  “Did you know Greg yourself?”

  “No. I’m sorry to say I never met him.”

  “Then you have no idea why he fought so hard on Veronica’s behalf?”

  Molly watched him closely and caught the faint uneasiness that passed over his face before he shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “I have no idea at all.”

  The denial was firm, but there wasn’t a doubt in Molly’s mind that it was also a lie. Veronica was right. There was some secret her fiancé was keeping, and it almost definitely had something to do with the murder.

  Her promise to Michael to pass along her theories before she acted on them crossed her mind. She would keep the promise … as soon as she knew just a little bit more about what made Jeffrey Meyerson tick.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  Even though she was exhausted, even though she’d promised Brian that she’d spend some time helping him with his summer school science project from hell, even though Michael was likely to be furious, Molly found she couldn’t resist temptation. The exit for Southwest Seventh Street was right on her way home. One-way heading west, the street ran parallel to Calle Ocho—Southwest Eighth Street, in the heart of Miami’s Little Havana neighborhood.