Hot Secret

by Sherryl Woods

  “And me,” Hank added. “The son of a bitch called me. That’s how I heard about it. Not from Greg. From some stupid reporter.”

  “You confronted him and he confirmed it,” Molly said.

  She dared to turn her head to catch a glimpse of him. His face was an expressionless mask, but his eyes were filled with some dark agony. As if he’d guessed what she could read in his eyes, he looked away. At the same time, they reached the street.

  Molly used the tiny fraction of a second while Hank’s attention was diverted to wrench free from his grasp and run. She lurched, nearly stumbled, then raced toward Ocean Drive, where she knew there would be more people and safety.

  At the corner she ran headlong into Michael. His arms came around her, steel bands of comfort and courage. His gaze locked on hers. “You’re okay?”

  “Yes,” she said shakily. “Go or Hank will get away. Laura’s car is at the end of the alley. She’s still with him.”

  Instead, he pulled her tight against him, so she could feel the thundering beat of his heart. “So help me God, if you ever, ever do anything that stupid again, I will break every single bone in your body myself,” he swore fervently, adding an empassioned speech in Spanish that she suspected was better left untranslated.

  “I’m okay. I swear it. Please, go after Hank.”

  “He’s not going anywhere. He’s waiting with Laura right by his car.”

  Molly’s head snapped up. She glanced down the block and saw Hank leaning against the front fender, his shoulders slumped. Laura was holding the gun as if it were something distasteful.

  “He’s giving up?” she said incredulously.

  Michael nodded. “Looks that way,” he said as two other officers went down the block to take Hank into custody. As they passed by on their way back to the police cruisers on Ocean Drive, Molly stopped Laura. “Thank you for coming after me.”

  “I didn’t do it for you,” Laura said bluntly. “I couldn’t let Hank get in any more trouble than he’s already in. It was partly my fault in the first place. If only I’d told him what I suspected, he might have been prepared. I might have been able to make him see that it was purely a business decision, that it had nothing to do with his worth as a director. Instead, when that reporter hit him with it, he felt betrayed, by Greg, by me. Add to that the rumors he had to contend with all the time about Greg and me …” She shrugged. “It’s no wonder he snapped.”

  “But the gun,” Molly said. “Where did he get the gun?”

  “I had it. Since I had to deal with large amounts of money occasionally, I got it for protection. He knew where I kept it.”

  “But you didn’t know he’d taken it?”

  “No. Not until tonight when everything started to add up.” She glanced at Michael. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  At Michael’s nod, Molly regarded them both with surprise. “When?” she said to Michael.

  “Otis Jenkins had a talk with the studio. They told him about cutting Hank loose. He also found out that Laura had a permit for the gun. I tried to call you in the suite twice to warn you to be careful if he was around.”

  “I only heard the phone ring once,” Molly said.

  “Hank took the second call,” Laura said. “I heard enough to guess what was happening. That’s when I came after you.”

  “Thank you again.”

  “Can I go to the police station with Hank?” Laura asked Michael.

  “No, but I’ll give you a lift over there. I have to get over to headquarters and wrap this up. Just give me a couple of minutes with Molly.”

  Laura nodded and walked away.

  “Can you get home okay?” he said, his fingers splayed against her cheek.

  “Sure,” she said. She’d finally stopped shaking at least five minutes back. “There’s one more thing I don’t understand.”

  “What’s that?”

  “On the night Jeffrey pushed Veronica, was there really a shot?”

  “Yes. Hank thought she’d seen him coming out of Greg’s trailer that night.”

  “But when the first shot missed, he never tried to kill her again.”

  “Probably because he knew by then that Veronica hadn’t seen him.”

  “I wonder how she’s doing?”

  “Why don’t you go up and see her? She’d probably be glad to have a friend around, now that her son’s killer has been caught.”

  Molly touched his cheek. “That’s what I love about you. For a tough cop, you’re a real softie.”

  He grinned. “Don’t let it get around. It’ll ruin me on the streets.”

  She had started into the hotel, when he said, “Molly.”

  She turned back.

  “I’ll give you a call about Sunday.”

  When Molly regarded him blankly, he said, “The dinner at Tio Pedro’s. You aren’t going to chicken out on me, are you?”

  “Not a chance,” she said bravely. After tonight meeting Michael’s family would have to be a piece of cake.

  Be sure to catch Sherryl Woods’s

  next exciting mystery,

  HOT MONEY

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  As Molly DeWitt listened to two elegantly clad women scheme to take a Miami philanthropist to the monetary cleaners, she tried to recall exactly how her neighbor and best friend, Liza Hastings, had managed to talk her into showing up for this black tie charity affair. The last thing she remembered clearly was saying an emphatic no.

  That had been a month ago. The next day the fancy, embossed invitation had appeared in her mailbox. A week after that, Liza had begun dropping pointed hints about her failure to reply, especially when the cause was so worthwhile—saving the spotted owls in Washington among other endangered creatures.

  “I replied. I said no,” Molly recalled saying quite clearly.

  The ensuing discussion about the responsibilities of friendship had lasted no more than one or two weighty moments. Then Liza had left her to wage a battle with her conscience.

  It wasn’t that Molly had no conscience. It was simply that she’d grown up attending lavish affairs like this and had sworn on the date of her debut that she never would again. It had always seemed to her that if the women in the room had donated an amount equivalent to the cost of their gowns, there would have been no need for a fund-raiser at all. She could recall mentioning that to Liza on a number of occasions. Liza, unfortunately, had very selective hearing and a skill at arm-twisting unrivaled on the professional wrestling circuit.

  The clincher, of course, had been Liza’s persuasive appeal to Michael O’Hara. For a hard-nosed, macho homicide detective, the man had the resistance of mush when it came to saying no to a woman as committed to a cause as Liza was.

  “What are we doing here?” he asked now as he nabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

  Molly thought he sounded rather plaintive. She scowled at him. “We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t succumbed to Liza’s pressure. You had your checkbook out and those tickets in your hands before she even finished saying please.”

  “You could have stopped me.”

  “How was I to know you intended to drag me along with you? For all I knew you planned to ask that charming go-go dancer who was all over you at Tio Pedro’s a few weeks ago.”

  He grinned. “Go-go dancer? Your claws are showing, Molly. Marielena is in the chorus of a Tony-Award-winning musical on Broadway.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Besides, I was hardly likely to ask her when this is your friend’s event. I’m almost certain Liza indicated this was a package deal—you and the tickets, all for a paltry five hundred dollar contribution.” He groaned. “Do you know how many tickets to Miami Heat games I could buy with that?”

  “Don’t tell me. Tell Liza. I’m wearing a dress that cost nearly double that.”

  “I thought a former debutante would have an entire collection of ball gowns.”

  “I do. In size four. I’m an eight now and if you make
one single snide remark about how I could have starved myself back into those fours, I will personally dump the next tray of champagne I see over your head.”

  He regarded her curiously. “Are you always this charming at galas?”

  Molly felt a momentary pang of guilt. She squashed it. “I get testy when I spend more than a week’s pay on a dress that with any luck I will not wear again in this lifetime.”

  “At least you can save it for the Academy Awards or the Emmys, even the Miami Film Festival. Surely in your position with the film office sooner or later you’ll have to drag it out again. Where is a cop supposed to wear a tux?”

  “Save it for your wedding,” she shot back. Considering Michael’s avowed status as an eligible bachelor, it was as close to a curse as Molly could come. The alarm in his eyes improved her mood considerably. She linked her arm through his. “Toss down the last of that champagne and let’s go mingle.”

  Actually, now that she was beginning to resign herself to an endless, tedious evening of polite chitchat and lavish praise of the canapés, Molly discovered that she could appreciate the setting, if not the reason for her presence.

  For the event Liza had commandeered Vizcaya, the closest thing Miami had to a palace. Built on a grand scale, the winter home of industrialist James Deering faced Biscayne Bay, which dutifully shimmered like a sea of diamonds under the full moon. A soft breeze, laced with the tang of salt air, swept over the estate. Most of the crowd was milling around under a striped refreshment tent on the south lawn or walking through the surrounding gardens.

  The romantic setting was perfect for stealing kisses or seducing the high rollers into parting with their money. Molly caught sight of Liza amid a cluster of Miami’s well-to-do socialites. They were all preening for the photographer from the morning paper. Liza’s dramatic, offbeat dress in a shade referred to as tangerine—at least in the produce section, if not on the fashion pages—looked as out of place in the midst of all those pastel beaded gowns and stiff hairdos as a bold bird of paradise would among sweet and fragile magnolia blossoms.

  As she and Michael got close enough to identify the women, Molly guessed they would ante up a good one thousand dollars apiece before Liza let them escape. Most would consider it a small price to pay to have their friends see them on the society page a few days from now.

  Molly watched in amusement as Liza went into her hard sell.

  “How does she do that?” Michael asked in wonder as checks changed hands.

  “Liza has no shame when it comes to protecting the environment and any critter living in it. She will grovel, if she has to.”

  “How much do you figure an event like this will net?”

  “Forty thousand, maybe more,” she said as Michael’s eyes widened. “If Liza had actually chaired the event, she would have tried to lure a couple of celebrities into town. With a little star power, she could have doubled the profits.”

  “Why didn’t she go for it, then?”

  “Because, as I understand it, the chairwoman did not take kindly to suggestions from her committee.”

  “The chairwoman is an egotistical idiot,” Liza muttered under her breath as she joined them just in time to catch the gist of the conversation.

  “She did manage to get all the upper-crust scions of the oldest Miami families to turn out,” Molly reminded her.

  “Sure, but she ignored the rest of the community,” Liza countered. “If a few of us hadn’t set out to corral people like you and Michael, we would have had to have a nurse on duty to hand out vitamins at the door or the whole crowd would have fallen asleep by nine.”

  “Don’t you think you might be exaggerating just a little bit?” Molly asked. “You’re just miffed because you wanted Julio Iglesias to sing and she’d never heard of him.”

  “Forget Julio Iglesias. I doubt I could have talked her into inviting Wayne Newton.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss Michael’s cheek. “Thanks for coming, you two. Mingle. Have fun. I’ve got to go see if I can get old man Jeffries to cough up a few thousand bucks before he dies. I’ve heard he’s willing to save the manatees. Maybe I can get him together with Jimmy Buffet and put together a benefit concert.”

  Liza disappeared around a hedge, leaving the two of them staring after her.

  “Where does she find the energy?” Michael marveled.

  “I think it takes about twenty minutes and the mention of a cause to recharge her batteries.” Molly glanced up. “Are you interested in checking out the buffet?”

  He shook his head. A wicked gleam lit his dark brown eyes. “Not right now. I’m more in the mood to shock this stuffy crowd.”

  “Oh?” Molly replied cautiously. The last time Michael had that look in his eyes he’d kissed her senseless.

  “Follow me.”

  He held out his hand, and after a momentary hesitation Molly took it. “Exactly what do you have in mind?”

  “I intend to start by removing selective pieces of clothing.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “You what?” It wouldn’t do to get too elated under the circumstances. She had a discouraging feeling he wasn’t about to lure her into one of the mansion’s many bedrooms and have his way with her.

  He grinned. “Scared, Molly?”

  “Of you? Never!” she declared staunchly.

  “Then let’s go.”

  As they crossed the lawn, Molly’s pulse reached an anticipatory rate that would have her in the hospital down the block if it continued unchecked. The music drifted on the night breeze, swirling around them. The slow, romantic beat was counterpointed by laughter that grew more distant as they reached the shadowy fringes of the estate. Michael’s hand curved reassuringly around hers.

  “Put your hand on my shoulder,” he instructed, standing before her. “Lift your foot.”

  “Is this anything like that game where you put different body parts on different squares until everyone ends up on the ground in a tangle?”

  “Sounds fascinating,” he said, “but no.” He removed her shoe and tucked it in his pocket. “Other foot.”

  “Michael, I do not intend to romp around this place barefooted.”

  “Careful, sweetheart. Your stuffy social graces are showing.”

  In return for that remark, she nearly planted her spiked heel atop his foot. Unfortunately, as a volunteer soccer coach to say nothing of being witness to a fair amount of gunplay, Michael’s reflexes tended to be lightning quick. He stepped nimbly aside. Molly’s heel dug into the damp ground, which effectively removed her shoe just as he’d intended in the first place.

  He glanced at her stocking-clad feet. “How about those?”

  “Is this one of those kinky things I’ve read about?”

  “Last I heard there wasn’t anything kinky about sitting on a dock by the bay, but I’m game if you want to show me.”

  “You would be,” she muttered darkly, trying not to let her disappointment show. Kinky with Michael O’Hara might have had its good points. She wasn’t about to be the one to initiate it, though. She glanced at the coral rock ledge, then at the water lapping gently against it. “You don’t actually expect me to sit on that, do you?”

  “Of course not,” he said, sweeping off his jacket and spreading it before her.

  Molly had a hunch the gesture wasn’t entirely due to gallantry. In fact, she was almost certain she heard him sigh with relief. She glanced from Michael to his quite probably ruined jacket, then to the water that seemed ominously dark in this shadowed corner.

  “What do you suppose is in there?”

  “A little seaweed. A few fish. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Maybe you don’t consider having barracuda nibbling at your toes to be risky, but I’m not all that enchanted with the idea.”

  “I doubt there are any barracuda lurking down there.”

  “Not good enough,” she said. “I want conviction in your voice or my toes stay on land.”

  “Ah, Molly. Where’s the romance in your soul?” he mur
mured just close enough to her ear to give her goose bumps. His finger trailed along her neck, then over her bare shoulder.

  Molly shivered. She was entirely too responsive and Michael was entirely too skilled at this seduction stuff. Another five minutes and the society grand dames truly would have something to shock the daylights out of them. As an alternative, Molly practically dove for the coral rock ledge. She stuck her feet, stockings and all, into the bathwater warm bay.

  Michael’s amused chuckle was entirely too predictable. As he sat down next to her she considered, for no more than an instant, tumbling him into the bay so he could cool off his … libido.

  As if he guessed her thoughts, he grinned at her. “Don’t even think about it,” he said.

  “What?” she inquired innocently. Suddenly something brushed past her foot, something considerably larger than a guppy or even a damned barracuda she thought, as a scream rose up in her throat and snagged.

  “What,” she asked in a choked voice, “what is that?”

  “What is what?” Michael said, instantly alert to the change in her voice.

  She was already standing, water pooling at her feet as she pointed at the murky depths. “There’s something in there.”

  “Probably just some seaweed.”

  “I don’t think so. It felt …” She was at a loss for an accurate description. “Slimy.”

  “That’s how seaweed feels,” he said, sounding so damned calm and rational she wanted to slug him.

  “Does it also feel big?” she snapped.

  “Big like a manatee? Maybe one is tangled in the mangroves.”

  Molly wasn’t sure exactly how she knew that Michael was wrong, but she was certain of it. “Maybe we should go get a flashlight.”

  “By the time we do, I’m sure whatever it is will be gone.”

  “Michael, humor me. If it is a trapped manatee, we ought to free it or Liza will never forgive us. If it’s … something else, we ought to do, hell, I don’t know. Just get the flashlight. I’ll wait here,” she said before she realized that she’d be left alone with something that every instinct told her was very human and very dead.