Stealing the Golden Dream

by Sally J. Smith

  Jordan sighed. “I don’t think you have to worry about nuptials anytime soon. He’s sort of on my bad side right now.”

  It was obvious from the concern on Mary’s face that she had something more on her mind. “I’m going to say something to you. It may make you angry, but I’m compelled to tell it to you straight all the same. Someone from your agency has died on the job. It could have been you, Jordan.”

  Oh, man, here we go.

  Mary took a deep breath and went on, “I’m begging you. If my ankle weren’t shredded, I’d get down on my knees in supplication. Leave the agency. Sell your half to Eddie. Give it to him. Anything. Just leave. You were nearly blown to smithereens last year yet you ignored my pleas then. I’m asking you again. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. What if it were you on duty Wednesday night? That poor young man who died—?”

  Jordan couldn’t help herself. “Murdered, Mom. Muggs was murdered. Slaughtered.”

  Mary looked into Jordan’s eyes. Her expression was sad, yet calm. None of the normal hysterics that usually accompanied Mary’s demands for Jordan to give up her career were present tonight. It was as if she knew her plea would fall on deaf ears, but the urge to make her case was too strong. She’d already said as much. “You make my point for me.”

  Jordan gathered her mother in her arms. Mary didn’t resist. “I love you, Mother. And even as different as you and I are, I understand where you’re coming from. But I won’t be leaving the agency, and I will be helping Eddie go after the killer.”

  She couldn’t see Mary’s face but felt the slight shudder rippling through her mother. “I know, Jordie. I know.” Mary pulled back and avoided Jordan’s eyes while she put a hand to her hair. “I won’t say anything to Rose.”

  Jordan kissed Mary’s cheek. Her mother seldom showed any empathy. When she did, it was touching.

  Mary took another couple of minutes to fluff her dyed-to-match-Jordan’s deep auburn hair before they returned to the table, where coffee and several gorgeous desserts had been served. Eddie stood and held Mary’s chair as she sat and laid her hand on Rose’s. “I hear you and Mark have pending nuptials of your own.”

  Rose beamed and nodded, her mouth occupied with the kitchen’s famous tiramisu.

  Mary went on. “I insist on throwing the two of you an engagement party at my home. Let’s say next Friday. Impromptu as it is, I’m sure we’ll still have all the right people there.”

  “An engagement party?” Rose looked pleased.

  Eddie looked panicked. “Isn’t that a little premature?”

  “Nonsense.” Mary waved him away.

  Jordan sat back and slid a spoonful of crème brûlée into her mouth. If the circumstances of the murder and robbery hadn’t been so dire, the Eddie, Mary, and Rose show might be fun.

  “Friday?” Mark laid his hand atop Rose’s. “Sweetheart, when’s your meeting with the studio? Don’t want to cause any problems with your big deal now, do we?”

  Eddie looked at his mother. “Studio?”

  “Oh, I forgot to mention it. I just sold the rights to my serial killer story. They’re going to make a movie out of it.”

  Eddie folded his arms. “It’s not a foreign film, is it?”

  “No. Marky isn’t producing. Not yet, anyway. Maybe later on.”

  “What did you score on this deal, Mama?” Eddie’s eyes narrowed on Mark.

  Mark smiled. All those white teeth gleamed. “Two hundred large.”

  Even Mary seemed impressed. “Two hundred thousand dollars?”

  Rose demurred. “That’s only if I write the screenplay.”

  Mark seemed to have no doubt. “Oh, she’ll write it.”

  Eddie turned to his mother. “You forgot to mention two hundred thousand dollars?” He lifted his glass. “Cent’anni, Mama.” Something else seemed to occur to him. “When exactly did you and Mark …” he had trouble spitting it out, “… get, um, together?”

  “It was so funny. I was having breakfast at the IHOP—you know I love those blueberry pancakesand up walks this gorgeous man.” Her adoring gaze rested on Mark. “He recognized me from my picture in the newspaper article about my big break.”

  “Oh, he recognized you, did he?” He glared at Mark.

  “Mm-hmm, and we just hit it off.”

  Was Eddie grinding his teeth? “I’ll just bet you did.”

  Chapter 7

  It was after ten Friday night when Eddie drove Jordan home and walked her to the door.

  “Good night,” she said. It had been a long, exhausting day, and all she wanted to do was go to bed.

  He reached up and laid his hand against the open door. “Just wait a minute, Jordan. We can’t leave things like this. You know they say, ‘Never go to bed angry.’ ”

  “I’m not angry. Not really.” She turned away, and he followed her inside.

  The image of Eddie with Sofia Vercelli was imprinted on her brain. But she had it in mind to put it aside until Eddie was in better shape. Piling more stress on top of all he was already dealing with would not only be cruel and insensitive, it would also be stupid. He was much better at a good rousing argument than she. Better to wait until things had settled down to bring up the subject—but it was definitely a matter she intended to learn more about.

  Jordan made her way through the house, opened the patio door, and followed Sadie outside. She stood by the pool staring at the half-moon mirrored in the inky water. Jordan shivered in the cool breeze that rippled the reflection. March days in Scottsdale were perfect—warm, in the upper seventies, low eighties. But the evenings cooled down to the low fifties. The desert air was clean, seasoned with the faint scent of mesquite, creosote, and the chlorine in the pool.

  She rubbed her bare arms. Eddie moved up behind her, slipped off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

  He put his arms around her. “You know I wasn’t with her that night.”

  “Why would she say it if it wasn’t true?”

  “I’m pretty sure she figures if she does this I might take her back.”

  Jordan looked up, trying to see his face, but it was cloaked in darkness.

  “It’s never going to happen. I told her I’m with you now. While I don’t want anything to do with her, if her story gets me off the hook, I’ll run with it. I can’t revenge Muggs if I’m sitting in a jail cell.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Jordan said. “She’s willing to lie for you? To the cops? She must want you back real bad.”

  Eddie moved his hands to her shoulders and turned her around. “It’s all one-sided. Don’t pretend you don’t know that.” He pulled her close and kissed her hard, long, and smoking hot as Louisiana pepper sauce. It burned all the way to her toes.

  Eddie, the man she was born to love. She threw herself into the kiss, and before she really knew what was happening, they’d made their way into the house and were pulling at each other’s clothes.

  He took hold of one of her legs behind the knee and lifted it. She wrapped it around him as he reached under the dress and caught the edge of her panties with the curl of a finger.

  Within seconds the panties were tossed to the side. While he shrugged out of his shirt, she unzipped his pants.

  “You have one?” she whispered.

  She wasn’t sure where it came from, but he produced a condom. She took it from him, and looking straight into his eyes, ripped the wrapper with her teeth, snapped it open, and slipped it on him.

  The low sound he made in his throat drove her crazy.

  “Jesus, Jordan,” he growled.

  That did it. A thrill shot through Jordan, and she was done.

  She laid her hands against his chest and pushed him down onto the sofa. Together they pulled her dress off over her head. She straddled him and lowered herself onto him, catching her breath as he filled her.

  Moments later they lay exhausted, contemplating the detonation that went off between them. Sadie padded in through the open patio door an
d licked Jordan’s hand.

  “One for the history books.” Eddie was out of breath. “Where the hell did that come from?”

  Jordan didn’t say it out loud, but she was pretty sure they had Sofia Vercelli to thank for what just happened between them.

  The ringing of Eddie’s cellphone woke Jordan. He lay on his side propped on his elbow, looking down at her. “Sorry, babe. It’s Ann Murphy. I better take it.” He sat up. “Hello?”

  Jordan stretched and looked at the clock—almost nine forty-five Saturday morning. Their lie-in was courtesy of the marathon sex they’d indulged in all through the night.

  “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Sure. Right.” Eddie and Ann seemed to be having a one-sided conversation with Ann doing all the talking.

  “Yeah? What a relief.” Eddie cut his eyes at her and swiped a hand across his brow.

  “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.” He paused, then, “Say, I don’t suppose you could do me one large and light a fire under the ME? It would mean a lot. Muggs’s parents are hurting. They need to lay their son to rest, and his dad’s in pretty bad shape.”

  Jordan got up and let Sadie out. When she crawled back between the sheets wearing nothing but her Victoria’s Secret Man-killer Special, he rolled up beside her. For a minute, she thought the morning would be a replay of the night before, but instead he kissed her soundly and threw back the sheets.

  “Well, Sofia did it.” He absently caressed her breasts, perkier-than-normal courtesy of the hi-tech bra. “She went down to the Scottsdale PD and made a statement providing an alibi.”

  He went on. “I’m no longer a suspect, at least as far as Ann Murphy’s concerned. She believes someone’s trying to set me up. But she says good old Detective Thompson has a hard-on for me. Says he’s like a dog after a T-bone to pin this on me and has plans to use the evidence he snagged out of my car to build a case. Ann’s trying to keep a leash on him, but I don’t know how long that’ll last. She didn’t say it in so many words, but I could tell she was pissed off about the Sofia thing. She thinks I was cheating on you.”

  “If Ann’s going to buy the alibi, she has to think the worst of you. And good old Detective Thompson never was a member of your fan club. What is it about you that police can’t stand?”

  “Gotta be my animal magnetism.” He lifted his hand to caress her face. “I’m sorry she has to think that of me, at least for now. But to tell the truth, I only really care what you believe.”

  Jordan looked into his eyes. “I’m trying,” she said. “It’s hard.”

  He went into the bathroom and turned on Jordan’s awesome steam shower.

  Jordan tossed off the covers, hopped up and went to make coffee. By the time Eddie walked in twenty minutes later, he was buttoning his shirt.

  He moved her hair aside and dropped a kiss on the back of her neck. “Since I’m in the clear, at least with Ann, she’s made arrangements for me to get into the museum and have a look around. I’m going to my place for a change of clothes, meet Mama for coffee then head on down there. You coming?”

  Chapter 8

  After a stop at Eddie’s place, they met Rose and Mark at the hotel coffee shop for brunch. The place was slow for a Saturday morning during Spring Break, then again, not many college students could afford the five-star resort Mama Rose and Mark had booked.

  Eddie’s mother and her intended were dressed alike in matching purple golf shirts and khaki walking shorts. There was something so sweet about it Eddie didn’t even pretend to find it annoying.

  Mother Mary, please let him be on the level. Mama deserves some happiness.

  He fidgeted through the Belgian waffles, coffee, and chitchat then finally took Rose’s hand. “Let’s go for a little stroll outside, Mama.”

  She gave him an odd look but went with him just outside to a brick-paved courtyard shaded by mid-size bushy palms in huge Mexican clay pots. He guided her to a cast-concrete bench that might have been made for a formal Italian garden.

  She sat down and looked around. “It’s beautiful out here.” When he didn’t answer, she asked, “What is it, Eddie? Tell me and get it over with.”

  He sat beside her, took her hands between his, and told her what had happened to Muggs.

  She wept. He held her. When she stopped crying, he wept, and she held him. He couldn’t bring himself to speak of his arrest. This was her time, and they’d straighten the rest out eventually.

  After a while, she stood, pulled her shorts up and her golf shirt down. “We’re gonna miss that boy every day.”

  Hand in hand, they returned to the coffee shop where Mark and Jordan waited.

  It was a little after noon when Eddie and Jordan headed south on Scottsdale Road to the historic Wild West ambiance of Old Town Scottsdale and the Arizona Heritage Museum. Eddie put down the ragtop, and Jordan pulled her hair up in a scrunchie. The weather was so beautiful it nearly broke her heart. Azure sky. No clouds. Cool breeze. And, and, ah-ah-choo! Pollen everywhere. But the warm sun on her face was worth it. Almost.

  Eddie was quiet until Jordan asked, “Did Ann say whether they got anything good from the crime scene?”

  “Said they couldn’t pull a single print.”

  “But the creeps messed with the alarm and the video systems. Right? With your expertise we might get a leg up.”

  He turned west onto Fifth Avenue. “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  “And the point of entry?”

  “The back door. They can’t figure out why Muggs was killed in the exhibit room, not at the back entrance.”

  It hurt to talk about it. “They didn’t have to kill him.”

  “Someone was out for blood.” With the air whipping past, she barely made out what he said.

  “It seems like they had a good plan,” she said. “Smart guys.”

  “Not so smart we won’t catch up with them.” Steel in his voice.

  Eddie took his Glock from the glove box, tucked it into the back of his jeans, and pulled his shirt down over it. The museum’s front door was unlocked. The place was obviously still considered a crime scene, as confirmed by the heavy-handed use of yellow tape, but there was no sign of the cop Ann had said would be on duty to let them in.

  They walked in unchecked.

  “Let’s head to the utility room first. The alarm set-up is a beaut. It’s back there, and we can check out how these guys got around it and through the door.” He walked faster. Jordan’s long legs easily matched his stride.

  Eddie seemed to be thinking along the same lines as she—to get a move on and take full advantage of the chance to wander around unsupervised.

  They made their way around the front desk, by unspoken agreement skirting the room where the theft occurredand Muggs was killed.

  As they approached the back room, a mechanical clank came from the opposite end of the building. They stopped dead in their tracks.

  “What was that?” she whispered.

  “Somebody’s here,” Eddie whispered back and pulled his Glock as he gently moved Jordan behind him.

  They turned around and crept toward an open door at the far side of the museum. Maybe the duty officer was back there after all. But according to Ann, the museum was closed and empty. If that was the case, why was fluorescent light streaming from the room?

  Eddie moved up beside the door then turned inside, gun leveled. Jordan moved in behind him and looked over his shoulder.

  Well, it definitely wasn’t the duty officer.

  A smallish man was crouched half-in, half-out of the lower portion of a credenza against the wall on the far side of what looked to be an administrative office.

  He mumbled and swore softly.

  The view included a good portion of pale backside and plumber’s crack exposed by his drooping trousers.

  “Gotcha,” Eddie warned. “Go ahead, make a move. I’m dying to shoot you.”

  The man pulled back so fast his head slammed into the top of the open cabinet. “Damn.”

  Eddie took way too
much pleasure in drawing down on him.

  Jordan laid her hand on Eddie’s arm. “Hold on there, Quick Draw. It’s Mr. Hunter, the curator.”

  Hunter got to his feet and rubbed his head. “That’s gonna make a lump.”

  “What are you doing here?” Eddie holstered the gun.

  “I work here, son. What about you?” He recognized Jordan. “Oh, Miss Welsh. Shea Security. Right?”

  “Mr. Hunter, this is my partner, Eddie Marino.”

  Eddie shook Hunter’s hand. “Sorry about the gun. We expected an officer to be here to let us in.”

  “Sent him out for coffee. I’m pretty frustrated. Been trying to print the list of stolen items for the PD, but the stupid printer’s broken. I just can’t seem to get it fixed.”

  Eddie nodded and smiled. His expression was smug, his condescending attitude on full display. He tended to forget that everyone on the planet wasn’t as tech savvy as he.

  He walked—no, sauntered—across the room, took hold of the power cord and plugged it into a socket. “Try it now.”

  The older man shrugged and grinned sheepishly. “Well, whaddya know?”

  “Since I’ve made it possible for you to print this, can we get a copy?”

  Another shrug. “Don’t see why not.”

  The alarm system control board and keypad were housed in the utility room by the rear entrance. Stacks of supplies, a couple of mid-sized flatbed trolleys, two upright dollies, and several crates and boxes took up most of the space. Altogether it was a pretty tight squeeze with the two of them in there.

  First they had a look at the jimmied lock. She leaned in over him, inhaling his essence—soap, shampoo, and Aramis cologne. She called it Eau de Eddie.