Читать книгу With This Fling - Jeanie London - Страница 10

MAC HAD NO APPOINTMENTS scheduled this morning, but when he arrived at work shortly before nine, Melissa, Eastman Investigations’s office manager, tipped the phone receiver fastened to her head and mouthed, “Your grandfather’s here.”

“In my office?” he asked, surprised.

She shook her head. “Josh’s office, and Harley’s with them. They told me to send you in when you got here.”

Mac strode through the reception area and down the hallway. After knocking on his boss’s door, he found Josh seated behind his desk, his grandfather in front and Harley half sitting on the side, contemplating him stoically.

She was back in black today, the narrow-legged slacks and blazer drawing his attention to the way her body stretched away from the desk, all graceful lines and sleek curves.

He nodded in greeting, then slipped a hand over his grandfather’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

His grandfather glanced up with a somber expression. “Good morning, Mackenzie. I’ve been explaining to Josh and Harley that I seem to have a thief loose in my house.”

Mac sat down beside his grandfather, frowning. The house in question was the house he’d been reared in, a Garden District mansion where both his grandfather and parents still lived.

“What’s missing?”

“Your grandmother’s wedding rings.”

“No chance they were accidentally moved or misplaced?”

His grandfather shook his head. “You know I never move them. I suppose I should keep them in the safe, but…” He trailed off and shrugged.

Mac knew those rings stayed inside his grandmother’s jewelry box on her dresser, where his grandfather could look at them whenever he wanted a reminder of the woman he’d loved for most of his life, and had so recently lost.

“Grandmother’s jewelry should be safe in the house. What did you do after noticing the rings missing?”

“Took a thorough inventory of everything of value I don’t lock up and asked your parents to do the same. All their things are accounted for, but I’m missing my father’s pocket watch and your grandmother’s pearls.”

“You keep the pocket watch in your armoire?”

His grandfather nodded.

“So you’re missing several items from various places. Narrows down the suspect list.” He thought of the few employees who had access to his grandfather’s private apartment. “Have you reported the thefts to the police yet?”

“Apparently there’s a problem with that,” Josh said, and Mac guessed by his tone that he wasn’t happy with this problem, whatever it was. “That’s what we were just discussing.”

After so many years as a district attorney, his grandfather knew enough people in the police department that an investigation should have happened immediately. “What’s up?”

“As I was telling Harley and Josh, once I discovered these pieces missing, I wrote a list of everyone with access to the house. Seemed to be a safe place to start.” He gave a wan smile. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Mackenzie, that list is small. James and Pearl have been with me for years and I trust them implicitly, which leaves me with the cleaning and lawn-maintenance services. As the lawn-maintenance people don’t usually come inside…”

“You’re left with the cleaning service.”

“Right. But I’ve used the same service since your grandmother hired them nearly sixty years ago. You can understand I’m wary about making accusations without proof.”

Mac understood his grandfather’s concern and agreed with his assessment of the house staff’s trustworthiness. Pearl had been stuffing the family full of her Deep South specialties for as long as he could remember and James had spent nearly twenty years trying to direct Mac and his siblings’ activities outside of the house, where the aftereffects were less noticeable.

“I know Mrs. Noralee’s daughter is still running their business, Grandfather, but she has turnover with her staff. It’s possible she’s hired someone she can’t trust.”

“I agree, which is why I called some friends who use her cleaning service to see if they’ve had any problems.”

“Good idea. What came of it?”

“Five other clients with similar losses.” Harley reached for a document in front of Josh, handed Mac what turned out to be an inventory list. She was cool, professional, nothing in her expression letting on that they’d ever discussed a fling during the wedding. “They’re all missing small, high-ticket items that usually aren’t noticed immediately.”

Mac scanned the list, recognized the names. He glanced up at Josh. “Miss Q’s been hit, too.”

Josh nodded. “Basically we’ve got Nice and Neat as the commonality, with a staff of twelve who regularly service the Garden District on rotating schedules.”

Mac turned to his grandfather. “I don’t see why the police can’t investigate, so we can start attempting to recover the stolen items.”

Unfortunately, the chance of recovery was slim, and one look at his grandfather’s expression told Mac he knew it. Which left Mac to vainly question why, out of all the valuables in the family home, his grandmother’s rings—irreplaceable for their sentimental value alone—had been taken.

“That’s why I’m here, Mackenzie,” his grandfather said. “We want to move quickly. We’ve all lost things that mean a great deal to us. We’re pooling our efforts and hiring Eastman Investigations to investigate.”

“I’m still missing something here.” Mac cast a sidelong glance at Harley, found her watching him with an expression that revealed nothing.

“We can’t go to the police because of Noralee,” his grandfather said as if that explained everything. “She’s a good friend. She started Noralee’s Nice and Neat over sixty years ago. Those were different times, Mackenzie. Most women didn’t run businesses back then, especially African-American women.”

Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his hands before him, looked thoughtful. “Noralee was the Eastman’s housekeeper until she approached Josh’s grandfather about investing in her business. He backed her financially and Quinevere used their social contacts to help her find clients. She ran her business successfully until passing it along to her daughter when she retired. Evalee runs it now and has been training her daughter to take over. Nice and Neat has become a family operation with a sterling reputation that we don’t want to damage.”

“Someone is stealing.”

“I agree but until we know if Noralee’s daughter and granddaughter are involved, we’d prefer to handle it quietly. You’ve met Noralee, Mackenzie. She’s older than I am and has worked so hard. We don’t want to see her reputation harmed for no good reason. You need to find out what’s going on. If her daughter and granddaughter aren’t involved, the situation can be handled internally, quietly. If they are, well, at least we can warn Noralee before going to the authorities.”

“What are your thoughts on this?” Mac asked Josh, who rocked back in his chair and shot him a narrowed glance.

“I’ve been backed into a neat corner,” he said.

“Really?”

“Really. Your grandfather has been reminding me how instrumental my grandfather was in starting Nice and Neat. He believes that makes me invested in the outcome.”

“And…” Harley leveled her gaze at him. “Your grandfather threatened to sic Miss Q on him if he doesn’t take the case.”

Mac glanced at his grandfather. “I’m surprised you’re playing the personal card here.”

“Why should you be? It’s one of the few cards I have to play today and I want you to take our case.”

Harley chuckled and Mac looked back at her, even more surprised by her amusement than he was at his grandfather pulling rank. Laughter brightened her eyes and softened the edges of her beautiful face, an unexpected and welcome change from sarcasm.

His grandfather returned her smile. “I want you all to give it some thought before you decide. We’ll pay your professional fees and expenses and in addition, we’re offering generous cash rewards for the recovery of any of the stolen items.”

“I appreciate cash bonuses as well as the next guy, Stuart,” Harley said. “But I see a problem.”

Josh leaned back in his chair, watching her as if he knew what was coming. All eyes fixed on her, waiting.

“We can run background checks on the Nice and Neat employees, but we can’t conduct an investigation any more quietly than the police. If we don’t explain ourselves when we ask questions, we won’t get the answers we need. Now you’re looking at inside surveillance.”

“Which dramatically increases the time it’ll take us to get information,” Josh said.

“Which decreases our chances of recovering the stolen items,” Mac added.

His grandfather waved a hand dismissively. “You’ll work it out. I have total faith in your abilities. That’s why I’m here.”

“Give us twenty-four hours to do some research and discuss the case, Mr. Gerard.” Josh rose, effectively bringing the conversation to an end. “I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know what we come up with. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” his grandfather said.

Mac stood. “I’ll walk you out.”

Leading his grandfather outside, he waited until they were in the parking lot of the upscale professional plaza that housed Eastman Investigations before saying, “I’m sorry they took Grandmother’s rings. I know how much they mean to you. And me, too. I’ll do whatever I can to get them back.”

To Mac, his grandfather looked much the same as he always did. His hair was whiter, his face more lined, but he still stood tall, a proud man with an easy smile. And when he slid his hand over Mac’s shoulder and squeezed, the gesture felt the way it always had—a vote of unfailing confidence.

“I know you will, Mackenzie. I’m counting on it.”

Mac watched his grandfather drive from the parking lot and disappear into traffic, while he considered the various ways to tackle this case. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the elegant diamond and platinum rings in his memory.

“My father used to say my engagement ring was as big as an ice-skating pond,” his grandmother had once told him. “So I’d ask him when he’d ever seen an ice-skating pond, since he was born and bred in New Orleans.”

“When had he?” Mac had asked.

“He hadn’t. He was only teasing me, dear. He could never decide if your grandfather had bought such a big diamond to prove his worth or because he liked to show off.”

This accounting was so different from the grandfather Mac knew that he’d asked curiously, “Why did he?”

She’d gazed lovingly at her rings with one of those expressions that usually warned Mac it was time to dodge a hug. “Your grandfather wanted an engagement ring to always remind me of how much he loved me. He said this was the biggest he could find and it wasn’t nearly big enough.”

Mac had been twelve at the time and remembered feeling uncomfortable with all the talk about love. But as an adult he remembered her words when he thought about his future—he, too, wanted to settle down with a woman he loved with the same devotion his grandfather had shown his grandmother.

And somehow his grandmother had known. After her funeral services, his grandfather had pulled Mac aside and pressed the rings into his hand. “She wanted you to have these, Mackenzie. You were her namesake,” he’d explained. “She wanted to look down from heaven and know you loved someone as much as I loved her.”

Mac had been touched by his grandmother’s regard, but he hadn’t taken her rings that day. He’d known his grandfather would appreciate hanging on to them a while longer and, as Mac crossed the parking lot, he realized his reluctance to give his ex-fiancée those rings should have been his first clue that all hadn’t been right in their relationship.

On some level he’d known his ex hadn’t been his special woman. Fortunately for them both, he’d finally figured out what the problem was before getting himself and a very nice woman involved in a marriage destined to suffer from the same nagging discontent that he’d felt in so many other areas of his life.

He’d spent his whole life maintaining the status quo—thirty-three years of living up to the standards of old-moneyed New Orleans families. He had the education, the portfolio, the toys, the power and the social status to prove it…and a restlessness that had refused to go away.

Until Mac had decided he’d had enough.

Part of his decision to point his life in a new direction was a need to be challenged—by his work and by his pleasures—a part of life he’d ignored for way too long. He’d left his job with the District Attorney’s office and washed his hands of the premeditated mating game he’d been playing since becoming marriage-marketable by society’s standards. He wanted the thrill of the chase and long, hot nights with women who weren’t focused on social standing, prenuptial agreements and gene pools.

What he’d gotten was a hard-on for Harley Price.

Yes, she was beautiful, intelligent and so accomplished as an investigator that his own inexperience had been hammering at his ego. But she was also cynical, impatient and so far removed from her emotions that she had to be the worst possible candidate as a companion to exploring life’s pleasures.

Get over it, she’d told him.

He’d been trying. And while Harley might be willing to live in this state of edgy limbo, he wasn’t. He needed to help his grandfather, not obsess about this woman. He wanted her out of his system, and all he had to do was convince Harley she wanted the same thing.

THE WEEKEND FROM HELL was barely over, and from where Harley sat—the driver’s seat of a friend’s car—the week was shaping up to be just as hellish. Not that there was anything wrong with the antique Firebird. It was a sweet ride—all showy red paint and polished chrome—despite the so-called power steering that was developing her biceps every time she turned the wheel.

The real problem with the Firebird was that she’d rather not have been driving it at all. Her own car had started acting up on her way home from the wedding, the transmission slipping while still on the plantation’s oak-lined driveway. She’d pulled into a gas station to refill her fluids and—hopefully—resolve the problem. No such luck. This morning she hadn’t been able to back out of her driveway.

Anthony had sent a tow truck.

Now she wheeled the Firebird into the busy parking lot of Anthony DiLeo Automotive. She parked in his reserved space and headed inside for the verdict, not looking forward to finding out how much worse the week could get.

A sixty-inch television broadcast a daytime talk show in the waiting area, where several customers sat, eyes fixed on the screen, waiting. The whole place had a still-new-around-the-edges feel to it that wouldn’t hold up long under the daily traffic of grease-covered mechanics. Especially now that Anthony had more than doubled the size of his staff with the recent move into this larger facility.

Forcing a smile, she greeted the receptionist behind the service desk and asked, “Anthony in his office?”

“He’s got your car on a lift.”

Harley nodded and headed down the narrow hallway. Organized chaos was the only term to describe the garage. With twenty bays, and mechanics engaged in all manner of auto maintenance and repair from simple oil changes to major engine rebuilds, the place screamed thriving business. Harley had her fingers crossed these bays stayed filled, because Anthony had gambled everything on this move. He had some grand plans for his future and was accomplishing them one step at a time.

This move had been a big step.

She spotted her gray sedan and made her way back, waving at several of the mechanics who greeted her along the way.

“Hello, princess.” Anthony DiLeo, the owner of Anthony DiLeo Automotive, stepped out from beneath the lift, where she got a bird’s-eye view of her car’s dismantled underbelly.

Harley had known Anthony since she’d been six years old, and her dad had rented the DiLeo family’s garage apartment to live above the shop where he’d run his electronics business.

Anthony had been eight at the time, the middle son in a family of five boys and a girl. He hadn’t known she’d existed—until his younger brother Damon had mistaken her for a target to practice his Bruce Lee moves on.

She’d convinced Damon of his error with a bloody nose.

Anthony had stepped in to break up the tussle and for some reason that Harley still couldn’t explain, some twenty-plus years later, eight-year-old Anthony DiLeo had seemed everything the perfect boy should be. With his olive skin, tawny hair, golden brown eyes, he’d grown from perfect boy into perfect teen into perfect man, a man who—hopefully—had some good news for her.

“What’s the verdict?”

He held out a grease-stained palm filled with metal shavings. “Your tranny’s shot.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I can replace it.”

Oh, this was just getting better and better.

Grabbing a rag from a nearby tool caddy, he wiped his hands. “When did you say it first started slipping?”

“Saturday. And if you’re going to tell me you could have fixed it if I’d brought it in sooner, don’t.”

He didn’t miss the significance of that statement. “Didn’t go well with the exterminator?”

Harley shook her head.

“Charlie,” he called out. “Get the princess’s wheels down and Iovocozzi’s Navigator up. Put Sal on it and tell him I promised to have it done by five.” He turned to her. “Come on.”

She walked at his side, waited when he stopped at a sink to scrub his hands. Then he slipped his arm around her neck, felt for the outline of her holster and led her into his office.

“Sit,” he said, then disappeared back out the door, returning a few minutes later with two cups of coffee. Pressing one into her hands, he half sat on the desk in front of her.

“Thanks.” Harley felt her frayed edges begin to smooth out.

“What did the exterminator say?”

Lifting her gaze, she felt her throat tighten at the concern she saw in his. “I’ve got termites big time. No surprises there, since they’ve been falling on my head. But the damage, Anthony…” She swallowed hard to continue. “The exterminator said there’s a lot. I met with him on my lunch hour and now he’s coming back with a contractor this afternoon. They’ll give me an estimate.”

“It might not be that bad.”

She nodded, sipped her coffee, her heart beating so fast she felt dizzy. Just her luck that she’d finally bought her own home, a real home like she’d wanted forever, and bugs were eating it from the inside out.

Anthony recognized how upset she was because he set his cup aside and leaned forward to press a kiss to the top of her head. She wasn’t surprised by the intimacy. Technically they were in an off-again phase of their relationship—ever since she’d met Craig the cop and he’d met Rachel in retail.

Craig had taken a hike, but Rachel hadn’t gotten her walking papers yet. As soon as she did, Anthony would be knocking on Harley’s door again. As always, she’d welcome him. He’d taught her an orgasm was the best cure-all for whatever ailed her, and she could use a good one right now. She had termites, a shot transmission…and Mac Gerard in hot pursuit.

What a week!

Brushing hairs away from her forehead, Anthony smiled down at her. “Let’s tackle one problem at a time here, princess.”

“Transmission.”

“Done deal.”

“I don’t have the money for the parts.” She barely had the money for her next meal, but she wouldn’t tell him that. School loans had strapped her finances tight for too long, but once she’d bought the house… “I’m having heart palpitations about what the exterminator and contractor are going to say.”

“No problem. I’ll cover the parts, but it’s going to take me about a week to get them. My suppliers put me on C.O.D. ever since the move. They want their cash up front until they’re sure I won’t crash and burn the business.”

He didn’t have to say another word for Harley to know he was offended. He’d been doing business with his suppliers for nearly ten years. She also knew it was the first of the month, and since he’d only made his third mortgage payment on this high-square-footage property, his cash must be really tight.

“Is everything all right?” She set her coffee cup on the desk. “Are your mom and Damon doing okay?”

“I covered Damon’s share of the mortgage again this month.”

She’d figured that would happen. Anthony DiLeo Automotive comprised one third—albeit the largest third—of what had become a DiLeo compound. Anthony had bought the huge property, then renovated the space into his new garage, his mother’s new hair salon and his brother’s new dojo.

Until Damon got his martial arts studio off the ground and built up his client base… “I can put in a plug with Josh. Maybe he’ll consider moving Eastman Investigations. The place we’re training in now is a dive.”

Anthony smiled, one of those blinding, white-toothed grins that had been taking her breath away forever. “That’d help. I’m going down to talk to the bank about modifying the mortgage now that the rates have dropped again. Until then, I’m screwed. Next to nobody pays cash and the credit card companies hold up my money for six weeks. But the banks cover the debit transactions every week, so I’ll get your transmission then. Okay?”

She leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Anthony reached for his coffee, looking satisfied. He always liked when she fed his ego—a full-time job even when he wasn’t saving her ass.

“Well, that’s one problem off my back, thank you very much,” she said. “Now I have to figure out how I’m getting around. What’s your loaner situation?”

“Not good. I’m taking on twice the business with only two spare vehicles.”

“What are my chances of talking you out of the Firebird?”

“How about the chopper? I’m on Mama detail this week. We’ve got a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, a casino cruise Friday night and a wedding on Saturday.”

Harley was genuinely flattered that Anthony trusted her to drive his pride and joy. “Are you sure? Would you rather let Damon borrow the chopper? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind lending me his car. He barely leaves the dojo anyway.”

“Damon is not driving the chopper.” He leaned across the desk to slide open a drawer. “I’ll only trust you, princess.”

“You’ll kill me if I ding the paint.”

He scooped the keys from a drawer and held them out to her, catching her gaze above his hand. “Then don’t ding the paint.”

She plucked the keys from his fingers and smiled.

Looked like her day had finally taken a turn for the better. Now if her luck just held through the afternoon…