Читать книгу Downtown Debutante - Kara Lennox, Kara Lennox - Страница 12

The bleached blonde, whose name tag identified her as Alice Smith, stopped midsentence. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’d like to see the opal necklace,” he said, indicating the piece Brenna had pointed to. It did resemble one of the sketched designs Brenna had provided when she’d first filed the theft complaint. But did it have Brenna’s jeweler’s mark? That would be the key to identifying the piece.

“The show is about to close for the night,” Alice said, “and I’ve really got to help this gentleman here. Maybe you could come back tomorrow?”

“I won’t be able to do that,” he said firmly, finding it highly odd that the woman wouldn’t do anything possible to close the sale tonight. He’d seen how eager these exhibitors were to part customers from their cash. “I’d just like to take a quick look at the necklace.”

“I can only wait on one customer at a time,” she said curtly. “For security reasons.” She picked up a can of cola from the table and took a quick gulp from it, then returned her attention to the man in the cowboy hat.

Something didn’t feel right here.

Mr. Cowboy Hat stepped aside. “You go ahead and help this gentleman,” he said to Alice. “Delia and I want to talk a bit in private.” He handed the ring he’d been looking at back to Alice and walked away.

Hesitating, Alice extracted the pendant from the case and displayed it against her manicured hand, tilting it this way and that to catch the light in a practiced gesture. “You probably just cost me a sale, you know. That guy was about to pull out his platinum American Express.”

“Sorry.”

He looked closely at the pendant, which featured a round, flat fire opal the size of a nickel, encased in a disc of gold and platinum. It had a sort of Art Deco feel to it, but modern, too. Very clean lines.

“Where did this come from?” he asked casually.

“An estate sale in Florida. I’ve had it for a few months, but it needed repairs. This is the first I’ve shown it. Several people have said they might come back for it, so if you’re interested…”

Heath held out his hand. “May I?”

The woman handed it across the table to him. He casually flipped over the pendant. He didn’t see Brenna’s mark. He examined the piece with his jeweler’s loupe. No sign of her name. No mark of any kind.

“Do you know who the designer is?” he asked.

“No.”

“Do you have a receipt for it?”

Alice’s face hardened. “What’s this about?”

“The woman who was with me a moment ago thinks the necklace might be stolen. From her.”

Alice’s face melted into an expression of sympathy and her demeanor changed abruptly. “That’s awful. Oh, I hope it’s not true. I have the receipt in my office at home, I’m sure. I could get it for you. The outfit I bought it from is a respectable company that runs estate sales all over northern Florida. I can’t imagine they would deal in stolen merchandise. When did the theft occur?”

“Only a few weeks ago.”

Alice smiled. “Well then, it couldn’t be the same piece. If you want to give me your fax number, I can fax the receipt to you.” She handed Heath a card.

AliceSmith224@coolmail.com.

“Do you go by FrenchQuarterChic on the Internet?” he asked.

“No,” she answered, hard and swift. She held her hand out, obviously wanting her necklace back. “I really need to get going. I have to pick up my grandkid at the babysitter’s before it gets too late.”

Heath handed back the necklace. Could it be a coincidence? Maybe Brenna had been mistaken. Her mark wasn’t anywhere on the pendant. He decided the only way to sort this out was to bring Brenna herself back here to take a closer look at the piece.

Where the hell was Grif? When he really needed the guy, he was MIA.

He flashed his badge at Alice, whose eyes widened. “I don’t want you to leave this spot until I get back. I’m going to assume, for now, that it’s all a mistake. But if I have to come looking for you—and I will—I’ll have a whole new set of assumptions, and they won’t be pretty. Understood?”

“Well, you don’t have to get nasty,” she grumbled. “But I’m not waiting here all night.”

She didn’t intimidate easily, he thought as he took off after Brenna.

The security guard at the door had noticed Brenna, who didn’t exactly blend into the crowd. At Heath’s question, he pointed out the direction she’d taken—down a corridor that led to the ladies’ room. The corridor was empty. He cracked open the ladies’ room swinging door. “Brenna?”

“Leave me alone,” she called back on a moan.

“Are you okay?”

“What do you think?”

Hoping no one else was in there, he entered, holding his FBI shield just in case. But the room was deserted. Amazing, given how busy the trade show was.

He found Brenna leaning over the sink, splashing cold water on her face. She raised up, looking at him in the mirror, then blotted her face with a paper towel.

“Get out. This is a ladies’ bathroom, for gosh sake.”

“I was worried about you.”

“I’m fine. Go arrest somebody. That woman had my necklace.”

“Are you sure? You didn’t look at it very closely.”

“Of course I’m sure! You think I can’t recognize a piece of jewelry I worked over for days?”

“I looked it over. It doesn’t have your mark.”

That stopped her. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Marvin could have removed the mark.”

“The woman said she bought the piece six months ago in Florida.”

“Then she was lying! Heath, did you just let her walk away?”

“I flashed my badge and told her not to leave. If you look at the necklace and positively identify it as yours, I can demand that she produce the receipt.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll live. Freaking oysters,” she muttered. “And I don’t want to hear you even think ‘I told you so.’”

He wouldn’t say it, that was for sure. He felt too sorry for her to add to her misery. But he was thinking it.

She looked shaky as they headed back for the exhibit hall. Fearing she might fall off her platform shoes, he offered her his arm, but she shook her head.

It was after ten, and the show was officially closed now. The security guard at the door let them in only when Heath flashed his badge. But as soon as they got inside the exhibit hall, Heath realized he’d made a terrible mistake. The French Quarter Chic booth was empty. Alice was gone, and so were all of her display cases.

The booths on either side of her were also deserted. Queries to a couple of other exhibitors were useless; everyone was focused on securing their own merchandise for the evening.

He left Brenna on a padded bench by the door, whispered to the guard not to let her go anywhere, then located the show’s security chief, who was concerned and cooperative. He enlisted a handful of his men to search for Alice, but she’d disappeared like a snake slithering into a pond, not even leaving a ripple. He personally searched her space, finding nothing but her empty soft drink can.

Supremely disappointed, he headed back toward where he’d left Brenna. Grif suddenly appeared by his side. “What happened?”

“Where were you?” Heath demanded.

“I stopped to buy some earrings for my girlfriend.” He patted his shirt pocket. “You seemed to have everything under control.”

“Yeah, well, all hell broke loose.” Heath stopped himself before he could lose his temper. He was irritated with Grif, but more angry with himself. He never should have let Alice get away. But he’d allowed his concern for Brenna’s welfare interfere with his good judgment.

He filled in Grif, who let loose with some suitably colorful curses. Then he asked, “What now?”

“I’ll take Brenna back to her room. She’s really sick. I don’t think she’ll be getting into trouble tonight, so you can go catch some sleep if you want.” He handed Grif Alice’s empty soft drink can, which he’d placed in a small labeled sack. “And if you could drop this by the lab on your way home—”

“No problem. You’re sure Brenna’s not faking?”

No one could turn that shade of gray on purpose. “I’m sure.”

“I’ll come back about four, then, to relieve you.” He paused. “I’m really sorry, man.”

Heath couldn’t stay mad at Grif. “Hope your girl really likes those earrings.”

Brenna was where he’d left her. She gave him an accusing look. “You didn’t find her, did you.”

“No. Brenna, I couldn’t arrest her without stronger proof. If you could have positively identified—”

“I did!”

“But your mark—”

“Could have been filed off.”

“We’ll find her,” he promised. He had high hopes for finding prints on the can.

“I just want to go to bed,” Brenna said miserably.

“Let’s go, then.”

There was no way Brenna was up to walking the ten blocks back to her guest house. The taxi line in front of the convention center was thirty deep, too.

“Just lay me down in the gutter,” Brenna said. “I’ll be fine.”

Then Heath saw something that might be their salvation. He sat Brenna down on another bench, placed her purse in her lap and crossed her arms over it. New Orleans seethed with purse snatchers and pickpockets, and a sick young woman would be a handy target. “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t move.”

“As if I could.”

Brenna wanted to die. Really, truly. She’d never felt so sick in her life. Then again, she’d never eaten a dozen tainted oysters, for surely that was the problem. But did food poisoning come with a fever? She was sweating and shivering at the same time, and her stomach threatened to revolt again at any moment.

She slumped down and put her head in her hands. Thank God she’d made it to the bathroom before. She’d die of embarrassment if she threw up in front of Heath. She supposed people barfing in the street was a commonplace thing in New Orleans, but it wasn’t something she intended to do.

The clip-clop of a horse’s hooves drew her attention. She looked up to see one of the French Quarter’s horse and carriages pulling up right in front of her. The horse wore a festive yellow hat with orange flowers.

Heath hopped down from the carriage. “I found us some wheels.”

“You have got to be kidding.”

“It’s this or I carry you back to your hotel.” She actually smiled at that thought. Heath held out his hand, and she surprised herself by taking it. Moments earlier she’d wanted to strangle Heath for letting that thieving jeweler get away. But now she was oddly touched by the way he was taking care of her. He could have simply abandoned her, let her find her own way back to her guest house.

She was so weak she could hardly pull herself into the high carriage. But between Heath and the driver, they hoisted her up. She didn’t miss the fact that Heath put his hand on her bottom to accomplish the feat. She didn’t miss the fact that, even in her debilitated condition, she liked it. She wondered if he’d peeked up her short skirt.

Heath climbed in beside her and the carriage took off. “You’re shivering.” He took off his suit jacket and put it around her.

“Th-think I have a fever.” Her teeth chattered. Heath put his arm around her. His body felt warm, and she snuggled into it. Oh, Lord, he smelled great.

Between the gentle rocking of the carriage and the hypnotic clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, she fell asleep. The next thing she knew, she was being carried up the outside stairs to her room. And it was Heath carrying her.

“Oh, for gosh sake, put me down,” she protested feebly. “I can walk.”

“Hush. We’re almost there now, anyway.” When he reached her door he set her down, fished around in her small purse until he found a key and opened the door.

The room was freezing. She’d left the air-conditioning on. Heath walked across to the window unit and flipped it off. Then he yanked back the covers. “Get in.”

“I need a shower.”

“Only if you want me in there with you, holding you up.”

He was right. She was about to fall down. Her stomach felt like a giant hand was squeezing it like one of those stress balls, and she was so dizzy she was swaying. She took two steps, crawled across the bed and dropped.

Heath took off her sandals, covered her with the blankets. “I have some medicine in my bag, down in my car. I’ll be right back.”

While he was gone, she managed to wiggle out of her uncomfortably damp clothes and pull the covers over herself. Oh, God, why couldn’t she just die? It would be so much easier.

Heath returned a few minutes later and held out a handful of pills. “Something for nausea, something for pain and fever, and a muscle relaxer. Should knock you right out.”

“You always travel with a pharmacy?”

“I can’t afford to be sick in the middle of a job.”

She wasn’t sure how well the pills would sit on her beleaguered stomach, but she swallowed them with the water Heath brought her, then snuggled down deeper under the thin covers. “I’ll be okay,” she said. “You can go.”

“I don’t think so. I’m on the razor’s edge of taking you to the hospital.”

“No.” But she realized she was in no condition to fight him, if that’s what he wanted to do. “Stay, then. But if this is just a clever ploy to get a free bed for the night, forget it. You’re gonna have to pay for half…the room.” Already, a pleasant lethargy was taking over her. Whether the muscle relaxer was working or simple exhaustion was taking over, she thought maybe she’d drop off again. Even if Heath Packer was watching her and she might drool in her sleep.

Her last conscious thought was that, no, he didn’t sleep in his tie. And he wore surprisingly sexy underwear for such a straitlaced guy.

BRENNA WAS SICK almost all night, off and on. She managed to doze off between bouts of violent retching.

By morning, however, the worst seemed to be over. She was awakened by the sound of her hotel room door opening. She cracked open one eye and saw Heath Packer entering, one tall paper cup in each hand.

She groaned and hid her head under the covers. Heath Packer had spent the night in her hotel room, but had she managed to make the best of the situation? No, of course not. He’d seen her sick and sweating and half-delirious and, yes, probably drooling.

He managed to close the door quietly with his foot, then set the two cups on the nightstand. That’s when he spotted her peering at him with one eye, most of the rest of her under the covers.

“Hey.” He smiled, not unkindly. “What’s the story? Are you going to live?”

“I’m not sure. Did you spend the night in here?”

He pointed to the other bed, tellingly rumpled. “Part of the night.”

“Do you wear skimpy black bikini underwear, or did I dream that part? I’d have guessed you were a tightywhitey guy all the way.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Maybe she’d dreamed it after all. At any rate, he was back in his suit pants today, paired with another crisp, white shirt. No tie, though. His dark hair was neatly combed, his face freshly shaved.

“Do you want breakfast?” he asked, indicating a white bakery bag.

She groaned melodramatically and hid under the covers again. “Don’t you dare show me any food. Whatever it is, I don’t want to see it or smell it.”

“Okay. But it’s just some dry toast. That’s supposed to be good for an upset stomach. I brought you some hot tea with honey, too.”

Was this guy for real? Most men ran the other way when anyone around them took ill. Her father once left the house for three days when her mother had the flu.

She figured Heath was probably being so nice because he’d realized he needed her. She was the one who’d spotted the stolen necklace. She was the one who’d come up with French Quarter Chic. For all the good it had done.

“I might try the tea,” she finally said, deciding a couple of sips wouldn’t kill her. If she kept those down, maybe she would get really wild and take a bite of toast.

She started to sit up, then abruptly remembered she’d taken off all her clothes last night. She peeked under the covers and relaxed when she realized she had on her old, tattered flannel nightgown, the one she’d shoved to the bottom of the suitcase in embarrassment after she saw the matching-nightie-and-peignoir sets Sonya favored.

Wait a minute. No matter how debilitated she’d been, she would never have chosen to put this on when there was a handsome guy in the room.

She sat up and shot Heath a suspicious glare as he removed the top from her tea and handed it to her. “You didn’t, um…” No. That was ridiculous.

“Did you want milk for your tea?” he asked, thinking that was the problem.

“Did you put me in a nightgown last night?” she blurted out.

“You were shivering. That was the warmest thing I could find in your suitcase,” he said matter-of-factly.

She knew her face must be flaming. She was going to die of embarrassment. She took a gulp of tea to hide her discomfort. Though she didn’t much care for tea, this was good—hot, strong and sweet.

“Take it easy,” Heath cautioned. He took his own cup, which apparently contained coffee, and pulled off the lid. Then he settled back on his bed with the morning paper.

Gee, wasn’t this cozy?

“You saw me naked,” she couldn’t help pointing out.

He looked up. “What?”

“You saw me naked.”

He grinned. “I didn’t look. Not that I wasn’t tempted, but I’m not the kind of guy who takes advantage of a woman when she’s down.”

“How could you not look?”

He rolled his eyes. “I handed the nightgown to you. I turned my back. You put it on.”

Brenna knew she should have been relieved. She was disappointed instead. Not that she would have been at her fetching best last night. More like my retching best. She wished she could remember. If she’d been naked in front of Heath Packer, she ought to be able to remember it.

She forced herself to focus on something else. She drank more of the hot, sweet tea, then forced down a couple of bites of the dry toast. Her stomach didn’t seem to mind it.

“I think a shower might do me some good.” She retreated to the bathroom, bringing some fresh clothes with her. She was pitifully weak. But by the time she dressed and brushed her teeth, she was feeling almost human again. She pulled on a lime-green tank top and a pair of electric blue pants with a beaded design running down the side seams.

It took lots of makeup to disguise that sickly prison pallor and puffy eyes, and half a bottle of styling gel to spike her hair just right. But by the time she was finished, she thought she looked pretty hot. Well, pretty okay. Not that her cold-fish roommate would notice. Jeez, if he could see her naked and be totally unaffected, she was losing her touch.

AS SOON AS BRENNA WENT into the bathroom, Heath quit pretending to read the paper and put it down. Hell, yes, he’d put the nightgown on her. The poor woman’s teeth had been chattering so loudly she’d been in danger of cracking a molar. But contrary to what he’d just told her, he’d had to dress her himself. She’d been groggy from the muscle relaxer and half-delirious with fever.

He had definitely looked.

Then he’d covered her with every blanket in the room. And when she was still shivering, he’d gotten into bed with her and added his own body heat to the prescription.

After a few minutes the shivering had stopped and she’d dropped into a more normal sleep. Praying she wouldn’t remember any of it, he’d reluctantly slid out of her bed and into his own to catch some sleep.

Unfortunately, he remembered her every contour, exactly what it felt like to have her bottom tucked up against his very hard arousal, her shoulders pressed against his chest, the soft give of her flesh beneath the tattered flannel as he’d wrapped his arms around her. The feel of her would be with him always, he was sure.

Thank God she didn’t seem to recall.