Читать книгу A Stetson On Her Pillow - Molly Liholm, Molly Liholm - Страница 10

THE NEXT MORNING after an uncomfortable sleep on the couch of the suite’s living room—his mother had raised a gentleman after all—Clint followed Peter Monroe to the gym and then to the hotel barber and wondered if he should have let Laura carry through on her threat to put him out of his misery. He’d give up his best horse to be on any other assignment right now.

Last night they’d dined in the restaurant, two tables away from the Monroes, but despite the fact that Clint had worn his cowboy hat and Laura, with her hair twisted in a top knot, had worn a pastel green dress without a flounce or trim of any kind—so plain and simple he knew it had to cost a fortune—the Monroes hadn’t noticed them.

The real problem, however, was that he had noticed Laura all throughout dinner.

While Laura toyed with the stem of her wineglass, she had asked, “Do you think they really wanted a society heiress on this case or do you think Clark was just looking for another opportunity to give me a dumb assignment in the hopes I’ll quit?”

“Darlin’, working with me is never a punishment,” he teased, and smiled at her, imagining himself nibbling on her long slender neck. He took her hand and stroked his thumb over her knuckles, just in case Peter Monroe was watching them. Leaning in slightly so that he could smell her perfume he whispered, “It’s pure pleasure. Guaranteed.”

With her cheeks flaming she had snatched her hand out of his, and Clint had been surprised she could be so easily flustered. Surely she was used to flirting with the young men of her social circle. Or maybe she’d learned to exert caution when it came to cops.

He’d been surprised yesterday when he’d held her in his arms to discover a number of nice curves, but there were a lot nicer and easier women he preferred to spend time with. Since he was only going to be in Chicago long enough to get the promotion, there was no point in getting involved with anyone before he went back home. Not that an uncomplicated affair wouldn’t be nice, especially if the sex was good, but there was no such thing as an uncomplicated relationship with a woman. And Laura Carter was even more complicated than most women.

Captain Clark had given Laura the cases that demanded the longest hours and had the least chance of being solved but she hadn’t complained. Instead she had done her job. He had to admit he admired her spirit. And now that he was thinking about Laura he realized she had closed the docket on an impressive number of her cases. Her average rivaled his.

Like everyone else he’d been so caught up in her image as an ice princess that he hadn’t really paid much attention to her work. Coming from a family that had been judged by their father’s larcenous history, he had fought to be accepted for his actions, not his father. Except he’d judged Laura on her reputation and image, not her actions.

Last night, after he’d lost the coin toss to see who was sleeping in the big honeymoon bed and who got the couch, when he’d finally finished reading the Monroe file, he’d found himself thinking about Laura rather than the case. She hadn’t revealed much about herself except to say her mother was divorced and she’d grown up in Boston. Instead they’d spent the hours discussing various schemes on how to befriend Peter Monroe and get him to confess all. As they’d debated the merits of Clint rescuing Peter from the charge of a runaway horse versus Laura claiming the Monroes as part of her family tree, they’d laughed at the ridiculousness of their assignment.

Clint had spent far too much time for the rest of the miserable night on the too-small couch wondering exactly what Laura’s scent was and when and where she and her boss had made love. He had wondered if she had a lover now. He wondered why he was wondering.

In the morning he’d woken up to find something warm and soft on his chest, someone nibbling on his chin. “Laura,” he’d muttered and opened his eyes to see Sweetums smiling at him. The dog drooled on his face and Clint placed her on the floor just as Laura had walked into the living room.

“Oh.” Her eyes had darted to his bare chest and then she’d scooped the dog into her arms. “Did Sweetums wake you up?” Laura had had shadows under her eyes as if she too had been kept awake by uncomfortable thoughts.

He’d wondered if she spent any time thinking about him as anything other than a hick cowboy. As neither of them had thought of any brilliant plan or found anything in the files that Garrow had missed they agreed that Laura would head to the hotel’s spa in an attempt to bond with Cassandra Monroe. Laura had bribed one of the workers into telling her when Cassandra had her appointment. After grabbing an apple and juice off the room service cart she had remembered to order last night, Laura had left their suite looking classy and beautiful, dressed in a pair of fleece pants and white T-shirt and carrying a large tote bag.

Clint had wasted his morning tailing Peter as he spent an hour and a half in the gym, followed by a haircut, all the while taking at least half a dozen phone calls. Since Garrow had had Monroe’s cell phone tapped and had never learned anything incriminating, Clint hadn’t learned anything except that Peter liked to talk business, all day, every day. As far as Clint could tell, the only time Peter Monroe wasn’t thinking about his company was when he was with his wife.

Back in the lobby of the hotel, Clint hid himself behind a newspaper as more wedding guests—he could tell by their gifts—arrived and saw Peter checking his watch. He was meeting someone for a late lunch, Clint guessed. Peter’s face lit up as he waved at his wife as she came toward him. She kissed him lightly on the lips and straightened the collar of his polo shirt under his casual jacket. They were joined by the Yorks, the parents of the bride, and the proud hosts of the wedding. Tonight, the groom’s parents, who were also Peter Monroe’s cousins, were hosting a dinner in the rooftop ballroom, to be followed by a full-day cruise on Lake Michigan for all the young people who had arrived for the wedding. Clint was sure he and Laura would be able to avoid the cruise.

The York-Chandler nuptials were being celebrated in high-society style. The four days leading up to the wedding were filled with dinners and luncheons, a bachelor party and a bridal tea. If needed, Donald York, the young bride’s father, was prepared to introduce the Marshalls to the Monroes, but Clint and Laura had agreed it would be better if they could find some more interesting, unconventional way to capture the self-made millionaire’s attention. Yesterday’s antics in the lobby hadn’t been enough. It seemed that with five hundred wedding guests Clint and Laura could blend in too easily. They would need to think of something dramatic to stand out.

For a wedding at Two Horse Junction all you had to do was show up at the church on time, and then make sure you had enough food and whiskey to feed everyone in town back at your house. His mother had written that Ellen Lansing and Tom Conner’s wedding celebrations had lasted well through the next day. Clint knew that was because a number of the young men in town had consoled themselves at losing their chance with the most beautiful girl in town by partying long and hard, including his brother, Ben.

He watched the two couples head into the Monarch Restaurant on the hotel’s main floor and followed at a discreet distance. The waiter seated them at a table by the window. There was no way Clint could sit anywhere close to them without sticking out like a fox in a henhouse, so he went back out into the lobby.

Clearly the shrinks had it wrong when it came to Peter Monroe and his fantasies. Money could be the most powerful allure of all.

The couches in the lobby were spindly looking sticks of furniture that felt as uncomfortable as they looked. He decided to check out the bar and have a beer instead. The lounge was filled with the same muted light of hotel lounges around the world. A waitress dressed in a white blouse and short black skirt carried drinks from the bar to the round tables. A cluster of businesswomen attending a convention sat at one table while two solitary men sat alone at tables next to each other. Clint walked up to the bar and asked for a beer.

Maybe he should somehow ingratiate himself with the groom’s family. No. He wasn’t very good at ingratiating himself in with anybody and so far he hadn’t seen Peter Monroe spend any time with the groom or his distant relations. Clearly the wedding was a social obligation, but not a loving reunion.

Nicholas Vasili wasn’t scheduled to arrive until the day of the wedding. Clint cursed under his breath. How were he and Laura supposed to make any kind of a case against Peter Monroe?

The head shrinks definitely had to be wrong about the man. Clint decided to proceed according to Garrow’s plan for the rest of the day, but if he and Laura didn’t make any connection tonight at the York dinner they might as well call Captain Clark and tell him to pull them off the case.

No, he’d never asked to be let off a case and he wasn’t about to start. He had to think of something to make them connect with the Monroes. The psychological profile must have some validity, but he and Laura needed to make an impression. Something different, but what? He wondered if Peter liked silly dogs with floppy bows.

If he had an iota of his father’s famous charm he and Peter would be friends and he’d be pocketing a check for an investment.

“Marshall, is that you?”

He looked up. Reflected in the glass behind the bar was Amber, whose message he had stuffed into his desk drawer. He’d arrested Amber once and let her off a second time after she’d helped him find a perp who enjoyed hurting the youngest of the working girls. Now that he saw her, he realized he hadn’t spoken to her for several months. Nor was the Regal the kind of hotel that tolerated working girls of Amber’s caliber.

Amber’s shiny raincoat hung open, revealing a burgundy dress that clung to her thin body. Her black vinyl boots added three inches to her short stature. She shifted the package she was carrying in one arm. “Your pig friend said I could find you here. I thought if I hung around the lobby long enough I could find you and sure enough I saw you walking into the bar. What are you, undercover or something?”

“Who told you I was here?” he asked, his eyes searching for somewhere private to talk.

“The cop with the shiny teeth who’s always sweating and looking at me like he’s going to jump me any second. Lesky.” She wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something bad. “That guy makes my old pimp look decent. Don’t worry about me being here—I won’t get in the way, but I had to talk to you. It’s urgent.” She bit her bottom lip as she reached out and touched Clint’s arm. “I really need your help.”

Clint looked back at Amber. She was petrified of something, but her presence jeopardized his cover. Plus, as soon as he was back in the precinct he was going to kill Lesky. “How did you convince Lesky to tell you where I am?”

“I told him I had to talk to you—that Johnny might hurt me really badly…or worse, if I couldn’t see you.”

“Lesky could have contacted me himself.” Clint’s gaze narrowed as he studied the girl. “What else did you tell him?”

Amber grinned at him and Clint realized that beneath the makeup she was rather pretty. “Okay, you’re smart. I told Lesky that we’d been having a…a relationship and that I needed to see you immediately.”

“You told Lesky we were sleeping together?” Clint gritted out between clenched teeth.

“I let him think it. And because Lesky wants to sleep with any girl who’s pretty enough he totally believed me. It’s easy to trick a man with his own weaknesses.” Amber shrugged. “Luckily Lesky isn’t all that smart. Another thing he and Johnny have in common.” She took a deep breath and stared at the bar’s countertop. “I told him about my baby….”

“Lesky thinks you’re pregnant? And that I’m the father?” Clint shook his head in frustration. “I hope you have a damn good reason for finding me. Has Johnny been bothering you again?” He was annoyed with her, but worried about why Amber needed him so urgently. Johnny, her pimp, was mean and stupid and enjoyed hitting the women who worked for him.

“This isn’t your usual beat. What are you doing here?” She shifted her package from one arm to the other.