When he discovered the coffee pot was on a timer and had already brewed twelve cups, he grabbed a substantial mug and powdered coffee creamer from the cabinet.
“Early riser? Or trouble sleeping?” Paul reached for a mug himself.
“Both. I think it’s the quiet that woke me up. Had to pinch myself a few times when I heard the surf. Gorgeous view you’ve got here.”
“My grandmother bought it as her get-away spot after my grandfather passed away. Said she wanted a place where she could tell God how pissed she was for being left behind, a place where her tears could flow into the sea.”
“Now that’s a love story.”
“Absolutely. Soulmates, they were. He knew what my grandmother was thinking long before she did. He spoiled her rotten, and she loved him deeper than the deepest blue, as she put it.”
“Sounds like Sal and me.”
“Don’t mean to pry, but how’s she doing?”
“Sal is doing just fine.” Both men shifted toward Sal’s emphatic voice, catching her tightening the sash on her robe. “I smell coffee.”
John handed her his mug. “Just the way you like it.”
Sal leaned into his largeness and snaked an arm around his middle. She took a sip. “Perfect. Just like you, big guy.”
John winked at Paul. “Told ya. She’s crazy about me.” John patted Sal’s bottom. “Get enough sleep, hon?”
“Too quiet. This house is enormous! Most mornings we’re used to slamming doors and the boys fighting over who gets the biggest cereal bowl.”
“Let me guess. Buns gets the biggest bowl.”
“How did you know?”
“The youngest usually gets his way.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“No, I was an only child.”
“Was?”
“Parents were murdered nine years ago.”
“How awful!”
“My grandmother raised me before she moved here.” Paul stopped talking when he heard the sleepy voice coming from the direction of the doorway.
“I smell coffee,” said Grace. She shuffled into the room, a blanket draped around her shoulders. She gravitated toward Paul and kissed his cheek.”
“Here, take mine,” he said handing her his cup.
“We can share.” The sparkle in her eye competed with the bling on her finger. Sal’s jaw dropped.
“Is that what I think it is?” Sal grabbed Grace’s hand.
Grace blushed. Paul pulled her close. “We planned to announce our engagement at breakfast.”
“Who’s engaged?” Fran wandered into the kitchen and headed for the coffee pot.
“Paul asked me to marry him last night. I said yes.”
Fran pretended to swoon. I never thought this day would come. Hallelujah!”
“Thanks, Mom.” Grace squinted her eyes.
Paul wrapped her in his arms and held tight, nibbling her ear. “I asked your mom for your hand last week. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Seeing as Daddy wouldn’t be able to tell my hand from a pinochle deck, I think you made a wise choice.”
Fran clasped her hands over her chest. “I say we go into the city, have dinner, and see a show. What do you say? “I’ve been dying to see Lion King.”
Paul released his grip on Grace. “Just so happens my gran was a philanthropist. She held a prominent position on the board of directors at the Orpheum Theater. I’m pretty sure I can get tickets.”
“It’s all settled then,” said Grace. “Who wants breakfast?” She counted heads and took egg orders.
Paul got out the pots and pans. Sal set up a workspace for chopping vegetables. Fran and John went down to the beach with the boys. The girlfriend curled up in a chair with a book.
“Girlfriend?” Sal’s voice resonated through the house. “Come help in the kitchen. I could use a hand.” Sal gave Grace the don’t you-dare-say-a-word look. Grace raised her brow and shrugged her shoulders. When the girlfriend appeared in the doorway, she didn’t look happy.
“Here.” Sal handed her a knife. “Ever chop onions before?”
“Nooo.” The girl looked mortified.
“Time to learn. My boy loves to eat. He’s used to good, home cooking made fresh.” Sal handed the girl an onion. “Next comes gardening lessons.” Sal cackled like a wicked witch, making everyone laugh, even the girlfriend.
Once breakfast was over and dishes were cleared, everyone headed down to the beach for a game of volleyball. Showers were taken in shifts, leaving Grace and Paul time to walk and plan. When it was their turn to shower, the hot water ran out.
“Happy?” Paul lathered Grace’s back with soap. He rinsed and stepped closer to share his body heat.
“Yes, never been happier,” she said, teeth chattering.
He turned her around and cloaked her in his warmth. “Almost done.” He kissed her softly, then more urgently. Before long, his lips began exploring the rest of her body.
“We’ll be late,” she said.
“Just a little. We’ll dress faster.” He convinced her with another long kiss. She melted into his arms. He was about to enter her when the knock on the door startled them both. It was Fran.
“Grace, there’s a call for you. He says it’s important.”
Grace shivered. Who knew she was here? No one. She had left a recorded message on her office machine with a referral to another therapist. In four years of practice, she never had a client refuse to honor her time away. She went through a mental list of clients who wouldn’t comply. She came up with zero.
“Tell whoever it is to call my service. I’m not available. And why are you answering my phone?” She wrapped herself in a fluffy towel and cracked open the door.
Fran peeked through the opening. “Sorry, I thought you were alone. Here.” She handed the phone to Grace, hissing, “Next time I won’t touch it,” and she stomped off.
Grace held the phone away from her dripping hair, goosebumps gathered her skin from head to toe, but the real chill came later.
“Hello, Grace Simms.”
>Click<
Paul witnessed the phone fly through the air. Although his hand instinctively reached out, he was helpless to stop it. He couldn’t prevent the explosion of plastic as the phone bounced off the wall and shattered on the marble floor.
He didn’t have to ask, but he did. “Jess?”
The answer didn’t belong to the sweet, loving, kind woman he had proposed to the night before. Grace’s face screwed into a hateful pose. Her voice sounded like the growl coming from an animal protecting it’s young.
“I want him dead.”
* * *
“I’m sorry I snapped at you.” Grace sat beside Fran. Her hair was dry now. She was calm.
Fran remained cool. “No need to apologize. I didn’t mean to pry. The phone rang, and my reflexes kicked in.”
“I don’t want to worry you, Mom, but you should know. It was Jess. He’s been calling me, hanging up, and trying to terrorize me. We don’t know where he is. He’s not only wanted for attempted murder, he—” When Fran’s face drained of color, Grace pulled her into her arms. “I’m sorry, Mom, I know he put you through hell, but I thought you should know.”
“What are we going to do?” Fran’s body trembled. Grace kicked into therapist mode.
“Nothing. The authorities will handle everything. That’s why we pay taxes, right?”
A smile twitched on Fran’s face. “More than our fair share. What about your phone? Sorry, but I heard the crash.”
“Paul went to get me another phone. We can’t let Jess ruin our holiday.” She squeezed her mother’s hand. “C’mon. Let’s pick out something pretty to wear tonight.”
When Grace led Fran into the bedroom, Grace overheard Paul talking on the phone. “Right, party of eleven. Yes, six o’clock is perfect.” She poked her head into the room. He gave her a thumbs up and a wink. She blew a kiss, loving him more than she ever imagined.
* * *
; At 2 p.m., a limousine pulled up in front of the house. The girlfriend gasped. “We’re going in that?”
Sal patted her shoulder. “Now aren’t you glad you peeled that onion? Joining in has its rewards.”
John slapped his oldest son Sam on the back. “Don’t leave your mother alone with your girlfriend anymore, son. She’ll warp her mind.”
Sal fell in step with John and looped her arm through his. “If she’s lucky, a little bit of me will rub off.”
John helped Sal into the limo. He noticed her make-up couldn’t hide the sadness behind her eyes. He slipped beside her and held her hand. She leaned against him and closed her eyes. She was tired already. Not a good sign.
Paul squeezed in beside Grace. “You look amazing,” he said, “and you smell delicious.”
“Behave yourself,” said Fran, scooting next to the girlfriend Shannon. “What a lovely group. This is exciting.”
Paul obeyed and placed his hands on his lap. “First we’ll do a little Christmas shopping followed by an early dinner at AQ. Then it’s off to the Orpheum for Lion King.”
“Who are you really, French fry?” Sal asked. “No one gets into AQ without robbing a bank and a month’s notice.”
“It pays to know people.”
Suddenly, alarms went off in Grace’s head. She felt clammy. Her heart raced. Who are you really? Did she really know him at all? The question weighed her down like an anchor. She couldn’t catch her breath.
“Grace, breathe!”
Voices sounded far away. The ringing in her ears grew louder. “Breathe!” Someone pounded her back.
Are we still moving? Grace didn’t think so. She was floating. Upward.
“Breathe,” the chorus sang.
Yes, breathe. She gasped for air. The dark chamber brightened as the doors flew open and light flooded the limo. She shielded her eyes.
“My God, Grace, you scared the bejeezus out of us.” Sal knelt by her side. “What happened?”
“Not sure,” she said. “A little claustrophobic, I guess.”
“I want you to ride up front with Thomas,” Paul insisted, steering her toward the front of the vehicle.
Thomas? Does he know him too? “Good idea.” She eyed Thomas with suspicion as he got her settled in the passenger seat and closed the door.
Tension ebbed from her muscles as they rode down the freeway. The boys began to banter about whose spiking skills surpassed who’s in the volleyball game they played earlier. She felt relieved she hadn’t dampened everyone’s spirits with her anxiety attack. Where was this anxiety coming from? You fell in love with a killer once, the voice inside her head warned. What do you really know about Paul? Just then, a billboard with a crystal ball caught her attention—an advertisement for a local psychic. Her heart skipped a beat, remembering Misha’s words. He wants you dead. At that moment she knew, whoever Paul was, he took her side She needed Paul more than ever.
* * *
“AQ or Benu?” Simone lounged in a fuchsia-colored robe that accentuated her perfect curves.
Jess waited for the robe to falter so he could catch a peek.
“AQ. I think one animal is enough for the night.”
“You don’t like animals?”
Simone’s pouty lips enticed him. He stood in front of her, his erection pronounced in his tight jeans. “Lions? Bears? All we need is a tiger, oh my.”
“AQ it is.” She pulled her robe close and refastened the tie. “I’m rather fond of Asian fusion, and by the way, I invited your friend.”
“Oh? And who might that be?” Jess cringed inside. He wanted to take her by the throat and squeeze. At the same time, he couldn’t deny the tingling sensation lingering in his loins. He wondered if she ever had a “real” man.
“Miss Fancy Pants,” she answered. “The writer. I imagined her drooling on the phone when I called this morning. What did you do to her?”
“Do I look like the type to kiss and tell?”
“You’re no fun, Sheppard.” Simone collapsed on the bed. Her robe parted, exposing her leg.
Jess gnawed his bottom lip, his temptation growing again. She toyed with him, rolling onto her stomach until the silk fabric stretched across her delicious derrière. One bite. Who was he fooling? One bite was never enough.
“I thought I’d go exploring,” said Jess. “I could use a new pair of boots.” He sat beside her on the bed, his eyes aflame, his hand just inches from her body.
“I like the thought of killing the writer. You?” She brought her knee up. Her shin brushed his hand. Her eyes smoldered. “Not here though. Someplace remote. Maybe the docks.”
“You’re fucking insane.” He bounced off the bed. “I thought you wanted to see a play?”
“Afterward. Lion King, dinner, the docks.”
“I can see you’re thrilled with the idea,” said Jess. “What’s in it for me?”
Simone untied her sash. The satin slid down one shoulder, exposing the swell of one perky breast. “There was a time when I liked men. Perhaps you can refresh my memory.”
“Let me think about your proposal.” Jess turned his back on Simone. “When I return, I’ll have your answer. For now, close your robe. You don’t want to catch a chill.”
“Sheppard, you are rather intriguing, but don’t take too long. I’ve been known to change my mind.”
“Duly noted. Can I bring you anything from Union Square?”
“How about a little something from Tiffany?”
“Yeah, right.” Jess shook his head. Now he wanted to choke her for a different reason. Her arrogance was beginning to get on his nerves.
* * *
The limo pulled to the curb along Post Street. Macy’s, Saks, and Neiman Marcus flanked by palm trees and glittering lights prompted audible gasps from the back seat. Grace sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, determined to clear herself of all her negative thoughts and feelings. I’m going to enjoy this time with my loved ones if it kills me!
She only jumped a little when Thomas opened the door.
“Miss Simms.” Thomas extended his hand. Grace obliged and waited for the others to exit.
Paul was first and stood by her side. “Ready?” he asked.
Grace nodded and looped her arm through his.
“Do I have a budget?” Sal chided John. The boys and the girlfriend were busy snapping photos.
“You know the rules, babe. If we go over the budget, one of the kids has to go.” John grabbed Buns by the scruff of his neck. “I say we sell the runt.”
“Grace and I need to slip away for an hour or so. He held up her hand, displaying the sparkling prisms, “We have business to attend to.”
“Fine,” Sal said, gathering the kids. “Let’s meet back here in an hour. We can break up into teams and get some serious Christmas shopping done.” She faced Thomas. “Don’t you go too far, pretty boy. When I shop, I shop.”
Thomas tipped his hat. Soon the crowd dispersed and headed in different directions.
Paul slipped his arm around Grace, steering her through the midday crowd.
“The ring was my grandmother’s. I didn’t expect it to fit. I’ve made an appointment with my jeweler at Tiffany. He promised we’d be in and out in an hour. Perhaps I can buy you a coffee while we’re waiting.”
“Do I get to choose a ring for you?” Grace squeezed her hand in his.
“Best Christmas present I can think of.”
“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” Grace’s brown eyes misted over. She clung to Paul as they walked along the street, pausing to gaze at decorated shop displays.
When they arrived at Tiffany, Ruben greeted them with enthusiasm. “This ring. Ah, this ring,” he said. “It’s a work of art—a masterpiece!” He winked at Grace. “He would not sell it to me years ago when his grandmother left this world to enter the next. He told me, “No, someday I will find the right woman, and it shall be hers.” Ruben leaned closer, sharing a secret with Grace. “The ring, it has found competition.
You far surpass its beauty.”
“Ruben’s father designed the ring for my grandfather. The diamonds are from Ruben’s father’s personal cache.”
“Yes, my father acquired the diamonds in India. The oval stone was part of my mother’s dowry, a family heirloom. Paul’s grandfather helped my father build this business. In return, my father parted with some of his treasures. It is our way.”
“The ring will mean even more to me now,” Grace blushed. She never imagined herself wearing something so ostentatious, but she had to admit she had never seen a ring more beautifully crafted than the one she slipped off her finger to be sized. She loved it as much as the man who gave it to her. Then…what’s wrong? She couldn’t shake the tremor waiting to overcome her, to rattle her world, and to make this moment a mockery of everything she wanted in life. Security came with a price. Trust was a key element. Why the red flags? Christ, I’m standing in Tiffany’s with a man I met when he was a waiter.
* * *
Jess hailed a cab and got off on Geary Street with the intention of popping into the Salvatore Ferragamo store for a pair of Italian-leather shoes. He found just what he was looking for—lowcut, cap-toe, monk-strap in calf leather. However, he yearned for something a little more versatile, a boot he could wear with jeans or casual slacks. Once he purchased the Ferragamo’s, he walked toward the John Fluevog shop on Grant Avenue to check out boots.
After perusing the men’s section, Jess was ready to make a selection. He sat in one of Fluevog’s signature turquoise chairs and waited his turn. The magic words came sooner than he expected. “May I help you?”
“I’d like a pair of these, size ten-and-a-half, D.”
“Idol Kashmir boots go with everything,” the Asian man said in a soft-spoken lisp. “Love the muted grey.”
Jess felt tempted to ask the associate for a pair of the red-and purple corduroy slip-ons he was wearing, but decided the young man had enough challenges in life without some asshole customer making his life more miserable. After all, Jess never had to deal with pock marks or crooked teeth. He no longer worried where his next meal came from. He imagined the young man worked the red light district after dark to afford his cool shoes and designer duds.
The Black Dress Page 13