Wolf in Gucci Loafers (Tales of the Harker Pack Book 2)

by Tara Lain

  She shook her head. “They’ve never been in this room that I know of, although I did smell an odd cologne one time. I only heard voices from a distance. I wish I could help.”

  “You are helping by being so incredibly brave.” He pulled out the burn phone and keyed in Zakowsky’s number. “Tell this man you’re at 1846 Merchant, in the warehouse that looks abandoned. Tell him to go around to the back. I’ll leave the door ajar.”

  She dialed and did what Lindsey told her. He could practically feel the war of relief, anger, and confusion oozing through the phone from Seth.

  She glanced at “Super Granny,” then spoke into the phone with the same effortless authority Lindsey loved in her father. “I’ll give you details when you get here. Meanwhile, please hurry.” She hung up.

  Lindsey nodded. “He wanted to know how you got free?”

  “Yep. But I’m not here to rat you out. He’s got real criminals to catch.”

  Lindsey laughed. “Thank you for your support.” He tapped the burner phone. “You keep the phone.”

  “You’re leaving now?”

  “Yes, the police won’t take long.”

  Her eyes got big again. “What if the bad guys come back before the police get here?”

  “Ah, never fear. Granny’s near.”

  It felt so good to hear her laugh.

  He could imagine someone who wasn’t laughing.

  He walked into his closet carrying his granny suit in his leather tote. A restroom at an obscure restaurant where he would generally not be caught dead served as a changing station. He pulled the flowered dress from the tote. He couldn’t take it to the dry cleaner, and he certainly couldn’t ask the maids to wash it. Maybe he’d just donate it and buy Granny a new outfit at Goodwill.

  When he’d stashed it, he went straight to the laptop. Was the selection of that warehouse random? Were the kidnappers just hanging out in any old abandoned building, or was there a pattern? He searched all the stories and records. The building seemed to be one of a series of bad buys by a business partnership. Dumb moves. Oddly, Hanson Westerberg appeared to be one of the partners. He should have known better. When it came out that this crime was committed in a building he owned, maybe Hanson would pay more attention.

  His phone buzzed, and he looked at the screen. Dave. Okay, prepare to sound amazed. “Hi, Dave. Tell me the news.” He sounded tense.

  “It’s wonderful, Lindsey. Carla is home.”

  “Oh my God, that’s the best news I ever heard. How is she?”

  “She’s great. We’re going to have her talk to a therapist tomorrow, but I honestly think the girl is bulletproof. Amazing what being thirteen and feeling immortal can do for you.”

  Lindsey chuckled. Most likely that girl would be just that intrepid her whole life. “She takes after her father.” He swallowed. “So did Zakowsky find her or the FBI? Did they catch the kidnappers?”

  “You won’t believe this. Do you remember the story of the elderly woman who saved a girl from an attacker in an alley a few days ago?”

  “Yes. It was on the news.”

  “Well, Carla says the same old woman saved her. She calls her Super Granny. But by the time the police got to Carla, the woman was gone. Seriously, I’d think she was making it up if she was inclined to fantasy, but she’s not.”

  “That’s really amazing.”

  “Yes. Two of the kidnappers’ goon squad were tied up there, and they confirmed her story. Babbled it, actually. But Seth says they don’t know anything else. Apparently, they’ve hardly seen their employers. Anyway, dear friend, I wanted to tell you we won’t need the money after all, and I’m beyond grateful that you were willing to lend it to me.”

  “I wanted you to know that some of the funds were coming from the Harker and Marketo families. They jumped at the chance to repay your help to them when they most needed it.”

  “I’m honored.”

  “Now, we just have to catch these damned criminals before they strike again.” Lindsey glanced at the screen.

  “Actually, I wanted to ask you a special favor in that regard. Seth Zakowsky feels there may be more clues to be had among the wealthy families. These people could know more than they even realize. But Seth would just be seen as a policeman if he shows up at the country club. It could make a big difference if you’d introduce him around. You know, as a friend?”

  Talk about your war between desire and fear. It battled in Lindsey’s brain. He sighed. Guess which wins? “Saturday is the charity polo match at the grounds. Perhaps that would be a chance for him to snoop discreetly. But are you sure this idea is all right with Seth? He doesn’t seem to like me much.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I do know this was his idea.”

  Which leaped higher? His heart or his cock? “Have him meet me at my house at 10:00 a.m. We’ll go over the ground rules. I have to get there early. I’m riding.”

  “Thank you so much. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

  Lindsey chuckled. A whole day of staring at Seth Zakowsky’s ass. “It’s my pleasure.” But then he’d have to keep himself from attacking him.

  He turned back to the laptop.

  Seth pulled the Kawasaki to the side of the big circular drive and stopped. He stared up at the house. Holy shit. Three stories above ground, much of it covered in ivy. All that was missing were the gargoyles. So this was how the other half really lived. Or rather, the other tenth of one percent. His parents’ whole house probably wouldn’t take up half of this guy’s kitchen. What a waste of money.

  He swung his leg over the bike and stood. Of course, what he’d spent on the motorcycle wasn’t pocket change to him. Everyone to their drug of choice. But Lindsey Vanessen was a way in. The Feebs were so damned arrogant. They accepted Seth in their midst because he knew the area, but damn, he wanted more. If he could get a real lead on these kidnappers that they didn’t already have, maybe he could get some respect. Shit, it was hard enough with the police.

  He walked up the wide staircase to the porch. Some woman’s magazine would have called it gracious, he just knew it. With a push, he rang the bells. Soft chimes sounded from somewhere inside. A man opened the door. White coat, black pants, bow tie. Okay, he must be in some romance novel. This guy had to be the butler. “Uh, is Lindsey Vanessen here?”

  The man smiled. “Oh yes, sir. You must be Mr. Zakowsky. Lindsey said to expect you. Please, come in. He’s dressing.”

  Dressing. Seth took a quick glance down at his best jeans, dress shirt, and leather jacket. How would Vanessen be dressed for this shindig? He followed the guy into an entry that could have subbed for an art museum. Not the usual dull portraits you saw in movies, these paintings were bold, colorful, and really abstract stuff. He liked it, actually.

  The butler kept walking. “This way, sir.”

  Seth passed through the entry into some big sunny space with this huge staircase in the middle of it, like Tara in Gone with the Wind, and a lot of tables with flowers and more art. Off to the side through an arch, he could make out what must be a living room, but it was equally sunny and friendly-looking. Not so old and musty as the outside of the house suggested.

  The butler motioned toward a flowered couch by the wall with a couple of chairs beside it. “Please wait here, Mr. Zakowsky.”

  Seth walked over to the couch but didn’t sit. How did a person live like this? Where could you toss back a beer in your skivvies? Oh hell. A picture of Lindsey Vanessen in his underwear formed in Seth’s addled brain. What would that be like? He looked really slim in his clothes. Did he have any muscles at all, or would he be all willowy? Graceful, like the pretty girl he resembled? But that ass in his expensive slacks did look kind of high and tight. Yeah, maybe he’d have some tone and—

  “Hello, Lieutenant Zakowsky, darling.”

  Seth looked up. Well, crap. If this place was Tara, here came Scarlett O’Hara. Except he wasn’t wearing a ball gown. No, this version of the heroine wore high boots, slim riding pan
ts, and a polo shirt that clung to his slender torso but really managed to show off his wide shoulders. That pale hair was pulled slick and tight against his head.

  Lindsey stopped about four steps from the bottom. “Come on up, darling. We’ll spruce you up a little for the horsy set.”

  Okay, if he’d been dreaming of the configuration of Vanessen’s ass, he got a study of it now. He followed Lindsey up the sweeping staircase, observing every flex and release as the other man climbed in those tight breeches. He took a breath. Jesus, he hated guys like Vanessen. Why was his ass so fascinating? Imagine showing this guy off at the department. They’d bust a gut.

  At the top, Lindsey stepped back and swept a hand down the hall. “Second door on your right.” Seth walked the patterned carpet. Lindsey reached around him for the door handle and opened it into a huge room. Wow. The place was kind of feminine but—beautiful. The first thing he walked into was like a sitting area. When he looked up, he saw the bed on the other side of the room. Really big. All kinds of pillows piled up on the head of the bed.

  Lindsey came up beside him. “So, let me look at you.” The guy stood back and regarded Seth up and down like a piece of prime beef. “Yes, well, lovely, but maybe a little casual for the occasion. I know it sounds like an athletic event, but really it’s more”—he waved a hand gracefully—“shall we say, social?” He walked around Seth, making a “hmmm” sound.

  “Look, I don’t care about the social niceties. I just want to catch a fucking kidnapper.”

  “Ah yes, yes, but we catch more flies with—Armani.” He laughed. “Come with me.”

  It wasn’t a trial to follow that butt.

  Lindsey threw open a door, and Seth walked in behind him. “Holy shit.”

  Lindsey turned and placed a hand on his chest. “Yes, dear, I know. Decadent. It may be the sign of a devolving civilization, but this is my closet.”

  This was a room his family home could fit in twice. “Department stores don’t have this many clothes.”

  “Dear, dear. We never shop at department stores.” He waved a hand down his body. “Obviously, nothing that fits me is going to fit you.” He touched the epaulet on the leather jacket. “Those shoulders. Oh my.” He sighed. “Anyway, I happen to have a blazer that was delivered to me in the wrong size. My guess is that it’s divine plan, because I think it will fit you perfectly.” He walked to the racks of clothing and pulled out a deep-green blazer.

  Seth touched the material. Butter. Shit, not his style. He shook his head. “I don’t need this. Thanks, though.”

  Lindsey hooked the jacket on a display hanger and crossed his arms. “Listen, dear. You asked me to take you to this event. I’m also very interested in you capturing these horrible people. After all, their victims are my friends. So do this my way.” He pointed at the coat. “That jacket cost half your annual salary. No one is going to smell cop when I get through with you. They’ll talk to you because you’re a friend of mine and that’s all they need to know. Understand?”

  Seth frowned. “What do I say when they ask what I do?”

  “You work for the government in a classified capacity. End of story. You could tell them, but—”

  “I’d have to kill them.” He cracked half a grin. “That’s pretty ingenious.”

  “But of course.” Lindsey pulled down the jacket. “Take off that lovely motorcycle thingie and try this on.”

  He slipped the jacket off his shoulders and laid it on an overstuffed chair. Lindsey brought one hand up and fanned his face. “Sorry. Warm in here.”

  He got that right. This dressing room closet might be enormous, but being surrounded by personal things made the whole experience kind of intimate. No doubt the guy’s silk, gold-plated boxer briefs were lined up in that drawer over there. Get a grip, Zakowsky.

  Lindsey held the jacket, and Seth shrugged into it. He shot the cuffs of his dress shirt out of the sleeves.

  Lindsey pressed a hand to his own cheek. “My. Perfect, if I do say so myself.” He stepped closer. “Before you look, let me fuss a bit.” He walked to a drawer and pulled out what looked like a woman’s silk scarf. Gold and green, mostly. He pulled it around Seth’s neck and tied it. Hell, the guy was almost exactly Seth’s height. He looked so damned fragile, but he was actually pretty big. Lindsey admired his creation. “Good. Now, your hair.”

  “What about it?” Seth patted a hand against the tightly bound ponytail he’d created so he could ride without hair in his mouth. Of course, the damned stuff wouldn’t stay bound.

  Lindsey flicked his fingers against the loose curls that had escaped around Seth’s head. The guy’s warm, minty breath blew against Seth’s face, and he shivered.

  “Your hair is extraordinary. I think we should use it to advantage.” In one move, Lindsey reached behind Seth’s neck and yanked the rubber band from his hair.

  “Ow!” The mass of curly mane flew around Seth’s head.

  “Oh my yes, much better.” He reached out with both hands and ran them through Seth’s curls. Well, crap. He wanted to close his eyes and just let the guy play. Stu-pid. He pulled his head away.

  Lindsey’s eyes widened; then he smiled. “Okay, look at yourself.”

  Seth walked to a full-length mirror on the side wall. Well, holy crap. He still looked tough, but— “I look like a sow’s ear you’re trying to turn into a silk purse, as my mama used to say.”

  Lindsey walked up behind him. Amazing. Those long legs matched his own, but slimmer. The guy put his long-fingered hands on Seth’s very well-dressed shoulders. “No, darling, you don’t. You look like a very expensive silk purse that anyone would love to tuck under their arm.” He laughed, and the vibrations tingled through Seth’s chest.

  Chapter Four

  She-it! Seth fell back a step under the umbrellas as eight horses thundered toward him across the grass.

  “Don’t worry. For some amazing reason, they almost never ride into the crowd.” The handsome, gray-haired man who wore a lot of cologne stuck out his hand. “Don’t think we’ve met. I’m Hanson Westerberg.”

  Seth shook but his eyes flicked back to the horses. “Seth Zakowsky. I’m actually more concerned about those poor humans clinging to the backs of large, four-footed beasts running at top speed.”

  Westerberg laughed. “Not a horseman, I gather.”

  “A horse might as well be something in a zoo where I come from. At least we had one of those in the Bronx.”

  Westerberg nodded. He gave Seth a quick but thorough once-over. “I see. Self-made man.”

  Okay, maintain the mystery. “In a sense.” He smiled and looked back at the huge grass field in front of him.

  “You’re a guest of Lindsey Vanessen, I believe.”

  “Yes.”

  “Brilliant polo player. Are you a friend of the family?”

  This guy had an agenda, big time. “No, not really. Just of Lindsey’s.”

  The horses pounded toward them again across the field. Lindsey rode his horse hard against the other team’s player, leaned down, and smashed the ball with his mallet thing right into the line of fire of one of his teammates. Woosh. The guy hit it toward the end zone. Just like that. Goal. People cheered politely and clapped their gloved hands.

  “Lindsey pretty much set that up, right? He gets the assist?”

  Westerberg laughed. “In a manner of speaking. Lindsey is the Number Three. Generally, the Number Three is the lead tactical position, and the best player on the team wielding the highest handicap. And yes, he performed a brilliant ride-off and fed the ball to his Number One for goal.”

  “That’s what I thought, thanks.” No idea what the guy had said, but Seth sure understood how strong those thighs had to be to keep Lindsey on that horse. Lucky horse. A bell rang. He glanced at the man—Westerberg?

  “Thirty seconds until the end of the chukker. Actually, we’re up to halftime.”

  “Do they bring out the cheerleaders?” He grinned.

  Westerberg’s eyebrows rose
; then he seemed to get that Seth was kidding. “Oh yes, uh, no, they get a five minute rest instead of three.”

  Seth shook his head. “Man, this is a killer sport.”

  “Yes, they say men who ride horses, like jockeys, for instance, are among the fittest athletes in the world.”

  “People.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Two of those players are women. You said men.”

  A slight crease appeared between his brows. “Oh yes, I misspoke. People.” He looked across the crowd toward the entrance. “Good meeting you. I’m expecting my son any moment, so please excuse me.”

  “Sure.”

  Westerberg smiled, but it came nowhere near his eyes. “He’s a friend of Lindsey’s.” The man walked away. Seth never quite got what his story was. He’d seemed pretty interested in where Seth came from. And who the fuck was his son?

  A speeding body came to rest beside him. “Hi.” Lindsey shining with sweat was quite a picture.

  “Hi. You’re one helluva player, man.”

  He struck one of those damned drag queen poses of his. “Player? I trust you mean on the field, darling.”

  “Yeah, of course.” Jesus, he hated flaming guys, but Lindsey wouldn’t stay one thing long enough for Seth to settle on an opinion. One minute queen, one minute wise counselor, and the next fantastic athlete. Confusing.

  Lindsey dropped the act. “How are you getting on? I only have a minute. I need to check my ponies.”

  “Ponies? Those beasts look pretty full grown to me.”

  “Yes, it’s just an expression. Mine are mostly thoroughbreds.”

  “Yours? You telling me you own those horses?”

  “Of course. Only professional players ride other people’s horses.”

  “Shit, man, this is one weird world.”

  Lindsey smiled. “You have no idea.” Their eyes met and held, and then Lindsey blinked. “We have another forty or so minutes to play. Can you amuse yourself?”

  “Uh, sure. I met one guy. Named Westerberg?”