by Lauren Carr
“Then how about surgery?” Mac asked.
“No!” Archie ordered. “We’re not putting Gnarly under the knife.”
“I need those rings back,” Mac said.
“Well,” the vet said, “as my mother used to say, this too shall pass.” Laughing, he looked at Mac, who regarded him without humor. Unnerved by the glare in Mac’s eyes, the vet dropped his smile.
With a sigh, Mac turned his attention to Archie who was lovingly petting Gnarly while making cooing sounds. “I’d hate to be you for the next few days.”
Archie stopped petting Gnarly in mid-stroke. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re going to have to monitor Gnarly’s bathroom breaks until he gives up those rings.”
“Me!”
Her mouth was still hanging open when Mac said, “I can’t do it. I’m going to New York.”
“Why are you going to New York?” the vet asked.
“To make sure the groom gets a divorce,” Mac said.
“The same groom whose wedding band is in Gnarly’s stomach? He’s married?”
“It’s complicated,” Mac said. “You see, a few years ago, he went with his then-girlfriend to Las Vegas and they got drunk and went through a drive-through thinking it was a joke, but it turns out it wasn’t and he didn’t find out it was for real until—Why am I telling you this?”
Her arms folded across her chest, Archie said in a firm tone, “I am not monitoring Gnarly’s discharges. You’re the best man. It was your job to take care of the wedding bands. Not mine. Besides, I’m going to be running around all over the place with Chelsea getting these last minute wedding details taken care of. I don’t have time to inspect his poo.”
Hands on his hips, Mac returned her glare. “Well, there is no way in hell you’re going to make me take Gnarly to Manhattan.”
“You are aware that we’re going to New York City,” David said to Mac shortly after the chartered plane took off from McHenry’s airport early the next morning.
Mac followed David’s eyes to where he was staring at Gnarly, who was sound asleep in the seat that Mac had pushed back into a fully reclining position for the large dog. The motion-sickness pills Mac had given him had knocked Gnarly out, which he preferred over having to deal with his vomiting.
“Yes, I know,” Mac said. “Archie’s spending the day with Chelsea.”
“So?” David asked. “Gnarly loves spending time with Molly.”
“Yeah, but the bridal shop doesn’t love Gnarly since he tackled the pizza delivery man and ruined one of their most expensive gowns with tomato sauce. Cost me two thousand dollars.” Mac waved at the flight attendant. “Could you get us two coffees, please?”
The attendant rushed back to the kitchenette to retrieve the drinks for the plane’s only two passengers.
“Imagine what he could do in Manhattan,” David said. “I mean, I love Gnarly, but between the air sickness and hauling him around Manhattan, wouldn’t—”
“Have you talked to Chelsea?”
“She won’t talk to me,” David said in a firm tone. “I left her a voice mail and sent her a text. Who in their right mind marries a woman who won’t speak to him?”
“Look at it from her point of view.” After thanking the flight attendant, Mac accepted the two coffees from her and handed one to David. “This is supposed to be the happiest week of her life, she’s about to marry the man she loves, and then this comes up. Give her some time.”
“How much time? We’re getting married in four days. What if she doesn’t get over it by then?”
Sipping his coffee, Mac shot a glare at the dog snoring in the seat across from them. Considering what he would have to do to get their wedding rings back, he said, “She’d better.”
Chapter Three
News Corps Building, Avenue of the Americas, Midtown Manhattan
On the thirty-fifth floor of the skyscraper that served as home to some of the country’s major news networks, Ali Hudson gazed with remorse into a box of chocolates. She’d already eaten every truffle. Upon studying the chart on the underside of the lid, she saw that there was nothing left to satisfy her craving for more—only chocolate-covered coconut pieces, caramels, and various fruit creams remained.
Makes me feel lower than a gopher hole.
Like a doctor proclaiming a patient dead, she placed the lid back on the box of candy. Picking up her oversized coffee mug filled with coffee and double helpings of cream and sugar, she returned to her desk in the outer office of Yvonne Harding, one of Zenith News Channel’s most distinguished investigative reporters.
Four years earlier, when ZNC had signed Yvonne on to serve as one of four journalists for their new crime reporting show, she had been regarded as simply another pretty face with a flawless figure and a great pair of legs. They’d intended for her to cover the fluffier news stories, like the ones in the weekly “stupid crooks” segments.
It didn’t take long for Yvonne to prove that she was as tenacious and capable as less attractive journalists when it came to pursuing serious stories. Between breaking huge crime stories miles ahead of the competing networks and looking sensational while doing it, Yvonne had “popped,” as they say in show business. She’d even outshone the lead host, Pam Wiehl, whose name was intended to draw in Crime Watch’s initial audience. In her late forties, Pam Wiehl was ZNC’s award-winning veteran investigative journalist and the wife of the show’s executive producer.
Since garnishing the star slot was an impossibility, Yvonne Harding had been compensated for drawing in big ratings with a huge salary and a prestigious window office with a view of midtown Manhattan.
Yvonne’s research assistant was not so lucky. Ali Hudson had been given the outer office, which didn’t have a view. She didn’t mind, as long as she was allowed to slip off her four-inch heels while seated behind her desk.
Seeing that it was after ten o’clock, Ali peered down at her full mug and told herself that she’d probably had enough. With a sigh of resignation, she lifted the coffee to her lips.
The office door opened, and an arm bearing a small bouquet of yellow roses wrapped around the door. It was followed by the arm’s owner, ZNC’s most notable news show host, Ryan Ritter.
The attractive, broad-shouldered journalist was a favorite with the network’s female viewers—so much so that his show, which followed Crime Watch at nine o’clock, was one of ZNC’s top-drawing programs.
Beaming, Ryan handed the roses to the research assistant.
Her face filling with confusion, Ali hesitated before taking the flowers. “What’s the occasion, sir?”
“How many times do I have to tell you, Ali? Call me Ryan.” Grinning at her sultry voice, which was heavily laced with a Texan drawl, Ryan hitched a leg over the corner of her desk. “I was passing the florist on my way in, and they were putting these out. Yellow roses. Instantly I thought of ZNC’s most lovely yellow rose of Texas.”
The phone on Ali’s desk rang. The caller ID indicated that it was the reception desk on their floor.
While picking up the phone’s receiver, Ali chastised him. “Shoot! You didn’t have to buy ’em for me.” She uttered a sigh. “People are gonna think we’re fixin’ to do somethin’ inappropriate.”
“Who says we’re not?” Ryan asked with a toothy smile. “What are you doing for lunch today?”
“Researchin’ a missin’ person’s case for Yvonne,” she replied before saying into the receiver, “Office of Yvonne Harding. This is Ali speakin’. May I help you?”
After the receptionist informed her that she had two visitors to see Yvonne Harding, Ali told her to send them in. As soon as she hung up, the outside line rang. The caller ID read “Caleb Roberts.”
“Looks like it’s time for me to get back to work, sir.” Then she said in a tone oozing with Southern charm, “Thank you for the yeller
roses.”
The toothy grin dropped from Ryan’s face while he muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t hear. She assumed it was a curse over her turning down yet another invitation. Can’t he see that I’m half his age? Dirty ol’ man should be ’shamed of himself.
She shooed him off her desk with a wave of one hand and picked up the phone with the other. “Good morning. Yvonne Harding’s office. Ali Hudson speakin’.”
She arched an eyebrow at Ryan Ritter, a wordless demand that he leave. Slowly, he made his way out the door.
“Hello, Ali,” the elderly man on the other end of the line replied. “This is Caleb Roberts returning Yvonne Harding’s call. Is she in?”
“I’m so sorry, sir. She’s not in yet,” Ali replied. “But I’m sure I can help you. I’m her research assistant,” she continued to tell the caller. “I was the one who left you the voice mail askin’ you to call our office.”
She started when the office door opened and two men with a very large German shepherd on a leash entered the outer office. At a gallop, the dog made a beeline for the break table containing the box of chocolates in the corner, only to be pulled back by the dark-haired gentleman with a bit of gray at his temples. Judging by the two men’s similar builds and facial features, including their square jaws and blue eyes, Ali concluded that they were related. Probably brothers.
Holding up her index finger, she nodded her head to acknowledge them while continuing her phone conversation.
Directly behind the two men and the dog, Pam Wiehl charged in. “Is—”
Waving her hand to indicate she was on the phone, Ali continued to speak into the receiver. “I’m workin’ with Yvonne on the Walker case.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
Refraining from exhibiting her impatience by tapping her pen against her notepad, Ali raised her light-brown eyes from the slender hips of the blond-haired man who had come in with the German shepherd. While admiring his firm, athletic build, she noticed a bulge under his sports coat—on his hip.
How did he get that gun through security? Must have a permit.
She looked up and saw him peering down at her with the clearest blue eyes she’d ever seen. The charm of his grin made her heartbeat kick up a notch. In spite of her effort to remain cool, she felt a girlish gasp escape her lips.
“Hello? Ali?” the retired detective said, sounding annoyed. “Are you still there? I thought Yvonne Harding backed off on the Walker case.”
“Yes, sir!” Turning her head to avoid her visitor’s pretty blue eyes, Ali forced a casual tone into her voice. “It’s been two years …”
Pam Wiehl was also looking the visitors up and down and drumming her long, manicured nails on the desktop directly in front of Ali. She tapped the toe of one of her red high-heeled pumps while the man with the dog tried to move the beast behind him, as if doing so would keep her from noticing the hundred pounds of fur and claws.
“Told you we should have left Gnarly at the hotel,” the blond-haired man whispered to his companion.
“You’re Mac Faraday.” A wide grin crossed Pam Wiehl’s face.
Seeing that they were not about to be booted out, Mac smiled and offered her his hand. “That’s right.”
“And this must be Diablo,” she corrected herself. “I mean—”
“Gnarly.”
The news journalist bent over to pat the German shepherd on the head. Instead of being his usual friendly self, Gnarly directed his attention to the corner of the office where the chocolates were resting.
“Super, sir,” Ali said into the phone while writing down a note on her memo pad. “I’ll see you at eight o’clock tonight. Thank you, Sergeant Roberts.” With a grin at David O’Callaghan, she hung up the phone. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes,” Pam interjected before David could respond. “Tell me why Yvonne Harding is wasting her time digging up the Walker case again.”
“Why wouldn’t she, ma’am?” Ali waved her hands and shrugged her shoulders. “The two-year anniversary of Audra Walker’s disappearance is comin’ up. She was a Pulitzer award–winnin’ investigative journalist. Yvonne Harding was the last person to interview her. Yvonne figures that if she can make some headway with findin’ out what ’appened to her—”
“She’s wasting her time,” Pam said forcibly. “The police already investigated Audra Walker’s disappearance. They said there’s no evidence of wrongdoing.”
“Why would a famous journalist voluntarily disappear?” Mac asked.
“In the middle of a book tour while her best-sellin’ book was still top ten with the New York Times?” Ali asked.
“David?” Yvonne Harding’s voice interrupted their conversation.
When David turned around to face her, the leggy blonde rushed from the open doorway of her office to jump into his arms. After a quick hug, she greeted him with a kiss on the mouth that turned into a full-fledged lip-lock.
“I guess they know each other,” Pam murmured.
Ali stood up from her seat behind her desk. “Looks to me like she’s gonna be tied up for a while, Ms. Wiehl. How ’bout if I have her call ya? And I’ll pass on your thoughts ’bout her workin’ on the Walker case.” She shot Pam a wink.
“You do that,” Pam replied. “Tell her to call me as soon as she’s through with her latest boy toy.”
While shaking Mac’s hand, Pam said, “If you’re going to be in town for a few days, Mr. Faraday, I would love to interview you about your cases on my show, Crime Watch.”
“I’ve seen it,” Mac replied. “Maybe another time. We only have a bit of business to conduct here in town today, and then we’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.”
“Well, maybe you could just squeeze in an hour—the interview doesn’t have to be live,” Pam argued. “Tell you what—I’ll e-mail you my information, and you call me. Leave your e-mail address with Ali.” She grinned at the research assistant. “You don’t mind taking down Mr. Faraday’s contact information for me, do you, Ali?”
“No problem t’all, Ms. Wiehl.”
Seeing that she refused to take a definite “no” for an answer, Mac consented to calling her. With one last reminder to Ali to have Yvonne call her, Pam Wiehl hurried out.
Staring and whining in the direction of the break table and the chocolates, Gnarly tugged at the end of his leash.
“Mac, how good it is to see you again!” After releasing David from the lip-lock, Yvonne hurried over to hug Mac. “And you brought Gnarly!” She bent over to pet the German shepherd, only to have him try to drag Mac toward the table.
“Chocolate is not good for you.” Mac jerked on the leash. “Stop it.”
“Did you bring Archie?” Yvonne asked them.
“No, she couldn’t make it.” Mac answered. “She had several appointments.”
“I thought maybe you brought her shopping,” Yvonne said. “Are you in New York on business?”
“You could say that.” Mac jerked his head in David’s direction.
David uttered a deep sigh. “Yvonne, can we talk … in your office?” He took her by the arm.
“Gnarly and I will guard the chocolates.” Mac leaned on the corner of Ali’s desk while David escorted Yvonne into her office and closed the door.
After slipping her shoes on, Ali deposited the roses in a small vase resting on top of the file cabinet and crossed the office to pick up the box of chocolates. “Maybe if I put these over yonder, sir, it’ll take Gnarly’s mind off ’em. He looks like he’ll eat anything that doesn’t eat him first.”
“That’s Gnarly,” Mac said with a smile.
As Ali strode across the office, Mac noticed that unlike Yvonne and Pam, who were dressed in women’s suits with short, form-fitting skirts to accentuate their legs and figures, Ali was dressed in a mustard-brown double-breasted pa
ntsuit with matching pumps. She was tall and slender and had the walk of a runway model. She wore her long, dark mane in an updo with tendrils along the sides of her face. Her dark hair against her creamy white complexion accentuated her light-brown eyes, giving her an exotic appearance.
Once the candy was put away, she knelt down in front of Gnarly and cupped his head in her hands. “You’re not only big. I can see just by lookin’ at you that you’re brave, too. I bet you’d shoot craps with the devil ’imself, wouldn’t ya?”
Ali’s Southern drawl was not only unmistakable but also familiar to Mac. “I knew Audra Walker.”
Standing up, she continued to stroke Gnarly on top of his head. “Really?”
Mac nodded his head. “She was investigating a murder case that I was lead detective on back when I was a homicide detective in Washington.”
He shot a warning glance at Gnarly, who was still staring at the corner, even though the chocolates had been moved. The dog gazed back at Mac over his shoulder and uttered a whine.
“Before you became a multimillionaire, Mr. Faraday?” Ali asked.
“Before.” Mac flashed her a good-natured smile. “Audra Walker had excellent instincts. That’s not something you learn in journalism school. It’s something you’re born with.”
“Then ya know she wasn’t one to just light out somewhere without lettin’ anyone know …” Her voice trailing off, Ali peered down at the top of her desk.
“Audra Walker was totally devoted to her two children.”
“The police detective in charge of the case says she went loco because of her husband’s death,” Ali said. “Yes, she was choked up when he had that massive heart attack and died, but he was twenty years older than she was. She knew she’d end up bein’ a young widow—” Seeing Mac watching her, she cleared her throat. “Rather, that’s what I’ve found durin’ my research ’bout the case for Yvonne.”
“The Audra Walker I knew was too strong to have a breakdown and walk away from her family,” Mac said.