“Dulcy?”
She swallowed and nodded, the female voice on the other end of the line unfamiliar. “This is she.”
“Thank God, I got through to you. That dragon lady of a receptionist refused to let my call through until now.”
Dulcy leaned forward. Mona was away from her desk, which meant the caller was given voice-mail instructions on how to reach the attorney of her choice. “Mandy? Is that you?”
She recalled the young blond stripper bride, and the prenuptial agreement from hell, of the day before. “Yes. Yes, it is. And, oh boy, do I ever need your help.” There was a relieved sigh on the other end of the line. On Dulcy’s end, discomfort reigned. She remembered the night before and the women at the Pink Lady. She clamped her eyes shut, not wanting to think of her client in that light. Not wanting to think of life, period, in that light.
Dulcy swiveled her chair, trying to see across the waiting area to Jena’s office. Her friend was dictating into a hand-held tape recorder while reading a document in front of her. “Mandy, hold on a minute. I’m going to put your call through to Jena McCade.”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Because I want you as my attorney, that’s why not.” She hesitated. “What you did for me yesterday…well, not many people would have stepped up to the plate the way you did. I can’t thank you enough. I think.”
I think? Dulcy glanced at her watch again. “You’re welcome. I think. And I’m flattered, Mandy. But I really—”
“I received a document this morning. Do you want me to read it to you? No, wait a minute, I’ll read it to you. It was delivered by messenger. Or a server. I think he said his name was. Okay, here it is. It says Motion of Intent.”
“From your groom?” Dulcy asked, raising her brows.
“Yes. I’m not sure what it all means, but I think Jason wants to sue me for…let me find it…breach of contract. But I don’t understand. I never signed a contract. How can I be in breach of one?”
Dulcy grabbed a pen and wrote a couple of notes. “When was the last time you saw Polansky, Mandy?”
“Two hours ago. He spent the night.”
Dulcy nearly choked on the coffee she was swallowing and grabbed for a nearby napkin. “You’re kidding.”
“No. He even left his suit jacket behind. I just put a call in to his office a little while ago, telling his secretary I was going to drop it off there when I go out for lunch.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Why not?”
“Tell me what else the document says, Mandy.”
“I don’t know. It’s something legal, so I thought I should call you about it. I haven’t read it all the way through yet.”
“It should have been delivered to me. Or at least to Jena, since she’s your attorney of record.” She sighed, tapping her pen on her blotter. A moot point, since the document had been served and the ink wouldn’t change regardless of who had it in hand. “Okay, read it and tell me what it says, Mandy.”
“Okay.” Silence.
Dulcy waited five full minutes while the blonde read it, ready to bang her forehead against the desktop.
“Oh my God,” said Mandy.
“What?” Dulcy perked up.
“He wants the ring back.”
Figured.
“He also wants me to assume, let me read it, ‘all financial responsibility for nonrefundable deposits made thus far for the wedding.”’
Dulcy didn’t say anything.
“So…?” Mandy prompted.
“So…” Dulcy repeated, not knowing quite what to say. She didn’t think ‘I told you so’ was very professional. And it definitely wouldn’t make Mandy very happy. “When will you be seeing Jason again?”
“At lunch, of course. When I drop off his jacket at his office.”
Dulcy rolled her eyes. “Scratch that. Keep the jacket. When is the next time you’d usually see him?”
“Tonight. When he gets off work. We have reservations.”
Well, that made it all right then, didn’t it? Forget being sued, they had reservations. “When did you make the reservations?”
“He asked me to call in and make them this morning.”
Boy, this just kept getting better and better. “Cancel them. Does Jason have a key to your place? Forget I asked. Of course he has a key, right?” She quickly made several notes in succession. “Change the locks, Mandy.”
“What?”
“Call a locksmith the instant we get off the phone. Change the locks. As soon as possible. This morning.”
“But I don’t—”
“Do you understand what that document you’re holding means, Mandy?” Obviously she didn’t. And Dulcy didn’t blame her. How did one take a document of that nature when the man behind it was acting like nothing was wrong? Make reservations, indeed. “It means Jason says your engagement is at an end. He’s not marrying you. And he’s making it look like you’re the one who broke it off because of your refusal to sign that piece of crap he and his attorney called a prenuptial agreement.”
“Yes, but we revised it.”
“Yes, well, I’d say what you’re holding means they rejected it.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not.”
A series of curse words that nearly singed Dulcy’s eyebrows off sounded through the phone. “I’ve got to go.”
“Oh, and Mandy? Don’t—”
The dial tone sounded in her ear. Dulcy finished her thought. “Don’t call, see or otherwise contact that slime Mr. Jason Polansky, except through me.” She sighed and hung up the phone. Mandy was probably already halfway out the door on her way to see him.
QUINN STOOD OUTSIDE the open glass door, the office of the Albuquerque police chief already filled to overflowing. There were Beatrix and Bruno, and Dulcy’s partners Barry Lomax and Jena McCade. Then there was Dulcy herself. He realized his fingers were coiled into fists and forced himself to open them. Of course the Albuquerque sports forum wouldn’t have been a large enough space to hold him and Dulcy without his wanting to pull her blond hair out of that damn twist and watch the ends of it tease her naked breasts.
From what he understood, the chief was an old friend of Lomax’s from law school. Quinn glanced around the large, bustling war room behind him, catching the curious glances of plainclothes detectives and uniformed officers alike. From an urgency standpoint, you couldn’t have paid for a better connection in the department. Who better than the chief of police to cut through all the red tape involved in a missing person case?
On the downside, if Beatrix hoped to keep things hush-hush, their combined and obvious presence inside and outside the chief’s office was not going to help matters. He watched a detective pick up a phone, his gaze glued to Beatrix’s back as he spoke. He’d allow five minutes before the whole of the department knew what was going on. And five minutes after that before the media got hold of the information.
He absently rubbed his chin. Of course, public attention might help in their search for Brad. Then again, it might hinder it. If the crumpled ransom note in the middle of the chief’s desk was authentic, there was a risk that the kidnappers might get spooked. And without knowing who they were, there was no telling what their reaction might be.
Quinn took out his notepad and wrote something on it, then tore off the top sheet.
“Thank you, Jim,” Barry Lomax was saying, actively pumping the chief’s hand. “I owe you one.”
“You owe me two.” The chief chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll find some way to make you pay up.”
Quinn watched everyone else get up from their chairs—except for Bruno, who, of course, had been standing behind Beatrix’s chair—and follow Barry’s lead as they thanked the chief.
“You can rest assured that I’ll put my best men on the case,” the chief said, checking to make sure his shirt was properly tucked into his pants. “I’ll let you know the minute I hear anything.”
Quinn leaned
against the door, watching as everyone filed out one by one. As he’d hoped, Dulcy was at the tail end. Unfortunately, Jena was smack-dab next to her.
Dulcy gave him a look full of fear and warning. He nodded at her friend. “Jena. Dulcy.”
He hadn’t gotten a chance to address either of them before the meeting simply because they had already been in the chief’s office with Barry when he arrived with Beatrix and Bruno.
He walked on the other side of Dulcy, and she instantly picked up her step. He brushed his hand against hers, finding her palm damp. She gasped and stared at him. Then she sensed the piece of paper he placed in her palm and grasped it.
Quinn passed them. “Until next time.”
Jena slowed and crossed her arms, watching him. Quinn winked at her. He had no doubt Dulcy was going to get an earful from her—if she hadn’t already.
“YOUR APARTMENT. THREE.”
Dulcy stared at the note she carefully shielded in her hand, as Jena openly appreciated the view. She glanced up to see Quinn turning the corner to take the stairs, rather than heading for the elevator with the rest of the group. She sighed gustily.
“You can say that again.” Jena pursed her lips, then turned her gaze on Dulcy. “So, what did he give you?”
“What?” Dulcy tried to act as if she didn’t have a clue what her friend was referring to, as she casually caught up with the others. Even though being anywhere near Beatrix was not high on her list of choices, being left alone with Jena was virtual suicide.
“You know what,” Jena said quietly, leaning closer to her, her expression determined.
“Just something I dropped.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll tell you what I’d like to drop every time I see that hunk of man. My panties.”
Dulcy stared at her.
Jena laughed.
The elevator doors slid open and Jena excused herself so that she could enter first and stand in the back, then dragged Dulcy along with her. Beatrix, Barry and Bruno entered last and turned to face the doors. Jena made no secret of checking out Bruno’s assets. Which, given his minimal contribution to conversation, lay strictly in his physique. The absence of a neck didn’t seem to bother her friend one iota.
Dulcy elbowed Jena…hard.
“What?” she said for Dulcy’s ears only. “Trust me, right now you are exactly the wrong person to be admonishing anyone.”
Dulcy stared at her and hoped her jaw wasn’t about to drop to the elevator floor.
Jena smiled. “If I didn’t know before, I certainly do now, sweet cheeks.” She curved her arm over Dulcy’s shoulders. “Way to go.”
Dulcy shrugged her off. “This is not the time or the place.”
“I know. But trust me, soon you and I will come across both. And then you’re going to tell me everything. And I mean everything.”
Barry cleared his throat and slid them a warning glance. Dulcy would have dived through the escape hatch, if only she could find one.
Beatrix turned her head and fastened a smiling glare on her. “I hope you’re satisfied, Dulcy.”
Dulcy cleared her throat and resisted the urge to straighten her jacket. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Wheeler.”
“The police. You do realize that now that they’re involved, we lose our anonymity. You’re not going to be able to step out of the house or your office without some third-rate reporter trying to get a scoop. Forget about trying to find Bradley on our own. We’ll have to worry about which shot of us is going to be featured on the front page in the morning paper. Or what clip they’re going to run on the evening TV news.”
Dulcy was afraid she was going to revisit her morning coffee right then and there.
Jena coughed. “Police and media involvement might also lead to Brad’s rapid recovery. You know—in case you weren’t going to mention that little aspect of this whole fiasco.”
“Fiasco, Ms. McCade? I find your choice of words very interesting. And I’m sure my attorney will, too.”
Dulcy raised her brows. She had to admit, she found Jena’s statement a little odd herself. By fiasco did she mean that she believed Brad had taken off on his own? And what of the ransom note?
Barry’s quiet chuckle filled the interior of the elevator. “Trixie, what’s say you and I go get some lunch. I know a great café nearby.”
Trixie? Dulcy nearly tripped over her own feet. And she wasn’t even moving.
Beatrix added to her shock by beaming at Barry. Surprisingly, ten years seemed to drop from her features. “I’d love to.” The expression vanished and she glanced at Bruno. “You, of course, will have to wait in the car, Bruno. Your presence will only serve as more fodder for gossip.”
Jena leaned closer to Dulcy. “Oh, happy day.”
9
“NO, MR. WHEELER didn’t make his golf date the day before yesterday,” the private club manager, one very stuffy Mr. Jones, said some five hours later. “If you need to know anything further, I suggest you speak to the Albuquerque police department. I’ve already told them everything I know.” If his nose had been any higher, Dulcy swore she could have counted the hairs in there. She glanced to find Quinn’s jaw tight, his eyes glittering dangerously. Personally, if she were Mr. Jones she’d have headed for the hills five minutes ago.
Three o’clock on the button outside her apartment she’d found Quinn pulling up to the curb in a black Jeep. He’d said very little. Merely opened the door for her to climb in and nodded when she asked if they were heading to the exclusive golf club of which Brad was a member.
That was nearly three hours ago. And it seemed Quinn hadn’t weathered the tension that had stretched between them in the narrow confines of his Jeep any better than she had during the drive southwest of Socorro. She felt hot and bothered, and suspected that if she were a man, she’d have wanted to hit something. Or, even better, someone. Too bad Mr. Jones seemed to be unwittingly offering himself up for that honor.
She swallowed, considering the undercurrents traveling between the two men. Apparently the manager thought himself skimmed from the cream while he considered Quinn in his black jeans and T-shirt to have been dredged from the muddy bottom of society.
Quinn stepped menacingly closer to Mr. Jones. Dulcy laid a restraining hand on his chest, then wished she hadn’t. The muscles beneath her itchy fingers were hard and hot, setting her skin to tingling. She quickly snatched her hand away.
“Thank you, Mr. Jones,” she said, trying to diffuse the situation.
“We’d like to check in for the night,” Quinn said darkly.
The manager seemed to grow a foot taller as he practically bounced on his toes. “We’re not a hotel, sir. We’re an exclusive club with a very restricted membership policy.”
Dulcy glanced at her watch. Just after six.
Quinn was right. By the time they got back to the city, the possibility of following up on any leads would be moot—that is, if they had any additional leads to follow up on. She didn’t have any. And she suspected that if Quinn did, he wasn’t about to share that information with her.
Moreover, aside from getting some much-needed rest, sticking around the club would give them an opportunity to see if anyone knew anything more about Brad and his whereabouts. Who had he planned to meet? Were they still in residence? How could they be contacted?
Dulcy turned her best smile on Mr. Jones, which probably wasn’t much given the circumstances. He instantly looked repentant. “I don’t believe I introduced myself. I’m Dulcy Ferris, Mr. Wheeler’s fiancée.”
He raised his brows, but her pronouncement didn’t seem to make a difference. Not when coupled with the fact that she had come in looking for her errant fiancé.
Quinn pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and took out a card, practically flinging it at the manager. “Check your records, dickhead. I’m a member.”
Dulcy raised her brows. Quinn was a member of the club?
Mr. Jones didn’t seem to know what to do as he caught the card
between hand and chest. He mumbled something that sounded like “I’ll be right back,” then practically scurried from the room.
Dulcy turned and looked around the well-appointed lobby of the resort. Gleaming marble floors, carved columns and antiques made it appear more home than hotel. A very wealthy home. She cleared her throat and glanced at Quinn, who stood watching her closely.
“You could have saved us a lot of trouble by telling Mr. Jones you were a member from the onset,” she said quietly.
His grin wasn’t all that warm. “What? And miss all the fun?” He slid his wallet back into his pocket. “That’s the only reason I belong. To watch men like him trip all over themselves to make up for their bad behavior.”
Dulcy tucked a strand of escaped hair behind her ear. She wondered why she felt as though she suddenly had something to make up for. Okay, so, no, she hadn’t even considered that Quinn might be a member of the club. Not because of his choice of clothes and hairstyle, but rather his down-to-earth character. He didn’t strike her as the sort who got into a round of golf with a bunch of work associates. The calluses on his hands hinted at a life that entailed more than palming a few golf irons.
She was not being a snob.
Telling herself that didn’t make her feel any better.
It was bad enough that they had ridden out to the resort in Quinn’s Jeep. The two-hour drive down Route 25 had been one of the longest of her life. She usually enjoyed watching the Sandia Mountains give way to endless desert dotted with breathtaking mesas and small rolling hills, but today all she’d been able to think about was how close Quinn was. And how much she’d wanted to hike up her skirt and straddle him while he was driving, taking up where they’d left off at the strip club the night before.
Now he was looking at her as if he expected something. And it wasn’t what she wanted to give him.
“Admit it, Dulcy. You were as surprised as Jones was to find out I belonged to the club.”
“I was not.”
His grin widened.
She grimaced. “Okay, maybe I was little surprised,” she grudgingly admitted.
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