But Dave just glares at Scott and looks away without saying another word. I hear the cop tell Sam that they can test Dave’s hands for any signs that he’s handled accelerant or explosives, so it doesn’t really matter what Dave says now. The tests will remove all doubt.
I look at Dave and wonder if he is telling the truth. My head is spinning with fatigue and for a moment I wonder if I’m going to pass out, but instead I sink down onto the low fieldstone retaining wall that borders the flower beds beside the cottage entrance. At some point I decide I might even try lying along the wall, just for a few minutes….
There is a big gap in my memory because Sam is suddenly shaking my shoulder and the others are no longer standing where they were. In fact, everyone has disappeared except for Sam.
“Porsche, bedtime,” he says softly.
I think bedtime was many hours ago but who can argue the point? I was, after all, sleeping and now here I am outside with people just vanishing into the night like ghosts.
“Where’s Dave? Where’d everyone go?” The questions come out of my mouth in a sleep-filled slur that makes Sam bend his head close to mine.
“Dave? They took him to the police station. The others went back up to the house a while ago. You’ve probably been asleep for a couple of hours.”
“My scarves! I wanted to get my scarves back!”
He dangles them before my eyes. “The least I could do, given that I didn’t believe you when you told me.”
I smile sleepily and close my eyes, shivering as my cheek touches the cold stone wall. “Yeah, I’m good,” I whisper. “Night-night.”
I am asleep before the last syllable escapes, dreaming blissfully until Sam interrupts again by scooping me up into his arms and walking toward the cottage. He stops in front of the door and gently kicks it open with one foot, steps inside and kicks the door closed with his heel.
I lean my head against his chest, enjoying the feel and smell of him and knowing I shouldn’t. My head is simply too heavy to lift away from his body, and besides, I don’t want to. I want him to let me sleep where I am, in his arms, until at least late afternoon. When he lowers me to the bed my mind rebels, but my body sinks down into the feather mattress and instinctively curls into a ball.
I feel him slip the shoes off my feet then pull the covers up over my body. At least, this is how I remember it, but when I wake up hours later I am shocked to find I am sleeping in my camisole and panties! I sit upright in bed and stare around the room, trying to piece together my last few minutes of consciousness before I fell asleep.
I spot my jeans and shirt neatly folded on a chair, my sandals lined up on the floor below them, and feel my face growing very hot. I do not remember taking off my clothes and I certainly do not remember Sam removing them!
Marlena is sleeping on the pillow next to mine and when I move she opens one sleepy eye and squeaks.
“Okay, then you tell me,” I say. “Did that cowboy do this?”
Marlena sighs softly and goes back to sleep. I am thinking about it, but my cell phone interrupts that fantasy.
“Porsche?” Renee’s voice sounds different, perhaps a little tense but who can tell with her? “Is Haley with you?”
“Haley?” I say, but I’m wondering, who in the hell is Haley?
“She didn’t come home from the Hewitt School yesterday. The Governess called this morning and said her sources think a young girl matching my daughter’s description boarded one of your family jets this morning. The flight plan logged with the airport shows her destination as Los Angeles.”
“There’s no way. She doesn’t know…”
Renee breaks in. “I’m afraid there is. I keep a duplicate key to my private office in my bedside table drawer. It’s gone and the file I have with your personal information is missing as well.”
“You keep a file on me?”
“Of course I do! We have to do a background investigation and maintain any information we can on you girls in case…” Renee doesn’t finish this thought before she hastens to add more. “The files are designed to look like every other file I have on the members of the club, so Haley doesn’t know about the Roses or your mission.”
I am out of bed and moving now, snatching jeans and a Stella McCartney top out of a suitcase and trying to dress as Renee talks. That little shit, Haley! I should’ve known she wouldn’t be content to wait at home for me to send her a souvenir of my trip.
“So she’d know how to order a plane? She’d have the number, the pass code, everything?”
Renee sounds defeated when she answers. “I’m afraid so.”
I look in the mirror and decide bed head will just have to remain au courant because I won’t have time to do anything to it, let alone take a shower or apply makeup.
“When is she due to land?”
“If it’s her, she should be arriving at LAX in about an hour and twenty minutes.”
I look at the clock on the kitchen counter—1:56 p.m. Even if we left now, there would be no way to meet the plane on time. The trip to the airport couldn’t possibly be made in less than an hour and a half.
“What do you want me to do?” I walk to the front door, open it and stare up at the main house. I don’t even know who’s around or if there’s a car I can borrow. I see no sign of life from the mansion, but I hear the sound of a bulldozer or some other piece of heavy equipment down by the burnt-out bunkhouse.
“Olivia is on her way to the airport where I have a plane waiting. You remember her don’t you, my assistant?” Renee hurries on. “She won’t be landing until seven your time. I need you to get to Haley and keep her with you until Olivia arrives and can bring her home.”
I am silent; thinking how I can accomplish this when there will be at least a thirty-minute gap between Haley’s landing and my arrival.
“Porsche, I must warn you that there is someone who would do anything to hurt the effectiveness of our organization. He may be behind this. He may realize Haley is vulnerable and go after her.”
“You’re talking about the Duke, aren’t you?” I ask. “Emma told me about him. She says you think he runs a high-society crime ring or something, that is, if he even exists. He’s the one trying to undo all the good the Governess has done in forming the Gotham Roses.”
“I don’t think we can afford not to look at him as having a hand in my daughter’s disappearance. It could be as simple as a schoolgirl lark, but I just feel you should be warned, it may be much more than that. She may be thinking she’s meeting someone, perhaps she received a message that you were even sending for her. I have no idea. I just want her back, safe.”
“Don’t worry,” I assure Renee. “I’ll take care of her.”
But I hang up wondering how I’ll reach her in time and what I’ll find to keep the little brat occupied for the five hours it will take for her “nanny” to arrive.
I am out the door and sprinting up to the mansion as soon as I sever the connection with Renee. I have no story concocted for my sudden emergency trip to the airport or for Haley’s identity. I suppose that’s why I like a good crisis; it forces me to use my imagination and creativity. I would be hell at a job where I was required to do long-range planning. Nothing ever seems to hold my interest for that long. No, I prefer chaos and crisis. Perhaps I should consider doing emergency work when I graduate. Focus, Porsche! I remind myself. This is no time for daydreaming!
Andrea is sitting in the dining room drinking coffee when I arrive. Immaculate as always, she takes in my disheveled appearance and laughs as I come running into the room.
“Let me guess,” she says. “You ran out of coffee in the guest house and the maid forgot to refill the canister.”
“Where is everyone? Where’s Sam?”
Andrea stops smiling and frowns. “Sam took Jeremy into the studio about two hours ago. Why, is something wrong, Porsche?”
“I need to get to the airport. Someone’s flying in and I must meet her plane.”
Andrea pushe
s her coffee cup aside. “Well, I can take you.”
“No! I mean, thanks, but she’s landing in an hour and fifteen minutes and we wouldn’t reach her in time. You see,” I say, struggling for just the right amount but not too much information to give my ally. “It’s Renee’s daughter. She’s probably trying to follow me out here so she can meet Jeremy.”
Andrea smiles and shakes her head. “Kids, can’t live with ’em, can’t rip their heads off! Okay, we can call the airport and have an airline employee meet the plane and tell her to wait.”
“No good. Renee’s afraid she’ll run.” I don’t mention the potential for danger. “Sam’s right in L.A. and a lot closer to the airport than we are. Do you think he’d go out to the airport, I mean just long enough to meet the plane and cover until we arrive?”
Andrea nods enthusiastically. “Of course. Perfect! I’ll call him from the car.”
Good—quick thinking, Andrea. She’ll call from the car, certain Sam will do her bidding and yet, not wasting time by hanging around the house to call. Ten minutes later Andrea, Marlena and I are in her Jaguar just outside the city limits of San Jacinta. Sam is already briefed and on his way to LAX. Could life’s little crises be handled with any less stress? I seriously doubt it.
Andrea looks over at Marlena, sleeping peacefully in my lap with her tiny black silk nightshade covering her eyes. “Does she go everywhere with you?”
I stroke Marlena’s soft fur and smile as she utters a soft little ferret snort. “Just about. She’s my baby. I got her when I was studying theories of attachment and I’d just finished reading Harlow’s monkey study. See, there were two groups of baby monkeys. One got petted and rocked for fifteen minutes a day while the other had no human or animal contact, just a wire bottle holder at feeding time.”
Andrea frowns. “And the animal cruelty people didn’t stop that?”
That stops me. I hadn’t ever thought to ask. “I don’t know. That’s a good question, but anyway, the group that got loved grew up to be happy little loving monkeys, while the other group…” Oh, hell. Where were the animal control officers for this study? “Well, they were pretty sad little monkeys. Some of them even died.”
“Porsche, that is awful! I mean, why do a study like that when it’s just common sense that anyone will die without love!”
Good damned question again. What was I doing in this field anyway?
“Well, I don’t know, but it sure made me love my little ferret all the more, and look how she’s turned out! She’s perfect.”
Andrea is still frowning over Harlow’s cruelty and I can’t blame her, so I change the subject quickly.
“What happened to Dave?”
Andrea’s attention shifts as she focuses on the terrible end to last night’s festivities.
“Oh, don’t worry about him,” she says. “They took him right off to jail and I doubt they’ll set bail at any amount he could afford this time! You know, this really threw Scott. After the police left, Scott just fell apart.”
“Fell apart?” No matter how hard I try, I just can’t imagine the tough guy losing his composure. I didn’t think Scott was capable of that depth of emotion. To me, he is more of a machine, but when I say this Andrea disagrees.
“You know how those ex-military types are,” she says. “It takes a lot to set them off, but once you do, they make up for all the times when we think they are inhuman robots.”
I don’t see men like Scott melting into a pool of salty tears and needing solace. “You mean he was mad or was he upset?”
Andrea’s face is unreadable. She is wearing dark Ralph Lauren glasses and keeping her attention carefully focused on the freeway, but her opinion about the matter is unmistakable.
“Oh, no, his heart was broken, especially when he began thinking about the other attacks on Jeremy and how they always seemed to happen in places that were thought to be impenetrable to outsiders. And then there was the timing. Scott finally admitted to Sam that he and Jeremy began their…flirtation, several months ago. Three weeks later, the trouble started.”
I am feeling like such a naive fool. Why didn’t I see any of this? Aren’t the simplest reasons usually the most logical ones? If the attacks looked like inside work, why didn’t I suspect Dave, he had the best reason for wanting to hurt Jeremy. And yet, Jeremy was never injured. Why? Was it poor work on Dave’s part or reluctance to actually do harm? Was he afraid that Scott might become an accidental victim? If that were true, why booby-trap the pool and then jump into it? Surely he wasn’t foolish enough to do that in an effort to throw everyone off his track; no one suspected him.
Andrea listens to my doubts but dismisses them. “Porsche, not everything in life works out in a perfectly logical and linear fashion. Sometimes people mess up. Dave was drunk when he jumped in the pool. He probably forgot he’d rigged the diving board.”
I think hard on that one. I think about the absolute sorrow and hurt in Dave’s eyes when Scott refused to believe he hadn’t set the house on fire. I just didn’t think Dave was ready to kill Scott. The anger wasn’t there for Dave. Hurt, yes, but anger, no.
“I can’t believe that Zoe scheduled a shoot today,” Andrea says, changing the subject. “The woman is obsessed with this film. It has to be just perfect. I bet it’s close to a million dollars over budget already and the thing isn’t half-finished.”
“Does the studio even care about the budget with stars like Jeremy and Zoe?” I ask idly.
“Oh, you bet your ass they care, but this isn’t their project entirely. Zoe’s found a backer to fund almost all of it. She’s so rabid about the whole thing—she’s even guaranteed the overage cost. The studio won’t be out a dime.”
The woman really is a fruitloop. “Is she going to make anything out of it? I mean, if she’s this over budget, what happens to the profits? And where’d she get that much money to piss away? Do they all just have more money than sense?”
Andrea’s all-knowing smile readies me for a lecture on the facts and foibles of Hollywood reality. This is fine with me. I look at my watch and realize Haley’s plane is scheduled to land in five minutes. I force myself to listen as she goes on about movies and money and the movers and shakers behind the scenes; thinking all the while about how I’ll entertain the brat from hell without running into any bad men looking to harm her.
“Zoe’s backer funded this project,” Andrea is saying, “not Zoe. Films all have backers as do most of the production companies. I’m sure Zoe’s got money in it, but not enough to worry her.”
I fantasize about funding a movie and start thinking of plots. They all seem to be romances set in the Old West, with cowboy heroes who sweep the heroine off her feet. Why can’t I get that damned cowboy out of my head? And did he really undress me?
“Porsche?”
“What?” Andrea’s voice startles me out of my daydream.
“You weren’t even listening to me, were you? I said, the airport’s up ahead, next exit.”
I am surprised by the amount of relief I feel washing over me. Up ahead low-flying planes land and take off, the roar of their engines reassuring me that I will reach Haley and Sam before anything can go wrong.
Andrea finds the private hangar where she has arranged to meet Sam without any trouble.
“I’ve been here a thousand times,” she says breezily. “Mark is constantly flying in and out of town. They should be right up there.” She points to a low-slung glass and steel building similar to the one where she and I first met only a few days ago.
I look, staring intently, and see Sam emerge onto the concrete sidewalk. My stomach does a little butterfly dance as the image of him kissing me the night before suddenly pops into my head. I force my attention back to the present and see that he indeed is escorting someone toward the car but the girl he has in tow is not Haley Dalton-Sinclair. She resembles Haley in basic build, but she doesn’t have long blond hair. This girl’s hair is very short, cut into edgy wisps of black that frame her pixie-lik
e face. She is wearing ripped and faded jeans that sport multiple appliquéd patches, a worn leather biker jacket and hideous-looking black Doc Marten boots.
Andrea’s placid jaw drops. “You know, I’ve never met Renee face-to-face, but I just expected that her daughter…”
“That is not Haley,” I say, but as we pull up to the curb and Sam places his hand on the girl’s shoulder to escort her to the car, I realize with a jolt that Haley is indeed buried under the atrocious disguise. When she takes a last drag on her cigarette before tossing it carelessly aside, I know for certain that Renee Dalton-Sinclair’s daughter has found a way to set herself apart from her mother and all she represents.
I can’t help myself. I open the door, step out onto the curb and look the little idiot over slowly from head to toe. “Well, as I live and breathe, you must be your sister, Haley’s evil twin!”
Haley scowls. “Blow me, all right?” she says and scampers through the open back passenger door.
Sam is grinning. “Welcome to secondary education, Porsche,” he says. “I figure you might want to sit back there with her.”
Well, he figures wrong, but I can see he has no intention of sitting back there with her, so I climb in behind Little Mary Sunshine.
Haley’s scowl has vanished as quickly as it appeared. She now becomes a new girl, a happy girl, a complete psychopath, if I don’t miss my guess.
“Aren’t you glad to see me?” she cries. “I can’t believe your family! I mean, that was just so totally generous of your mom to offer a plane so I could come see you!”
So that’s how the little brat did it. She snowed Mummy. Marlena stirs from her comfortable perch atop my shoulders and I pull the sleep mask off her face.
“Hi, cutie!” Haley says, wiggling one finger. “Remember me?”
Marlena, no fool, hisses dangerously.
“What’s the matter with her?” Haley asks, putting on a hurt face that I don’t for one minute believe.
“Marlena can smell a con a mile away,” I answer. “Speaking of stinking, your mom called. Olivia’s flying in from New York in a few hours to pick you up.”
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