"Thanks, Nick." She looked fully into his eyes for the first time. The deep brown intensity waited for her. She wanted to say something about the night before.
"Last night was a mistake," Nick said, beating her to it. "I should know better than to hang around bedrooms with women in nightgowns. I don't get into town enough, I guess."
"Right. Sure," she said, a little stung that he talked as if he'd just had some generic temptation. For her, it had been an overwhelming sensual experience—a close match to the last time they'd been together. But she'd be damned if she'd let him know. "I'm glad you understand. I wasn't myself. I had all that codeine. I mean really." She laughed.
"You should watch that."
She bristled. "Are you saying it was my fault? Because you were the one who kept giving me drugs."
"No. I just mean that with pain pills it's easy to get carried away, and do things you don't—"
"Could I get some help here?" Lenore Lattimer, wife of the patent attorney on the third floor, had pushed open the front door to call impatiently to Nick.
"Sure," Nick said, standing. "I'll see you, Miranda. If there's news I'll let you know."
She watched out the glass door as Nick followed the woman to her Range Rover and unloaded two huge vases with flowers. Somehow, even loaded down, he managed to hold the door for Lenore as she waltzed in like a queen.
The woman waited while Nick struggled to open the elevator and get them both inside. As he did so, the too-small cap fell off his head, the elevator doors shut on it, then bounced open, leaving it mangled.
Nick picked up the cap, slapped it against his thigh, then crammed it on his head, completely cool. The last Miranda saw of him he was winking at her as the doors closed.
When the doorbell rang late the next afternoon, Miranda went to get it. Ralph, the night security guy, was bringing up a package that had just been hand delivered. Normally Lilly answered the door, but she'd gone to the Chase corporate offices on some errands. She'd been spending a lot of time at headquarters lately. Probably paving the way for the presentation in six weeks.
Balancing her crutches under her arms, Miranda opened the door. There stood Nick.
"Your package," he said, saluting the brim of that ridiculous, now grease-streaked cap.
"Nick." She hadn't expected to see him again.
"My last official duty. I saved Ralph the trip." He walked in far enough to place the small box on the marble entry table.
"Thank you," she said.
"Don't worry about things. Charlie'll be back tomorrow. He'll keep a good eye out."
"I bet you'll be glad to get out of that uniform." She noticed that the bottom of one leg had a jagged tear, and there was a purple blotch on the jacket.
He looked down at himself, shaking his head. "Grape juice from the kid down the hall. And Dexter ripped the pants."
She laughed. Even in the bedraggled uniform Nick looked nothing but sexy to her.
"How's your ankle?" Nick asked, clearly trying to make conversation.
"Lots better. I called an orthopedist and I'm going to get what they call an 'air cast' tomorrow and get rid of the crutches. Thanks, Nick, for everything."
"Glad to help."
"I guess this is goodbye?" she said, feeling inexplicably sad.
"Yeah." He looked at her for a long moment. When he spoke, his words were soft and low. "I'd offer to take you for a sail, let you hear the coyotes and count the stars, but—"
"That would be lovely."
"But that's not what you want, Miranda. You want a guy who drinks imported beer in a glass, not Bud in a can. A guy who likes his sex on silk sheets, not in a dinghy in the moonlight."
"That's not true, Nick," she said. "I don't care about things like that. I'm perfectly—"
He cut her off. "I'm not the guy you want."
She could argue, but the truth was she didn't even know what she wanted in a man. Besides, she wasn't the woman Nick wanted, either. He was just too polite to point that out. To Nick, this was just man-woman chemistry, nothing earth-shattering.
Nick watched Miranda soak up his words. Emotions flew across her face. She was disappointed, he saw, but then she accepted it. So easily. If they'd finished what they'd started the night before she wouldn't be so quick to write him off. And perversely, that just pushed him into going for it. One more kiss. One more taste of the honeysuckle sweetness that was Miranda.
Her crutches crashed to the floor and she made a sweet sound of surrender as his mouth met hers. With a little quiver, her lips opened. Take me, they said. So he did, tasting the velvet inside her mouth. He tried to memorize the moment, like that last cigarette before he quit, the last break-neck spin on his motorcycle. He wanted her to remember him, too, wanted to brand her with a memory.
She sagged in his arms and he knew he'd succeeded.
He broke off the kiss before he got carried away, irritated to find he didn't feel any better. Bracing her shaky body, he bent to retrieve her crutches and stuck them under her arms, which were hanging loose as a rag doll's.
"Goodbye, Miranda."
Looking stunned, she weakly wiggled her fingers at him. She looked so sexy it was all he could do to shut the door against her. Thank God this was his last day. As soon as he got downstairs, he'd hand off to the night guy and be gone.
Miranda regretted the goodbye kiss the instant it was over. It only made her want more. And she couldn't have more. She didn't have time for that kind of longing. Even if Nick wanted her, that only meant an affair. He was leaving as soon as he got together twenty-five "K," as he called it. And she didn't trust herself to keep an affair with Nick in perspective. Not with the way she responded to him.
She took a deep breath and blew it out, then picked up the package Nick had carried up to her, forcing herself to focus on it. It was small, wrapped in brown paper, hand addressed. No postmark. It had been hand delivered. Hmm.
Inside, nestled in purple velvet, she found a cosmetics jar. Taped to the lid was a card on which someone had glued words from a magazine like a ransom note. "There are no secrets. We've got yours."
"My God," she said. With shaking fingers, she twisted the lid. The scent that rose to her nose was distinctive and familiar.
"My formula," she whispered out loud. For her new cleanser. She could tell because of the faint whisper of persimmon. She rubbed a dab between her fingers. Same unique fizz. She could get a lab to analyze it, but she knew she was right. It was her formula. One of her new creations and someone had stolen it.
The thief must have taken photos of her formula cards. He was no junkie, she knew now, but an industrial spy. Why had he robbed her safe? To cover his real purpose. A chill raced down her spine. What else had he stolen? Which other products would whoever had hired him copy?
Who was it? And, even worse, would they come back for more?
If a competitor put the formulas on the market before Chase Beauty put her cosmetics into production, they could fill her niche. She couldn't let this happen. She couldn't lose all she'd worked for that way. She had to stop them before they got ahead of her. But she couldn't do it alone. She needed help. Discreet help. Dependable help. And she knew just where to get it.
She moved as fast as she could, but Nick was halfway across the parking lot before she got outside.
He turned when she shouted his name, saw her and sprinted back.
She told him what had happened.
"And you're sure it's your formula."
"Of course."
"Why would they want you to know they had robbed you?"
"To scare me off? Make me quit?"
"You didn't touch the package much, right?"
"No."
"I'll take it in for fingerprints." He started for the apartment building.
"Wait," she said.
He looked at her. "What?"
"Will you help me?"
"I am helping you. Come on."
"No, I mean help me stop them from stealing from me.
"
He searched her face, swallowed. "Miranda, the police will handle this."
"You said yourself they're understaffed and overworked. They don't have time for this kind of crime. Plus they don't know the industry. If you and I work together, we can do what they could never do. In no time."
"I don't know."
"I'll pay you. You said you need to make money."
"No."
She looked at him for a few seconds. "Okay. I'll hire a private investigator myself."
"Anybody with a computer can claim to be a P.I. these days. There are lots of crooks out there."
"Maybe I'll just handle it myself then."
"And you would, too." He shook his head, but she could see he was coming around. "You are the most stubborn woman I've ever known."
"I liked it better when you called me indomitable. But will you do it?"
He blew out a breath as if the entire world rested on his shoulders. "May God have mercy on my soul."
"I'll take that as a yes. You won't be sorry. We'll make a great team." For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she wouldn't be better off with anyone other than Nick—even a crooked P.I.—considering how complicated her feelings about him were. But no. She looked into his strong face and knew she just felt better when he was around. With his law-enforcement expertise they'd unravel this mystery in no time. She ignored the tiny voice rejoicing that she wouldn't have to say goodbye to him for good. Yet.
"I'll do this on two conditions," he said. "First, you don't pay me—"
"But this is a job. And you need the money. You said—"
"Miranda. I'm doing this as a friend. And because it's partly my fault you're in this mess."
"But—"
"I mean it."
"Okay, I won't pay you. What's the other condition?"
"That we run the investigation my way. I'm in charge."
"Absolutely," she said, crossing her heart, her other hand behind her back, fingers crossed. She had to have input, right?
"All right, then." He started toward the apartment entrance, talking as he strode. She had to scramble to keep up with him on her crutches. "While I take the evidence to the station, you make a list of all the people who have access to your apartment, those who know where you keep your formulas, and everyone who might have a motive to steal from you."
"Okay. Great."
"Don't leave out friends, co-workers or family, either," he said as he walked. "Most crimes are cooked up close to home."
"Right," she said. She'd also call Raul Quintero, a freelance writer whose industry scoops appeared regularly in Cosmetics Pulse. He could do some discreet poking around without putting her other competitors wise to her crisis.
Nick watched Miranda's face while she, no doubt, figured out what she'd do instead of what he'd asked her, and realized he was in for it. Still, he'd seen the fear behind the feistiness when she said she'd investigate on her own and he'd known he was a goner.
Maybe if he'd taken her more seriously from the beginning, he'd have caught the lowlife who'd burgled her place, and solved the mystery before it became one. He owed her this, regardless of how tempting being around her would be. Like it or not, he was stuck in Miranda Chase's world a little longer.
He wasn't completely sorry about it, either.
* * *
7
« ^ »
Two hours later, Lilly went to the door to let Nick into the apartment, while Miranda worked at the dining table. Lilly wasn't happy about Nick being on the case. She didn't trust him—probably because she'd seen him half-naked in bed with Miranda, who hadn't remembered his last name, but that couldn't be helped.
"Lilly, will you bring Nick something to—"
Before Miranda could finish her request, Lilly came out of the kitchen carrying the containers of kung pao chicken and beef broccoli, along with a Kirin beer Miranda had ordered for Nick. She'd demanded ID of the delivery guy, while Lilly stood by the door holding a frying pan to bean him if he acted strangely.
Lilly plunked the food unceremoniously on the table as Nick arrived there, with a fork and a napkin, not even bothering with plates. She definitely disapproved of him. "I'll be in my room," she said, turned and left.
"Thanks," Nick said to Lilly's retreating back. He put the plastic bag with the box and sample cosmetics on the table. "Wiped clean," he said to Miranda. "No fingerprints." He sat and took a bite of food. "Mmm." He looked over at her. "That your list?" He indicated the paper in the middle of the table.
Miranda nodded.
He pulled it toward him. "There are only four names on this list and three of them are companies."
"I know. You told me to list people who had a motive to steal my formula. Those are our main competitors. The most likely suspect is L'Mage. They have the kind of grudge it might take to be vicious like this, though it seems too much even for them." She paused, frowning. "Anyway, I think the connection might be him." She poked at the other name. "He lives here and could track my whereabouts."
"Lyle Lattimer? I've seen him in the elevator a few times. I carried in a bunch of flowers for his wife."
"Here's the important part." She scooted forward, proud of her detective work. "He's a patent attorney and I remember seeing him at the Beauty Tomorrow Conference. Why would he be there unless he had a client?"
"Buying something for his wife? You're jumping to quite a conclusion."
"Yeah, but in the elevator today, he couldn't meet my gaze. He kept clearing his throat, looking away. Very suspicious."
"For one thing, you're on crutches. And for another, if you looked like that—" he indicated her outfit"—he probably didn't want to be accused of leering."
She looked down at her simple pink silk blouse—sleeveless but modest, with an elegant cowl neckline that stopped far short of her cleavage. She wore black cigarette pants. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"Other than it could stop traffic?"
"You're exaggerating."
"Let's just say you better stay out of any chill." He stared directly at her chest.
She looked down again. The slight bumps of her nipples could be detected under the fabric, but you had to look very closely. Then, to her horror, under all that attention, her nipples tightened, making two distinct points in her blouse. If only she had a bra that wasn't so sheer. Maybe something in a stainless steel.
"Anyway," she said, crossing her arms over her traitorous nipples, "he must have known I was out of town. He probably let the little thief into the building and told him what to look for. I think we need to interview him."
"We? We need to interview him?"
"Shouldn't we start with the prime suspects?"
"You're missing the point. You don't need to interview anyone. What you need to do is write a full list of suspects and how to reach them—phone and address. In this building and in the corporation. Anyone who resents you, or is angry at you. Then I'll interview them. And I expect to have a talk with Lilly."
"Lilly? Lilly would never do anything to hurt me."
"She works with you, could be jealous of you. They may have offered her a lot of money."
"Next you'll be accusing my brother, just because he's not gung ho about Naturally Better Than Nature."
He pushed the paper toward her. "Write down his number."
"That's ridiculous." She pushed the paper back and folded her arms.
He looked at her. It was a cold, dark look that she was sure had intimidated all his suspects.
She unfolded her arms. "Okay. You're in charge." She wrote her brother's name and phone number.
"While I talk to Lilly, finish the list," he said. "In the morning you can set me up with interviews at Chase Beauty."
"But—"
"Without tipping them to what it's about."
"What are you going to say to them?"
"I'm going to ask about their whereabouts over the past few days, talk to them about your cosmetics."
"You can't tell my fa
ther exactly what happened. I don't want him to think I'm in danger. He'll hire a bodyguard, start checking on me constantly. It will get ridiculous."
"Miranda, I know what I'm doing."
"Well, don't accuse him of anything. Or my brother."
"Miranda…"
"Right. You're in charge. But be subtle."
He rolled his eyes.
"Okay, okay. Did they find anything from the shoe print?" she asked, changing tack.
"No tread-mark matches so far." He gave her a wise-ass smile.
"Are you patronizing me?"
"No. Well, sort of. Sorry. They don't track Nikes like fingerprints."
"Okay, then, Mr. Expert, tell me what else you're going to do."
"I'm going to talk to the maintenance men and the fire crew who repaired the elevator to see if they saw anybody or anything unusual. Same for the residents here. Though the burglar could have broken in, there's a chance he was let in. Who has keys to your apartment besides you and Lilly?"
"My brother Theo. He stays here sometimes when he's had too much to drink and doesn't want to drive home."
"And…?"
She thought. "Security, of course. That's it."
"Okay, then. I'll talk to Lilly." He stood to go.
"You're wasting your time with her."
"Maybe. But there might be things you don't know about her. Like, for example, why did she suddenly appear in the apartment last night—off schedule—when she knew you were supposed to still be in New Mexico? She seemed embarrassed about it, too."
"I'm sure there's a perfectly sensible explanation. Lilly's dedicated to Naturally Better Than Nature. She would never work against me."
"We'll see."
"Don't you trust anyone?" she asked.
"Who I trust is irrelevant. It's you who has to be careful. You have something other people want. Not me. I keep my life simple."
She looked into his brown eyes—opaque and distant. He was so different from her it made her shiver. No ties and no interest in them. No faith in people.
Except, that wasn't quite true. Not if you looked beyond the surface, to the inner Nick. He was on the run from the things that mattered to him. He'd been hurt. By his ex-wife, for one, she remembered from their first meeting. And by his job, which he missed. She could tell by the way he'd talked to the detectives about her case, and the way he pretended to be doing her a favor when he was really enjoying this. She wondered if she'd ever feel safe enough to tell him so.
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