He walked away.
"Nick? One more thing?"
"Yes?"
"I'm not trying to run the investigation, but I thought I might touch base with some industry insiders. There's a reporter I know who always knows what's going on."
He rolled his eyes and muttered something about everybody thinking they're Columbo, but he said, "Sure. Call him."
Good, since she already had.
Miranda's brother, Theo Chase, stuck his head in the door of the room where Nick was interviewing people at Chase Beauty. He was fifteen minutes late, but he was the one who looked annoyed. He had Miranda's green eyes, only more narrow. He shot a monogrammed cuff to ostentatiously check his watch. "I've got just a few. Walk with me. I need a smoke."
Nick followed him out to a terrace with benches and patio tables. As soon as they sat down, Chase tapped out a cigarette and lit it with a match. He tilted the pack in Nick's direction.
"Don't smoke."
"I'm quitting," Chase said, shaking his head. He tapped the matchbook against the table. The red-and-gold foil surface caught the sunlight, temporarily blinding Nick. "So, what's this about?"
"I'm helping your sister with an investigation."
"A what?" He took a deep puff of his cigarette. The dark hair and pale skin that looked exotic on Miranda made her brother seem brooding.
Nick explained the situation.
The man's mouth quirked. He seemed amused. "My sister thinks someone's stealing her formulas?" He shook his head. "I wouldn't put it past her to fabricate the whole thing."
"Why would she do that?"
"For publicity. Why else?" Chase pondered the idea for a moment, then he looked at Nick. "How well do you know my sister?"
"Well enough to want to help her," he said.
"Good luck, my friend," he said, patting Nick's arm. "If we were in my office, I'd offer you a drink. Don't get taken in by my sister. She's enthusiastic but misguided. She's working from an antiquated business model. She's dreaming."
"She seems pretty serious."
"She always is." He shrugged, then looked at his watch again. "Look, I've got to go." He stubbed out his cigarette. "Let my secretary know if you need anything else."
Nick didn't even get a chance to hand him a card. Theo Chase didn't seem to care enough about what Miranda was doing to have plotted against her. Annoying and arrogant. The guy's smug superiority made Nick want to grab him by his starched collar and shake into him a little more humility—and some respect for his sister.
By the time Nick left Chase Beauty, he had suspicions but no clear evidence pointing to next steps.
Miranda's father, Carl Chase, had the same green eyes and determination as his daughter, and seemed to be deeply supportive of Miranda's work. Expansion is the lifeblood of this enterprise—a tradition at Chase Beauty. Protective of his daughter, he'd spent more time grilling Nick about his qualifications than answering his questions. He'd suggested the copied cream sample might have been a practical joke.
In his defense, the man didn't know about the safe robbery, information Nick had withheld in deference to Miranda's not wanting to worry her father about her safety. She'd called Nick's cell phone three times during the interview to suggest questions and comments. The woman was making him nuts.
His meetings with a half a dozen VPs and a couple of middle managers didn't net anything more, though everyone was suspiciously tight-lipped, answering only his questions without offering more information to fill the silences he deliberately left to prod the guilty.
He headed for Miranda's apartment to check in with her, thinking about his suspects.
He had mixed feelings about Lilly from his night-before interview. She was ambitious, but she seemed honestly devoted to Miranda. She'd come from the same blue-collar background as he had and was touchy about it, he'd learned when he'd baited her. She'd bristled when he called her a secretary and housekeeper instead of an assistant, but insisted she owed a lot to Miranda and valued the flexible hours and the place to live.
Still, the whole time they talked, her cheeks had been pink—odd for such a cool customer—and she'd kept clicking the end of a pen she'd picked up from her desk.
No doubt about it, this was going to take longer than he'd expected, he realized as he parked at the Palm View and headed for the lobby door. Despite his annoyance, he found he was intrigued. He greeted Charlie—who looked fabulous in the excruciatingly expensive uniform he'd purchased for him—then headed up the elevator to Miranda's apartment, bracing himself for whatever she'd cooked up in his absence.
She didn't disappoint him, opening the door with a brisk jerk to say, "I've got a plan."
"Why am I not surprised?"
She frowned at his jab, then backed up for him to come in.
He saw she wore a Velcro-strapped soft splint. "No more crutches, huh?"
"Nope. Isn't this cool?" She turned it from side to side.
"Nice," he said. As was the short blue dress she was wearing—another sexy number that clung to her curves.
"Any suspects at Chase Beauty?" she asked him.
He had doubts about her brother, but he wasn't about to tell Miranda Theo's theory that she'd faked the whole thing. "Not so far."
"I told you you'd be wasting your time," she said smugly. "It's okay, though, because I've got Raul Quintero, intrepid reporter, on the case. I promised him an exclusive on the industrial espionage story if it pans out. The good news is there's some buzz about my new products, and he wants to do a feature on me. The angle of lowering the costs for high-end products is a good one and—"
"Could we get to your plan?"
"Oh, right." She walked to the table, her movement barely ungainly in her splint, and picked up a sheet of paper she handed to him. "I made a list of all the residents who might conceivably know anything about what happened or have some reason, however farfetched, to want to scare me."
The chart was a decent length and listed the resident, apartment number, occupation and any possible link to Chase Beauty or Miranda. If someone had done something from the inside, the most likely suspect was Lilly, he knew, but it would be a good idea to check on some of the neighbors.
"This looks good," he said.
"Great. Then I'll get started interviewing them."
"You're not interviewing anyone. You agreed—"
"To let you run the investigation, I know. But I need to do something. Besides, you're a stranger. These people are my neighbors. They'll talk to me."
Oh, for God's sake. She was so close and she smelled so good and she looked so eager. How much harm could she do?
A lot.
"Then I'm coming with you." Besides, if he left her here, who knew what mischief she could plot?
"Okay, great."
"And I ask the questions."
"Absolutely. Mum's the word," she said. "I'll just poke you if I think someone's lying."
"Yeah, right," he said, opening the door.
"I think we should start with Lyle Lattimer," she said, heading for the elevator. "You'll see that I've highlighted his name."
Great.
At the door to Lattimer's apartment he whispered to her, "I know there's no point in asking you to keep your mouth shut. Just try not to commit libel. He is an attorney."
"Just patents."
"Miranda," he growled.
"Okay, okay," she said, and rang the doorbell.
Nick exhaled slowly. Surely he could keep Miranda out of trouble while he asked Lattimer a couple of questions.
Evidently not, he realized, when, ten minutes later, he found himself chest to breast with Miranda in the Lattimers' cramped coat closet where Miranda had yanked him after pretending to leave while Lattimer was answering the phone at the back of the apartment. She'd seen L'Mage stationery on his desk and wanted to "investigate."
He wanted to throttle her, but Lattimer was now pacing the living room talking on the phone, so close Nick didn't dare make a sound. He was irritated to re
alize that even though they were close enough to breathe each other's air, Miranda probably couldn't see his glare in the pitch black of the closet.
"Yeah," Lattimer was saying, "I told them we needed that filed. The clerk promised… Okay, I'm on my way." Lattimer's voice faded as he headed back down the hall.
"Are you out of your mind?" Nick whispered at her.
"I need to read the legal papers. It'll just take a few minutes."
"For God's sake, would you—"
Miranda slammed her hand over his mouth. Lattimer was back in the living room, this time rattling keys, shutting a briefcase. Her fingers felt so nice it was hard to stay mad.
Miranda removed her hand from Nick's mouth, trying not to think about how good his lips had felt under her fingers. Besides, she could practically feel the steam coming off Nick in the dark while they waited for Lyle to leave. She'd had that tingling on the back of her neck and every instinct told her there was something to be discovered in this apartment.
She had a moment of concern for how they were going to relock the door when they left, but she had to hope Nick could perform some police or security-guard magic.
Finally, after five more endless minutes, while she listened to her shaky breaths combine with Nick's annoyed ones, Lattimer left, closing the door with a solid thud. Neither of them moved, waiting to be sure he wouldn't return for something he'd forgotten.
When it was obvious the coast was clear, Nick jerked the closet door open.
"Before you yell, hear me out," she said. "I just need a minute to look through the papers, then I'll check his computer files. I have a feeling."
"A feeling? I don't think the cops will buy 'having a feeling' as a rationale for searching an apartment without a warrant."
"It's not against the law to get trapped in a locked apartment, is it? We're not going to take anything. If we're wrong, and Lyle's not involved, it's in his best interest we find out now."
"You should have been a defense attorney," Nick muttered, but he didn't stop her from hurrying to the desk. The paper looked like a contract between L'Mage and Lattimer's firm for legal services.
"Let's get out of here, Miranda," Nick said.
"Let me just turn on the computer. Five minutes, no more."
"I can't believe I let you get me into this."
She booted the computer and was dismayed to see all Lattimer's documents were numbered, not named, making it impossible to narrow her search. She opened the most recently dated file.
At that moment, they heard footsteps and a key in the lock. Lyle was back. Oh, God.
This time Nick dragged her into the closet and pulled the door shut behind them.
The door opened and they heard voices—two of them, one female. Miranda recognized Lenore Lattimer's throaty tones, then the sound of kissing.
"How long have we got?" the man murmured. And he wasn't Lyle.
"He's got appointments all afternoon and I don't have to be back for two hours."
"Mmm," the man said, and then there was heavy breathing and the sound of clothes sliding. Probably off.
"Oh, my God," Miranda said. This was so wicked and thrilling, she couldn't stand it.
"Great," Nick whispered. "Now we've not only committed a crime, we're voyeurs."
Even though she couldn't make out his features, Miranda could feel Nick watching her. The closet was so full of wool and leather they were practically embracing in the small space that remained.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked.
"You have to admit it's pretty exciting. I feel we're doing real police work—a stakeout."
"Hardly. Stakeouts are mostly boring."
"I don't think this is boring," Miranda said, feeling Nick all around her, wanting him again. "Do you?"
Nick took a ragged breath.
The couple on the other side of the closet door began to moan and gasp. They were doing it right in the living room, just a few feet away. The leather of the sofa squeaked against bare flesh. "Oh, oh, oh," Lenore Lattimer was saying.
In the dark, Miranda could sense Nick feeling what she was—the throb, the pulse, the urge to do what Lenore and her lover were doing. They were very close, inches apart. She breathed in his scent. She swallowed hard, released a shaky breath.
"We're going to be here a while," Nick said.
"Yeah. A while." She wanted him so much she couldn't stand it. It was a primitive need, made more vivid by the darkness. They grabbed for each other at the same time. The force of their connection unbalanced them and they thumped the closet wall.
"What was that?" Lenore said sharply.
Nick and Miranda held their breath, not moving.
"Nothing," the man soothed. "Something in the hall."
Lenore must have been appeased, because kissing sounds and rhythmic leather squeaks resumed.
Nick let out a breath, pushed himself upright, pulling Miranda with him.
"That was close," she breathed.
"No," he said, "that was insane."
"Well, don't blame me. It was your elbow that hit the wall."
"That's not what I mean. We should never have … oh, forget it."
A few minutes later, they heard the copulating couple head down the hallway, laughing as they went. "Get ready," Nick whispered. When what must have been a bedroom door closed, Nick pulled Miranda close to him and half carried her out of the closet and the apartment, leaving the trysters in peace.
* * *
8
« ^ »
Once the elevator groaned open and they were inside, Nick released her. "That should never have happened, Miranda. You swore you wouldn't interfere."
"I promised I wouldn't say anything libelous and I didn't."
"It went without saying you wouldn't commit a felony—hiding in a closet, scanning his computer." He shook his head. "I need my head examined. Something happens to me when I'm around you. I lose all reason."
She wasn't sure if she was flattered or insulted. "I just saw an important opportunity to investigate."
"Ms. Columbo again." Nick pushed the button for her floor.
"Where are we going?"
"You're going back to your apartment. I'm going to get my head on straight and do the job the way I should have been doing it all along."
"But we agreed—"
"After that caper, all bets are off," he said. "You stick with face cream. I'll investigate the crime."
"I don't know why you're complaining. You got us out just fine. I think we make a great team."
"Yeah. Abbott and Costello."
He smiled but looked determined. He would not bend. But she had to get something out of it. They'd reached her apartment, and she turned to him. "Okay. You can interview my neighbors without me. On one condition."
"What condition?"
"Don't be suspicious. It's just a small favor."
"A favor? If it involves a closet, forget it."
"Nothing like that. I just need you to try out a men's product for me."
"A product? You mean makeup? No way."
"Don't get all macho. It's a cleansing mask designed specifically for men. You'll like it. It will make shaving easier, keep you from getting ingrown whiskers and make your face more supple and young looking."
"First off, supple is not something a man wants to be. And second, are you saying I look old?" A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face.
Jackpot. He did have a shred of vanity. She could work with that. "Not really. Your face is well … fine," she said, deliberately hesitating. She wasn't about to tell him he was drop-dead, droolingly gorgeous. "This will make it more so."
"I don't know…"
"On the other hand, I could always go with you on your interviews. Mrs. Faraday never lets me leave without playing a hand of poker with her."
"Okay, okay. I'll do it when I get back. But make it fast."
"It'll take five minutes to apply and a few minutes to soak. Think of all the men in the world you'll be he
lping."
"Right," he said. "I'm a real hero. Saving the world from ingrown hair." Shaking his head, he turned for the elevator.
Miranda went into her apartment, pausing to lean her back against the door and catch her breath. Her heart still rattled in her chest from how much she'd wanted to kiss Nick in that steamy little closet. What on earth was the matter with her? This lust business was completely out of control. If they hadn't crashed into the wall she'd have been all over him in there.
She shuddered at the thought, then headed toward her kitchen. She had samples to make, a formula to refine. Except she could still smell the spicy scent of him—like ships and wood and man things.
She had to admit she liked that he'd be back. Matching wits with him, working together, even when he was disagreeable, was fun. She kind of liked his smart-ass attitude. He was different from the men she knew. He challenged her. What if what she felt for him was more than lust? She didn't dare let it be. Nick certainly wasn't interested in more than that. Plus, he'd be away on his boat soon.
Forget it. She was always better off when she stuck to work. She sighed and barreled into the kitchen.
First, to be ready for Nick, she mixed up a fresh batch of her Miracle Mask for Men, adding the essential oil of carotene, and the new emulsifier she'd wanted to test to the base mixture. Then she started on her final and most critical product—the rejuvenation cream.
Two hours later, she was deeply engrossed in her work when she heard the door open. Her heart stopped for a second—she'd been jumpy ever since the robbery.
Then Nick's deep, reassuring voice called her name.
She breathed out a sigh. "In the kitchen."
He came up behind her and looked over her shoulder. "What are you cooking up now?" He sniffed. "Hey, not bad."
"That's lemongrass, lavender and rosewater."
"Is this what you want me to test?"
"No."
"Well, get it. Let's get on with the science experiment."
LIPSTICK ON HIS COLLAR Page 9