Yours for the Night

by Samantha Hunter

  “The only ones who know are my parents, the Argentines and myself.”

  Detective Ramsey looked at Tiffany with a considering gaze that told her she might not be completely off the hook. Just because she had an alibi didn’t mean she didn’t have accomplices. She read enough mystery novels to know that. She also knew police, overworked and stressed by pressures to solve many crimes, often took the most obvious route to solve the problem.

  “If you can catalog the rest of your inventory to let me know if you’re missing anything else, I would appreciate that, Ms. Walker,” the detective said.

  “Of course.”

  “And in case we need you, don’t plan any trips out of town any time soon, okay?”

  Tiffany stiffened at the hint of accusation; her heart was slamming inside her chest. “Of course,” she said calmly, proud of herself for that much.

  “How could someone do that without a blast being heard, or triggering alarms?” Garrett asked, stepping forward.

  “No blast. That we can tell, they just walked in and emptied it out. They obviously knew that the diamonds were there. Someone had the codes, the combinations and the door was left open. It’s what ultimately set off the alarm, though they were long gone by then, which is why it has to be an inside job. Who has those codes?”

  “Only my parents and I do. That’s it.”

  “Is the lock digital?” Garrett asked.

  She nodded.

  “It could have been hacked. Do you have a computer forensics team?”

  Detective Ramsey eyed him speculatively, reassessing him as more than “a friend.”

  “The lock is on a non-networked circuit, separate from the system that notifies the security team of a breach,” Tiffany said miserably.

  “It still could have been hacked on-site,” Garrett said. “In which case, they have to have someone very good with technology on their team, and I’d think that gives you a place to start. There can’t be too many jewel-thief hackers in the world,” he added.

  “That’s a good theory,” the detective said, pinching his chin.

  “I have some contacts you could use. People who might know who could do that kind of work,” Garrett said, explaining about Berringer Bodyguards.

  The two men started talking as if she wasn’t even there, and Tiffany was tempted to scream to make sure she was. On one hand, she was fascinated by what Garrett knew, and thankful for the help he offered; on the other, she had been effectively cut out of the conversation.

  When they were done, Detective Ramsey turned to her. “I’ll need you to check the inventory, and an officer will take your statement,” he said, and she nodded, about to say something as he turned away.

  “Well, nice to know he acknowledges my existence,” she grumped, crossing her arms across her middle.

  “Most of those guys aren’t too chatty, not in the middle of an investigation, anyway,” Garrett said, opening his smartphone. “Don’t take it personally.”

  “I’m not supposed to take it personally that he thinks I was involved?”

  “I think we all know you weren’t, but it’s their job to suspect everyone, dust out every corner.”

  Tiffany took a deep breath, calming her agitation. She knew that was true. Detection 101—no one was above suspicion.

  “You’re right. I guess I’m just tired and touchy.”

  “Perfectly understandable. Tiffany?” Garrett prompted, looking concerned.

  “Sorry, just zoned out for a second. I’d better get this inventory done,” she said with a sigh.

  “Okay. I’m going to make a few phone calls. Let me know when you’re done. Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.”

  “You don’t have to wait. I could be a while,” she said, wondering if he meant “we” as him and herself, or him and the police. Tiffany felt disgruntled and out of the loop.

  “No problem. Let’s grab something to eat after this and talk,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her cheek almost absently before going back to his phone.

  Well, okay then. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Garrett after this was done, and she could use a meal but…she just felt dismissed. You go take care of the inventory and just don’t worry your pretty head about anything else, she thought crankily, knowing she was probably being unfair, but it was how she felt.

  She was a detective, but she didn’t feel much like one at the moment. At the moment, she was the assistant manager of the jewelry store, and she did need to do the inventory, so she focused her attention on that for the next hour or so. When she was done, she sought out Ramsey and told the detective what he needed to know, and what they had expected all along.

  In spite of the several very lovely and expensive pieces in the cases, the only things missing were the diamonds. That was exactly like the other robberies, as much as she knew about them, anyway. The only other thing was that all of the paperwork, the certifications, bills of sale, everything that had come with the diamonds, was also missing, having even been wiped off of the computers. Someone knew exactly what they were looking for, and now they had no records of ever owning the diamonds at all, which was going to make settling the insurance even more difficult. Tiffany understood why it seemed very much like an inside job, because who else would know exactly where to find all of this material, the computer passwords, and be so thorough?

  Making her way to the back office, she sat down at the desk, discouraged and exhausted, and let her head fall down on her arms. She only intended to rest her eyes for a minute....

  4

  GARRETT FOUND TIFFANY at her desk in the back office. The police were gone, though tape remained around the entrance, indicating it was still an active crime scene. He’d given his official statement clearing Tiffany of any suspicion, and had spent almost the entire time on the phone tracking down any information he could.

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t much anyone knew; the police were doing a good job of keeping it quiet. Some criminals thrived on attention and notoriety, but these guys were more likely professionals who didn’t want to draw much attention; they didn’t vandalize, kill or do anything that left much evidence behind or that would create a public outcry. They were smart.

  However, Garrett had called a friend in London who specialized in art theft. Berringer had provided security for several of his museum’s pieces as they were being moved from D.C. to London. Daniel might know something that even the police wouldn’t.

  He’d kept that contact to himself, sharing only a few others with Detective Ramsey, who was still fairly tight-lipped, even given Garrett’s help. Like he’d told Tiffany, Garrett didn’t take it personally. The guy had a job to do and was obviously under a lot of pressure with these robberies.

  These thieves could be difficult to catch, Garrett thought regretfully. Time was of the essence; the black market moved fast. Or, if there was no news underground, then they could be sitting on them until things calmed down, he supposed. Or they simply could have been sold directly to a private buyer and once the diamonds were cut, no one would know where they came from.

  There were a lot of possibilities, but often these kinds of items—fine art, jewels—were never recovered. Often, they were found in the homes of wealthy, private collectors decades later, if at all.

  Knocking lightly on the door, he heard Tiffany talking. She must be on the phone, and he cracked the door, intending to let her know he was there.

  She paced behind the desk, pushing her hands through already messy hair, looking and sounding as if she were on her last nerve.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hooper. I know. I told you my fee wasn’t refundable, but obviously you don’t have to pay me the balance since I didn’t get the shot. I could try again, if you want. In fact, how about this? I’ll give it another week, and you don’t have to pay me at all, okay? I just want to finish the job for you,” Tiffany said.

  Garrett frowned. Finish the job? What on earth could she be talking about? Mentally noting the name Hooper, his mind flicker
ed over the possibility that Tiffany was lying about the thefts—was she involved?

  But nothing in this conversation sounded jewelry-related. What kinds of “shots”? It sounded like Tiff was moonlighting in some capacity, and Garrett thought back to the night of the rehearsal, when she had been so anxiously following the time, and had to dash off “to work” before coming back to meet him.

  He paused, wondering what Tiffany was up to. She’d mentioned a fee—a payoff of some sort?

  “Thanks, Mrs. Hooper. I promise I won’t give up until the job is done. On my dime.”

  She sounded a bit more relieved, and Garrett frowned, not having meant to eavesdrop, and feeling itchy about it. He heard her hang up, and opened the door up completely.

  “Hey, Tiffany,” he said gradually, and she spun around, looking guilty, tired and anxious.

  The guilty part concerned him.

  “How long were you standing there?”

  “Just for a second. I knocked, and then realized you were on the phone.”

  She became extremely guarded. “You were listening?”

  “I overheard some, yes,” he said. He wasn’t going to lie to her. “But it’s none of my business, and I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

  “But you did.”

  “Yeah. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, then.”

  She nodded faintly, blinking her pretty, catlike eyes and stretching her arms up over her head in a way that drew her shirt tight and garnered Garrett’s interest.

  “I saw you come back here about a half hour ago, so I thought I would check and see how you were doing. The police are gone, and you’re in the clear.”

  “Thanks,” she said, still maintaining her distance, but he was unable to stand there and watch her stretch and fidget around for one more second without touching her. He knew Tiffany wasn’t involved in the robberies, and whatever he had overheard probably had a completely innocent explanation—which, again, was none of his business. He crossed the space between them, pulling her up close to melt the ice that had formed in between them.

  “Oh, no, don’t,” she said, surprising him with a hand planted right to his chest, pushing him away.

  It wasn’t the reaction he expected. “Why?” he asked, stepping back.

  “I need a shower, to brush my teeth and put on some decent clothes. All living creatures—especially you—should keep at least a three-foot perimeter from me until I do.”

  Garrett laughed, a mix of relief and humor at her revelation. She was looking a bit rumpled at the moment, especially her hair after pushing her hands through it, but he couldn’t say he cared. She still looked cute and sexy to him.

  “Listen, it’s almost dinnertime. My hotel is closer than your place. Come back with me, clean up and we’ll get some food and talk. Sound good?”

  Her eyes warmed, and then she looked away. Not a good sign.

  “I can’t. I have to call my parents about the robbery and…do some other stuff.”

  “You’re exhausted. No way am I letting you drive.” Reaching out to cup her chin with his fingers, he stared into her eyes.

  She stiffened. “I’m perfectly able to take care of myself, thanks.”

  “Ouch.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “I just have things to do, Garrett, and there’s no point in dragging this out.” She pointed a hand between him and herself, indicating “you and me.” “You have a vacation to get to, and I have to—”

  “I get it, Tiffany,” he said, relenting. He was disappointed, and a bit concerned, but he wouldn’t push. “But listen, I need to get my watch back from you. Let me drive you back. I’ll get the watch and leave. Okay?”

  Her beautiful mouth pursed as she considered, and then she nodded. “I am pretty tired. I’d forgotten about the watch.”

  “That’s okay. You have a lot on your mind.”

  “Just let me set the vault again—not that it matters, I guess—and then I can close up,” she said, leaving to go deal with the vault.

  Garrett eyed the cell phone that she left on the desk, and paused. He was about to cross a line, and he knew it. But his instincts were still prickling about that phone call, and he worried that Tiffany was in some kind of trouble.

  Picking up the phone, he checked the numbers on the incoming calls, saw the name Sally Hooper, and quickly memorized it. Garrett was pretty sure that Tiffany wasn’t involved with the jewel thieves, but she might have unwittingly given up information she didn’t realize others could have used to get inside the store. Or maybe he was wrong about her.

  Putting the phone back on the desk, he took out his own, and dialed the number.

  “Hello?” a very cranky, but sophisticated-sounding female voice answered.

  “Hello, Mrs. Hooper?”

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Gary Iverson, and I was told that Tiffany Walker had done some work for you?”

  “Are you a lawyer? Are you working for my husband?” The woman’s voice went up a notch.

  “No, no, I’m thinking about hiring Ms. Walker myself, and I was just wondering if you could give her a reference. She said you’d be happy to,” he offered congenially.

  “Well, so much for her services being confidential,” the woman said waspishly, making Garrett cringe inwardly. He wasn’t helping Tiffany win rave reviews, but it sounded like the woman wasn’t exactly thrilled with her in the first place.

  “She didn’t say a word about what work she was doing for you, just that you were a reference.”

  “Huh. Well, she’s a nice enough girl, but out of her league, in my opinion. But she was willing to do the job cheap, and I thought, what the hell, I’d give her a chance. But to be honest, I don’t think she’s going to be able to pull it off. She’s too sweet for this line of work.”

  The woman said sweet like it was a character fault.

  “Thank you. The work I’m thinking about assigning her is quite important, and I don’t want to lose money.”

  “Oh, well, then, I would tell you to find a professional investigator. It’s probably going to cost you, but I wish I had now. Though if she can get some pictures of that lousy, cheating husband of mine, I’ll call you back and give her a glowing review,” the woman said with a harsh laugh.

  Garrett was stunned silent, then murmured a thanks and hung up the phone just as Tiffany entered the office.

  “Okay, all done. All I need to do is set the alarm and lock the door behind us, and we’re out of here.”

  Garrett blinked, looking at her more closely.

  Tiffany? A private investigator?

  He had a hard time getting his mind around it, and then thought about all of the mystery novels in her apartment. Then he remembered the camera and notebooks he’d seen on the backseat of her car when they’d driven to the rehearsal dinner, and suddenly it all made sense.

  So that’s why she’d been in a hurry to leave that night—she was doing surveillance on Sally Hooper’s lousy, cheating husband. Not very successfully, apparently.

  “Earth to Garrett?” She waved a hand in front of his face, and he smiled, snapping to.

  “Right. Sorry. Let’s go,” he said, planting his fingers lightly at the curve of her back as they left, his mind still processing the fact that Tiffany was moonlighting as a P.I.

  On the trip back to her place, they didn’t talk much, as she seemed to nod off easily, snapping herself awake only to nod off again. It was the right move not to let her drive.

  He thought about bringing it up—telling her that he knew—but couldn’t imagine it would go over too well that he had snooped on her phone and into her personal business.

  At the same time, he couldn’t help but be concerned. P.I.s did some nasty, dangerous work. Tiffany might think it was like her mystery novels, but tracking down guys cheating on their wives wasn’t a safe enterprise. According to Mrs. Hooper, Tiffany was new to this—very new—and so her risks were even higher.


  Pulling into a parking space at her building, he looked over to find her passed out, head propped against the window. He’d decide how to handle this, but for the moment, he just had to get her up to her apartment.

  “Tiff? Wake up,” he said, shaking her gently.

  She opened her eyes blearily, only to land her head back on the car window again with a soft thunk. She didn’t even seem to notice.

  Garrett got out, fishing her key out of her bag, and grabbed the notebook and camera from the backseat before pulling her up into his arms.

  “Wassha doin’?” she asked tiredly, pushing away a bit.

  “Getting you to your apartment,” he said, unable to resist planting a kiss on her forehead. She was sweet. “Go back to sleep. I’ve got you.”

  She muttered something that sounded like “perfectly able to walk on my own,” and he grinned as she snuggled down, snoring again in seconds.

  Cuddled up against him, Tiffany didn’t look at all like a tough private investigator or a sophisticated jewelry store manager. She looked soft. Vulnerable. Like she needed someone to watch her back.

  Garrett figured he was the man to do it.

  * * *

  MONDAY MORNING, TIFFANY WOKE UP in a panic, not even remembering having fallen asleep, but as soon as her vision cleared, she realized she was snug in her own bed.

  In her underwear. Her clothes were tossed in the basket in the corner, and a glance at the alarm clock showed it was just after dawn, soft sunlight just starting to filter through the curtains.

  Garrett. Her mind went back to the last minutes they spent together, leaving the store, and she had let him drive. She’d passed out in the car, completely exhausted. He must have brought her up to her place. Undressed her.

  Too bad he hadn’t stayed and joined her, she thought, casting a look at the empty side of the bed.

  But no, there’d be no more of that.

  Grabbing a robe, she slid out of bed, wondering if he had perhaps fallen asleep in the front room. There had been some tension between them at the store, especially when she realized he’d heard her on the phone with Mrs. Hooper.