Hot Property

by Sherryl Woods

  Terrific, the sadist knew all about her fear of heights and had brought her out here anyway. She had to keep him talking. Sooner or later Michael would miss her and come looking. If she stayed calm and didn’t look down, she’d be just fine. Maybe if she acted nonchalant, he would let her go, satisfied with having frightened her.

  “Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked in the closest thing she could manage to a conversational tone. “If not, I’d like to go back inside. Detective O’Hara will be looking for me.”

  She took a step toward the door, but Kingsley’s hand clamped around her elbow so tightly that she knew there’d be bruises by morning. He yanked her closer to the edge. Even though the railing was waist high and reasonably sturdy, Molly could feel bile rising in her throat. She tried to tell herself to remain calm, to keep talking, maybe get him to confirm some of her suppositions about what had happened. But that would mean telling him that she knew the truth and something warned her that would be the most dangerous thing she could do.

  Or would it? Even if he was guilty, maybe she could bargain with him. Was it possible to bargain with a man who’d killed twice? Wasn’t that what Ingrid had tried? Her attempt at blackmail had certainly backfired.

  “You won’t do it,” she said with far more bravado than she was feeling.

  His smile sent chills down her spine. “Do what? I am merely showing you the view.” He backed away a step. “I am sorry if you were frightened.”

  He sounded very sincere. “Perhaps I should get you a drink. Wine? Brandy?”

  The manager appeared so concerned Molly was caught off guard. She wondered if she’d been imagining the menace only seconds before. “No, thanks,” she said hurriedly. “I was just getting ready to leave.”

  He nodded and stepped aside. “A pleasure seeing you as always.”

  Molly shivered. She had to force herself not to turn and run. Inside she spotted Michael, moved toward him and linked her arm through his. Though he kept talking, there was a quizzical expression in his eyes when he glanced at her. As soon as there was a lull in the conversation, she said, “I really want to get back to Brian. Are you about ready to leave?”

  “Not quite yet,” he said.

  “Then I’ll see you downstairs.”

  He regarded her worriedly. “Molly?”

  “It’s okay,” she told him. “Really.” Still shaken, she practically raced from the room. As soon as the door to the Mendoza apartment closed behind her, Molly released the breath she’d been holding. She was in such a hurry to get back to the relative sanctity of her own apartment, she almost took the stairs, then thought of being trapped in the stairwell with Kingsley or Mendoza after her. Again, a chill raced down her spine. She punched the button for the elevator again and again.

  “Dammit, come on,” she muttered, already regretting the impulse that had made her flee Michael’s side. Too late now. She’d be fine, though, once she was home.

  The elevator doors slid open and she stepped inside. They had begun to close all too slowly, when hands braced the two sides apart. The doors retracted and Kingsley stepped in. “If you don’t mind,” he said. “I’ll just ride along with you.”

  Instinctively, Molly reached for the emergency button to set off an alarm, but the manager was quicker. Stepping neatly between her and the control panel, he pressed the button for the garage.

  With every ounce of bravado she possessed, Molly said, “Hit five for me, please.”

  There was that slick, fake smile again as he said, “Not quite yet. There’s something I’d like you to see first.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t be so impatient. We’ll be there in just a minute.”

  In the garage he grabbed her elbow as roughly as he had earlier and guided her toward the greenhouse and toolshed. When they reached the shed, he opened the lock and shoved her inside. Molly knew she had to keep him talking, had to keep him from locking that door and leaving her in this metal box to die of the heat, if she didn’t die of sheer terror first.

  “Why are you doing this?” she demanded, hoping for a confession she could pass along when she got out of this.

  “Don’t play games with me. I know you’ve figured everything out. I saw you try to slip away from the bathroom after my meeting with Mendoza upstairs. You went straight to the kitchen to check on the knives, didn’t you?”

  There was little point in denying it, she decided. “Did Mendoza kill Allan?” she asked, hoping that casting blame elsewhere would buy her a little time. Instead, Jack Kingsley looked insulted.

  “Please,” he said derisively.

  Molly was startled by the too easy admission. Then, again, what could it matter? He was going to leave her here to die. Obviously he saw no reason not to tie up any loose ends for her satisfaction before he shut her in and locked the door.

  “Okay, how did you know about the knives? It was very clever of you.”

  “Drucilla sliced a piece of cake for me when I dropped by the cardroom later that night. I didn’t realize the knife was yours at the time, but the opportunity was too good to miss. When she’d taken it with her, I slipped upstairs, used the master key, and borrowed one from the Mendozas’ kitchen. I figured I had two people in line in front of me as suspects. The owner of the first knife and Mendoza. Should have been the perfect crime. It would have been, too, if it hadn’t been for that foolish girl. Ingrid had borrowed one of Rosa’s knives one night and recognized that it and the murder weapon came from the same set. She had seen me coming from the Mendozas’ apartment the night of the murder and put two and two together. She tried to blackmail me. I couldn’t let her get away with it.”

  “So you killed her last night.”

  “I had no choice, just as I have none now.”

  Molly guessed his next move and tried to grab him as he backed out of the shed. She caught the edge of his sleeve and heard it rip as he shook her off, then slammed the door with a metallic crash. She threw herself against it, but it didn’t give. She picked herself up and prepared to make one last desperate attempt, but she heard the ominous click as the door locked.

  “Oh God,” she muttered, sliding to the floor. “Oh, damn.”

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  Twice during the endless, sweltering night Molly heard the distant sound of car doors closing. Each time she pounded on the walls of the shed and screamed at the top of her lungs. Each time she failed to attract any attention.

  Morning would be better, she told herself repeatedly. More people would be coming and going. Perhaps someone from maintenance would even come to open the shed for supplies. Surely by then Michael would have launched a full-scale search as well. It would be okay.

  But all the time she sought to reassure herself, she could feel the perspiration trickling down her back, feel the heat closing in and the air getting more and more stale and lifeless.

  Inch by inch she searched the shed for some sort of tool that could be used as a lever on the door. Surely it couldn’t take too much strength to pop the hinges on a temporary structure like this. The only thing she found was a supply of mop handles, and those couldn’t be wedged into the tiny slit between the door and its frame.

  She finally sank onto one of the boxes and tried to think. She needed to conserve her strength, too. Perspiring too freely would only speed the heat prostration she was facing if she wasn’t found soon. It was too dark inside to see her watch, but from the way the heat was building, she could tell it was daylight. As the sun rose, so would the temperature in the shed. She had no idea how long a person could survive in that sort of intense heat, but it probably wasn’t long. Hours, perhaps.

  Bordering on panic, she began taking shallower and shallower breaths as perspiration dried and her skin burned feverishly. For something to do, she began counting supplies. Fifty ten-gallon drums of rug shampoo. Ten, no, twelve boxes of extra-large-size bottles of liquid soap. Five, no, eight—oh, God, how many cartons of paper towel roll
s? They seemed to be swimming in front of her eyes. She licked her lips, surprised to find them already dry and cracked.

  From what seemed to be very far away she heard voices. She had to signal them, had to make them hear her. She tried to scream, but her throat was dry, so very dry. With the last of her strength, she heaved a can of copper polish at the metal wall. It clattered noisily to the floor. She repeated the gesture again and again, for once grateful to Kingsley for the absurdly large order.

  “Over here,” someone shouted from nearby.

  She heard footsteps, then Michael. “Madre de Dios,” he said, swearing impatiently. “Get it open. Molly, it’s okay. We’ll have you out in just a minute.”

  She could hear more curses, the jangle of keys, then finally the lock being tried. She struggled to her feet, but immediately sagged back down. The door was flung wide and Michael caught her just before she hit the floor.

  She looked into his worried eyes and murmured, “What the hell took you so long?” And then she fainted.

  When she came to, she was in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV, a strange doctor hovering over her and Michael lurking watchfully in the background.

  “It was Kingsley,” she whispered, even though it hurt her parched throat to speak.

  “I know. We got him. Mendoza finally confessed everything about the kickback scheme. While he was spilling his guts last night, one of the caterers came out and told him two of his knives were missing. I guess they didn’t want to be blamed. They said you’d been snooping around in the kitchen. We looked for you, but both you and Kingsley had left the party. I swear to God the last eighteen hours have taken a dozen years off my life thinking he had you. We couldn’t find Kingsley, even though we put out an all points bulletin. The Miami Beach police thought they spotted his car over there. Then we got a call from Bal Harbor. The Hollywood cops finally stopped him about forty minutes ago. When I realized you weren’t with him, I nearly lost it. We tore the condo apart looking for you. It was Liza who suggested the shed because of what you all had found there earlier.”

  Because she couldn’t deal with the emotions she thought she saw in his eyes, she said, “Brian?”

  “He’s right outside. I’ll get him.”

  Barely a minute later, her son burst through the door and threw himself into her arms. His thin chest was heaving with sobs. Michael laid a hand on Brian’s head, gently smoothing the light-brown hair that was damp with perspiration and tears.

  Michael’s gaze, though, was on Molly. “I have things I have to take care of at headquarters,” he said quietly. “And you and Brian need some time alone.”

  Molly bit back her own cry of need and nodded.

  He hesitated, his expression uncertain. “I could hang around if you need me.”

  She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak, not trusting herself not to beg him to stay now that his official duties were over.

  “I’ll be back when we have this all sorted out, okay?” The sunglasses went on then, but not before she caught the vulnerability that was all too evident in his eyes. He turned away.

  Michael had taken several slow steps, when Molly called to him. “You are coming back?”

  He nodded. “As soon as I can get here.”

  After he’d gone Liza took up his place beside Molly’s bed. With Brian in her arms she fell asleep. When she awoke, Liza was still there and Brian was still sound asleep and clinging to Molly’s hand.

  For the first time since Molly had known her, Liza looked as if she were at a loss for words. “You want something to drink?” she asked finally.

  “No, but you look as if you could use something.” Molly touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  Liza finally met her gaze, tears streaking down her face. “It’s funny. You two are the closest thing to family I have. When we realized you were missing, I wanted to trade places with you. I was so terrified of what would happen.” Her voice trailed off and she glanced at Brian.

  Molly shuddered and stroked his hair. “I know. Me, too. It’s the only thing that kept me going,” she whispered, looking down at her son.

  They sat quietly for several minutes before Liza murmured, “You’re falling in love with the hunk, aren’t you?”

  Molly managed a grim smile. “If I had to put a label on what I’m feeling, I’d say I’m falling in love with the possibility of falling in love again. Michael possesses certain traits, a certain strength and sensitivity, that would make it easy to love him. He also has a few that drive me nuts.”

  “The man is hot, Molly. Why don’t you sleep with him? That ought to clarify things.”

  “Or confuse them more than ever.”

  “How does he feel?”

  “I don’t know. Bianca’s still in his life. I can’t deny her existence. I can’t wish her away.”

  “What does he say?”

  “Not much, at least not on that subject.”

  The knock on the door startled them both. Liza grinned. “I think that’s your answer now.”

  “Has it been that long?”

  “I suspect he was in a hurry. I’ll let him in and let myself out. Is there anything you need from home?”

  Molly ran shaky fingers through her hair trying to sort out the tangles. She suddenly regretted not being able to take a shower, change into something besides this frumpy hospital gown, and put on makeup. How had she let the time slip away when she’d known Michael was coming back? Maybe she’d just been telling herself that this meeting wasn’t significant, even though the thumping of her heart right now felt like a drum in a Sousa march.

  “You look good,” Michael said from across the room, when Liza had gone taking the still sleepy Brian with her.

  A near-hysterical giggle climbed in Molly’s throat, but she managed to swallow it.

  “Your color’s better.”

  “It usually is, when every drop of blood hasn’t drained out of my face,” she said wryly. “I’ve never been so terrified in my life.”

  He rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets as if he wasn’t sure what else to do with them. “Me, too.”

  “Because I was an innocent bystander who almost got killed? Afraid you’d slipped up in your duty, Detective?”

  His lips twitched at her deliberate ploy. “No, Mrs. DeWitt, because you’re you and for better or worse you’ve gotten under my skin.”

  “Sounds like an allergy.”

  He dared a step closer, looked around, and chose a chair about as far from her as he could get and still be in the same room. Molly shook her head, very much aware of his confusion. “You don’t have to stay. I’m fine and you wouldn’t be responsible even if I weren’t.”

  “I feel responsible and …”

  When he didn’t go on, she prodded, “And?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell to do about this. First of all, there’s …”

  Molly ignored the sting of tears and snapped, “Bianca. For crying out loud, you can say her name. I’m not that fragile.”

  He nodded slowly, his eyes troubled. “Yes, there is Bianca. On top of that, I’m not such a good bet when it comes to anything serious. I learned that being married. Being a cop and marriage just don’t mix.”

  “You’ve taken an amazing leap of faith here. I thought we were talking about maybe having a date. You’re worried about what happens after the wedding.”

  “Dates have a way of leading to marriage before you know what’s happened.”

  “Not when you have two rational, thoughtful, very cautious people involved.”

  That drew a genuine smile that put sparks into his brown eyes. “Cautious, huh? You, too?”

  “Damn right. I’m in no rush for any kind of commitment.”

  He nodded again. “So, you’re willing to risk a date or two?”

  “If anything happens to change your living arrangements, yes. But that’s your decision, Detective. I’m not asking you to and I’m not making any promises after that.”
>
  “Fair enough.” He stood up then and started toward the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Molly clutched the flat hospital pillow so hard all the stuffing was squashed into one end. She managed a wobbly smile. “You do that.”

  “You’ll be okay tonight?”

  “Fine.” Just go! Go before I make an absolute fool of myself, she thought desperately.

  Before she realized what he intended, though, he was across the room, apparently propelled by the same barrage of contradictory feelings that had her off-balance. He cupped her chin and tilted her head until their gazes clashed. He leaned down then until his lips brushed tenderly across hers. That faint, tentative whisper of a touch was filled with so much longing, so much purely sensual promise, that it left Molly weak.