Stealing the Moon & Stars

by Sally J. Smith

  First things first: cover your butt. Which translated to: if possible, eliminate the principals as suspects before you do anything else.

  She put out several inquiries regarding Nick and Connie Brenner, inquiries considerably more extensive than the background info she’d gathered earlier in the day: credit reports, corporate records, financial records, real estate, taxes and on and on and on. The results, she hoped, would allow her to remove the Brenners’ names from the list of suspects.

  The mountain of personal and private information readily available not only continued to astound her but sometimes terrified her.

  If all went the way she hoped, everything would come back in order. Her fervent wish was to clear them as quickly as possible.

  Primary rule of private investigation: it’s damn hard to get paid when your clients turn out to be the crooks.

  CHAPTER 2

  Jordan crossed the lobby toward Eddie’s inner sanctum. She was anxious to bring him up to date on the exciting new case. A tantalizing aroma wafted from his office. Lunch! He must have picked up a peace offering—as if that would make up for his failure to arrive in time to sit in on the meeting with the Brenners.

  She stopped just inside his door, breathless in her partner’s intoxicating presence.

  Ah, yes. Eddie Marino.

  He leaned against his stainless steel desk, concentrating on his latest and greatest smart phone. He was, as usual, devilishly handsome in tight Calvin Klein jeans and black cashmere polo.

  Definitely hot stuff, that Eddie Marino.

  “New toy?” Jordan went over for a look-see. Eddie changed out his tech gadgets practically every other week. At least it seemed that way to Jordan.

  “Oh, yeah, this little sweetheart will do everything but drive you home and make you a martini,” he bragged. “Look at this.”

  He flipped it around and activated one app after another to show off his shiny new plaything to its best advantage.

  Jordan peered at the flashing screen while Eddie put it through its paces. “It looks way too complicated.”

  Eddie picked up a box off his desk and held it out to her. “No, don’t say that. I got you one too.”

  She stood back from the box, as if something inside might jump out and bite her. “I’m just getting used to the last one you bought me. Wasn’t it just a few weeks ago we got new phones?”

  “Mmm.” He didn’t look up, his fingers still scooting and tapping across the small screen.

  “I can’t even work the other one yet.” Oh, please. Tell me I’m not actually whining. Damn it, Spock! I’m a creative investigator not a tech geek. Afflicted with right brain dominance.

  “It means I get to spend more time with you, teaching you how to run it. Tell me spending time together isn’t a good thing.” He smiled and it was like the sunrise.

  Sweet surrender. Jordan sighed and took the box. “I give in.” She shook her head and punched his shoulder. “You better watch it, Marino. You’re getting addicted to this tech stuff.”

  “You hit me?”

  “So?”

  “So, she says.” He was gleeful. “Don’t you know what it means when a girl punches a guy?”

  “She’s boning up on her martial arts? No? I bet you’re going to tell me.”

  “It means she likes him and wants his attention but is too shy to admit it.”

  “What is this, third grade? Are you going to pass me a note on the playground?” Did he know he was hitting close to the mark? “Gonna spring for my chocolate milk at lunchtime?”

  He leaned in so close his warm breath fanned her cheek. “You like me, Jordan? You want my attention?”

  When should she take him seriously? Clearly, this wasn’t the time. Maybe she should punch him again, but that would only send him off on another tangent. “I would have liked you to meet the Brenners. Too bad you didn’t join us.”

  “Dodging the issue again, Welsh?” He smirked. “Anyway, you wanted me to meet the Brenners? Or for them to get a good look at me?”

  Defensive. Not good.

  She could do that one too. “You could try every once in a great while. We’re supposed to be a team. Remember?” She set her jaw.

  “And we are.” He softened. “Jordan, Jordan.” His tone was placating and as sweet as cinnamon. “You know I don’t do business etiquette. I’m no good at it. Tracking and catching bad guys is my thing.”

  You are very good at that. “Well, it turns out I made it through this one by myself. They signed a contract.”

  “Ya see?” He put his arm around her shoulders, and the room temperature shot up ten degrees. “You didn’t need me for this, but I was here for you just in case. Better late than never, isn’t that what they say?”

  “They, not me. They say that.” She shrugged out from under his arm, trying to keep it casual. “Eddie, the office thing, you could try—maybe just once in a while?”

  He smiled that lopsided, heart-melting smile. “Okay. I’ll try—once in a while.” He pushed away from the desk. “What do you say to a truce? I have your favorite—Kung Pao shrimp.” He waved a to-go bag from the Emperor’s Palace down the street.

  Jordan couldn’t stay mad at him for long, especially when Kung Pao shrimp was part of the deal. Mouth watering at the tantalizing smell, she grabbed the bag and stepped around him. “You win. I’ll fill you in on the case while we eat. Eddie, this could be the one, exactly what the agency needs to break through. And we can help people in need while we’re at it.”

  They sat together on Eddie’s black leather sofa and spread the food across the stainless steel table in front of it. She kicked off her shoes and leaned back. More than anyone she’d ever met, Eddie was extremely self-confident and comfortable in his own skin; so much so, her height made no difference to him. It never occurred to her to leave the stilettoes at home when she was with Eddie Marino, who thought she was gorgeous and even defined it: “Standing toe-to-toe with you and looking straight into those gorgeous hazel eyes is a massive turn-on.”

  It turned her on, too. She hadn’t told him though.

  They ate straight out of the cartons, both expertly wielding their chopsticks.

  “How’s it going with the insurance thing?” she asked.

  Eddie brought her up to date on the life insurance fraud case he and his crew had been working the past few weeks.

  The head chef at Brady’s Steakhouse in Tucson had disappeared on a camping trip to the Superstition Mountains. When he didn’t come home, search teams went out and discovered his creek-side campsite turned upside down and soaked in blood. No body, but the authorities ruled it likely he succumbed to an animal attack and the body had been dragged off somewhere.

  The policy paid half a million dollars to the widow, but the police and insurance company grew suspicious when she began making twice weekly trips up the Interstate to stay at a Holiday Inn Express in downtown Scottsdale. The insurance company hired Shea Investigations to check it out.

  “We’ve been splitting up the surveillance between the four of us.”

  “All four of you big boys for just one teeny little woman?”

  “Two at a time in shifts on the hotel around the clock, Tank and Muggs then Diego and me. If she leaves the motel to go somewhere else, one goes with, one stays behind. That’s the best way, and that’s the way we caught the sleaze.”

  Her jaw dropped in surprise and delight. “Sleaze. You mean husband? The dead husband? Score!” They high-fived. “You caught him?”

  “I wanted to surprise you. Three weeks we’ve been cooling our heels outside the place—four, sometimes six days a week—but last night we finally get lucky. She leaves the hotel. It’s Diego and me on watch so I take off after her and tail her to Herndon’s Steak and Chop House. Guess who she picks up outside the kitchen door? Her dearly departed. Guy looks pretty good for a corpse.”

  “So you got him.”

  “Both of ’em. Betcha they’re already down in Tucson trying to explain things.”
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  “You guys are so awesome.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself. Okay. Your turn. The Brenners.”

  Between bites, Jordan told Eddie everything she knew about the missing funds.

  He listened, really listened. That was the thing about Eddie. He locked onto what she said with such intensity that on occasion it rattled her.

  She’d never met anybody like Eddie. In fact, she was pretty sure there wasn’t anybody like Eddie, not in the suburbs of Chicago where she grew up. Maybe not anywhere.

  It had been almost five months since they merged their two businesses—his security services company and her private investigations—becoming equal partners in Shea Investigations and Security. So far it was the best business decision she had ever made, and she didn’t regret it for a minute. They were a natural complement to each other: yin and yang, wine and cheese, steak and potatoes, or as Forrest Gump would say, peas and carrots. It was perfect—almost too perfect.

  Their first encounter had been nearly a year ago. Jordan was in her car, across the street from a warehouse late at night. The client, Deepak Sharma, CEO, President and CFO of Sharma Imports, hired Jordan’s JW Investigations to look into a recurring inventory shortage.

  “Miss Welsh, I am being so grateful for your help in finding the scum-sucking lowlife who has been ripping me up.”

  “Ripping you off.”

  “This is what I said.”

  The customer is always right. “Of course.”

  That’s how she came to be parked across the street from Sharma’s warehouse all alone in the dark when a black pickup pulled into the warehouse lot and two men got out. She used night binoculars to watch them work the security keypad. In less than a minute, the door was open and the men entered the warehouse.

  She went for her cellphone and dialed Renny Kruger’s number. Renny had been her backup on this stakeout the previous three nights, but he hadn’t shown up yet. Renny answered on the second ring. “Forget about it. I’m not coming. And don’t try to talk me into it.”

  “What do you mean you’re not coming? You’re my backup. I need you. I need you here now.”

  “Not gonna happen. I got a better offer. Security night shift over at Buns and Bosoms Twenty-four-seven Gentlemen’s Club.”

  She grimaced. “Oh come on, Renny. Seriously?”

  “Hell, yeah. They gave me a uniform and everything. Plus, you can’t compete with the fringe benefits.”

  Nor would I want to. “So, that’s it? You’re standing me up? What a flake.”

  “You don’t have to get personal about it.” He hung up on her.

  Okay. On my own. She didn’t like the idea, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. Gathering courage that didn’t come with her genteel upbringing, she drew her gun, got out of the car and crossed the street, wishing she hadn’t indulged in that second chai tea latte. Showtime.

  Ten minutes later, she was inside the warehouse, every sense on the alert. The two men were there, somewhere.

  She silently rounded a set of gorilla shelves at the far end of the warehouse. One of them knelt at a spot by the wall, using some kind of handheld monitoring device. In four quick steps, she had the drop on him.

  “Don’t move, dirt bag.” Lord, she’d always wanted to say that. If she hadn’t been shaking so badly, the words probably would have sounded tougher.

  He turned his head slightly to face her. Wow. Good-looking dude. The thought barely had time to cross her mind before her feet were swept out from beneath her, and she was on her back with the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on lying spread-eagled on top of her, holding her body and gun hand immobile—or trying to. She bucked and lurched like a wild mustang, but he held on.

  “Be still.” His voice was husky and low-pitched.

  She bounced a few more times and then gave in to formulate a new strategy.

  “Good girl, Jordan.”

  That got her attention. “How do you know my name? Who the hell are you?”

  “Eddie Marino. Pleased to meet you, gorgeous, and how.”

  Their mutual client, Deepak Sharma, told Eddie he’d hired a private investigator but neglected to tell Jordan he’d hired a security specialist.

  Over the next few months, the two worked together several more times, she requesting him, he requesting her, until she came up with the totally brilliant idea of combining their talents to form a new company. Shea Investigations and Security was born.

  Not only was it an effective business match, it looked as if it might be a good love match, in that their chemistry was highly combustible.

  Eddie wanted it. She wanted it, too, but was trying to keep it from happening. Be honest, Jordan. He intimidates the heck outta you. No. No. It would never work. The complications were unimaginable. She knew two things for certain. One, if she slept with Eddie, there would be no turning back; two, if it didn’t work, Eddie might walk away from her and the business. It was all about the business. Wasn’t it?

  She’d made up her mind a while ago to keep him as a business partner and hold him at bay as a lover—as long as she could, anyway.

  Whether she secretly wished for it or not, romance with Eddie wasn’t going to happen, not if she wanted to keep their excellent working relationship, not if she wanted to maintain the high level of success Shea Investigations enjoyed since she and Eddie joined ranks. She sighed. Nope.

  She’d read too many romance novels and seen too many movies and TV shows. When business partners become lovers, something had to give, either the business or the romance. Shea Investigations was a going concern, and so far, a success. Romance was a dice roll at best, especially when you were hot for one Eddie Marino, unpredictable enigma. The odds were probably even worse than those at the craps table. It would be better, much smarter to protect the golden goose and forego the moonlight and magic.

  Keeping the business solid was the primary reason she held off his advances, wasn’t it? It didn’t have anything to do with previous lovers who’d tried to mold her into something she wasn’t, to control her down to how she wore her hair or what books she read. Nothing to do either with the fact that he’s yet another alpha male. Of course not.

  Eddie didn’t like it, but so far he’d honored her decision because they were partners.

  He was cocky but irresistible.

  “So, Boss.” She hated it when he called her that. “Guess I better get my ass back to work.” He got up and sauntered back to his desk. Before sitting down, he turned and winked. “See anything you like?”

  She waved him off, picked up the rest of her lunch and headed for the door.

  Yes, Eddie. I see something I like very much.

  CHAPTER 3

  The Moon & Stars Children’s Cancer Foundation offices were in central Phoenix in the prestigious Camelback corridor near the Biltmore Fashion Plaza.

  Normally, it was a twenty-five to thirty minute drive from the Shea Investigations Scottsdale office. Jordan drove it in nineteen minutes flat, taking a shortcut through Paradise Valley and using her extensive familiarity of city streets to avoid the photo radar.

  The air conditioner hummed all the way there. Jordan left it on auto to keep the interior of the car at 72 degrees year round throughout the 110 plus summer days, the 60 or 70-something winter days and all the in-between days—such as today, still in the high 90s in autumn.

  Fall never fell in Arizona until long after it had keeled over everywhere else in the country. When Jordan lived in Chicago, fall was her favorite time of year—the transformation of the trees from lush and shady to magnificent and fiery, the pungent scents of wood and spice, the crispness of the air, the sweet and golden light, and the promise of the coming holidays. However, Chicago’s pleasant autumn was all too quickly replaced by the harsh brutality of midwestern winter—the wind and snow, the dirty slush and slick icy roads, the dull gray days, not to mention the bone-chilling cold.

  On the whole, I’d rather be in Scottsdale. Eight months out of the y
ear, anyway.

  The elegant stone, steel, and glass tower the foundation called home was one of several clustered in the bustling, upscale central Phoenix area where old territorial wealth blended and commingled comfortably with twenty-first century riches.

  Jordan found an empty space in the parking lot where her Jeep Cherokee fit perfectly. She crossed to the front of the building, dodging flying grass clippings blown off the sidewalk by industrious landscape workers. She inhaled the scent of the freshly mown grass. Sweet and clean, just like her memory of it from her girlhood in Illinois.

  Ah, those were the days. She loved it when Emilio, the gardener, rode the family’s awesome mower—from Jordan’s point of view anyway—over the two-acre lawn at the Welsh estate in Lake Forest. As a child, Jordan spent hour after hour watching him maneuver to and fro, back and forth, creative as any painter or sculptor as he wove a precise chevron pattern in the emerald green canvas. When she was old enough, Jordan took to riding the mower. Mary Welsh deemed mowing the lawn an unsuitable pastime for the offspring of two of Chicago’s most influential founding families. “Jordie, for heaven’s sake, the neighbors will think we’re going broke.” Jordan ignored her, as she most often did. Anything to thwart Mother.

  I do love you, Mother, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

  On those mortifying days her daughter mounted the mower and gleefully steered the small John Deere over the grounds as if it were an Italian sports car, Mary hid in the library until the tractor motor was silent.

  Jordan smiled at the memory and yanked open the glass door, welcoming the rush of cold air.

  Her heels clicked against the travertine as she crossed the lobby to the elevator. Once inside, she pushed button twelve, watched the numbers ascend one by one, and hummed along to a Green Day tune tamed for mainstream by strings and horns. The steel elevator doors opened straight onto a large reception area. The foundation’s trademark logo—a silvery moon surrounded by stars and fleecy clouds—hovered in a lapis blue sky on the wall behind the reception desk.

  The young man behind the desk smiled. “May I help you?”