She hurried to explain. “We have a case to solve. A case important for us, for the client, and for thousands of sick children. We must be getting close or this wouldn’t have happened.”
He set his jaw and clenched his fists but didn’t voice any objections.
“I want him just as bad as you. Believe me.” How could she keep him from exacting revenge? Maybe she couldn’t. “Let’s get some solid proof that Shetland’s the mastermind behind the embezzlement. We can go at him that way.”
He unclenched his fists. “Yeah. Okay.” The defiance in his eyes was replaced by … by … she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was damn close to glee, evil glee. She opened her mouth to ask what he was thinking when—
“I’m coming in,” Hannah announced as she entered. She carried a delicious smelling bed tray, which she laid across Jordan’s lap. “I made you an omelet with tomatoes, mushrooms, and Jarlsberg Cheese. Also some peach tea. Eat up, young lady.” She turned to Eddie. “You brought the Vicodin?”
He took a pill bottle from his pocket and gave it to Hannah.
Hannah checked the label and nodded. “If you need anything else, just yell.” She left them alone.
Eddie looked at the plate of food then up at Jordan. “She doesn’t really expect you to eat all that. Does she?”
“When there’s a crisis, she cooks.”
Her stomach was queasy from the heavy dose of painkillers taken earlier, and food was the last thing on her mind. She managed only a few bites of Hannah’s offering before laying the fork back on the plate.
Eddie’s cellphone rang—“Sexy and I Know It,” which meant it was Muggs. “Hello?” He listened. “Yeah?” He listened again. “I’m on my way.” He disconnected the call. “I have to go. Business.”
“Wait. You can’t leave now. You have to help me eat this thing. It’s enormous. No way I can eat it all, and she won’t give me any peace until it’s gone.”
“Jordan, I really gotta go.”
“Please.” She donned her most plaintive Poor Little Jordan expression.
He picked up the fork and wolfed down all but a bite or two. “There now, Mommy. Do I get a gold star?” He leaned in and gave her a quick, but nowhere near platonic, kiss on the lips. It was as if he’d done it unconsciously, as if it was their normal routine.
She nearly swooned.
“Get some rest. Consider that an order.”
“Okay.” His sweet kiss had caught her completely off guard. “I will.”
Eddie touched her chin and kissed her again. “Be good.”
She sank back against her pillows, a little giddy, and saluted him. “You’re the boss.”
“Yeah, right, and don’t forget it,” he shot over his shoulder as he walked out.
She drifted off, woke a few hours later and washed down a dose of the Vicodin with some tomato soup and half a grilled cheese sandwich.
As Monday closed in on twilight, a Godfather marathon on cable demanded her attention. After another round of painkillers, she drifted in and out, catching random scenes. Sadie, completely exhausted after her many hours of worried vigilance, was stretched out on the bed beside her, snoring and whistling in her sleep.
Hannah came in about halfway through The Godfather: Part II, the landline phone in her hand. “I’m sleeping in the guest room. I’ll be checking on you throughout the night, so leave your door open.” She handed Jordan the phone. “It’s Eddie.”
“Eddie?”
“Hey, girl.” His voice was low and considerate. “Hannah says you’re settled in. Sleep sweet tonight. Feel safe. Diego is watching the house. He’ll be there all night. Everything’s copasetic.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did. I have to take care of my girl.”
She fell asleep thinking of the case and how far they still had to go to solve it, of the frightening attack, of Hannah and her tender concern and of Diego standing watch over her. Most of all, she thought of Eddie and the jumbled up, confusing, delicious way he made her feel.
Tuesday morning was interesting, to say the least. She slept until nine and wanted to sleep longer.
Her body ached all over. There wasn’t a single spot that didn’t hurt. It took her almost ten minutes to maneuver from a prone to a standing position, using a series of small jerky movements spaced about a half minute apart.
Jordan shuffled into the bathroom, still not setting any land speed records. In fact, she was moving a lot like Grampa from The Simpsons. She set time and temp on her outrageously expensive but worth every bloody penny steam shower, turned around and caught sight of herself in the mirror.
“Holy crap.” Her shoulder was scraped, the welts an angry red. The area around the torn skin was bruised. There was a knot on her knee. The abrasion had scabbed over during the night.
“Same scabby knees I had when I was eight,” she said aloud. “No freakin’ progress. Mother would gloat and say, ‘I told you so.’ ”
Her gaze finally lifted to her face. “Could be worse, I guess.” The swelling was down, but her right cheek was a canvas in blue and purple. “Aw, man. No way can I go like this tonight.”
The annual Moon & Stars Masquerade Ball was at seven. It was important for her to be there, hobbling or not, black and blue or not.
Her expertise at makeup was limited to peach lip gloss and bronze eye shadow. While she managed pretty well with such a narrow palette most of the time, this situation called for considerably more skill. Too bad Da Vinci or Michelangelo weren’t available, but her favorite cosmetologist was darn close. While the steam built up, she called Rachel at the salon to make a house call.
She lingered in the steam for over twenty minutes then threw on a pair of gym shorts and a baggy tee, foregoing a bra.
As she scarfed down her exquisite waffles, she told Hannah, “I don’t know what I would have done without you yesterday. You were there for me when I needed you. I can’t thank you enough.”
Hannah’s face colored, and she covered her pleased smile with her hand. “I’m here whenever you need me. Honey, anyone would have done the same.”
“No, not just anyone. You’re the best.”
At five, Rachel arrived to work her magic.
Jordan met her at the door.
Rachel grimaced. “Have you been playing with the bad boys again, Jordan?”
Jordan shrugged. “Can you cover it up?”
Rachel winked. “Of course I can. It’s why you pay me the big bucks.”
Jordan laughed. “So that’s why. I always wondered.”
“I promise that by the time I leave here, no one’s going to know about this unless they check you out with a magnifying glass.” She pushed up her sleeves and dove in.
CHAPTER 28
The long approach to the Phoenician was lit up like a fairyland. White mini-lights twinkled in every bush and tree and along the pathway.
The Moon & Stars Masquerade Ball kicked off the party season in the valley. Always the first event in early October and always the most fun, it was the one and only costume bash of the season.
Each year when the invitation arrived, Jordan pinned it on her office board, marked her calendar and began planning her costume. Invitations to these kinds of soirees came to her only because she was her mother’s daughter.
There would be more toil than play for her at this year’s ball, not to mention the added burden of affecting a party mood while still stiff and sore all over from her tête-à-tête with Shetland’s goons. She wouldn’t be networking or reconnecting with old friends tonight. She’d be working the case.
The parking valets were backed up so she waited in the car a few minutes while others made their way inside. The costumes were amazing—spurred and booted cowboys and six-shooter-packing cowgirls, bejeweled harem girls and sheiks in flowing robes, fairy princesses and shining knights—how the heck did those knights get in and out of the car in that armor, anyway?
She put aside the conundrum when the valet
opened her car door and took her hand to help her out.
“Dude, cool.” He eyed her costume.
She handed over her car keys and offered a perfunctory smile, her mind already racing ahead to what she planned to do once inside.
He gave her a claim check. “May the force be with you.”
“You betcha.” She gave him a thumbs-up, gathered the skirt of her robe and went up the steps. This costume might not have been the best choice after all.
While the tickets were expensive in their own right, everyone there understood the unspoken agreement that they’d be contributing beyond the price of admission. The foundation’s key figures circulated among the guests and accepted these additional donations. All gave gladly; those who were able gave generously. The Moon & Stars Children’s Cancer Foundation was a most worthy cause.
The upper crust was out in force—business moguls, real estate magnates, local TV luminaries, sports stars, movers and shakers in general. At ease amid the lavish surroundings and the glitterati, Jordan scanned the crowd until she spotted Connie Brenner with Jeremy and Helen Parsons, friends of Jordan’s mother and owners of Parsons Art Gallery in Old Town. They were dressed as Abraham Lincoln and Mary Todd Lincoln. Nice, except Jeremy was short and rotund, as was Mary Todd Lincoln, while Helene was as tall and thin as Honest Abe.
As Jordan approached, Jeremy piped up, “Live long and prosper.”
“Wrong sci-fi, Jeremy. I’m Leia. Robe. Hair. Light saber.”
He nodded, his smile never wavering.
“You know, Star Wars?” Could I be any more of a dork? “May the force be with you?”
Still smiling, he saluted her, his fingers split to form a V. “Klaatu barada nikto.”
If you can’t beat ’em …. “That’s right, Jeremy.” Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.
The two Lincolns wandered off together, presumably to grossly misidentify someone else’s costume.
“I’m happy to see you, Jordan.” Connie was dressed as a graceful Tudor lady in brocade and ribbons and rustling, voluminous skirts. The costume was intricate, elegant, and suited her to a T. She looked beautiful and serene. “I’ve been trying to convince Nick to rehire your firm, but so far he hasn’t budged. He still thinks the press leak came from your office.”
“After he hears what I have to tell him, I’m confident he’ll change his mind.” Jordan gave Connie an envelope. “Here’s something extra for the cause. Mother put a check in, as well.”
“Thank you. Your family is always so generous.”
Nick Brenner’s voice came from behind them. “Hello, Jordan.” He was dressed as Henry VIII, authentic right down to the padded belly, tight leggings, and embroidered codpiece. Something about the elaborate codpiece threw Jordan for a loop. She didn’t think Nick’s intent was to draw attention to that part of his anatomy, but she was having trouble keeping her eyes off it. It was so artistic, so beautifully stitched, and in such an unfortunate location at the present time.
Jordan struggled to concentrate. “Nick, you need to know that Sharon Milliner, your employee, the director of development, leaked the story to the press. Not me. Not any of my staff.”
He looked and sounded surprised. “Really?”
“I have it from a reliable source.”
“And that would be …?”
“Sharon Milliner.”
He didn’t say anything right away.
Jordan congratulated herself for throwing him off balance.
“Connie, did you know this?” Nick asked.
“No,” Connie said, “but I—”
“Yes, dear.” He reacted with his usual aplomb. “You told me it wasn’t Shea who caused the leak.” Turning to Jordan, he took her hand between his. “I feel like a fool, going off half-cocked.”
Half-cocked? In this particular outfit, it takes on a whole new meaning. Stop it, Jordan!
“I know how worried you and Connie must be about this whole thing,” Jordan said. “It’s easy to jump to the wrong conclusions.”
“Will you accept my apology?” He sounded sincere.
Jordan smiled. “I do accept your apology.”
“If you can see your way clear, I’d like you to go back to working for us. After the way I treated you, I’ll understand if you say no. My staff and I are getting nowhere fast. We need you.”
She pretended to consider it, hoping the ruse came across as thoughtful, not ecstatic. “How can I refuse? It’s for such a good cause.”
“Thank you.” He pumped her hand and breathed a deep sigh. “Thank you so much. Glad that’s settled.”
“Nice costumes, by the way. Which wife are you, Connie?”
“Hopefully not one of the beheaded ones.”
Nick put his arm around Connie. “Never. Your costume’s great, too, Jordan.”
“Yes, it is,” Connie said. “Love the do.”
Jordan patted those big iconic buns on each side of her head. “Why thank you. Now, if you two will excuse me ….”
“May the force be with you.” Nick laughed. “Really. I mean it.”
Leia gathered her skirt in hand and walked away before any other costume jokes could be made. I mean, seriously. I’m not the one wearing the flowered jock strap.
Milo Wachowski looked ridiculous as Austin Powers. He picked up two drinks at the bar and carried them to a table on the far side of the room where Emmett Sullivan, decked out as Yosemite Sam, sat alone at a table set for six. Jordan made her way to the gourmet buffet. She paid little attention to the pickled asparagus spears, smoked salmon canapés, and vegetable brochettes but a lot of attention to Milo Wachowski and Emmett Sullivan.
Sullivan kept jabbing his finger at Wachowski. Their voices were loud and getting louder; heads turned in their direction. What was going on with those two?
Jordan added a couple of chocolate truffles to her plate then ambled over to their table. She was dying to know what they were fighting about.
“Oh.” She feigned surprise. “Mr. Wachowski. Mr. Sullivan. How nice to see you both. May I join you?”
Emmett scowled. His Yosemite Sam big red handlebar moustache was coming unglued on one side. He stood and looked around, agitated, breathing hard. The moustache fluttered pitifully with every panicked breath. His watery blue eyes searched Milo’s face.
“Now, Emmett.” Milo’s voice was low and controlled. “The lovely Leia will think you don’t like her.” His buckteeth, horn-rimmed glasses, and mod suit were so authentic, he should have sported a British accent. It was a funny costume, but the angry look he fixed on Sullivan wasn’t at all amusing. “Maybe you should sit down, Emmett.” His black-framed glasses slid down his nose. He used his middle finger to slide them back into place.
So it’s that kind of night.
Emmett sat and drained his glass.
Milo ran his finger around the rim of his highball. “How goes the investigation, Miss Welsh? Any luck?”
“Some. I have a pretty clear picture of how the money was siphoned.”
Milo gave a good impression of being bored. “Which would be …?”
She didn’t answer but waited to see if they had anything to offer.
“You really know?” Emmett’s voice was at least an octave higher than usual.
Milo Wachowski chewed his lower lip. “Are you going to share? How was it done?”
“I could tell you,” she patted the light saber belted at her waist, “but then I’d have to kill you. Do you have anything for me on Lenncore yet, Emmett?”
He shook his head and the red moustache flapped. At least it was a color match to his carrot top.
Jordan looked from one to the other. “Nothing, eh? I find that fascinating, just fascinating. It’s as if Lenncore Systems only exists on paper.”
Neither man spoke. Emmett was sweating so profusely, the moustache seemed to hang by a hair. Milo glared at her.
Let’s crank the screws just a teensy bit tighter. “Milo, could you recommend a good software desi
gn company? I need a program to camouflage certain transactions while working in concert with other software.”
Milo’s chin notched up. “No. Can’t say that I could.”
She stood, smoothed the hair bagels on either side of her head and turned away. “Well, so long, boys. Must run. You know how it is, Galaxies to save. Embezzled funds to find.”
As she circled the ballroom, Diego appeared in a New York Yankees uniform, followed a few minutes later by Muggs in his Superman costume. Mmm, nice muscles, no padding required. She was surprised to see the two. Tank seemed MIA.
Eddie was at the buffet table loading up on the high-dollar noshes. She smiled for no reason other than that he looked incredible. His black and white pinstriped suit was smooth across his broad shoulders and nipped in at his waist. The trousers fell in straight lines over his muscled legs. The cuffs revealed dapper spats over smooth black dress boots. The fedora was tipped at a rakish angle. She couldn’t confirm the machine gun slung across his back was a toy until she was very close.
“Hello, Eddie.”
His dark eyes swept her from head to toe. A smile spread slowly across his handsome face. “You’re looking very cosmic tonight.”
Her repertoire of snappy comebacks exhausted, she let it pass. “Didn’t know you’d be here. Wouldn’t think this was your kind of gig.”
“There are still things you don’t know about me. A couple, anyway.”
She snagged two Champagne flutes off the tray of a passing waiter and handed one to Eddie.
“And Diego and Muggs? Guess there are a couple of things I don’t know about them either—like they’re philanthropic.”
“Look, princess. Get it, princess?” He laughed at his own joke. “You’ve got cover. For as long as I’m jumpy, you’ve got it twenty-four seven. Why don’t you just relax and enjoy it?”
“Twenty-four seven?”
He nodded.
“All night long?”
He nodded again.
Who was missing tonight? “Tank?”
He grinned and popped a stuffed olive into his mouth.
She had nothing else to say.
Stealing the Moon & Stars Page 15