by Rickie Blair
The nurse gave her an annoyed look.
“I already told that man. There was no one in that room when I came on shift.”
“She was there yesterday, I saw her.” Ruby leaned over the counter, bouncing her foot. “An elderly woman? A little confused?”
“Quite possibly, but she’s gone now.” The nurse picked up the phone handset, tucked it into her shoulder and looked up. “Is there anything else?”
“Did you say a man asked about her?”
“Yes. He was here half an hour ago. I told him the same thing I told you.”
“Was it her son?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, punching a number into the keypad.
“Did he give you his name? Or leave a contact number?”
The nurse raised the phone to her ear.
“No.”
* * *
In the parking garage Ruby threw her purse into the car and slumped against the seat. She had Millie’s photos and checkbook but no way to find Millie. She pulled Norris Havelock’s photo from her bag to study it. Where was Norris? And who was the man who asked for Millie at the hospital, if it wasn’t him?
As she turned the key in the ignition, her eye fell on her purse. Millie’s bank must know where that seven hundred dollars had gone every month. The branch’s address and phone number was printed on each of her checks. Ruby pulled out Millie’s checkbook and tapped the number into her phone.
A woman answered.
“I’m calling about one of your customers,” Ruby said, “a Mrs. Millie Havelock. I’m looking after her finances and a few things are unclear. Her mortgage payments, for instance.” She jiggled the checkbook in her hand, holding her breath.
“Do you have a power of attorney?”
“Not exactly. There wasn’t time. Mrs. Havelock was in an accident.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What did you say your name was?”
“Abigail Baxter.”
“If you bring in a power of attorney signed by Mrs. Havelock, we’ll be happy to answer your questions, Miss Baxter.”
“I’m afraid she’s not able to sign a power of attorney at the moment.”
“If Mrs. Havelock is suffering from dementia or otherwise incapacitated, you’ll need a court order to access her records or change her accounts.”
“She doesn’t have dementia. She’s … missing.”
“Missing?”
“She was at the hospital and now … she’s not. And her house was foreclosed on by your bank, so—”
“One moment, please.” The call switched to canned music. Ruby tapped her fingers on the wheel. The canned music ended with a loud click.
“Miss Baxter? You’ll have to talk to Mr. Greaves, the manager.”
“Can you put me through, please?”
“I’m afraid Mr. Greaves is in Mexico at the moment.”
“When will he be back?”
“I don’t know, sorry.” With a click, the line went dead.
Chapter Fourteen
At the sound of Ruby’s panicked voice, Felicity sat bolt upright in the spa’s padded recliner with the cellphone pressed to her ear. Hair lifted on the back of her neck.
“What’s wrong?”
“Millie’s gone and no one at the hospital has any idea where she is.”
“But you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, but I don’t know what to do.”
Felicity leaned back against the recliner with a sigh of relief. After years of crisis management, she hit alert at the drop of a broken heel.
“Start at the beginning.”
Ruby recounted her visit to the hospital.
“That’s odd,” Felicity said.
“It’s more than odd. It’s impossible. She couldn’t have left without help.”
“She probably didn’t, then. Someone must have picked her up. Her son, most likely.”
“Then why didn’t anyone see him?”
Felicity snugged the cellphone against her shoulder. The pedicurist held up turquoise nail polish for her approval and Felicity nodded in agreement.
“Ruby, there’s nothing you can do. Stop worrying about Millie Havelock.”
“I hit her with my car, Felicity. I’m responsible.”
“No, you’re not. The police officer said it wasn’t your fault, remember?”
“But why was her house foreclosed if she was paying her mortgage?” Ruby’s voice rose. “Millie is a fraud victim and nobody cares.”
“Ruby,” Felicity adopted her most soothing tone, “if you believe there’s been a crime, then report it to the police. You’re an actress, not a fraud investigator.” She winced, quickly adding, “not at the moment, anyway.” No use renewing that debate.
Too late.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ruby’s voice was cold.
“I only mean that with Hari in London and you working on Philippe’s movie, that… ” Yikes. “That you don’t have time for that sort of thing right now.”
“That sort of thing?” Ruby’s voice rose again. “Why does no one take me seriously? Hari and I uncovered one of the biggest scams in history. How can you say I’m not a fraud investigator?”
“Oh, come on. In history? I think that’s an overstatement.”
“What would you know about it?”
“Excuse me? That is spectacularly unfair. And it doesn’t matter, anyway, because Hari’s not here.”
“Maybe he’ll come back when he hears I’m working fraud cases without him.”
Felicity closed her eyes. So that’s what this was about. How could she have been so dense? She lowered her voice to a soothing tone once more.
“Ruby, I don’t think Hari would be interested in a minor mortgage fraud thousands of miles from home. But why don’t you call him anyway?”
“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t he want to talk to you?”
Papers rustled on the other end of the line while a distant horn honked.
“Ruby? Are you in the car?”
“It’s always me who calls, and he has hardly anything to say when I do.”
“He’s depressed. He’ll get over it.” Felicity pointed at the phone and mouthed boyfriend trouble to the pedicurist, who nodded and made a sympathetic face. “Come back to the hotel. We’re in Vegas. Let’s have some fun.”
“Hmm,” Ruby said.
“So, are you on your way back?”
“I could try to find Millie’s son.”
“Do you have any idea where to look?”
“No, but—”
“Then what would be the point?”
Another sigh. More paper rustling.
“And what about Tinks?” Ruby asked.
“Put a note on Millie’s door with the vet’s address, tell a neighbor, or take the dog to a shelter. She’s not your responsibility, either.”
“I guess,” Ruby said.
It was a tone Felicity recognized all too well and it meant, I’m not letting this go. Because in all the years they had been friends, Ruby Delaney had never let anything go without wrestling it to the ground first.
“You’re due back on the set in three days. You need to relax. You know how important this movie is to your career.” She hastily added, “Your acting career, I mean.”
“Okay.” Ruby’s voice was heavy. “I’ll leave a note on Millie’s door about Tinks and come back to the hotel.”
“Perfect. I’ll make a dinner reservation. And call Hari, do.” Felicity clicked off the call and cradled the phone in her hand. Oh, what the hell. She selected a number and let it ring.
Sam Mitchell answered.
“This is a surprise.”
“Hi, Sam.”
“Hi, Sam? I haven’t heard from you in over a year and all I get is a ‘Hi, Sam’?”
“Nice to talk to you. How have you been?”
“See? Was that so hard? And I’m fine, no thanks to you. Why are you calling?”
“I’m in Las Vegas—”
“With Ruby. I know.”
“And I was thinking that maybe you’d like to join us.” Felicity screwed up her face while she waited for his reply. “What do you think? Interested?” The pedicurist held out two plastic flip-flops. Felicity slid her feet into them, taking care not to smear her freshly polished toes, and sat up. Still no answer from Sam. “Well?”
“You’ll have to explain that,” he drawled. “Why do you want me to come to Vegas?”
“It’s Ruby. She’s burned out and worrying about nothing. She needs a diversion and Hari is unavailable.”
“Hari? Her—”
“Business partner and close friend.”
“She’s mentioned him. Several times, in fact. Why is he unavailable?”
“Long story. But she talks about you all the time. You two,” she paused, searching for the right words, “get along, right?”
Even over the phone, Sam’s snort of derision was audible.
“There aren’t enough diversions for Ruby Delaney in Las Vegas? Now you need me? Call an escort service.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Sam,” Felicity snapped, “that’s not fair. And it’s not what I meant, obviously.” She took a deep breath, counting to ten. Why was she letting Sam Mitchell get to her? Felicity pictured his powerful shoulders and toned abs and… Sheesh. Where did that come from? Focus, Felicity.
“It’s not just her, you know. You have a lot riding on Secret Assassin, too.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. I only meant that if Assassin does great box office, you’ll be in demand even more than usual.” Bouncing her knee, Felicity held her breath.
“She has been a bit stressed out,” Sam drawled. “I told her to take it easy, but she’s determined.”
“So, will you come?”
“I have to go to Vegas, as it happens. For a business meeting.”
Business? Felicity was intrigued, but determined not to ask.
“That’s perfect, then. Come tonight and we can go out for dinner, the three of us.”
* * *
Sam Mitchell put down his phone, staring at the papers on his desk. He had finished the choreography for the new fights, and their production slots at the studio didn’t start until mid-week. There was time for a quick trip to Vegas, and an evening out with Ruby Delaney was a welcome prospect. She was beautiful, friendly, and fun—if a little high-strung at times.
Dinner with Felicity Chan was another matter.
It had been over a year since Felicity had broken off their brief relationship. He was certain she did not care for him anymore, if she ever had. But even after a year apart, Sam could not shake his feelings for her. It wasn’t for lack of trying. He had no trouble attracting women, and the studios that hired him were thronged with gorgeous young aspirants. They worked closely with him at the gym, heartbeats racing and sweat glistening, and many were delighted to continue their workout back at his apartment. But every so often he caught a glimpse of Felicity, striding across the studio lot to the executive offices for a meeting, her long black ponytail swinging behind her, and his heart stopped.
Maybe he hadn’t been good enough for her then, but that was about to change. Taking a deep breath to steady his hand, he reached for the phone to tap in a number.
Iain Oliver answered.
“Yes?”
“It’s Sam Mitchell. I’m coming to Vegas tonight, and tomorrow might be a good time for us to talk. Watson’s still interested, right? Because I have a couple other prospects—”
“I know, your new business. We’re interested. We need a few more details, though, about how the franchises would work. There are a lot of exercise places in Los Angeles.”
“My venture isn’t anything like those,” Sam said, launching into his elevator speech. “It’s a state-of-the-art fitness facility, built around a martial arts dojo with significant opportunities for branding. I’ve already lined up celebrity sponsors, people I’ve worked with—”
“Who won’t be putting up any cash.”
“No, but they’ll bring visibility which is a huge—”
“William will need to see numbers.”
“I’ll bring them with me. I think he’ll be impressed.”
“Maybe. Listen, while I have you on the line, we have something here that you could help us out with.”
Sam hesitated for a moment before replying.
“Would it be anything like that job last year? Because I’m not just dumb muscle anymore. I’m a businessman now.”
“We were impressed with that job.”
Sam’s knuckles turned white as he clutched the phone.
“Yeah, but that was a one-off.”
“We both know that’s not true. If you’re not interested in meeting tomorrow, we can discuss your investment opportunity some other time. Let me look at my calendar—”
“I didn’t say—”
“—next month, maybe?”
Sam closed his eyes and swallowed hard.
“Okay. Anything to help.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
He clicked off the call, cursing, then stood up and kicked the wastebasket across the room. It slammed into the far wall with a crack and rolled across the floor, papers tumbling out. He collapsed into his chair, grinding his teeth. Goddammit. What had he talked himself into now? He swiveled the chair around with his head back, staring at the ceiling. Felicity had shown no interest when he mentioned his business meeting. Not one ripple. He retrieved the wastebasket with a sigh, stuffed the papers into it, and slumped back into his chair. She would be interested, though, when he was driving around in a fancy car and taking meetings all over town. And with William Watson backing his new venture, how could it fail? As for the other … Felicity would never know.
He picked up the phone to book his flight.
Chapter Fifteen
From London to Las Vegas
Watson’s discount airline might be bare bones, but the sleek Learjet 85 that awaited Hari at London’s Northolt Airport definitely was not. After settling into an ivory leather seat, he glanced around at the gleaming wood trim and plush carpeting. The seven other seats in the spacious cabin were empty.
“Am I the only passenger?” he asked the air hostess, a young woman whose auburn hair was piled in waves atop her head.
“One more,” she said, bending to fasten Hari’s seatbelt. She smiled at him, her face only inches away. “He’ll be here presently. May I get you something while you wait?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
She nodded, patting his arm, and walked toward the cockpit. Hari admired her figure-hugging blue suit out of the corner of his eye until a movement outside the window caught his attention. A black sedan had drawn up on the tarmac beside the Learjet. The back door opened and Iain Oliver stepped out. He had a soft-sided travel case in one hand.
Hari narrowed his eyes. Watson hadn’t mentioned anything about his security chief accompanying him to Vegas.
Oliver boarded the plane and sat facing Hari, a table between them.
“Iain,” Hari said with a grin, “welcome aboard.”
Oliver grunted, leaning back with his eyes closed. Soon he was asleep. So much for conversation. Hari turned his attention to the Wall Street Journal lying on the table.
Two hours later, Oliver blinked, slowly opened his eyes, and turned his gaze on his fellow traveler. Oliver regarded him silently until a prickle of unease ran down Hari’s spine.
“Watson thinks quite a lot of you,” Oliver said. “I hope you won’t disappoint him.”
Hari tossed the Journal onto the table with a shake of his head and leaned in.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, you may be golden boy at the moment but that won’t last. You’re out of your depth here.”
Hari flopped back against his seat with a flush of surprise.
“If we’re going to work together, Iain, you’ll have to trust me.”
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Oliver scowled. “I didn’t help William build this company by trusting every bloke who comes along.”
Hari sat up and spread his fingers, looking through them at the table. Once again, Hari Bhatt must prove his worth. Would it never end? He looked up.
“I will find out who’s defrauding the Starlight, Iain. I promise you that.”
They locked eyes for a moment, then Hari leaned back with a shrug.
“You’re right about one thing, though. I don’t know all the corporate background. So fill me in. Have you known William long?”
For several moments, he thought Oliver wasn’t going to answer.
Then Oliver loosened his seat belt and straightened up.
“William and I were lads together in Glasgow. Then later I married his sister, Winnie.”
“When did you start working together?”
“From the beginning. William started his first company in his teens. He always knew how to make a penny. Had an uncanny knack for it, in fact.”
Hari looked up as the air hostess twisted the cork out of a champagne bottle with a soft pop and poured them each a glass. He accepted his with a nod of thanks and took a sip. In the two days he’d known Watson, he had drunk more alcohol than in the previous two months. Ruby would tease him if she learned about all the Scotch he’d consumed. Her favorite epithet for him was ‘Hari Bhatt, master of moderation.’ His smile faded. Too bad he couldn’t call her. He put his champagne glass on the table. He’d see her soon.
“Does your wife live in London?”
“She’s dead.” Oliver’s tone implied that further queries would be unwelcome. Pulling a prescription bottle from his jacket pocket, he shook out two pills and swallowed them, followed with a splash of champagne.
Hari turned his head as the attendant rolled a cart up to their table and set out cutlery, napkins, glasses, and silver plates. The spicy aromas of cardamon, cloves, and cumin tickled his nose. Lamb rogan josh, nestled into a mound of basmati rice. Picking up a fork, he looked over at Oliver who was tucking into a plate of … mush.
Hari did a double take.
“What are you eating?”
“Sirloin, I think. Chewing can be a problem when your jaw’s been broken as many times as mine.” Reaching for the salt, he glanced up at Hari. “Car accidents.”