Dangerous Comforts (The Ruby Danger Series Book 3)

by Rickie Blair

  Greaves tapped his fingers on the desk and broke in, impatient.

  “Then where—?”

  “She’s living with her son in a storm drain, Mr. Havelock.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What’s to understand? An elderly woman—your customer—was evicted from her home, and now she’s homeless and living in a storm drain.”

  Greaves cleared his throat, struggling to keep his voice neutral.

  “Miss Edwards, when you say ‘storm drain,’ where exactly do you mean?” He grabbed a pen from the blotter on his desk to copy Juliana Edwards’ number from his phone’s call display.

  “What does it matter? We can’t let her stay there. It’s awful. We have to find them another place to live. I’m going back later today to see what I can do.”

  “But if you could give me the address, perhaps I can help.”

  “I don’t know the exact address. It’s in a field. But even if Mrs. Havelock was willing to see you, I’m sure her son wouldn’t be as forgiving.”

  “We did the best we could for Mrs. Havelock. I’m sure you realize—”

  “Your best wasn’t good enough, was it?”

  Greaves tapped his pen on the desk.

  “I understand you’re upset, Miss Edwards, but—”

  “You had no right—”

  He raised his voice to talk over her, “—but I can’t help Mrs. Havelock if I don’t know where she is. The bank has many clients who own rental properties. I could put out a few feelers to try to find inexpensive accommodation for Millie and her son.”

  “You could have done that before,” Juliana said in a resentful tone.

  “I had no idea she didn’t have anywhere to go. No one told me.” When Juliana didn’t reply, he added, “You’re the first person to let me know. And I appreciate it. Let me help Mrs. Havelock. Tell me where she is.”

  “How long would it take you? To find her someplace to live, I mean?”

  “I can start making calls first thing in the morning.”

  “Then I’ll contact you tomorrow to see what you’ve found.”

  “Tell Millie—”

  “I’m not making any promises on your behalf.”

  “—that everyone at the bank is thinking of her.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.” The line went dead.

  Greaves replaced the handset, added Juliana’s cell number to his contacts list, and stared at the wall. Then he reached for the phone, tapped in a number and waited.

  Dragos Luca answered.

  “I know where she is,” Greaves said. “The widow.”

  * * *

  Luca drummed his fingers on his thigh, staring at his computer monitor. A search of hotels and homeless shelters had failed to turn up any sign of Zeke Turner or Norris Havelock. Luca’s call to Bucharest to tell his colleagues about Petru had been bad enough. Now they were demanding to know whether the auction was still on. He couldn’t put them off much longer. His cellphone rang and he pushed the speaker button.

  “What?” he shouted.

  “I know where she is. The widow,” Greaves said.

  “Where?”

  “I need twenty thousand dollars.”

  “Where the hell is she?” he shouted.

  “She’s in a storm drain. I don’t know which one, but I can get her accountant to take me there. I need twenty—”

  “I heard you. What accountant are you talking about?”

  “She came to the bank yesterday to ask about Havelock. Her name was Juliana Edwards.”

  “That old woman doesn’t have an accountant. What did this woman look like?”

  “I don’t know, medium height, black hair—not bad-looking. She thinks Havelock is the victim of a mortgage fraud.”

  Luca took a sharp breath.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That it was news to me, obviously.”

  “Do you have a photo of this woman?”

  “Why would I have a photo?”

  “You have surveillance cameras, don’t you?” Luca gave an exaggerated upward glance. Idiot.

  “Oh, right. I guess I can get our systems guy to lift one for you. Not until tomorrow, though.”

  “Send it to me as soon as you get it.”

  “And the twenty thousand?”

  “We’ll talk about that after I get the photo.”

  The twenty thousand wasn’t a problem because Luca didn’t intend to pay it. He would deal with Greaves later, after he had found the widow and her son. Zeke Turner was his priority. If he could locate him quickly, the original plan might still work.

  Although—storm drains? If Turner was still in the city, what better place to hide? Luca turned to his computer and clicked on the browser. Fifteen minutes later, he was stumped. There were over four hundred miles of storm drains and channels in the Clark County system. Where should he start looking? He got up and walked to the door.

  “Roman,” he called into the hall, “I have a job for you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Ruby slid off her stool in the Starlight casino and strolled across the lobby’s mosaic floor to the elevator off the casino floor. She had called Kingsley Greaves and he had promised to help Millie and Norris. And now—Ruby yawned as she pushed the elevator button—it was time to call it a night. As she watched the floor numbers flash above the elevator door, a roar erupted from the casino so she turned to look. A crowd around the craps table was laughing and slapping each other on the back. No sign of Hari, though. Horrified, Ruby realized she was blinking back tears. She closed her eyes a moment, and his stricken face flashed before her.

  I can explain.

  She hadn’t given him a chance, though, had she? When the elevator doors opened she stepped in and pressed the button for eight. Had she been too hard on him? But as the doors closed, another face flashed before her—a voluptuous brunette.

  Mrs. Yanez. His wife.

  Anger blazed in her gut. It must be one hell of an explanation, the one that she hadn’t hung around to hear. For someone allegedly grieving his girlfriend, Hari hadn’t wasted any time.

  A chime sounded. ‘Tenth floor,’ said the elevator’s melodious voice as the doors hissed open.

  Ruby stepped out and halted.

  Hunched on the leather bench opposite the elevator doors, with his head in his hands and his fingers poking out of his hair, was Hari. He looked up and their eyes met. Before she could say a word, he scrambled to his feet.

  “Ruby—”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.” His hair stood straight up in spots, his dinner jacket was off and his tie loosened. He looked exhausted. Her fingers twitched to brush his hair back off his face. She lifted one hand and just as quickly dropped it. Oh, no. Definitely not. She glared at him.

  “Why?”

  “Because I have to explain.”

  She turned up the corridor that led to her room, waving a hand behind her.

  “Forget it. I’m not interested.”

  “Don’t you at least want to know why I’m Mr. Yanez now?”

  She stopped and then turned to face him, still glaring. Bastard. He knew she couldn’t resist a mystery.

  “Okay, tell me that much.”

  Hari stepped closer, but as he got within a few feet she held up a hand to stop him.

  He took a deep breath.

  “The owner of this hotel, William Watson, hired me in London to investigate a fraud. I’m working undercover,” he gave a sheepish shrug, “hence the name.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “So who was—”

  “The woman with me tonight?”

  Ruby crossed her arms, waiting.

  “Her real name is Ana Valenzuela. She works for Watson. The wife thing,” Hari gestured with both hands, “is a disguise.”

  “So you’re not actually involved—“

  “Good Lord, no.” He shook his head vigorously with a pained expression. “No.”

  She regard
ed him with a frown, then turned to go.

  “Fine, you’ve explained it to me,” she said over her shoulder. “Good night.”

  “Wait.”

  She heaved a loud sigh and turned around.

  “Is there more?”

  “Yes.” Hari grabbed his dinner jacket off the bench and came after her.

  Ruby watched him as he halted before her to slip on his jacket.

  “Is this where you explain why you didn’t tell me that you’d left London?”

  Hari opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He closed his mouth and then tried again.

  “I honestly don’t know why I didn’t tell you. Watson insisted that I not tell anybody about the investigation, but … I should have told you.” His voice trailed off. He looked miserable. “I’m sorry.”

  Ruby looked away, swallowing hard.

  “I thought you didn’t want me to know where you were,” she said. “I thought maybe I was annoying you, and you … wanted me to go away and stop bothering you.”

  “No,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I never want you to stop bothering me.” He reached out to clasp her hand in both of his.

  Her heart stopped for a moment, then she yanked her hand away and marched off.

  “It’s late, I’m going to bed,” she called over her shoulder, her breath catching in her chest.

  In three strides Hari caught up to her, putting a hand on her shoulder and turning her to face him.

  “Ruby, please, wait. I know I’ve been difficult lately, and I’m sorry. But when I left New York for London, you said something that made me think that maybe …” he winced, “maybe your feelings for me had changed?” He took his hand from her shoulder, placing it under her chin to gently tilt her face up until she was looking directly at him. “Was I wrong? Tell me if I was and I’ll walk away and never mention it again.”

  She took a deep breath, sensing the chasm between them. Could she step into it and assume he would catch her? Her heart hammered as she looked into his deep brown eyes.

  “You weren’t wrong,” she said softly.

  Hari closed his eyes and exhaled. Then he opened his eyes, wrapped his arms around her and lowered his face to hers. He held her so tight that she could barely breathe, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered except his lips against hers and his hands, feverish and urgent. He drew back, leaning against the door behind him, to stroke her face with a trembling hand.

  She grasped his jacket lapels, pulling herself against his chest.

  “Don’t stop,” she said.

  “Where’s your room?” he asked, lowering his face to hers once more.

  The elevator doors hissed open. Ruby jerked her head around. Any moment now some tourist with a cellphone camera—

  “In here,” Hari whispered, reaching for the door handle behind him. They stumbled together through the entrance and he pushed the door shut with one hand. With the other he tangled his fingers in her hair and lifted her face to his.

  Ruby pulled her head back after a few moments, gasping.

  “Wait.” She placed a hand on his chest, waited for her breathing to slow, and sniffed the air. “Do you smell floor polish?”

  “Who cares?” With clumsy fingers, he struggled with his jacket.

  Ruby slid her fingers under the lapels, slipped the jacket off his shoulders, and dragged her fingernails down his back as it fell to the floor.

  Hari shuddered. Wrapping one hand around her waist, he fumbled with his belt and then slid the hem of her dress up. She gasped at the touch of his fingers and arched her back, moaning as he pushed her against the wall. Hazily, she realized someone was making a lot of noise. Oh, dear God. It was her.

  They eventually slid onto the floor in a tangle of limbs, panting.

  When they could talk again, he balanced himself on one elbow to look at her.

  “Ruby,” he said, his voice breaking.

  With a smile, she put a finger against his lips. He grasped her hand, turning it over to kiss the palm.

  Her eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light, and she glanced over his shoulder. Mops and brooms hung from hooks along the far wall, and plastic jugs of soap, bleach, and floor polish lined the metal shelves that circled the room. The floor was hard and there wasn’t enough space on it for two people, no matter how closely entwined. Ruby twisted her head to glance behind them and saw more shelves, stocked with towels. She tried to move, but her leg was jammed against the door. She tried again.

  “Hari, I think my foot is stuck in a bucket.”

  “What?” He jerked his head up and hit the shelf above him with a loud crack. “Ow!” He winced and closed his eyes as dozens of tiny soap bars cascaded over his head.

  Ruby giggled.

  “We’re in the janitor’s closet.”

  “Bloody hell.” Hari glanced around and his face fell. “I’m so sorry, Ruby. This is not—”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said, grinning. “In fact, I think you deserve added marks for flexibility.” She roared with laughter. Hari gave her a stern look, but the crinkles around his eyes diminished its effectiveness.

  She patted his cheek.

  “Let’s find our clothes and get out of here.”

  After carefully extricating her foot from the bucket and retrieving her panties, which were hanging from a jug of floor polish, Hari listened at the door for a moment.

  “The coast is clear. Let’s make a dash for your room.” He opened the door, turning to her as light flooded the space. Hari reached a hand to her face to gently stroke her cheek with trembling fingers.

  Then he took her hand and they sprinted along the hall to room 1012, where Ruby swiped her key card. They stumbled into her room, laughing as they tried to coordinate their passage through the narrow entryway while holding hands. Hari closed the door. Ruby sauntered to the bed and perched on the edge, facing him. He walked over to her, his eyes dark and bright.

  “Take that dress off.”

  She pulled it over her head, brandishing it in the air. “Better?”

  Buttons flew as Hari yanked off his shirt, then pushed her back onto the bed and slid over her. He slipped his thumbs under her chin and kissed her, a long slow kiss that left them both trembling, then rose on one elbow to study her face.

  “Ruby?” he asked, his voice still hoarse.

  “Yes?”

  “You’ll be here in the morning, won’t you?”

  Smiling, she patted his cheek.

  “I never miss breakfast, you know that.”

  He put a hand over hers and held it tight.

  “Don’t joke. You know what I mean.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  “I’m here for as long as you want me.”

  He lowered his face to hers.

  “Then you’ll be here a very long time,” he whispered.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Hari yawned with his eyes closed and flung an outstretched arm over— He pulled his arm back, raised himself up on an elbow, and stared. The other side of the bed was empty.

  “Over here.”

  Ruby waved from an armchair across the room. She wore a hotel terry robe, her bare feet were tucked under her, and her hair was damp from a shower. She looked wonderful. He knew he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn’t stop. His fingers tingled with the desire to touch her.

  “What are you doing over there? Come back.” He patted the mattress.

  “No, I want to tell you something and if I come over there, I might forget what it is.”

  He leaned against the headboard, drinking in the moment, trying to memorize every inch of her.

  “I could hear you better if you were closer.” He patted the mattress again.

  “Later.”

  He shook his head and tsk-tsked.

  “Promises.”

  “That was more than a promise. You don’t think I’m going to let you quit after only,” she looked at the ceiling, “how many times was it?”

  “Four.”


  She frowned at him, but with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Liar.”

  He held up both hands and gave her a bewildered look.

  “What about those extra marks for flexibility?”

  She crossed her arms in mock disgust.

  “I’m going to come over there and smack you.”

  “See? More promises.” When her smile faded, a sudden pang gripped his chest. As he sat up straight, his muscles tensed.

  “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  “I need your help with something,” Ruby said.

  “Anything.”

  “I’m working on a case, too. A widow who’s fallen victim to a mortgage fraud.”

  Hari relaxed back against the headboard.

  “Why? You’re supposed to be resting.” He patted the bed yet again. “Here, for instance.”

  She heaved a throw pillow at him. With a grin, he grabbed it in mid-air and tucked it behind him so he could lean up against it.

  “Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

  Ruby told him about Millie and Tinks and her visit to the bank. Finally, she told him about the homeless encampment.

  His muscles tensed again and he sat up straight.

  “Ruby, that’s a dangerous place to be at night. At any time, for that matter.”

  “It’s not that way, honestly. Almost everyone there was friendly.”

  “Almost?”

  She shrugged, poking her tongue into her cheek and looking away.

  “I have no idea what to do next, though. About the fraud, I mean. Can the thief be charged?”

  “Maybe. But it sounds as if your widow couldn’t afford her mortgage and the bank shouldn’t have approved it in the first place. That’s not a crime. Her mortgage fell into arrears which led to the foreclosure. It’s probably too late for her to get the house back even if she was able to pay the arrears.”

  “Which she can’t. But what about the seven-hundred dollar payments?”

  “That’s probably a fraud, I agree, but more than likely it doesn’t have anything to do with the bank.”

  “How would it work, then?”

  “It could be a piggyback scheme. Con artists find someone who’s declared bankruptcy, then transfer ownership of a small part of your widow’s house to the bankrupt person. The bank then needs a court order to proceed with a foreclosure.”