“I agree. It’s hard to believe we haven’t been propositioned yet. Kinda hard on the old ego.” Sylvia adjusted her big-rimmed sunglasses.
“I think it’s because nobody can see our faces behind the glasses and the scarves. On a good hair day, I’d have men lining up for a smooch.” Charlotte glanced at her friend. “So would you,” she added, trying to be nice.
Sylvia had never had Charlotte’s looks. What she did have was a personality and a big heart. It was too bad she and Frank had never had kids. At least then she’d have a Lexie in her life, Charlotte thought.
“Look! That’s him!” Sylvia pulled on Charlotte’s blouse. “The fat, balding man, sneaking around the corner!”
He didn’t go into the store entrance. Instead, he appeared to be sneaking around the side.
“That bastard. Is there a back entrance we missed?” Charlotte asked.
“I don’t know. But at least we know he’s back.”
Charlotte nodded. “Now all we have to do is wait for his daughter to leave and we can ambush him!”
When the woman stepped out of the store at noon, Charlotte and Sylvia glanced at each other, locked gazes, nodded once and strode across the street, two women on a mission.
If Lexie didn’t want to discuss anything serious, then fine. Coop wouldn’t discuss anything serious. But that didn’t mean the revelation he’d had earlier wasn’t bouncing around inside him. And damn if he knew what to do about it.
After all, he’d gone and done the one thing he’d promised himself he’d never do again. He’d fallen in love with a woman who couldn’t love him back or stay in town long enough to let life and love develop. What were the freaking chances he’d fuck up twice?
Pretty darn good, apparently.
At least he hadn’t outright told her how he felt. He still had some dignity intact.
They showered—separately—and headed over to her grandmother’s apartment. Coop drove. His mood permeated the car, and neither one of them spoke on the way there.
Once at her grandmother’s, Charlotte wasn’t home.
“I swear the woman has radar,” Lexie muttered, to herself. “Come. Let’s check Sylvia’s place.”
He followed Lexie down the hall and waited as she banged on the other woman’s door. Nobody answered.
“Of course not,” Lexie said, her voice thick with frustration.
“Let’s go back to your grandmother’s.” He took the lead, and she followed behind him.
They sat at the kitchen table, staring at each other in silence. As a reporter, Coop had been in this position before, unable to find a person from whom he needed information, and asked himself what he’d do if Charlotte were any other source.
“We need to draw her out,” he said, answering his own question.
Intrigued, Lexie leaned across the table, chin against her hand. “How?”
He tried to ignore the inquisitive furrow between her brows but found the tiny wrinkles cute. So were the freckles on her nose.
Damn.
He closed his eyes and attempted to focus. “We need her to want to talk to us.”
“What if…” Lexie’s voice trailed off.
Coop opened his eyes. “What? Say it.” The only way they’d figure this out was to bounce ideas off each other.
She pursed her glossed lips. “Okay, I don’t like this. But what if we take the necklace and leave a note in its place?”
“Then she’d have no choice but to come looking for us. It’s brilliant! You’re brilliant!” Coop said, excited with the idea.
At the compliment, pleasure flashed across her face and Coop rose from his chair to kiss her, but as reality dawned, self-preservation kicked in, and he quickly lowered himself back to his seat.
She visibly flinched from his withdrawal. “Let me go see if I can find the necklace. Hopefully, she’s not hiding it,” Lexie said, dashing from the room. She returned seconds later with the necklace dangling from her hand. “Ta da!”
“Perfect. Now the note,” Coop instructed.
She handed him the necklace, pulled paper and pen from a drawer and wrote her grandmother a ransom letter, propping it up against the fake fruit centerpiece on the table.
“Now what?” she asked.
“We head to my place and wait her out.” Which Coop figured would be easier said than done.
If he and Lexie weren’t having easy conversation, they certainly wouldn’t be killing time by having sex. Which meant that until Charlotte showed up, they were in for an awkward, uncomfortable stretch of time.
Ricky couldn’t believe the two old biddies had tied him to his chair with scarves they’d brought with them. They’d trussed him up with knots tighter than a Boy Scout’s.
“What do you want?” he asked.
They exchanged incredulous glances.
Charlotte had propped her sunglasses on top of her scarf-covered head and he was able to look into her determined gaze. “I want my wedding ring. The one I gave you that night at the Lancasters so nobody would realize one of us had on a ring or any kind of outstanding clue,” Charlotte said.
As if he needed the reminder. That had been his rule. One she’d forgotten during their last hurrah, so he’d pocketed the ring.
“And I want the bracelet!” Sylvia had lowered the glasses to the tip of her nose, looking at him over the rims like a librarian. “I’m sure you remember it. The one that matches her necklace from the Lancaster job. You were supposed to meet up with us and divide the loot, and you never showed. Sneaky, no-good, lying bastard.” Sylvia kicked his shin with an orthopedic shoe.
“Ouch! Dammit, settle down,” Ricky yelled at her. “Let me go before someone comes into the store and finds you two idiots.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Sylvia, you start there.” She pointed to a set of drawers. “I’ll look here.” She sat down at his desk.
Together they began ransacking the back room and his private drawers and stashes in a futile search for their missing items.
He leaned back in his chair, relaxed despite the circumstances because they wouldn’t find what they were looking for. Ricky might have kept things like a hoarder, but the two items they’d come looking for, those he’d hidden in a safe place.
“Hey! I recognize this.” Sylvia held up a brooch from one of their first heists. “I thought we agreed we’d only take enough so that we each ended up with one piece. To keep or sell if we needed the money.”
Charlotte rose from the chair. “You mean to tell me you took other things from those jobs?”
Ricky remained stubbornly silent. He wasn’t engaging these two lunatics in an argument, and when he didn’t reply, they went back to work, poring through every nook and cranny they could find.
Ten minutes later, they’d pretty well covered everything.
“Not here,” Sylvia said, sounding defeated.
“I can’t find them, either.” Charlotte perched her hands on her slim hips—Ricky’d always had a thing for her slim hips—and strode over. “I want my wedding ring back, and I want it now.”
Sylvia reared her leg back for another kick.
“Whoa! No more kicking me, you old battle-ax!”
“Then tell us where our things are,” Sylvia said.
Ricky shook his head. “How about a deal instead?”
“What kind of deal? And talk fast,” Charlotte said, obviously realizing they might be running out of time before his daughter returned.
“You get my ring back from that nosy reporter, and you make sure he and his lady friend back off their investigation of the ring. And of me. My daughter told me they’ve been snooping around, asking questions. Then we’ll exchange goods.” He smiled, knowing he still had the upper hand.
Sylvia glanced at Charlotte. “Think we can manage that?”
Charlotte muttered under her breath.
Ricky couldn’t hear, nor did he care. He only wanted her to take the deal.
“Fine,” she said at last. “But we’re hold
ing you to it. No weaseling out, disappearing or taking what’s ours.”
“Fine,” Ricky said. “Now untie me.”
“Wait. There’s one more thing,” Sylvia said, glancing at Charlotte as she always used to do, for the okay.
Charlotte shrugged. “Okay, why not.”
“What’s she talking about?” Ricky asked. “What’d you just agree to?” An uneasy feeling settled over him, and while he was looking to Charlotte for answers, Sylvia kicked him again, harder this time.
“Oww!”
“Quit crying like a baby. And you’d better hold up your end or the next one’ll be in the nuts,” Sylvia promised before grinning at Charlotte. “Now we can untie him.”
After all the excitement of the day, Charlotte needed a nap. Unfortunately, she also needed to formulate a plan. How in the world would she get Coop to give her the ring and agree to stop digging into the story? She doubted he’d do all that, even for love.
“Any ideas yet?” Sylvia asked.
“No, and stop talking. You’re giving me a bigger headache than I already have. I need to think.”
They walked into Charlotte’s apartment, and before she could ask her friend to go home so she could sleep, Charlotte caught sight of a note on the kitchen table.
“It’s from Lexie. I recognize the handwriting,” Charlotte said. She opened the folded paper and read aloud. “We have your necklace. If you want to see it again, we want to see you. There’s an address below it,” Charlotte said, figuring it was Coop’s apartment.
She fell into the nearest chair, feeling every one of her seventy-nine years.
“Oh, no!” Sylvia said. “Now what?”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m taking two Tylenol and then a nap. I know my limits, and I’ve reached them today.” She was exhausted; her brain was fried. And panic over what Lexie knew was threatening to overwhelm her. “We’ll decide what to do when I wake up.”
Sylvia nodded. “I’m exhausted, too. Nobody ever told me getting old was so hard.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. Sylvia always had been such a drama queen. “What do you say we meet up again later?” she asked over a yawn.
“Sounds good. By then maybe your brain cells will rejuvenate, and you’ll have a plan,” Sylvia said, rising from her chair.
She always had the utmost faith in Charlotte to get them out of any jam. In the past, Charlotte had enjoyed the leadership role. Today, though, she just felt tired.
And old.
Lexie sat, legs crossed, on the large windowsill, looking out Coop’s window at the view of the city below. Lights flickered in the darkness, and she wondered how many people walking the streets were as conflicted as she was.
Coop had been holed up in the bedroom since dinner, working on his laptop. She assumed he was writing and not tapping out an assignment, but who knew? He certainly wasn’t talking. And she could pinpoint the exact moment his mood and behavior had changed.
After he’d said, I more than like you, and she’d bolted like a scared rabbit.
She’d tried to work, pushing thoughts of her love life aside. She’d registered Coop’s domain name and gotten his okay on the proposed design for his site. He’d beamed with pride when she’d showed him her work, his book cover a prominent feature on the home page. She’d used his newspaper photo as a placeholder, but he’d balked at the notion of having a professional photograph taken.
In fact, he’d sounded appalled. Lexie grinned, recalling the horrified expression on his face. But she wasn’t finished trying to convince him. She’d spent some time accumulating Web site links of other famous authors who had causal photos on their pages. She planned to ambush him with them later. She could imagine readers seeing Coop’s handsome face on his Web site. She knew she’d return over and over for a glimpse. He might not like that aspect of utilizing his photograph, but if it ultimately led to book sales based on his talent, then he ought to get used to it.
But once she’d focused on Coop and not just his Web site, she’d lost her concentration and found herself here at the window, staring out at the world, wondering why the emotional part of life had to be so complicated.
She was unable to sort out the waves of panic engulfing her at the thought of Coop developing real feelings for her. Was it that she couldn’t trust in those feelings? Or was it that she was afraid those feelings would come with expectations for her to settle down? And would that be so bad? If Coop was the reason?
Sara had accused her of using travel to run away from problems at home. But Lexie couldn’t imagine giving up her many sojourns around the world, feeding her mind and her soul with different cultures, images, sights and smells. Losing that ability would stifle her. So how could something that brought her such joy really be an escape? Besides, Coop understood how important her travels were, so would he really expect her to give them up completely?
She was afraid to find out.
Afraid she’d have to choose.
Afraid of leaving him.
And afraid of being asked to stay.
Lexie let out a huge sigh, no closer to understanding her conflict or coming to a resolution when suddenly she heard the sound of someone playing with the lock on the front door.
Chapter Fifteen
Heart in her throat, Lexie headed for the front door.
Coop had also been on guard and came up behind her.
“Why isn’t she knocking?” Lexie asked softly.
“Good question. I left the bolt undone, so let’s see what happens.” Coop paused a few feet away from the door, folded his arms across his chest and waited.
Lexie stood by his side.
After a few more minutes of listening to the sounds of someone playing with the lock, Coop reached out and yanked open the door.
A large, bald man stumbled into the apartment first, followed by Charlotte, then Sylvia. All three righted themselves and looked up, Charlotte and Sylvia with a guilty look in their eyes.
That was something, at least, Lexie thought. “Grandma, what’s going on? And who is this man?”
“My guess is that his name is Ricky Burnett,” Coop said. “Am I right?”
“In the flesh.” The older man stuck out his hand in greeting.
Coop shook it, though he looked at Ricky as if he had a screw loose in his head. “Living room. Now,” Coop ordered the trio.
Lexie shook her head and followed them inside.
The visitors sat on the sofa, the two women on one side, Ricky Burnett on the other. Charlotte, to Lexie’s relief, looked perfectly healthy, a glow in her cheeks.
“I want an explanation and I want it now,” Lexie told her grandmother. “Start at the beginning.” Lexie settled into Coop’s recliner and steeled herself for whatever crazy story was sure to come.
Coop dragged a kitchen chair into the room, straddling it backward. “And don’t leave anything out.”
The three elders each let out a put-upon sigh, but no one stepped up to speak.
“Let’s start with why you didn’t just knock on the door,” Coop said.
When nobody answered, he turned his reporter’s stare on Ricky. “Let me guess. You broke in once, figured it was so easy you’d do it again.”
Ricky looked down at his khaki pants. “You changed the lock,” the other man muttered.
Coop rolled his eyes. “Did you think I wouldn’t? Better yet, did you really think we’d just leave the necklace out in plain sight so you could take it?” he asked, turning his pointed gaze on Charlotte.
“It was worth a shot,” Lexie’s grandmother said, a bit too defensively, in Lexie’s opinion. “I’m actually just retrieving my own property.”
That was open to debate. Her grandmother’s audacity was not, and Lexie clenched her jaw. “Let’s not go there just yet.”
Coop nodded. “So now that we’ve confirmed who broke in the first time let’s go back to how you three met. That’s a simple enough question for all of you to tackle.”
“I was b
orn and raised in the Bronx, New York,” Charlotte began.
Lexie shot her a warning look.
“Okay, fine.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Sylvia and I grew up as neighbors in the Bronx; you know that.”
“But at the time in question, I was set up with Ricky on a blind date. Later he gave me a job at the jewelry store where he worked,” Sylvia said.
“I was the manager of the store,” Ricky added.
Lexie nodded. “Better.”
“It wasn’t easy for women to get jobs back then. We were expected to marry and have babies.” Charlotte’s mutinous expression said it all on that subject.
“True. It wasn’t the we-can-have-it-all attitude women have today,” Sylvia added.
“And neither one of us was ready to settle down. There was just too much of the world to explore, things to do, people to meet,” Charlotte said, her voice rising in excitement.
And sounding too much like Lexie, the world traveler, for Lexie’s comfort, given the illegal, immoral detour the story was about to take.
“Go on,” she said tightly.
“Well.” Charlotte inclined her head. “Given that it wasn’t easy for single women to find work at nontraditional jobs and sewing just wasn’t my thing—I occasionally had to resort to…” Charlotte’s voice trailed off, her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment.
“Stealing,” Lexie finished for her, her stomach cramping.
“It could have been worse. I vetoed prostitution,” her grandmother said.
“Oh, God,” Lexie said.
“Your parents wouldn’t help?” Coop asked gently.
Of course, he didn’t feel the same sense of betrayal that was coursing through Lexie at the moment. No question, her grandmother had made bad choices in her life, and maybe she’d had her reasons. They’d find out. But to think Charlotte had lied to Lexie, of all people…it hurt worse than discovering there was no Santa Claus, Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy. And hadn’t Charlotte been the one to keep those illusions going as long as possible?
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