"You knew about that?" Maybe he wasn't as oblivious to the goings on at Knights as Tanya and I thought. Which meant he probably knew about all my work-avoidance techniques. And yet he hadn't fired me…
He leaned against the porch rail and looked at me through his shaggy fringe. "Tired?" he asked.
I nodded. "You?"
He nodded. "Hey, I nearly forgot." He reached into his jeans pocket and handed me a folded piece of paper.
I unfolded it and read:
Dear Kitty Cat,
Working with you on POTC 4 was a blast. Sorry to hear you'd left the biz. All the best in the real world.
Love, Johnny.
"Johnny?" I frowned. "Johnny Depp! Oh my God, Will, you asked him for an autograph?"
"You seemed devastated when your book was destroyed in the fire, so I emailed all the agents of the stars I know you worked with and told them your predicament. He's the first to respond but I'm hoping the others will start trickling in."
"Emailed? You?"
He gave me a crooked grin. "I do know how to email, Cat. I found the agents' information on their websites."
And all this time I'd done all the computer work for him thinking he was too busy, or too hopeless, to learn.
"Will, you're the best." I hugged him and he held me, cradling me gently against his solidness and resting his cheek on my head. We fit together perfectly and neither of us moved for several minutes.
Eventually he said, "I better go and let you get some sleep." But he didn't move. Instead he looked out over the front garden, his face in profile. Despite the hazy early morning light, I could see the sadness in the grooves around his eyes, the downturn of his mouth. I got the feeling the events of the previous night would weigh heavier on him than it ever would on me.
"Will?" I touched his fingers.
He continued to stare at my mother's garden bed. "Yeah?"
"Can I come home with you?"
He turned his attention to me and a hint of a smile played at his perfect lips. "For as long as you want." He bent and pressed those lips to my forehead. Then he drew me into a delicate embrace and buried his face in my shoulder.
I stroked his back when his body shuddered. "So," I said when we drew apart, "looks like you're going to need a new full time P.I."
"Forget it, Cat, I'll advertise."
"But I'm good. I have a one hundred percent success rate."
"One hundred percent disaster rate."
"I'm cheap."
"So I don't have to take you to Monica's Restaurant this weekend?"
"I'll make an exception."
He smiled then quickly sobered. "Seriously, Cat, putting you on as a P.I. will send my blood pressure through the roof. I'm an old man, you know."
"You're not old. Grumpy, but not old." I stood on my toes and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Anyway, you're only as old as you feel." I reached around and squeezed his butt. "And you feel damn fine to me."
EPILOGUE
After leaving Hollywood, I'd shelved all my ambitions of fame, no matter how small they'd been to begin with. But wouldn't you know it, getting kidnapped and beaten up by a bank robber got me more TV time than most B-list celebrities dreamed of. Everyone wanted a piece of me. It lasted about a week when I was bumped in favor of a kitten stuck down an elevator shaft. You can't beat that.
Once the bruising on my face lessened (nothing was broken, thank God) I went back to work. As a P.I. Yep, Will came through, and after only a teensy bit of encouragement from me. And from Gina. And Mom. And the waitress at Trendz Café and just about everyone else.
Except Scarface. He visited me at Mom's a few days after Carl's arrest.
"You're a walking disaster," he said with a shake of his head. He touched my chin to tilt my head back and get a better look at my cheek. His brow crinkled and concern shadowed his good eye. "You okay?"
Annoyed at his wisecrack, I moved away and sat on the couch. He sat opposite, looking awkward and out of place in Mom's living room. I figured he'd look out of place in anything but a grungy bar.
"Couldn't be better," I said. It was true. I felt like my life was finally moving forward. I had a new job, a new man, and I was a local celebrity, plus the rest of the insurance money for my apartment had finally come through so I was going shopping as soon my face no longer elicited shocked gasps.
"I hear you're going to be working for Will as an investigator," he said, fixing me with one of his paralyzing one-eyed glares. "Poor bastard."
"Hey!"
He grinned. "I bet his no domestics policy won't last."
I humphed and crossed my arms. "It's Will's company, not mine."
"Yeah, but you're female."
Mom entered carrying two mugs of coffee. She handed one to Scarface, watching him all the time through lowered lashes, and gave the other to me. She left the room without saying anything. I don't think she liked me having male visitors that weren't Will. Funny how she'd already fallen under his spell. He can be quite charming when he puts some effort into it. I think she'd taken it upon herself to be his self-appointed watchdog while I convalesced. Dad would have been proud.
"So did you just come here to tease me?" I asked.
Scarface sat back and settled into the chair and the conversation. "We searched Carl's house and found his key and the rest of the safety deposit box number, scribbled on a torn piece of paper that fit the one you gave us. After a little gentle persuasion in the form of a court order and negative publicity, Bank Swiss handed over the cash."
"Do I get a finder's fee?"
"You're lucky you don't get arrested for obstruction of justice, among other things." He looked very serious, a common expression on Scarface so I wasn't too concerned. I figured he'd break into a cheeky grin at any moment and tell me everything was cool.
"Lucky me." I laughed.
"You withheld evidence."
Okay, maybe I had a lot to learn when it came to reading people.
"And then there's the breaking and entering."
"Lou's neighbor let me in. With a key."
He grunted and stood quickly. I stood too and found myself standing toe to toe with him. Boy, he moved fast. His hands brushed up my bare arms making the little hairs stand on end. He smelled like spices with a hint of tobacco. I tried not to let on that I was struggling to keep my beating heart under control. I was a taken woman, damn it, I shouldn't swoon in other men's arms!
"Cat," he murmured, "for a sexy woman, you've got balls."
I cocked an eyebrow. "Is that a compliment?"
His answer was to kiss me lightly on the lips. I was momentarily lost in the tenderness. Fortunately I had enough focus to think of Will and pull away.
"Don't," I said on a breath.
"Sorry." He moved toward the door. "But if that boss of yours ever stops appreciating your…work, you know where to find me." Then he left.
After a long, still moment, I picked up the phone and dialed Will's number. "Hey," I said when he answered. "Just wanted you to know I miss you."
I know it's impossible but I swear I heard him smile down the line. "I miss you too, Kitty Cat."
THE END
Now Available:
Eeny Meany Miny Die
The second Cat Sinclair Mystery novel.
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Books by Carolyn Scott
Live and Let Lie: Cat Sinclair Mystery Prequel #0.5
Finders Keepers Losers Die: Cat Sinclair Mystery #1
Eeny Meany Miny Die: Cat Sinclair Mystery #2
The Diamond Affair
You Again
About The Author
Carolyn Scott has published short stories in women's magazines on two continents including Take A Break, Woman's Day and That's Life. She has at various times worked as a librarian, IT support person and technical writer but in her heart has always been a fiction writer. Carolyn spent her early childhood in the dramatic beauty of outback Queensland, Australia, but now lives in suburban Melbourne with her husband and two children.
Check out Carolyn's website for details of all her contemporary mystery books: http://www.carolynscottbooks.com.
Carolyn is also available on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/CarolynScottAuthorPage
Stop by for sneak peeks, teaser and a chat!
She also writes historical novels under the name C.J. Archer. You can find out more about C.J.'s books at http://cjarcher.com
***Have you read THE DIAMOND AFFAIR by Carolyn Scott? Here's the description, and read on for an excerpt.***
Ruby Jones is the luckiest gemologist in the world. After all, how many can claim to have handled the famous "lost" Florentine Diamond, once worn by Habsburb Empresses? But her luck runs out when the diamond is stolen from ruthless businessman Guy Beauvoir. As the one commissioned to verify it, she's his prime suspect. With Beauvoir's goon chasing her all over the city, there's only person Ruby can turn to.
Jake Forrester doesn't want anything to do with Ruby, but he owes her brother big. The ex-special ops soldier turned private security agent is moving interstate, and the last thing he wants is a complication in the form of his mate's sexy little sister. The sooner he can find the Florentine and return it to Beauvoir, the sooner he can walk away.
If only it were that simple. Keeping Ruby safe is turning into a full-time job, and having her close is playing havoc with his determination to forget the secrets he's tried so hard to bury.
THE DIAMOND AFFAIR
By Carolyn Scott
CHAPTER 1
Ruby Jones had thought she was alone with her diamonds. She was wrong. Someone was in the hallway beyond her workshop door. The tap tap of footsteps on the floorboards was loud in the silence, louder even than her rapidly beating heart.
She froze. At ten p.m, visitors to her first floor workshop were only there for one thing.
To steal her gems.
Maybe, just maybe, her presence would scare off the opportunistic thief. "Is that you, Aaron?" she called out, though the footsteps didn't belong to her assistant. After working together for four years, she knew his light, rapid step. These footsteps were heavier, slower, as if the person were being cautious. Or trying to sneak.
Ruby sat very still, straining to hear over the blood rushing between her ears. Silence. Maybe she'd been mistaken. After all, there was more than enough jewelry in the downstairs store safes to keep him occupied. Why would anyone need to venture upstairs at all?
Bolstered by logic, she got up to investigate. She picked up the slim jeweler's knife, just in case logic proved fallible, and eyed the telephone on her desk. If she called the police based on footsteps alone, she'd sound paranoid. But she had heard something. Better to be safe than sorry.
She reached for the phone just as the door swung open and crashed back against the wall. She gasped. A gorilla of a man stood in the doorway holding a gun.
She knew him.
"Don't touch the phone," he growled. He waggled the gun, directing Ruby away from the desk. "Drop the weapon."
Ruby obeyed although her shaking body didn't want to move out of reach of the phone. But she knew the consequences if she didn't do as ordered. The intruder had a reputation for ruthlessness. His boss even more so.
But the boss had no reason to rob her, or send his goon around to wave a gun in her face. He was insanely rich, he didn't need to resort to petty theft. What was going on?
"You're Frank, aren't you?" she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Guy Beauvoir's employee?"
"Head of security actually." He thrust out all of his chins, making the ruddy flesh wobble. ‘Fat Frankie' his boss had called him yesterday, but only after the gorilla left them alone in Guy's office. Even Beauvoir didn't want to insult him to his face.
She swallowed and waited, torn between talking to him and keeping her mouth shut. His gaze darted around the small room, taking in her equipment and tools before settling on the small diamonds lying loose in the tray on her workbench. His gaze flicked back to her.
"What do you want?" she asked, unable to keep quiet any longer.
"Where is it?" he said from the doorway.
"Where is what?" She shrugged. "If it's gems you're after there's some in that tray, the rest are in the safe." She indicated the sturdy safe squatting in the corner. "Take what you want. I'm insured."
"Open the safe."
She hesitated and he pointed the gun higher, aiming at her head. One shot and she was dead. Ruby didn't doubt for a second that Fat Frankie would have any qualms about pulling the trigger. Panic and bile rose in her throat as she fumbled with the combination lock.
The door opened and she pulled out tray after tray of diamonds, sapphires, rubies and other precious and semi-precious stones. Some were still in their raw form, others cut, polished and ready to be crafted into jewelry pieces by herself or Aaron. It broke her heart to think all their hard work was about to be snatched away by the sausage fingers of Fat Frankie simply to fill the vaults at Guy Beauvoir's mansion.
She had no idea why one of Australia's richest and shadiest men wanted her stash of gems, but she wasn't about to argue with his right-hand man. Not when he was reported to be trigger-happy and fiercely loyal to his boss.
Damn it, why had she accepted Beauvoir's offer to visit him yesterday against her better judgment? Frankie's presence must be connected. But how? If only she'd refused the invitation.
There was no point speculating because she would always have accepted his offer to view the Florentine diamond. No matter that she knew he must have procured it through the black market. It had been a once in a lifetime opportunity. She didn't regret it, even now.
She knelt in front of the safe, holding the trays, Fat Frankie standing over her. He clicked his tongue. "It's not here." He kicked the nearest tray, scattering her stones—her precious, beautiful gems—all over the workshop. It would take her forever to find them all.
"What are you doing?" she shouted. "Stop it!"
"Then tell me where it is." His foot nudged another tray.
"Where what is?"
"The diamond?"
"There are diamonds all over my floor," she snapped. "Which one in particular?" Even as she said it, she knew. There was only one diamond Guy would be concerned about losing. One extremely valuable diamond. "The Florentine," she said on a breath.
"Yeah, that's it," Fat Frankie said, his jowls lifting. "The Florentine."
"I don't have it."
"Wrong. The boss says you do and I've gotta retrieve it. Whatever the cost." He shot her a cruel smile and his hand flexed around the gun.
She swallowed down her fear and stood. This was absurd. There must be some mistake. How would she, a small-time gemologist and jeweler, get past Guy Beauvoir's security? The man had more locks and alarms than a bank. The idea that she could steal even a pencil from him was ridiculous.
"Mr. Beauvoir must be mistaken," she said. "I don't have the Florentine. Why in the world does he think I do?"
Fat Frankie hesitated as if weighing up whether to tell her. "You were the last one to handle it," he finally said. "And you overheard the boys discussing which route they were going to take to get it to the boss's house."
She had? She frowned, trying to recall the previous day when she'd been charmed
by Guy Beauvoir in his suite of offices. But all she could remember was the Florentine and its magnificent clarity. The color was a rare citron and the light bounced off its facets in glorious patterns. She'd never held anything like it. It was as beautiful as she'd always imagined.
"You were seen on the security footage, listening." Fat Frankie frowned too. "Near the palms," he added.
"What palms?" Then she remembered the two tall potted palm trees in the foyer where she'd stopped to pull out her notebook and pen. She'd wanted to write down a description of the Florentine while it was still fresh in her mind. None of the historical accounts did it justice.
"Yeah, see?" Fat Frankie said, his expression clearing. He must have doubted his own security intelligence and begun to believe her. "You were there. You did overhear the boys."
"No, I didn't. I was too busy."
"Doing what?"
"Thinking."
He snorted. "Yeah, right." He raised his gun again. "So, where is it?"
"I don't have it! Do you actually think I'd steal from Guy Beauvoir then return here? Are you crazy?"
"Could be." He sighed. "Come on, just tell me where it is. You're the only one who could have stolen it, so…" He put the gun to her temple. "Bang bang."
Ruby wanted to be brave. She really did. But her legs felt like water and she was sweating all over. Her brains were about to be scattered around the room along with her gems. Oh God, why her? She tried to think, tried to clear her mind of the haze of fear but she couldn't.
"Please don't shoot me," she whispered.
"I don't want to mess up that pretty face of yours, Mizz Jones, but I will. Boss's orders. Just tell me where this diamond is and I'll let you go."
Even if she had it, he'd never let her go. She looked away and searched for something to distract him. Her gaze settled on the knife she'd put down. It perched near the edge of her desk.
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