“We’re running out of time.”
“Break a window,” he suggested.
“He’s bound to have an alarm. The only thing I’d accomplish by breaking a window is landing in jail.”
“True. But it’d be a California jail. Just think of the stories you could tell about your California vacation.”
“I’m not going to jail . . . in any state,” I added for clarification.
“Then let’s wait until morning.”
“Morning won’t open a window.”
“Neither will standing here talking between a gate. Our hotel has a swanky martini bar. Let’s grab a drink and plot.”
“David and Ian are being held hostage. We don’t have time to drink,” I argued.
“Standing here arguing doesn’t help them either,” he said. “We had a long drive, we’re tired, and we’re not thinking clearly. Let’s take a break, get a drink, and relax.”
A turbulently building curse burst forth as I rattled the gate with fisted hands.
Frankie arched his brow.
“Who knows,” I sighed after my outburst. “Alcohol and Ian seem to be a common theme. Let’s give it a try. I’ll give Remy a call on the way back to the hotel. Hopefully he’s found Greyson.”
I reached for the top of the gate and realized I had no one to give me a boost.
“Oh, no!”
Frankie’s eyes widened. “You’re trapped.”
“What do I do?” I panicked.
Frankie crossed over to the gate controls and pressed buttons. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five.”
Nothing happened.
“That’s ridiculous. And why five numbers? It could be a four-digit code.”
“Now who’s being ridiculous? A fancy house like this has to have five digits.”
“Just get me out of here!”
“Climb the tree over there.”
“I’m not climbing a tree.”
“Then you’re stuck.”
Dammit!
Chapter 19
Frankie picked a leaf out of my hair as a server brought our martinis.
“You should have taken five minutes to clean up and brush your hair. You look like a cavewoman. You also looked like a cavewoman when you were fighting that bush.” He chuckled
“I wasn’t fighting it; I fell into it.”
“I distinctly witnessed a kick.”
“That was after I was free,” I growled, taking a long sip of my appletini. “It deserved it.” The stupid bush swallowed me whole after I fell from the tree. Twice.
“You know what I was thinking?”
“What?”
“It’s a good thing Ian doesn’t have a watchdog.”
“It never crossed my mind. I doubt he’s ever home long enough to own a pet.”
“What do we do now?” Frankie asked.
“Drink and plot. Only one or two drinks.”
“Remy hasn’t called back, has he?”
“No. He’s deliberately shutting us out. We could all be working as a team, but instead he’s making it harder.”
“Did you tell him we found Ian’s house?”
“I’ll tell him once we’re inside. Otherwise he’ll swoop down, snatch our information, and tell us to go home.”
“I want to know where Mya is,” Frankie said. “If she was taken hostage, wouldn’t she be included in the ransom demands? Three hostages are better than two.”
“It is odd,” I agreed. “I just don’t know where she could be and not have her cell phone. Wouldn’t she at least call us about the vacation? It’s just not like her.”
We sat and stared at our martinis.
Two martinis later . . .
“What if we fly over and pick up David and Ian?” Frankie asked.
“Pick them up where?” I asked, one martini short of thinking it might be a good plan.
Another martini later . . .
Frankie stared blankly then blinked. “Can I tell you something?”
“About Mark Frank?” I giggled . . . was that me? “Are you two an item?”
Frankie’s eyes glazed over into a dream world. “Do you think he could be charming . . . everywhere?”
I snickered into my glass then watched as Greyson’s face floated through the bar. That couldn’t possibly be Greyson. I inspected my empty glass and concluded that I might’ve had too much. “I wonder where Greyson is?”
“He’s probably charming someone too.” Frankie gasped and bolted up, jarring the table. “He’s with Mark! They’re being charming together. Bastards!”
Last martini . . . that I remember.
“I want to move here,” Frankie bubbled. “Such a happy place.”
“I don’t. Greyson’s head keeps floating around.” Hiccup. “Why can his head float but mine can’t?”
Frankie cocked his head to the side. “Wiggle your head.”
I gave it a shake then hung on to the table for dear life.
“Nope. Doesn’t float.”
“See, there’s his head again.” I pointed to the far side of the lounge.
“Oh, yeah. I see it too. What the hell did they put in this stuff?” He tittered in his glass.
“Wait. His head is coming closer.” My eyes crossed as I tried to follow him.
“Uh-oh. There’s the witch’s head too. Off with her head!” Frankie sputtered with a giggle.
“It’s already off. She’s a floating head,” I explained. Duh.
“Nuh-uh. She has a body and a killer dress. Oooh, look at those fine heels.”
I grimaced. “I look nice too.”
“Yeah, that twig in your hair is nice. It’s like accessorizing with nature.”
Greyson and Fiona headed to the hotel lobby.
“You know what?” I asked, pondering. “I think they might be real.”
“We should follow them.”
“Good idea,” I said, scooting from my chair.
“Wait! We should fist bump like they do in cop shows.” He held out his fist. I took a shot at it. “Ow! You hit my face.”
“You sure? I’ll try again.”
“No way! Now wiggle your fingers like stardust.”
I tried.
“We’ll work on it. Let’s go.”
Although I was clearly walking straight, Frankie kept bumping into me. “Can’t you walk straight?” I complained, latching on to the lobby’s topiary trees for support.
“I am! It’s you who can’t walk a straight line. Look! They’re heading out the door.”
We zigzagged through the lobby, staying inconspicuous. Hiding behind a full luggage cart, Frankie peeked over. “They’re getting into a car. Quick. To the Taxi Mobile.”
“Where?”
“At the front door.”
We hurried to the cab. We piled in as Greyson’s car drove out of the parking lot, but not before I felt the singe of his gray eyes.
“I think he saw us.”
“He can’t see us. We’re invisible,” Frankie explained. “Taxi man! Follow that beautiful man’s car with chrome detailing!” Frankie ordered.
The taxi pulled onto the street. “I can’t see the car. He must have turned a corner. Do you know where he went?”
“Somewhere to be charming,” Frankie tisked. “He’s got a posh lair around here somewhere.”
“Unless you have the posh lair’s address, I can’t help you,” the driver said.
Frankie crossed his arms with a pout. I handed the driver my phone. “Take us to this address.”
“It’s a bit of a drive,” he said, returning my phone. “And the zip code is wrong.”
I stared at the photo. “The zebra was in the right spot. How is it wrong?”
“I don’t know anything about a zebra. Zip codes in California start with a nine.”
“This one starts with a five.”
“It’s the code!” Frankie gulped and grabbed the phone. “See? It’s five digits; not four. Damn rich people get an extra digit.”
* * *
/>
I awoke to a blood-curdling shriek. I bolted without looking, plunging into deep water. Sputtering and gasping, I climbed out with sopping clothes.
My eyes darted, taking in the swimming pool and patio. From the pool, I could see the ocean. It felt as if I was floating over it.
Where’s Frankie? The scream I heard . . . I raced through the house calling for him.
“In here!” he shouted, though it sounded muffled.
“Where?”
“I don’t know!” he shrieked. “There’s something on my head!”
I plowed through the house until I found him lying on the study floor.
“Frankie, what in the world are you doing?”
“What’s on my head? Be straight with me . . . am I going to die?”
“Not today,” I muttered through a zinging headache.
“So it’ll be a prolonged death,” he whimpered. “I’m too sensitive for a slow, agonizing death.”
“Frankie, get your ass off the floor. You’ve got on a damn African mask.” I pressed my fingers to my temple. Patience. Breathe.
He felt the mask and pulled it off with a gusting breath of relief. “You shouldn’t start flapping your potty mouth so early. It makes the day go downhill before it starts. While we’re at it, never fall asleep with a mask on your face. I nearly had a heart attack.” He glanced around the room. “Where are we? And why are you dripping all over these nice floors?”
“We’re inside Ian’s house. I don’t remember a thing except waking up in a swimming pool.”
“You were sleeping in the pool? That’s dangerous.”
“I was sleeping on a lounge chair. Beautiful view. You should see it.”
“You better believe I’m going to see. I’m going to explore every corner of this place.”
I glared at him. He was too damn chipper after a day of driving, drinking, and fighting with bushes.
“While you’re roaming, find the necklace.” I turned to search for a robe or towel.
Crap! We have to be twenty-four-hours down by now. Only twenty-four more to go. Once I dry off and find coffee, I’ll call Remy.
As I traveled the spacious house, I could hear Frankie cooing over every treasure he stumbled across. If anyone could sniff out diamonds, it’d be Frankie.
I followed the winding staircase to the top floor and found the master bedroom. Ian’s domain, I thought.
As I stripped off drenched clothing, I wondered at his house. It was breathtaking and modern but without personal touches. Excluding the study, this could be a model home that no one lives in. There was plenty of furniture but no pictures or knickknacks. No pile of laundry. No . . . anything. A house without extra stuff.
I walked to the bathroom and found a robe that was never used and a towel to wrap my hair.
Coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. I’d worry about clothes later.
“Frankie?” I called while searching for the kitchen. “Did you find anything?”
“I found my dream home!” He whirled out of a room, nearly knocking me over.
“I meant the necklace . . . or the kitchen.”
“Follow me.”
One turn and a couple of steps later, I found myself in a gourmet kitchen.
“Look at this place,” Frankie said with a sigh. “If I could cook like a master chef, I’d be in heaven.”
“I’ll be in heaven with a cup of coffee,” I muttered, shuffling toward the machine that had the closest resemblance to a coffee pot. “How does it work?”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s a simple single-serve coffee maker. Grab a mug. I'll fill the water reservoir.”
I searched through the cupboards and found a mug. During my search, I also found food. Quite a bit of it considering Ian’s been in Africa for the past three months. I checked the refrigerator and found it stocked with fresh fruit and vegetables. What in the world was going on?
“Frankie, I think someone is living here.”
“Why didn’t they open the gate last night?”
“Because we never pressed the call button. I assumed it was vacant.”
“How do you know it isn’t?”
“Look at the refrigerator.” I widened the door.
He snatched the celery and gave it a test. “It’s not at the bendable stage. This is fresh.”
“Who do you think is living here?”
Frankie shrugged. “Maybe he has another wife.”
I gave it a fleeting thought before shaking my head. “A wife would have added her personal touches to this home. Have you noticed it’s too perfect? Except for the study, this place could be in a home-decorating magazine.”
“And the view is outrageous. I look out the window and feel like I’m sailing over the ocean. I just need my sailor suit and a few deckhands to swab me after a dip in the pool.”
“We need to find whoever is living here. They might know where the necklace is. I’m surprised they didn’t hear you scream.”
“We broke in, and you want to go look for the person who can identify us in a lineup?” he tisked. “And you would scream too if you were trapped under an African mask.”
“Ian sent us here with a purpose. I’m not leaving until I know what that purpose is.”
“He sent you here with a purpose,” Frankie corrected. “I’m an innocent bystander.”
“Make the coffee. Then we’ll start searching.”
“Then I’m learning how to cook. This place needs a great chef. Just think of the dinner parties I could have here!”
As he made the coffee and gushed over every kitchen utensil, I gazed out the window. I didn’t feel like I was sailing on the ocean, more like floating over it. Since the house was on a cliff, there was no land below to ground the weightless feeling.
I have to call Remy. I reached for my pocket and remembered I had a robe on.
Oh, no!
My phone was in my jeans pocket . . . waterlogged.
I quickly retraced my steps to the master bedroom and pulled the phone from my soggy jeans, watching water spill from it. It’s dead, I whimpered.
Unfortunately, Remy’s phone number was programmed into my phone. Would Frankie have the number? I wondered as I followed the freshly brewed coffee scent coming from the kitchen.
“Frankie, do you have Remy’s phone number? My phone drowned.”
Glancing at my dripping phone, he grimaced. “I don’t. But I heard if you put your phone in rice, it will absorb moisture.”
“It’s dripping, not moist.”
“Then we’ll use more rice,” he stated. He dug through the cupboards until he found a bag of rice and poured it into a bowl. “Stick your phone in. You might have to wait a day or so.”
“Can I borrow your phone? Maybe if I call the Tropical Rain, they’ll give me his number.”
“I doubt it.”
“It’s a long shot, but it beats twiddling my thumbs waiting for him.”
Frankie handed me a steaming coffee mug. I took a small sip, wanting the caffeine kick but not the scalding burn.
“There’s another floor,” I mentioned, blowing the steam from the coffee. “Should we go check it out?”
“Would the mysterious dweller be lurking there?” he questioned.
“I would assume.”
“I’m content to stay right here,” he said, sitting on a raised chair at the breakfast bar. “I’ve got my coffee, my view, and my body free from bullet holes.”
“Fine. I’ll go by myself,” I said, heading toward the stairs. “At least be useful and find the necklace . . . or make breakfast.” My stomach growled.
“Don’t you want a weapon? There are some wicked-looking butcher knives in the drawer.”
“I have scalding hot coffee. I’m sure this will be fine.” As I headed downstairs, I wondered who could be living here.
Ian’s life tingles with mystery. He’s handsome and secretive; a dangerous combination for unsuspecting women. And soon to be divorced.
As I reached the bottom
stair, the room opened into a large game and theater area. There was no need to turn on lights since one side opened to the ocean. Glancing out the window, I saw the straight drop to the bottom. Not a distance I’d care to fall from; I wilted from the window.
A billiards table sat in the middle of the room with lounging areas off to the side. On the far end was a theater screen with two rows of leather theater-style seats. A bar sat off in the corner. A closed door was in the other corner.
Somehow my coffee didn’t seem as lethal as it had a few minutes prior. I scanned the room until I found a backup weapon. Snatching a cue stick, I headed toward the closed door.
With one final calming breath, I leaned the stick against the wall so I could turn the door knob. I pushed the door open, thanking the stars that the hinges didn’t squeak. Grabbing the cue stick, I tiptoed into a dark room and felt for a light switch.
“Go away or I’ll shoot!”
Chapter 20
“Please don’t shoot. I’d hate to leave blood stains on Ian’s plush white carpeting,” I said, recognizing the voice. I flipped on the switch and beamed at Mya. “Where the hell have you been?”
She squealed and raced over. “How did you know I was here? I’m so glad you came! I’ve been going out of my mind all by myself.”
“Is everything okay?” Frankie asked from the top of the stairs. “I still have knives up here.”
“Frankie, Mya is here!”
He bounded downstairs. “Where in the hell have you been?” he repeated my question. “Do you know we had to drive here with Muffin because you bailed?”
“We could have left her home. It was your idea to bring her.”
“My plan is perfect. You’ll see.” He turned to Mya. “Now, tell us everything. Do you know where the necklace is?”
“What necklace?”
“The one Ian stole,” I said.
“He didn’t steal it.”
“How did you know to come here?” I asked.
“David texted me the emergency code.”
“David texted you? But he’s been taken hostage,” I said, cursing when her face drained of color. “Mya, I’m so sorry! I thought you knew and that’s why you were here,” I explained sympathetically, cursing myself again.
Cashing Out Page 16