Yours for the Night (14 page)

“Really? Fine, it was unintentional, and what about you? Going behind my back to work on the case? Were you planning to share that information with me?”

His silence told her the answer before he said it.

“No, I wasn’t.”

She looked so stricken, he felt like an ass.

“It’s too dangerous, Tiffany. Look where you are right now. Off by yourself, at night, on streets like this?”

Her jaw clenched. “I come down here all the time with my friends. Believe me, I’ve grown up in this city. I know how to take care of myself. You don’t seem to accept that.”

“I do, but you’re still new at this, and these guys, these thieves and this Freddie character, they’re professionals, Tiffany.”

Her eyes widened. “And I’m not?”

Garrett swore under his breath. “No, not yet. Not like this.”

Her eyes became glacial. “Get lost, Garrett. Leave me alone.”

She turned and marched away.

He followed.

She spun around again. “I told you to leave me alone.”

“Where are you going? What did you pay Belle back there for? A tip on Freddie?”

Tiffany glared.

“I could just go back and pay her double for the same info, or you could share and let me help you,” he said, hoping to lessen the tension between them.

He didn’t like her doing this, but it was clear she was determined, and so maybe the best he could hope for was that she would let him work with her, keep her safe.

She’d said she was impulsive, and now he was starting to see the problem. But he also liked it. It was where her passion and her charm emanated from.

It could also get her in over her head in a situation like this.

“Please? Listen, I’m sorry that I was pursuing leads on the case without telling you, but I also wish you hadn’t come out here without me. What if we work together?” he proposed. “Truce?”

She crossed her arms, peering at him suspiciously.

“Will you share any more information or leads you have with me? No more going behind my back?”

“As long as you don’t take off into dangerous situations without me.”

She looked away, appearing to consider it, and finally nodded.

“Fine.”

He held out a hand. “Shake on it?” She grabbed his hand to shake it, and he pulled her up against him hard. “Or is this a better way to seal the deal?” he whispered against her lips before taking her mouth in a hot kiss that she tried to resist. At first. Though still piqued with him, eventually she softened, her fingers curling into his jacket.

A low wolf-whistle from an observer in the shadows broke them apart.

“I’m still taking that tracker app off my phone when I get back.”

“Keep it. You might need it. I promise I won’t use it again until I absolutely have to.”

She nodded and then they broke apart, and continued walking.

“So you know where to find Freddie?” he asked.

“Possibly. He runs a place called The Dice down on Post.”

“And your plan is to go there? Now?”

“No time like the present.”

“And what were you planning to ask him? If he has fenced any pink diamonds lately?”

“Not exactly. I figured I would play some pool, and just see what was going on, if the guy is even there.”

Garrett didn’t respond. So, she wasn’t completely off base, just doing some surveillance. She also seemed completely at ease walking down the troubled streets where they were approached every five minutes by someone. When they met Garrett’s gaze, they usually took off.

“There’s a lot of poor here. A lot of people packed into a city, period, with some sharp contrasts between unimaginable wealth and unthinkable poverty. It can be rough, but it’s not too dangerous if you’re aware, and maybe a bit sympathetic,” she said.

Garrett thought she might be being a bit too generous as he noticed two men falling in behind.

Luckily, they found The Dice straight ahead and went inside.

Garrett, watching the window, saw the men walk by outside.

The place was clearly a gambling bar, games of chance as well as flat screens with numbers, races and sports playing in every corner. The bar was an OTB outlet—off track betting—and a licensed card club, though Garrett was sure that a few of the games being played—such as those using dice—were not legal. Legalizing gambling was a complicated issue in California like it was in many states, but there was no doubt that gaming brought in revenue for the city and the state, as well as for the bar owner.

It was busy for a Thanksgiving eve. No surprise. He’d worked a bar for a while in college, and Thanksgiving and Christmas Eves were often the busiest, when some people with families in for the holiday were looking to escape, and people without them were looking for company.

Busy was good, he thought, as they managed to not stand out too sharply, pushing through the crowd, which was incredibly diverse. Older, obviously wealthier patrons played along younger, less well-off folks.

“So what now?” he asked.

“Let’s get a drink, play some pool,” she said, spotting an empty table and heading to claim it.

He went to the bar, ordered two colas—they needed to stay sharp—and went back to join her. When she took off her jacket, clad in form-hugging jeans and a tank top, Tiffany garnered more than one interested look and bets started lining up on the side of the table as more than one man wanted to play with her.

When she leaned over to rack the balls, the view at the top of her tank top was a little too inviting. She smiled at a tall, dangerous-looking brute who needed to pick his tongue up from the floor. Garrett stepped between them, offering her her drink.

“Sorry, guys. First game is mine,” he said, silently adding,
and so is the woman
. At least for tonight.

“You any good?” he asked, chalking the end of a cue.

“Not bad. I ran the rec room in college for extra money. I’d play when things were slow, and some of the regulars taught me their tricks of the trade. It’s been a while, though,” she said nonchalantly.

Garrett narrowed his eyes at her as she broke the balls, sending several into the pockets.

“Stripes,” she said with a wink, almost cleaning the table on her first turn.

“Been a while,” he said to her with great sarcasm. “Riiiight.”

Garrett was no slouch at the game himself, spending more than one Saturday night at the billiard halls in Philly with his brothers, one of their main methods of working off stress. Focusing, he managed to do just slightly better, but then scratched on the eight ball.

“Aw, too bad, lover. You never placed a bet, either. What are the stakes?” she asked mischievously, lining up her next-to-last shot.

Garrett was as entranced as the other men surrounding the table. Tiffany was playing the role of 100-percent minx and she did it very well.

He wanted to make sure no one else was getting ideas, and pulled her away from the table, up against him for a kiss, and then whispered in her ear, “Winner gets to pick when, how…and where.”

She smiled broadly, knowing exactly what he meant.

“Sounds like a no-lose proposition to me,” she said, cleanly winning the game in two shots.

Garrett hoped she planned to honor the bet.

He backed away, leaning against the wall and watching Tiffany as well as the general environment as she took two more guys for their money. They seemed to think it was worth it, bearing no grudge.

“My turn again?” he asked, noticing her staring toward the far end of the bar.

“What’s caught your attention?” he asked, leaning in close so it would simply look like they were sharing a moment.

“Look who’s sitting in the last seat. I almost didn’t recognize him,” she said.

Garrett followed her gaze and it took him a second, and then he realized it was the same man who had been at the restaurant they’d gone to on Russian Hill.

“Your appraiser.”

“Arthur. Yeah. Kind of a funny coincidence, don’t you think?”

Garrett wasn’t sure. “The guy could just be here gambling or having a drink.”

“Only one way to know for sure,” she said, taking a breath and grabbing her jacket as well as her winnings.

Garrett reached out to stop her as she headed toward the bar, but missed as she disappeared into the throng of people. Pushing after her, he caught up just as she wedged her way up to the bar, ordering another coke.

When she turned to Arthur, her face was a study in surprise.

“Arthur! What a surprise seeing you here,” she said.

“Tiffany? What are you doing here?” he said, his surprise evident.

“Playing some pool, winning some money,” she said with a laugh and a drink. “The store was closed this week since the robbery, so I figured why not get out and have some fun, right?”

“Sure, I suppose,” the man said, looking around nervously.

“I thought you normally spent the holiday with your family in New York?”

“I have a morning flight for the weekend,” he offered.

Garrett was about to suggest to Tiffany that they go when a blonde in her late fifties sidled up to Arthur on the other side, catching his attention.

The man’s nerves multiplied, Garrett noticed, his hands shaking. Interesting.

“Arthur, are you flirting with this young woman? I swear, I can’t turn my back on this one,” the blonde said, smiling at Tiffany, though the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Oh, no, Freddie. Tiffany is just a…business friend.”

This was Freddie? Garrett was caught off guard, and saw the same reaction on Tiffany’s face, just for a second.

“You’re the owner of this place?” Tiffany asked baldly, looking for confirmation.

“Yep. It’s not much, but it’s all mine,” the woman said with the same fake smile.

“It’s a lot of fun. You do a great job,” Tiffany said, holding out her hand. “So you and Arthur are friends?” she said, fishing.

“Oh, we’re a lot more than that, aren’t we, baby?” the woman purred at Arthur, and Garrett thought the appraiser looked like he was about to have a heart attack, though he managed to mumble something vaguely flirtatious back.

“Actually, I’m on a break, and I was hoping to have some alone time with Arthur,” Freddie said.

“Oh, sure,” Tiffany replied. “Nice to meet you. Have a happy Thanksgiving,” she added as Arthur slipped from the stool.

Garrett saw Tiffany snap several discreet shots of the couple with her cell phone as they disappeared into the back room.

Then, to his angst, she turned and followed them.

10

T
IFFANY
HADN
’
T
BOUGHT
Freddie’s girlfriend routine for a minute. Arthur had seemed extremely stressed and not at all like he was sneaking off for a few kisses. More like he was being summoned by the executioner.

“Tiffany,” Garrett whispered, grabbing her arm. “What are you doing?”

“I need to see what they’re up to. Arthur wasn’t too happy about going in there with her, and what if he needs help?”

“Listen, Daniel sent me a follow-up text telling me to come armed because this Freddie is a dangerous person. We’re not armed and who knows what’s going on back there?”

“I am,” she said.

“What?”

“Armed,” she whispered, opening her purse to show him.

Seeing his face, she rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m licensed to carry concealed and I have been taking lessons.”

“Have you actually shot at anyone, ever?”

She looked away. “Not
at
anyone. Just at a target, but ideally, I won’t have to. I just want to see if we can hear what’s going on,” she said. “I need more than a picture of Arthur here to convince Detective Ramsey that Arthur might be the inside man,” she said, her hand twisting the knob.

“Wait. Let me,” Garrett said, running a hand backward through his hair and pushing in front of her, his back to the door, his hand on the knob. “Hit me,” he said.

“What?”

“Hit me. In the face, hard as you can,” he instructed, his gaze 100 percent serious.

“I am not going to hit you.”

“You said you’re taking self-defense lessons. Show me what you’ve got, hotshot,” he teased, his eyes challenging her. “Or in your self-defense classes, like your gun classes, do you just pretend to hit someone?”

Tiffany knew he was goading her, but it worked. She doubted she could hit hard enough to cause him any damage anyway. Gearing herself up for it, she was shocked when he grabbed her, his hands roaming right down to her backside and groping in front of anyone who was looking on that side of the bar.

“Hit me,”
he said again, squeezing a butt cheek.

As he got even more daring with his hands, she didn’t have to be urged again, offering him an elbow to the gut to get some distance between them, and then following up with a punch to his face, as hard as she could.

She heard his grunt as he stumbled backward, and discovered he had loosened the doorknob, crashing back through the door, onto his back in a dimly lit hallway.

A man dressed in a black suit guarded a door at the end of the hall, and stepped forward, his hand on his hip.

Garrett lay on the ground, holding his face, and Tiffany wanted to kneel down, feeling terrible, making sure he was okay. But then he winked at her, and she knew she hadn’t damaged him too terribly.

“That will teach you to grope me in public like that!” she said with outrage, playing along.

“Is that an invitation to grope you in private?” he asked, wincing as he made his way to his feet, and turned to eye the man in the black suit. “Sorry, buddy, but the lady has a mean left cross. Is that the men’s room?” he said, slurring his speech to give the idea of having drank too much, and heading toward the closed door at the end of the hall.

The man stopped him with a firm hand to the chest. “Out” was all he said, nodding to the doorway which Garrett had crashed through.

Garrett looked at Tiffany, and nodded to the guard. “Sure. Sorry,” he said, and staggered crookedly back to the door, closing it behind them.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry,” she said, examining his face. Patrons of the bar were only mildly interested in the drama, probably seeing similar on a regular basis, and returning to their fun and games.

“I’m fine, but ouch,” he said, touching his cheek again.

“Yeah, tell me. It was like hitting a rock wall,” she said, flexing sore fingers. “I guess Arthur is on his own. I suppose we could wait to see if he comes out.”

“Better idea,” Garrett said. “Come on.”

He took her hand and they emerged back on to the street, where he pulled her down an alley along the side of the building.

“Um, Garrett, where are we going?”

“To check for any windows along that side of the building. The room they went into should be somewhere around…here,” he said, locating a tiny casement window that was propped open slightly.

“Oh, I can hear them,” Tiffany said, though she couldn’t see much through the tiny window, meant for ventilation more than light.

“You’ve got a ways to go with your debt, Artie, and double-crossing us was not a good idea,” Freddie said.

“You said you’d count my percentage as five percent—the last take alone should have covered my debt,” Arthur said, clearly outraged. “I had to do something to get more.”

“Bad choice,” Freddie said in a hissing tone.

“I think you may have just stumbled upon motive,” Garrett whispered.

Tiffany nodded, straining to listen. No more words, but sounds of a scuffle, a low moan.

“You’re going to tell us everything, Artie, one way or another.”

The polished appraiser she and her family had known for such a long time hardly seemed like an “Artie,” Tiffany thought, but obviously Arthur’s polish was hiding a damaged finish. And he was in quite a bit of trouble, by the sounds of it.

“We have to help him—he’s in real trouble,” she said, just when something made a noise in the alley behind them, and Tiffany saw a shadow move.

“There’s nothing we can do now, not without blowing—”

Suddenly, out of the dark, a man rushed at them, swinging something. Unable to stop herself, Tiffany shrieked, ducking as something swished by her ear, and she tried to see who was coming at them, and hoped it wasn’t more than one.

No such luck. Someone grabbed her arm painfully, and she yelped, but Garrett was clearly busy taking care of the first assailant.

Hard to make out who was who, all she heard were grunt and groans, the sounds of fists hitting bodies.

Her own captor was dragging her back, and she managed to fumble in her bag, grabbing her gun.

“Let me go or I’ll shoot,” she said, only to be met with a grunt as she lost her shoe.

Aiming upward, she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger, the blast firing and echoing in the alley. Everything seemed to take movement—her captor, shouting in surprise, dropped her on the spot. She landed hard on the damp alley floor. Some voices somewhere shouted, and other indiscernible noises surrounded her. God, where was Garrett?

Getting to her feet, she walked gingerly, taking a mini-flashlight that was supposed to have the power of a full Maglite from her purse, holding it in one hand, her gun still in the other. The small flashlight lived up to its promise, illuminating the alley at least ten feet in front of her, and she located her shoe, thankfully. When someone grabbed her arm, she shrieked again, and a hand went over her mouth.

“Shhh, it’s just me, Garrett. Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said, and she whimpered in relief that it was him, and that he was safe. Making their way out to the street behind them, they waved down a rare taxi and slid in the back.

“Oh, my God, I was petrified,” she said, settling in as she looked at him in the low light of the taxi, giving the driver directions back to her house. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but you scared the life out of me when I heard the gunshot,” he said.

He was dirty, his face bruised, probably from where she had hit him, but he’d obviously had more of a scuffle with their assailants, now bearing a torn shirt and a bloody cut near his brow.

She lifted her hands to touch it. “You’re hurt,” she said.

He touched the spot, seeming mildly surprised. “Didn’t even feel it.”

She couldn’t stop staring at him. He was so damned sexy, even now, covered in alley dirt, bruises and blood. Maybe even more so. He was raw male, his eyes still dark with aggression from the fight.

“You should come up, let me clean that up for you,” she said, surprised at the sexiness of her own voice.

“I probably should,” he agreed. “Then what?”

She smiled, leaning in to kiss him. “Then we have to make pies.”

* * *

T
IFFANY
HAD
HAD
some strange days in her life, but the last twenty-four hours topped them. She’d chased down Freddie, had the skirmish in the alley and then baked pies with Garrett until the wee hours of the morning. The range of activities left them both exhausted—and bruised. Garrett’s rough-and-tumble look, including the cut by his brow and the bruise where she’d hit him, just made him even sexier.

Maybe he was tired, too, or something had gotten to him, because he’d been more distant, quieter, since they returned from The Dice. Maybe she was just imagining it, as she was awfully worn out herself. She didn’t know him well enough to know his moods, really, regardless of how intimate they’d been. They’d known each other less than a week, and since they had crawled out of bed that morning, he felt more distant than ever.

Waking up late, she didn’t have too much time to think about it, getting dressed to go to her parents’ house. She spotted numerous bruises of her own, probably from the alley.

It was going to be hard to explain all that without either telling a complete lie or the whole truth. By the time they arrived there, she’d made up her mind.

“Listen,” she said, placing a hand on Garrett’s arm before they walked in. “I think I have to tell my family that I’m doing this private investigation thing. You were right. And I don’t want to lie to them anymore, which will be really difficult considering we look like we just got into a brawl,” she said.

Garrett nodded, but she read the apprehension in his face. “You know, this sounds like it’s a family discussion, and a family event. Maybe you should drop me back at the hotel,” he said, but she cut him off.

“I will, if you want, but I’d love the moral support, and basically, my mother will kill me if you don’t show up,” she said with a smile. “And, I think they have already spotted us from the window. Honestly, the bruises are going to be tough to explain otherwise,” she said, not wanting him to think she was trying to involve him in her family issues.

“Makes sense, and good for you for deciding to tell them,” he said, smiling and giving her hand a squeeze. It meant a lot, as she was beginning to wonder why he had been so aloof all morning.

Tiffany braced herself as they walked into her parents’ house carrying the pies that they had made together. It turned out Garrett was no stranger to the kitchen, and they had had a lot of fun, tired as they were.

“You made it!” her mother declared happily as they entered the living room to the sound of the TV blaring the Macy’s Parade, the aroma of turkey and other delicious items wafting in from the kitchen.

Then her mom stopped short, and her father’s greeting was cut off, too, as they both took in the bruise on her arm as she handed over the pies.

“What happened?” her sister Ruby asked, crossing the room and getting right to the point. “Are you okay?”

Ruby eyed Garrett accusingly, and Tiffany frowned.

“Ruby, back off, this isn’t Garrett’s fault.”

“That had better not be the case,” her father said, clearly outraged as he studied her face and then pulled her in for a hard hug. “No one hurts my baby.”

“Please, stop. As you can see, Garrett took the worst of it, and part of that was completely my fault,” she said.

“Especially this bruise right here,” he said with a smile, touching his lip where she had smacked him, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

“Anyway, if you want to sit, I can tell you all what happened,” she said, and looked at her family, who were all looking back at her. “Now’s as good a time as ever,” she said.

“What do you mean?” her mother asked.

Her family members were clearly apprehensive, but Tiffany sat on the sofa and accepted the soda someone handed her.

“I’ve made a career decision,” she said.

“Another one?” Jewel asked, but with a smile that took the sting out.

“I’ve been working on another career track while I was at the store…something I wasn’t sure about, so I didn’t want to tell you until I knew it was going to be the thing for me, but I really think it is.”

“Just spit it out already,” Ruby said.

“I’ve been training to be a private investigator. I’ve only had a few cases, but I really love it, and I think I could be good at it. I’ve been checking into the jewelry store robberies, and, well, we had a bit of a scuffle down in the Tenderloin last night, hence the bumps and bruises,” she said.

Her mother turned a little pale, in contrast to her father’s face going red as he looked at Garrett in disbelief.

“What kind of bodyguard are you? Letting her go down there after dark?”

Tiffany bit back a groan. “Dad, please. First of all, Garrett didn’t even know I went. I found a lead, and I went on my own. He tracked me down there, to help. We had some trouble, but it was okay. I can handle myself. That’s one of the things I’m learning,” she said.

She held her breath, letting it sink in. Her family was silent, staring at her in blank surprise. Still, Tiffany was bolstered by Garrett’s hand enclosing hers tightly.

“I know you all don’t know me from Adam, but I work with a lot of P.I.s. Tiffany is new to this, but I think she’ll be very good at it,” Garrett added, much to her appreciation.

“This just takes the cake,” her brother Nick said. “Getting lost in Yosemite was one thing, and then the deal with Brice, but now you’ve been hurt and you’re getting in fights downtown at night? You are
not
serious about this?”

“Very,” Tiffany said, holding her brother’s gaze. “It’s not a lark. I got my license, and I’ve been training in self-defense, marksmanship and working basic cases. I came up with real clues that have helped the police work the robbery, and I might have some more.”

“But, honey…this is all so…unsavory. For a woman. Isn’t this a man’s profession?” her father asked, drawing a marked glare from her mother.

“Three of the P.I.s we work with in Philadelphia are women,” Garrett broke in again. “Women make logical connections that men often don’t, and they are also often better at getting people to talk to them. They’re also really good shots.”