Hidden Gems (16 page)

Jamie frowned. “The film was ruined.”

“Yes, but that was a new film, remember? I’d already removed the one from my vacation.”

“Then if it was in your apartment, how do you know the thief didn’t take it?”

“Because the film wasn’t there. I’d dropped it off to be developed after I got home. In all the uproar since then, I forgot. It’s still at the camera store, waiting to be picked up.”

“Okay, that makes sense. But what’s on this film that’s so valuable a burglar would want it?”

“The pictures will be worth plenty if they prove to be incriminating.”

“Explain.”

She angled toward him, knocking their knees. “Do you remember when I said I saw Paul on the beach?” She waited for Jamie’s nod. “He was meeting with a client, which seemed unusual. But, stupid me—” she rapped her knuckles against her skull “—I let myself get distracted by the bimbo’s presence.”

“Aha,” Jamie said. “She’s the red herring.”

“Exactly. The important thing was that I happened to snap a few shots of her and Paul. I won’t know for sure until I get the photos, but it’s possible the client was also in the frame. Whether or not he actually is, I think Paul is afraid he might be.”

Jamie took her hand, saying everything he needed to with one firm squeeze. “What happened tonight to give you this epiphany?”

“I overheard Paul talking with one of the partners. Coffman, I believe. I didn’t see him in the living room when I returned. They were discussing the trip to the Caymans and it seemed as if Paul was under some duress to wrap things up there.”

“What kind of things?”

“That, I don’t know. A good guess would be that it has to do with clients who have incorporated their company there. Or perhaps it concerned a transfer of funds, for tax benefits.” When she got the chance, she’d look into the list of Paul’s clients. Nose around, see what the office gossip said.

Jamie was looking out at the traffic, his mouth grim. “You think the partners are involved?”

“I suppose that’s possible, but there was no indication from what I overheard. Whoever it was only seemed to ask him to get the work done. Paul was defending himself, saying that there’d been no trouble. If he’s done something illicit, it’s probably his own idea. Or the client’s.” She tried to be fair. “But that’s a big if. We don’t know anything for sure.”

“Except that Paul Beckwith is amoral.” By now, Jamie’s entire expression had gone stony.

“Well, yes.” Even though Marissa hadn’t known the extent of Paul’s treachery in the beginning, she was ashamed that she’d ever been involved with the man.

Jamie had followed her train of thought. “I am a dork. I should have told you about him and Shandi right at the start.”

“Let’s not beat ourselves up with recriminations.” She leaned into him. “Full speed ahead, isn’t that the motto?”

“With caution.”

“Yes, with caution.”

They had pulled up in front of their building. Jamie climbed out, then held the door for Marissa. He paid the driver, signaling for him to wait a moment. “I don’t suppose we can pick up the photos now?”

“The camera shop is closed. It’s not a twenty-four-hour place.” She waved the cab on.

They met another tenant as they let themselves into the building. Mrs. Pankowski from 3B, standing in the hall with a baseball bat in one hand and a taser in the other. She switched off the taser and dropped it into the roomy pocket of her housecoat. “You two missed all the excitement.”

“What happened?” Jamie said.

“I spotted a stranger letting himself into your apartment. He looked surprised to see me so I called the fuzz. He knocked me down, busting out through the door. I don’t hold with all these goings-on. This is supposed to be a good neighborhood! A good building!” She glared accusingly at them.

“I’m so sorry,” Marissa said. “Are you hurt?”

“Nah. But he was. Blood all over his face.” Mrs. Pankowski cracked a lipless grin. “The cops were crawling all over the building and the streets, but they didn’t catch the bastard.”

Marissa grabbed Jamie’s sleeve. “Harry had better be okay. We should have left Sally to guard him.”

“Or vice versa.” Jamie asked Mrs. Pankowski about the police findings, but she had nothing else to share except an admonition that they should cause no more noise and fuss. Marissa and Jamie hurried upstairs.

She handed the keys to Jamie and pulled out her cell phone, which she’d kept switched off during the dinner party. One of her messages was from Officer O’Connor. “There was a confirmed break-in,” she relayed to Jamie. “The super met the responding officers at my apartment to check out the place. It’s okay for us to go in.”

“Did he say anything about the suspect?”

She snapped the phone shut. “Just that they narrowly missed him, but they got a description from Mrs. Pankowski.”

Jamie turned the key. “He must have been watching the place and knew you’d gone out for the evening.”

“There’s a cheery thought.”

They entered. Jamie flipped on the light. Marissa crowded in behind him, holding on to him with a finger crooked through one of the belt loops of his best dress trousers. “Harry? Kitty, kitty?”

A muffled meow came from the back of the apartment. Marissa hurried into the bedroom. She peered under the bed. “Harry!”

The cat crawled out, wearing a dust ball between his flattened ears. His whiskers twitched. “Poor little guy.” She brushed him off, then fluffed up his long white fur. “When this is over, you’ll never want to be left home again, will you, kitty?”

“Marissa,” Jamie said from behind her.

She stopped crooning to the cat and looked up. “What?”

“You do realize, that if your theory is correct, you’re saying that Paul sent the burglars to your home.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I do realize that.”

“To go that far…for a pack of photos?” He shook his head. “Paul would have had to be involved in something very serious, and very illegal. When you go back to work, don’t get into it with him, in any way, shape or form.”

“I’ll be cautious.”

“No. You’ll do nothing. We’ll pick up the photos in the morning and if there’s anything there, we’ll turn them over to the police.”

“What about my career?”

“Screw your career. I want you alive.”

“No one’s going to kill me!”

“Damn right, because it won’t come to that. I promise I won’t let it come to that.”

Marissa shivered, holding Harry so tightly he mewled in protest.

“Got it.” The girl slid the envelope of photos across the counter and took the money Marissa offered. They hurried out without waiting for change.

“Put them in your purse,” Jamie directed, feeling slightly foolish as he checked up and down the street. They’d put on “disguises”—sunglasses and a bandanna tied pirate-style for him, jeans, sneakers and a shapeless sweater for Marissa. Her hair was knotted in a bun, hidden under a wide-brimmed sun hat.

“I want to see.” She shoved the packet into her straw bag. “The suspense is killing me.”

“Wait until we get to Havana.”

Hand-in-hand, they sped to her favorite hangout spot and managed to snag one of the booths with high carved wood seats that gave them a sense of enclosed privacy. Marissa peeped around the side. “Were we followed?”

Jamie was watching the door. “Sit back.” No one came in after them except a lean greyhound of a woman dressed in clinging workout clothes. She collapsed onto one of the wrought-iron bar stools.

“That’s Bebe,” Marissa said. “She runs marathons.”

“Can’t you stay out of sight?”

“Sor-ry!” she sang, settling back. “Can I look now? Forget that. I’m looking.”

“Here’s the waitress.” He quickly ordered citron pressé. It was too early for lunch even though they’d left his apartment at nine-thirty and taken a roundabout journey to the camera shop, including stops at a Laundromat, a pharmacy and a clothing store. All to throw off invisible lurkers.

Marissa ripped into the packet. She tossed a handful of the photos aside, spraying them across the tabletop. Vistas of the blue-green ocean and white sand beach, brown bodies in the sun.

He separated out a shot of Marissa sitting under a thatched roof in a skimpy bikini top and sarong, then put it back. Paul had probably snapped it.

She flipped through a series of sunset photos. Pink and orange ribbons in a dark sky. Her lashes had flicked when he lingered over her photo. “That shot was taken right before he ditched me at the tiki bar for the last time.”

She returned to the other photos. “Here we go.” They hunched over the table. “Take a look at these.”

Marissa passed him a copy of the first snapshot. The lighting wasn’t good. Paul’s back was to the camera, a woman plastered to his side. She was made of curves and pink lips and a head of hair so yellow it was almost fluorescent. A third figure was indistinct.

“This one’s better,” she said.

Paul and the other man were speaking in the second photo. The client had stepped forward into the light source, but his head was down, exhibiting a bald spot the size of a dinner plate. He wore a casual white shirt, unbuttoned almost to the waist, khakis and sandals, with a large gold watch on his right wrist. Just a man on vacation, except for the Halliburton case clutched at his side.

“Not good enough. You can’t see his face.”

Marissa frowned as she looked at the remaining two photos. One she discarded as being too murky to be helpful. The other she held close to her nose, squinting. “Bingo.”

“Let’s see.” They studied the photo between them. Paul and the woman were prominent, but in the background the other man looked on, smiling in a rather sleazy, voyeuristic way. “Recognize him?” Jamie asked.

“Nope. I’ve never seen him in the office, but then the firm has so many clients I’ve met only a small percentage of them.”

He considered. “Even if we do identify the man, these photos aren’t proof of anything.”

“I guess not.” Marissa sighed. “I was so sure that we’d find something incriminating.”

“Me, too,” he admitted. “I was having Alias fantasies.”

She looked up with a grin. “Well, you do look good in your disguise.”

“I look like an idiot.” He returned to the photos, picking up the one she’d rejected. “I just can’t figure out why Paul would be desperate to take these from you.”

“That depends on who the guy is. Maybe an underworld hit man or a deposed island dictator.” She waved a hand at his look of skepticism. “I could come up with lots of scenarios. But the point to remember is that even if Paul doesn’t know for sure what the photos show, he believed they might be harmful.”

“No one else will care.”

“The partners might. Especially Thomas Howard. He’s practically my mentor. He’ll listen.”

Jamie glanced up. “Assuming the firm’s not involved.”

Marissa clutched her elbows, which she’d rested on the table. “You’re trying to scare me.”

Tenderness softened his tone. “I’m trying to keep you safe.” He went back to the photo in his hand. “What do we do now?”

She gathered the others into a pile and returned them to the envelope. “I doubt the police would be interested. Let’s think on it over the rest of the weekend.”

“Want to skip the play this afternoon?”

“Um. No, let’s go. Sitting around my apartment waiting for the next burglary attempt won’t do us any good.” To be safe, she’d moved Harry and his accoutrements to Jamie’s place for the duration.

“I’m sorry that—” Jamie stopped and blinked. The photo he’d been studying was a dud. Dark and grainy. The two men were only blurred shapes, but he was able to make out the client because of his white shirt. Then there was the silver briefcase the mystery man had carried in the first photos of the sequence.

Now in Paul’s possession.

“These photos are in order?” Jamie asked, lining them up.

Marissa checked the negatives. “Yes.”

“Then why does Paul have the briefcase? Did you ever see him with it before that night?”

She shook her head. “Do you think it was an exchange?”

“I don’t know what to think. But I’d sure like to know what’s in that briefcase.”

MARISSA SURPRISED JAMIE when she caught his arm outside the Chelsea theater, which was actually an old shoe store converted into a multiuse space. Beneath a giant faded ad for Florsheim shoes was a marquee that read Backslash Video Productions/ChelBro Art School/Funkytown Players Theater.

He thought she was about to suggest ducking out on the play before they got inside. Instead she put her chin on his shoulder and said, “Let’s forget everything else and pretend we’re on a date. Are you game?”

Was he game? Hell, yeah. In fact, he couldn’t have asked for a better sign from her.

He cleared his clogged throat. “I’d like that.” But suddenly he was nervous. After all this time, how did he act on a date with Marissa?

He saw a florist across the street. “Wait here for two seconds,” he said, leaving her outside the theater with her pretty dress and blinking lashes.

Five minutes later he gave her a small bundle of flowers. Freesia and lilies, the woman had suggested when he’d asked for a sweet-smelling bouquet. “You’re the kind of date I’d bring flowers to.”

“What a romantic you are,” she said. She might have been blushing a little. “I’m glad I rank so well.”

“Top of the list, babe.”

“They smell so good. Thank you.”

He offered his arm. “Shall we go inside?”

“Certainly, kind gentleman.”

They joined the small trickle of ticket holders entering the theater and found their seats in a narrow shoebox of a room. Marissa looked around her, past the shabbiness to the faux-painted murals of cartoon theatergoers. She kept sniffing the flowers. And smiling at him.

He didn’t know what to say. He was dating Marissa and he’d reverted to his tongue-tied high school days. “Uh.” He swallowed. “So tell me. If I’d asked you on a date when we first met, what would you have said?”

She hesitated with her head cocked. He knew she’d tell the truth. Why the hell had he asked the question?

“I would have said yes.”

“I don’t think so. You only dated a certain type of man then.”

“Yes, and you know why? That’s who approached me. Successful businessmen. The interesting, arty types never asked. You didn’t.”

“True.”

“I’ll concede that I became accustomed to certain expectations in a date. But I was never one of those women who’d turn her nose up at picnics in the park or Italian ices at a softball game.” She nudged him with her elbow. “Actually, if you think about it, that was the kind of stuff I always did with you.”

He raised his brows. “So we’ve been dating all along?”

She smiled. “It seems so. But you never brought me flowers before.” She took another sniff of the bouquet. He could smell the sweetness, too, and it was making him heady. Especially when she leaned in as the lights dimmed and said in his ear, “I’m glad you finally stepped up your game.”

After that, he relaxed and enjoyed the date.

The play, an overenthusiastic revival of Guys and Dolls, would have been a bust if he hadn’t been with Marissa, who shared his sense of the absurd. When the actor who played Nathan Detroit came on stage in a shiny purple zoot suit, they couldn’t look at each other. Miss Adelaide’s gyrations at the Hot Box put them over the top. Marissa had pinched his arm until he stopped snorting and choking back laughter.

Afterward they went to dinner at a familiar neighborhood trattoria with candlelit and linen-draped tables. Between courses, she “helped” him with his notes for the review. By the time dessert arrived, they were played out and sitting in pleasant, companionable silence.

“I’m glad we haven’t lost this,” he said, carving off a bit of his tiramisu to offer her.

“Calorie gorging? That’s why I work out so often.” Her lips closed around the sweet bite. “Mmm, yummy.”

Watching her mouth pucker and release was almost obscene. His blood thickened. Even with all the drama and danger they’d undergone since getting together, she could have him stimulated beyond belief in under five seconds.

“You know what I mean. We’re still friends.”

“Friends with benefits,” she said in a lilting tone it was hard to take exception with.

But he did. “Friends and lovers.” He nudged her foot under the table. “Remember, we’re dating now. Don’t act like I’m just your bed buddy.”

She smiled over the rim of her wineglass. “No, that would be our pets.”

All right. She’d accepted the date, even though she was still determined to avoid his attempts at a serious moment. Some progress had been made.

Time would be his ally. When she finally recognized that he wasn’t going anywhere, unlike her past lovers, he’d be ensconced so deeply in her life that she wouldn’t be able to separate him from her from them.

“I know what you mean,” she said. “We always have a good time together. It’s just that now that happens to include unclothed fun, too.” She brushed her foot against his ankle. “Honestly, you’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. I like the boy, I like the friend, I like everything about you.”

Not a declaration of undying love, but it would do.

“Guess what?” he said, feeling very pleased that more progress had been made than he’d first thought. “I get better as time goes by.”

“Better?” She fanned her face. “I don’t know if I can stand the excitement.”

“You’re holding up well so far.”

“And you—” Her foot, sans shoe, slipped beneath his pant leg. Her warm little toes pattered against his calf. She was a dexterous girl. “You surprise me. Always rising to the occasion.”

He made a gruff sound in his throat. “Eat your dessert.”

Her foot retreated. She took a bite of her ricotta cheesecake, watching his face as she licked the fork with a catlike tongue. Her hair hung in loose waves across her shoulders, the ends brushing over the curves of her breasts every time she moved. Her dress was the color of pale morning sunlight, cut straight across the top with narrow straps around her shoulders. In contrast, her skin was almost golden, warmed by the dancing flame of the candle. A small pair of diamonds winked at her ears. The dainty gold crucifix dangled near her cleavage. Looking at her made him fill up with love.

“You know, there could be anything in that briefcase,” she said out of the blue. He thought she was purposely deflecting the mood until her foot touched his thigh.

He caught her heel before she went any further.

Her face remained guileless. “Papers, files. It doesn’t have to be money or drugs or whatever you’re thinking.”

“You’re still defending Paul.”

“Maybe I don’t want him to be irredeemably bad.”

He jiggled her foot. “No reflection on you.”

“Pah. You know when to lie. I like that about you.” Her foot squirmed out of his grasp. “See what I mean? I have bad judgment.” The nimble toes rubbed his thigh. “I’m rash, I’m wild, I’m headstrong.”

The sole of her foot pressed firmly against the fullness at his fly. She blinked. “Are you headstrong? I think you are. You just hide it well.”

“Marissa.” He closed his legs, squeezing her foot between them. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I seem to have lost my shoe. Want to dive under and find it?”

“I’d find more than your shoe.”

“Promises, promises. It’s a ballet flat with a practical low heel. I never wear high heels when there’s a chance I might have to run for my life.”