Operation Prince Charming (13 page)

“You’ve got to find whoever did this and get my mother’s ruby bracelet back.”

A woman with spiked gray hair walked Hunter to her broken front door, which a locksmith was busy repairing and replacing the lock on.

“You will get the bracelet back, won’t you?”

He and Pete had already interviewed her, but she continued to ask them the same question over and over since they’d arrived at the scene.

“We’ll do our best, ma’am,” Hunter said, knowing even when they did catch up with whoever had done this, chances were slim her jewelry would be recovered.

“But you don’t understand,” she said. “It was the last present my father gave her before he died.”

The tears brimming in the woman’s eyes spilled down her face. “She only let me take it to get the clasp fixed. She didn’t want to,” she said. “I was going to give it back to her this evening. How can it be gone?”

Hunter could feel the muscle in the side of his jaw jerk as his back teeth ground against each other. He looked across the woman’s porch at Pete, who mirrored his frustration.

They’d been working this case for weeks, and they hadn’t got one step closer to finding a suspect, let along apprehending one.

“I hope her mom takes it okay,” Pete said, after they were back on the sidewalk.

Hunter shook his head. “Did you hear her say her mother is ninety years old?”

“It’s going to break that old lady’s heart.”

“And we couldn’t say a damn thing to soften the blow.”

Hunter stood at the end of Christie Street and blew out a long breath. He wondered how many other homeowners on the street would come home to discover they’d been victimized.

He and Pete had investigated two already. All obviously done by the same suspect.

“What’s keeping Morrison?” Pete asked. “He should be here by now.”

Hunter shrugged. “I’m going to start knocking on some neighbors’ doors. Two houses on one block. Somebody had to have seen something,” he said.

Pete looked around. “What neighbors?

He was right, of course. Like the rest of the subdivision that had been hit, Honey Bee Glen was new. Only two hundred of the proposed six
hundred houses had been built so far, and they were scattered throughout the development.

“I got to do something,” Hunter said. “I’m going to start on the street behind this one.”

Pete inclined his head in the other direction. “I’ll take the one over here. Hopefully, we can turn up a good old-fashioned nosy neighbor.”

Hunter’s frustration mounted as he stepped off another porch with no more insight than he had before he’d started. It was the same story every door he knocked on. Nobody home, and if they were they hadn’t seen anything.

He sighed as he trudged up the driveway of a house a street over. A man opened the door and an eager golden retriever bounded down the drive.

The dog danced around Hunter’s feet, until he leaned over and patted him on the head.

“Mike, get back here,” the man called.

Mike gave Hunter’s hand one last friendly lick before returning to his owner.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Detective Coleman, Nashville Police Department.” Hunter held out his identification.

“I’m investigating the burglaries of at least two of your neighbors’ homes today, and I’d like to talk to you.”

The man’s mouth fell open. “Burglaries? Here? I just moved in a month ago. These are brand-new houses,” he said. “You’re kidding, right?”
Hunter shook his head. “Unfortunately, no.”

“Have a seat, Detective Coleman.” He gestured toward two rockers on the porch.

Unlike the homes that had been burglarized, Hunter noted, this elevation didn’t feature a recessed entryway.

The man extended his hand. “I’m Art Pryor, and this is my dog, Mike,” he said. “Can I get you anything? I have cold beer and soda in the fridge.”

Hunter shook his hand briefly. “I’m good, thanks.”

“So, you said these burglaries occurred today?”

Hunter nodded as he listened.

“I had the day off, so I’ve been home all day. I had no idea.”

“And you didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary? Anything or anyone out of place?”

“That’s the thing, there’s so much construction noise around here. The hammers, drills, and construction vehicles drown everything out,” Art said. “As for strangers, I haven’t had a chance to meet anyone yet.”

It was a familiar refrain, Hunter thought.

“The burglaries occurred one street over from you on Christie Street,” Hunter said. “So anything you could tell me would be helpful.”

“Yeah, of course. Just ask.”

“Were you at home all day?” Hunter asked. “You didn’t leave the house at all?”

“Actually, I took Mike for a walk earlier, and we were on Christie,” he said.

Hunter’s ears perked up. “Can you remember approximately what time?”

“Hmmm.” He pressed his lips together. “Shortly after nine in the morning.”

“Mr. Pryor, I’d like you to try and remember every person you saw, talked to, or walked by,” Hunter said. “Don’t leave anyone out.”

He shrugged. “I was just out walking the dog, you know? I really didn’t see anyone.”

“Just think,” Hunter pressed.

The man took a deep breath and exhaled.

“Do you think retracing your steps will help jog your memory?” Hunter asked.

“Let’s see, I saw a guy on a bulldozer and workers bricking in the house on the corner with the Sold sign out front. And we walked past a thin lady with silver hair as she was backing her car out the driveway.”

“Had you seen them before today?”

Art nodded. “I’m pretty sure I have,” he said. “Oh, there was also the guy in the suit. I think he was a real estate agent or something.”

“Was he wearing a name tag?”

The man shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

“Did you see which house he went to?”

“No, I just said hello as we walked past him. I didn’t turn back around to look.”

It was probably nothing. Still, Hunter made a
note to stop at the model home and get the names of any Realtors who had shown or checked out houses that morning, so he and Pete could talk to them.

“Can you tell me what the guy looked like? Did you happen to see his car?”

“He was tall, with short hair. Maybe black, maybe Hispanic. I couldn’t tell. He had on a dark suit, and I think he was carrying a briefcase.”

“Would you know him if you saw him again?”

Art nodded. “Probably.”

More than likely it was nothing, but it wouldn’t hurt to check, Hunter reasoned. Maybe the Realtor had seen or heard something they could use.

“Do you have a number where I can reach you in case I have more questions?” Hunter asked.

The man rattled off his number, and Hunter made note of it. Then he passed on his business card. “If you remember anything else, give me a call.”

Ali slowed her car to a stop in front of the familiar two-story Colonial and immediately spotted her aunt kneeling in a bed of sunny daffodils.

Ali had insisted Aunt Rachel take a well-deserved break. No classes were scheduled. So there wasn’t a reason for the older woman to spend a gorgeous spring day stuck at the school.

Her aunt, who apparently hadn’t heard her car pull up, abandoned her weeding and turned around when Ali closed the driver’s-side door.

“Morning, Alison. I was hoping you’d drop by. I’ve been dying to hear all about your interview,” she said as Ali crossed the lawn. “How did it go?”

“Fabulous,” Ali said. “In fact, I drove straight here from the newspaper office. I could hardly wait to talk to you.”

Ali watched her aunt’s smile brighten. “That’s wonderful news. We’re going to have to find a way to celebrate your new job,” she said, yanking off her gardening gloves.

“Oh, I didn’t get the job,” Ali corrected. “Apparently, the newspaper’s finances aren’t much better than ours.”

“I see.” Her aunt’s smile faltered. “I’m sorry, dear. I was hoping…”

Ali touched her aunt’s arm. “It’s okay, Auntie.”

“I don’t understand. If you didn’t get the job, why are you so excited?”

“Well, the managing editor of the paper said the most interesting thing. It flipped on the lightbulb inside my head, and I came up with what I think is a great idea.”

The older woman picked up her spade and stuffed it, along with her gloves, into a yellow gardening bag. “Let’s go inside, and you can tell me what’s on your mind.”

Ali followed her inside the house both Aunt
Rachel and her father had grown up in as children. Decades ago, her aunt had had her own house, but sold it after her husband died and moved back into the old family house.

“Make yourself comfortable in the parlor while I clean myself up,” her aunt said.

Ali took a seat in a chair in front of the bay window with a view of the front yard.

She glanced around the room. The knick-knacks that had covered every surface, when Ali visited as a child, were long gone. So were the huge floral sofa and overstuffed chairs.

Aunt Rachel had decluttered and redecorated the older home, declaring she wasn’t going to be one of those old ladies sitting in a pile of junk.

Now the room was a palette of creamy off-white set against gleaming cherry hardwood floors. The only decorations were vases filled with spring blooms and a framed black-and-white photograph of Ali’s late uncle.

“Would you like something to drink?” her aunt asked when she returned.

Ali shook her head, and watched her aunt sit in an identical chair across from her. “Now tell me what the editor of the paper said that has you so excited.”

“Well, as I was leaving, he noted I was the best job candidate he’d seen in years. He went on to say how he’d interviewed candidates with
terrific résumés but who didn’t know how to present themselves to potential employers.”

Her aunt nodded for her to continue.

“They’re coming in rumpled or inappropriate clothing, using slang and their cell phones during the interview.”

Ali watched the older woman’s eyes widen.

“Not to mention wild hair colors and exposed tattoos with vulgar sayings,” Ali continued.

“Are you sure those aren’t isolated incidents?” Aunt Rachel asked. “It seems common sense would dictate that kind of behavior is unacceptable for a job interview.”

Ali shook her head. “Mr. Hicks mentioned other employers were having the same problem, even with college graduates,” she said. “As for it being common sense, maybe to some people. However, there seems to be a sizeable number of people who just don’t get it. And I’m sure they’re wondering why they’re being turned down for jobs they’re qualified to do.”

Her aunt’s smile returned and Ali knew the realization had dawned on her. “So you’re proposing we start a class tailored toward job seekers?”

Ali cleared her throat. “Actually, Auntie, it’s more than simply a proposal. I immediately took out an ad that begins running in tomorrow’s newspaper. It’s already up on the
Journal-Gazette’s
online edition.”

She held her breath waiting for her aunt’s reaction. Before now, Ali had been careful to discuss these matters with Aunt Rachel in the form of a suggestion.

“Tell me more,” her aunt said.

“The new classes are called ‘Get the Job.’ One is tailored for people new to the job market. The other is geared toward those who’ve been unemployed and looking for work.”

The older woman appeared to mull Ali’s statement over. Finally, she nodded. “I think you’re on to something with this idea of yours.”

“Really?” Ali straightened in her seat. “So you approve?”

“Yes, of course,” her aunt said. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of it before now. With unemployment at record highs, it is essential job seekers know protocol and how to present themselves in the best light.”

“Exactly,” Ali agreed.

“Now tell me, what can I do to help get this project off the ground?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Ali reached into her bag and retrieved her notes. She began to lay out the details of the hastily written plan she’d come up with while still at the newspaper’s offices.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am,” her aunt said. “I’d begun to have my doubts on the significance of a charm school in this day and age. Thank you for showing me we’re still relevant.”

Ali smiled. “It’s like you told me when I was growing up. Good manners will never go out of style.”

Her aunt reached over and took her hand. “Your being here has meant the world to me.”

Ali squeezed her aunt’s hand lightly. “Me too.”

Ali opened the front door to the school.

She was nearly halfway home when she realized she’d left her laptop in her office and had to swing back by the school to retrieve it.

“Excuse me, miss,” a voice called out from behind her as she stepped through the door.

Ali turned around to see a florist truck on the curb and a deliveryman bearing a vase filled with at least two dozen deep pink roses approaching.

“Need help with directions?” she asked.

“No, this is the right address. I’ve been by here twice today, but no one was around,” he said. “These are for Ali Spencer.”

Giddy with excitement, Ali managed to hold off her curiosity long enough to tip the deliveryman. She placed the vase on the reception desk and opened the card.

“Hope your interview went well,” she read aloud. “Dinner tonight at six. Will pick you up at your place, Hunter.”

Ali pressed her nose against an open bloom and inhaled its fragrant scent. She held the card to her chest a moment as images of spending the majority of yesterday in Hunter’s bed came rushing back.

Unfortunately, so did her conscience.

He needs time. Not sex.

Ali folded the card and slid it into her purse. This time she wouldn’t argue with her conscience. Because she cared so much for Hunter, this time she’d heed its call.

“You want to have dinner at our place?” Pete asked. “We’re just throwing some steaks on the grill.”

Hunter pressed the key remote to unlock the driver’s-side door. “Thanks for asking, but I’ll pass.”

Pete stopped in the middle of the precinct parking lot and stared at him. “Since when do you turn down steak?” he asked. “It’s not like you’ve got a date tonight.”

Hunter glanced at his watch. It was a little before five, which gave him just enough time to go home, shower, dress, and make it to Ali’s by six. The busy and frustrating day hadn’t kept thoughts of her at bay.

He could hardly wait to see her tonight.

“Wait a minute,” Pete said, following him. “You do have a date, don’t you?”

Hunter gave him a curt nod. “And if I stand
out here gossiping with you like an old lady, I’m going to be late.”

“Are you and Erica back together?”

“No.” Hunter slid into the driver’s-side seat of his car and started the engine. He looked up to see Pete tapping on the window and rolled it down.

“Then who?” Pete asked.

Hunter hesitated. It wasn’t as though he was trying to hide anything. Everything was so new with Ali. He wanted them to enjoy this time and each other.

“It’s Ali, isn’t it?”

Hunter struggled to keep his face unreadable, but he knew he was grinning like an idiot.

“I knew it,” Pete said. “I noticed the way you two looked at each other when you thought no one was looking.”

“Jeez, you are like an old lady.”

Less than an hour later, Hunter stood in front of Ali’s apartment door. He couldn’t help noting this visit was different from the others and not just because it was at her apartment.

This time when he saw her, he didn’t have to struggle with the guilt over his attraction to her or wonder if she felt the same way about him.

Ali opened the door. He stared at her a moment, and his heart did an odd flip-flop in his chest.

“You wore your hair down,” he said. “It looks pretty that way.”

The corners of her mouth pulled into a slight smile at the compliment as if she hadn’t received one in a long time. He’d change that, he thought.

Ali beckoned him inside, and he caught the fresh, citrusy scent of her perfume as he walked past her.

The entryway spilled directly into the living room of the small space. The white walls and beige carpeting were the standard apartment issue, but Hunter was surprised to see Ali’s décor had an earthy flair.

Her sofa and matching armchair were in a muted green. There were no tables. Instead, two giant leafy houseplants flanked the sofa, adding drama to the neutral room.

Her taste surprised him. With her penchant for pink, he’d expected her place to brim over with pink and frills.

“I have to admit, this isn’t the way I’d expected your place to look,” he said.

“I’ve had so much upheaval in my life lately, I needed my space to have a serene, Zen-like quality. If that makes any sense.”

“Yeah, it does. I guess I’m surprised not to see any—”

“Pink,” she answered for him. “You haven’t seen the bedroom and bathroom yet. Oh, and speaking of pink, I got the roses. They’re lovely.”

She inclined her head toward the kitchen, where he spotted the roses on the center of the small table.

“One of the reasons I sent them was to wish you luck on your interview. How did it go?”

Ali shrugged. “The interview part went well, but I’m not sure if anything will come of it. Everybody’s in a budget crunch these days.”

He reached out and touched her arm. “The interview wasn’t the only reason I sent the flowers,” he said. “I wanted you to know last night was special to me. It had nothing to do with what happened between me and Erica.”

He looked directly into her eyes, because he wanted to make sure she understood him. “It was all about me and you.”

Ali averted her eyes. “Hunter, I think we should talk.”

A lump of dread formed in Hunter’s stomach. From her expression and the tone of her voice, he knew he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say.

She gestured for him to have a seat on the sofa. However, instead of sitting next to him, she distanced herself by sitting across from him in the armchair.

“Yesterday was special. You have no idea how much being with you meant to me,” she began.

Hunter waited for the inevitable “but.”

“But we should have waited. You’re on the rebound and you need time to get over Erica,” she said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to jump into bed again.”

Hunter listened as she went on with what sounded like a speech she’d rehearsed before he’d arrived. Only she had it all wrong. How could he make her understand the only things he felt where Erica was concerned were pity and a great deal of relief?

Her mind was made up, he thought. Nothing he said would convince her otherwise, especially after the job her ex had done on her.

Only his actions would persuade her.

“I’m not here for sex, Ali. I got plenty of the hot sex yesterday, so I’m good.”

He watched with a certain amount of satisfaction as her mouth fell open into a stunned O. “I’m here to take you out on our first date.”

Hunter rose and checked the time on his wristwatch. “If we’re done with this conversation, I think we should get going. I don’t want to be late.”

Ali bit into the gourmet sandwich and chewed.

She knew the chutney and ham panini with Gruyère cheese she’d ordered was probably delectable. It certainly looked good, and the grill-pressed homemade bread smelled heavenly. But it might as well have been peanut butter on white bread for all she cared.

She glanced across the table of the European-style café in the city’s downtown library at Hunter. He seemed oblivious of her agitation. In fact,
he dug into his food as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Is something wrong with your sandwich?” he asked. “You’ve barely touched it.”

Something was wrong all right, but it wasn’t the food, Ali thought. She’d expected him to put up some kind of protest when she’d drawn the line on them having sex again.

Instead, he shrugged it off as though it was no big deal. So of course his lack of interest had only piqued hers.

“No, it’s great.” She took another bite.

And why did he have to look so good? she wondered. He wore khakis and a polo shirt in a shade of brown that made his dark complexion look even richer.

Ali hadn’t eaten all day, but if she’d had a choice right now between him and her sandwich, she’d definitely opt for a taste of him.

Hunter eyed her picked-over sandwich again. “Well, if you’re done we should walk over to the courtyard. The concert should be starting soon,” he said.

As they walked through the main library, Ali couldn’t help noticing the marble floors and stone walls of the stately building.

“This looks like a New York City museum,” she said. “It’s hard to believe it’s a library.”

“I’ve been here at least a dozen times, but it never fails to impress me.”

She listened as Hunter told her about the
library’s lunchtime summer concert series, where the public could enjoy their packed lunch and listen to up-and-coming musicians for free.

“The response was so positive, they occasionally offer a spring or fall concert in the evenings,” he said. “Tonight’s concert is free too. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

Ali looked up at him to find him studying her face. “No, why would it?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I want you to know I brought you here to listen to good music in an elegant but casual atmosphere,” he said. “I wasn’t going for a cheap date.”

“The thought never entered my mind,” she said. Honestly, she was just happy being with him. She didn’t care how much the date cost.

The spring sun had yet to set when they reached the library’s courtyard, and the sounds of musicians warming up and people chatting filled the warm early evening air.

She looked around at the central fountain surrounded by scattered wrought-iron bistro table sets, stone benches, and potted trees. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was in an outdoor Parisian café instead of downtown Nashville. With the tables already filled by couples, she and Hunter sat next to each other on a long stone bench.

“I first heard the Latin quartet playing here this evening at a concert here last summer,”
Hunter said. “They have a good sound. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“If their warm-up is any indication, I’m sure I will.”

Ali shifted on the stone bench. She told herself she wasn’t afraid to touch him, but still was grateful for the inches of space separating their thighs. Her relief was short-lived.

As more people filed in searching for open seats, they were forced to sit closer and closer. Ali swallowed hard. She could feel the warmth radiating off his body and smell his subtle cologne.

They began to play, and Ali prayed the music would be enough to divert her attention from the man seated next to her.

The quartet played the four instruments with enough sound and emotion to fill a concert hall. Nearly half the crowd was now out of their seats. They’d pushed back the tables and chairs and made an impromptu dance floor.

She stole a peek at Hunter, who was tapping his feet in time with the lively music.

“I’d ask you to dance, but I’d only end up stomping all over your feet,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Your last lesson is dancing, but I guess there’s no need for it now,” she said.

The sun had set by the time the band finished its last number, and the four musicians took bows to a standing ovation.

“Now I understand why you wanted to hear
them play,” Ali said to Hunter as they walked the short blocks to the lot where he’d parked. “I’m definitely a fan.”

“That’s exactly the way I felt the first time I heard them,” he said.

The evening hour enabled them to leave the downtown area without running into any traffic snarls.

“So, tell me more about the new classes you mentioned,” Hunter said.

As Ali filled him in on her plans for the school, she couldn’t help feeling touched by his interest and enthusiasm for her project.

She stole glances at Hunter while he drove.

“I won’t lie,” he said. “I’m for anything that keeps you here in Nashville.”

Both she and Hunter were quiet as they made the short trek to her apartment door. She wanted to tell Hunter that her sex ban didn’t extend to good-night kisses.

Ali was relieved when he pulled her into arms. As he lowered his head, she hotly anticipated his kiss. However, to her disappointment his lips touched her forehead instead.

Thanks for nothing
, Ali fumed at her conscience, and wondered why she’d listened to it in the first place.

Taj watched Erica’s eyes nearly pop out of her head when he slipped the ruby bracelet around her wrist.

Usually he would have transformed it, like the rest of the jewelry from his last haul, into quick cash. However, he thought he could make better use of this particular gem by using it to fertilize the sapling of his money tree. And he could always steal it a second time.

Taj forced himself to focus on the woman in front of him instead of looking out of her floor-to-ceiling windows at the amazing view of the city at night.

“Oh, Taj. It’s gorgeous,” she said, her eyes still glued to her wrist.

“I took one look at it and knew it was perfect. The rubies remind me of the red dress you wore the night we met.”

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth. He tamped down the guilt he felt over his girlfriend sitting at home. This was work, he thought. Besides, she never had to know.

The kiss ended and Erica’s attention went back to her new bracelet.

“I’ve never seen anything like it before. Is it an antique?”

He nodded, though he had no idea. All he knew was the stones were real. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but I wanted to give you something to show you how unique and special you are.”

“Oh, Taj, this has to be the best gift I’ve ever received. I’m never going to take if off,” she
gushed. “But you shouldn’t have gone through so much trouble for me.”

Don’t worry, I didn’t, he thought. Aloud he said, “Nothing is too much trouble where you’re concerned. And have I told you how lovely you look tonight?”

Taj watched her spin around to show off a dark blue gown that was cut low in the front and in the back, but it was the sapphire and diamond cocktail ring on her hand that got his attention. If only he could find a way to slip it off her finger sometime tonight. It would probably fetch more than he would have gotten for the bracelet.

“Do you think I should change into something red to match my new bracelet?”

Taj shook his head. “Not when you’re making blue my new favorite color.” He winced inwardly at the sheer corniness of the line, and then looked at Erica, who was eating it up.