Authors: Glenys O'Connell
“Sorry,
to disappoint you, love, but he’s too big. This thief is getting through tiny
spaces, like bathroom windows the owners believe are too small to be a security
risk. You have these huge, opulent houses with security systems on a parallel
to Fort Knox – and they leave the bathroom windows open. Go figure!” Bill
explained.
Bill
left in a hurry then, in answer to a call from the station on his mobile phone.
Cíara, who was dreading returning alone to the office with Winters, announced
that she had a heavy date that evening and was going to take the rest of the
afternoon off. “Besides, I have to pick my car up from the garage.”
“That’s
not surprising, I bet that rust bucket spends a lot of time in the garage. And
no wonder you can’t afford anything better. You won’t have much business, playing
hooky like this. You can’t let your social life get in the way of work if you
want to succeed,” he prodded her.
Cíara
was fuming. If he only knew the extra hours she’d worked to make the money to
start this business in the first place, to say nothing of the 16-hour days
living, eating and breathing the job to try to get it on its feet!
Now he sat there looking smugly at her and she
was, for once, lost for words.
“Go to hell,” was the best she could manage and
she flounced off, getting some satisfaction from leaving him holding the bill.
She
realized the danger just as soon as she saw them.
Walking back alone through streets of delectable
shops selling everything a girl could ever want was obviously a dumb move,
especially for a girl on a budget with a high-maintenance car to feed. But the
stores
really did
have everything.
Including the sweetest, sexiest pair of strappy
sandals with devilish ankle breaking four-inch stiletto heels.
Cíara pressed her nose to the glass as she stared,
holding herself back only when she saw the severe glance of the store
assistant. But the shoes called to her from the window where they were
cunningly displayed. She answered the call, of course – what red-blooded Irish
woman wouldn’t? And once she had them on her feet, there was no way she could
leave them all alone in the shop. Even though the price tag made her wince and
realize she’d have to give up lunches for a week – or two, three….
That
evening found her concentrating carefully as she picked her way across the
gravel of the Henley’s immaculate driveway wearing her new sandals. She’d
picked up the beautifully polished and now mercifully quiet MG from a still
miserable Harry and driven out to Meath during the evening city exodus, which
had done little to improve her humor.
In fact, by the time she arrived, she was in a
foul mood and looking for someone to take it out of. Preferably Margaret or
Liam Henley. Or even the ‘lovely young William Dexter’ who had such a wonderful
future ahead of him. Her erstwhile grandmother was matchmaking, and Cíara’s
blood pressure notched up another few hundred points as she ground her teeth.
But
she soon discovered she didn't have to search for someone to savage. Right
there in the hallway, being greeted enthusiastically by Margaret Henley, was
Jonathon Winters. To give the man credit, he looked just about as gobsmacked to
see her as she did to see him, but he was the first to recover.
Oily snake
that he was!
“Cíara!
I didn’t know you were among the guests tonight! Such a pleasant surprise!”
Turning his best thousand watt smile on Mrs. Henley, he announced: “Did you
know that Cíara and I are partners in her private investigations agency? Just
tied the knot today!”
In
other circumstances, Cíara would have been delighted to see her grandmother at
such a loss. But right now, she was too taken up with fighting the desire to
leap on Jonathon and beat the smile from his face.
Or something.
“Darling,
that’s wonderful – your grandfather will be so happy to hear that you’re
getting the business off on a proper footing at last. What do you drive, Mr.
Winters?” Mrs. Henley oozed.
“What
do I drive?” Winters was suitably bewildered. Cíara ignored him.
“Since
when does having a man as a partner mean anything?” Cíara growled.
“Well,
it is
rather
a man’s business, isn’t it? You know, of course, Mr.
Winters, that Cíara is—“
“--Really,
really in need of a drink and I’m sorry, Margaret, but I really must steal
Jonathon
out from under your nose. I have a small business matter to discuss,” Cíara cut
in. No way did she want her grandmother to spill the beans about her
relationship to the fabulously wealthy Henleys. It would bring up too many
questions in Winters’ mind – questions that she had no intention of answering.
Then she had a sudden image of her grandmother hurriedly shuffling seating
arrangements so that she would be condemned to spend the entire meal sitting
next to her 'partner’, and hastily added: “By the way, I am
so
looking
forward to sitting next to William Dexter at dinner!”
“Well, well, I never
would have guessed that you move in such exalted and affluent circles,” Winters
murmured against her ear as he escorted her to the well-stocked bar.
“Why?
Because I drive a beat up old car and can’t afford classy office space? Or
because I just seem like something the cat dragged in off the street?”
He
gave her a long, lazy assessment, taking his time to scroll his gaze from her
sexy, strappy sandals to the minuscule red dress that covered the bare
essentials and had been worn simply to give her grandparents social
palpitations. “No, you certainly don’t look like something the cat dragged in,”
he muttered, his hand slipping surreptitiously down the silky fabric of her
dress to rest on the swell of her buttock.
“Get
your hand off my bum, Winters, or I’ll cause a scene. I’ve told you, no copping
a feel without permission!”
It was his turn to be
embarrassed, mostly because he realized he’d had no control over that errant
hand. In fact, standing so close to Cíara, breathing in her perfume, seeing the
hectic, excited color on her skin, he had to fight the temptation to drag her
off into a quiet corner and…
“
Winters!”
My God, can she read my mind?
He came to his senses at the sharp note in her
voice, and rapidly backed off. “So, who’s this William Dexter then? The one
you’re so looking forward to seeing?” He hadn’t wanted to ask, hadn’t wanted
her to know he was remotely interested, but the question slipped out anyway.
She looked at him through narrowed eyes.
Why
did he have to be so damned attractive? Even that bruise now gave him a rakish
look, and she wanted to run her fingers gently over it…
“Why? Are you afraid of the
competition?” she taunted.
Winters glared at her, and she gave him a sweet
smile, aware that her grandmother was bearing down on them, William trailing in
her wake.
For God’s sake, William, at least try and look
like you could be competition to this man!
she urged silently. But there was little chance of that. William Dexter,
just under six foot tall and still sporting a youthful gangliness that made him
look younger than his years, could never be considered competition to the
undeniably handsome, undeniably male writer/homicide cop. But Cíara was willing
to give it a shot, so she spent much of the cocktail hour giving a bemused and
delighted William her total attention.
Then, as they sat down to eat, another guest
arrived, profuse in his apologies for lateness. Cíara, immediately recognizing
the long blond hair and slender frame of Anton Wallace, sent a prayer out to
the Universe at least to let the floor open up and swallow her.
It went unanswered, and she gave herself
indigestion keeping an eye on Winters and Wallace while flattering William and
trying to keep her face averted so that Wallace wouldn’t get a good look at
her. She'd been foolish not to wear her full slut disguise in Waterford, but
the wigs were hot and itchy and who would ever have imagined she'd bump into
anyone from out in the sticks back here in County Meath?
She survived the meal, but she knew she couldn’t
leave until Winters did. She needed to keep an eye on him and make sure he
didn’t get free range with her grandparents, or too chummy with Wallace. She
had to intervene in a hurry when she found him deep in consultation with her
grandfather.
“Cíara! This fine young man has just been
telling me about your new business arrangement! Just what was needed, what?” He
must have seen the glint in his granddaughter's eye because his jaw snapped
shut on any further comments about her needing a man to take care of the
business.
But Winters seemed to know no fear. Turning to
her with a welcoming grin, he announced: “We’ve just got a commission from Mr.
Henley, honey. You know, it’s such a co-incidence we discussed the Diamond
Darling at lunch, because this gentleman is worried that the thief has targeted
so many of their friends, and that this lovely home might be next on the list!”
Cíara scowled. She had a fleeting uncharitable
thought that Grandmother Henley would feel slighted if the thief didn’t bother
to raid her jewelry box – it would give the impression to her friends that she
had nothing worth stealing. But she swallowed the thought, not wanting to give
away her knowledge of Margaret Henley’s well-stocked jewelry box.
Just as she was thinking of a suitable
non-committal rejoinder – she’d already glared at her grandfather to no avail-
Cíara’s worst nightmare came true. A sleek South African voice called her name
from right by her elbow, and she looked up to see Wallace smiling indulgently
down at her.
“My dear, I had hoped we would meet again! I so
wanted to apologize for my mistake the other evening – it was simply a
misunderstanding, you know!”
“You two know each other?” Mr. Henley asked.
Cíara
realized that Wallace had twigged she was probably a wealthy heiress like the
other young women in the room, and was trying to cover his rear end for the
comments he’d made the other night. But she could hardly voice this opinion out
loud in front of her grandfather and Winters, so she had to let him away with
the fiction that they’d met the other night and he’d accidentally called her by
the wrong name, mistaking her for somebody quite different.
“Damn right,” she muttered to herself, and
quailed when she again saw that speculative look on Winters’ face.
Lord, it
couldn’t be much longer before he put everything together and realized where
he’d seen her and Wallace before – and then things would certainly hit the fan!
So she did the only thing she could – the girlie
thing. She slipped her arm through Anton's and, ignoring the injured puppy look
on William’s face and the suspiciously raised eyebrow on Winters’, she smiled
at her new beau and drew him away to a quieter part of the room.
“So, do you live with your grandparents, or have
you a place in Dublin?” he asked, the question casual but she didn’t miss the
speculative gleam in his eye. Wondering if Serena McLaughlin had taken the tip
from her report and dumped the fortune-hunting jerk, she answered sweetly: “Oh,
no, I couldn’t live with them – they’d spoil me so. I have a place in town, one
of those Georgians on a small square in Rathmines.”
“Rathmines – I don’t know it too well but I have
a friend in the area. What street are you on?”
“It’s a quiet little place, although
unfortunately most of the properties have been given over to flats. Grosvenor
Square – it sounds so upper class London, doesn’t it?”
“What a coincidence! My friend lives on the same
square – she’s at number 641!”
As far as she knew, there was no 641 on the
square, but she played along anyway and gave him her house and phone number.
“Maybe we could have lunch sometime,” she said loudly. She’d seen Winters
bearing down on them with a tight hard line to his mouth.
“That would be wonderful – but dinner would be
better!” Wallace replied gallantly.
“Well, just you give me a call and we’ll get
together for sure.” She smiled that sweet smile again, touching his arm briefly
before turning to scowl at her new partner.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, not sounding in
the least sorry, “But I’m about to leave, and I had something I need to discuss
with Cíara. If you’ll excuse us...”
“Certainly,” Wallace smiled. He winked at Cíara,
and moved away.
“Well, I was just about to slip to the ladies’
powder room,” she announced primly. “Surely it would keep until tomorrow?”
“No, it won’t. And I’ll wait.”
“Suit yourself – it could be a while,” she said,
and fluttered up the familiar stairs. Once safely in the bathroom, she delayed
as long as she could, and then slipped into the room the Henley’s kept for her
rare visits. Popping open the rosewood jewelry box that stood on the antique
dresser, she noted that all the previous gifts she’d received from them were still
tossed into the box as she’d left them. She picked up a diamond tennis
bracelet, admiring it despite herself, then some sapphire drop earrings that
she knew would look perfect against her skin and red hair – but that she would
never wear.