Cat Burglar in Training (18 page)

As soon as I arrived back at the hotel, I rang Oakthorpe to check on Amber. The phone was picked up after two rings.

“Hello?” The careful greeting gave me pause. Hannah sounded reluctant to answer. My instincts roared, adding two and two and coming up with a grand total.

“Hannah, it’s Eve. Has Vincent rung sprouting his threats again?”

“Worse,” Hannah muttered. “Kahu rang wanting to speak to you. I didn’t know what to tell him. In the end, I said you were away for the weekend with friends.”

I pulled a face at the phone. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t say much at all, but I think he was a bit put out. He said he got voicemail when he rang you.”

“Damn.” I’d known I was running a risk not telling him but since he hadn’t contacted me with firm plans, I’d assumed he was working.

“I told him to try ringing you again. Was that all right?” Hannah’s concern came across loud and clear.

“Don’t worry. There was nothing else you could’ve done.”

“How are things going up there? Has Beauchamp made a pass at you yet?”

“Not yet, and he won’t if he knows what’s good for him. Is Amber all right?”

“She’s fine, Evie. Don’t worry. That painting set Kahu gave her has kept her busy. She spent the evening decorating eggcups. Your daughter has a real artistic bent. The eggcups looked so good, Ben asked if she’d like to sell them at the market for some pocket money so she could buy more.”

“Are they that good?” I asked with a trace of surprise. “I can’t draw a straight line.”

“I resisted the impulse to point that out,” Hannah said in her dry manner.

A thump echoed through the suite to my bedroom.

“Oops, someone’s at the door. I’d better go. I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”

“Take care, Evie.”

“I will,” I promised. “Good night.”

I hung up and raced to answer the door. A room attendant waited with a trolley of hors d’oeuvres for our late supper along with four bottles of Moet champagne and two of sparkling mineral water.

“Great.” I stood back to allow him entry into the suite. He wheeled the cart through to the small kitchenette and unloaded it for me.

After he’d gone, I checked my watch and saw I had time for a quick shower before Beauchamp arrived with his guests.

I’d just climbed out of the shower when a tap sounded on my bedroom door. Beauchamp stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

“Was there something you wanted?” I plucked the toweling robe off the king-size bed and tightened the belt around my waist. A shiver of distaste worked its way up my spine. The need to jump back in the shower and scrub my skin clean of his gaze overwhelmed me.

“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?” he asked hoarsely. He wanted me and was reminding me of the fact.

“Quite sure. I’m involved and I don’t fool around.” The same answer I’d given him when he first asked. I hoped he didn’t intend to try physical force to gain his desires.

Richard nodded, and I saw a flash of regret. “My guests have arrived. They’ve gone to their rooms to freshen up and will be here shortly.”

“Everything is ready,” I said. “I’ll be out in five minutes.”

This time his look contained clear doubt. An affront to my timekeeping. “Five minutes,” I repeated. “If you leave the room.”

Richard shook his head. In the moment, he seemed immeasurably older, and I felt a second of sympathy. I wondered why his marriage had failed.

“You’re on a timer,” he said, shutting the door with a faint click after him.

I let out my breath in a soft whoosh. He wouldn’t walk in again if his guests were expected soon. I hoped. I discarded my robe to pull on the high-cut black lace knickers and matching bra I’d set out earlier. My black knit dress was simplicity itself. It clung to my figure like a second skin. My shoes were embroidered slippers my godmother had given me—a souvenir of her trip to Istanbul. I released my hair from its tight braid and pulled a brush through it. In the interests of speed, I left it loose, but anchored several strands away from my face with a pair of jeweled combs. I left my gold studs in place. Makeup tonight was simple—a swish of mascara on my lashes, and a quick brush over my face with a tinted mineral powder. After a final check in the mirror, I stepped into the main suite area to join Richard Beauchamp.

“You look beautiful,” he said, taking my hand and planting a lingering kiss on my knuckles. “Classy but not too dressy. Perfect. Can I get you a drink?”

“I’ll get one,” I said. “I want to take the covers off the hors d’oeuvres.”

He wanted to argue but someone tapped on the door. The guests had arrived.

Richard held out his hand to me, and I accepted it even though I loathed touching him. My presence here was buying us time to make the payment. I had to remember that.

Richard attended to introductions. Theo Henry and Reginald Mitchell. Although I hadn’t asked Richard about the men he was doing business with, I’d pictured them in my head. They pretty much tallied with my imagination. A bit like Beauchamp. Older men with polished veneers and figures suggestive of too many long lunches. The third man took me by surprise. Richard introduced him as his brother, not that they looked alike.

I shook his hand. “Matthew.” I racked my brain trying to think if I’d seen him before and came up blank. It niggled me because he looked familiar. “Pleased to meet you.”

The women on their arms were a different story. Young. In their early twenties. Tiffany and Jules.

I slipped smoothly into social chitchat, a skill drilled into me at finishing school. Richard poured drinks while I handed around smoked salmon tarts and tiny sandwiches.

“What would you like to do tomorrow while the men are talking business?” I asked Jules. “We could do some sightseeing and a little shopping.”

“Shopping,” Tiffany said, clapping her hands.

I groaned inwardly. Great. Retail therapy without the money to back it up. “My friend lives in Edinburgh. Would it be okay if she came along? An insider’s knowledge will be helpful.”

Tiffany lifted one pale shoulder in a shrug. “Doesn’t worry me.”

“Sounds good to me.” Jules’s faint accent indicated she’d lived in Europe for a time.

“I’ll arrange a cab,” I said. “What time would you like to start?”

“As soon as the shops open,” Jules said with relish. “I want to buy one of those darling little tartan skirts.”

The weekend passed rapidly despite the endless shopping. Listening to Kahu’s message brought remorse, and I sent a text saying I’d call him when I got home. He didn’t return my text.

Jaycee’s local knowledge was a godsend and her company kept me sane. Since we had an extra man to our party, I suggested to Richard that we invite Jaycee to dinner Saturday night to make up the numbers.

“I don’t know,” he said. “This is business.”

“But Matthew is coming to dinner. It won’t look good if he flirts with the women.”

Richard understood my point, and I pushed my advantage. “Jaycee attended finishing school with me in Switzerland. She knows how to act around people with money. Her family has money. The Carrisbrookes,” I said, shamelessly namedropping. “The girls got on well with her when we went shopping today.” Of course, I refrained from mentioning they were too busy purchasing darling little skirts—kilts to you and me—to worry about much else.

Richard’s eyes narrowed and finally he nodded. “Okay.”

Instead of letting loose the whoop trembling at the back of my throat, I limited myself to a ladylike smile. Mission accomplished. I hadn’t relished fighting off two Beauchamp brothers by myself.

We were a veritable advertisement for designers when we left the hotel. I wore slinky black while Jaycee, Jules, and Tiffany wore blue, innocent white and siren red respectively. The men looked magnificent in their suits. It promised to be an elegant evening at White’s Restaurant. White’s, according to Jaycee, was the place to see and be seen.

“Oh, Theo!” Jules said in a breathless little girl voice when the hostess showed us to our seats. “This is beautiful.”

Theo beamed, no doubt thinking about scoring later back at the hotel.

Richard guided everyone to his or her seats without seeming to take over. I doubt anyone noticed they were organized. I ended up seated between Richard and Matthew—a Beauchamp sandwich. Theo and Jules sat across the table from me.

A bottle of Moet appeared almost magically along with a glass of sparkling mineral water for each of us. I was glad of the water since I didn’t like to make an issue of my non-drinking status. It inevitably led to nosy questions.

“I’ve seen you before somewhere,” Matthew Beauchamp said when Richard’s attention was claimed elsewhere.

“Probably at one of the balls this season,” I said without a lot of interest. Another tired pickup line. “I’ve attended most of them.”

“No,” Matthew said. “I don’t think so.”

I smiled at Jules across the table. Theo looked up and intercepted my smile.

“Thank you for looking after the girls so well. I know Jules had a wonderful time yesterday, and she’s glowing after another enjoyable day today.”

“It was my pleasure.” The man was rather sweet.

“Business went well because Reginald and I knew the girls were enjoying their time here. You must come to the States with Richard, and the girls will reciprocate.”

Not in this lifetime.
I managed a smile—just.

Dinner was surprisingly good. I’d expected the reputation to exceed the food, but the rack of New Zealand lamb tasted delicious—pink and succulent with glazed carrots, tiny roast potatoes, fresh peas and a delectable gravy. I dropped any pretense of dizzy blonde to order and savor the crème brûlée, a decision I didn’t regret since it melted in my mouth.

The only sticky moment came when Richard left the table to make a phone call in private and the other couples adjourned to the dance floor. Jaycee had wandered off to talk to a friend at another table, leaving me alone with Matthew Beauchamp.

“So what are you doing with Richard?” he asked. “You could do better.”

“I suggest you ask Richard.” Heck, both brothers were equally obnoxious. Trained from birth maybe?

“I have a cottage in the Cotswolds,” he said. “How about visiting for a weekend? We could have a lot of fun.”

“I don’t think so.” I struggled to keep my irritation under control. I had no difficulty understanding the subtext. A private weekend for two with drinking, sex and, I thought, glancing at Matthew, maybe designer drugs. “Perhaps another time.”

Arrogant baboon. He thought I was merely playing hard to get and would eventually succumb. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the time or inclination to teach him to respect women.

We checked out of the hotel at ten the next morning. The weekend hadn’t turned out as bad as I’d feared. Richard had behaved and his brother had refrained from repeating his invitation.

A taxi screeched to a halt in the hotel forecourt. Jaycee bounded out and rushed up to me, breathless in her hurry.

“Thank goodness,” she gasped. “I thought I’d miss you.”

“I’m pleased to see you, but we said our goodbyes last night.”

Jaycee rifled through her handbag. I smothered my amusement as she muttered about cleaning out her bag. Jaycee always carried the equivalent to the kitchen sink. It was no surprise to me she couldn’t find anything.

“Ah! Here it is.” She pulled out a rumpled sheet of notepaper. “The list. I remembered last night I hadn’t done one for you. I thought of a few extra names, so hopefully there’s something there to help.”

I hugged Jaycee tight. “Thanks.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” she murmured against my ear. “I’ve given you my email address. Let’s keep in touch. You have my mobile number, right?”

I pulled out my phone and showed her, a cheeky grin flashing. “I’ll talk to you soon,” I said and meant it. The sharing of my sordid past had lightened the weight on my shoulders, and even though I’d discovered little to help me, I knew Jaycee supported me in my search.

I waved as she climbed back in her cab and drove away.

“Nice girl,” Richard said, stepping up beside me. “I’m glad you suggested her joining us for dinner. Matthew seemed keen.”

Jaycee had confessed he’d made a pass at her too, offering the same weekend away in the Cotswolds.

“Is he married?” In the group I socialized with, affairs were the norm. Beds were treated like trains. On and off. It wasn’t how I wanted to live but who was I to judge?

“Yes, he married a French girl—Veronica. They have three children.”

Across the busy street, a shriek of brakes grabbed my attention.

“Fuckin’ arsehole,” the driver yelled out his window.

A figure in dark clothes dodged between the moving vehicles.

“What an idiot.” Richard turned away to signal the doorman.

A loud bang echoed in the street. The pedestrians on the other side of the road scattered.

“Down! He’s got a gun!” a man hollered.

Another shot rang out.

A woman screamed and fell. She didn’t move again.

“Jesus!” Richard shouted. “The garden tub. Over there! Get behind it and keep down.”

He didn’t need to tell me. Staying low, I darted to the stone urn standing in the hotel forecourt. Someone crashed into me, and my mobile phone went flying. It thumped to the ground and skidded across the tarmac, out of reach. I turned, about to go back and retrieve it. Two more shots rang out in quick succession. Hell, my phone could wait. I heard a whine to my right seconds before I ducked behind the urn. A fragment of stone struck my cheek. Blood dripped onto my white trousers. My pulse thundered, adrenaline swooping fear through my belly.

A siren blast in the distance. Another shot fired. The window behind me exploded, fragments of glass raining down on my body. I clasped my hands over my head and neck. When the glass settled, I fingered the wound on my cheek. Not too bad.

A close call. Exhaust fumes filled each breath along with a damp soil scent from the urn and the sickly sweet designer perfume of the woman crouching near me.

The sirens sounded closer now. I turned to check on Richard but couldn’t see him.

My cheek stung. I wiped a trickle of blood from my jaw with the back of my hand.

The sirens were deafening now. A screech of brakes announced the arrival of the police. Had the shots stopped? I poked my head up cautiously, scanning the area around the hotel for movement. Apart from the cops, no one moved. Everyone was still hunkered down, hoping like hell they didn’t get shot like the poor woman on the other side of the road.

I stood, ready to drop to the ground should the need arise. I sighted Richard in the hotel foyer. Over to my right, a woman sobbed. Police swarmed around the woman on the pavement. An ambulance pulled up.

“Officer, is it safe to stand up?” a man called.

A police constable approached me. “Are you all right, miss? You’re bleeding.”

“I’m not shot,” I said. “A fragment ricocheted and hit me.”

“Come with me. We’ll get it looked at while I talk to you.”

I followed him to the ambulance, after stooping to pick up my phone. A crack cut across its face and it looked worse for wear. Shit, hopefully it would still work. I shoved it in my pocket to look at later.

A medic took control. After a closer look, the young man said, “It doesn’t look too bad. I don’t think it will scar.” He grinned at me. “It won’t spoil your stunning looks.”

I couldn’t help but grin back even though it hurt. “Thanks.”

“You from around here?”

“Just up for the weekend.”

The young man grimaced. “Pity,” he said. “I’d love to take you to the pictures.”

His wide smile and easy manner went down a lot better than Matthew Beauchamp’s innuendo. “I’ll let you know if I’m ever up this way again.”

The dark-haired constable sauntered over to me after he’d finished questioning an elderly man. “Are you up to answering a few questions?”

“Sure. Now would be best since I’m meant to catch a plane in an hour.”

Already the crowds were building. It was a wonder they hadn’t diverted the traffic.

Almost as soon as I formed the thought, someone hollered, “You and you.” He emphasized his shouts with finger jabs in the air. “Stop traffic at both ends of the street. No one comes in and no one leaves before we’ve talked to them. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sergeant.”

The two constables held a brief conference and trotted off, one to either end of the street.

“Tell me what you saw,” the dark-haired copper said.

I cast my mind back, letting the picture replay in my mind. “At first I thought it was a car backfiring. I heard a scream. Someone across the other side of the road shouted about a gun. I saw a figure in dark clothes. I’ve no idea whether they were male or female.”

“How tall were they? What color hair?”

I frowned as I tried to remember. “I couldn’t tell exactly. They sort of crouched and wore a hat. A black one.”

He jotted this down in a small spiral-bound notebook. “How many shots did you hear?”

“Four or five, I think.” I frowned in concentration. “It was five.”

“Anything else?”

I thought back and shook my head. “No, nothing else. It happened so fast.”

The ambulance officer, who’d remained quiet during the interview, eased up the pressure on the pad he held to my cheek. He gently turned my head to look at my wound. “Bleeding’s stopped. Looks like it might bruise. You’ll look colorful for a few days, but you’ll live.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“I’ll give you a card,” the cop said. “Ring us if you think of anything else. It doesn’t matter how small or unimportant you think it might be.”

I accepted the business card. “All right,” I said, but didn’t think I’d be ringing them. My powers of observation were good due to my occupation. I’d told them everything I knew.

“Eve, are you all right?” Richard rushed up to the ambulance, red-faced and out of breath.

“She’s fine,” the ambulance officer said. “A small war wound.”

Richard’s eyes opened wide when he spotted my cheek. Now that the adrenaline had fled my system, it ached and whined like a freshly stubbed toe.

“Are you up to flying home today?”

“Of course. The police have interviewed me and I’m cleared to leave.”

Richard’s face held relief.

“Quite an exciting weekend,” I said.

Richard grunted. “This last bit, I could do without.”

The taxi ride to Oakthorpe took forever. Richard had insisted on paying for it, and I hadn’t argued, not wanting to face the train ride. By the time I arrived, a vicious headache throbbed at my temples, playing a duet with the ache in my cheek. At least I was alive. I’d heard on the taxi driver’s radio that the woman shot during the incident had died on the way to the hospital.

The front door opened and the terrible trio and Amber spilled down the steps before the cab came to a halt.

Hannah opened the taxi door, took one look at my cheek and bit her bottom lip. Amber stroked my leg, her forehead puckered in a sympathetic expression. “Does it hurt?”

“I’m all right,” I said, climbing from the cab after paying the driver. I bent to give Amber a quick hug. “What I want to know is how you enjoyed your weekend.”

“I helped Grandpa and Ben in the garden,” Amber said. “We had croissants and jam for breakfast.”

“That sounds like fun.” I cast a quick glance in Hannah’s direction for reassurance. At her brief nod, my nagging anxiety dissolved.

Father and Ben retrieved my luggage, and we walked inside together. It was as if I’d been away for weeks rather than three nights.

“The money came through from Alistair,” Father said.

“That’s good news,” I said. “How did the market go this morning?” As much as I hated to pressure them, we still needed money toward the next payment.

“Business was so brisk, all four of us worked the stall. We could’ve sold twice as much. But nothing has happened on the dagger front, which is disappointing,” Father said.

Amber pushed between Father and I, and hugged my hip. “People paid for my eggcups.”

“Did they? How many did you sell?”

Amber held up ten fingers.

“Ten!” I was seriously impressed.

“They were a big hit.” Father ruffled Amber’s hair. He looked so pleased you’d think he’d painted the eggcups himself.

“I’m painting more for next week. Come see.” Amber dragged me to the kitchen. She had a desk set up near the windows looking out over the gardens. Small tins of paint and brushes covered the table. Six freshly painted eggcups were drying.