A Touch of Minx (8 page)

Finally he straightened. "I'm not sure," he said slowly, his drawl deepening. "The colors look right, but I haven't seen Wild Bill's in person since the party in January."

"But the colors are the same."

"I think so. I couldn't in all honesty swear to it, Miss Samantha."

Damn. "Okay. Thanks for looking."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful." He pursed his lips. "You know, maybe there is something I can do for you." He picked up his earpiece again and dialed the phone.

"Aubrey, what are you—"

"Wild Bill? Howdy, sir. It's Aubrey. You wouldn't happen to be free for lunch, would you? I still owe you a meal at trie Sailfish Club. Care to collect?' Re paused, then gave Samantha a broad grin and a thumbs-up. "Noon? And do you mind if I bring along a friend?" Another pause. "Yes, a female friend, and definitely easy on the eyes."

Samantha blew out her breath. Under the circumstances she would have preferred breaking into Toombs's house to having lunch with him, but Rick wanted her to do this legally. She supposed this kind of qualified. And maybe she could find out enough to make a B and E go more efficiently—or at best she supposed it could clear him. With eight days to solve this, the fewer suspects, the better.

Aubrey clicked off the call and faced her again. "We're on, Miss Samantha. He does like the ladies, so perhaps that peach-colored Halston, if I might suggest? Oh, wait, what in the world am I thinking? You can't wear peach to the Sailfish Club in October. What about that amethyst chiffon Vera Wang you have?"

"You are not supposed to know my wardrobe better than I do," she joked, hopping to the floor. "Are you going to drive?"

"Are you going to let me drive the Bentley?"

"Sure."

"Then be back here at about eleven-thirty. I'll call for reservations."

"It's a date, Aubrey. Thanks."

"Anything for you, Miss Samantha."

She went back to her office to retrieve her purse and the rest of the Met file, then headed out to the elevator and down to the parking garage. As she climbed into the Bent-ley, her cell phone rang in the James Bond theme. Samantha smiled as she flipped it open. "Hello, Bond."

"You know, I thought once they premiered a blonde Bond you'd stop calling me that," Rick returned, his voice amused.

"Not a chance. You're way more Bondy than Bond, anyway."

"What does that even mean?"

"You know, the cool cars, the suave clothes, the women fawning all over you, the—"

"I don't have women fawning all over me."

"All over your photos and your fan website, then. And there's me, of course. Oh, and weren't you Britain's Sexiest Bachelor two years ago?"

"Who the devil told you that? No one's ever supposed to mention that to me again."

Samantha laughed. "I ordered a back issue of the magazine on eBay."

"Bloody wonderful."

"It cost me eighteen dollars. What's up?" she asked, starting the car.

"I'm at Tom's office. I just wanted to let you know that Katie's probably going to call and invite you to lunch."

Dammit. "Today?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

Now she had to do a quick debate with herself and decide how much she wanted Rick to know about what she was doing. On the surface there was nothing wrong with having lunch with anybody, but he knew she suspected Toombs, and he would think the worst and try to invite himself along, and that would just be awkward. "Aubrey's taking me to lunch today," she said by way of compromise. "It's for Boss's Day or something."

"That's next week."

Wow. There was actually a Boss's Day? "Maybe I can get him and Stoney to take me out twice, then," she returned. "If Katie calls I'll see if I can schedule lunch for tomorrow or something."

"Okay. Thanks."

'"Thanks'?" she repeated. "Why are you thanking me? Why am I going to lunch with Katie Donner?"

"Because we've been back in Palm Beach for three weeks and she likes you. And she's my best friend's wife. So thank you for making an effort to get to know her better."

"As long as Donner's not joining us, I have no problem in the world with Katie. She's nice. And maybe she has a theory about Anatomy Man."

"I'll call you later," he said. "Have a good lunch, boss."

"You, too."

Tom Donner's office was right across the street from hers, and she had to restrain herself from waving out the Bentley's window as she drove by. While it felt like Rick had at least half an eye on her all the time, he was probably too busy with his mega-empire to accomplish that. And she supposed that she couldn't blame him for trying to keep track of her—and at least he cared enough to annoy her with his concern.

She agreed with Aubrey's suggestion that she wear the Vera Wang dress. Blending in was always key when she worked, not being noticed as she cased a house or a party. She couldn't wear jeans to the Sailfish Club and expect to blend in. The clothes were the easy part, though. She had to figure out how to approach Gabriel "Wild Bill" Toombs, and how to make the most of this little encounter.

Maybe she should wear a kimono; that would be a good way to start up a conversation about all things Japanese. She could order sushi, she supposed, though raw fish was something for which she'd never developed a fondness.

Technically she could flat out ask Toombs if he had the armor and the swords, and he could show them to her, because the statute of limitations had run out. He could host a party for Joseph Viscanti and wear the armor and nobody could do anything about it.

And therefore she wouldn't be asking for the return of Minamoto's armor. He had no incentive to give it to her. On the other hand, if it went missing from his house, however, he'd be an idiot to call the cops and let everybody know he'd been robbed of his stolen property. All she needed was confirmation that he had the Met items. After that, she had until next Wednesday to figure out how to get them back to Viscanti.

"So she doesn't suspect anything?"

Richard returned to his seat across from Tom Donner's desk. "No. And I don't want her to, so watch your mouth."

"Okay, don't shoot me, but are you keeping this a secret because you're afraid she'll freak, or because you might come to your senses and change your mind?"

"Fuck you, Tom."

"That's really not an answer."

No, it wasn't, and he wasn't going to grace it with one. "All I'm going to say is that you were one hundred percent behind my asking Patricia to marry me, and we all know how that turned out," he said stiffly, picking up his copy of the contract they'd been reviewing and flipping the page.

"And yet your odds were better then. What does that say?"

Richard dropped the contract onto the desk again and stood. "As I recall," he snapped, "you were included in this only after you agreed to keep your bloody opinion to yourself. E-mail me your recommendations for the buyout clause, and the property value assessments for Ridge-mont." Reining in his fraying temper as well as he could, Rick went to the door and pulled it. open. "Otherwise, don't bother me." Because every tense muscle wanted to slam the door hard enough to rattle the windows, he closed it quietly.

He did value Tom's friendship. Greatly. And being in a position where everyone agreed with everything he said and did, having someone he could count on to give him an honest opinion was vital. But whatever happened between him and Samantha was going to be because of Rick Addison and Sam Jellico—not because someone else stepped into the middle of the mess and frigged about with it.

In the elevator he pulled out his Black Berry and checked his schedule. Because of the anniversary of Sam's acquaintance he'd intentionally made this a light week, though now he was beginning to regret that. He needed to call John Still-well in Los Angeles, and his secretary at the main office in London. The Tokyo meeting wasn't for two and a half weeks, but he had several reports to look over before then

He paused as the elevator opened into the lobby. Tokyo. However he privately felt about Samantha working for the Met, the more safely she could conclude the venture, the better. Richard paged through his list of local phone numbers. Gabriel Toombs wasn't there, but the Picaults were.

Before he could take the time to reconsider, he dialed their number. "August?" he asked as a deep male voice answered the phone. "This is Rick Addison."

"Ah, Rick. Bonjour!'

"Bonjour, August Comment allez vous?"

"Bien, bien. What can I do for you?"

"I am looking for a good set of Hina dolls for the daughter of a friend," he improvised. Olivia Donner did collect dolls, so the tale even made sense. "The ones made during the 1920s, preferably. I was wondering if you and Yvette would join me for lunch and tell me what you know about the market."

"Hold on for a moment."

As he waited, Richard accessed the Black Berry's list of local restaurant phone numbers. There wasn't one where he couldn't get a table on very short notice, but he knew Yvette Picault had a weakness for seafood.

"Rick, what did you have in mind?"

"How about the Sailflsh Club?"

He waited while August relayed that information. "Yvette and I would be delighted. What time should we meet you?"

"Does noon work for you?"

"Might we make it half past?"

"Certainly. I'll see you there."

As soon as he clicked off the phone call he dialed again, this time the Sailfish Club. In two minutes he had a table with a view overlooking Lake Worth and set for twelve-thirty sharp. That had been easy enough. Now all he needed to do was come up with a reasonable way to mention-samurai armor and Minamoto Yoritomo. Perhaps he could claim to be hosting a charity dinner with an ancient Japan theme.

Samantha wouldn't like it very much if he suddenly sprang the idea of a party on her, but she would probably go along with it. In addition, a party might be a good place to make a certain public announcement.

His palms abruptly sweaty, he blew out his breath as he made his way to the parking garage and his Barracuda. The whole scenario shouldn't have been difficult; he loved Samantha, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and he wanted to give her the security of knowing all of that, and knowing that he would always have her back, as it were.

Because he was the Marquis of Rawley, a member of the British aristocracy, matters became a little more complicated. Inheritance rules were sticky, and approvals of a marriage had to come from traditional places and required official decrees. If she only trusted him enough to say yes, he would take care of the rest of it.

He wasn't afraid of taking chances; some of his most lucrative deals had been made because of pure bravado. The thought of making a mistake and because of that losing Samantha, however, frightened the shit out of him. Probably because, unlike a business deal, this one mattered.

Monday, 11:59 a.m.

"Is that him?" Samantha asked, angling her chin toward the double open doors of the Sailfish Club's restaurant.

"That's him." Aubrey straightened his tasteful gray tie— a conservative choice for him. "So for the caper you're a Japanese antiques aficionado?"

"Shh. Yes. And it's not a caper. It's an investigation." Technically this wasn't even an investigation as much as it was a poor excuse for a lunch. But Aubrey could call it whatever he wanted as long as he kept offering his help. She wished she'd had a little more time to prepare for meeting Gabriel Toombs, but hey, she worked off-the-cuff often enough to be pretty comfortable with it. At this moment, Toombs was nothing more than a potential mark. All she needed to discover was whether this mark had her target items in his possession.

Gabriel Toombs wore a black silk jacket and a string tie, the cut probably as Steven Seagal as he could get and still pass trie jacket and tie dress code of the Club. As he stopped in front of them Aubrey didn't offer his hand. Instead he clamped his hands to his sides and bowed deeply while Toombs mirrored the gesture.

"Wild Bill, please allow me to introduce the exceedingly charming Samantha Jellicoe," Aubrey drawled, gesturing at her. "Miss Samantha, Wild Bill Toombs."

Samantha inclined her head in a more conservative version of a bow of respect. "Mr. Toombs," she said with a slight smile, lowering her head just a little. If Toombs was being the stereotypical American being a Japanese guy, she'd be the demure female he would probably feel the most comfortable around.

"Please call me Wild Bill," he said, gazing at her, and gestured for the maitred'.

No smile, no display of emotion at all. Samantha kept an eye on him as they were led to their table in the middle of the large room. For the first time she wondered if he had any idea who she was—and then she had to stifle a laugh, because before she'd met Rick, nobody knew who she was unless she wanted them to. Now she was in magazines and featured on nightly entertainment shows, photographed leaving restaurants and entering movie premieres.

Aubrey held out her chair for her, and she sat. Already she was receiving looks from other diners; whether Wild Bill knew she and Rick Addison were an item or not, most of Palm Beach's elite did by now.

"Thank you for allowing me to tag along," she said as the men sat at either elbow. "When Aubrey said he was going to call you, I couldn't resist asking if I might join you "

"And why is that, Miss Jellicoe?" Toombs asked, looking straight at her again.

Oh, my God, he totally thinks he's an Alcira Kurosawa movie samurai, Samantha thought, keeping her expression demure and pleasant. "You collect Japanese antiques," she ventured, hoping she wasn't being too direct. "Rick has some, but I keep wishing he would acquire more. There's something about the pure warrior look of the swords and armor that nothing else in the world can touch."

"Ah. A kindred spirit. Do you follow the Japanese antiquities market, then?" He gestured the waiter for an iced tea. Aubrey wanted a margarita, while Samantha stifled a grimace and went with the iced tea, too. Apparently they were keeping themselves pure. No carbonation or sugar substitutes. Crap.

"I try to."

"Nihongo ga dekimasu?"

"Nihongo ga sukoshi dekimasu," she returned, glad she was able to pass the test part of their lunch program.

"I'm impressed."

"When I enjoy something, I try to learn as much about it as I can."

He nodded. "As do I."

The reply had an edge to it; did he know about her? Stoney always kept as much distance between himself and a contractor as possible, and even more between the money man and her. It protected everybody, and it made it possible for her to be sitting in the Sailfish Club restaurant among the buyers and the marks today.

Still, she knew that she'd once pulled a job for him, and with her old dad's numero uno lesson of protecting oneself emblazoned across the backs of her eyelids, she was going to have to be cautious around this guy. Especially if he happened to know that Walter Barstone was her current business partner. Throwing Rick's name around could prove to be a valuable distraction, and not for the first time. How Rick would feel about that, she didn't intend to ask him.

"Did I tell you," Aubrey put in before she could do more than open her mouth, "why it is I owe Wild Bill this very expensive lunch?"

Thank you, Aubrey. "No, you didn't. I was just happy to be included."

"Well, despite my erroneous belief to the contrary, our Mr. Toombs here is a very fine racket ball player. I had the temerity to challenge him, and he went on to wipe the floor with me."

"It's a matter of discipline and dedication," Toombs said in the same expressionless monotone he'd used since he walked through the door.

"I have it on good authority that Aubrey's a heck of a player," she decided, sitting a little forward and touching the back of Toombs's hand. "I think you could add 'skilled' to your list of racket ball abilities, Wild Bill."

His dark eyes assessed her again. "Very kind of you, Miss Jellicoe."

"Please, call me Samantha. All of my friends do." And Samantha sounded more regal than Sam. And if he knew that she generally went by Sam, he should understand and appreciate that she was trying to impress him. Everything meant something. Even flattery.

For the first time his lips curved a little. "Samantha it shall be, then."

Even with the smile he looked like a sleek shark clothed in black from his shoes to his slicked-back hair. She would have loved to see him in business competition against Rick he probably wouldn't look nearly as well-manicured at the end of the day. Rick had been known to make grown men cry like babies.

"What are you going to order?" she asked, perusing the menu and ready to weep herself at the predominance of yucky seafood items. Ah, well. She could eat fish for a good cause. Hell, she'd even drink coffee if she couldn't avoid it. She wouldn't like it, but she would do it. "The lobster Florentine, I believe. And you, Samantha?"

"I'll follow your lead," she returned with another smile. Aubrey's gaze lifted beyond her shoulder, and his perfectly tanned face paled. Before she could ask him whether he was choking on an ice cube, a pair of warm hands touched her shoulders and then settled there. She jumped about a foot. "What—"

"Apparently we both have the same taste," Rick's cultured British accent drawled. As she craned her neck to look up at him, he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. "Apologies for startling you."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. "Great minds," she offered, kissing him back. Good as he was at covering his expression, she could read him like a book. The Marquis of Rawley was royally pissed off. "You know Gabriel Toombs, don't you? Wild Bill, Rick Addison."

She heard the click of camera phones around them as, shifting his right arm from her shoulder, Rick shook hands with Toombs. "Of course I know Mr. Toombs," he said. "Have you three met the Picaults? Yvette and August, may I present Mr. Gabriel Toombs, Mr. Aubrey Pendleton, and Miss Samantha Jellicoe?" Beyond his shoulder stood a couple in their mid-fifties, well-dressed but still managing to look a little… hippie-like. His dark, graying hair was in a ponytail, while hers was even blacker than Rick's, tightly curled and hanging loose past her shoulders

Toombs stood and bowed. "August," he said, "Yvette. We appear to have gathered together all the major Japanese antiquities collectors living on the East Coast."

Oh, good. At least now they all realized it. Samantha began to feel faint. Rick would never believe it, though, if she feigned passing out and left the mess for him to handle. "We're—"

"I owed Wild Bill lunch," Aubrey interrupted, standing to shake hands with Mr. Picault and kiss Mrs. Picault's knuckles, "and didn't want to leave Miss Samantha alone at the office. That would be far too ungentlemanly."

"And you are always a gentleman," August Pendleton finished in a light French accent, smiling.

"Indeed, I am. Would you care to join us?"

"We couldn't impose," Yvette said, her accent a little heavier—but more cultured—than her husband's. The money probably came from her side of the family, then.

"It would be no imposition," Wild Bill stated, signaling the waiter to join a second table to theirs. "Samantha has been asking me about my collection. Perhaps all of us together might satisfy her curiosity."

"A grand idea," Rick said with an easy smile, his left hand still gripping her shoulder hard enough to bruise. "Though I suspect that Samantha was going to try to find those Hina dolls for Livia before I could manage it."

Hina dolls. "It's only fair," she ventured, mentally crossing her fingers that she was following the hint he'd shoved at her. "You've been a Donner family favorite for better than ten years. I have some catching up to do."

Richard wasn't certain how much of a favorite he was with at least one of the Donners right now, but he would deal with that later. He took the seat beside her, while Yvette ended across from him and August at the head of the table opposite Aubrey. A gentleman escort, a thief, and the three most avid collectors of Japanese antiques on the East Coast. And him. Life was very strange, sometimes. And much more often since he'd met Samantha.

The waiter appeared to take the drink and lunch order of the three late arrivals, while Samantha smiled and chatted and played the novice in awe of the professionals and looking for any information they would be so gracious as to share with her. Thankfully Hina dolls originated at the same time as Minamoto Yoritomo's armor, during the Heian period. That was the reason he'd chosen them—a flanking maneuver in order to acquire the information he wanted. They wanted, he amended with a sideways glance at Samantha.

"Do you know why Hina dolls are always royalty or members of the royal court, rather than samurai?" she asked.

Of course she would know about Hina dolls. They weren't as exciting or lucrative as diamonds or rare paintings, but some of them were worth hundreds of thousands of yen. Right up her alley, as it were.

"The dolls are traditionally put on display, nationally in Japan, in fact, on Girls' Day," Yvette said conversationally. "I suppose samurai are too warlike for such a celebration."

Toombs shook his head. "Girls' Day is a recent idea," he said in his absurd Kwai Chang Caine monotone. Didn't the poof realize that Caine was Chinese? Well, half Chinese, though admitting that he knew the plot of Kung Fu would have Samantha calling him a geek. "The dolls," Toombs continued, "have been around for much longer than the festival." He fixed his gaze on Samantha. "Your question is an astute one, and warrants further investigation."

She grinned, lowering her lashes. "You're very kind to say so. Wild Bill."

"The little girl you mentioned doesn't want a samurai doll, does she?" August Picault asked.

Since he was the one who'd brought up Olivia Donner, Richard supposed that he needed to be the one to field that question. "No, I don't think so. But she's quite a collector," he said. "Eventually I think she would like to acquire a complete set, including the miniature accessories—altars and cabinets, and things."

"I suppose it's one thing to be able to duplicate silk clothing and furniture in miniature," Samantha put in, "and another to create miniature leather or metal armor plating. Maybe that's why samurai armor's never been attempted. I've seen the two suits of samurai armor that Rick owns, and they're pretty intricate even at full size."

"Twosets of armor?" Toombs repeated, lifting an eyebrow. "What time period?"

"One is Muromachi, and the other, early Edo," Richard returned with an easy smile he didn't feel. This wasn't about his things. "My interest was in acquisition of armor and weapons from around the world at various periods. Russian, Greek, Aztec, whoever had culturally traditional armies at the time."

"I've seen photographs of some of the items in your collection," Yvette stated, smiling again. "Quite impressive."

"I can probably get Rick to show you his, if you'll show me yours," Samantha said with an excited breath.

"Certainly I would be honored," Toombs and his bloody foolish nickname returned. "If Rick is amenable."

"Yes, we would be thrilled to see your collection," Yvette added.

Richard clenched his jaw, smiling around it. "It would be my pleasure."

After that their lunch arrived, and they spent the next forty minutes chatting about the perils and thrills of collecting, and the respective value of Hina dolls depending on where and when they'd been made. Samantha managed to get an invitation to view Toombs's collection on Thursday. The Picaults decided to hold a small house party on Sunday, and extended invitations to everyone at the table.

That was well and good, but Richard did not like the way Toombs spent most of the meal talking just to Samantha, or that she'd scheduled her tour of his collection even after Rick pointed out that he had a video conference scheduled for the same time. He gave himself several pats on the back for not throwing punches right there at the Sailfish Club, but he wanted to—not necessarily because he was worried over Samantha's safety, which he was, but because Toombs thought he could poach another man's woman and didn't hesitate to do so in front of said man.

He paid for lunch over Aubrey Pendleton's well-choreographed protests. As they went their separate ways in the parking lot, he cupped Samantha's elbow. "Aubrey, would you mind taking the Bentley back to the office?" he asked coolly.