Manolos in Manhattan (24 page)

They found nothing. Nada. Zilch.

“Looks like you had a visit from the cat burglar, Mr Farrudi,” one of the cops informed him. “No forced entry, nothing disturbed, no fingerprints or witnesses. And‒” he’d held up a candy bar in his gloved hand “‒the burglar left his trademark, a Top Cat bar.”

Tonio shuddered. “I
despise
Top Cat bars. I prefer dark chocolate any day. So where was it?”

“On the dresser, right next to the empty Cartier case. Any idea who might have done this?” the other cop, Frank, had asked him.

“Officer, if I
knew
who did this,” Tonio snapped, “believe me ‒ he’d be eating his lunch through a
straw
right now.”

He’d seen the cops exchange an amused glance and he’d felt a flare of irritation. Obviously they’d never seen a man dressed in heels, a form-fitting cocktail sheath, a bouffant auburn wig, and full makeup before.

Tonio pursed his lips. At least he made a good-looking broad. Diva Devine was a
star
at the Barracuda club.

“Okay, thanks,” the first cop said
.
“We’ll file a report and let you know if we find anything.”

“I won’t hold my breath,” Tonio retorted. “Just get my watch back, okay? It was a present from a
very
dear friend.”

Well
, he’d amended silently as he showed the officers out –why didn’t he get a couple of hunky young guys instead of those two overweight losers? –
make that a present from a
former
dear friend...

...
a former friend, and the
only
person who knew he even
had
that Cartier watch
–
since he was the one who’d given Tonio the watch in the first place.

Now, Tonio gazed at his reflection in the dressing table mirror with narrowed eyes.
I should’ve given his name over to the police
, he brooded as he picked up a Kabuki brush to finish getting ready for tonight’s matinee drag show.

And he would. He’d call the police right after his Diva Devine show ended.

But first, he decided as he expertly sculpted his cheekbones with the glittery brown contouring powder, he’d talk to the thieving bastard and give him a chance to explain...

Tonio snorted. As if you could
explain
such a blatant betrayal.

He laid the brush aside and picked up his mobile phone. Careful not to mar his press-on nails, he scrolled to one of the numbers.

“Hello? I’d like to speak to Gavin Williams, please. Yes. Tell him it’s Tonio – he’ll know who I am – and tell him it’s
important
.”

Chapter Forty

When Christa returned from rehearsal late Monday afternoon, the brownstone was empty.

“Dev?” she called out as she dumped her gym bag and keys on the hall table. “Are you here? I’m back.”

But as she made her way upstairs and into the bedroom they shared, it became evident that Devon was gone. He hadn’t said a word about going out today; and like her, he didn’t know a soul in Manhattan.

So where was he?

With a shrug, Christa stripped off her clothes and took another shower – the communal showers at the rehearsal hall left a lot to be desired – and lathered her hair generously with shampoo. He’d probably run out to the corner grocery, or went to get them a takeaway.

Which reminded her, she was
starving
.

She got out of the shower and combed Morrocanoil through her hair and wrapped it in a towel, then headed downstairs to the kitchen to find something to eat.

But although she watched two entire back-to-back episodes of
Game of Thrones
on the DVR as she munched on Brie and crackers, when she finished, Devon still hadn’t returned.

Christa switched off the TV. She wasn’t bothered; she knew him well enough by now to know that he wasn’t with another woman. He didn’t
know
any women in New York, at any rate.

No, if her suspicions were on track, Devon was off doing what he loved best – detective work. He’d probably started his own investigation and was following leads on the Top Cat burglary case. He was determined to find out who’d taken her jewelry, and her grandmother’s necklace.

With a yawn and a stretch, she got up from the sofa and put the box of crackers away. All of the rehearsals and interviews had taken their toll.

As she went back upstairs and climbed into bed, Christa sighed. She almost wished that Devon
was
having an affair with another woman.

At least then she’d have a real, flesh-and-blood person to deal with...

...not Devon’s nebulous-but-never-ending obsession with justice and crime solving.

Because how could you possibly fight an obsession?

“You got a call a few minutes ago.”

Gavin, just coming in to the office late that day after consultations with two new clients, took the messages Suki handed him and paused by her desk to riffle through them. “Looks like I got a lot of calls this afternoon.”

“You did. Natalie Dashwood-Gordon called to postpone work on the nursery this Saturday. She and hubs have plans – dinner and a concert, I think she said ‒ and she doesn’t want any workmen underfoot until next week.”

“Fine. Call and cancel the painters and set it up for Monday or Tuesday. Anything else?”

“Yes, you got one more call. But I didn’t take a message.”

He glanced up. “Why not?”

She lowered her voice. There was a customer sitting in the waiting area and she wanted to be discreet. “Because it was Tonio. He sounded upset.”

Gavin frowned but made no reply. He went into his office and shut the door, then pulled out his mobile phone and called the number he’d rung numerous times before.

His call went straight to voicemail.

“You’ve reached Tonio, aka Miss Diva Devine. I’m not available right now – ooh, I hope I’m off having fun! ‒ but you know what to do in the meantime, sweet cheeks. So go on and leave me a message.
Ciao
.”

At the click, Gavin said tersely, “It’s me. What’s up? My assistant said you sounded upset. Call me when you get this.”

As he rang off, Gavin sank into the chair behind his desk and sighed in frustration. Of course Tonio was at the club right now, getting ready for his pre-dinner drag show. How could he have forgotten that?

Guilt stabbed him. He’d been so busy lately, what with the recent upsurge in business, they’d scarcely seen each other.

Oh, well...it couldn’t be helped. He had other things on his mind right now.

But it explained why Tonio was upset, Gavin realized ‒ he felt neglected, and justifiably so. He really
had
neglected their relationship of late.

He reached for the phone to make reservations at Del Posto, Tonio’s favorite restaurant. They’d go out on the town together and make a night of it, just like they used to do.

And maybe, Gavin reasoned, a tentative smile forming on his lips, maybe then, things would be better between them.

Just like they used to be.

Natalie emerged from her apartment building the next morning and waited as the doorman hailed her a taxi. She didn’t feel up to driving today. At least her morning sickness was over; she, and her stomach, were ready to face the world.

“Natalie, what a pleasure to see you again.”

Natalie turned around, one hand on the taxicab’s door handle, to see the silver-haired owner of the Dunleigh standing on the pavement.

“Mr Holland! This
is
a nice surprise. Would you like to share my cab?”

“Oh, thank you, no. I’m out for my morning stroll. I try to go for a walk every day. Where are you off to?”

“Fifth Avenue. I thought I’d do a bit of shopping.”

“Yes, you must go inside the stores and buy lots of pretty things to keep that lovely smile on your face.”

She flushed with pleasure. “That’s very kind. I’ve promised Rhys I’ll only buy one thing – an outfit for Christa’s concert on Saturday night. He’s made me promise to exercise restraint while I’m shopping.” She grimaced. “I’m really trying, but it’s difficult.”

“It is indeed,” he agreed. He added curiously, “And who is Christa? Is she a concert pianist, or a new opera singer? I confess I’m not familiar with the name.”

Natalie lifted her brow. “I thought everyone knew who Christa is! She’s the most amazing pop singer. She’s playing Madison Square Garden on Saturday. You’d like her.”

“I’m sure I would, but I’m an opera fan, myself. The only pop I listen to these days is the pop of a champagne cork.” His eyes twinkled as he touched the brim of his trilby. “Enjoy yourself, my dear. Buy something beautiful. And have fun at the concert.”

And with a courtly bow, he turned away and strode off down the busy pavement.

Chapter Forty-One

“Fire up another steak for table three. This one’s rare. They wanted medium rare.”

Ben, the expediter, handed the plate back to Catherine. “Damn,” she muttered, and tossed the meat back on the grill with the other steaks.

Jamie, caramelizing a pair of crème brûlées with his mini blowtorch, glanced over at her. “You all right, Cath? It’s not like you to get it wrong.”

“I’m fine.” She seasoned the meats and touched each in turn lightly with her fingertip.

“How’s your sister doing?”

Catherine flipped the seared filet mignon over. “Not well. But thanks for asking.”

“Listen, if you need time off to go and visit her, it’s no problem—”

“I’m fine,” she said again, firmly. She plated the re-fired steak and consulted the ticket, adding a fresh serving of garlic mash and green beans amandine. “Order up,” she called out as she returned the plate to the front counter.

Jamie turned away and made no further attempt at conversation.

They worked together through the rest of the lunch rush, busy and focused on their tasks, yet each was constantly aware of the other. It was impossible to share stations in a professional kitchen, with space at a premium and tempers so often short, without learning to accommodate one another.

But it was more than that, Catherine reflected with a frown as she brought two more plates to the pass.

She was aware of Jamie – aware of him as more than a chef. She was aware of him as a man.

And it just wouldn’t do.

After all, he had a girlfriend – a
fiancée
, for crying out loud – so he was off the table, so to speak. Catherine kept her attraction to him to herself, glad that life in a restaurant kitchen was too crazy busy to allow time for mooning over a coworker...

...or even worse, for mooning over the head chef.

Later, during a brief lull between the end of lunch service and the start of dinner, Jamie tossed a dishcloth over his shoulder and sank onto a seat at the bar.

What a kick-arse day it’d been so far...he was tired already and they hadn’t even started the dinner service yet.

He popped the top on a can of soda and took a long swig. His glance strayed, as it did too often lately, to Catherine. She was conferring with the pastry chef, instructing him on how to make the pastry for her steak-and-kidney hand pies. Her hair was pulled back into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, and her expression was focused, serious.

God, she was amazing.

The thought popped into his head unbidden. He shifted back in his seat, staring moodily at the condensation on his soda can, and wondered what in hell was wrong with him today.

But it wasn’t just today, he admitted. He was hyper aware of Catherine every day.

It wasn’t only her efficiency in the kitchen, or the amazing dishes she created for the restaurant; it was her grace under pressure, her refusal to cave under stress. He couldn’t ask for a better or more talented sous chef.

And it couldn’t be denied that a large part of his admiration was due to her eye-catching beauty.

Catherine, with her wild black hair and dark eyes, was gorgeous in a way completely opposite to Holly’s. She was sexy, and womanly, and quick with a retort...and she shared his love of cooking.

Jamie sighed. He loved Holly. He did.

But he was attracted to Catherine in a wholly different way, a visceral way that he couldn’t ignore.

He wanted her.

“Why so pensive?” the object of his guilty thoughts asked as she removed her apron and sat on the barstool next to his.

He straightened. “Nothing, really. Just thinking that Holly and I don’t see much of each other these days.”

“Tell me about it,” Catherine agreed, and sighed. “Poor Izzy’s probably forgotten what I look like, I see her so seldom.”

“Speaking of Iz,” Jamie said tentatively, “how would you two like to have dinner one night soon with me and Hols? I know she misses Holly.”

She glanced at him, surprised. “She does. She’d love that. What did you have in mind?”

“Somewhere nice, family-friendly...but
not
Charlie Cheese,” he added firmly. “I draw the line at those noisy pizza places.”

Catherine quirked her brow upwards. “But noisy pizza places are Izzy’s favorite.”

“Tell you what,” Jamie said as he pushed himself off the stool and stood up, “you and Izzy talk about it and let me know where you’d like to go. We’ll set something up for...” he paused “Sunday evening?”

“That sounds great. I’ll let you know what we decide. She grinned. “And I’ll make sure Iz understands that Charlie Cheese is
not
on the menu.”

Holly stepped off the bus and walked the two remaining blocks to the Midtown Hotel. It was nearly six p.m. and her feet were killing her, thanks to all the running around Coco had made her do today, and she couldn’t wait to kick her shoes off.

Four-inch heels, no matter how gorgeous they might be, were
not
made for the real world.

She glanced up. Clouds lowered overhead, gathering in a threatening manner; rain was imminent. She just hoped she could get to the hotel before it arrived.

The first fat drops of rain began to fall as Holly neared the Midtown’s awning. Half the way there, thunder rumbled, followed by the sound of someone calling her name.

She turned around. A Town Car, shiny and black, idled at the curb; the rear window lowered. She tried to ignore the little flip of her heart as she saw Ciaran, a look of mild amusement on his face. Thank God she’d worn her ivory silk pantsuit and heels today, not her usual flats and trousers.