Slay Bells and Satchels (Haley Randolph Mystery Series) (12 page)

“Red seemed appropriate,” I said.

“You look like a Christmas gift,” Jack said, and eased a little closer. “A gift that should be unwrapped … very slowly.”

My stomach got all warm and gooey.

I thought it better to change the subject.

“How’s Brooke doing?” I asked.

Jack sipped his drink. “Not so good.”

“She must be excited about what you’re doing tonight,” I said.

“She doesn’t know.”

It took a few seconds—my brain function seemed to have slowed down for some reason—to understand what he meant.

“You don’t want Brooke to get her hopes up,” I said, “in case you don’t get the results you want tonight.”

Jack angled closer. “I’ll get what I want tonight.”

He was making it really tough for me to stay in private-detective-mode.

I took a step back and said, “So what’s the plan?”

Jack patted the pocket of his jacket. “I’ll get video, enough to prove the little girl is in the house.”

“Security?”

“Guards are still patrolling the grounds, discreetly, but none are in the house,” Jack said. “They would be noticed. Guests would comment, ask questions. The Staffords want everything to seem perfectly normal.”

“When are you doing it?” I asked.

“Right away,” Jack said.

I figured it would be better to wait until later in the evening, when the guests all had a little more to drink and were hunkered down, distracted by conversations with friends. But I could see that Jack had a point, too. Better to get in and out quickly before suspicion was aroused in any way.

“Do you know how to get to the nursery?” I asked.

Jack shrugged. “Follow the trail of toys.”

If that was Jack’s plan, I saw a gaping hole in it. I’d told him at the restaurant on the night I met Brooke that this house was huge. I figured he’d pull the building plans from the county records, or something, but I guess he hadn’t.

“It’s not that easy,” I said. “The house was built back in the day when rich people were paranoid about their kids getting kidnapped. The nursery is on the third floor. It’s a maze. I know because we used to play hide-and-seek up there.”

I got Jack’s little grin again.

“Then you’ll have to come with me,” he said.

Oh my God. This was way cool—no, it was way cooler than cool. Jack wanted me with him on a covert op.

Where was my best friend when I needed her? I absolutely
had
to tell Marcie right away. But I held back. The mission came first.

Immediately, a plan flashed in my mind—which was kind of surprising, considering I hadn’t had any chocolate since arriving and only a half glass of wine.

“The house has three staircases,” I said. “We’ll use the one near the kitchen.”

“After you,” Jack said, gesturing with his hand.

We left our glasses with a passing waiter and I led the way past the living room and foyer, toward the east wing of the house. The place was packed with people. The noise level had spun up considerably.

The crowd thinned as we walked down the hallway past the entrance to the formal dining room. By the time we passed the family breakfast nook, the butler’s panty and the kitchen, we encountered only the catering staff and none of them gave us a second look.

The staircase was steep and narrow, since it was designed to be used mostly by the house servants, and not all that easy to climb in a tight fitting gown, a strapless bra, and three-inch heels.

Jack trotted behind me, completely at ease, which was really annoying.

“You owe me,” I said, trying desperately to control my breathing and not pant like a grandma at the Christmas closeout sale when we finally reached the third floor.

“Sounds fair,” Jack said, still looking crisp and breathing normally. “How about I surprise you with something?”

“I want a Breathless handbag,” I told him, and leaned against the wall—just to revitalize myself for the sake of the operation and not because I hadn’t been to the gym in a week.

“You’ll like my surprise better,” he told me.

He braced both hands against the wall, locking me in front of him.

Jeez, I didn’t remember it being so
hot
up here on the third floor.

“In fact,” Jack whispered, “you’ll like it two, maybe three times on the same evening.”

I lost my breath completely.

A wild, crazy heat rolled off of Jack that made me think about doing wild, crazy things—which I would never do, of course, because I have an official boyfriend.

“The nursery is this way,” I said.

I ducked under his arm and headed down the hallway.

Dim light radiated from a few wall sconces. The Oriental carpet runner and the wallpaper looked new.

Jack followed as I turned a corner, then another, went down a corridor, and turned yet another corner. Yeah, okay, at this point I didn’t know exactly where I was, but, jeez, I hadn’t been up here in years, and how the heck was I supposed to think straight with Jack close to me still radiating nuclear-grade heat?

He stopped and grabbed my hand, pulling me up short.

“Somebody’s coming,” he whispered.

I went still, straining my ears. “I don’t hear—”

“Shh. Footsteps, getting closer.”

I didn’t hear anything, but that didn’t stop me from going into panic mode.

Oh my God, we couldn’t get caught up here. The Staffords would figure out what we were doing, they would move Hope, and Brooke might never get her back. Plus, I had an official boyfriend—who had become something of an inconvenience, but still—and I couldn’t be seen lurking in an upstairs corridor, three floors away from the party, with a hot guy like Jack.

“We’ve got to hide.” I might have said that a little louder than I should have.

“We’ll hide in plain sight.”

Jack hustled me into a corner and planted himself in front of me, completely blocking my view of the hallway. His hand settled onto the curve of my hip, his other spread across my cheek.

Oh my God.

He leaned down and whispered, “Nobody will say anything if they see us like this.”

His breath was warm against my ear. Oh wow, he smelled great.

I felt his lips on my neck. His hand left my waist and crept higher.

Every thought flew out of my head—except one: I still didn’t hear any footsteps.

Huh.

I put both palms against Jack’s chest—he had really great muscles—and shoved him away.

“The nursery is this way,” I said, and took off down the hallway.

The nursery was actually a suite of rooms, a bedroom for the nanny, a kitchenette, a bathroom, a play room, and two more bedrooms for children.

I stopped outside the doorway to the playroom. Jack took up a position across from me. Lights burned low inside.

The playroom was decorated in a jungle theme with a mural of friendly, laughing lions, giraffes, monkeys, and elephants painted on the walls. There was a bookshelf, a child-sized desk and chair, an easel, and a dozen bins filled with toys. It all looked new so I figured Alton and Sable must have had the room redecorated when Brooke started letting Hope visit them.

Since it was late, I figured the nanny had put Hope to bed already and was enjoying some personal time in her own room.

Jack pulled out his camera and activated its video feature. I stayed out of camera range as we crossed the playroom to a short corridor with several doors leading off of it. A beam of light shone from beneath one of the doors. The nanny’s room.

Fainter light—probably from a night light—filtered from beneath the door across the hall. Jack slowly turned the knob and stepped inside. I leaned around him and saw a little girl lying in a canopy bed, sleeping soundly. She had on pink pajamas, and her curly blonde hair was splayed across a butterfly-print pillow.

I recognized her right away from the photo Brooke had showed me at the restaurant. It was Hope.

I wanted to grab her in my arms and run out of the house with her—which, I know, totally defeats the whole purpose of a covert op—but that’s the way I felt.

Jack must have sensed it—or maybe he felt the same way—because he took my hand and pulled me out of the room. He kept his camera on as we left the nursery suite, went through the hallways, down the stairs, and back into the crowded party.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jack said, tucking his phone into his pocket.

He was in private-detective mode now, his mission accomplished, anxious to make a quick exit with his prize intact.

“I took a car service here, but I left a car down the block,” Jack said, as we made our way through the crowd.

We slipped past the ladies still welcoming guests to the party and went out onto the porch. It was dark now. The tiny golden lights in the shrubbery twinkled. The line of arriving cars had trickled to a few.

One of them was a totally hot Porsche 911 Turbo.

I knew that car.

It pulled to a stop and the valet opened the door. Ty got out.

I looked around for Jack.

He was gone.

“Aren’t you coming in?” I asked.

I’d just opened the door to my apartment but Ty hadn’t followed me inside.

He glanced at his watch. Not a good sign.

We’d driven back to my place from the party at the Stafford home. It had taken all the patience I could muster—and, really, I didn’t have all that much to begin with—to stay at the party, circulate among the guests and make small talk.

I’d been totally freaked out that somehow Alton and Sable Stafford would find out that I’d been upstairs with Jack shooting video of their granddaughter, would sound some kind of silent alarm, and all the doors and windows in their huge house would somehow slam shut holding me captive until the cops showed up.

Not a great feeling.

“I have a conference call with Tokyo tonight,” Ty said.

This wasn’t a great feeling either. Apparently, Ty had squeezed my request to attend the Stafford party in between a meeting in New York and a telephone call.

But, at least, he’d come to the party. I guess I should be happy about that. And he did look smoking hot in his tuxedo.

I looped my arms around his neck.

“You can come back after your conference call,” I suggested.

Ty drew me closer. It felt really good.

“I have to fly out first thing,” he said. “I’m personally awarding prizes to the store that finishes in first place for our charity drive.”

Oh, crap. That contest. Talk about a mood killer.

“We’ll know the official winner at close of business tomorrow—well, today, technically,” Ty said. “But one store is way out in front.”

Since I knew it couldn’t possibly be my store, I didn’t ask which one it was.

That, however, didn’t stop Ty from blabbing on about it.

“So it looks like I’ll be in San Francisco,” he said.

I couldn’t think of anything to say to that, and since I didn’t want to hear anything more about Holt’s—plus my feet hurt and I was six hours into a four-hour dress—I said, “I guess I’ll see you whenever.”

Ty tilted my face up to his. “You could come with me. There’s lots of great shopping in San Francisco.”

Yeah, that sounded great. But sitting around a hotel room, waiting for Ty to finish his meetings and actually show up, didn’t.

“I have to work tomorrow,” I said.

“You could take the day off,” he said.

“So could you.”

We just looked at each other for a few seconds, then Ty grinned.

“You’re being stubborn,” he said.

Like I didn’t already know that.

“Do you think I invite just
anybody
to spend the night with me?” I asked.

The playful look disappeared from his face.

“No, Haley, I don’t think that at all,” he said. “But I have responsibilities. You know that.”

Yes, I knew that. And I was getting a little tired of being reminded.

“I’ll arrange something special for you when I get back,” Ty said. “It will be great. You’ll love it.”

“Do you plan to go with me?” I asked.

He chuckled. “You can count on it.”

I gave him a kiss—just so he’d know what he was missing out on tonight—and he left.

I closed the door, kicked off my shoes and headed for the bedroom. A knock sounded on the door.

My heart fluttered—but not in a good way.

Ty. He’d changed his mind. What nerve.

Yeah, okay, just a minute ago I’d practically put the smack down on him to not leave, but now I was a little more than slightly annoyed that he hadn’t. He thought he could just change his mind, come back, and it would be okay?

I stomped across the room and yanked the door open, ready to give Ty a huge piece of my mind.

Only Ty wasn’t standing there.

It was Trent Daniels.

Oh, crap.

“Hi, Haley,” he said. “Can I come in?”

Oh my God. How did he know who I was? How did he know my name? How did he know where I lived?

And where were my official boyfriend and my smoking hot private detective at a time like this?

Trent looked bigger up close. He’d seemed tall when I saw him in the store, but now with him standing a couple of feet from me I could tell he was at least six-five. He had a lot of mass—not muscle—but it was still intimidating—especially at one o’clock in the morning, with the words
psycho stalker
blaring in my head, standing in the dark, on my doorstep, when all my neighbors were sound asleep and probably couldn’t hear me scream.

“How did you find me?” I asked.

“You sent me a message,” Trent said. “On Facebook.”

Oh, yeah, that’s right. I’d totally forgotten.

“But I didn’t tell you where I lived,” I said.

“Yeah, I know.” He fidgeted for a few seconds, then said, “I followed you back from my apartment.”

Oh my God.

“That was hours ago,” I said. “Have you been waiting here all this time?”

“Kind of,” Trent said.

He had on sweat pants, a stretched-out T-shirt and flip-flops. His hair hung over his forehead and I don’t think he’d shaved in a couple of days.

I’m not sure how Trent put everything together—seeing me outside his apartment, reading my name on the message I’d sent him—but maybe he’d talked to Nikki or Alyssa and they’d filled him in.