“Charles would like that you’re willing to take over for him, I’d wager.”

  “It would be stupid to let all of his work and connections fall into the hands of the sharks.”

  He wondered if she would consider him a shark. As for what she was, he had a few ideas. Most people clung to the familiar in the face of tragedy and upheaval. Laurie was already considering changing careers. To Richard, that said she wasn’t all that fond of the real estate business. On the other hand, lack of satisfaction with a profession didn’t make anyone a murderer. Still, he meant to find a way to go through some of her business records.

  By the time they’d finished looking through the two condos, Richard thought he’d found an acceptable residence for Patricia, but he meant to keep the search going a bit longer, anyway. While he’d discovered a few more things about Laurie Kunz, nothing definitively pointed toward her as a suspect in her father’s murder. What he did have was a splitting headache, something that he assumed James Bond would never confess to.

  But he didn’t intend to end this meeting empty-handed. Samantha wouldn’t be wasting time, and he—and the police—had a wager to win. “Is Daniel planning on joining you in the boardroom?”

  “I doubt it,” she returned easily. “Business doesn’t interest him very much.”

  “It’s a good thing he has you, then.”

  “Ha. Tell him th—”

  His phone rang, in Tom’s four-tone signal. “Yes?” he answered as he flipped it open.

  “Okay, I can’t stand it anymore,” the attorney’s voice came. “Jellicoe went boating with Daniel Kunz.”

  The breath froze in Richard’s throat. “Beg pardon?” he returned, keeping his expression perfectly still.

  “She came in this morning and told me, then dared me to rat her out. But I don’t want to get blamed for not telling you if something happens, and I don’t want to be caught in the middle of your little whirlwind, so I—”

  Rick snapped the phone closed. “My apologies, Laurie,” he said easily, “but I’ll need to reschedule our lunch. Would you mind driving me back to your office?”

  She smiled. “No problem. I’m available any time. And I want to know more about the ghost.”

  “Let’s do this again on Tuesday. Ten o’clock?”

  “It’s a date.”

  Fifteen minutes later they pulled up beside his SLR and Richard left the BMW. With a wave, Laurie backed out of the lot again and vanished in the direction of Coronado House. Richard closed himself inside the SLR and sat very still for half a minute. Then he pushed in the key, pushed the start engine button, and headed toward the Sailfish Club.

  Samantha helped tie the yacht back to the dock, then blew Daniel a kiss as she headed back up toward dry land and her car. He stayed on board, ostensibly to polish something, but she figured the boat was probably where he generally went to powder his nose. Tension ran through her shoulders as she reached the parking lot. He hadn’t been threatening, hadn’t done more than kiss her once and make a few naughty suggestions, and she still felt as though she’d made a narrow escape from a shitted-up burglary.

  “Samantha,” Rick’s low voice came from in front of her, and she lifted her head. The gull-winged SLR was parked right next to the red Mustang, and Rick Addison leaned against the bumper.

  “Fucking great,” she muttered, mustering a smile. “Hi.”

  “You went out on the water with Daniel Kunz?” he asked, straightening.

  “Are you chasing me around town, now? Because that’s not going to work.”

  “Tom ratted you out.”

  She shook her head, not even surprised. “I knew Captain Tight-Ass wouldn’t be able to resist telling you.”

  “Then why’d you tell him?”

  “Because I’m not an idiot.” She stopped in front of him, trying to gauge his mood. “Are you going to kiss me or shoot me?” she finally asked.

  “I really don’t know.” He reached out and straightened her sleeve. “Did you know that Daniel is seeing Patricia?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t tell me because…”

  Samantha squinted one eye at him. “And when did you name your yacht The Jellicoe?”

  He blinked. “Don’t change the sub—”

  “Some guys tattoo their girlfriend’s names on their arms and shit. You named a boat after me.”

  “I don’t like tattoos.”

  Unable to help herself, she smiled. “You’re so damned cool, Rick. I’m the biggest boat in the marina.”

  Rick blew out his breath. “What the hell am I supposed to do with you?” he murmured, taking her fingers and drawing her in close to kiss her.

  She closed her eyes, relishing in the warm, intimate contact. “I’ll tattoo your name on my fanny, if you’d like.”

  He made a choking sound that might have been laughter. “I don’t want to see my name on your fanny. I don’t need directions.”

  That was definitely true. With the memory of her morning fresh in her mind and the relief that Rick wasn’t mad at her, she abruptly needed…She didn’t know what, but Rick could provide it. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her head against his neck.

  After a heartbeat his arms joined around her waist, and he pulled her tightly against him. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded, unwilling to let him—to let this moment—go. And Daniel thought he could offer her more than Rick could. Ha. Daniel didn’t know the first thing she needed, or wanted. “Rick?”

  “Mm-hm?”

  “I think Daniel did it. I think he either hired someone, or did it himself.”

  “You—Fuck.” He didn’t ask her what proof she had, or how she knew. Instead, he slid a hand up her back, rocking her slowly back and forth and letting her hold on for as long as she wanted to.

  Finally Sam took a breath. Pull it together. Jellicoe. “Sorry,” she muttered, lifting her head.

  “For what?” He cupped her face in both hands. “I’m actually relieved. I was beginning to think the only thing we needed to worry about where you were concerned was Kryptonite.”

  “Oh, ha ha. I just wasn’t ready for ocean travel with a probable murderer.”

  “Speaking of which, don’t ever do that again, Samantha. Not even if you tell Donner first. Not unless you want me to have a heart attack before I hit thirty-five.”

  “No, I don’t want that.” She kissed him on the chin. “We should get out of here before Daniel sees us together.”

  He lifted an eyebrow even as he held open the Mustang driver’s door for her. “And why don’t we want him to see us together?”

  “Because I’m sneaking out to see him behind your back, and he’s working on seducing me away from you.”

  For a long heartbeat he didn’t say anything. “Oh. He’d best be going to jail for something, then,” he finally murmured. “Otherwise I will be, for beating the shit out of him.”

  She didn’t bother telling him to keep his testosterone in check; she knew what his hot buttons were, and she knew that by his actions Daniel had pushed several of them. All the same, his response had felt almost…underheated. Sam took a quick breath. He’d taken her demand for a little trust seriously. Of course, even with a huge meeting tomorrow he’d still charged out to Lake Worth to check up on her, but she would have done the same for him. They both knew how dangerous their lives could get.

  At the same time, it was a little frightening to realize how much she was coming to rely on him for his opinion, his advice, just his presence. She wasn’t used to relying on anyone but herself. That was in the top five thieves’ rules as taught by Martin Jellicoe. Never count on anyone but yourself. She’d begun to wonder, though, whether Martin had simply never met anyone he thought he could trust. She had.

  “I’m going in to Tom’s,” he said, slowly letting his hands course down her shoulders.

  “I need to get into the office, too, before somebody declares it abandoned and repossesses Stoney’s furniture. And I need to figure out how I’m going to prove any of my hunches to Castillo. Proof sucks.”

  “Yes, my dear. But it’s necessary if you want to win the wager.” He kissed her again, then helped her into the car and closed the door for her.

  That was Rick, always the British gentleman no matter what else might be going on. They were both headed for Worth Avenue, and she wasn’t the least bit surprised when he fell in behind her and stayed within a car length or two for the entire drive. She thought she’d made it extremely clear that she knew how to take care of herself, but apparently his ancestors had been actual knights in shining armor—and Rick had obviously inherited their “rescue the damsel” mentality.

  She crossed Olive Avenue, and Rick got stuck at the light. She half expected him to run the red, but he didn’t. Today, at least, the knight was obeying the law.

  The Mustang lurched forward as metal ground into metal. Samantha’s forehead smacked hard into the steering wheel. “Shit!”

  Dazed, she automatically put on the brake as she looked in the now-crooked rearview mirror. A big blue pickup filled the entire mirror. With a roar it shot toward the back end of the Mustang again.

  Shoving down the accelerator, she made a hard right onto a small side street. The pickup clipped her right bumper and skidded around behind her.

  Okay. This was on purpose. Her heart hammering more from adrenaline than fear, she punched it again. The Mustang had a V-12 engine, and the pickup had a hemi. A pretty even match, except that she wasn’t going to let this turn into a chase.

  She screeched a left turn, then another, heading back to the main street. As soon as the pickup driver figured out what she was doing he roared up onto her bumper again.

  They connected, knocking her forward even when she braced against it. With only inches separating them, she slammed on the brakes.

  The pickup thunked into her again. With all her strength she steered straight for a light pole. The pickup engine screamed as it tried to accelerate her into the metal post while she tried to stop.

  Or not. Taking a breath, she waited until the last possible second, hit the accelerator, and spun the wheel left. The right side of the Mustang scraped into the pole and bounced off. The pickup slammed squarely into it.

  Fishtailing wildly, Sam brought the Mustang to a limping stop. She jumped out and ran back to the truck. Whoever it was, they were getting their ass kicked.

  “Hey!” she yelled, yanking at the dented driver door. “What the fuck are you—”

  A baseball bat crashed through the tinted glass straight at her head. Instinctively she ducked the blow and the shower of safety glass, but just barely.

  “You bitch!” a male voice roared. The door shoved open and Al Sandretti lunged toward her, bat swinging.

  Samantha dodged sideways, aiming a kick at his groin. She hit a muscular thigh and he stumbled, grabbing at her foot. Jesus, he was big. If he got hold of her, he’d break her in half.

  Neighbors were starting to emerge from their houses, though she noted their presence only enough to keep Schwarzenegger and the bat well away from them. Pissed as he was, she didn’t think he would care who he swung at. “Come on, big boy,” she taunted, backing along the street.

  “Where are my fucking photos?” he roared. “You’re fucking dead!”

  She dodged again, looking for an opening and hoping someone was dialing 911. Her heel cracked into the curb and she went over backward. With a gasp she rolled sideways just as the bat dug into the parkway where her head had been.

  Rolling onto her back again she pistoned both legs straight into his knees. He staggered back, spitting and grunting. Christ, the guy was built like a fucking tree stump.

  Doing a backflip onto her feet, she jabbed at his face and nearly took a fist to the gut.

  “Come on, bitch. Let’s d—”

  Sandretti stumbled forward onto his knees. Sam side-stepped as Rick backed up a few steps, then charged forward again with a flying kick and rammed both feet between big Al’s shoulder blades. As the guy dropped, Rick followed up with two hard, quick jabs to his kidneys.

  Sandretti groaned and started up on his hands and knees again. Sam kicked him in the side of the head. With a grunt he collapsed.

  She bent over to take a breath. When she straightened, Rick had the baseball bat clenched in both hands. His face was white and furious, and she didn’t doubt for a second that he would bludgeon Sandretti into paste.

  “Stop!” she gasped, grabbing his arms and forcing him backward with all her weight.

  He moved about a step, but it got his attention. “He—What—Who the hell is that?”

  “Al Sandretti.”

  “Is this because of Kunz?”

  Sam shook her head, taking the bat out of his trembling hands. “It’s part of the Leedmont thing.”

  As sirens approached, Rick touched her forehead. His fingers came away bloody. “I saw him hit your car,” he said in a more even voice. “Christ. I thought—”

  “Hey, I’m okay,” she returned, taking his hand and clutching his fingers. “I have a hard head.”

  “And thank God for that.” Abruptly his tense shoulders lowered, and he gathered her in for a tight hug.

  “I broke your man car,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. She could feel the hard, fast beat of his heart against her cheek. He’d really been worried about her.

  “He broke my man car,” Rick amended, separating from her as the cops rolled up. “And he’s going to fucking pay for it, the wanker. Do you want me to take care of this?”

  He’d asked instead of jumping in. Wow. “No, I can deal.”

  By the time she finished explaining how she’d found a folder with some weird photos in it in the McDonald’s parking lot and had been on her way to give them to Detective Castillo and how this guy must have seen her do it and panicked, she almost believed herself. It didn’t hurt that she had the folder in her trunk to hand over, or that a bunch of the neighbors and Rick Addison could corroborate various parts of the story. She slipped the Leedmont photos under her shirt without anybody noticing, signed a statement, then climbed into the passenger seat of the SLR.

  “Are you certain you’re all right?” Rick asked, sliding behind the wheel. He feathered her hair behind her ear, and she shivered.

  “I’m fine. A little headache, but I’ve had much worse.” It was the last time she would take a car with personalized plates on a gig, though.

  “I remember.” He leaned over and kissed her, surprisingly gentle. “You actually went toe-to-toe with that brute.”

  “You told me not to scratch your car. He made me mad.”

  Rick smiled. “I love you.”

  She felt her cheeks warm. “And I’m glad you can do that karate flying kick thing. Take me to the office, will you?”

  For a long moment he gazed at her before he nodded and put the SLR in gear. “Sure.”

  He let her off at the front steps, then headed for the parking structure. The Bentley was where Stoney had left it; at least he seemed to be serious about helping her, whatever his private reservations. Hell, he’d already logged more office time than she had.

  “Hey,” she called as she stepped into the reception room. “I’m back.”

  Stoney shoved open the hallway door to join her. “Good. What the hell happened to you?” He motioned at her head.

  “Not much. I’ll tell you later.”

  “Fine. I’m going to lunch.”

  “Sheesh. Was it something I said?”

  “Nope. I have a lunch date. And I got a call on that Giacometti. I went ahead and scheduled a meeting for tonight.”

  She grabbed his arm to stop him. “Wait a minute. Who called?”

  “I don’t know. They used one of those Darth Vader voice changers.” He grinned. “Very James Bond—and very amateur.”

  The same guy who’d called Bobby, then. “Okay. We’ll go over strategy when you get back.”

  “Like I don’t know how to take in property of questionable origin.”

  “You’re not—”

  “See you later, honey.”

  Sighing, Sam headed back to her office to call Leedmont. Stoney had left her the dwindling pile of résumés and a small stack of phone messages, most of which said something along the lines of “I hadn’t heard from you, so I accepted a job with fill-in-the-blank.” Crap. Her desk had gone from mahogany to oak, and she was beginning to wonder whether it was safe to put her pencils away.

  After she set up an early Saturday morning meeting with Leedmont, she started to go through the remaining applications again, weeding out the ones who had found work elsewhere, but after a minute or two she set it aside. Instead she picked up her desk phone and dialed Aubrey Pendleton.

  “Hello, darlin’,” he answered.

  Samantha smiled at his tone. “Hi. Could I ask you a question?”

  “Ask me for the moon and the stars, and I’ll deliver them.”

  “You’re in a good mood.”

  “A lovely lady just sent me a case of 1935 French wine.”

  “Wow, you must be a good date.”

  “Try me.”

  A little good-natured, nonserious flirting was good for her, especially after the surreal attempted seduction on the yacht and the pro wrestling match. “I might. But who asked you for the phone number?”

  “The phone number? No one. I’ve been carrying it around just in case, but it’s been quiet. I must say, you’ve started a terrible craving for adventure in me. I’m not sure how I’ll go back to being merely charming.”

  “I wouldn’t call you ‘merely’ anything, Aubrey.”

  “Oh, you’re making me blush. Oops, my date’s on the other line. I have to go.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  So whoever had called Stoney hadn’t gotten the number from Aubrey. It wasn’t that surprising, she supposed; in the right circles, Walter Barstone had a reputation for being one of the best in the world. Through him she’d managed to make a nice-sized fortune, after all. And though he worked primarily with her, it wasn’t an exclusive relationship. Not professionally, anyway.