She could see it in his eyes, behind the anger. He’d fenced every job she and Martin had ever pulled. Even with just one year for every caper, he was looking at forty plus years in prison. And he knew it, and he was scared. “I’m trying,” she muttered back, “but they’ve got a seventy-two hour hold on you.”

  “I can’t do this, Sam. Please, honey.”

  For a heartbeat she thought of the Glock in the car. She could do it, but it wouldn’t help. It might even be what Daniel was hoping for, that she’d break Stoney out. Then the cops would have their suspects. “Stoney, I’ll come up with a plan. I promise. But right now you’re probably safer here.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “There’s something going on, and at least now I know you’re not going to end up with a bullet in your chest.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you leave me here, dammit. I told you we should have gone to Venice. But no, you had to stay here with your pretty boy and play detective. So help me, I—”

  She stood, backing away. Another second of this and she was either going to cry or jump the partition and hit him. “You’re just going to have to trust me, Stoney. I’m sorry.”

  He rose as well, and the sheriff immediately approached. “Sam—”

  “I’ll get you out as soon as I can, Stoney, but you have to trust me. I love you.”

  When she returned to the safety of the SLR, she did cry. This was what her lame attempt to go straight had gotten her—her only family in jail. And they wouldn’t even confirm the charges, which to her said they were still trying to pile them on. She didn’t doubt that by Monday one of them would be the murder of Charles Kunz.

  This had to be Daniel’s doing. Threats behind her back, and offers of seduction to her face. Okay, she couldn’t confront him without something to back up her suspicions, but she could talk to someone with whom he was well acquainted. “Patricia,” she murmured, putting the car into gear again. Rick’s ex, Peter’s ex, Patricia Addison-Wallis seemed to have a knack for associating with the wrong men. And the two of them needed to have a little chat.

  Rick sat in the Donners’ driveway, the Bentley idling. This was the crux of the conflict between himself and Samantha. He’d gone through legal channels—every channel possible—while she was off somewhere using her own methods of detection. He couldn’t guess how she felt at the moment, but he knew quite well what he was feeling: useless. And that simply wasn’t acceptable.

  Samantha hadn’t told him much, but he was good at paying attention. Walter had been arrested with a Giacometti. And it happened that he’d seen one on Charles’s desk when he’d gone to find Daniel trying to maul Samantha there. If he confronted Daniel, dearly as he would love to beat the shit out of him, he might jeopardize both what Samantha was trying to do, and whatever Castillo was investigating.

  He paused, his inconclusive but very interesting conversation with Laurie Kunz running through his head. Picking up his cell, he rang Tom again.

  “What? I know you’re still in my damned driveway.”

  “Paradise Realty. I want all their paperwork.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “And whatever you can get of Kunz family wills and trusts,” Richard continued, ignoring the commentary. “I’ll want them right after the Kingdom meeting tomorrow.”

  “You’re going to have to pay for my therapy, after this.”

  “I’ll pay for you and Kate and the kids to spend a week in Cancun.”

  “Deal.”

  He hung up the phone. It so happened that Laurie had given him another direction to consider, as well. Apparently Patricia and Daniel had some kind of relationship. And Patricia owed him at least one favor.

  Against her better judgment, Samantha let a valet park the SLR at The Breakers. She didn’t have time to be squeamish tonight. In the lobby she found a house phone and dialed reception.

  “Good evening, how may I direct your call?”

  “Guest Patricia Addison-Wallis, please.”

  “Just a moment.”

  The phone rattled and answered after the third ring. “Yes?” Patricia’s scratchy voice came.

  Apparently Patricia had nothing better to do on a Friday night than go to bed early. Which meant Daniel was elsewhere, and could have been up to anything. “Miss Addison-Wallis?” she drawled. “The hotel would like to gift you with a complementary bottle of champagne.”

  “Well, thank you,” Patty said, her voice perkier.

  “Certainly. I have your room number as 816. We’ll send—”

  “I’m in 401,” she interrupted.

  “Oh, yes. My apologies. Eight sixteen is the time the order request came in. Your champagne will be up momentarily.”

  “Thank you.”

  Sam hung up. “Schmuck,” she muttered, heading for the bar to swipe a champagne bottle.

  That done, she took an elevator to the fourth floor. Patricia had the floor’s suite—an odd choice for someone trying to live on a budget, but she couldn’t begin to figure out the workings of the Ex’s mind. She knocked, holding the bottle up in front of the peephole.

  “You might at least have put it on ice,” Patricia said, pulling open the door. “I expected more from—Oh, it’s you. Get out of here.”

  “Thanks,” Samantha answered, pushing past Patricia and closing the door behind her, then tossing the bottle onto a chair. “We need to talk.”

  “I’m busy. Go away.”

  Samantha glanced through the open bedroom door. It belatedly occurred to her that Daniel might have been in bed with her and that was the reason Patricia had made it an early night, but only one side of the bed was turned down, and the television was on. “I can see you’re busy,” she returned. “You and Jay Leno.”

  Patricia pulled the monogrammed Breakers bathrobe closer around herself. “What do you want, then?”

  “I want to have a little chat about Daniel.”

  “Why, Richard isn’t enough? You have to steal every man away from me?”

  “Excuse me?” Sam lifted an eyebrow. “One, you and Rick have been divorced for like three years. Two, as far as Daniel is concerned, yuck.”

  “You kissed him. And don’t try to deny it, because I saw you.”

  Great. This was not the conversation Sam wanted to have, and it wasn’t one she had time for, either. “If you want to get technical, he kissed me, but trust me, he’s all yours. Now have a seat.”

  Patricia went to the coffee table for a cigarette. “You are not going to order me about, and we are not going to have a chat. Get out before I call security.”

  “Then call security, and I’ll ask them if they can verify where you were this evening, and on the night Charles Kunz was killed.”

  “What?” Patricia’s ivory-colored skin went a shade lighter. “I did not—Oh, no, you don’t. You are not going to do this to me again. My life was ruined—ruined—after Peter went to jail. I’m still paying for it. This is not going to—”

  “Hey, Patty. Peter tried to blow me up, and then he fractured my skull. Quit screwing criminals who’re trying to hurt me and mine, and I’ll stay out of your life.”

  “Sod off, Jellicoe. If you think Daniel is trying to hurt Richard, you’re mad.”

  “Not Rick. When’s the last time you saw Daniel?”

  “I’m not going to answer anything. You’re trespassing, and I want you to leave.”

  “I don’t care what you w—”

  The door rattled with the force of a knock, and both women jumped. “Now what?” Patricia sniffed, going to the door.

  Rick strode into the room. “Patricia, we need to talk,” he snapped, then saw Samantha and stopped dead. “What are you doing here?”

  For a moment Samantha just looked at him. They’d obviously come to the same conclusion, and he’d elected not to remain at home and wait for someone else’s report. He’d come because he thought she might need help saving Stoney. And he had so much more to lose than she did if he let himself get entangled in this mess. But he would know that, too.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  “I called Patricia and pretended to be room service to find out her room number,” Sam commented, tilting her head to watch him approach. “How did you find her?”

  “I asked the front desk.”

  “Show-off.”

  “They like me here,” he continued, his expression easing as he walked toward her.

  “Obviously.”

  “I presume you’re here to ask some questions about Daniel,” he said, brushing her hand as he passed her and sank onto the couch. “Anything interesting?”

  “We’re still at the hostile greetings stage. Have you heard anything new?”

  “No. Tom’s working on it.” He turned his attention to his ex-wife. “So, Patricia, where’s Daniel?”

  “Daniel?” Patricia stammered, lighting her cigarette. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She jabbed the glowing tip in Samantha’s direction. “And she’s a bloody liar, anyway.”

  “This isn’t about Sam. It’s about Daniel. When is the last time you saw him?”

  “Richard—”

  “Sit down and answer the question, Patricia. I don’t want to have to resort to threats. It’s not dignified.”

  Satisfying as it was for her to see Rick finally letting loose on the Ex, she knew that ganging up on Patricia was likely to leave her feeling the persecuted martyr. Once Patricia decided it was her lot in life to suffer, they’d never get anything out of her. And if she’d been in Patricia’s shoes, she’d rather go to jail than confess her new errors to the ex-husband on whom she hadn’t quite given up.

  She sat down beside him. “Rick, leave this to me,” she murmured, while Patricia continued to aim disparaging remarks at her.

  “She’s my ex-wife,” he returned. “I’m involved, too.”

  “I know you are. And you coming here…We’ll talk about that later. But she won’t confess anything to you. She might to me.”

  Rick looked at her. “Don’t shut me out of this.”

  Samantha kissed him on the cheek. She couldn’t help herself. “I’m not. But she’s not going to admit to you that she’s sleeping with Daniel, and you know it. This is a girl thing.”

  For a long moment she thought he wouldn’t move. Finally, though, he blew out his breath and stood. “I’m going to find Castillo,” he muttered, gripping her fingers. “And I’m going to see if I can find out where Daniel is.”

  She frowned. “I don’t want him to know why—”

  “He won’t know why I’m asking.” Rick planted a kiss on her lips. “We have a polo match on Monday, and it can’t hurt to go over strategy. See? I learn things about subterfuge from you every day.” Placing his hands on both her shoulders, he held her there for a moment. “Just be careful, Samantha,” he whispered. “I mean it.”

  “I will be.” The honest concern in his face was almost too much to take. Jeez. Who would have thought that nearly getting blown up with a guy three months ago would have turned into this, where he’d become so…precious to her? “And I’m sorry I took off like that. I couldn’t think.”

  He smiled. “Take off whenever you want. Just make sure you come back—and in one piece.”

  “Deal.”

  Patricia had holed up in a chair in the corner to glower at both of them. Sam rose to close the door behind Rick, then faced the Ex again. “Okay. It’s like this: my friend was arrested tonight for being in possession of a genuine Giacometti prototype.”

  “A what? And why does this concern Daniel and me?”

  “It’s a piece of art. And the last time I saw it was at Coronado House, when Daniel showed it to me and asked me how much I thought it was worth.”

  “Then your friend shouldn’t have stolen it.”

  Sam clenched her jaw. “He was framed, and now whoever did steal it is missing out on making about a million dollars for it.”

  “A mill—”

  “I thought that might get your attention. So did you notice or hear Daniel mention anything about getting rid of it?”

  “We don’t talk about art or money.”

  “Not about money at all? Does he know you’re trying to move to Palm Beach?”

  “Richard is assisting me with that,” Patricia said stiffly.

  “Okay, let me ask you this: Why does a person who might need money intentionally lose a chance to make a lot of it?”

  “Why don’t you just go away?”

  “I’ll tell you why,” Samantha said slowly, reasoning it out in her own head as she spoke. “Because he’s creating a chance to make even more.”

  “What?”

  It made sense. The cops hadn’t said, but she would be willing to bet that one of the Gugenthal rubies had been found with the Giacometti sculpture. In one move Daniel would have managed to get himself out from under any suspicion for the theft and the murder, and pin it on someone else. And since he undoubtedly had the rest of the rubies, he’d be free to sell them elsewhere while the state prosecuted Stoney for having them and refusing to divulge their whereabouts. And from her best information they would be worth something around three million, even at pennies on the dollar. All untaxed and unreported, for any recreational purposes he could come up with. Plus he’d have the inheritance free and clear.

  She explained it as best she could to Patricia, putting up with the insults and insinuations the entire time. After an hour she finally seemed to be getting through.

  “You’re saying Daniel killed his own father,” Patty said around her third cigarette.

  “That’s what I’m saying. And even if he didn’t, he did the robbery. Which means that when he gets arrested for it—and I will make sure that he does—you are once again going to be dragged through the papers for having a relationship with a thief and probable murderer.”

  For a moment she thought Patty had swallowed her tongue. “This is your fault,” she finally spat. “I don’t know how, but it’s your fault.”

  “It’s not my fault, but I’m going to give you a way to help yourself out of this. If you work with me, I’ll make sure the cops know you’ve been in on the investigation all along, and that you came to me with your initial suspicions about an old family friend and his cocaine habit.”

  Patricia took another long drag, blowing smoke out through her lips. Then she ground out the butt. “What do I have to do?”

  Sixteen

  Saturday, 1:02 a.m.

  Richard sat on the sofa in the bedroom suite, his cell phone and a notepad beside him, while he flipped channels on the plasma television. Every time he changed a channel the time came up across the bottom, and he’d been counting every minute.

  Finally, a little after one o’clock in the morning, the door opened behind him and then closed again. “Hi,” he said over his shoulder.

  “You didn’t have to wait up,” Samantha said, flinging her purse onto the side table and sinking onto the couch beside him. “You have a big day tomorrow. Today, I mean.”

  “And face your stinging sarcasm when you came in and had to wake me up?” he returned, finally relaxing as she settled in against his side and drew his free arm around her shoulders.

  “Is there anything new?”

  “We can’t get Walter out of jail until Monday at the earliest. He’s going in front of a judge and they’re going to formally charge him then. That’s when his attorney will ask for bail and—”

  “I went to see him,” she interrupted.

  “Walter?” It abruptly felt as though reality had slipped out of focus. Twice in a week now Samantha had voluntarily visited a police station. “Did you find out anything new?”

  She shrugged, burrowing a little closer against him. “Just that he’s scared shitless to be there and that he wants out now.”

  “I’m sorry,” he returned quietly. “With the weekend, they can hold him an extra day without filing any—”

  “I know the drill.” The line of her shoulders remained straight and tight. It had been a long evening for her.

  “Tom’s got Bill Rhodes on the case. He’ll get bail on Monday.”

  “Don’t you think maybe it’s too high profile, having one of the senior partners of a prestigious law firm representing a fence?”

  Richard shrugged. “Maybe. It could work in our favor, though. Donner, Rhodes and Chritchenson wouldn’t risk its reputation on a thug.”

  “’A thug,’” she repeated. “Don’t let Stoney hear you say that. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

  “I said he wasn’t a thug, my love.”

  “I know. I think my sense of humor is broken.”

  “You’re just tired. What say we hit this again in the morning?”

  “Stoney said the guy who called him for a meet never showed up, and then the cops busted into his house and found the Giacometti in his front closet. Did Donner find out anything else?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t want to answer, because it would start a whole new line of questions, and they both needed to get some sleep. At the same time, he knew her well enough to realize that they weren’t going anywhere until he gave her the information. “The police received an anonymous tip that the guy who’d killed Charles Kunz had gone back in for another piece, and gave the location where Stoney would be. He was there, and they found the Giacometti the caller had mentioned, and—”

  “And a Gugenthal ruby, right?”

  He frowned. It had taken Tom three hours to find out what the cops had inventoried during the arrest. “You might have called me if you had that bit of information.”

  “I didn’t have it.”

  “Then how—”

  “A hunch. And I’ll bet it was the least valuable one in the set.”

  “I don’t know that, yet. Castillo might.” He rested his cheek against the top of her head. “And did you get anything useful from Patricia?”

  “It’s too early to tell. I probably shouldn’t have given her the whole night to think things over, but I doubt she’ll tip off Daniel. After Peter, I don’t think she trusts her taste in men all that much.”

  At least she hadn’t included him in that little cluster of miscreants. “And what, precisely, is she thinking over?”