Kitabı oku: «Otherwise Engaged»

1

TMS—Sorry I’ll miss the wedding. I’ll be in touch.

Remember Scarlet and Annie. RJL

DISASTER. Tyler Sheridan’s fingers had started tingling the moment she’d read the ad. They always did when something bad was about to happen. And getting a Dear John letter from her fiancé in the Personals went way beyond bad!

Her first reaction had been to close her eyes and pinch herself. But when she’d finally steeled herself to look again, the ad was still there, the message still the same. That was when the rational part of her brain had kicked in. It had to be a mistake. It was someone’s idea of a joke. Richard couldn’t have placed the ad. She’d just call him and he’d be able to explain.

Sixteen hours later, she’d had to face the fact that Richard James Lawrence, prominent Manhattan accountant, the man she was supposed to marry in a week, couldn’t explain anything because he’d disappeared.

She had to get him back! Her whole future as CEO of Sheridan Trust, one of Boston’s most prestigious investment firms, depended on finding Richard and convincing him to go through with the wedding. A jilted bride was not going to inspire the confidence of her board of trustees—not when she was already on probation.

The panic bubbling up inside her had sent her to the special file her grandmother had given her just before she died. In it was a business card and a letter of introduction she was supposed to use in just such an emergency. Isabelle Sheridan’s exact words had been “If you want something done quickly and with the utmost secrecy, go to Manhattan and hire Nick Romano.”

But now that she was here and about to enter the offices of Romano Investigations, her fingers had begun to tingle again. Had she come to the right place? The neighborhood wasn’t quite as upscale as she’d expected, and the building was old. Seedy was the word that came to mind as she’d taken the elevator to the fifth floor, and nothing she saw as she started down the dim hallway dislodged it. Try as she might, she could not picture her grandmother, the strong-minded, impeccably groomed woman who’d ruled Sheridan Trust with an iron hand for thirty years, ever coming to a place like this.

Fishing the business card out of her pocket, she glanced down at the address and once more assured herself that she’d come to the right building, the right floor. No one had answered when she’d called from her hotel, but a recorded voice had informed her the office would open at nine. As she reached the end of the hall, she saw that it hadn’t lied. The bold black letters on the frosted glass read N. Romano, Private Investigations. And the door was wide open.

In the light filtering through the broken blinds, Tyler could make out a battered desk with a goose-necked lamp. The scene was suddenly very familiar. Hadn’t she seen it before in old movies where the desperate heroine sought out the help of a street-wise private eye? It certainly wasn’t a part she’d ever expected to play in real life. And she couldn’t imagine Isabelle Sheridan playing it, either.

But Tyler had to find Richard.

Ignoring the fresh wave of tingles in her fingers, she took a deep breath and walked in. A quick glance around told her the room was empty—

Except for the body sprawled full length on the couch. Curious, she moved forward to get a better look.

It was a nearly naked male body. Not able to tear her gaze away, she watched his bare chest rise and fall. Lean and muscled, it was sprinkled with dark hair that narrowed before disappearing beneath the waistband of his bicycle shorts.

She suddenly realized that her fingers had reached out, close enough to nearly brush against that smooth, tan skin, more than close enough to feel its warmth. Snatching her hand back, she fisted it at her side. What in the world was wrong with her? She didn’t go around touching strange men. Slowly she drew in a deep breath and let it out as she tried to gather her thoughts.

This couldn’t possibly be Nick Romano, could it? She tore her gaze from his body long enough to glance down at the card again. Below the name, she could just make out the words her grandmother had scrawled— “very discrete.” Frowning thoughtfully, Tyler let her eyes travel over him again, taking in the lean, roughly handsome face, then lingering again on the tanned skin stretched taut over long bones and muscle.

There was nothing discrete about this man. He had the kind of body Italian sculptors had captured over and over again in marble and bronze. Though she’d seen countless pieces in museums, she’d never had a desire to touch any of them.

And she certainly wasn’t going to touch this man, either. She was a nearly married woman. He was a nearly naked man. Forcing the wayward thought out of her mind, she curled her fingers into fists. It had to be the heat. Manhattan and most of the northeast had been suffering temperatures in the mid-nineties for almost a week, and the air-conditioning drifting in from the hall had lost its battle with the sun pouring through the tall glass windows. It was definitely the heat, she assured herself as a nasty drip of sweat made its way down her back. But she couldn’t seem to rid herself of the sensation that something about this man was reaching out to her, tugging at her….

She wanted to move forward almost as much as she wanted to run.

Sheridans never run. Drawing in a deep breath, Tyler repeated the words in her head and stood her ground. If this was indeed Nick Romano, she needed his help. If he wasn’t, he was the only person around who could tell her that. Either way she had to handle him. No, handle the situation. She’d solved worse problems in the Sheridan Trust boardroom, hadn’t she?

Suddenly, she had it! Every modern corporate CEO was trained in visualization techniques. She’d just put some clothes on him—a dark gray suit, white shirt, a deeper gray in the striped tie…Slowly the picture formed in her mind. Only then did she clear her throat and say, “Excuse me—”

He shot up and off the couch, his hand whipping around to his back. Tyler took one quick step in retreat before she could stop herself. He was reaching for a gun. She was sure of it, even though his hand came up empty. And a gun would have been easier to face than this man’s eyes. Dark and potent, they sliced into her and dried up her throat.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the fierceness faded. His gaze narrowed. In that same instant she became aware of how close they were standing. He was larger now that he was standing up. And somehow in that leap off the couch, the clothes she’d pictured him in had fallen off.

Sheridans never run. She clung to the thought while the two stood motionless, facing each other.

“You didn’t knock,” he finally said.

Tyler swallowed. In a minute, just as soon as her system leveled, she was going to have to put those clothes right back on him again. “The door was wide open. I’m looking for Nick Romano.”

“Well, you found him, sugar—”

But it wasn’t until he glanced past her that Tyler let out the rest of the breath she’d been holding.

“And the only reason that door was open was because I was hoping that some of the air-conditioning would drift in from the hall.”

Tyler looked at the unit filling one of the windows. “Why didn’t you just turn yours on?”

“The electricity’s been shut off,” he said.

For the first time she noticed the file drawers, open and empty, the boxes stacked neatly against the wall.

“You’re moving?” she asked, turning back to him with a frown.

“That’s right.”

“That would explain your clothes, I suppose.”

He glanced down at himself, and when his gaze once more returned to hers, the amusement was clear. “Something wrong?”

Tyler’s brows rose. “You’ll have to admit, even for a dress-down Friday, they’re a little skimpy.”

Nick grinned. “Very funny. The truth is, I was thinking of taking a run, but it was hot and the couch called out to me.”

Tyler found herself staring as the warmth of his smile lit his face, transforming him into the antithesis of the warrior who’d sprung off the couch. She found herself wanting to smile right back at him. But the moment he took a step toward her, she drew herself up and focused. “The case I want you to take is urgent. In addition to your fee, I’ll cover whatever it will cost to reschedule the movers.”

“No.”

The grin had faded, but she still had the distinct feeling he was laughing at her. Moving to the desk, she took her checkbook out of her purse and uncapped her pen. “I’m not making myself clear. You can name your fee.”

“No.”

She jumped when he touched her. His grip was gentle, firm, and she was very much aware of the press of each one of his fingers on the inside of her arm. So aware that she didn’t realize her feet were moving until she found that he’d led her into the hallway.

“Look, lady, let’s start over.” His tone was patient, controlled, reminding her of any one of several nannies she’d had before she’d been shipped off to boarding school.

She wanted to slap him.

“Let’s pretend you’ve just come up in the elevator,” Nick continued, “and when you got here, the door was shut. You knocked, but there was no answer because Romano Investigations closed shop last night at 5:00 p.m. You missed hiring me by about fifteen hours. I can recommend my cousin Sam. He used to work for me, and he just got a job with a big security firm uptown. See—” he tapped a finger on the door “—I taped one of his business cards right here.” Ripping it free, he handed it to her. “He’ll be happy to take your money.”

Tyler watched, stunned, as he shut the door of his office in her face. She heard the lock click, then his footsteps growing fainter. She very much wanted to give the door a good, swift kick. But she didn’t. Sheridans didn’t kick doors. That had been drilled into her by the time she was three. She wanted to scream, too. That phase had lasted until she was five.

But worst of all, she wanted to cry. She could feel the hot needle-like pricks burning at the back of her eyes. She hadn’t cried since she was eleven. Not even at her grandmother’s funeral six months ago. Taking a deep breath, she blinked away the dampness. Nick Romano was not going to make her cry. So what if he’d closed shop. He could just open it up again. She had to get him to help her. There was no one else.

She had taken two steps toward the closed door, her hand raised to knock, when her cell phone rang. Only two people had her number: Naomi Prescott, her personal assistant, and Richard. Please, God, let it be Richard. Unsnapping her purse, she grabbed the phone and flipped it open. “Yes?”

“Tyler, Naomi gave me your number. She tells me you flew to New York last night. Is everything all right?”

Howard. Drawing in a deep breath, Tyler struggled to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Everything’s fine, Howard.”

Howard Tremaine was her mother’s fourth husband, the third that Claudia Tyler Sheridan had chosen to marry since Tyler’s father had died, and the only one who’d shown an interest in working at Sheridan Trust. He’d appointed himself her personal advisor ever since she’d stepped into her grandmother’s shoes.

“You’d tell me if something was going wrong with the Bradshaw deal? I could be on the next plane.”

“Everything is right on schedule.” Tyler sent up another quick prayer. Sheridan Trust had been pursuing Bradshaw Enterprises for months before her grandmother died, but Tyler had been the one to convince Hamilton Bradshaw to come aboard. The papers were to be signed at a family dinner at his Manhattan apartment on Sunday. Richard was supposed to escort her. Howard and her mother were to be there too, because Hamilton Bradshaw had a fondness for family-run companies.

“And you’re sure that everything is all right between you and Richard? He was supposed to fly in last night, wasn’t he?”

“Richard and I are fine, Howard. I just decided it would be easier to play hooky if I flew to Manhattan. Certainly a bride and groom have the right to do that eight days before the wedding.”

“Playing hooky?” He gave an audible sigh. “Well, I’m delighted to hear it. I think it’s great you’ve decided to relax a little. I was afraid that you might have had some kind of lover’s quarrel, or, worse still, that you’d decided to elope and cheat us all out of the elegant bash your mother has planned next Saturday.”

Tyler made herself smile, hoping it would show in her voice. “No, it’s nothing like that, Howard. Richard and I have never quarreled. And if I eloped, it would tarnish the image you’ve been helping me create for the board of trustees. They’d pull the plug on me even before my year’s probation is up. Besides, Hamilton Bradshaw is planning on attending the wedding. I wouldn’t want him disappointed in Sheridan Trust before he has time to settle in.”

Even as she spoke, a totally different image formed in her mind. It was a scene she’d watched hundreds of times in movies. Papers were rolling off the presses, the music was swelling, and there she was on the cover of the Boston Globe in her bridal dress and veil, waiting at the altar alone. Above her the headline screamed, Tyler Sheridan, Acting CEO of Sheridan Trust, Jilted!

“Tyler…are you still there?”

Tyler swallowed the tight ball of panic lodged in her throat. “Yes?”

“I thought I lost you for a moment. Tell Richard to give me a call later. I have some last-minute bachelor party things to go over with him. I’ll cover for you here.”

“Thanks, Howard. ’Bye.”

For just a moment, Tyler let herself lean against the wall. Howard was one of the few people at Sheridan Trust who had given her his unquestioning support since her grandmother’s death. And his interest in working at Sheridan Trust had brought her mother back to Boston. Tyler had begun to hope that the rift between her mother and grandmother would eventually heal. For fourteen years, ever since Tyler’s father had died, Claudia and Isabelle had blamed each other for his death.

Still, she couldn’t tell Howard, she couldn’t tell anyone yet that Richard was missing. The only person she could confide in was Nick Romano. If her grandmother said he could be trusted, he could. She had to believe that. There was no other choice. In a minute, just as soon as she was in control, she was going to make him help her.

WITH ONE QUICK SWEEP of his arm, Nick scooped everything on his desk into a box. He’d done the right thing. So why the hell did he feel like he’d kicked a defenseless puppy? Pulling out a drawer, he dumped it unceremoniously into the next box.

That woman was not defenseless. He knew the type—a spoiled rich girl, swimming in inherited wealth and certain that it could buy her anything she wanted. His sisters and his mother would have admired the style of that neat little suit she wore. His own taste ran to her legs. They were first class, just like the rest of her. And in spite of the heat, she’d looked picture perfect, not one strand of that pale-gold hair out of place, not one wrinkle in her clothes. Nothing loose, nothing unbuttoned. At any other time, he’d have been tempted to muss her up a bit. Just thinking about it made his lips curve.

Propping a hip against the side of his desk, Nick let his gaze return to the door. She’d been young too, not more than twenty-four or five. And there’d been that flash of fear he’d seen in her eyes when he’d leapt off the couch. In spite of it, she hadn’t run and she hadn’t screamed.

Courage. He’d always been a sucker for it. Nick glanced at the phone. She couldn’t have left the building yet. There was a chance he could still catch—

No. He stopped himself before he could start for the door. No way. Little Miss Picture Perfect was the last thing he needed right now. He was out of the PI business for good. After ten years, the cage door had finally swung open.

His job with a law firm in L.A. would finally allow him to achieve his dream of practicing law. Though he’d received his degree over a year ago, he had yet to put it to any use in Manhattan. There was always one last investigation to finish, one last favor to do before he could close his office. In California, no one need ever know he’d been a P.I. for ten years. No one would seek him out and beg him to take just one last case. Rising, he walked over to his computer and pulled the plug out of the wall, then out of the machine. As he coiled it and dropped it in an open box, he concentrated on the new life that was waiting for him out in California. His mother’s boutique was making a steady profit, and between that and what he’d be able to send her each month, his two sisters would make it through college. He was a free man!

The phone rang. Nick sent it a frown. He had a pretty good idea who it was. The smart thing to do was let it ring, let his answering machine pick it up. But he reached for it all the same. “Romano here.”

“You didn’t let me introduce myself. I’m Tyler Sheridan.”

Nick heard the warning bell ringing in the back of his mind. “So?”

“My grandmother was Isabelle Sheridan of Sheridan Trust in Boston. You did some work for her. She said I could trust you. I have a letter of introduction in my purse.”

Nick scowled first at the phone, then at the door. Why in hell had he left it open? Turning, he glared at the couch. If he hadn’t fallen asleep—

“Mr. Romano, are you still there?”

“Yeah.” A few hours later and he wouldn’t have been. He’d have missed Miss Tyler Sheridan completely. Why was it that today of all days, the past had to reach out and grab him?

“Could you please let me in? My business is private.”

Hanging up the phone, Nick walked to the door. The fact that she was Isabelle Sheridan’s granddaughter changed nothing, he told himself. The promise he’d made had concerned the old lady. Any obligation had ended when she’d died. Opening the door, he said, “I was sorry to hear about your grandmother’s death.”

“Thank you.”

She moved past him quickly, but not before he’d seen the pain flash into her eyes. Isabelle had died six months ago, but this woman was still grieving. With a silent sigh, Nick closed the door. He knew how hard it was to lose family.

“How much should I make the check out for?”

“Forget about the check.” Even as he said the words, he discovered that it was much easier to refuse the spoiled rich girl than the woman who’d lost her grandmother. He’d read about Isabelle Sheridan’s sudden death in the papers. And he’d also glanced through several profiles written about the young woman who was standing before him, the woman Isabelle had personally groomed to take her place at the head of a multibillion-dollar investment firm. Only, the old lady hadn’t planned on dying so soon, because Tyler Sheridan looked much too young for the job. “Look, I’m not in the PI business anymore. I have a new job in L.A that starts next week. The best I can do for you is escort you to my cousin Sam’s office and personally introduce you. He’s the best—”

“I want you. My grandmother said in an emergency to use you—no one else. I can’t afford to share any of this with a stranger.”

“Why don’t you use the security firm in Boston that your grandmother used?” Nick asked.

“Because my business is…personal, and my—This problem is here in Manhattan.”

Her voice had tightened slightly, and her knuckles had turned white where they were gripping her purse. Those were the only signs that beneath that cool, unflappable exterior, she was wound tight. Contrasts had always intrigued him. Once again Nick fought against his weakening resolve. “Let me see if I can guess. You want me to tail your boyfriend and see if he’s cheating on you?”

Two bright spots of color stained her cheeks. “I’m not going to discuss the case until you agree to take it.” Then suddenly her eyes widened. “That can’t be the only kind of work you do. I’m sure that’s not the kind of work you did for my grandmother—”

He saw the flash of doubt in her eyes and the curiosity.

“Was it?”

“I never talk about any of my client’s cases.”

After a second, she nodded. “Good. Okay. I have to trust you not to talk about mine.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. She might be young, but he was beginning to see how effectively she might operate in a board room, and he wished he didn’t admire her for it. “I haven’t agreed to take your case.”

Tyler met his eyes steadily. “Will you?”

“You’re as stubborn as your grandmother.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He grinned grudgingly. “She would have, too.”

Once again, he saw pain in her eyes, and his curiosity increased. “You mentioned a letter of introduction?”

Unsnapping her purse, she extracted it and handed it to him. Nick regretted asking for it the moment he read it: “‘Nicholas, if you read this, then it means that I am no longer here and my granddaughter needs your help. Your promise to your uncle ended with my death, but listen to what she has to say and don’t judge her by my mistakes. Belle.”’

“Damn!” He glanced up in time to see the corners of her mouth twitch. “Something funny?”

“No. My grandmother’s missives are seldom funny. ‘Damn’ usually sums them up quite well.”

He studied her for a moment, knowing that his decision had already been made. “I’ll take the case on one condition—if I can’t wind everything up by Tuesday, you’ll let me refer you to my cousin. I’m flying to L.A. on Wednesday morning.”

Tyler hesitated for a moment.

“Take it or leave it,” Nick said.

“Agreed.”

He walked to his desk and sat down on the corner. “Okay, what’s the problem?”

“I’m getting married next Saturday, and my fiancé has disappeared. I want you to find him.”

For a second, Nick said nothing. She was the coolest looking jilted bride he’d ever seen. He watched her as she unsnapped her purse.

“The last time I heard from him—”

“Wait. I can save us both some time here. If your bridegroom has bolted, don’t waste your money. Just let him go.”

Her eyes snapped up to his and narrowed. “I didn’t come here for advice. And he’s my fiancé. He won’t be my bridegroom until next Saturday.”

Nick waved a hand. “Fiancé, bridegroom. We could sit around and debate word choice all day but—” he lifted the clock off his filing cabinet “—the clock is ticking.”

“That one isn’t,” she pointed out.

Nick glanced down at it and frowned. “Damn. I forgot the electricity was turned off. No wonder it didn’t go off. If it had, you’d have missed me completely.”

“Must be my lucky day,” Tyler said.

Nick glanced at her. “Good one.” No, she definitely wasn’t a defenseless puppy. And he was becoming certain she wasn’t simply the spoiled rich girl he’d thought at first. That intrigued him even more than the fabulous legs. With some effort, he kept himself from looking at them again. “Okay, back to the missing bridegroom.”

“Fiancé. Words are important. I like to use them accurately.”

“Believe me, sugar, any man who is within a week of his wedding has started to think of himself as a groom. He can picture himself in that monkey suit, the tie cutting off his oxygen supply, and that ball and chain rolling inexorably toward him, ready to snap its jaws tight around his ankle. If your husband-to-be is missing, it’s more likely than not he’s got a classic case of cold feet and taken a powder. And with the divorce rate the way it is today, you don’t need a bridegroom who’s having second thoughts.”

Tyler strode toward him until they were standing toe to toe. “And I don’t need to hire a PI who’s going to waste my time. Is that all they taught you in detective school—to jump to conclusions and argue?”

“Jeez,” Nick said, putting a hand over his heart, “you really know how to hurt a guy.”

Tyler’s chin lifted. “My grandmother said you could be trusted. She didn’t say you were any good. Are you?”

“Sugar, I’m a regular Sherlock Holmes.” Reaching quickly, he snagged her hand. When she tried to pull away, he held tight. “That was a pretty direct challenge. Bear with me for a moment. This is your engagement ring?”

“Yes.”

“He chose it, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“No, don’t say another word. Let me show you what I learned in detective school. You would have chosen something a little smaller, more conservative, I think…perhaps something with a different stone in the setting, a sapphire to match your eyes.” He glanced up, saw that he had her attention, and went on. “The size of the stone tells me that he wanted to impress you or your family. That means the money he has is new, not the kind that’s been handed down to him. He wanted to make sure you knew he could measure up. He’s a little nervous about this wedding.” Nick paused, then asked, “How am I doing so far?”

“You’re guessing.”

Nick smiled. “Detectives have to make guesses. Good ones guess right. I’m also betting that he works in a business that your board of trustees would approve of—banking, the stock market…no, accounting. I’ll bet he’s an accountant.”

Her eyes widened. “How could you possibly know that?”

“From you. Seems to me that’s the type you’d go for, someone who would know all the facts, figures, the bottom line. Someone who could make everything add up right, just the way you add up nice and neat until I get to your eyes.”

It was a mistake to look into them for too long, Nick realized. The color reminded him of the glass bowl that sat in his mother’s china cabinet, hand blown by his father years ago in Venice—except her eyes were an even deeper blue, violet almost, contrasting sharply with the porcelain fairness of her skin. He felt a sudden urge to brush his fingertips along the curve of her cheek. Could she possibly feel as cool as she looked? If he touched her right now, could he make the fire leap back into her eyes?

The phone rang, and Nick dropped Tyler’s hand, then reached automatically for the receiver. Still, there was a tiny span of time when he couldn’t seem to drag his eyes away from her, when his mind seemed to be completely blank. His mother was in mid-sentence before her voice finally penetrated.

“Mama,” he said, finally shifting his eyes away from Tyler’s. “No, Rosa’s fiancé is not cheating on her. I hate to say I told you so, but I—How do I know? Because I’m the world’s best…”

Tyler tore her gaze away from Nick and focused on the door to the office behind him. As soon as she felt sure she wouldn’t stumble, she took two careful steps back from his desk. Pride prevented her from taking any more. But standing close to this man had the strangest effect on her senses. He’d only been holding her hand, but for a moment she’d imagined his fingertips brushing along her cheekbone, then down her throat to where her jacket buttoned, and she’d wanted…