Davis swore under his breath. “The hell with that. I’ll get ahold of Griegs.”
Fifteen
NICK WOKE UP
the next morning not immediately recognizing his surroundings. An occupational hazard. When he felt the silk comforter brush against his bare chest in a caress, he remembered.
Jordan.
He wondered how angry she’d still be that morning. If he were an introspective person, one of those in-touch-with-hidden-emotions types—aka a
woman
—he would probably take note of the fact that it was much harder to blow off her dislike of him than it had been merely six days ago. And, if he were an introspective person, he might also ask himself what he’d been doing by calling in that favor with his boss last night.
Thank goodness, then, that he wasn’t such a person.
Because if he were, he would also have to tell himself to shut up and stop asking so many damn questions. He had an assignment to focus on.
He sat up and listened for any sound outside the guest bedroom, wondering if Jordan was awake. He checked the clock on the nightstand, saw that it was just past seven A.M., and figured she was still asleep after the late night they’d had.
He yanked the comforter off and made his way into the bathroom. He sped through his shower routine and threw on the shirt and pants he’d worn the night before, having no other options. Despite its other luxuries, Palazzo Rhodes didn’t come with a spare set of men’s clothes.
He looked in the mirror and decided to skip shaving. For anyone who might be watching from a black sedan out front, Nick Stanton had just spent the night rolling around in bed with a smart, sexy woman and undoubtedly had better things to do this morning than shave.
Nick Stanton was a lucky SOB.
Nick
McCall
, on the other hand, had work to do, starting with a few phone calls. Including one in particular he dreaded.
He went downstairs to the kitchen, found an expensive-looking espresso maker that appeared wholly unused, then poked around and saw no other machinery in the house capable of producing caffeine. This brought about a round of grumbling about damn fancy rich types and their damn fancy gadgets as he sat down at the counter and called in to the office.
“We’ve got a condo for you in Bucktown,” Davis told him. “1841 North Waveland, unit three-A. It’ll work well for you—two bedrooms and an office, top amenities. Nice enough that it won’t raise any suspicions.”
“Can’t have Jordan Rhodes’s boyfriend slumming it now, can we?” Nick grumbled.
“I wasn’t thinking so much about the girl, more that a successful property investor such as yourself wouldn’t be slumming it,” Davis said. “What’s gotten into you this morning, sunshine?”
Nick grunted. Damn pesky questions. “Just haven’t had my morning coffee, boss.”
“Perfect. Because you and your girlfriend are going to make a run over to Starbucks so we can drop off your new house keys. There’s one located a couple blocks from Jordan’s house, at the corner of Barry and Greenview. Pallas will meet you there at ten—you know the drill. Got car keys for you, too—you’ll find a Lexus waiting in the parking spot of your new condo.”
“Sounds like I’m moving up in the world.”
“As they say, you are the company you keep,” Davis quipped.
When Nick hung up with his boss, he checked his watch. It was nearly nine A.M. in New York, which meant he had only a short window to catch his mother before she left for church. He steeled himself and dialed the phone number. Heck, he already had one woman mad at him that morning because of his job; he might as well make it two.
His mother picked up on the second ring.
“Happy birthday, Ma,” he said.
“Nick! What a surprise to hear from you,” she said in an overly dramatic tone. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Hold on—let me go into the other room.”
There was a pause, then she came back on the line. “Okay, the coast is clear. Your father still thinks I don’t know about the party. Are you at the airport? You should call Anthony or Matt to pick you up—tell them to bring you right over. Who knows how long it’s been since you’ve had a decent meal? I’ve already got a pot of sauce on the stove.”
Nick closed his eyes. She was making his favorite—penne arrabiatta. Just shoot him now.
No sense in delaying the inevitable. “Ma, there’s no easy way for me to say this, but . . . I’m not coming today. They put me on a new undercover assignment, and there’s been an unexpected development that means I can’t get to New York. But as soon as the assignment’s over, I’ll visit for a whole week. I promise.”
He waited. He could practically hear her thoughts.
Your promises aren’t worth very much these days, are they?
And it would be the truth.
“I understand,” she finally said. “I know how hard you work, Nick. Your job comes first. You do what you need to do.”
He tried to explain as best he could without getting into details. “This wasn’t something I planned. The case was supposed to end last night. You know that if there was any way I could make it today, I would.”
“Don’t worry about it,” his mother said in a short tone. “The family will be disappointed, but I’ll explain it. Frankly, I don’t think anyone will be too surprised you’re not coming.” She made some quick excuse about needing to finish getting ready for mass, told him to call soon, and hung up.
Nick set his cell phone down on the counter and blew out a ragged breath. Plain and simple, that sucked. He would’ve preferred she’d just yelled at him—that he could handle. But hearing the disappointment in her voice was tough.
He heard Jordan clear her throat from the doorway. He looked over, not having realized she was there.
She shifted awkwardly. “I overheard your conversation when I was coming down the stairs.” She walked over and took a seat in the stool next to his. “Your mother’s birthday is this weekend?”
Nick nodded. “Her sixtieth. My family planned a big party for her.”
“She was born the year after my mother. My mom would’ve been sixty-one this June.” She hesitated before continuing. “She died in a car accident nine years ago. Maybe you knew that already.”
Actually, he had known that from the file Huxley had pulled together. Jordan had been in business school at the time of her mother’s car accident. “Yes.”
“Granted, I’m a little biased when it comes to the subject of mothers. But I would’ve given anything to have been able to throw a sixtieth birthday party for mine.” Jordan held his gaze. “I’m sorry you couldn’t make it home this weekend.” She rested her chin in her hand and sighed. “What can I say? Xander’s an asshat.”
Nick blinked, then laughed. And something pulled tight in his chest when he realized that was exactly what she’d intended. “I didn’t realize billionaire heiresses were allowed to say
asshat
.”
With a slight smile, she glanced at him sideways. “You don’t know a lot about billionaire heiresses, do you?”
“No.” Although he did know one in particular who looked awfully cute in her jeans and long-sleeve navy T-shirt that made her eyes seem impossibly more blue.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Nick looked away and cleared his throat. He shook off the feeling and changed the subject. “We need coffee.” He pointed to the high-tech espresso maker. “Think you can skip the homemade stuff and go for a Starbucks run? I have to get my new house keys from another agent who will be there at ten. I was thinking you could be the contact person for the drop-off.”
Jordan’s eyes widened. “Ooh, that sounds very cloak and daggerish. How will I know who to get the keys from? Some sort of secret code word?”
“Don’t worry. He’ll find you.”
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Jordan looked at Nick, and he gave her the same look right back.
“Are you expecting someone this morning?” he asked.
“No. Are you?”
Neither of them moved, and the doorbell rang again. Twice in quick succession.
“Whoever it is, it sounds like he or she isn’t going away.” Nick stood up and pulled his gun out of the harness at his calf. He tucked it into the back of his pants, where it was more accessible. “Stay close to me while I check this out.”
Jordan gestured to the gun as she followed Nick to the front door. “Take it easy there, cowboy. I don’t want you blowing a hole through some poor guy asking for donations for Greenpeace.”
“Door-to-door solicitations when it’s fifteen degrees outside?” Nick asked. “I don’t think so.”
The doorbell rang a third time.
Nick gestured to the door. “You have a library, a wine cellar, an espresso machine that looks like it could launch a space shuttle, and yet no peephole. Personal security isn’t a priority for you?”
“I have another security measure that works just fine,” Jordan retorted. “It’s called an alarm system
.
” Using the panel on the wall next to the door, she deactivated the security alarm before unlocking the deadbolt. She glanced over at Nick, who had moved to her side and stood behind the door.
He nodded.
Jordan opened the door and—
—Panicked.
Melinda stood on the doorstep, shivering. “Geez, took you long enough to answer. Let me in—it’s freezing out here.”
Before Jordan could say anything, Melinda brushed past her and stepped inside. As her friend unwrapped her scarf, Jordan peeked over her shoulder and saw Nick standing behind the door. He shrugged helplessly.
She leaned against the door, keeping it open so that she could block Melinda’s view of Nick. Hopefully, whatever the reason behind this untimely visit, they could keep things short and quick. Without her moving an inch from that spot.
“So here’s the question,” Melinda led in. “Who’s Tall, Dark, and Smoldering?”
Jordan gestured nonchalantly with her free hand, the one that didn’t have a death grip on her front door. “I’ll go with Gerard Butler in
300
. Or that naked guy from the first
Sex and the City
movie.”
Melinda pointed. “Good answers. But neither is correct today.” She pulled a folded newspaper out of her oversized purse. “This just in from Anne Welch’s Scene and Heard column in the
Sun-Times
, the weekend roundup.” She read out loud from the paper. “ ‘Millionaire restaurateur Xander Eckhart’s annual charity fund-raiser at uber-swanky restaurant and nightclub Bordeaux raised over a hundred thousand dollars for Children’s Memorial Hospital and proved once again the place to be seen by Chicago’s social elite.’ ”
She held up her finger for emphasis as she read the next part. “ ‘Gorgeously attired in an amethyst-colored backless dress, wine entrepreneur Jordan Rhodes, daughter of billionaire Grey Rhodes and sister of the illustrious Kyle Rhodes, who made headlines worldwide five months ago when he . . .’” Melinda cleared her throat. “Well, I think we can skip over that part, Twitter, prison, et cetera, et cetera. Ah, here we go: ‘Ms. Rhodes attended the party with an unknown man who sources describe as tall, dark, and smoldering. Sources also say that the couple appeared quite close. Here’s hoping, for all our sakes, that this Rhodes twin is luckier in love than her brother.’ ”
Melinda refolded the paper and stared expectantly at Jordan. “So I repeat: who is ‘tall, dark, and smoldering’?”
Jordan swore to herself—potently vile, offensive curse words that undoubtedly were not in the vocabulary of most billionaire heiresses. She knew that Melinda would never, ever in a million years let this go until she had some answers. The jig was officially up.
She pushed the door closed, revealing Nick.
He grinned and held out his hand in introduction. “Nick Stanton.”
“Interesting.” Melinda’s eyes went wide as she slowly shook his hand. “Melinda Jackson.” Coming in at a flat five feet tall, she let her gaze travel up and up before she got to Nick’s face. She seemed to take particular note of his unshaven jaw and casually untucked dress shirt.
She turned to Jordan with a grin that spoke volumes.
Somebody got la-id.
“Now I know why it took you so long to get to the door.”
“Nice, Mel. We were simply . . .” Jordan looked at Nick for help.
“Trying to start her espresso machine,” he offered.
Melinda raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you kids call it nowadays?”
“Did you come here this morning solely to harass me about my date?” Jordan asked.
“Actually, after reading the paper, I came over to drag you out to brunch. I didn’t realize the
date
was still going. So tell me all about yourself, Nick. I’m eager for the details, since Jordan is being so circumspect these days.”
Nick opened his mouth, but Jordan promptly cut him off. She had to set
some
rules here: no lies, or as few as possible, to her friends and family. “Actually, Mel, we’ll have to take a rain check on the meet and greet. Nick and I were just about to run out. Can I call you later?”