Don't Look Down (6 page)

And when Rick decided to tell her about this morning, she
would of course be the understanding friend and confidante who only wanted him to be happy.
Shit
.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Stoney finally suggested into the silence. “Go get a sandwich or something.”

She slammed to her feet. “What, my first day at my own friggin’ office, and you think I can’t take it?”

Stoney held his hands up in surrender. “You’re the one who looks like you’re going to explode. Not me.”

“I’m not going to expl…” She trailed off, the dim voice on the speaker above her head finally sinking in. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Change the station to news or something. I heard Kunz’s name.”

“You’re being paranoid,” he said, though he rose and headed back for the utility closet.

“There, stop there,” she called after a moment.

“—astics millionaire Charles Kunz, longtime resident of Palm Beach. Kunz was sixty-two, and is survived by son Daniel and daughter Laurie. The death has been ruled a homicide in conjunction with a possible home invasion robbery, and police are investigating. And now for local traffic, we go to—”

“Jesus,” Sam muttered, sinking back into her chair. The air shoved out of her lungs, as though she’d been kicked in the chest. Christ. Four days back in Florida, and people around her were dropping dead again. People she liked.

“Anybody here?” Rick’s voice came from the direction of the reception desk.

She looked up to see Stoney in the doorway, his face somber. “Back here,” he called, still gazing at her.

“If I’m not overstepping, you should have a little bell for clients to ring, in case there’s no one at the front desk,” Rick
commented, his voice growing nearer until he appeared at Stoney’s shoulder. He paused, looking from her to Stoney. “What’s wrong?”

“There was just a thing on the news,” she said slowly, reluctantly. “Charles Kunz is dead.”

A thousand things ran through the back of his eyes. “What?” He came forward, stepping over the pile of electronics and security system books she’d been collecting to stop beside her at the desk. “Tell me what you know.”

Samantha took a breath, trying to gather her thoughts. “Not much. A probable home invasion, probable homicide. It was just on the n—”

“Come on,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “Tom’ll be in his office. He can call the police department and we’ll find out exactly what’s happened.”

Nodding, she stood. “I don’t—”

“It’s not your fault, whatever happened,” he said sternly, towing her toward the front of the office.

“I know that. But he wanted my help. Badly. Christ, Rick, do you think he knew something was up?”

“A premonition? I don’t believe in that, and neither do you.”

“You believed that walking over my grave thing.”

“I believe in your instincts,” he countered. “And this is an unfortunate coincidence.”

“How do—”

“He didn’t ask for your help, Samantha,” Rick interrupted as they entered the elevator. “He wanted you to present a business proposal to him, after which he would have decided whether to hire you or not.”

No, that hadn’t been what it felt like. Charles Kunz
had
asked for her help. “Maybe I could think it was just business, if he wasn’t dead now.”

“You’re overreacting,” he stated flatly. “If Charles had been truly worried about his safety, he should have called the police, and he should have hired another security firm months ago.”

Rick always had a good handle on logic. “If you have this all wrapped up, then why are we going to see Donner?”

“To prove my point.”

They entered the cool chrome and glass foyer of Donner’s building and ascended in one of the half-dozen elevators to the top floor. Rick was handling her, as he handled any business situation. She didn’t like it, usually, but for this one moment it was almost a relief to have someone else do the thinking. Her mind was engaged elsewhere, mainly on the last bit of her conversation with Kunz, where he’d wanted to ask more of her. He’d been seriously considering hiring a bodyguard, and she’d fairly easily convinced him to talk to the PD.

She should have found him after dinner and made certain he wasn’t in any immediate danger. Instead she’d scheduled a meeting and had spent the rest of the evening trying to distract Rick from dour thoughts about Patricia. That might be what girlfriends did, but being with Rick didn’t mean she should start ignoring her gut. Dammit.

“Mr. Addison!” the receptionist, seated behind a large golden plaque engraved with the name of the law firm, exclaimed. “We didn’t expect you this morning. Just a moment, and I’ll inform Mr. Donner that you’re here.”

Grateful for the momentary distraction, Sam took a breath. Hypotheses made her crazy. She needed reality for a minute. And in reality she was trying to start a business. She studied “Judy,” as her name tag proclaimed her. Conservative dress and makeup, bland, pleasant expression, efficient
at pushing phone buttons and knowing the names of clients, and with that smooth, professional voice required of high-class receptionists. So that’s what she was supposed to be hiring.
Hm
. She could bet that the law firm’s prospective clients never turned up dead. That was
her
thing, apparently.

“Rick!” Tall and lanky blond Texas, Tom Donner strode into the reception foyer. Grinning, the attorney grabbed Rick’s hand and pumped it. “Thank God you’re here. I almost had to attend the monthly finance meeting.”

“Glad I could help.” Rick stepped sideways and gestured at Sam. “You remember Samantha?”

The look Donner gave her was equal parts humor and annoyance. “You still haven’t been arrested, Jellicoe?”

“Not yet. No real job for you yet either, eh, Yale?”

“Tom, do you have a few minutes?” Rick interjected.

“Sure. What’d she do this time?”

As he ushered them into the depths of the office, Sam stuck her tongue out at him. She hated attorneys as a rule, and it bugged her that deep down she actually respected this one.

As they passed by cubicles and elegant offices, Sam realized that the employees all seemed to know who Rick was, and that Rick knew all of their names as well. It didn’t really surprise her—Rick probably considered them his employees, and he always knew who he had working for him. Details, he always said. It was all in the details. Kind of her philosophy, too—though her details were more of the corridor length and safe combination variety.

Donner’s office sat in the corner of the building. So his office overlooked hers. That was a riot—or it would have been if she could have gotten the image of Charles Kunz and his half-empty vodka glass and his quiet look of worry out of her head.

“I heard you got an office,” Donner said, eyeing her as he
took the seat behind his desk. “Rick said I would have to ask you where it is.”

She jerked her thumb toward the nearest window. “Over there.”

“North of Worth? That’s a pretty good location.”

“Nope. Over there. In that building.” She stepped closer to the window. “See the office where the blinds are open? That’s mine.”

His jaw didn’t precisely drop, but the gaping expression on his face was easy enough to read. “You’re shitting me.”

“Come over and have some coffee,” she invited. “But you’ll have to bring the coffee. We don’t have a maker yet. Or cups. Don’t bring Styrofoam, though. It’s tacky.”

“‘We?’” he repeated, glancing at Rick. “You two?”

Rick cleared his throat. “Samantha and Walter Barstone.”

Both eyebrows shot up into Donner’s blond hairline. “The
fence
?”

Samantha managed a smile. This was too good to ignore, whatever the circumstances. “Former fence. We’re business partners now.” She wondered if he knew who Dunbar Associates were, but hell, it was only a fax machine.

“Great.” The attorney glanced at her office window again. “This is freaky.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s not why we’re here,” Rick put in.

She was glad he’d brought it up; coming from her, it would sound too much like asking a favor, and if there was one thing she didn’t want, it was to owe the damned lawyer one. Samantha took a breath and seated herself in one of the soft leather office chairs. Nice. She’d tell Stoney she liked leather.

“What’s up, if giving me an aneurism wasn’t the plan?”

Rick sat beside her, reaching over to hold her hand. Ownership, entanglement, whatever it meant, at the moment she
didn’t mind. “Have you heard the news about Charles Kunz?”

Donner nodded. “One of my criminal law guys was at the police station when the call came over the radio.”

“Did he hear anything interesting?”

The attorney’s gaze shifted from Rick to Samantha, his amused expression deepening to suspicion. “Why?”

“Curiosity,” Rick returned.

“No, no, no. It’s more than that. I can tell. Jellicoe had something to do with it. What? As your attorney, you need to let me know when—”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it!” Samantha protested. “Jesus, you’re paranoid.”

“I’m experienced,” Donner pointed out. “There’s a difference. So what’s your interest in Kunz?”

Sam would have answered, but subsided when Rick tightened his grip on her fingers. “He asked Samantha for a consult on his security yesterday,” he supplied. “Before we tell that to anyone else, I’d prefer a few more details about his death.”

“Great.” Donner pushed to his feet again. “Wait here for a minute. I’ll go make a few phone calls and see what I can find out.”

After the door closed, Samantha pulled free of Rick’s hand and rose to stride back and forth in front of the window. “Why do I have the feeling that he could have made those phone calls from right here?”

“He’s trying to distance me—us—from any questions.”

“What, does he have a video spy phone in here so his snitches could see us? He doesn’t want me to hear what’s going on.”

Rick didn’t look the least bit perturbed by Donner’s flight.
“More likely he doesn’t want you criticizing his methods of getting information, my love.”

She took a minute to absorb that. “You mean I make him nervous?”

“I think if you wanted to, you could make a great many people nervous. You’re rather brilliant, you know.”

“Yeah, for a kid who had about two years total of regular school and did a lot of traveling.”

He smiled, that warm, charming one that made her want to smother him with kisses and babble all kinds of mushy stuff. “No, for anyone. Just don’t tell Tom I said so.”

Flattered to her bones, Sam grinned at him. “Yes, he did spend all that money to go to Yale and everything.”

Richard chuckled at her. “Actually Tom went on scholarship.”

“Crap. Okay, he gets one point of credit.”

At least he’d managed to distract her for a moment, he thought. Her first official bloody client, and Kunz had to turn up dead. Of course what had happened to Charles wasn’t her fault, but Richard couldn’t help noting her straight spine and the tense line across her shoulders. Kunz had made an impression on her, and she would have done a sterling job for him. Once Tom’s report cleared up the details, he would be able to rid himself of the nagging sensation that she was taking this far too personally.

When Tom came back through the door, Richard stood a little abruptly. He had no intention of letting a bad start ruin her best chance to go straight—and to stay straight. “What have you got?”

“Kunz’s daughter found him lying on the floor in his office with a bullet hole in his chest. She called the cops, and they’re still going through the place. For sure a ton of cash is
gone, and a set of ruby jewelry—all the stuff he had in his office safe. And they think some artwork.”

Richard couldn’t help glancing at Samantha. Other than the bullet hole, it sounded like something she might have done in her previous life. “Did he have any bloody alarm system at all?” he asked, finding that he was at least as angry at Kunz as he was at the man’s killer. He might have taken some damned steps to protect himself and his property.

“Yes,” Samantha answered.

Tom nodded as well. “Samaritans is falling all over themselves claiming that the alarm must not have been set. It never went off, so I wouldn’t expect them to say anything different. ‘Oops, it didn’t work’ probably wouldn’t help their business.” He turned his gaze back to Samantha. “You might want to keep that in mind, yourself.”

She narrowed her green eyes. “Wow, with advice like that, it’s no wonder you’re so successful. Thanks, Yale.”

“At least
my
first client didn’t get killed,” he retorted, gesturing at Richard.

“Which would be thanks to Samantha,” Richard pointed out, “considering that she saved my life. And Kunz didn’t sign any agreement with her, so he isn’t—wasn’t—her first client.”

“Yes, he was,” Samantha interrupted. “So goody for all of us, I’m glad Rick’s still breathing, but—”

“Thanks,” he said dryly, not taking her sarcasm personally.

“But can we be a little more constructive here? Do the police have any suspects?”

Tom cleared his throat. “My guy said they were still taking statements from family and staff. But what exactly is there to be worried about? The guy’s dead, but you said there’s no paperwork tying him to Jellicoe. She’s clear.” He paused. “Isn’t she?”

“Yes, she’s clear.” Richard would never admit that for a
heartbeat he’d been worried. “It’s curiosity,” he continued. “I mean, the day after he inquired about getting increased security, he ended up dead. A bit odd, don’t you think?”

“You want me to forward that info to the cops on your behalf?” Tom asked, settling back behind his desk.

Samantha shook her head. “His secretary knows he contacted me. She arranged for us to meet, and she sent me the tickets to the Everglades Club bash.”

“Then the cops’ll get in touch with you if they need to,” the attorney returned, shrugging. “Is there anything else you want me to do?”

“No.” Samantha grimaced. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Yeah, don’t get all mushy.” Tom reached over to shake Richard’s hand, but settled for a nod at Samantha. Evidently the attorney still remembered the first day they’d met, when she’d dumped him into the Solano Dorado pool after he’d grabbed her arm a little too vigorously.