Hot & Bothered (16 page)

“You were crazy about what Daddy could do for you. I was little more than a means to an end.” And, God, it had hurt. He'd rot in hell before she'd ever admit as much, but she
had
believed herself in love with him that summer and discovering he'd only been using her in return had broken her heart. That she felt even an echo of that old pain infuriated her and, for an instant, temptation sang a seductive little siren song, beckoning and cajoling and urging her to lean forward and whisper into Miles's ear that the lawyers said she was worth simply millions and
millions
of dollars now…and hell would indeed freeze over before he'd ever get his hands on one of them.

But bandying about one's financial worth was crass—not to mention that her newly improved assets were undoubtedly what had prompted his sudden renewed interest in her in the first place. She hadn't thought they were popular knowledge in the country-club set yet, but she wouldn't put it past Miles to have somehow seduced the information out of Robert Rutherford's secretary…even if the woman was sixty if she was a day. Drawing a quiet breath, she pinned him with a gaze of studied indifference.

Rocket, however, gave him a big feral smile. “There's first, Wentworth…and then there's forever. Lots of guys are fast off the mark. It doesn't mean squat if they don't stay the course after they've crossed the finish line.” Then his eyes went flat. “You've outstayed your welcome, chief. It's time to show yourself out.”

Miles's chest rose and fell beneath his tux for a
moment as he stared at them. Then he turned on his heel and stalked away. Victoria watched until he disappeared through one of the ballroom doors, then laid her head back down on John's hard chest. “Interesting little speech,” she murmured. “Considering.”

“Yeah, I know. Like I've got room to talk.” His arms tightened around her. “Still. I may be a bum, darlin', but that idiot is definitely no gentleman.” He swayed them in time to the bluesy tune for a few moments. Then he bent his head and rubbed his jaw back and forth against her temple. “I'm sorry,” he said softly. “The guy's a jerk, but I imagine you probably cared for him at one time, huh?”

She thought about it and realized her pride was more bruised than anything. For, as desperately painful as the end of that long-ago affair had been, what she'd felt for Miles truly hadn't amounted to more than being in love with the idea of love. “I thought at the time it was an undying, transcend-death-into-eternity kind of passion,” she murmured into his lapels. “But it turns out it was only puppy love.”

“Still hurts when the puppy gets kicked, though.”

“Yes. It does.” She became aware that they were still pressed tightly together, swaying in place, even though the song had ended. Before self-consciousness could kick in, however, the quartet began another slow, torchy number. She tipped back her head to gaze up at Rocket as they continued to move. “I'd hardly classify you as a bum.”

He shrugged. “I lived in my share of dives growing up, but never in what anyone would call the ghettos. Still, I imagine my upbringing was a far cry from the guys you usually date.”

“You just met a representative of the type of guy I've been known to date. I doubt I need to tell you you're ten times the man he is.”

He laughed and tightened his hold. “There is that.”

“So what do we do now?” she asked. “Do you go around questioning people?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Nope. We act like we're crazy in love, and you introduce me to a few folks.”

“Oh.” Having envisioned something a little more Maltese Falcon–like, she blinked. “That seems easy enough.”

“That's the general idea,” he agreed and executed a step that rubbed their torsos together. Neurons deep inside of Victoria started snapping and her eyes went heavy.

He gazed down at her with a half smile. “Why don't we start with your friend and her husband?” His hard thigh slipped between hers as he spun them a half turn, then slid away, and her cognitive processes fried.

“My friend?”

“You know—Esme's little buddy's mom?”

That jerked her out of the sensual haze that being this close to his body produced and she gaped up at him in alarm. “You don't think
Pam
had anything to do with my father's murder?”

“No. And a good thing, too, since you've told her the truth about us.” He drilled her with the intensity of his dark eyes. “Haven't you?”

Guilty heat throbbed in her cheeks, but she met his gaze squarely. “I knew I'd never get an out-of-the-blue engagement to fly past her. You've been around Esme long enough to know that within five minutes of seeing Rebecca after your arrival she told her all about Mr. Miglionni, the private detective come to find and bring home her Uncle Jared.” He didn't utter a condemning word, but still she raised her chin defiantly. “Look, I already told you I'm not much of an actress. And rather than have Pam demanding to know why I'm marrying
the private eye in the middle of our engagement party, I told her the truth.”

“Okay,” he said mildly.

“Besides, she's my frien—” It sank in that he hadn't disagreed, and she swallowed the rest of the argument she'd been prepared to make. “How did you know, anyway?”

“I'm a detective, darlin', it's what I do.”

She considered pursuing a less flip answer, but decided it didn't really matter and laid her head on his chest once again. Being in his arms like this took her back and she decided it was probably a good thing that the song ended a moment later because it was foolish, if not outright dangerous, to enjoy his strength, his heat, his scent, this much.

He took her hand as they left the dance floor but allowed her to lead the way as they wove through elegantly set tables to where her friends stood near the bar. They were stopped several times by well-wishers, but although Victoria smiled and chatted easily, she kept a determined forward momentum going until they reached their destination.

“Here comes the blushing bride.” Frank, Pam's stocky, redheaded husband, stepped forward to greet them, a warm grin lighting his florid face. “Tori, you look beautiful.”

“Aw, you sweet talker, you.” She indicated the men's flawless tuxedos and Pam's strapless cream-colored gown. “Although I must say we're all looking extremely pretty tonight.”

“Yes, we are.” Then he sobered and reached for her free hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “I'm sorry I missed your dad's memorial.”

“I know. Pam told me you were on a business trip.”

“I was in Nova Scotia, but I regret not being here to lend you my support. Pammy tells me the service was…memorable.”

“Which part?” John asked drily. “DeeDee's eulogy or the surprise announcement at the reception?”

Frank met his gaze. “Both.”

Recalling her manners, Victoria squeezed John's hand and slipped her fingers free. “I'm sorry, you haven't been officially introduced to my friends, have you? Frank, Pam, this is my—” she cleared her throat “—fiancé, John Miglionni. John, meet Pam and Frank Chilworth.”

He shook hands with the couple and the four of them talked easily for several moments. As a waiter passed, Frank plucked flutes of champagne off his tray. Passing them around, he then raised his own in a toast.

“To Tori and John and a long and successful…alliance.” After everyone took a sip in acknowledgment, he turned to John. “Do you play golf?”

“Sure.” Rocket shrugged. “In a hack-divots-from-the-grass, spend-most-my-time-in-the-sand-trap kind of way.”

“We'll definitely have to play for money then.”

John grinned over the top of the flute he'd raised to his lips. “Why do I get the feeling I have Easy Mark written all over me?”

“Oh, I doubt there's many who'd mistake you for a mark—easy or otherwise. But that just makes the prospect of taking you to the cleaners all the sweeter.” Frank flashed a smile and shrugged. “What can I say? You gotta love easy money. Seriously, though, we'll have to work up a foursome one day soon with Frederick Olson and Haviland Carter.”

John straightened. “Weren't both of them—”

“At the infamous last supper, yes,” Frank said, then shot a chagrined glance at Victoria. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

She smiled as if it didn't matter, but inside she felt a twinge of pain in the region of her heart.

As if possessing X-ray vision into Victoria's emotions, Pam touched her arm. “Well, that was amazingly thoughtless,” she said softly beneath the men's conversation. “But he wouldn't hurt you for the world, Tori.”

“I know. I also know that Father's soul was probably blacker than the devil's pockets. Only…”

“He was still your dad.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “And only I get to bad-mouth him.”

“That seems to be the way of families, all right,” Pam agreed. “So what was going on between you and John and Miles Wentworth earlier?”

“I wish I knew. He's tanked and thought he should share with John that he was my first lover.”

Pam grimaced. “Classy guy.”

“Isn't he? He claims to be carrying a torch for me.”

“Since when?”

“I can only assume since Father died and I inherited a chunk of the estate. I don't know, Pam, I have this awful feeling that Father may have promised him something.”

“Like what?”

“I haven't a clue, but I'm pretty sure it's not a good thing.”

An arm snaked around her waist. “Forget Wentworth,” John said, tugging her against him. “The guy's an ass and this is our party. Why don't you introduce me to more of your friends?”

“Frank and Pam are the only real friends I have here,” she said dryly, “but I'll introduce you to more of my acquaintances.”

For the next hour, she did just that. She led him from one group to the next, introducing him to the people who'd orbited within her father's sphere. But as she stood within the drape of Rocket's arm, she found herself concentrat
ing less and less on their conversations with others and more and more on the warmth and hardness of his body. When he abruptly led her back onto the dance floor and pulled her into his arms for a slow dance, she laid her head back on its custom-made spot, wrapped her arms around his neck, and allowed herself to be sucked back into feelings she'd convinced herself had been resolved and forgotten long ago.

He snuggled her closer, and his breath was warm against her ear when he breathed, “God, this is familiar. Like I've got the memory of dancing with you burned in my cells.”

Pure, unadulterated lust, both remembered and brand-new, clenched hot and deep inside her. “You, too? I thought it was only m—”

“Shit,” John said at the same moment she became aware of a vibration against her chest. “Hold that thought.” He grimaced apologetically. “It's my cell phone.” He looked undecided for a moment, then shrugged. “I've gotta get it.”

“Of course.” She loosened her hold from around his neck, but when she would have stepped back, he held her in place with the arm around her waist.

Reaching inside his tux jacket with his free hand, he pulled out the phone and flipped it open. “Miglionni,” he said a trace impatiently. Then the sweet-talking, slow-dancing man abruptly disappeared and “Expressionless John” reemerged. “When?” Listening to the answer he set Victoria loose. “And why am I just hearing about this now?” There was another pause, then his voice softened. “No,
I'm
sorry, Mac. I'm frustrated, but I had no right to take it out on you. What? No, you stay home. I'm on my way.”

Mac.
Victoria barely heard the rest of his conversation. She remembered that name; it was the woman he'd talked
to on the phone one of the first days he was at the estate—the one she'd overheard him inviting to run away with him. Lifting her chin, setting her shoulders, she cloaked herself in composure. But really, how often did she have to be hit over the head with Rocket's lady-killer tendencies before she got the point?

He flipped the cell closed and returned it to his pocket. Grasping Victoria's arm without ceremony, he steered her toward the ballroom entrance. “If there's anybody we should be saying our good-nights to, tell me now,” he said in a low voice. “Because that was my business manager. Jared's been spotted.”

B
ACK STRAIGHT, SHOULDERS TENSE
, Victoria sat stiffly upright in the front seat of John's car as they headed back to her father's house. She was still attempting to wrap her mind around the fact that Jared had finally been found—or at least spotted—when they pulled up in front of the mansion.

John turned to face her, his face unreadable in the light of the drive. “Will you be okay if I don't walk you to the door? I'll call as soon as I have something concrete to report.”

“What do you mean, report? I'm going with you. It'll just take me a minute to change my clothes.”

His dark eyes held none of the teasing warmth that had filled them such a short time ago. “That's not a great idea.”

“I'm
going,
John.”

He studied her for a moment, then hitched one of his muscular shoulders. “You're paying the tab. But let's get something straight up front. In this I'm the boss and if you want to tag along, be prepared to do things my way.”

She nodded and a short while later they were roaring up I-25. She was left with only fuzzy memories of having climbed out of the car, changing her clothes and making arrangements with Helen for Esme's care. Her recollection of kissing her sleeping baby good-night, however,
was much clearer. Now she was back in Rocket's vehicle, with her suitcase in the trunk, and as she glanced over at him, she marveled in a muzzy sort of way that apparently he
did
own a pair of jeans.

Then, in a time lapse she would have sworn was no more than five or ten minutes but which she knew logically had to be much longer, John was putting his blinker on for the Colorado Boulevard exit in Denver. Pulling her fragmented thoughts together, she looked over at him. “Will we find Jared tonight, do you think?”

He spared her a glance as he changed lanes in order to be in the right one at the fork in the ramp, but turned his attention back to traffic as they merged onto South Colorado. “Probably not. I plan to hit the streets as soon as I drop you off, though, and if that doesn't produce anything, you and I can try some other places tomorrow. But the odds of stumbling across him aren't in our favor, so prepare yourself for the likelihood of not locating him until Tuesday when Stand Up For Kids offers another free meal.” He shot her another glance and this one held a warning. “And even that's not guaranteed.”

“I'm going with you tonight.”

“Tori, let me check you into a hotel and do my job.”

His tone was perfectly civil and patient, but he might as well have snapped her head off or suggested she strip naked and dance down the middle of the street. “Do you honestly think I'll get a wink of sleep worrying about my brother out on these streets all alone?” she demanded incredulously. “Besides, it's not as if you've ever met him and he certainly doesn't know you. I'm much more likely to recognize him—not to mention calm his fears—than you, and I
am
coming along!”

“Jesus, you're stubborn.”

“Oh, trust me, you haven't seen a fraction of how stubborn I can be.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He turned onto Mississippi and within moments was pulling into the valet area of a Tuscan-styled hotel in the upscale Cherry Creek district.

Twisting in her seat, she stared at him in outrage. “Dammit, Miglionni, I just got done
telling
you—”

“I have no idea what time we'll quit for the night,” he interrupted. “But if you want a place to crash when we do, I suggest you go check in and drop off your luggage.”

“Oh, right—so you can drive off the minute I clear the door? Forget i—”

The anger that flared in his eyes chopped her off midword and when he leaned over the console to thrust his face close to hers she drew back until her head pressed the leather of the seat rest. “You want to name
one
time I've ever lied to you?” he demanded.

She hesitated, but then admitted, “Never,” and felt like a bitch. “I'm sorry.” She didn't hear him sigh so much as felt it wash across her lips and she tried to lick away the sensitivity it left behind as she watched him straighten back into his seat.

On his own side of the car once again, thank God.

“Go check in, Tori,” he said with neutral-voiced courtesy. “Chances are, you'll be grateful for a place to rest your head before the night is through.”

Without another word, she climbed out of the car, retrieved her bag from the back and went to do as he bid. But she barely glanced around the hotel's elegant lobby with its marble fireplace and columns as she walked up to the desk. And refusing to waste time with anything as unnecessary as having the amenities of her room pointed out to her, she pocketed the room key, tipped the bellboy
to take her suitcase to her room, and strode straight back out to the car, where she yanked the door open and climbed in. “Let's go.”

 

S
HE'D THOUGHT SHE WAS
so prepared, but it took Victoria less than an hour to admit, if only to herself, that she hadn't had the first idea what she was getting into. It was after midnight, but she and John had searched dark, smelly alley after dark, smelly alley, starting with those off the 16th Street Mall and working their way toward Colfax. Although they didn't find Jared in any of the flimsily constructed lean-tos that John called squats or behind any of the Dumpsters they checked, to Victoria's complete and utter horror they invariably found some other hollow-eyed teen.

John talked quietly to each one they came across and Victoria noted how careful he was, after the initial sweep of his flashlight, to keep the beam out of the youths' faces and trained on the snapshot of Jared as he inquired whether anyone had seen him. One after another, however, each teenager he asked shook his or her head.

Victoria blew out a frustrated breath as they emerged from yet another garbage-strewn, malodorous alleyway where they'd had to leave another disposable child. “Dear God,” she said hoarsely. “I never dreamed anything this awful existed.” She looked at Rocket. “Aren't there any
shelters
in this town?”

“None that most of these kids can go to. The homeless tend to fight over resources, and unfortunately the kids are usually the losers.” He hesitated, then added in a businesslike tone, “It's often safer for them on the streets. The adults at the shelters can be pretty abusive.”

“Dear God,” she repeated.

“Yeah, it sucks,” he agreed. “But that's the reality of life on the streets for most runaways.”

They were making their cautious way down yet another alleyway about forty-five minutes later when a dark shadow suddenly flew out from the lee of a Dumpster, landing in a crouch in front of them. Victoria screamed and Rocket's arm whipped out to jerk her behind him. She had no shame at all about taking advantage of the shield his back provided and made herself as small a target as possible behind it.

“Gimme your money and nobody'll get hurt!”

The voice was young and male. John slid his hand from where it rested on her hip. She could feel the tension radiating from his hard body, yet his stance as he faced the boy was deceptively casual. After several seconds, when she couldn't stand not seeing what was going on a second longer, she peered around John's side, bending slightly to see beneath his armpit.

Their mugger appeared even younger than he'd sounded. But in the meager moonlight that managed to weave its way down through the buildings hemming them in, he also looked fairly wild-eyed. He had spiked hair that she was pretty sure would be pink in daylight, multitudinous facial piercings and—oh, my God, she felt her own eyes grow wide—a
knife
with the wickedest-looking blade she'd ever seen held thrust out in front of him.

“Hand over your money, I said!” His voice cracked on the last word, and he slashed his knife with a side-to-side motion that held such turbulent, ego-driven menace it made her draw back behind John again.

He, on the other hand, didn't budge. “Can't do that, kid,” he said. “But I can let you walk away.”

A crack of laughter echoed in the otherwise silent alley. “Whaddya,
blind,
mister? I'm the one with the knife here.”

“And a very nice one it is,” John said easily.

Then, between one heartbeat and the next, the solid presence protecting Tori was no longer pressed against her front, and almost quicker than she could comprehend let alone track, he'd eliminated the space that separated him from the teen. Snapping out a hand, he locked his long fingers around the boy's wrist, where he must have exerted some kind of pressure, because the kid immediately began to sag at the knees. The knife dropped into John's outstretched palm.

Setting the youth free, he inspected the knife. “Very nice, indeed. Of course, a weapon is only as effective as the skill of the one who wields it.” He folded the blade in and pocketed it, then pulled out the snapshot of Jared. Holding it out to the boy, he illuminated it with his flash. “Ever seen this guy?”

Rubbing his wrist, the teen didn't even pretend to give the photograph a cursory glance. “No.”

“And you wouldn't tell me if you had, would you?” When the boy merely shot him a sullen glance, he smiled easily. “Fair enough. I embarrassed you in front of the lady and you're gonna thwart me in return by not giving me the information I want. Did I mention there's a reward for information?” He started to put the picture away.

The kid looked torn for about three seconds. Then he thrust his hand out. “Lemme see that again.”

“Sure.” Without a trace of triumph in his voice, John handed it over and directed the beam of his flashlight on it.

“Yeah, okay, I seen him around. He hangs with a girl called Pee Wee, or P.G. or something like that.”

Tori's heart began to pound. It was true, then. Jared
was
somewhere in Denver. Not that she'd really doubted it, of course. Only…hearing someone actually say he'd
seen
her brother somehow gave it a more immediate validation.

When she glanced at John, however, he was Mr. Expressionless, looking about as excited as if he'd heard a weather report. “You know where we can find them?”

“Nope. I saw 'em at Skyline earlier, but I wasn't payin' no attention to which way they was headed when they left.” He knuckled his nose and looked at John without expectation. “So I guess I don't get no reward, huh?”

John reached into his hip pocket for his wallet and withdrew a twenty. “Tell us about this girl.”

“She's, I dunno, just a kid. Younger'n me and sure as shit younger'n that guy.” He indicated the photo John still held. “Brown hair, I think. Talks a lot.” He stared at the twenty in John's hand and swallowed hard. “Funny voice.”

“Funny how?”

“Dunno. Like she's 'bout a minute away from getting a case of that—whatchamacallit—laren crud. Y'know, in your throat?”

“Laryngitis?”

“Yeah. That one.”

Rocket handed the twenty over along with his business card. “If you spot them, call me—there's several more where that came from. In the meantime, kid, do us both a favor and leave mugging to the pros. And for crissake, stay away from knives before you end up getting yourself killed.”

The boy shrugged and, pocketing his money, shuffled back to the far side of the Dumpster.

John didn't speak until they reached the street again. Then he stopped Victoria with a hand on her arm when she started down the block. “Let's call it a night. We can pick this up again in the morning.”

Her momentary high had crashed, leaving her discour
aged through and through. The thought of Jared out here in as desperate straits as the boy they'd just left shook her to the bone. She wanted in the worst way to find him right this moment. But the emotional ups and downs of the night had taken their toll, and she couldn't summon a single argument for continuing the search. So she nodded.

They walked without speaking back to where John had parked the car. But once on their way back to her hotel, she wondered if she should have come. If she hadn't been so damn insistent on participating, John would probably still be looking for her brother now.

And if that wasn't enough to eat a hole through the lining of her stomach, there was plenty of backup guilt to provide additional acid for the job. She knew moving to England had been the right choice and she'd had to put Esme first. But she should have fought her father harder to send Jared over to her for more visits than the few he'd allowed. Perhaps if she'd put a little more effort into it, Jared would have felt free to come to her when he ran into trouble, instead of taking to the streets. Silent tears began to pour down her cheeks.

John glanced over. “Aw, fuck.” He reached across the console and squeezed her knee. “Aw, fuck, darlin'. Don't cry.”

“All right,” she agreed and cried even harder.

Whispering curses beneath his breath he hit the gas and raced down the boulevard. Shortly thereafter, they pulled into the parking garage of her hotel, and John pulled into a vacant slot, killed the lights and climbed out, closing the door firmly behind him.