Marked Masters (7 page)

"All I need is a damn slip number. I could
find the harbor and fall prostrate at the chef's feet to prove how
famished I am." I turned a corner, and floor-to-ceiling windows
replaced the wall. I looked outside, and all other thoughts flew
from my mind.

A pair of twenty-something young guys in
hoods, one muscled and the other rail thin, jumped into the cab of
a flatbed wrecker. There was no writing on the driver's door, but
the window framed the skinny guy I'd last seen shooting at us out
of the passenger window of the silver Honda.

Sitting like a lovely parade princess on the
high bed of the wrecker was our Mercedes 350 convertible. The first
thought that raced through my mind was
thank God we didn't use
my credit card.

Food is not an obsession with me until I
can't get anything to eat. When things reach that point, food
becomes the only thing I can think about. A sticking point when
police officers want you to describe car thieves and your mind is
totally absorbed with imagining the perfect grilled cheese sandwich
from Ms. Cheezious and whether you want a cup of soup to go with
it. Since I was feeling a little crabby by that point, the crab
sandwich had already crossed my mind. Until I thought about adding
tomatoes. Tomatoes made me think of Italy, and prosciutto, and
creamy provolone on a thick country white bread. Oh, my mouth
watered. And to wash it all down with a nice glass of prosecco.
Surely, there was a wine bar nearby.

"Miss…miss."

The officer reeled me back into the present
where there was no food, no wine, and no real leads about who had
stolen our car.

"Officer, I'm sorry. I've given you all the
details I can. Both had dark hair and short haircuts, one beefy,
one thin. No visible tattoos. Young, probably early twenties. They
were the same pair we'd noticed earlier following us in a silver
Honda, but we only got the partial plate, which Jack already gave
to you." I shrugged and turned my head, using the opportunity to
sweep my gaze around the perimeter.

Preparations for the weekend art event
proceeded efficiently, though I caught several workers cutting
their eyes our way to try to figure out why the police were onsite.
Dozens of white tents dotted the area around the gallery, with a
galley zone and bleachers marking one border, and chairs ahead for
VIP seating. Like all events of its kind, beyond the premiered art
and award accolades, major points of this weekend gala were about
fundraising, allowing politically connected speakers their turn at
the podium, and letting the rich, beautiful people see and be seen
by their peers and powers. I understood—I was one of them once, and
that much money meant constant security. I'd need an entrance card
if I wanted to mingle with those gaining spots in the red chairs,
and there was no way Melanie would provide me with the open-sesame
lanyard I needed.

I turned back to the officer. "I'm sorry I
can't give you more information, but if you have more
questions—"

He shook his head. "No, I'll file the report
and get the car theft division working on this one. We'll call if
we find anything."

"Well, I hope you find our luggage," I said,
waving a hand between Jack and myself as I added, "All we have are
the clothes on our backs."

"I'm sorry, miss."

"Thank you."

He gave me a brief nod and a half smile,
then moved back toward his squad car. Jack was on his cell and in
deep conversation, likely to the car rental place and trying to get
some replacement wheels. I wanted to strike off and find dinner,
but another look at the tents made me pull my own phone from the
Fendi.

It was near midnight in London, but Cassie
answered on the first ring. I gave her a brief synopsis of current
events, then told her why I'd actually called.

"I need you to contact the foundation office
in New York and get someone to send me tickets to this weekend's
Browning outdoor art extravaganza. The foundation probably received
the tickets months ago, so they should be in a file somewhere."

"You don't think someone else is going to
use them?" she asked.

"Doubtful. But if they are, tell New York I
absolutely must have at least one pass in my hand tomorrow. I need
to be able to get into all the VIP areas with no questions asked,
and if I have two passes, I can get Jack in anywhere too. But he
probably has his own way in, so it's not critical for him to use
Beacham invites."

"I'll get right on it and call or text you
back."

"Oh, and if you hear from Nico, have him
call me."

"I think he's in New York."

Perfect. Exactly what I needed to hear. "See
if he can bring the passes down to me. I could use him this
weekend."

We rang off, and hunger hit me again like a
donkey kick. I flagged down the nearest construction guy. "Is there
a food truck nearby?"

"Saw a Jefe's truck round the corner a few
minutes ago. Might try checking the other side of the gallery."

"Thank you."

So my choice was made for me. The guy was
right, and even before I rounded the building and the truck came
into view, I heard the exuberant music over the rest of the street
noise. I grabbed enough fish tacos and fresh carnitas to be sure
Jack wouldn't filch any of my share, added a couple of beers on the
way back, and arrived at his side as Lady Bountiful. In the same
instant, he jabbed an angry finger into his touch screen and made
an overly negative groan.

"No car?" I asked, holding up what I'd
determined was his share of the food and putting it down between us
as he continued to do whatever he was doing with his cell. I
scarfed down my own food in world record time, finishing off with a
deliciously cold one.

He sighed and scooped up the tacos and
carnitas, setting the beer on the low wall that ran along the side
of the building so he had both hands free to eat. After he chewed
and swallowed several mouthfuls, he answered me. "The car rental
company is working on it. I'm not sure they don't believe that the
theft wasn't actually our fault. Telling them the coppers are
already working the case didn't seem to change any minds
either."

"They're probably right." I took a small
bite, then shrugged when Jack gave me a shocked look. "What?" I
asked. "It was the guys from the Honda. They'd already been on our
tail. Taking our car was their plan B."

"Or…" He glared at me. "They are Miami car
thieves who already had an order for a car exactly like the one we
rented, and the fact that they stole our car has nothing to do with
the reason we're in Miami."

I shrugged again. "Believe what you want. If
I were the rental company, I would blame us. I don't believe in
coincidences, but if your theory turns out to be true, it points to
why flashy cars may not be the best choice when you're trying to
stay under the radar."

"I was trying to fit in with the crowd we
need to talk to."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Jack. The
fact no one we're going to be interviewing will likely see us in
the car kind of blows holes in your story. And even if they did,
they'd know we flew into the city and had to rent a car
anyway."

"Says Miss I Have To Buy Designer
Everything."

"What I wear is something everyone
will
see.
And unfortunately, all of it is now gone with the
car."

His jaw dropped. "Bloody hell. I didn't
think about that. I'll make a call and get us some clothes."

"Good. I hoped the yacht you mentioned had
some emergency clothing on board beyond bathing suits. Where is it
located, anyway?"

Jack laughed and took a swig from his beer
bottle. "Like I'm going to tell you. The only way I know you won't
give me the slip is if I keep from telling you the harbor slip
number."

"Cute play on words. But what's to stop me
from just grabbing a cab, finding myself a nice anonymous hotel
somewhere, and running my own game here?"

"Nothing, except you don't have the ready
cash to do that. And the only chance you have to get in last minute
to the VIP section is to get me to convince Melanie to give you a
pass."

"Do you have a pass?"

"It will be waiting for me tomorrow."

"Then maybe I'll just let you mingle with
the hoi polloi, and I can go shopping for replacement clothes."

"Again, you have no funds."

I did a slow burn. "What makes you think you
know everything?"

"Because I know everything." He offered up
his best superior smile.

Deep breaths. That was my only recourse. So
had Nico turned on me? When did he and Jack get so chummy? Wait!
Cassie had just told me about my budget freeze today. Still, I
couldn't believe either of them would be traitors… But there was
one person I could believe would talk a little too freely.

"Max! Max called you and said to keep me on
a short leash for both finances and intel."

His smile broadened. I had my answer.

"That lousy, cheap bast—"

"Laurel, is that you?"

I turned to the sound of the voice and
recognized Tina Schroeder, a throwback to my childhood. One of the
few whose family hadn't turned their backs on me, but only because
the older Schroeders ran all the angles. Younger than me by a few
years, her shining brunette waves were pulled back off her
classically beautiful face. Long, graceful limbs, a figure to die
for, and a killer tan completed the cover-girl perfection. I saw
her here and there; she'd partied on the same yacht Simon and I
were guests of while we were still a couple. I had a fleeting
thought to pick her brain, to see if she knew anything about
Simon's latest activities or sightings. Unfortunately, the girl was
only about an inch deep when it came to mental processes.

Her history always reminded me of a
latter-day Anne Boleyn, but it was her mother, Phyllis, who did the
pimping instead of her father. Tina was born gorgeous, and her
family didn't just live above their means, they jumped both feet
into a money pit. Twice, Mama Schroeder secured "suitable
engagements" to billionaire octogenarians for her lovely
twenty-five-year-old daughter, but the engagements ended days
before nuptials could be exchanged—one due to death and the other
to the groom-to-be's family stepping in and getting
great-granddaddy ruled mentally incapacitated before Tina could
become a Mrs. and get added to the will.

I introduced Jack.

"I know your name from somewhere." Tina gave
him her wide-eyed look and shook his hand. "Maybe from
Debrett's?"

I couldn't help it. I snorted. Jack
immediately started choking. Peerage, right. The girl couldn't help
but husband shop. Putting my arm around her, I hugged Tina and
carefully maneuvered her away to let Jack recover on his own.

"It's great to see you, Tina. Do you work
for the Browning Gallery now?" I truly was curious as, based on the
competition alone, I couldn't believe Melanie would hire her.

I wasn't surprised when she shook her head,
the brunette chignon wound so tightly it gave me a headache to look
at her. "No, I'm assistant to the event planner. Phyllis got me the
job."

Of course. "Be sure and give your mother my
regards."

"Oh, please just call her Phyllis. She's
decided to divorce herself from the title of mother."

Jack was still close enough, standing a bit
behind and to the side of Tina. That remark started an eye roll I
felt I could use. "Tina, think you could take a break, and we'll go
find a cup of coffee or something? Don't want to miss a chance to
catch up with you."

She smiled at me. "That would be great." A
frown crossed her lovely face. "I have to be handy in case I'm
needed." Her brow cleared. "I know! Let's go to the refreshment
tent."

Wow, thinking ahead. I was impressed.
"Sounds great." I turned and called to Jack. "Why don't you
double-check on the replacement car or get us a taxi. I just want a
few minutes with Tina."

I could tell he was biting the inside of his
cheek and trying to contain his grin. No harm in a brief catch-up
conversation, and she really was a sweet kid despite her family's
greedy nature.

As we walked toward the tent, one of the
workers shot off a great wolf whistle. Tina turned away stone
faced, obviously on orders from her mother—I mean, Phyllis—not to
fraternize with hourly workers. But I smiled, accepting the
compliment, as I glanced over my shoulder to see Jack's reaction.
Nothing. No smile, no frown. But he was watching. I decided to take
it as a good sign.

"We don't have a cappuccino machine," Tina
apologized. The white canvas flap was tied back for easy entrance.
"But the brand is pretty good if you like standard ground
roast."

Since the only thing I was interested in was
information, I would have been happy with pure ground mud. Light
filtered by the canvas tent gave everything a soft glow, and the
shade reduced part of the heat. A huge fan blasted from one end. We
got our cups, and I steered her to seats in the far corner.

"Gosh, Tina, I don't think I've seen you
since last summer in Nice. But you're really looking great." Jimmy
Choos made her firm legs look outstanding. She carried herself
straighter and with greater confidence than before, and her
cheekbones showed more definition. I figured Phyllis had her
working with a trainer. "Do you like this job?"

She shrugged a narrow shoulder, her black
Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress moving infinitesimally to show a
little more cleavage. "I guess. Phyllis thinks I can make good
contacts this way."

"I imagine she knows better than anyone." I
smiled to make my words sound friendlier than their hidden meaning,
but I needn't have bothered.

"Oh, absolutely. She's a pro at making
connections. She conferences with me three times a week so I can
maximize my potential."