The Adventures of a Love Investigator, 527 Naked Men & One Woman (28 page)

“Get the flight. I’ll cover it.”

“Business class?”

I heard him exhale. “Yeah sure. Keep the receipts.”

“What’s my title?”

“You don’t need a title. You’re undercover. You’re Roger Jolley’s Assistant, how about that?”

“That sucks. How about Assistant Tomb Raider?”

He laughed. “Please get it through your head. We’re the opposite of Tomb Raiders. We put back, not take out. See you in London.” He clicked off.

Dumping my phone into my purse, I walked back into the hotel, and plopped into a chair in the lobby with my legs shaking from adrenalin and humiliation. The contemporary neutral palate of tan, white, and black eased my fried nerves. I stared out a three-story wall of glass that faced the marina. Yachts were moored bow to stern like parade elephants.

A herd of sappy memories flooded my brain. Peculiar how cars can become an extension of our beings. I hoped Goldie’s transmission fell out on the thief’s feet. Officer Burger said she’d probably be chopped up for parts. My poor baby. I’d never be able to smell new leather again without tears. But now it was time to call for a rental car and get on with my life. I gathered my things and headed out to the valet’s desk. They’d know the numbers for a good rent-a-car shop.

I noticed an elegant sign standing on the marble floor near the reception desk. Lured by the Feng Shui photo with the words
Harmony Spa
in scrolling silver letters, I moved closer.
High-energy sound waves liberate skin congestion while delicately pushing super-antioxidants deep into the dermal matrix. This therapy superbly combines the latest technological modalities achieving visible age-defying results.

It would be nice to be glowing when I saw that annoying Roger again. We’d exchanged sweaty goodbye hugs and a pretty sexy kiss in a private hanger at Miami International the last time we were together. Then he was off to return the twelve Lost Boys to the British Museum, while I brought the orphaned poodle Tinkerbelle to Treanna.

The dimly lit lounge next to the spa sign beckoned. How best to spend my mad money? A glassful of the best scotch the Au Poivre could offer or stimulate my pores in preparation for my rendezvous with Roger? My dermal matrix could use some attention, but so could my nerves.

When in doubt, opt for both. I got a double Glenfiddich Special Reserve Scotch at the bar and took it with me. I pressed the elevator button and rode to the spa on the 20
^th
floor.

*   *   *

Roger’s email arrived that night. I circled every third word. Benny Hannah lived in the South Bank area within sight of the London Eye. He’d been the director of antiquities for Idi Amin’s private collection and had escaped from Uganda one step ahead of a machete. Benny was Roger Jolley’s special client, and I was about to enter his world. I felt a rush of monkey-energy. Wendy Darlin, Assistant Tomb Raider, was about to leap into action... after I played Big Sister.

T
reanna and I shared garlic bread as we waited for our spaghetti and meatballs at her favorite, The Spaghetti Factory. We’d been coming here since our first get-acquainted lunch almost a year ago. We’d recently celebrated her sixth birthday here. I couldn’t imagine not spending Saturdays with her. She brought me such joy and put my problems in perspective as only a child can do.

Grandma Matty had done up Treanna’s black hair in tiny tight braids ending in two purple barrettes at the back of her head. She was wearing a lavender and purple party dress with full crinolines and lace edging. She looked like a little doll.

I approached breaking my travel news to her with trepidation. My last jaunt was supposed to have taken only a few days. Being kidnapped had not been on my radar. I was gone for weeks. Treanna was sure I’d abandoned her.

“Tinkerbelle looks like she loves living with you. You’re a good mama to her.” It must have been the tone of my voice, because Tre flashed me a darkened glare.

She looked from under her long black lashes. “People who go away from me don’t get to read me a story. They might not even get to read me two stories. I have to think about it.”

I jerked back. “Are you a mind reader? I have to go help a friend.”

We finished our lunch in kid-grumpy silence. Treanna rolled her last meatball around the edge of her plate, ignoring me. She pulled out her oversized sunglasses and slipped them on, her signal that she was shutting down.

I had to go. She had to learn to trust me. Treanna had been unable to get close to anyone. Her short life had been one of abandonment and solitude. Grandma Matty did her best, but she lacked the energy to spend time with the child. They spent their days watching old movies on the Turner Classic Movies; it was the only world she knew. Tre fancied herself Audrey Hepburn.

Even though I’d picked out a purple rental car in the hopes Treanna would enjoy riding in her favorite color, she didn’t speak until I drove onto her block. Then she reached over and patted my hand. “I want to give you a going away present. Something that will make you come back to me.”

“Sweetheart, I’ll come back. I promise.”

“Pull around the back in the alley. I can run in and get it.”

“Are you sure? Grandma Matty is probably sleeping. We don’t want to startle her.”

Matty suffered from narcolepsy and frequently dozed off in the middle of conversations. The ritual had been for me to park at the curb and ring the front doorbell to pick up Treanna. I’d never been invited inside. The house was located in a rough area of Miami... not as bad as some, but not a place where I’d feel safe at night. Wrought iron bars on the windows and doors made my skin crawl. I’d never gone to the back door before.

I drove down the alley behind a row of small Florida-style bungalows, thinking this was not the best idea. My tires crunched over the coquina shell road. Matty’s house stood out mid-block in a line of old beige and gray houses. It was a pretty shade of light green with hibiscus and bougainvillea creating a riot of red, pink, and yellow around the back door.

Pulling behind the house, I said to Treanna, “I’ll wait in the car, sweetie,”

“No!” She yanked off her sunglasses. Her lower lip shot out and tears gathered in her big black eyes. “Please, please... I want you to see my room. Visit my toys. China and Polyester and Hasbro and All-Natural Fibers.”

I had to smile. It was one of her cutest quirks. The child was positive all the stuffed animals I’d given her came with their names already on their tags. “Okay... ”

Treanna skipped out of the car, ran to my side, and pulled me to the house. She pushed open the back door, and we entered a retro-kitchen complete with avocado-colored appliances and a Betty-Boop cookie jar, except it wasn’t hip-retro, it was just old.

“Follow me!” She tugged on my arm.

We walked through the living room, immaculate in a Saran Wrap way with the furniture preserved in plastic slipcovers. Religious pictures with heavy gold-colored frames covered the walls. A cluster of cupids held an urn filled with silk flowers.

I followed Treanna into the dining room. The scene at the table made the blood pound in my head. Matty and two men were counting a huge pile of paper money. Three surprised sets of dark eyes flashed at me. My heart tap-danced as my feet kicked into reverse. I was sure it wasn’t a friendly game of gin rummy, especially when the guys grabbed for the cash. Drug money?

Treanna was oblivious. She tugged on my arm. “Come to my room.”

“No, honey, I’ll wait in the car.”

I turned so fast she couldn’t grab me, dashed out the back door to my car, locked the doors, and hoped Matty could convince her friends I was harmless.

Five minutes later, the bungalow door slowly opened. I held my breath. Treanna was dragging her feet, tears soaked her cheeks dropping onto the collar of her lovely purple dress.

Rolling down the car window I reached out to her.

By the time she got to me, her nose was running. “I... wanted... you... to... have this picture of me.” She pushed it through the open window. I took it and held her precious hand. She said, “Please don’t forget me.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”

She turned and went back in the house, her tiny shoulders slumped.

Guilt and I drove home, making frequent last minute turns in case I was being followed. I checked the rearview mirror, but nothing... no one.

B
ack at my condo, I chugged a large glass of pinot grigio, then soaked a washcloth in cold water and blotted it on my face. I took Treanna’s photo out of my bag and placed it on the desk. Then I called Elana, our match coordinator at
Big Brothers, Big Sisters.

Elana had interviewed me twice before approving me as a Big Sister. She called once a month to see how Tre and I were getting on.

“Hello?” Was all she got out before I jumped in her face.

“We’ve got to get Treanna out of Matty’s house!”

“Wendy?”

“You’re darn right it’s Wendy. What the heck is going on?”

“What happened?”

That was a nice evasive question. I described the dinner table cash-banquet.

Elana sighed. “If I’d told you, you might not have taken Treanna on as your Little Sister, and you two are such a perfect match.”

“Cut the puffery!” I looked at Tre’s school picture and felt my heart breaking.

“It’s no big deal,” she said. “It’s not like it’s drugs or something dangerous. Matty operates a little bolita business from her house. That’s how she supports Treanna. The bets are a dollar or two or less... chump change.”

“There was more than chump change on that table.” Child Protective Services could take Treanna from Matty and put her in foster care. I’d lose my love bug.

“You know Matty can’t hold a job with her narcolepsy disability. She’s too proud to file for assistance so she runs numbers... bolita.”

“What
is
that?”

“Neighbors make their bets then a runner collects the money from Matty. She’s not hurting anybody.”

“I walked in on a lot more than small change.”

“For Treanna’s sake, please don’t say anything. I’m not telling you what to do... but I’m begging you not to do anything to hurt Treanna.”

Once again, I was in the middle of something I hadn’t counted on. My teeth were grinding as I spoke, “Is Treanna in any danger?”

She continued, “I’ll tell you. But you can’t say anything. Matty’s nephew Leon took quite a bit of the betting money and ran off with it.”

“So it’s not small change.”

“Matty’s not a big-time operator. But she’s going to be hard put to return the money.”

“You could have told me last week. I just promised an important client I’d be in London tomorrow. He’s counting on me. I have no idea how long I’ll be gone. This is a nightmare. How can I leave that child alone?” I hung up.

Roger needed me and maybe, just maybe, I needed him.

G
atwick was a beehive, even late on a Sunday night, but it was good to be back in England again. Things had changed a lot in five years. There was a tension... a standoff in the air. Security was beefed up. It was a shame in such a civilized country that our every move was monitored.

My nose itched. Conscious of the cameras mounted in the ceiling, I avoided scratching and wiggled instead. What if it looked as if I were picking it? Only you, Wendy.

I made my way through customs with a black wheelie bag full of my sharpest St. John knits and designer shoes. Best to look classy, since I would be spending a few days inserting myself into the life of the mysterious and wealthy Benny Hannah.

A reed-thin man with dark skin and oily black hair wiggled his fingers at me. He wore a high-collared, thigh-length jacket with a row of tiny buttons down the front. I guessed him to be the chauffeur. I eased up to “fingers,” in case we were being watched by someone besides the five hundred cameras and three hundred security guards. “Are you from Benny?” I whispered out the side of my mouth.

“My name is Samuel, miss. Yes, I’m taking you to Mr. Hannah’s home.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’d like to go to my hotel first and check in. It’s rather late.” I looked at my watch. It was after ten, London time.

“Mr. Hannah’s instructions were quite clear. I am to bring you to his home.” He reached for my bag and gently yanked it from my hands.

I felt the power slipping from my control. I had to convert my cash in case I needed it to pay for a cab or fund my escape. “Follow me. I’m going to change my dollars to British currency,” I said.

Samuel bowed from the waist and swept his arm, indicating which way I was to walk. “Mr. Hannah’s instructions are that you not bother converting your money. He said to tell you he will provide for all your needs.”

What did Roger get me into? Once more by my quick jump into an adventure, I’d put myself in jeopardy. I could start a rumble with Samuel, or I could take a leap of faith. Whenever I’m faced with a life-changing decision, I’ve found I will always take the wrong path. I followed Samuel through the airport and to the car.

As far as limos go... it was tastefully compact. Black, shiny, with heavily tinted windows. Samuel leaned in as he held the door. “Please help yourself to the bar. Should you prefer the champagne, there’s a chilled bottle of Dom. I’d be pleased to open it for you.”

He slipped behind the wheel and pulled into the warm London night. “Mr. Hannah’s home is near Westminster Bridge. It will take us a bit of time to get there.”

“I do want to check into my hotel.”

Samuel the chauffeur ignored me. I knew enough about London to know we were not going to be anywhere near the Hyde Park Hotel. After you’ve been kidnapped once, you get to know the drill. This felt like another abduction. I’d only just recovered from being Charlie Hook’s hostage, and here we go again.

As Westminster Bridge came into view, Samuel slammed on the brakes, and I was thrown sideways banging my head on the window. A small yellow cab bounced off the side of the limo and sped off into the night.

“What happened?” I yelled. The limo made a U-turn and headed in the opposite direction.