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  The blonde ignored Bianca and glared at Samantha. “Just take the picture, wouldja?”

  “Got it,” she said, snapping the release, grateful the wedding clients would be gone soon. This job would bring in a lot of money, but she almost dreaded the rest of the week, hating how these clients clashed with the warmly hopeful atmosphere of Bedroom Eyes.

  The blonde clumped off in jackboots, chains clanking like the ghost of Jacob Marley.

  “I’m getting the feeling these girls don’t even like flowers,” Bianca said thoughtfully. “And that last girl ate all my grapes.”

  Samantha tried not to roll her eyes. Only a couple more hours of this and the day would feel normal again. The last wedding client was due at two.

  “Bianca, what the—bleep—are you doin’ here?” Darien stood in the doorway to the studio, his face red, his tone furious. “I told you to go—bleepin’—shopping. Let’s get the—bleep—out of here.”

  Samantha was startled by the change in the man she’d only seen as cheerful and friendly and solicitous.

  “Darien, honey…” Bianca said, startled and embarrassed.

  “Let’s go,” he said, grabbing her arm impatiently.

  “I’m sorry, Samantha. I don’t want to strand you.” Bianca clearly didn’t know what to make of Darien’s behavior.

  “It’s fine. Just a couple more clients and Rick should be here in a moment.”

  “If you’re sure, hon.” But Darien was tugging her out. Samantha heard Bianca’s faint words—something about her duty to a friend—then she was gone. Another strange event in a very strange day. And where was Rick, anyway? How long could his errand take?

  AT BIANCA’S YARN HUT, Rick pushed his handcuffed prisoner into the nearest chair, which happened to be a doily-decorated rocker. Sitting there, the guy looked like he’d been strong-armed into visiting his granny.

  Nearby, Mark ripped open a skein of silver-flecked yarn. Tightly wrapped packets of powder tumbled to the table and he added them to the pyramid of baggies he was building. Dangerous drugs in sweet lengths of yarn. Ingenious, really.

  Rick had reached the scene in time to block the delivery van from leaving the back lot and now had the driver and two loaders in custody. A third officer watched the other two perps.

  No Darien, though, dammit.

  Thank God Rick had been at Samantha’s place for Bianca’s early morning call or they might have missed this entirely. A rationalization, he knew, but he’d take it for now. The heat was off Mirror, Mirror and all they had to do was snag Darien and Rick would be free of his undercover assignment.

  “Where’s Sylvestri?” he demanded of his captive.

  “I just deliver the goods.”

  “You’re not helping yourself here, pal. You think Darien Sylvestri would protect you? He’d save his own ass first and to hell with you.”

  The guy tightened his jaw, considered the idea, then sagged. “We made another delivery last night, okay?”

  “Give me an address.”

  The guy named familiar cross streets and Rick had him describe the building. It was Mirror, Mirror Beauty Center, no question. Adrenaline rushed through him. This guy had dropped off a shipment when Rick was supposed to be staking out the place. Instead, he’d been licking chocolate off Samantha’s body in her town house.

  “Mark.”

  Trudeau turned from where he’d been piling up baggies of dope. “Yeah?”

  “Something’s happening at Mirror, Mirror. Call it in. I’m heading out there.” He had to be sure Samantha and the other shop owners were okay. If his carelessness or inattention or, hell, lust, had put them in danger, he’d never be able to live with himself.

  HOW DID A PERSON get the name Billy Bones? Samantha wondered, snapping the man’s photo. He was huge, with a Neanderthal brow and slicked-back hair. His black leather vest, sweat-stained leather hat, chained-to-his-pants wallet and scuffed biker boots looked too natural to be a costume.

  “And one more,” she said, clicking the shot. She’d only taken two frames. The last thing she wanted was to capture this guy’s inner light—probably an inky black blot.

  “Yeah.” He tipped his hat at her, then tromped toward the door. He paused to bend down and sniff Bianca’s abandoned flowers. Maybe he had a soft spot somewhere in his soul.

  He was the last of the wedding clients, thank goodness. She’d done fine without Bianca, but she sure wished Rick had been here if for no other reason than to tell her she wasn’t crazy for finding these people a little frightening.

  Samantha removed the film from the camera, marked it, then headed up front to check the schedule for the next day, feeling a heavy sense of dread. If it weren’t for Bianca, she’d cancel.

  She bent to pick up a cowboy hat that had been left in the hall and carried it to the dressing room.

  Except the door was shut, the knob twisted to the locked position. Odd. It hadn’t clicked though, so she pushed the door open and what she saw shocked her cold.

  Billy Bones stood in the middle of the room pulling his leather vest over a smaller plastic vest that seemed to consist of dozens of compartments bulging with white packets. Behind him, Elisha stood on a ladder reaching into one of the locked cupboards for what looked like more white packets.

  “Hey!” Billy yelled, then headed for her, moving fast.

  Samantha dropped the hat and backed up, but not quickly enough. Billy grabbed her, forced an arm behind her back and locked his forearm under her chin.

  “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’ll be in my office. You just finish up in here. Whatever you’re doing.”

  “Take it easy, Billy,” Elisha said, jumping off the ladder. “Don’t hurt her. Darien will be pissed.”

  “Just shut up and get the stuff. You can’t lock the damn door?”

  “I locked it. You didn’t shut it. I can’t do everything. Jamming this stuff into the vests is hard work. The pockets are sewed too tight and—”

  “Shut your hole and do your job.” Billy shifted one hand and Samantha tried to pull away, but he yanked her back and jabbed her with something hard. A gun? “Don’t move.”

  Her legs went liquid and she had the desperate need to pee.

  Meanwhile, Elisha had loaded her arms with baggies. “What do I do with all these? I was supposed to have four days to move them.”

  “Ya got four minutes. Wad ’em into clothes and take them out to the van.”

  While Elisha balled the baggies into a black cape, a red kimono and a pink robe, Samantha tried to figure out how to escape. Would they kill her? Or take her to Darien?

  She couldn’t believe Bianca knew this was going on…whatever it was. Drugs, probably. Had all her clients today walked out with plastic vests filled with narcotics? What a nightmare. If she could just…wake…up.

  Elisha bundled up the clothes like a load of laundry, then rushed out of the dressing room. Billy yanked Samantha out into the hall after her, pushing her forward.

  What was that self-defense move with the top of your skull and your elbow? He was holding her so tightly, though, pressing on her windpipe, that she couldn’t maneuver at all.

  “No one moves. Police.”

  The harsh voice made them all freeze. It was Rick, she saw with relief, standing in the Bedroom Eyes doorway aiming a gun at Elisha, who’d stopped dead in her tracks. “Hands on top of your heads. Do it. Now.”

  Elisha dropped the clothes, scattering drug packets everywhere, and put her hands on her head as instructed.

  Billy tightened his hold on Samantha and moved the gun to her temple, turning her body to jelly. “I’ll shoot her,” he growled at Rick. “Drop the gun.”

  Samantha fought the urge to whimper.

  “It’s all his stuff,” Elisha whined. “He forced me to help. I’m a prisoner. He has a gun. Like you can see.”

  “Pick up that shit,” Billy yelled, “and get the hell out of here.”

  “No one leaves, no one acts crazy,” Rick said in a deadly c
alm voice Samantha had never heard before. “Backup’s on the way. Let’s work this out before they get here. You, lie facedown, hands on the back of your head.” He jerked his head at Elisha, who obeyed.

  “Like this?” she called up, her voice muffled.

  “You chicken-shit bitch,” Billy muttered.

  Rick inched forward, keeping his gaze on Billy. “Let’s work this out now, what do you say, man?” He was talking slowly, coaxing, as if Billy Bones were a rabid dog.

  “Drop the gun now!” Billy squeezed Samantha’s throat so hard she had to cough.

  “Kidnapping’s federal. Let the lady go. We know about the knitting shop. All we want is Sylvestri. You can help yourself here.”

  As soon as Rick passed Elisha, lying on the floor, the girl slithered up and out the door. Rick didn’t even look. His gaze was trained on Billy.

  “You think I won’t shoot her? Huh? Do you?” Billy shouted, squeezing Samantha so tightly she could only wheeze in air. “Drop the damn gun!”

  Rick considered the guy for a second, then seemed to give in. “Okay. Weapon’s down.” He set his pistol on the end of the counter. “Take it easy.”

  “More like it.” Billy yanked Samantha to her knees, crouching behind her.

  Rick lunged forward, as if to grab her, but Billy pointed the gun at him. “She’s picking up the stuff and then we’re outta here. Tell the cops to stay clear.” Unsteady on his haunches, the guy braced himself on the counter to his left, which wobbled.

  It was loose, Samantha remembered, and she and Rick were at opposite ends of it. She looked up to catch Rick’s eye, then tilted her head at the counter, telling him what she intended to do—shove the counter over Billy’s body.

  Rick gave a slight nod. “Someone could get hurt,” he said, echoing his words that first day, when he’d offered to fix it, so she knew he understood her plan.

  “Get all them bags,” Billy said to her, glancing at her, then back at Rick.

  She balled up some of the baggies into the robe, thinking hard. She had to distract Billy for a second and get inside the counter. Her pulse pounded and her body tingled with terror, but part of her slowed and steadied, completely calm. She wasn’t about to let this creep carry her out of here. She leaned forward and deliberately shoved bags to Billy’s right.

  “Dammit.” When he reached to get them, she moved inside the counter and put her weight against it. At first nothing happened, but then Rick must have shoved, too, because the thing gave way. She heard her computer monitor explode against the floor.

  Billy grunted as the counter knocked him over, and by the time she looked over the counter, Rick had grabbed the guy’s gun and was dragging him to his feet.

  “Are you all right?” Rick asked her, yanking Billy’s hands behind his back.

  “Y-y-yes,” she managed to say, realizing her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. She was vaguely aware that her throat hurt and she was shaking so hard she felt as if she might tumble over.

  “Sit before you fall,” Rick said, kicking her computer chair closer to her. She collapsed into it, surveying her tipped-over counter, her wrecked monitor. The CPU had stayed in its slot and Billy’s body had softened the fall, so maybe only the monitor was ruined.

  What was she thinking? She’d nearly been kidnapped or killed or both and she was worrying about her equipment?

  She looked at Rick, who was handcuffing Billy. Rick had handcuffs? Police, he’d said. She knew about the gun from the other night. She’d thought it was cute that he was acting like a security guard. But he wasn’t a security guard. He was a cop.

  A cop. Working on a case? Staking out Mirror, Mirror? It was too shocking to grasp all at once.

  “You weren’t in the army?” she said faintly, knowing how crazy that sounded, but she was rethinking everything she knew about Rick in these kaleidoscopic moments. She became aware of sirens in the distance, getting louder.

  He shot a glance at her. “We’ve been watching Sylvestri for months. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for this, but what you said about the knitting shop made me realize I had to get out there and—” He stopped abruptly, nodded at his captive, telling her he couldn’t talk in front of the guy. “I’ll explain everything when I can.”

  He yanked Billy over to the waiting area and shoved him to the couch. The huge man in leather and chains looked silly on the pink velvet sofa. “I want a lawyer,” he said, completing the transformation from big, bad biker to fat, pathetic loser. She should have kneed him in the nuts and saved Rick the trouble of rescuing her.

  “You get a lawyer and you can forget any breaks,” Rick snapped. “Work with us now. Last chance.”

  The sirens, now screaming, stopped abruptly, and she watched through the glass as police officers lunged out of two cars and into the Mirror, Mirror lobby.

  Seconds later, an officer took over watching Billy, while Rick led the others farther into the studio to talk, leaving her sitting there, miserable and confused. And angry, it turned out.

  The mystery of why Rick had wanted to work at Bedroom Eyes had been solved in a few terror-filled moments. He was investigating Darien Sylvestri. And Bianca?

  And her?

  Had he been investigating her, too?

  She jumped to her feet, wanting to demand the answer, and started for the hall, then realized she couldn’t interrupt him now. The answer was obvious, anyway, as she recalled all the questions, him poring over her books, grilling Lester, even asking her if she took more graphic photos.

  She turned back, planning to sit and wait, but her eye fell on her computer. The green light was still on. She squatted to check it and noticed a tiny piece of metal dangling from the shelf above—looked like a hook of some kind. It turned out to hold the end of the shelf closed. Inside the hollow slot, she found a ledger just like the one she used. Opening it, she immediately recognized Lester’s tiny, precise handwriting and lots of big, big numbers.

  Oh, dear.

  “What have you got?” Rick spoke from above her.

  “You were right to suspect Lester,” she said, handing up the book. “There’s a false shelf and this was in it.”

  “You didn’t know about this?” he demanded, flipping through the pages, giving her a stern look. He was a different person entirely—cold and terse. Not friendly, not teasing, not warm at all. A complete stranger.

  “Of course not,” she said, anger spiraling through her. He had suspected her, all right. That was clear.

  “I have to ask,” he said, softening his tone. “Finding this is important to the case. It explains why Darien said Bedroom Eyes was prime.”

  “He said what?” She felt sick at the thought that her generous landlord had used her in some terrible crime.

  Rick’s eyes raked over her, his mouth tight, as if he had so much to say. “Look, I have to go. They caught Sylvestri at the Deer Valley Airport.” He glanced at the officers near Billy and turned so his back was to them. “I told them you knew nothing, but you’ll have to answer questions.”

  “Of course. I’ll answer any question anybody has,” she snapped. “I did nothing wrong.”

  “I know that, Samantha,” he said, grabbing her hand. She thought he wanted to offer comfort, but he only placed a business card in it. “Talk to this lawyer. Larry Tucker. He’s a friend of Brian’s. Decent guy and very smart.”

  “I need an attorney? I’m in trouble?” She went as cold as ice.

  “You hold the lease here and we don’t know how Sylvestri will characterize your involvement. This is just in case.”

  “How do you characterize my involvement, Rick? Do you think I’m part of this?”

  “Not from the moment I met you, Sammi. Call the guy.”

  She stared blindly at the card.

  “They’ll bring in Mona, Val and Blythe. He can help them, too.”

  “My friends are in trouble?”

  “Like I said, just in case. I’m sorry you had to be part of this. I’d hoped it was all at the yarn sho
p, but it wasn’t.” He swallowed. “And there’s one more thing.”

  “What?” She couldn’t take any more bad news. She hadn’t even thought about her friends being involved.

  “It would be best not to mention our…about us….”

  “You mean that we’re sleeping together?” Bitterness made her voice crack. “I bet there are rules about sleeping with suspects, right?”

  “It was wrong. I should never have let it happen.”

  “No kidding.” But she was stung by his words. She’d had the best time of her life and he wished it hadn’t happened? Meanwhile, he’d been lying to her about himself, about everything. Hell, he’d put her in danger. And she’d fallen for it. Like a small-town fool.

  “Just don’t say anything about us,” he said again. “We don’t want to give them a reason to doubt my word about you.”

  “What about my word about me? Isn’t my word good enough?” On top of everything, now she’d be treated like a criminal.

  It had been happening all around her and Rick had said nothing—pretended to be her assistant, helping her with clients and the other shops, all the while suspecting them all of being crooks.

  “Why didn’t you warn me?” she said. “After all the time we’ve spent together? All we meant to each other?”

  “I wanted to, believe me, but I couldn’t.” His eyes dug deep, a fierce green, as radiant as fire. “I’ll explain it all when I can. Just don’t think the worst until we talk. Promise me that.”

  “I won’t promise you a damn thing, Rick,” she said.

  She thought he’d been her partner, that he loved her work, too, hell, that he was falling in love with her. Instead, he’d been spying on her every move, looking to arrest her, her friends, Bianca, Lester. Because of him, police swarmed her beloved center with cameras and crime-scene tape and she might need an attorney to stay out of jail.

  “That’s fair.” His shoulders dropped and the intensity in his eyes faded to a cool neutral. “I’ll fix what I can. I promise you that.” Then he took off.