A Kiss in the Dark (Sam and Rick #2)

Chapter 6

6

Wednesday, 4:39 p.m.

R ichard wiped his hand off on his chest and pulled the phone from his back pocket. According to the last three texts, Tom had some information for him about Anne Hughes, the Getty wanted him to attend a wine tasting among the masterpieces for a mere twenty-five hundred dollars per couple, and Jeniah had made the dinner reservations he’d requested at The Tyger for this evening.

Since meeting Samantha he’d spent less time at Pan Asian restaurants, though he wasn’t certain if she genuinely disliked seafood or if she’d been trying to avoid coming face-to-face with a particular restaurant owner in West Palm Beach that she’d robbed. Well, they weren’t in Florida, so this seemed a safe-enough test—and a challenge, and he did enjoy challenging her.

Her voice came dimly through the maze of rooms, the conversation something about sunlight and sensors and display case angles. She took pride in doing her job to the utmost, so considering the effect of sun on sensors made sense, but they both knew it wasn’t the sun that would be attempting a break-in here. And he knew , whether she admitted to being certain about it or not, that Martin Jellicoe would at some point in the next two-and-a-half weeks make an attempt to get into this quaint old building.

Since no one was around to see, Richard took a grateful seat on the edge of a step stool and bent over to stretch his back. He was still very early into his thirties, damn it all, but running and sex and trying to keep up with Samantha did not use the same muscles as lifting heavy cabinets while attempting to avoid making unmanly sounds or scratching the newly replaced wooden flooring.

“You’re very kind to spend your day doing this,” Anne Hughes noted, and he shot to his feet again.

“Not really,” he countered. “She doesn’t need my assistance. It’s more my worry that something terribly interesting will unfold while I’m sitting behind a desk drinking tea.”

He could hear himself becoming more British as he spoke, but that was how he did charming. Since he’d invited himself to New York, much less to step into the middle of Samantha’s gig, charming seemed the wisest course of action.

“Drinking tea while buying and selling expensive corporations,” Ms. Hughes put in. “I am somewhat aware of your portfolio, Mr. Addison. And I will very likely Google you the moment I get home this evening, so our next conversation will be even less trivial.”

Richard grinned. “You’ll find some exciting bits, I have no doubt. I can’t vouch for the truth of any of it, though.”

She shrugged. “If it’s exciting and doesn’t put you in legal jeopardy, I say claim it.” Her swift grin touched her eyes, a shade or two more gray than Samantha’s springtime green ones.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that.” Samantha had only suggested that he invent a few adventures himself and see how far the stories spread, but her grasp on truth could be somewhat slippery.

“The two of you make a good pair, if I may say so,” Anne commented. “You have similar senses of humor, I’ve noticed. And she seems very…. grounded—or ‘practical’ is a better word, I suppose. As do you, actually. I’ve seen collectors who don’t even lift their own hands to make a bid; they have ‘people’ for that sort of thing, don’t you know.” Abruptly her face reddened enough to match the sunset. “I’m going to wander off now, just in case you employ people for hand-lifting.”

“I don’t,” he countered as she moved away. Something tickled at the back of his skull, but he kept the frown from his face. What was it? Had he actually met her somewhere before and neither of them could recall it? Whatever she’d just said felt…familiar, but that didn’t make any bloody sense.

Shaking himself out of the odd déjà vu sensation, he reached for the pair of work gloves he’d set aside and returned to angling a tall, square display pedestal over the floor. Another hour of this, and he was going to have to cancel dinner in favor of a hot bath and some ibuprofen.

“Hey,” Samantha drawled from the doorway, “the union guys say we have to knock off at five. You can come lift heavy stuff at the apartment while I ogle your backside, if you want.”

Oh, thank God . “Are you sure?” he asked anyway. “When do the valuables start to come in?”

“Friday, if you can believe it. But we’ll get the installation wrapped up tomorrow. Then I have to decide if I’m going to live in the utility closet here for the next two-and-a-half weeks until the auction.”

“There isn’t enough room for two in the utility closet, so that doesn’t work for me.”

She glanced over her shoulder and moved closer. “Sure, you joke now,” she whispered, putting a hand on his arm, “but this whole thing is already giving me the wiggins. I mean, I’m already thinking that Anne and Martin had a thing. If she ever finds out I’m his kid, she will not be recommending me for other Sotheby’s gigs. Or for anything else.”

“She has to know you’re Martin Jellicoe’s daughter, so what’s—”

“The buzz is that Martin Jellicoe died in prison. A dead guy can’t pull a burglary. As far as I know, only a couple of guys like Stoney and me are aware that one of Martin’s old aliases was Bradley Martin. And since he hasn’t used that one in like, forever, it makes me think that whatever he did to Anne was back in the pre-me days, and that it was pretty nasty. The kind of thing that doesn’t get Bradley Martin’s offspring invited to the company picnic.”

Richard twisted to catch her mouth in a swift kiss. “Anything in the pre-you days is definitely not something you should feel guilty about. I’m more concerned about coming up with a legitimate reason for me to be here again tomorrow.”

“You don’t need to be.”

“I know that. But maybe I like being your lackey.”

That made her grin, as he’d known it would. “I’d hire you as an apprentice, but I’m pretty sure you’d have to take a pay cut.”

Worth it , he wanted to say, but that wouldn’t make any sense. Part of the reason they worked as a couple was that they were two strong-willed, independent people. If he made a habit of tagging along with her on jobs, well, it wouldn’t go well. For either of them. “I’ll settle for lurking in my comfortable office close by, just in case you need my chivalrous participation.”

“I’ll take that,” she returned. “Any day of the week.”

That was the difference the two of them meeting had made; they were perfectly self-sufficient, independent people, but he, at least, had been learning that he liked the world better with her in it, and that a bit of compromise here or there was a very small price to pay.

“Good,” he said aloud. “Now, I made us reservations tonight at The Tyger. You up for it?”

She sighed. “As long as you don’t expect me to eat anything that could potentially turn around and eat, drown, or murder me if I swam up to it in the ocean. Karma’s a real thing, you know.”

“Or you could just stay out of the ocean.”

“Still not risking it. Karma’s tricky, and I have enough stuff at risk right now.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Especially with her father on the loose somewhere in Manhattan. “Something slow, small, and non human-eating it is, then.”

“Cool. I’ll be another twenty minutes or so, and then I really need a shower.”

“We can save time and take one together,” he suggested, snagging her around the waist.

Samantha grinned up at him. “That does not save time, but what the hell.”

Richard kissed her, making certain to release her before she could ask him to do so. He had learned a couple of things over the past year, after all. “I’ll be in here, wrestling with this pedestal.”

The second she left the room he pulled out his phone and texted Tom, asking for whatever the attorney had found concerning Anne Hughes. He hadn’t earned his reputation for being a cutthroat businessman by ignoring things that caught his notice, even if he couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, was bothering him.

His phone rang before he could even pocket it again. “I meant you could email the information to me,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“She’s one of Jellicoe’s pals, isn’t she? You know, one of those people of questionable reputation and ethics?” Tom returned.

Richard frowned at the phone. “What makes you say that? And hold on a moment. I’m going outside.”

“Yeah, you do that, because this kind of shit makes me nervous as hell. Before you met Jellicoe, you didn’t run across outright crooks more than once a year or so.”

“She’s…Wait a minute, dammit.” Lowering the phone, he bypassed the freight elevator for the stairs, descending to the main floor and then outside, just remembering to swipe the temporary badge Samantha had given him. The boyfriend didn’t get to ignore protocol, not in her book. Then, keeping in mind the cameras outside the old Victorian building, he crossed the street and jogged half a block to the east before he lifted the phone again. “Okay.”

“What do you want?” Tom said, his voice still clenched. Samantha referred to him as “the boy scout,” and she wasn’t wrong about that. Tom Donner had an honorable streak a mile wide, which was one of the reasons they’d become friends in the first place. There were enough people around Richard willing to cut corners and use the weight of wealth and influence to bend the rules. Neither he nor Tom liked doing business that way. And even if he did want to flex some rules at times, Tom made that difficult for him—which was both good and necessary.

“What do you mean, ‘what do I want’? What makes you assume Anne Hughes is a criminal?”

“Oh, maybe because she’s been working for Sotheby’s for fifteen years but doesn’t exist before that.”

Rick shifted to avoid a pair of joggers heading west toward Central Park. “Sotheby’s wouldn’t have hired her without a background check.” Aside from that, Anne Hughes looked…normal, a woman in her mid-fifties who worked in a respectable position for a well-respected company.

“I’m not Sotheby’s, so I don’t know what they would or wouldn’t do.”

“Find more, then.”

He could hear Tom’s hesitation. “Who is she?”

“I don’t know, apparently. Samantha’s installing security for a high-profile Sotheby’s exhibit and auction. Anne hired her. I was…mildly curious, but now—I need more information, Tom.”

“The calling-in-favors kind of information, or the owing people favors kind of information? Because over the past year or so you’ve called in most of the favors you’re owed.”

Richard looked up the street toward the Victorian house. Was satisfying his curiosity worth owing someone a favor? Especially with a reformed cat burglar, still wanted by Interpol and half a hundred other agencies, sleeping beneath his roof? “Just see what you can get,” he said finally. “Hughes could merely be her married name, after all.”

“I doubt it’s that simple, because Jellicoe’s involved, but I’ll do what I can. By the way, per your other requests, the building’s been around since 1840, burned nearly to the ground in 1885 and was rebuilt, and the property’s been owned by Sotheby’s since 2007. Auctions in general coming up at Sotheby’s are,” and he paused as the sound of paper rustling came over the phone, “somebody’s personal collection of Star Trek stuff, some banker’s artwork he seems to be selling to pay legal bills, and some dead rich guy’s stuff because his relatives can’t decide who gets what and cash is easier to divide.”

“That would be Lewis Adgerton’s stuff,” Richard supplied.

“No kidding. The digital media guy? Didn’t he get into a bidding war with you over the Florida cable station you bought so Jellicoe could watch Godzilla movies all the time?”

“That wasn’t the only reason I bought it, but yes.”

“I can’t really complain about that. Michael got an A on the essay he wrote about the transition of Godzilla from atomic demon to Earth protector.”

“Well, I’m telling that to Samantha,” Richard returned, stifling the urge to point out that he knew Tom was stalling. “Pull a few strings if you need to,” he said finally, when the silence stretched his patience to the breaking point. “But don’t do anything to get Anne Hughes in trouble with anyone. Like I said, it could be as simple as a misfiled name change or something.”

“Okay. But when is it ever that simple?”

Never . “There’s always a first time. Call me as soon as you find anything.” Tapping off the call, Richard headed back down the street for the Victorian house. An older woman stopped about twenty feet in front of him to whip out her own phone and take a picture of him, but he ignored her and her companions in their matching Statue of Liberty T-shirts. Samantha would likely try to tease that they’d mistaken him for a dark-haired Chris Hemsworth, but he wasn’t in the mood.

Whatever it was about Anne Hughes that had put him on alert in the first place, so far his Spidey sense—as Samantha called it—seemed to be working just fine. If it was, though, why hadn’t Samantha sensed anything amiss herself? Because if this was him trying to find something wrong with every job she did so he’d have an excuse to hang about, he needed to get over it. Immediately.

* * *

“You eat your own damn charred baby octopus,” Sam whispered, scowling.

“Octopus aren’t man eaters. According to your mantra, you don’t eat—”

“I know my own mantra. An octopus could totally pull off my dive mask or turn off my oxygen tank or something. Not risking it.” She dug through her own fried rice and tofu, lifting a forkful in his direction. “Tofu isn’t real, so it can’t kill you.”

“Shall I not point out that you eat burgers all the time, and a cow could trample you at any moment?”

“And that’s why you’ll never find me in a cow pasture. At least a cow couldn’t eat me. I bet a big enough octopus would make a snack of any number of handsome British lords, if given the chance.”

He chuckled, and that made her grin in return. It would have been much simpler, she supposed, to admit that she just wasn’t a fan of seafood, but there was also a very karmic reason that over the years, even when she’d been mingling with marks at some extravagant party or other, she’d never dined on alligator or shark or snake or on that one occasion, lion. That was all just asking for trouble, and she had enough of that every damned day.

Her phone vibrated, and she turned it face up on the table. Some guy in baggy pants and a trash bag shirt rattled the front door of the Victorian house, then staggered off. She backed up the footage and looked at it again. Odds were it had been some random drunk, but it could also have been Martin. Slowing down the replay, she paused it to peer at the half of the guy’s face in view. Okay, too hollow-cheeked and too tall to be Martin Jellicoe, thank Christ.

“Is this how the next three weeks are going to go?” Rick asked, gesturing with his fork at her phone. “You were up at least twice last night viewing footage.”

She shrugged. “I could say I’ll feel better when all the wires are connected to my specifications, but I’d probably be lying.” Grimacing, she stirred her plate again. “Most girls’ dads just embarrass them in front of their dates, right?”

“That’s my understanding. We’ll stay in Manhattan as long as you need to, you know. I can work here as well as anywhere.”

“I hit the ultimate bingo on boyfriends, didn’t I?” she muttered, grabbing his fingers as he reached for his glass of wine.

His mouth curved. “Well, you did, but don’t think I’m doing you a favor. You’re working here. I like being around you. Therefore, my being here is because of my own selfishness. It has nothing to do with being magnanimous.”

Samantha grinned back at him. “You’re so boss.” Yeah, he was partly telling her the truth, she knew, but the other part, the one he denied, was that he would relocate to wherever she felt most comfortable because she scared him. Not “boo” scared him, but he worried that without his influence she would slip back into her old habits, start snatching shit just because it was a challenge and she was bored or something.

That idea didn’t trouble her overmuch, but then she knew how much she valued having Rick Addison in her life. Doing something stupid just for kicks and thereby losing him? She wouldn’t let that happen. It wasn’t something she could just tell him, though. She’d been stealing shit since she was five, after all. Nope, she needed to prove it by being good and by letting him push harder than she liked, keep a closer eye on her than she liked, because the end result was something she liked—and wanted—very much.

“We have been discussing a permanent relocation here, anyway,” he went on, going back to his wine.

“Uh-uh. This is not an ordinary job for me. I’ve set up systems and let them run all by themselves before, and you know it. Three weeks and other people will own the bits and pieces of Lewis Adgerton, this exhibit will close down, and I’ll never think about it again.”

“Y—”

“Katie already invited us to Thanksgiving. That’s in what, four weeks? If you think I’m screwing that up by forcing the Donners to start packing, you’re batshit crazy.”

He looked at her for a long moment, Caribbean blue eyes contemplative. “Eventually you’re going to run out of holidays to use for excuses and you’re going to have to decide, but as I’m not batshit crazy, I concede. Three weeks and back to Florida.”

“Good. Now order me something with chocolate for dessert while I go and collect myself.” Pushing away from the table, she leaned around his shoulder to kiss him. He tasted of red wine and seafood, but mixed in with him, that was okay.

Taking a deep breath, Samantha made her way around the crowd of tables to the restroom. Three women were in there gabbing about seeing both Lin-Manuel Miranda and Richard Addison at the restaurant tonight, and she slipped into a stall and shut the door.

For somebody who’d lived most of her life being mobile, ready to leave everything behind at the slightest whiff of trouble, this…need, wish, desire to keep things stable, whatever it was, drove her crazy. It wasn’t like Rick would vanish in a puff of smoke if they moved to New York. There was the possibility that the Donners wouldn’t move with them, not with both Olivia and Michael in school and Katie a member of every local animal rescue and school group ever invented. That would mean separating her from her one female friend, and Rick from the boy scout. He needed the boy scout. Donner’s ethics kept him on the straight and narrow, just like Rick did for her.

She’d never really even had a female friend until a couple of months ago, and she liked it. There weren’t many women in her former profession, and the ones that did cat burgle tended to pick a mark, seduce him or her, and then rob them blind. That was way too sticky for her and made continuing to mingle with the blingy class way too difficult. But Katie literally baked cookies, and they were good, and Samantha liked that. A lot.

Still, she could make other friends. She and Anne got along pretty well. Anne was twenty or so years older than she was, but they both liked art and antiques. That would make for at least a couple of conversations over a diet Coke and cupcakes.

It wasn’t just about finding a new gal pal, though. Solano Dorado had become…home. A place where she could leave in the morning and return every night. A place where she’d redone the pool patio and hung up plants and dug holes for trees and made up pots of flowers. And Stoney lived four miles away, and Aubrey, who’d become part of her odd family almost immediately upon meeting him, lived just three miles away in the opposite direction. Plus, there were the Donners and the staff at Solano Dorado, and even Frank Castillo, the cop who’d almost busted her and had instead become kind of an ally and joined them for grilled burgers sometimes.

Samantha blew out her breath, reached down to flush the toilet, and left the stall. As she washed her hands, the chatty trio started speculating about Rick’s sexual taste and how “nasty” he liked to get. Drying her hands, she turned around and smiled. “Oh, you have no idea,” she drawled. “I’ve given up wearing underwear, he’s torn up so many pairs.”

“The…Oh. You’re her.”

Still smiling, she gave them a nod before she sauntered out of the restroom and back to the table. “I think I started another rumor about your sexual prowess,” she said, sitting opposite him. “You’re…” She trailed off as she took a good look at him.

His gaze was on his cellphone, and the utter…blankness of his expression, the gray tinge to his face, immediately set her heart pounding. Keeping her mouth shut, she watched as he pocketed the phone, finished off his wine, and then poured himself another glass. This was not good, whatever it was. God, had his uncle or aunt died? They were both in their sixties, and in pretty good health, but something had gone to crap. Something important to him, and that made it important to her.

“Rick?”

“Give me a minute.”

That minute involved him downing the replacement glass of wine and him staring at his plate, his head lowered so she couldn’t get much of a clue about what might be going through his head. She was good at reading people. Really good. And as well as she knew Rick, she had no idea what had happened.

Finally, he nodded to himself. “We’re leaving,” he said quietly. Pulling the wallet from his pocket, he put too many bills on the table and stood.

Leading the way out, Rick put a hand behind his back which she gripped. She kept her expression cool, because the last thing he would want is somebody posting a photo of them with the caption “Annoyed Addison drags sullen fiancée out of restaurant” or something, but right now she wanted to be the one out in front, slaying dragons or anybody else who had him that unsettled.

It would have been simple to pick his pocket and check who he’d called or who’d called him, but that would have been cheating. Instead, she moved up beside him as they reached the sidewalk, keeping pace as he began a brisk walk north on Lafayette. If they were walking back to the apartment, she was going to have to take off her heels, though; it was like six miles.

She glanced over at him. Now that they were more incognito he was frowning, his jaw clenched and his gaze straight forward, not quite focused on the hordes of people around them. Okay . She knew that face. It was his “I’m thinking about how to tell Sam something and I’m worried” face, times six. Maybe seven. Yikes .

“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” she commented, trying to sound soothing and settling for pitching her voice so low he probably couldn’t hear her over the sounds of cars and conversation, anyway.

“We don’t lie to each other,” he muttered.

“No, we don’t.” Samantha scowled. That narrowed down the possible callers. “Did Donner say I lied to you about something? Because I didn’t. He really needs to pull his nose out of your ass.”

Rick looked over at her. “What?”

“Donner. Did he tell you I lied about something?”

“No. It’s—I’m speculating about something. I don’t know if it’s true or not. If it is, you need to know. If I’m wrong, then I should keep my bloody mouth shut.”

“Well, since right now you’re scaring the shit out of me, I vote that you tell me, regardless.”

His hand tightened around hers. “Back at the apartment, then. I’m going to attempt some finesse.”

She didn’t want finesse. She wanted him to tell her what the hell had him so wound up. Obviously, he thought it would upset her, but it was something he could be wrong about. Had they arrested Martin again? Mentally Samantha shook her head. That wouldn’t upset her. Her dad had more than worn out his welcome in her new life. Stoney, then? Had something happened to Stoney?

“Did something happen to Stoney?” she asked aloud.

“Walter? No. No one’s hurt.”

That was something, anyway. If not for the whole “what the hell is going on” thing, she would have felt a little better. “Are we walking, then? If we are, I’m taking off my shoes.”

He stopped. “No. We’re not walking.” With that he stuck out his arm, dragging her closer to himself and the curb.

Under normal circumstances the manhandling would have pissed her off, but this was different. Whatever he was speculating about had him way off balance, and in a way that was more alarming than whatever he wanted to figure out how to tell her.

A cab pulled up, and Rick handed her in before he slid in beside her. He gave the cabby the address of the apartment and promptly turned to face the window. At the same time, his hand gripping hers didn’t show any signs of letting go.

Holding her breath for twenty minutes would have been simpler than shutting her brain off and stopping all speculation by being unconscious, but Samantha settled into the fake leather seat and glared at the screen showing the cab creeping toward Rick’s—their—apartment on Fifth Avenue.

When Rick pulled out his phone and started texting with his free hand, she made a point of not trying to look over his shoulder. What he’d said was true; they didn’t lie to each other. Once or twice she’d omitted telling him something, but that had only been for his peace of mind, details about the last couple of jobs she’d done and how close Interpol had come to nabbing her a couple of times over the years. He knew the important stuff; that the last of the statutes of limitations on her thefts would expire in five years, nine months, and twelve days.

By the time the cab stopped in front of the white stone, steel, and glass building where Rick owned the penthouse apartment, full dark touched the sky, lightening to a barely discernable purple-gray in the west. They never went home this early when they found themselves in New York. At least this Rick stuff had kept her from obsessively checking the camera feeds at the Victorian house—though she would rather have been worrying over her dad appearing than wondering what had set off Rick.

“Okay,” he said, as they stepped into the elevator and he put his card against the reader to unlock the penthouse floor. “I have to make one call, and then we’ll chat.”

“Don’t mind me. I’ll just be pacing a canyon into the living room floor.”

The brown and black marble floor was, of course, too hard for her to penetrate, but she did manage to ruffle the pile of the gray and brown carpet set beneath the furniture by the time Rick walked out of his office. If he’d resolved what he meant to tell her, it hadn’t improved the paleness of his cheeks, and her heart gave an unaccustomed shiver.

“If you don’t tell me what’s going on, we’re going to have to wrestle or something,” she told him, trying for a little humor. “My adrenaline is maxing out right now.”

“So is mine.” Rick crossed the floor to where she stood in front of the window that had the awesome view of the park. In one fluid motion he cupped his hands around her cheeks, leaned down, and kissed her.

She wasn’t sure if it was passion or desperation, but damn. That kiss nearly melted her clothes right off. “If you can sex this away, then let’s get to it, Rick.”

Rick took a half step backward, taking hold of her left hand and pulling her toward the couch. “Let’s sit.”

“Jesus. Stop the buildup already. If you discovered you and Patty are still married or something, just tell me. I’ll go kick her ass until she signs you over to me.”

“Sit. And thank you for saying that.”

“Fine, and you’re welcome.” She plunked herself down beside him and tried not to fidget. Stupid Brits and their patience and insistence that things be done just so.

“I asked Tom to look into some things for me once I found out Martin was tangled up in this job of yours.”

Dammit. “Ah. You pried , you mean.”

“Yes, I pried. You have your sources, and I have mine. So Tom delved into Anne Hughes, her boss Michael Sachless, and any recent reports about Martin.”

“Great. So now the boy scout’s checking up on me, too. I don’t like that, Rick. I don’t need you to babysit me, for crying out loud.” Standing again, she put her hands on her hips. “Dammit.”

“Anne Hughes isn’t Anne’s real name,” he broke in.

Samantha snapped her mouth shut. “If you’re going to try to convince me that Anne is some kind of criminal mastermind, I’m going to laugh at you.”

Rick narrowed one eye. “Technically Hughes is her maiden name. So—”

“So it is her real name. Plenty of women don’t like to keep an ex’s last name, Sherlock. Knock it off. Either tell me what’s got you all riled up, or I’m going back to the hotel.”

“Her married name was Martin. Anne Martin.”

All the wind sucked out of Samantha’s lungs. Her legs went wobbly and her face turned cold, which she recognized as the signs that she was going to faint. She plunked herself down hard on the couch and willed herself back into control. It didn’t mean anything. Martin Jellicoe had done shitty stuff all through her childhood. Pretending to marry some woman so he could get the keys to a museum or something? That was right up his alley. “It doesn’t mean anything,” she said aloud.

“Approximately twenty-one years ago, Anne Martin filed a missing child report, claiming her husband had absconded with the contents of a museum display she’d been curating, and with their four-year-old daughter…Sarah.”

The words banged into the walls around her, whizzing past her too fast for her to catch and hold onto their meaning. They collided with what she knew— knew —of her past, that her mom had kicked her dad out and hadn’t objected when he’d brought her along, too. That Mrs. Jellicoe had been a stick-in-the-mud who wanted fine things but turned up her nose at the only way Martin had of going about obtaining them.

Rick put an arm around her shoulders and took her far hand in his free one. He was getting good at that, she noted almost absently in the middle of the swirl of chaos, being comforting without smothering her or making her feel restrained. “I owe several people some large favors over this, Samantha,” he said quietly. “Tom triple verified it before he even called me back, and I sent him to check it all again.”

“It still doesn’t mean anything,” she said flatly. “Some lady named Anne Hughes Martin got left behind by her husband and daughter. Her daughter Sarah. I’m Samantha Jellicoe.”

“Samantha.”

Other things started dribbling into her thoughts—the text Martin Jellicoe had sent her about her learning a lesson she wouldn’t forget if she didn’t stay out of this; Martin cutting her hair and dying it a weird black until she was six or seven; the long time they’d spent in Europe when he’d turned down a couple of lucrative jobs Stoney set up for him because those had been located in the States.

In truth she remembered pretty much everything from the time he’d cut and colored her hair onward, but before that, just a hazy mush of things half-remembered and things shaped by what he’d told her. But her name? Why the hell wouldn’t she remember if her name wasn’t even Samantha? That wasn’t something a person forgot. Especially her. It just wasn’t.

“I don’t buy it,” she stated, shrugging out of Rick’s embrace because even her clothes felt like they were smothering her now. “It’s too handy. Too neatly wrapped. Like maybe he picked her for a job because of her past baggage. Because he knew it might rattle me.”

“It’s possible,” he admitted, his tone clearly reluctant to give her any wiggle room. “I called Tom about Anne Hughes because I kept thinking I’d seen her somewhere before, even though she didn’t give any indication that she had ever met me.”

“Let me guess. She reminded you of me.” That was just too easy. It had to be a setup. It had to be.

“I’m still not certain. But other than the twentyish years between you, there are similarities. Samantha, it…it makes a certain amount of sense.”

His expression, full of compassion and worry, didn’t steady her at all. Just the opposite. He believed it. He believed that Anne Hughes—Martin—whatever it was, was her… Crap on a biscuit . Her mind dodged way away from saying the word even to herself. She knew who that woman was. She always had. Mom was a selfish, self-centered bitch who’d been happy to be rid of Martin Jellicoe and whatever baggage came with him. Even if that was her own daughter.

“I remember everything,” she pointed out. “Nearly photographically. I would remember her.”

“You said your first clear memory was after it was just you and Martin.” Rick reached out a hand again, then clenched his fingers and lowered it. “I will admit, there’s a very small chance I could be wrong and that I’m sitting here, upsetting you, for no reason at all. That…irks me.”

Forcing her thoughts back to the present, she turned her head to look at him. Billionaire, cutthroat businessman, art collector, very accomplished lover—everything he was said he knew what he was doing, and that when he made a rare mistake, he owned up to it. He didn’t make wild proclamations, especially when there was a chance they could hurt her. Above everything else, he made a point of trying to protect her.

If he hadn’t made a mistake, though, that meant…stuff. Big stuff. And that made her fight or flight reflex want to kick in. Samantha stood up, abruptly unsettled in her own skin. “I need to go somewhere.”

“Okay. I’ll get our coats.”

He hesitated there for a second, probably waiting for her to tell him that she wanted to go somewhere alone. Part of her did, but he would worry, and she wasn’t just a solo act any longer. When all she did was kick off her heels and drag her Nike’s from beneath the edge of the couch, he vanished into the adjoining room.

In the old days if something threw her off her game she would go for a run, or climb up the outside of some old derelict warehouse just to test her skills. The good thing about derelict warehouses was that they tended not to have security installed, so she could just climb and not worry about cops or silent alarms. Sometimes they had junkyard dogs, but they were good practice, too.

Samantha blew out her breath. Her thoughts were going everywhere, making stupid, meandering trails that went nowhere just so she could avoid following the main road. The road that said her mom had filed a missing person’s report about her, and that Anne Hughes was just a regular, non-hateful human who had put her life back together just fine and did interesting stuff with art and antiques.

Rick appeared with a snazzy black trench coat for himself and a black hoodie for her, because hoodies were cool. Tying up her laces, she pulled the hoodie over her head and left the apartment. In the elevator she faced front, bounced on her toes, and crossed her fingers that nobody else would get in and hold them up with idle chitchat.

She let Rick greet the doorman, Vince, and once they made it outside to the sidewalk she jaywalked over to the Central Park side of the street, hopped the low retaining wall, and then headed into the green, dark depths.

“Stay on the pathways, at least,” Rick said, catching up to her.

“That’s where the muggers wait for people,” she stated, continuing through the trees but staying close enough to the walkways to be able to use their lights for navigation.

“Well, I’ve seen this movie, and some naked guy comes running out at us with a machete in about two minutes.”

“If he’s naked, a machete isn’t the best choice for a weapon.” Yeah, she was upset, but she still couldn’t let a comment like that pass.

“Samantha, if you’re trying to brush me off, just tell me.”

Immediately she slowed down, reaching out for the hand that grasped hers without hesitation. “I’m not trying to brush you off. I’m distracting myself, I think.”

“Distract yourself at home. You need to think all this through before you see her tomorrow.”

Ice spun down her arms to her fingers. “Nope. Not doing that. I’ll text her tonight that I can’t take the job, after all.” She pulled out her phone with her free hand.

Rick took it from her. “You’ve already started the job. She’ll never find anyone else who’s a match for Martin, and you know it. That’s why you took this gig in the first place.”

She shot him a glare. “Don’t hit me with my own slang. And don’t tell me what to do.” Veering to the right, she spotted the outline of a rock outcropping and headed for it. Accelerating into a trot, she jumped for a foothold and then hitched herself up to the top, twisting to take a seat on the flat boulder.

With a muttered, “Jesus,” Rick hauled himself up the craggy rock, making it halfway up before he stretched up a hand. “Give me a boost, will you?”

Bending her knees and bracing her feet, she reached forward, gripped his hand, and pulled. He outweighed her by a good seventy-five pounds at least, but he was no slouch. With a little less grace than she figured she’d shown, he heaved himself up beside her.

“I feel like a seal beaching itself,” he grunted, turning to sit beside her.

“You looked much studdlier than that. A sea lion, at least.”

“The hell you say.”

Samantha hugged her knees. “I don’t like this. I mean, I know Martin’s lied to me about shit. That’s one of the reasons we went our separate ways. But I should remember her. I should remember all about it.”

“Not if your memory oddities happened as a result of losing your mother.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Why? You suffered something traumatic, and your life changed overnight—or so I would imagine. Your father started trotting you all over the world and calling you by a different name. You lost all your anchors at once. Remembering things probably felt like the only way to keep hold of yourself.”

“You’re talking about a four- or five-year-old, you know. I thought it was an adventure.”

He put an arm around her shoulders, lightly, until she leaned into his chest. Then his grip tightened. “I obviously don’t know why things happened. And neither do you. You can spend all night twisting yourself up about things you’ll probably never have an answer for, or you can figure out if you want to say anything to Anne Hughes tomorrow.”

“I’m not saying anything to her. If I do, she’ll know I’m Martin’s daughter, and she’ll think I took this gig as a double cross or something.” She shuddered. “And if I give her that kind of information about me and she decides to call the cops, this is not going to end well.”

“That’s entirely up to you, Samantha. Tell her, or don’t. But don’t make up some big disaster to give yourself an excuse to keep quiet.”

“What would you do, then?” she burst out. “Let’s say you suddenly discover you have a brother, and that the last business you bought and tore apart just happened to be his life’s work. What do you say? Or do you keep your mouth shut and maybe send him a box of cheese and crackers in a couple of months as an ‘I’m sorry I ruined your life’ present?”

“Sam—”

“I know, I know. Shut up for a minute.” She took a breath. “Please.”

“Okay. I will be silently supportive.”