full of jewelry or small clothing items.
“Getting your Christmas shopping done early?” Jack asked the man.
“I’m not the criminal here.”
“Right, buddy. Do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut.” Then Jack looked at Carlotta. “Maybe your security department should take it from here.”
Carlotta located the nearest phone and called security, feeling like an idiot for not pegging the man for a shoplifter. This thing with her father was driving her mad.
After the man had been handed off, she accompanied Jack downstairs to pick up his suit, keenly aware of his big body near hers. His size was comforting but this new cordiality had her off-balance. Of course, he was probably playing her, hoping she’d cooperate with the investigation into her father’s disappearance.
Guilt stabbed her because she knew she held the one piece of information that he’d been hoping for.
Communication from Randolph Wren. And possibly a way to lure him in.
“Thanks for catching that guy,” she murmured.
“It’s my job to catch the bad guys,” he said easily.
She swallowed hard, acknowledging that everyone considered her father one of the bad guys. If she confessed to Jack Terry about the phone calls, she could end this ten-year ache, but would it only lead to something worse—an irrevocable break in her relationship with her parents and maybe with Wesley? And would it destroy this tentative friendship with Jack Terry that seemed to be developing?
No, Carlotta decided on the spot, she wouldn’t tell Jack about the phone calls. She’d handle it with Peter’s help. And who knew, it might come to nothing anyway.
She located the garment bag with Jack’s name on it and unzipped it to double-check that it was the suit he’d selected and that it was indeed ready.
“Want to try it on?” she asked, flashing back to her glimpses of him half-naked during the initial fitting.
Hannah’s suggestion of a night of meaningless sex came to Carlotta as visions of her and Jack tangled together in the dressing room flitted through her head.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I trust you.”
At his offhand comment, she pasted on a smile and assuaged her guilt by letting the threat of making him shop for new shoes slide. Passing a table of ties, she scooped up a gorgeous black and deep purple tie that would complement Jack’s dark coloring.
“My treat,” she said, stuffing it into a jacket pocket. “You’ll look stunning when you accept your award.
When is the ceremony?”
“Two weeks from today,” he said, then shifted from foot to foot. “Listen, Carlotta…about this awards dinner…”
She looked up. “Uh-huh?”
The detective pulled his finger around his collar, further loosening his hideous tie. “I know I mentioned before that I’d thought about asking you if you wanted to go with me.”
She froze. He was on the verge of asking her—something he’d never do if he knew what she was keeping from him. Her stomach churned with the sudden realization that despite everything looming over her and Jack Terry, she wanted very much to go on his arm and see him accept his award.
The color rose in his cheeks. “Well—”
“Carlotta Wren?”
She turned to find a man standing in front of her, holding a clipboard in one hand and a vase of at least two dozen red long-stem roses in the other hand. “I was told I could find you here. These are for you, ma’am.”
Her eyes widened. “For me?”
“Yep. Sign here.”
She signed her name, still perplexed when the man handed her the hulking bouquet. “I wonder who they’re from.”
“I can guess,” Jack offered wryly.
Carlotta realized he was referring to Peter. Although it was just the kind of grand gesture he would make, she was surprised and a little disappointed that he was pushing her so soon after their conversation about taking it slow.
“Thanks for helping me pick out the suit.” Jack swung the garment bag over his shoulder as if it contained a
“Getting your Christmas shopping done early?” Jack asked the man.
“I’m not the criminal here.”
“Right, buddy. Do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut.” Then Jack looked at Carlotta. “Maybe your security department should take it from here.”
Carlotta located the nearest phone and called security, feeling like an idiot for not pegging the man for a shoplifter. This thing with her father was driving her mad.
After the man had been handed off, she accompanied Jack downstairs to pick up his suit, keenly aware of his big body near hers. His size was comforting but this new cordiality had her off-balance. Of course, he was probably playing her, hoping she’d cooperate with the investigation into her father’s disappearance.
Guilt stabbed her because she knew she held the one piece of information that he’d been hoping for.
Communication from Randolph Wren. And possibly a way to lure him in.
“Thanks for catching that guy,” she murmured.
“It’s my job to catch the bad guys,” he said easily.
She swallowed hard, acknowledging that everyone considered her father one of the bad guys. If she confessed to Jack Terry about the phone calls, she could end this ten-year ache, but would it only lead to something worse—an irrevocable break in her relationship with her parents and maybe with Wesley? And would it destroy this tentative friendship with Jack Terry that seemed to be developing?
No, Carlotta decided on the spot, she wouldn’t tell Jack about the phone calls. She’d handle it with Peter’s help. And who knew, it might come to nothing anyway.
She located the garment bag with Jack’s name on it and unzipped it to double-check that it was the suit he’d selected and that it was indeed ready.
“Want to try it on?” she asked, flashing back to her glimpses of him half-naked during the initial fitting.
Hannah’s suggestion of a night of meaningless sex came to Carlotta as visions of her and Jack tangled together in the dressing room flitted through her head.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I trust you.”
At his offhand comment, she pasted on a smile and assuaged her guilt by letting the threat of making him shop for new shoes slide. Passing a table of ties, she scooped up a gorgeous black and deep purple tie that would complement Jack’s dark coloring.
“My treat,” she said, stuffing it into a jacket pocket. “You’ll look stunning when you accept your award.
When is the ceremony?”
“Two weeks from today,” he said, then shifted from foot to foot. “Listen, Carlotta…about this awards dinner…”
She looked up. “Uh-huh?”
The detective pulled his finger around his collar, further loosening his hideous tie. “I know I mentioned before that I’d thought about asking you if you wanted to go with me.”
She froze. He was on the verge of asking her—something he’d never do if he knew what she was keeping from him. Her stomach churned with the sudden realization that despite everything looming over her and Jack Terry, she wanted very much to go on his arm and see him accept his award.
The color rose in his cheeks. “Well—”
“Carlotta Wren?”
She turned to find a man standing in front of her, holding a clipboard in one hand and a vase of at least two dozen red long-stem roses in the other hand. “I was told I could find you here. These are for you, ma’am.”
Her eyes widened. “For me?”
“Yep. Sign here.”
She signed her name, still perplexed when the man handed her the hulking bouquet. “I wonder who they’re from.”
“I can guess,” Jack offered wryly.
Carlotta realized he was referring to Peter. Although it was just the kind of grand gesture he would make, she was surprised and a little disappointed that he was pushing her so soon after their conversation about taking it slow.
“Thanks for helping me pick out the suit.” Jack swung the garment bag over his shoulder as if it contained a
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