9781631050275TheirPerfectMatchMarshNC Page 8

  Once he reached the privacy of his own car, he called Alaric back.

  “Well?” Alaric demanded. “Are you calling to tell me again that you think I’m crazy, Lovelines has arranged a hot date for you, and you’re dropping the case?”

  “No, none of that. Listen, bro, I’m still not sure what we’re looking at here, but I’ve decided to stay on it for a few more days, at least. I’m sorry if I was kind of abrupt with you before. Things were kind of…complicated.”

  He heard Alaric draw in a surprised breath. “This makes an interesting change. What happened to turn your thinking around so quickly? Did one of them lift your wallet while your back was turned? That sounds about their speed.”

  Zane ignored that remark, finding that it hurt him to imagine Molly involved in anything so crude. “Don’t worry about that. I have to tell you one thing right up front, though—I’m looking at this thing from all angles. If I find evidence that exonerates Molly Grayson or her business, I’m going with that and I’ll expect you to abide by my decision.”

  Alaric wasn’t pleased with that ultimatum, Zane could tell, but what choice did he have? He’d wanted to avoid publicity by putting Zane in charge of his little investigation and pursuing a private course of justice, and now he’d have to live with his choice. Besides, Zane couldn’t deny that he enjoyed making Alaric squirm a little. He knew how much his younger brother hated not being in control.

  After signing off with Alaric, he closed his phone and drove home. On his way up to his apartment, he couldn’t help remembering the evening he’d taken Molly there. Somehow the place had seemed a bit quieter and emptier since she’d left it.

  Deciding to put the whole mess out of his mind for a while, he wasted a few hours cleaning and organizing his father’s possessions, again avoiding discarding anything. Then, unexpectedly, his cell phone trilled again. This time, he heard Molly’s now-familiar tone.

  “Zane? I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”

  In spite of everything that had happened that day, in spite of all the fresh doubts tormenting his mind, Zane felt a rush through the core of his body the moment she said his name. “Of course not. In fact, I was just thinking about you.”

  He thought he detected a slight catch in her voice. Had she been thinking about him too?

  “Oh…that’s nice of you to say. Well, let me come directly to the point. Todd put your video up this afternoon, right after he got back from lunch, and strangely enough we’ve already had a few clients view it online. One called to request…um…a contact with you.”

  “A contact? You mean like a date?”

  “I suppose it could lead to that—it doesn’t have to, of course. We encourage our clients to contact one another and make whatever arrangements they like in private. We only intervene if there’s a problem.”

  “Okay,” he said carefully. He could feel the muscles between his shoulders tighten in response to her neutral attitude. “So what are you saying, exactly?”

  “I’m saying that you’ll soon be getting an email or a phone call from a lady who’s interested in getting to know you better. Since you’re new to the process, I thought I’d give you a head’s-up on what to expect.”

  “I appreciate that. So, in your opinion, the lady in question is a good match for me?”

  Again he heard her hesitate. “Your video was made available to her because your profiles intersected on several points, meaning you should be sufficiently attuned at least to meet and enjoy a casual evening together. What happens after that is…um…up to you.”

  “All right, then. Thanks. I’ll look forward to hearing from her.”

  He’d said it as a test, purposely injecting more enthusiasm into his statement than he felt. What exactly he expected her to do, he couldn’t say for sure—warn him off the other woman, perhaps? Suggest that the two of them reconnect instead?

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “Based on your video, Brenda assures me you’ll be getting a lot of contacts from our clients. I hope it works out for you. And once again, welcome to the Lovelines family. I really do wish you the best.”

  She ended the call a bit abruptly, even awkwardly. In a way, she’d made the next step of his investigation easier. He’d already encountered one disgruntled client, Mr. Westley, though he had called the day after his drunken escapade to apologize for his behavior at the bar and to deny any suspicion of wrongdoing at Lovelines. Still, interviewing a few others—discreetly, of course—might provide some additional insight into any other schemes taking place under the supposedly respectable Lovelines banner.

  He would have much preferred to question Molly again directly—preferably over dinner this time, maybe at The Oyster Bed. Some other kind of bed wouldn’t be entirely out of the question, either, he thought with a wicked grin as his imagination began to run away with him.

  “No.” He actually said it out loud, smacking his palm against the back of his father’s ugly plaid sofa. He couldn’t allow his mind, or any other body parts for that matter, to drift in that direction just yet.

  That evening, after a quick supper at Flinty’s, Zane drove over to his younger half-brother’s townhouse. He tired to ignore the fact that he wished Molly was with him. He kept imagining things he might say to her.

  Alaric greeted him wearing an Oriental silk robe and holding a snifter of expensive brandy.

  “About time you checked in,” his brother huffed. He stood aside to let Zane through the front door. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten where I lived.”

  “Fat chance.” His hands thrust in his jacket pockets, grimly Zane surveyed the opulent surroundings. The emerald carpet was even thicker and plusher than the one in Alaric’s office, and the pristine white furniture looked too clean to sit on. A state-of-the-art home theater system dominated the sitting room.

  “Drink?” Alaric indicated the ornate liquor cabinet in the corner.

  “You have any beer?”

  Alaric flinched subtly, and Zane knew he was thinking he was just like his father. Bruiser Bishop would have sneered at the pricey collectible bottles in the cabinet and gone straight for some cheap, rotgut stuff.

  “Never mind. I’ll try the brandy.”

  Alaric seemed pleased. Zane held his breath and gulped. Maybe the stuff was expensive, but to him it tasted like turpentine.

  Alaric flipped through a huge rack of DVDs.

  “I was just about to watch a new Japanese film. No subtitles. I don’t suppose you picked up the language on your travels.”

  “A smattering, but I didn’t come up here to watch movies. Don’t let me stop you.”

  “It can wait. I’d rather hear about Miss Molly Grayson and everything you’ve discovered so far.”

  Alaric eased himself into a soft leather chair and motioned Zane into an identical one opposite. Zane resisted the urge to dust off the seat of his jeans before he sank into the deep cushions. “I’ve been doing some digging on her employees.” Zane ticked them off on his fingers. “There’s Molly, there’s Todd Matthews. They went to college together and…I think there was something between them.” Zane gulped some more brandy and winced.

  “Maybe there still is.”

  “I don’t think so.” He was aware that Alaric looked dubious. “I’m trying to keep an open mind, though. There’s also her receptionist, Brenda Taylor.”

  “Yes, I remember her. A lovely girl. There’s no chance she could be involved.”

  “We don’t know that. She has a boyfriend who has access to the computers. They seem to spend a lot of money on their dates. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something wrong there.”

  Alaric already seemed bored. He eyed his DVD player with longing. “You ran computer checks on them?”

  “Not yet, but I’m working on that. A buddy in the service went into law enforcement. He’s pulling some strings and is supposed to get back to me this week.”

  “Well, that’s good. I thought about using one of those Internet investigati
on services, but I thought it might give the game away. Besides, they want your credit card number, and who knows if they’re discreet. Might lead me back into the same mess again.”

  “Maybe.” Zane sighed, forcing himself to remain patient. “You’d better let me handle it.”

  Suddenly Alaric stared him directly in the face. “And are you? Handling it, I mean?”

  “I told you I was.”

  “Lunch with the lady in question was an excellent idea. More of that wouldn’t come amiss. May I suggest a relaxed setting? Get her some drinks. Maybe she’ll blurt something out.” He waved a hand in the air. “I gave you a gold credit card, for heaven’s sake. Use it to investigate in any way you see fit. You have far less restriction on your methods than a real cop would have. That was the plan, remember?”

  Zane put down his brandy glass with a bang. “Look, Alaric. I told you already where I stand. If I don’t discover anything, this is over.”

  “And you look, too, Zane—at yourself, if nothing else. I understand you’re lonely after years at sea, and the woman is a looker, no question there. But don’t fall for a con artist. You’ll end up more miserable than I did. I only lost a little money to some overseas accounts. You could be in a much worse position if you get emotionally involved.”

  “I can handle myself.” His voice softening, Zane chewed his lip. “Anyway, it’s time I shoved off,” he said, rising. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I know anything.”

  “Fair enough. And I hope you do discover something soon—for your sake as well as mine. Oh, and speaking of that, I have something for you that might help.” Crossing the room, Alaric rummaged in his mahogany roll-top desk for a moment. He pulled out a piece of paper that looked like an invoice. When Zane studied it, he saw that it was indeed an Internet sales record for a gold bracelet, shipped from overseas and ordered on Alaric’s compromised charge card.

  “They couldn’t stop that one in time,” Alaric said. “I just got it today. I thought it might be useful, though. Maybe you can even recover the item in question. I’d at least like to see it—I want to know if I have good taste or not.”

  “I’ll look into it.” Zane folded the sheet and shoved it into his jacket. Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief that Molly owned no bracelets at all as far as he knew. He’d never seen her wearing one. “Good night, Alaric.”

  “Good night, Zane. And remember what I said. You stand to lose as much as I did, or maybe even more, if you’re not careful with this thing.”

  “Understood.”

  * * * *

  When Zane got home, he noticed an email from the woman who had viewed his profile at Lovelines, suggesting they meet the next day at a city bar he’d never heard of.

  Grinding his teeth, Zane forced himself to compose a brief but friendly email accepting her invitation. He logged off his email program quickly, not wanting to initiate a long email conversation, or even worse, a live chat.

  Well, he’d have to make the best of it for now. He’d presented himself at Lovelines as a longtime bachelor who was ready to test out the dating waters, and he had just stepped into the creek with both feet.

  Chapter Six

  Zane stifled a grimace, not to mention a yawn, as Karen Tighe sat across from him and rambled on about the benefits of soy milk and bean curd, topped off with five drops of dandelion essence every evening. Meanwhile, he stared down at his own plate of extra-healthy, organically prepared food with thinly veiled disgust. He understood Miss Tighe’s point about vitamins and sustainable eco-friendly farming, and at some level he admired her commitment, but the more she talked, the more something inside him nagged for an onion-slathered cheeseburger.

  On the other hand, the conclusion of this date would mark a turning point in his investigation. Over the past three days, he’d gone out with three of Lovelines’ female clients, including one that Alaric had also dated. So far none of them had any complaints about fraudulent charges or Lovelines’ services. Also, none of them wore a new gold bracelet. He’d made such a point of checking out their wrists they probably thought he had some kind of weird arm fetish.

  “Maybe we should call it a night,” Zane suggested when at last he managed to insert a word into the conversation. “I have to get an early start tomorrow.”

  “All right. But don’t even think of asking me to sleep with you.” Karen wrinkled up her eyes at him. “I don’t do things like that. And even if I did, I’m sensing a negative aura from you. I can’t explain it, but it’s telling me to proceed with caution. I never question the truth of people’s auras.”

  “Well, sorry about that. Maybe I should invest in a different cologne.”

  Ignoring his feeble attempt at humor, she rushed on. “I suspect it has to do with the Navy. Just so you know, I don’t approve of industrial killing and the entire war machine our society is based on.”

  “Well, I didn’t do much of that in the Merchant Marines. But I can certainly respect your opinion.”

  Rising, he pulled out her chair so she could stand and followed her out of the vegetarian restaurant where he’d spent two of the most painful hours of his life. He hailed her a cab and then went to his car, parked at a discreet distance from the place in case Karen—or anyone else—wanted to note his license plate.

  Next, noting that it was still a few minutes before five p.m., he drove to Lovelines. With any luck, Molly might still be there, or perhaps he could catch her as she was leaving and invite her back to The Grapevine for a chat. Halfway through the dreadful evening with Karen Tighe, he had finally decided that the only way to wrap up the mystery was to go through Molly. Sneaking around had accomplished nothing, and his guilt and longing for her had only intensified with every hour they spent apart.

  Not only did he plan to resign as a client of Lovelines, thereby freeing him up to pursue a different kind of connection with Molly herself, but he also planned to confront her with what he’d discovered so far, which admittedly wasn’t much, and see what she had to say about the matter. No matter what Alaric said and thought, he couldn’t bring himself to believe for a moment that Molly had any part in credit card and identity theft. Hell, he wasn’t even convinced that Lovelines itself played any part in the scam. For all he knew, someone had fished Alaric’s credit card receipt out of a dumpster or hacked into his email account. Stranger things happened every day.

  In search of a convenient parking spot, Zane drove up to the Lovelines office building just in time to see Molly getting into her own car. Though he cursed at having just missed her, he decided to follow her so they could talk when she reached her destination. What he had to say couldn’t be done over a cell phone.

  Instinctively keeping his rather distinctive car at a safe distance, he trailed her down a few city blocks and through a few thankfully busy intersections that prevented her from noticing him. To his astonishment, she eventually pulled up at a colorfully restored Victorian house with a strikingly unusual sign hanging outside the door. A pair of three-dimensional stockinged legs jutted brazenly beside a logo reading “Antoinette’s.”

  Zane could only gape as Molly exited her car and walked inside. Was the place some kind of sex shop…or worse? What was she doing there?

  Intrigued, he jumped out of his car and boldly followed her up the steps. She turned her head and spotted him just as he stepped inside the house behind her.

  * * * *

  The minute she stepped into Antoinette’s, Molly realized she’d made a mistake of gargantuan proportions.

  The day had started off with great promise. Two new clients had signed on at Lovelines—one middle-aged man, kindly and nondescript, and a woman in her late twenties who had recently moved to the area and was having trouble meeting men. Molly briefly wondered if she might be a match for Zane, but of course that was up to the computer, not her. Secretly, she hoped not. All Zane’s dates so far had been busts, according to the women involved, and she had no great hopes for his meeting with Karen Tighe. Molly preferred not to dwell on
the relief she felt every time a negative report came back to her. After all, there was no predicting chemistry.

  Things had taken a turn southward, though, when Todd had gathered everyone in the conference room after lunch and announced his engagement to the divine Miss Lambert. A lavish party was in the works for that weekend, to which they were all invited. Molly had returned to her desk with a jaw that ached from faking a smile, only to find a coupon for a new lady’s boutique in the newly-arrived mail. Antoinette’s seemed to be an upscale boutique specializing in women’s wear, similar to the premium clothing department in any of the finer department stores, but with a slightly sexier twist. Needing a little emotional pickup, and wanting to wear something to Todd’s party that would make a statement, she’d driven to the address after work and carried the discount card to the door.

  To her chagrin, she stepped inside and found that Antoinette’s overdone Victorian décor, complete with thick maroon drapes and tassel-draped lamps, suggested an entirely different sort of business. She was about to flee when two things happened simultaneously. First, the ornate velvet curtains at the back of the room swished apart. Next, and far worse, Zane Bishop himself walked in right behind her. What on earth was he doing here?

  From behind the curtains, a stunning dark-haired woman stepped forward in full Victorian costume—but Molly doubted it was anything her great-grandmother would have recognized. Instead of a bustle skirt and neck-high collar, this ensemble consisted of a low-cut, lace-bordered affair in emerald silk. Even the woman’s granny boots featured daringly spiked heels. Black fishnet stockings over impossibly shapely legs bridged the gap.

  “Welcome to the Boudoir.” The woman gave Molly a welcoming smile, but when she saw Zane behind her, it stretched to Cheshire Cat proportions. “I’m Antoinette, and it will be my pleasure to help you with your selections today.”

  Molly groaned inwardly, especially when she noticed Zane staring back at her with a stunned expression. Still, she wasn’t surprised. Beside women like Antoinette, sensible types like Molly didn’t have a prayer of holding a man’s attention.