Scarlet woke to the delicate aroma of a rose. The bed was still warm and cozy, though she knew she slept alone in it.
She opened her eyes and smiled at the red bloom resting on Michael’s pillow. He was still in the penthouse; she could hear him in the bathroom, talking on his cell while he shaved and moussed and did whatever the hell else he did to look so mind-bogglingly gorgeous.
A silvery haze continued to loom over the bay and wrap around the skyscrapers like a thick blanket. A light mist splattered itty-bitty droplets against the enormous windowpanes. The drizzle would eventually dissipate once the fog burned off.
Scarlet had always loved the moody morning weather. It was sultry and provocative with a personality all its own.
She spared a glance at the clock on the nightstand. Six a.m. Time to get a move-on and find new leads for her case.
Before she even had a chance to throw back the covers and gather up her boots, though, Michael emerged from the bathroom and swooped in, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
He said, “You’re either a light sleeper or an early riser by nature.”
“Both,” she told him. “My grandmother’s one of the crazies who think the crack of dawn is the absolute best part of the day. And she’s usually bustling about, brewing the world’s strongest coffee, so you have no choice but to wake up. She’s typically always on the phone or the computer, too. I could never help but eavesdrop. Her work captivates me.”
“Who, exactly, is your grandmother?”
“L.C. Seymour.”
He chuckled. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.”
“All right then. That’s impressive. New York Times best-selling mystery author. Her books make blockbuster movies.”
“Yes. And her mind is more hyperactive than mine.”
“Who would have thought that possible?” He winked. Then kissed her.
Scarlet would have melted, except that she had a plan to stick to. She gently shoved Michael aside and leapt to her feet. “I have to go. You clearly have work to do and I’ve got mine as well.”
“Hey, hey.” He reached for her hand and pulled, forcing her to return to the bed. “Settle in. Checkout’s not until three. Order room service and enjoy the views over mimosas.”
“Oh, sure. So you can call me a slacker.”
He grinned. “You’ve sufficiently proven that is not the case. Now … I unfortunately have a flight to catch.”
“New York or one of your exotic locales?”
“New York. I have a board meeting to attend. Otherwise, I’d get naked with you again and share the mimosas afterward.”
Her fingertips grazed his silk tie. “Yes, it is a shame that you’re all buttoned up.”
“With a car waiting to take me to the airport.”
She softly kissed his lips and whispered against them, “Thanks for not completely shutting me out.”
“And what about the hot sex?”
“Makes me a fan of persistence, too.”
He laughed quietly. His hand cupped the side of her face and he kissed her, long and leisurely, despite his comment about having a car waiting for him. The kiss went on and on, heating her insides. Making her long for the naked scenario, darn it.
When he eventually dragged his mouth away, he said, “Gotta go. I’ll call you.” He kissed the tip of her nose, then slipped from the bed, grabbing his jacket from the suit rack in the corner before disappearing out the door.
Scarlet fell against the mound of pillows and let out a lusty sigh. The man was all kinds of sexy. And she was ridiculously turned on by him. With just a kiss. Well, a kiss and the reminder of everything he’d done to her the night before.
He wasn’t just an amazing lover; he also stirred emotions within her. Perhaps it was because of his strained family relations. Not to mention his mother’s death, which clearly weighed heavy in his heart. Scarlet could commiserate.
There was also the addition of a new brother, sprung on Michael out of the blue. During the volatile teenaged years, no less. And of course the issue of his father being so controlling couldn’t be discounted. Mitcham had refused to grant Michael access to the Vandenberg empire—wouldn’t for another decade.
Not that Michael needed that capital now. He was set for several lifetimes. But it was probably the principle of the matter that rubbed him raw. Chances were very good he’d had tons of expectations heaped on him from birth. High expectations. Maybe even some unrealistic ones, given his surname and a reputation to be upheld. What must it have been like to grow up in a mansion with such a dominant force of nature as a father, who likely placed restrictions and perimeters around that childhood?
To follow all the rules and then discover it was basically for naught—because all you were left with when it came time to spread your wings was the Vandenberg name. And nothing to back it up.
His father telling Michael when he was sixteen that he’d have to pay for his own college education—and, again, likely expecting him to attend an Ivy League school—offered Michael the opportunity to research and apply for scholarships, certainly. Save money from after-school and summer jobs. But, Jesus. Princeton couldn’t come cheap.
All of Scarlet’s speculation was healthy for the brain, but really, she was more interested in the layers beneath Michael Vandenberg’s impeccably tailored CEO by day and devilishly handsome bad boy by night persona. She wanted to dissect him, pick him apart. Get to the core of who he was and what he really sought in the grand scheme of things. Greater success than his father as some sort of fuck-you to Mitcham for being a hard-ass? Or did Michael seek approval? A less tenuous bond with his parents … and some peace from his mother’s passing?
With Scarlet’s curiosity shifting into high gear, she knew there was no point in attempting to sleep. Luckily, with Bayli in New York and the East Coast being three hours ahead of the West it was a respectable hour to ring her friend.
So Scarlet left the cozy comfort of the bed, snatched the luxurious midnight-blue robe on the bench at the foot of the mattress, which Michael had thoughtfully laid out for her, and padded barefoot into the living room to retrieve her phone from her purse.
“Well, hello there, sunshine,” came Bayli’s cheerful voice when she connected Scarlet’s Skype call.
“You are way too chipper, my friend,” Scarlet grumbled. “I haven’t even had coffee yet.”
“And oh, my God,” Bayli suddenly gasped. “You have some serious sex hair going on! Where are you and who is he?”
Scarlet couldn’t fight the smile. “I’m currently in the penthouse of the new Crestmont in San Fran.” She panned the camera over the elegantly appointed living room and the sweeping views of the bay and the Financial District.
Bayli whistled under her breath. “Stellar.”
“Yes, well, it gets better,” Scarlet told her. “After I finally made contact with my elusive wraith, and then later hooked up with him at the club, we came here.”
“That’s Michael Vandenberg’s penthouse suite?” Bayli’s eyes popped. “Holy Moses. You … And him … Oh. My. God.”
“Might as well add Jesus, Mary, and Joseph to that sentiment. Because I was singing some praises last night.”
Bayli’s radiant smile filled the screen. “You wicked, wicked woman!”
“’Bout time. Good grief. It should be a crime to go as long as I have without sex. Great sex. Mind-blowing, core-shaking sex, to be exact.”
“Ooohh, the best kind. But … Uh … Speaking of crimes, girlfriend … You just slept with a person of interest in a case you’re working.”
“Yeah, there is that.” Scarlet wandered the vast room and located the in-suite iPad that featured touch-of-a-button butler service. She shot off a note to the designated attendant, requesting a pot of coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. As she scooped up her clothing that was strewn about, she told Bayli, “I will confess to a lapse in morals. In my defense, however…” She blew out a long breath. “He was worth every unraveled scruple. And then some.”
“Wow. Coming from you, that’s saying something. What’s going on with you two?”
“I have no idea, honestly. Just that last night was sensational and I wouldn’t be opposed to a repeat performance. But he’s on his way back to New York. And I need fresh clues to pursue.”
“Well, you’re in luck there, too,” Bayli excitedly said. “The official FBI report has finally arrived—so much more conclusive than the vague snapshot provided by the insurance company. I printed a hard copy and FedExed it to you.”
“Knowing you the way I do, you’ve read it from cover to cover already.”
“Twice.”
Scarlet laughed. “Naturally. So, what exactly was Michael’s entire statement?”
“Let me pull up the PDF.” A few moments ticked by; then she gave the alibi verbatim. Nothing different from what Michael had told Scarlet, just a bit more detailed, including the names of the women he’d been pleasuring while someone was ripping off his stepmother’s art collection.
Which reminded Scarlet that Michael had mentioned his stepbrother last night. “Tell me more about Sam Reed.”
“Total enigma. Same age as Michael, thirty. Also went to Princeton. He studied architecture. Never joined a firm, though. A year after the paintings went missing, he was in a car accident with his fiancée. Very tragic story. They were returning to the Hamptons estate from a local charity function when their car was struck by a drunk driver on the passenger side. Sam was driving. He was hospitalized for numerous injuries.”
Scarlet’s stomach suddenly churned. “And the fiancée?”
“DOA.”
“Shit. That’s harsh.” She sank onto a plump sofa cushion.
“Doubly. She was pregnant.”
“Oh, Christ.”
“Yeah,” Bayli concurred with a tinge of dismay. “Sad stuff. According to one of the news articles I found when I started researching him, Sam had just broken ground on a house in Montana that they were going to move into following the wedding. I dug around a little more and discovered he went through with the plan. He has an equestrian estate not far from a little town called Lakeside. Pretty impressive layout. I Google Mapped it and there’s some serious acreage there with a gorgeous lodge-style home and modern horse facilities.”
Scarlet frowned. “Where’d the money come from for all of that? Michael claims he doesn’t have access to family funds until he’s forty. If Sam was granted some sort of trust when his mother married Mitcham, I can’t imagine Sam would be able to get his hands on it anytime sooner than Michael.”
“And Sam’s mom did not come from money. She was a waitress and also a volunteer docent at a gallery when she met the senior Vandenberg. Struggling, from what I gather.”
“Though clearly committed to her passion for fine art.”
“Which makes it incredibly difficult to believe she’d be involved in the disappearance of a coveted collection.”
Scarlet contemplated this further as the butler entered the suite and set out the coffee and her breakfast, then served her. She dismissed him with a smile and a mouthed, Thank you. She took a couple of sips from her cup, then asked Bayli, “Did you come across anything of note with Sam’s financials?”
“Haven’t gotten to them yet, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Seriously. Everything you’re doing is such a huge help. I really need to hire a research assist—”
“I’m your research assistant.”
Scarlet grinned. Set her coffee aside. “Bay, I know you dig all this cloak-and-dagger stuff, and trying to unearth whatever you can for me, but you do have a job.”
“I’m on hiatus, Scarlet. We wrapped the preseason of the travel and cooking show and are evaluating all the responses from the test audiences, though the network has already picked us up. I’m just trying to dissect what the viewers really connected with—pertaining to the locales, the food Rory prepared, the chef challenges, and of course my hosting skills. I’ve been pretty OCD about it all, so a distraction is much appreciated.”
“I’d feel better if you let me pay you.”
“I don’t want you to pay me. And I certainly don’t need the money now that I have the show. I don’t want Jewel to pay me, either, when I do research for her acquisitions. A girl should have a hobby, Scarlet. And for me, it can’t be Christian and Rory. They have their own work to focus on.”
Scarlet said, “Yes, I can imagine it’d be difficult to not be twenty-four-seven all about two incredibly sexy men who are more than happy to do your bidding both in and out of the bedroom. I’d still be absurdly jealous if I wasn’t deliriously happy following multiple orgasms.”
“Understandable. I will say I’m surprised that you pulled an overnighter.”
“That would make two of us. I was prepared to put my clothes back on and get the hell out, but Michael was in no particular hurry to see me go.” She smiled again. “In fact … He has a very sweet side.”
“Didn’t see that one coming.”
“Nor did I.” Scarlet’s heart fluttered at this more sensitive Michael Vandenberg. It was as appealing as every mysterious aspect of him.
Bayli asked, “So what does that mean, exactly?”
Scarlet shrugged. “I suppose it means I have the hots for the guy. And he might be a little partial to me as well.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me in the least. He just needed to let you pickup his trail and catch up to him. Do you intend to see him again?”
“He said he’d call.” Scarlet is teeth sank into her lip for a moment. She said, “Single women all over the world are currently cringing right now, yes?”
“I don’t know. On the one hand, Rory told me he’d contact me after that disastrous first meeting with him. And he didn’t. On the other hand, Christian was right on it. So … There’s no telling.”
“Well, either way, I have to keep my attention on this case.” Though Scarlet felt, deep in her bones, Michael was not the answer to solving it.
“What else can I do for you so that I don’t go stir-crazy in this huge apartment while Rory is creating a new menu for the next restaurant Christian’s plotting in New Orleans?”
“New Orleans? Sweet!”
“Yes, Rory is currently fixated on crawfish—the lobster of the South.”
“Um … I’m not really sure what to say about that.”
“I hear ya,” Bayli quipped. “But he’s into creating a dozen varieties of hot sauces and making crawfish cool outside of southern boundaries. He might be on to something. You know, once you get past snapping their little heads off.”
Rory St. James was a celebrity chef, and his business partner was brilliant restaurateur Christian Davila. Bayli had applied for a position in their newest establishment, Davila’s NYC, an upscale steakhouse on Lexington Avenue. She’d wanted the part-time job to help supplement her less-than-bill-worthy income as a sometime model. What she’d ended up with was a TV show starring her and Rory.
And that was just the tip of the iceberg. What Bayli had ultimately gained was the love of two fiercely protective men who were hopelessly devoted to her.
Bayli wasn’t the only one graced with good fortune. Jewel had landed her dream hotel and a vineyard … not to mention her own hopelessly devoted men.
Admittedly, Scarlet had been living vicariously through her friends of late. But last night had given her a new burst of enthusiasm and excitement.
Though she was smart enough to play the hand cautiously, not fully knowing Michael’s true agenda, even if didn’t involve missing artwork.
Bayli cut into her thoughts, asking, “Want me to comb through the stepbrother’s accounts? See what I find?”
“That’d be great—particularly around the period when the insurance company cut the check. I need to take a shower and then get back to my hotel to check out and get my car.”
“I’ll call you if anything fishy pops up.”
“Perfect. Thanks.” They disconnected.
Scarlet went into the bathroom. Once dressed, she called the valet for transportation to the St. Francis.
She’d barely stepped out of the elevator and into the alabaster-marbled lobby when Bayli phoned her.
“You are not going to believe this!”
Scarlet’s heart launched into her throat.
“Please, God, let this be about Sam,” she couldn’t help but say, because she needed a different thread to pull that wasn’t wrapped around Michael.
“It is,” Bayli assured her. “I only had to look specifically around the time frame you mentioned, and lo and behold, his net worth increased by five million not more than three weeks after Michael’s did.”
“Which could effectively mean … there’s ten mil from the eighteen the claim paid out.”
Except that Michael had insisted his money had come from a real estate transaction. And she believed him.
But damn it. This little revelation—this coincidence—did not bode well for anyone.
Bayli said, “Perhaps the remainder went to whoever actually removed the paintings from the grounds?”
Scarlet’s heart sank. “Could be,” she reluctantly said, though she was no longer convinced of this theory.
Bayli latched onto it, however. “So the brothers said ‘screw you’ to the old man and each turned his portion into an infinitely larger fortune? Without pad’s help?”
Scarlet halted at the double doors of the hotel entrance, not passing through them. She said, “That was an initial inclination I had. It honestly doesn’t sit right with me anymore. I need more information. I have to see this Sam Reed guy face-to-face. As with Michael, I need to gauge who Sam is, what he’s looking to achieve, what he really and truly wants. He’s too much of a mystery to me at this point.” And Scarlet wanted desperately to cross Michael off her list of suspects.
There had to be a viable explanation as to how both men had ended up with the same financial disbursements back-to-back.
Bayli said, “I’ll track down a Skype number for Reed, if he has one.”
“Thanks, but that’s not enough. I have to go to Montana.”
“Scarlet.” Bayli’s tone was suddenly filled with concern. “It’s the dead of winter.”
“And this can’t wait. I only have a few weeks, Bay.” The sense of urgency hit her hard. “Then all the work I’ve done will go to waste and I’ll fail this assignment. I’ll fail my client.” Something she simply couldn’t abide.
Bayli said, “You’ve never even been to Montana! Come on, Scarlet. I know you’re an overachiever by nature, but this ranch is not going to be easy to find. You could drive for days before you figure out where the hell you are!”
The panic exuding from her friend aside, Scarlet had already made up her mind. She shoved through the lobby doors before a bellman could assist her and stalked toward a valet, saying, “Scarlet Drake. There’s a car here somewhere for me.”
“Yes, Miss Drake. At the front of the line.”
“Excellent. Thank you.” The driver appeared and Scarlet slid into the back of the vehicle as she told him, “The St. Francis.” Then to Bayli on the phone, she said, “Look, I’m not trying to get crazy here. But this is a cold case for a reason—the good leads have all been exhausted. Yet something in my gut tells me there’s more to the story. I want to learn it.”
And fully exonerate Michael.
Bayli paused, and Scarlet knew she was stewing over Scarlet’s tenacity. She wouldn’t be the first; wouldn’t be the last.
Finally, Bayli said, “I’ll send you all the info you need. But, Jesus, Scarlet. Be careful. Please.”
With a soft laugh to ease some of the tension, Scarlet told her, “Relax. It’s not the Wild, Wild West. It’s just Montana.”
“With light flurries later this afternoon, according to my weather app.”
“I’ll rent a Jeep or an SUV or something. I’m sure they’ll put chains on for me or whatever. And again, it’s modern civilization. I’ll bet they even have snowplows.”
“Guess you’ll find out.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Yeah, right. Like I wasn’t stressing when you went on your super-secret date last night.”
“I kept you guys in the loop. Thanks for having my back, by the way.”
“Oh, we’ll be doing that all right,” Bayli assured her. “I have new GPS solutions for both you and Jewel, for when she’s tracking down her elusive unicorns for negotiations and trading power on acquisitions. The two of you are a bit too Jane Bond for comfort.”
“Speak for yourself, danger magnet. I’ve never been kidnapped before.”
“Uh, well, that was just … I mean … It wasn’t so much a kidnapping as—”
“You were trapped, Bay. And it was incredibly hazardous to your health.”
“So’s the middle-of-nowhere Montana in a snowstorm—especially for a Cali girl.”
Scarlet smirked. “I’ll be fine. Send the directions I need. And thanks bunches. I love you to pieces.”
“Back at ya. And always have your cell close at hand, okay? Promise.”
“I swear. Now, I’ve got to make air and car reservations, collect my bag from my hotel, and do a little winter apparel shopping so I don’t freeze my ass off.”
“Water, blankets, first-aid kit, power bars, snow scraper, flare gun … Think you can get the rental company to pack all that in your vehicle?”
“Along with ropes for rappelling, a pickaxe, snowshoes, and—”
“Smart-ass.”
“Really, Bay?” She laughed. “A flare gun?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Fat lot of good it did for the Titanic.”
“I’ll be fine,” Scarlet insisted.
“Just keep me posted.”
“Of course.” They disconnected.
Scarlet set about accomplishing all of her tasks and then drove to San Francisco International Airport.
Excitement rolled through her as she boarded a plane.
What might Sam Reed be hiding…?