Chasing Tomorrow

“She did?” Jean was so delighted, he couldn’t quite take in the information. “Did she leave a forwarding address?”

“Um . . .” The manager typed something into his computer. “No. I’m afraid not. But I have a billing address for the credit card. Would you like that?”

Jean nodded enthusiastically.

“Lovely lady,” the manager said as he printed out the details. “If only all our guests were as kind and conscientious. She left a very generous tip and was politeness itself.”

“Mm-hmm.” Jean wasn’t listening.

“Her son was delightful too.”

The manager handed Jean the address.

“Her son?”

“Nicholas. Charming boy. Terribly good-looking too, although I suppose it’s hardly surprising with genes like that.” The manager smiled, then frowned suddenly as if something had just occurred to him. “She’s not in any trouble, is she?”

“No no,” said Jean. “Nothing like that.”

Out in the car, he read the address the manager had given him.

Steamboat Springs, Colorado.

Jean Rizzo wasn’t sure how he’d pictured Tracy Whitney’s life, assuming that she was, indeed, still alive. But he found it hard to imagine the most successful con artist of all time living quietly as a small-town mom up in the mountains. He thought for a moment about calling Milton Buck and telling him what he’d discovered. It would be fun to wipe the smug smile off the arrogant FBI man’s face. But he soon thought better of it. Buck’s only interest was in solving the robbery cases and finding the missing jewelry and artworks. Jean Rizzo had a killer to catch. Besides, this was his information. The FBI isn’t scratching my back. Why should I scratch theirs?

His flight home to France would have to wait.

It was time to pay a visit to Mrs. Tracy Schmidt.

CHAPTER 14

CHECK.”

“What? How is that check?” Tracy looked at the board, then at Nicholas. Her eyes narrowed. “Did you move my queen while I was putting the pizza in the oven?”

“You’re so suspicious, Mom! Why is that?”

“Did you?”

Nicholas put on his best, wide-eyed innocent expression.

“You know the first rule of chess is never take your eyes off the board. You shouldn’t have to ask me that question.”

“Have you ever thought of going into politics?” Tracy asked, amused. “You’d be great at it.”

“Thanks.” Nicholas grinned. “Your move.”

Tracy moved her last remaining bishop, which Nicholas promptly took with his pawn. Four moves later it was checkmate.

I really must call him on the cheating, she thought, after Nicholas disappeared outside to find Blake Carter. Blake would have hit the roof if he’d witnessed that little maneuver with the queen. But Nicky was so charming, at least in his mother’s eyes, that Tracy didn’t have the heart to play bad cop. Since their return from L.A., she’d felt even more protective of her son than usual. Stealing that necklace and showing her face to her rival had been a crazy risk to take. The guilt had hit Tracy belatedly, but it hit hard.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts just as she was pulling the pizza out of the oven. Blake Carter’s ability to smell a thin-crust pepperoni from more than three fields away was quite unrivaled. Smiling, Tracy opened the door to find herself face-to-face with a good-looking stranger.

“Can I help you?”

Dark and stocky with gray eyes and a kind, oddly off-kilter face, the man was staring at her with a strange intensity. Then he said three words that felt like lead being poured into Tracy’s heart.

“Hello, Ms. Whitney.”