Can't Buy Me Love (Sinclair Sisters 3)

It wasn’t as much fun ogling him when she had permission, so she stepped up to his side and watched him examine the door instead. “Dougal, of course, me, head of housekeeping, and whichever cleaner is on duty.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that there are several copies of the key floating around. Are they all accounted for?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. And neither does Dougal. The locks haven’t been changed since he bought the place. And whenever a key goes missing, he has another cut. He keeps no record of how many are out there or who has them or what’s happened to them.”

He studied her for a moment. “If this was your hotel, you’d know where the keys were.”

“Well, duh.” Hadn’t she already made her point about liking control?

His lips twitching, Logan returned his attention to the door. “I don’t think the keys are the issue.” He pointed at the scratches around the handle. “The lock’s been jimmied.”

Agnes leaned over, aware it put her firmly in Logan’s space. His scent engulfed her. Spicy and fresh, it reminded her of a walk through a pine forest or…car air fresheners. Hmm, not so sexy when you looked at it like that.

“Why are you frowning?” His deep voice was close to her ear, making her tingle.

“You smell like those little green tree air fresheners you hang from your rearview mirror. Which kind of cancels out the effect of seeing you in those jeans.”

He threw back his head, laughing. It was a delicious sound.

“Time to change deodorant, I think,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to dull the power my jeans have over women.”

“Probably wise.” Her attention drifted back to the lock.

There were scratches all around it, and paint had flaked off the door at the point where the lock met the jamb.

“See? Someone’s picked the lock. And by the looks of it, tried to force the snib up with a credit card or something.”

“That is a seriously amateur job.” Agnes was disgusted. She could have done better blindfolded and armed with a ball point pen.

That made him arch an eyebrow at her. “You know how to pick a lock?”

Like she’d admit that to a cop. Even an ex-cop. “So, it could have been a guest, or just someone wandering into the hotel. Which means the suspect pool has opened right up.” She frowned. “Well, that’s annoying.”

“Looks like you might need me after all.” His cocky, and very sexy, grin was back. “This isn’t the open and shut case you thought it would be.”

Agnes rolled her eyes as she straightened. “Come on, Clouseau, maybe you can use your awesome detective skills on the woman who lost her diamond ring.”

Without waiting for him, she strode down the hallway, expecting him to follow. The thick, red tartan carpet softened her footfalls, and the cream walls made the corridor feel airy. Gorgeous pencil drawings of the town, framed subtly in matching cream, adorned the walls. The whole effect was one of wealth and comfort. It never failed to astonish her that a man like Dougal, whose taste in clothing could only be termed Scottish Disco, had managed to put together a hotel that was both cozy and classy.

Rapping on the door to room twelve, one of two suites in the building, she kept her eyes on Logan as he crouched down to examine the lock.

“This one hasn’t been jimmied,” he informed her as the door swung open.

“Oh.” Mrs. Edwards smiled widely at them. Today, the older American woman was dressed in a gray velvet jogging suit, sparkly sandals and diamante horn-rimmed spectacles, and there was a white Scottish terrier puppy under her arm. “Did you find my ring?”

“Not yet, but rest assured we’re taking its loss very seriously, and we’re looking into it.” She waved a hand at her sidekick. “This is Logan McBride. He’s from the local security company, and he’s going to help us get to the bottom of this.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Logan flashed his panty-melting smile, making Mrs. Edwards simper, and proving that his sex appeal worked across all ages. “What a cute wee pup.” As he petted the dog’s head, Mrs. Edwards looked like she might faint.

Honestly.

“He isn’t mine.” Mrs. Edwards sounded breathless. “He’s Dougal’s. I just borrow him now and then because he’s such good company. Aren’t you, Arnold?”

Oh yeah, Arnold was great company—until he chewed your shoes or peed on the carpet.

Logan caught Agnes’ eye and mouthed, “Arnold?”

“It’s Dougal,” she muttered, as though that explained it. Which, if you knew the pub owner, it probably did.