“But you don’t want them to realize you’re investigating them.” A corner of Rich’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. “So you’re turning to me to bail you out.”
Derek blew out a breath. “It’s a lot to ask, I know. And believe me, I’d do it myself if I could. But I have no basis for requesting interviews with them without tipping my hand. In your case, it’s different. You’re not focused on Asian organized crime; you’re focused on an art crime they’re smack in the middle of. All of them must be freaked out by Rosalyn’s close call. Kidnapping and attempted murder are a lot more terrifying than an apartment break-in. You can capitalize on that fear. Call and say that since all the violence is obviously tied to the Rothberg, you’re worried for the safety of every man in the partnership. Tell them you’re trying to protect them and that the only way to do that is to solve the case and get the bad guys. Ask them to help you fill in holes on the provenance of both the fake and the authentic Rothberg. Or ask for their help in piecing together some additional background info on the gallery owner they bought the painting from—I’m not particular
about the reason you provide. But I need your instincts, and your skill at getting people to let things slip they never intended to say.”
“I appreciate the compliment. But this is still going to require some fancy footwork to pull off.”
“It’s not a compliment; it’s a fact. If anyone can make this work, it’s you.” With a twinge of guilt, Derek glanced at the files piled on Rich’s desk. “I realize how time-stressed you are, and how intricate this case is you’re working on.”
“True.” Rich’s deadpan expression never changed. “Which means that if I help you, you’ll owe me one.”
“Name it.”
“Steaks and beer. And a cigar, if I’m successful. My steakhouse choice. Your credit card.”
“Done.” Derek flashed him a grin. “With pleasure.”
“Don’t say that. When it comes to steak, I eat like a horse. You’ll be broke for a month.”
“I’ll risk it.”
Rich was still chuckling when his phone rang. He leaned forward and scooped up the receiver, putting it to his ear. “Major Theft. Williams.” He paused. “What?” Abruptly, he straightened, snatching up a pad and pen and scribbling something down. “No, that’s enough for now. I’ll get the rest when I get there. Where should we meet?” A pause. “I’m on my way.” He hung up, jumped to his feet, and grabbed his jacket all at the same time. “An art gallery in the Hamptons was just hit,” he told Derek. “No one was killed, but the MO sounds like it might be the same guys who hit the Campbells’ place. Sorry, Derek, the calls to Burbank’s partners will have to wait. I’m out of here.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Leo Fox had enjoyed a variety of women in his life. He wasn’t the type to settle down. There was too much excitement in the discovery and exploration of fresh relationships. New faces, new interests, new sex. To commit to one person forever would be like relinquishing all the colors of the rainbow for the monotony of one single hue. It was unimaginable.
Until the May before last, when he’d met Amalie.
Whoever had coined the expression “the earth moved” understood Leo’s reaction the instant he laid eyes on Amalie. He’d spotted her browsing in his design studio, running her fingers over a velvet tapestry in a delicate caress. Her beauty wasn’t the kind that turned men’s heads. It was the kind Leo felt in his soul.
He’d introduced himself, gazed into her eyes, and fallen in love.
The extraordinary part was so had she.
It had been like a fairy tale, one Leo never wanted to end. Amalie and her two wonderful, precocious children had moved to New York six years earlier, following a messy divorce. She’d never expected to feel such a strong bond with another man. Yet this bond was even stronger than her first.
By the end of that month, Leo and Amalie were planning their June wedding. Leo couldn’t wait to begin their new life together. He’d stood at the altar that day, heart pounding with love and anticipation.
Amalie had never showed up.
Leo had panicked. He’d called her over and over—at home, on her cell. Both numbers were disconnected. He’d notified the police. They’d found nothing amiss. She’d sold her condo a week earlier—perfectly normal for a woman about to be married. To the cops, it appeared she’d simply vacated early. But to Leo, it was unthinkable. Instead of her things and her children’s things being moved to Leo’s place, they’d simply been packed and taken. Vanished, along with Amalie.
A week later, Leo had received a “Dear John” e-mail from her. She confessed that her last marriage had scarred her too badly to attempt another. She’d struggled to overcome her fears, but at the last minute, she’d gotten cold feet. She’d begged his forgiveness and told him to move on with his life.
He’d e-mailed her back immediately. But the account had been canceled. And Leo had never heard from her again.
His heart had been shattered. He’d never fully recovered from his pain. And he had no interest in any other women. But he had to find life again.
So he poured himself into the two other things he cared about: interior design and his friends. His four closest friends knew not to mention Amalie’s name. But they also knew Leo. He had a joy for life, a heart of gold, and he needed to be needed. It wasn’t hard to give him that. He’d always been their universal confidant—the one they all came to with their problems, their big news—good or bad—and yes, their secrets. He had a reassuring quality about him that screamed empathy and compassion. He was an attentive listener, an excellent judge of character, and he was smart enough to know when to keep his mouth shut. An intuitive interior designer. An equally intuitive friend.
Exactly what they all needed. Exactly what Leo needed.
Right now, his intuition was warning him that things were unraveling. Rosalyn’s kidnapping had sent them all into a panic. They were all looking over their shoulders, jumping at shadows. To top that off, each of his friends was a personal mess. Ben was drinking heavily again, Phil was on the phone with his bookie more than he was with his clients, Matthew was smoking a pack a day and watching Roz like a hawk, and Wallace was coming completely unglued.
At least until that party he’d hosted for Cindy Liu.
Leo had dropped by for a while, mostly to meet this fabulous young architect to determine if there was any potential for them to work together. If she was as good as Wallace claimed, then she’d be snatched up by an affluent crowd who were eager to embark on their pet residential projects—add-ons, renovations, or total interior overhauls. And along with a superb architect, Ms. Liu’s clients would need a top interior designer to complete the transitions they envisioned for their new living space.