Partners in Crime by Anne Stuart

Author:Anne Stuart [Stuart, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-07-05T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

For all Alexander Caldicott’s sleaziness, there was no denying he lived well. The taxi dropped them uptown, on East 66th Street, and the uniformed doorman was as elegant as he was discreet, ushering Sandy in with a “Good to see you again, sir” that was the epitome of understated tact.

“You spend a lot of time here?” Jane whispered as they were passed on to an equally circumspect elevator operator.

“More than Caldicott does,” Sandy replied innocently. “Half the people who work here think I am Alexander Caldicott.”

“I’m sure they had a little help in that assumption.”

Sandy merely smiled. Sure enough, the elevator operator murmured, “Welcome home, Mr. Caldicott,” as they exited the small gilt and walnut cage on the sixth floor. Even in her advanced state of shock and exhaustion Jane didn’t miss the passing of paper money.

The apartment had the dry, musty smell of uninhabited places, and Jane stumbled into the elegant foyer with only a tenth of her usual curiosity. She wanted to ask him where Caldicott had been the past few days, but she didn’t bother. Instead, she asked the question that was uppermost in her mind.

“Where’s the shower?”

“Straight down the hallway. You want some clean clothes? I’m afraid your suitcase was in the MG, but I think I can come up with something.”

“Anything,” Jane said with a shudder.

“I’ll leave something outside the door,” he promised. “Though I’ll miss the leather bra.”

“You try and wear it,” she offered, heading toward the bathroom. She stopped halfway down, turning to look at him with the last ounce of curiosity in her weary body. He was standing in the entrance, staring after her, his spiky hair rumpled.

“What is it?” he questioned softly.

“Matteo was bluffing, wasn’t he? He didn’t really want me?”

Sandy shook his head. “Don’t count on it. You were in deep trouble at that moment.”

“What if he hadn’t given in? Would you have left me?”

The dim light cast eerie shadows on his face, and she remembered the steel in his voice when he’d threatened his lawyer, the danger radiating from him when he’d confronted Jabba. “What do you think?” he asked, not giving an inch.

Jane thought about it. “I think Jabba was lucky he decided to let me go,” she said finally, turning back toward the shower.

The sun was rising over the canyons of New York when Jane finally emerged from the shower, her towel-dried hair dripping onto her shoulders, an oversize black sweat suit presumably belonging to Caldicott enveloping her body. At least it didn’t smell of that awful cologne. The apartment was huge, with a living room, formal dining room and three bedrooms, each one the size of a studio apartment. She found Sandy in the kitchen, laying out thick sandwiches and imported dark beer.

There must have been two showers in the rambling old place. Sandy’s hair was still spiky, though this time it was wet from the shower, and he was wearing faded jeans and nothing more. The jeans were zipped but not snapped, and Jane noticed that somehow in between his bouts of criminality he must have found time to work out.

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