After a cursory search of the hotel, Laura entered the bar just off of the lobby- in direct line of sight to the check in desk. Murphy was checking out Nathan Ford's story and credentials, and was supposed to join her here once he was done to help locate this mysterious "Harry" that Mr. Ford had told them about. She sat down at a table near the entrance, figuring it would give her a good view of anyone coming or going. If "Harry"- or whoever he was- came in, she wouldn't miss him.
A waiter approached, carrying an ice bucket that contained a magnum of champagne. "For you, miss," he told her, lifting the bottle and removing the foil.
"I didn't order this," she said.
"Compliments of the gentleman," he said, nodding toward a table in the back corner of the room.
Laura turned, and her eyes met a brilliant blue gaze that seemed to shine even in the dim light of the room. He lifted his own glass in her direction. It was *him*. "Tell the gentleman-" she jumped as the cork popped from the bottle and fell silent as he poured the sparkling wine into a glass.
Then Harry was standing there, glass in hand. He had changed from the jeans to a dark suit that emphasized his lean frame to near perfection. "A magnum of champagne?" Laura questioned, wishing she could think more clearly than she seemed to be able to do with those blue eyes on her.
"You looked thirsty. And I *do* owe you a drink, remember?" He indicated an empty chair at her table.
Laura nodded, sipping her champagne as he refilled his own glass. "Do you always do things on such a grand scale, Mr-?"
"Just call me Harry," he told her. "Miss-?"
"Holt. Laura Holt."
"Laura. That's a lovely name. For a lovely young woman. Are you staying here at the hotel?" he asked.
"No. I'm- working."
"Oh," Harry said, imbuing a great deal of meaning in the single word. "A- working girl?"
"No, no," she said, feeling her cheeks growing red. "I didn't mean- I'm a private detective."
"Really? I don't think I've ever met a woman dick before."
Laura nearly choked on her champagne. "I beg your pardon?"
"Isn't that a rather- rough and tumble occupation for someone as obviously well-bred as yourself?"
"Believe me, it's nothing like they portray in the movies," Laura assured him with a soft laugh. "It requires more brains than brawn."
"Ah. So, what are you doing here at the hotel? Hot on the heels of a murderer? Or an embezzler? Perhaps a notorious blackmailer who's draining some well known wealthy person for a long ago mistake?"
Laura laughed again. "Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid. My agency is handling the security arrangements for the Bryce-Davies Jewelry Collection that's being displayed here tomorrow evening."
"Impressive. I believe that his Lordship is rather - choosy about who takes care of his -family jewels," he told her with a suggestive glint in his eyes.
To her utter horror, Laura giggled. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "It must be the champagne. Have you ever met him?"
"Who?"
"Lord Bryce-Davies," Laura said. His appearance earlier hadn't given her the impression that he was someone who might rub elbows with royalty, but one could never tell for sure.
"Once," Harry told her. "Some time ago. Before he became Lord Bryce-Davies. They say he's a different man, now," Harry said, his voice sounding distant, as if he were remembering something that bothered him. "A great many responsibilities, people depending on him."
"And why are you in Los Angeles?"
Harry sat back. "Business."
"What sort of business?" she pressed.
"Investments," he replied smoothly.
"You must be very good at it to be able to afford to buy magnums of champagne," she told him.
"I've been lucky," he said, lifting his shoulders, then smiled. "And, after all, one must keep up appearances. Would you- care to join me for dinner, Miss Holt? Here at the hotel, of course."
Laura hesitated, uncertain about the advisability of spending too much time with this man. There was something about him that moved her, touched her in a way no man had done in a very long time. But if he *were* here after that tiara, wouldn't it be a good idea to keep him close by? She reasoned. "I'd love to."
"Good. Shall we say, seven, then?" he asked, rising to his feet.
"Seven- where are you going?"
"I have a few telephone calls to make," he told her. "If I'm going to buy your dinner, I have to make some money," he said with one of those killer smiles. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips. "Until seven, Miss Holt- Laura."
Laura watched him go, then quickly rose and followed him across the lobby. She took the stairs, checking at every landing to see if he'd gotten out of the elevator. Finally, on the fourth floor, she saw him heading down the hallway. He stopped at a room and pulled out his key, then entered. Laura followed him to the door, verifying the room number. She would have Murphy check it out while she and Harry were having dinner later . . .
***
Inside the make-shift darkroom he'd established in the bathroom, Daniel developed the photographs he'd taken earlier. Something caught his eye in the one of the linen truck which Laura Holt had saluted as it passed the armored truck, and taking out a glass, he examined the picture in more depth. A smile crossed his face as she recognized the face of the blonde haired driver of the linen truck.
"A common face, um, Mr. Michaels?" he mused. "So that's your plan, my dear Miss Holt. Ingenious. Most ingenious."
He had managed to get the private investigator out of his way by pointing her in Harry's direction. Now, he had to find a way to take Leo and Johnny out of the picture as well.
***
"I don't like this, Laura," Murphy said as they entered the hotel. "Why don't we just call the police in to arrest this "Harry"? If he's even really the guy we're after."
"You don't trust Mr. Ford?" Laura asked. "Didn't he check out?"
"Yeah. He checked out. His London office verified that he's supposed to be here and gave an accurate description. Why not just call the police, Laura? If this guy *is* who Ford claims he is, then having dinner with him-"
"We don't have any proof, Murphy," Laura reminded him. "THAT is why you're going to get into his room while we're down here in the restaurant and see if you can find anything incriminating." Murphy still looked uncertain. "Murphy, I'm a big girl. Besides, what can he possibly do to me in a room full of people? Mr. Ford didn't say that he was violent, that I recall. Did you find out anything from Interpol?"
"Nothing. Not one mention of a well known jewel thief that fits the description Ford gave us."
"See if you can't lift a fingerprint from his room. We can have it checked out. I have to go."
Murphy sighed, his eyes troubled. "Don't do this, Laura. You can't trust someone like that," Murphy insisted.
She glanced at her watch, then waved him off. "You'd better go on. Take the stairs up to the fourth floor. It's room 410. He came downstairs a few minutes ago, so the coast is clear. Get inside and check him out."
"You're the boss," he said. "But I still think you're making a mistake."
Laura watched him head toward the stairway door, then turned toward the hotel restaurant, only to find Nathan Ford standing there. "Mr. Ford."
"Ah, Miss Holt." He surveyed her dinner dress, a simple black sheath, admiringly. "I must say that you look delightful. Perhaps we might have dinner-?" he suggested.
"Oh, uh, I- already have plans, Mr. Ford," Laura told the insurance man. "I'm afraid you were right about- Harry being in Los Angeles."
"Was I?"
"I spoke to him earlier. In fact, that's who I'm having dinner with this evening." She saw Nathan Ford's speculative look. "Just to keep an eye on him."
"I'm not sure that's a wise idea, Miss Holt. From all accounts, the young man is a bit of a- ladies' man. He's left a string of broken hearts from London to Cannes, to Hong Kong- all around the globe, in fact. I'd hate to see you fall victim to his reputed charms."
Laura smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry about me, Mr. Ford. This is business. Nothing else." *Liar*, a little voice yelled at Laura from inside her head. *You WANT to have dinner with that man.*
"Well, I have to check in with my company," Nathan told her. "Enjoy your dinner. And, do be careful. As I said, he can be very charming."
"I'm beginning to think that's inherent in the English," Laura told him. "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Ford. I'll be fine."
Inside the restaurant, Harry sat, watching the door from the lobby. He caught sight of Laura Holt a couple of times, once as she was speaking to a blonde young man, then again as she spoke to a dark haired man who kept his back toward the restaurant's door. But something about the man's bearing set off an alarm in Harry's mind.
Laura appeared in the doorway, and the alarm bells faded only slightly as he watched the maitre'd lead her across the room toward his table. Rising, he pulled out a chair for her. "Miss Holt. Right on time." He nodded to dismiss the maitre'd, then sat down across from her.
"Who was that you were talking to just now?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"In the lobby- I couldn't help but notice your speaking with someone-"
"Oh. My associate, Murphy Michaels," she told him.
The blonde man, Harry recalled, remembering seeing a photo of the man when he'd been trying to find the proper agency to handle the collection's security. "And the other man? He seemed- familiar."
"Oh- that was Nathan Ford. He's an Insurance agent from London."
"Nathan Ford," Harry repeated slowly. The Nathan Ford he knew was much shorter than the man he'd seen talking to Laura. And paunchier. And had no hair. Wore off the rack suits.
"DO you know him?"
Harry smiled, hoping to put her off track. "The name's not familiar. Perhaps he just looked like someone I know. I'll remember eventually." He picked up the menu, then glanced at his watch. "Oh, my. I have to check on something that slipped my mind. Why don't you decide what you'd like while I make a telephone call, hmm?"
Laura picked up the menu, but turned her attention on her dinner companion as he approached a bank of telephones on the far side of the lobby and dialed a number. Of course he knew who Nathan Ford was. The two men had probably tangled before, over other gems.
Harry dialed a room number and waited for the line to be answered. "Hugh, it's Harry . . . No, everything's fine . . . but I need you to called Inspector Dixon at Scotland Yard . . . calm down, Hugh, everything is under control . . . I need to find out if he can locate the current whereabouts of Daniel . . . yes, that's right. Daniel . . . No, not tomorrow morning, Hugh. Now." Harry sighed deeply as he listened to his agent. "I'm well aware of the time difference. Wake him up if you have to, but get me that information . . . No, I'll contact you later and see what you've found . . . Good evening." He hung up and stood there, his hand on the receiver for a long moment. If he were right, then Miss Laura Holt was going to need a bit of help in protecting the collection. And that would mean telling her the truth. Something that he was NOT ready to do just yet.
He noticed her sudden attention to the menu, and sensed that she'd been watching him from across the lobby. Normally, Harry would have simply dismissed her attention as his due, but with the possibility that she'd spoken with Daniel in the guise of Nathan Ford, Harry was suspicious. He smiled as he returned to the table, picking up his napkin as the waiter approached. Once they had ordered, he ostensibly concentrated on his glass of wine.
"So. What led you to become a private detective, Miss Holt?" he asked.
Laura lifted her shoulders, watching his long, lean fingers as they toyed with the stem of his glass. No harm in telling him, she supposed. "I always loved excitement. So I studied, and apprenticed, and finally put my name on an office door."
"And has it fulfilled your fantasies?" Harry asked her, taking an appreciative sip of the red wine.
"It's been a struggle," Laura found herself admitting, and immediately regretted the words. What was it about him that seemed to pull her out of herself?
"A struggle? In what way?"
Another lift of those elegant, black clad shoulders. Harry's gaze lifted to her face as she answered, and felt that she was responding almost against her will. "Most people are- reluctant to hire a female private detective." She smiled at something. "I almost gave up a few years ago. Gave in to the sexist belief that I should have a big, strong man telling me what to do."
"How so?"
She looked embarrassed. "I considered - inventing a male superior. I even had a name all picked out for him. Remington Steele." Her smile was infectious, and Harry couldn't resist smiling himself in reply.
"Remington Steele," he repeated. "What a name."
"It came from a typewriter and a football team," she explained. "Thank goodness I came to my senses and decided to stick it out for another six months. Clients slowly began to ask for my help. Little things at first. Simple things."
"I did a bit of research after we met earlier," Harry admitted slowly. "You're very well respected in Los Angeles."
"Respected, yes. Looked on as a real PI? Not yet. But that's going change," she declared, her elfin features setting into a determined expression.
"Because of your having been hired to provide security for Lord Bryce-Davies' collection," Harry nodded. "It would be a rather nice feather in your cap, if things go well tomorrow."
"They will," Laura said, lifting her chin in a silent challenge.
The waiter arrived with their meal, and refilled their wine before he left them. Harry lifted his glass. "To tomorrow, then."
"Tomorrow," Laura agreed, tapping her glass against his. "You haven't told me anything about yourself."
"Oh, I'm not very interesting," Harry insisted gently, and Laura felt an invisible wall go up between them. "There's not much to tell. I'd much prefer to talk about other, more interesting matters. How you plan to protect the Bryce-Davies Collection, for instance."
"And if I told that to a total stranger, then I would violate Lord Bryce-Davies trust."
"Fair enough. Then, let's choose a topic less fraught with danger, shall we?" He took a bite of the veal he'd ordered, his expression thoughtful. "I know. Perhaps you can tell me what sights a visitor to your fair city should see before returning home."
An hour later, Laura watched Harry head toward the elevator, sighing in frustration, her hand still warm where he'd held it and lifted it to his lips again. Trouble was, she wasn't certain what frustrated her more: his ability to turn any conversation away from himself and back to her, or the way he had managed to make her regret that they were on opposing sides in this battle.
And it WAS a battle. A battle for the survival of her agency. She'd worked too long and too hard to have it be brought down because she let a charming con man/jewel thief get under her skin. That thought brought another one, of skin against skin, those long fingers moving . . . A hand fell on her shoulder and Laura jumped, turning to find her associate standing behind her.
"Murphy! I didn't think you'd still be here!"
"You didn't think I'd leave you here without a back up, did you?" he asked. His eyes were on the now closed elevator doors. "I was beginning to think that you and he were going to spend the night in that restaurant."
"What did you find out?" Laura asked him in return, ignoring his concern from years of practice.
"Nothing. It's almost as if he isn't even staying in the room. One suitcase, no passport."
"He's probably got the passport on him," Laura said. "There has to be something!" she insisted.
He grinned as he held something up for her to examine. "Well, there is this."
"What's that?"
"A fingerprint. I lifted it off a bottle of VERY expensive men's cologne in the bathroom."
Laura smiled triumphantly. "We've GOT him, Murph!" she said. "First thing tomorrow morning, we'll get that to the lab." She turned toward the doors leading from the lobby. "By the time the collection arrives tomorrow, we'll know all there is to know about Harry Whatever-his-name-is."
To Be Continued . . .