When Laura arrived at the office on Monday, Bernice held up the morning paper. "Hail the hero!" she said, smiling. "You wanted publicity. Looks like you got it. In Spades."
Laura took the paper to study the photo of her, Harry, and a less than haute couture Leslie Maxwell. "Local private detective Laura Holt, assisted by Lord Bryce-Davies, the Earl of Bensonhurst, apprehends Leslie Maxwell in her attempt to steal his Lordship's priceless collection of antique jewelry," Laura read. "Not bad."
"It's hard to believe that Leslie Maxwell's been a cat burglar for years, isn't it?" Bernice commented.
"She certainly kept it well hidden," Laura agreed. "Even her own father had no idea that she'd been supplementing her allowance by stealing from the richest families in Europe. She saw her chance to pull of the robbery of the century- and took it."
"Guess it just goes to prove that old saying," Bernice told her.
"What's that?"
"That you can't judge a book by its cover. Did his Lordship get off to London okay yesterday afternoon?"
"Yes," Laura said, recalling the previous day's events. In all of the fuss, Daniel had vanished, probably taken a flight using another alias to who knew where. And after the newspaper interviews and talking to the police, and a reluctant, but concussed, Murphy had been sent off to the hospital, Laura and Harry had taken the collection to the airport in the limo. He hadn't made any further attempt to seduce her into going with him, and Laura had watched the Lear jet take off with mixed emotions. She'd called into the office, and then gone to make sure Murphy was okay before going home and trying to catch up on the sleep she'd been missing ever since HE had come into her life.
"Is Murphy coming in today?"
"The doctor wanted him to take another day off, just to be sure," Laura said. "Any mail?"
"Oh, yeah." Bernice held up an official looking envelope. "I think it's from HIM. It was *hand* delivered by private messenger."
Laura glanced at the writing on the envelope, and then slipped the flap open. "Why that-"
"What?"
"THIS," she said, holding out two checks. The first one was for the price agreed on for providing security for the gems.
"So? He paid his bill. Is that a bad thing?" Bernice wondered, looking at Laura with concern. "I mean, usually you end up having to send bills OUT to clients."
"I told him not to pay us for that. It was a charity event," Laura reminded her. She looked thoughtful. "Send it back."
"What? Laura, are you crazy? Do you realize how much money this is?"
"I don't mean for you to send it back to his Lordship. Send it to the Foundation. As our donation. We can write it off on taxes."
Bernice shook her head. "You're the boss. What about the other one?" Bernice asked, grabbing it before Laura could tear it up. Her eyes widened at the amount. "Whoa! And what was THIS for?"
Laura tossed the paper that was with the second check onto Bernice's desk. "He's put the Agency on a permanent retainer."
"And that's bad?"
"Read the last line, Bernice."
"Looking forward to a long, enjoyable relationship. Harry, Lord Bryce-Davies, Earl of Bensonhurst." Her dark eyes widened again, but this time with speculation. "I'll ask again. And that's bad?"
Laura threw her hands up. "I give up. I'll be in my office."
"What should I say if he calls?" Bernice called after her.
"He won't. But if he does, I'm not here. I'm with a client. I'm trying to talk a suicidal maniac out of jumping from a fifth story ledge and can't possibly be bothered," Laura recited, punctuating her words by slamming the door behind her.
Bernice smiled. He'd call. She had a feeling that Miss Laura Holt had finally met her match.
***
A week later, upon her return from meeting a client, Laura paused at Bernice's desk to look at the mail. "Have there been any- calls?" she asked, trying to sound as if the answer wasn't important.
"Your mother. And the Police Commissioner," Bernice said, handing her the slips. She held onto one. "There was one more."
"Really?" Laura asked, and then could have kicked herself for sounding too eager.
Bernice held out the slip. "His plane's landing at three, and he'd like you to be there to meet him. He's sending a limo to pick you up at two thirty."
Laura took the slip, and then tried to glance nonchalantly at her watch. It was already two. "Half an hour? He gives me half an hour to get-" she stopped, noticing Bernice's knowing smile. "Call downstairs and tell the limo that I'm too busy to just drop everything and go running off to the airport. If he wants to see me, he can make an appointment, just like any other client," she declared, then stomped into her office.
Once inside, she closed the door and leaned against it for support. Her legs were shaking so badly that she wasn't sure she could walk across the office to her desk. The connecting door to Murphy's office opened, and Laura took a deep breath, forcing herself to move steadily to the desk.
"Have you seen this?" Murphy asked, tossing a newspaper onto the cluttered surface between them.
"What?" Laura asked, seeing only the half finished crossword puzzle. "Since when do you have time do to the crossword these days? I thought you were supposed to be meeting with Mr. Blankenship at two?"
"He rescheduled for four," Murphy told her. "Gave me a little free time. And with the schedule we've had this last week, I thought I deserved it." He pointed to a small article near the crossword. "This is what I'm talking about."
"A gossip column, Murphy?" Laura asked, a teasing smile hovering on her mouth. "I wasn't aware you read those things."
"I don't- usually. But when I saw HIS name-"
Laura grabbed the paper and scanned the article until she found what Murphy was talking about. "Rumor has it that Lord Bryce-Davies of London is establishing a residence in the City of Angels. He's taken a long-term lease on a condominium at the Rossmore Arms, and is scheduled to arrive any day to take up residence. One must wonder why the charming, handsome Earl of Bensonhurst is relocating from his ancestral home to our fair city. Is romance in the air, by chance?" Laura read, and then tossed the newspaper aside. "So he's leased an apartment-"
"Laura, have you SEEN those condos on Rossmore? They're not apartments."
"He likes to live well. Just because he's in Los Angeles doesn't mean-"
Murphy rested his palms flat against the desk to lean halfway across it. "Laura, I don't trust the man. There's something- seedy about him."
Laura had to laugh. "Seedy? Murphy, he's an Earl!"
"With a very shady background," Murphy reminded her. "I just don't want you to get hurt again, Laura. You're too important to me-"
Laura smiled at him. "I'm a big girl, Murphy. Besides, he's forgotten all about me by now."
Murphy's smile was tinged with something Laura didn't want to acknowledge. Because to acknowledge it would jeopardize their professional- and personal relationship. "I doubt that, Laura. I really doubt that."
The intercom buzzed, causing Laura to jump. "Yes, Bernice?"
"Mr. Blankenship is here to see Murphy."
"I thought he rescheduled?" Murphy asked.
"He had a cancellation," Bernice informed him.
Murphy sighed. "Send him into my office." He straightened and went to his door, opening it, and then he paused. "Uh, Laura-?"
"Yes, Murph?"
He seemed to hesitated, as if uncertain whether to continue. "You remember how you were gone on Wednesday morning? And Bernice was late?"
"Yes," Laura replied carefully, confused by the apparent change of subject. "What about it?"
"Well, -" he stopped as they heard the outer door to his office open.
"Have a seat, Mr. Blankenship," they heard Bernice tell the client. "Mr. Michaels will be with you in just a moment."
Murphy sighed in frustration. "We'll finish this later, okay? Remember what I said. I still don't think he's right for you."
"I'll remember," Laura promised. "Don't keep the client waiting," she admonished gently. After he closed the connecting door, Laura picked up the paper again. If Lord Bryce-Davies had taken a condo in Los Angeles, then it was probably a good idea for someone to check it out- make sure it was secure. The Agency WAS on retainer to his Lordship, after all.
She opened a desk drawer to pull out the Yellow Pages, and quickly turned to the section on "Real Estate". "Might as well start with the 'As'," she muttered, dialing a number. It took three calls before she found someone who knew who was handling the Rossmore condos and pointed her in the direction of Excalibur Realty.
After dialing the number, Laura adopted what she called her "upper-class snooty rich girl voice".
"Hello, I'm calling with regard to leasing a condominium in your city. A friend of my husband suggested we call you, since he just - . . . Lord Bryce-Davies. He and my husband attended university together . . . Well, what he wants is a condo in the same building, if possible . . . Really? Apartment 5-A? . . . Just across the hall? Oh, Mark will be so pleased. Let me talk to him, and then call you right back to set something up. Goodbye." Laura hung up the telephone before the stuttering agent could respond. She picked up her purse and hat and went to the door. "I'll be out for a while, Bernice," she announced, not stopping.
"Anywhere in particular?" the secretary asked with a knowing smile.
"Security work. Very hush-hush," she said with a smile, waving her hand in the air as she went through the doors into the hallway.
***
Harry frowned when he realized that the limo was empty. "Where is Miss Holt, Fred?" he asked the chauffer. "I thought you were supposed to pick her up?"
"I went to Century City, sir," Fred informed him, "But her secretary had the doorman tell me that Miss Holt was too busy to get away. From what I've been able to tell, the Agency's been overrun with clients this last week."
"Hmm," Harry grunted. "Do you have the address of the condominium on Rossmore?"
"Yes, sir."
"Take me there, please." Harry sat back against the leather seat, disappointed. He'd been looking forward to seeing Laura again. This last week had been a whirlwind of appointments, making arrangements, Hugh's funeral. Daniel had managed to attend that event, assuring Harry that- after the fiasco in Los Angeles, when he'd totally overlooked Leslie Maxwell's interest - he would never again try to steal the tiara or any of the Bensonhurst Collection. Of course, that hadn't meant that his father had turned over a new leaf, but Harry held out hope that the tragic death of Daniel's oldest and dearest friend had wrought some small amount of change in the man.
He had started to call Laura time and time again, only to stop as he'd realized that it would be too late, or worry that she would be too busy to talk to him- or, worse yet, that she simply didn't WANT to talk to him. She must have gotten the roses he'd sent her- surely that had softened her a bit. He hadn't been at all surprised by the donation made in the Agency's name to the Foundation- in the exact amount of her fee for protecting the collection.
Once he freshened up from the flight, he would have Fred drive him over to the Agency. If he had to make a bloody appointment, then by God, he'd do it. After all, he was paying the Laura Holt Agency a handsome retainer, wasn't he?
***
Laura was able to sneak past the doorman at the Rossmore - no need to broadcast her presence, after all- and entered the condo using her lock picks. Perhaps she'd gotten in too easily. She made a mental note to talk to the doorman about letting himself be distracted in the future. The décor was art deco, tastefully furnished, Laura thought. She could easily picture Harry here. There were two bedrooms, but one of them was set up as an office. No room for live-in help. He'd probably arranged for someone to come in daily to cook and clean, she decided, giving the windows a cursory examination.
She was in the kitchen when she heard the front door open. "Thank you- Gerald, was it?" Harry said to the doorman. "Just put them down there. Thank you."
"Everything's just as you asked, your Lordship," Gerald told him.
"Gerald, why don't you and I make a deal? You don't call me 'your Lordship', and I'll remember how good a tipper I am, eh?"
"Uh, sure, uh, sir, uh-"
"Mr. Bryce-Davies will do. Or, better yet, just Harry."
"Yes, sir, H-Harry," Gerald repeated carefully.
Laura heard the soft rustle of money exchanging hands, then the door closed again. She held her breath, waiting, wondering how she was going to get out of the apartment without Harry seeing her.
Harry stood there, surveying the apartment with a satisfied air. Gerald had been right. Everything had been done precisely as he'd requested- he took a step toward the kitchen, and then paused, sniffing the air. That scent was familiar. Or was he simply imagining it as a result of this last week's wishful thinking? No, it was there, filling the apartment.
Cautiously, he moved closer to the kitchen. "Laura?" he asked in a soft, hopeful voice. "Is that you?" He fumbled on the wall for a light switch, and flipped it on to reveal that Laura was indeed standing across the room, her back to the counter.
She tried to smile. "I thought I should check the place out- security wise," she explained. "Your doorman's easily distracted," she told him, suddenly aware that she'd left herself at a tactical disadvantage as Harry began to move slowly toward her. "Anyone could get in here unnoticed." Laura had nowhere to go, so she continued to talk, filling the nervous silence with her voice. "And that lock on the front door could be picked by a-" her words were stilled as Harry's arms went around her and his lips found hers.
When the kiss ended, leaving Laura as limp as the first one a week ago had done, Harry drew a shuddering breath and drew back. "Oh, Laura. When you weren't at the airport, I was worried that I'd made a mistake," he said, framing her face with his hands to look at her. "This week has been the longest in my entire life."
"You couldn't have picked up a phone?" she asked.
"I started to. But things have been so hectic. And when you didn't call after I sent the roses-"
"You sent roses?"
"To your office. Two days ago. They were delivered, I'm sure of that. I paid the bill-"
"Two days ago," Laura repeated, thoughtful. "I never got any roses." The strange conversation with Murphy made her frown. "Two days ago? Wednesday?"
Harry nodded. "They were delivered that morning, I believe," he told her.
"Oh, Murphy," she sighed.
"Murphy?"
"He was alone in the office that morning. I guess he- threw them out."
"I see. Remind me in the future to send any flowers to your house instead," he told her.
Laura tried to hide her surprise that he intended to buy her MORE flowers. And the last thing she wanted was to get into a discussion about Murphy's reasons for not giving her the flowers that Harry had sent. She looked at him. "Harry, what are you doing here? Why take a lease on this condo?"
"The mountain is coming to Mohammed again," he told her. "I knew that you would never agree to move to London. And I couldn't ask you to. I know how hard you've worked to build up the agency. So, I decided to set up a place here. A second home, if you will."
"But- you have responsibilities, business to take care of in London-"
"That's why they make telephones," he told her. "The office here is as up to date as any could be. And, if need be, I can always fly back to London for a few days."
"You really rearranged your life because of-?"
"Because of you," he told her, holding her hands. "Yes. Because I think that whatever is between us needs further exploration. And for that to happen, we have to be on the same continent, at least." He grinned. "Who knows? I might even convince you to join me on one of my jaunts home."
Laura laughed. "Just drop everything and fly off to London with you?"
"I am a client of the Laura Holt Agency, after all," Harry reminded her. "And I'm looking forward to sharing a close- one on one relationship with the head of the agency. I like the personal touch," he told her.
"You're spoiled," she clarified.
"Perhaps I am. But I wouldn't mind spoiling you."
"This will never work," she said.
"Laura, even Murphy Michaels sees what's going on." He brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "Don't fight it, Laura." He saw the fear flare in her eyes and wondered who had hurt her so terribly in the past. "I won't force anything on you, Laura. I just want to give us the chance to get to know each other. To become friends before we become-"
"Lovers?" Laura said, finishing his sentence.
"Would that be so terrible?" he asked. There it was. That damned look that reminded him of the time he'd been driving to the Manor and came upon a deer in the middle of the road. Laura's eyes had the same look. "You don't have to answer right now. We've time. Now, if you can wait here while I have a shower and a change of clothes, we'll have dinner-" He stopped, looking suddenly uncertain. "Unless you've already made other plans? I mean, I know it's Friday evening- you probably have a date-"
"No," Laura heard herself admit, then winced inwardly. Another fatal error. What was it about this man that made sensible, by-the-book Laura Holt loose it? "But I never know when something might come up with a client. A murder, kidnapping- jewel theft."
"I'll take my chances," he told her.
"I have to meet a client," she told him, glancing at her watch.
"Fair enough. I'll pick you up at seven, shall I? At your house?"
"You don't know where I live- or do you?"
"It's a matter of public record, I believe. Seven?"
"I still think this is a mistake."
"Trust me, Laura," he said, escorting her to the door. "Until seven."
"Seven," she repeated, then turned toward the elevator. As she entered the car, she turned to find Harry still in the doorway, smiling at her.
"Seven," he said once more, then blew her a kiss as the elevator doors closed.
What had she gotten herself into? Laura wondered, leaning against the inside of the elevator. Maybe by the time she got back to the office, there would be a case that demanded her undivided attention- and she'd be able to cancel her date with Lord Bryce-Davies. And even if there wasn't one, she'd come up with some excuse.
Because the only place this relationship could possibly take her, Laura had already been- and had no desire to visit again.
To Be Continued . . .