“Did you minor in psychology?”
“Computer science. With a major in agriscience.”
“Then you’re completely unqualified to analyze me.”
“I supposed you’re right,” he said to appease her. But qualified or not, he knew hers was a personal search.
She stifled a yawn.
“We need to sleep,” he said.
“It’s morning already.”
“Not quite.”
He sidled down the bed, keeping her wrapped in his arms.
“We do need to sleep,” she agreed. Then she smiled as she closed her eyes.
Cole sucked in a deep breath. Sleeping with Sydney in his arms. He could get used to this. He shouldn’t. She had her career and he had his family.
Still, he could get used to this.
Eyes closed, Sydney waited until Cole’s breathing was deep and even. Then she blinked away her fatigue and watched his profile in the gathering light. His tanned skin was stark against the white pillowcase, and she gave into an urge to run her fingertip along his rough chin. She wished she could be honest with him, take him with her, listen to his advice.
For a moment she considered waking him up and swearing him to secrecy. Then she could tell him all about his grandmother’s problem, and they could solve it together.
But she couldn’t do that. She wasn’t even sure Cole would want her to do that. She had a feeling he’d consider a promise to any member of his family to be a sacred trust.
When she was sure he was sound asleep, she carefully inched out of the cradle of his hug and slipped from beneath the covers.
It was 8:00 a.m. in Miami, five in California and seven in Texas. She could only hope that Cole’s late night and all those time zone changes would keep him unconscious a few more hours.
She tiptoed into the living room, carefully clicked the French door shut behind her and turned on a small lamp on the desktop. Then she opened her purse and retrieved the number for the Miami fashion show. Hopefully, they’d have contact information for Rupert Cowan.
She dialed the number, spoke to a show coordinator who had Rupert Cowan’s business phone number and address. She jotted it down on the hotel notepad, peeled off the sheet and tucked the slip of paper into her purse.
She had no way of knowing if he was the right Rupert Cowan. Heading down there might be a waste of time. But she couldn’t for the life of her come up with a way to broach the subject with him on the phone.
She had no choice but to approach him in person and keep her fingers crossed.
She might have one heck of a lot of explaining to do once she got back. But it was time to pull out all the stops. If Rupert Cowan did have the brooch, and if she could get her hands on it, Cole would probably be grateful enough not to question the details.
She unzipped her garment bag, retrieved a blazer and skirt that were only slightly wrinkled, then dressed and headed for the lobby.
When Cole woke up, Sydney was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t in the suite. She wasn’t in the hotel restaurant. And she wasn’t in the lobby.
He knew he had to stop being suspicious of her, but it was unnerving to have her just up and disappear. They were supposed to be working together. Even though he’d promised to give her the benefit of the doubt, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was up to something.
Okay, so there was every chance that she was investigating antique dealers, or maybe she’d just gone around the corner. She could easily show up any minute with coffee and bagels.
Still, he glanced around the suite, taking inventory. Her suitcase was open on the sofa. Her toiletries were in the main bathroom. She’d opened a bottle of water at the bar.
What else?
He glanced around for clues.
A pen lay haphazardly across the oak desk next to a hotel note pad. Nothing to say the housekeeping staff hadn’t set them out crooked, but nothing to say Sydney hadn’t used them, either.
Cole held the notepad up to the light, staring across the fibrous surface. There were a few indentations in the paper, so he took a trick from a television crime drama and shaded across them with a pencil.
Didn’t sound like anything, he told himself. She could have a perfectly legitimate reason for writing that down and leaving.
After last night, he was giving her the benefit of the doubt if it killed him.
He crumpled the shaded paper in his fist.
It might even be left over from the last guest.
They’d probably laugh about it later.
He tossed the note into the wastepaper basket and sat down on the couch, bracing his fists on his knees.
He couldn’t
Ten
Sydney stepped cautiously into 2713 Harper View Road. Unlike the other commercial businesses on the block, this one had a solid gray door that was tucked into an uninviting little alcove.
Inside, hanging fluorescent lights buzzed in the cavernous space. The shoes of unseen employees shuffled against the gritty concrete floor between rows of beige, Arborite countertops and fabric-filled shelving. A few voices sounded in the distance, and a lone man paged through sketch sheets a few counters back.
“Hello?” Sydney ventured.
The man glanced up, pushing his long, graying hair back from his forehead. “Hey there.”
She took a couple steps toward him. “I’m looking for Rupert Cowan?”
The man straightened to about five feet seven. He wore black slacks and a black, ribbed-knit turtleneck. “You found him.”
Butterflies pirouetted in Sydney’s stomach. “Oh, good.”
He braced his hands against the countertop. “Something I can help you with?”
She moved forward and stretched out her hand. “I’m Sydney Wainsbrook.”
He shook. His hand was pale and his grip noncommittal. “Nice to meet you, Sydney.”
“I was wondering-” she glanced around, swallowing against her dry throat “-is there somewhere we can talk?”
He laced his fingers in front of his chest. “About?”
“It’s a personal matter.” Her heart rate was going up, and her palms were getting sweaty.
Thank goodness they’d already shaken hands.
“You looking for a job?” he asked.
Sydney shook her head. “It’s… I’d feel better if we could sit down somewhere.”
Rupert glanced at his watch. “Well, I’m a little-”
“Please?”
He hesitated. “We could go next door for coffee.”
She nodded eagerly. “Perfect.”
“Patrice?” Rupert called over his shoulder.
“Yeah?” came a woman’s gruff voice from the back of the shop.
