and that she’ll probably lose her house.”
That news kicked Micah hard. He supposed he should have seen that coming, but he hadn’t. Just like he hadn’t imagined her working as a maid in a hotel.
“What about Two-bits Perez?” Micah asked. Two-bits had been a paid snitch and a good “friend” of Tommy’s.
Tommy took his time lining up another shot, his hand steady as a rock when he hit it. “Haven’t seen him since last spring.”
“Even though you’re buddies.”
Tommy shook his head. “He’s no friend of mine.”
If the friendship had dissolved, it could be for a lot of reasons, Micah thought. Tommy could have found out Two-bits was a snitch. Or Tommy could have stopped supplying Two-bits with his drugs. Since Micah had a few questions to ask the man, he hoped the informant was healthy and easy to track down.
Micah pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Tommy. “If you hear anything I might want to know, you’ll call me?”
“What’s it gonna pay?”
Micah gave the young criminal a threatening smile. “The opportunity to keep living as a free man.”
THREE
“I was about to give up on you,” Jane Clark said after Rachel rang her doorbell a few minutes after six that same evening. “I tried calling your old cell phone number, but it’s been disconnected.”
“Yes, it has,” Rachel said. The cell phone, no matter how convenient, was one of the luxuries she could no longer afford.
Jane’s house was on the outskirts of Aspen, an hour’s drive from the job she had finally secured on the thirteenth application she had filled out. She’d had just enough time to change out of her new maid’s uniform and into a simple skirt and sweater before embarking on the drive.
“No matter,” Jane said, smiling over her shoulder. “You’re here now.”
Rachel followed Jane through a huge foyer and down a ten-foot-wide hallway that led toward the library. Last year, Rachel had been here numerous times while antique walnut paneling from a chateau in Reims was being installed in the library.
Jane had a love for the finest in European antiques, from paintings and statuary to exquisite stained glass and architectural elements. Then Rachel hadn’t minded the long drive because having clients in Aspen meant Victorian Rose Antiques had made it to the big leagues.
Jane ushered Rachel into the library. The room looked even more stunning than she remembered. The wood gleamed and hidden lights expertly showcased Jane’s collection of Italian urns. This room represented nineteenth-century carpentry at its finest. Caught up in the details, Rachel didn’t notice the man standing near the French limestone mantel until he cleared his throat.
“This is my friend, Simon Graden,” Jane said, taking Rachel by the elbow and drawing her forward. “When he told me that he was looking for architectural pieces for his home, I told him you were the person he needed to talk to.”
The name was familiar, though Rachel couldn’t place from where.
“Your reputation precedes you,” he said, moving toward her and holding out his hand.
Something in his tone was off somehow, making her shiver.
After the perfunctory handshake, Rachel asked, “What are you looking for, Mr. Graden?”
“It’s true then. You still are in business?”
“I no longer have a store, if that’s what you’re asking.” If the man had been anywhere in Colorado over the summer, he would have read about the scandal-related demise of Victorian Rose Antiques in just about any newspaper.
“But you can get me merchandise?”
“Only the best to be had,” Jane assured him, while Rachel said, “The purchase of antiques requires patience if you’re looking for a particular piece.”
Jane chuckled and moved toward the door. “Something I know from firsthand experience.” She motioned toward Rachel. “You’ll join us for dinner, of course.”
“I’m afraid not. I’ve—”
“Got those darling children to get home to.”
“Yes.”
“Then I need to tell the cook we’ll only be two for dinner. Sure you won’t change your mind?” When Rachel shook her head, Jane said, “Simon, I’ve made the introduction, and I’m leaving you in very good hands. Rachel, help yourself to a beverage.” Another wave, this time toward the built-in bar.
Rachel watched the door close behind Jane, not at all sure what to make of Simon Graden. He acted as though he was fifty, but, despite his gray hair, he looked young enough to be in his early thirties. Wanting to give her hands something to do besides flutter nervously, she opened the small refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.
“You still haven’t told me what you’re looking for,” she said, twisting off the cap and taking a sip.
“A half-million dollars worth of merchandise,” he said evenly.
That again. Her first temptation was to say something flip, like, There’s a lot of that going around. Her second, more concrete thought was that she must not have heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Graden. I don’t think I quite understand. Are you planning to go into the antiques business?”
“I have a business.” He smiled, almost gently, and she caught a glint of steel in his blue eyes. “And it’s missing a half-million dollars.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. Surely he wasn’t talking about the anonymous e-mail and the letter demanding money. She took another a sip of water, then shivered as the cold liquid trickled down her throat. His voice startled her when he broke the silence.
“Does that sum mean something to you?”
This was no dark alley where danger lurked, but she was at once as terrified as she might have been facing an armed mugger.
“Business transactions should be simple, don’t you think?” He shook his head, crossed the room back to the mantel where he had left a goblet, which he picked up, then smoothed a finger across one of the facets of cut glass. “An exchange of money for goods or services rendered.”
Rachel swiped a sweaty palm across her forehead, wishing her brain would engage sometime soon and that the panic in her chest would subside. This was bizarre beyond words. This meeting was supposed to lead to good things, to renew a career she had loved. It wasn’t supposed to be one more fear to pile on all the others.
“Reliable resources tell me that you have—or can get—what I want.”
“Antiques?”
He clucked his tongue. “Rachel, I’ve been told you’re a smart woman.” He looked steadily at her, those blue eyes cold and clear, “I’ve been told you
