Renee was taking a risk.
A very big risk.

But it would be worth it, she thought. It had to be.

Meeting Chris Foster again was harder than she thought it would be. He looked nothing like her late husband, Marc, for which she was grateful. She didn’t know if she could go through with her plan if he’d even remotely resembled his brother.

She could do this, she thought. She would do this. She lifted her head and met his steady gaze. His eyes were the color of pale amber, framed by long black lashes. They reminded her of a panther she’d seen on a television documentary. The cat had been a dangerous and deadly predator. She hoped Chris Foster didn’t share those traits.

“I will agree to the terms of your latest offer. If…” She paused and swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. “If,” she continued, “you will find something Marc took from my family.” Please, God, she prayed. Please let him accept my offer….

MILLS & BOON

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CARLA FREDD

Birmingham, Alabama, native Carla Fredd began her writing career in 1992. After several failed attempts to complete her first book, Ms. Fredd used her skills as an electrical engineer to solve the problem—she got help. She took several creative writing classes, joined Georgia Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America. Her first book, Fire and Ice, was released in October 1995 and appeared on the Brentano’s Top 20 Bestselling Mass Market list. Her other works include “Matchmaker” one of three stories in Arabesque’s A Valentine Kiss anthology, and If Only You Knew.

Ms. Fredd resides in Georgia and is currently working on her next project.

The Perfect Man
Carla Fredd

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Chapter 1

May

Fear clamped around her throat, leaving a cold, metallic taste in her mouth. Renee Mitchell Foster dropped the pen and stared at the initials on the check-in form for her great-aunt’s safe-deposit box. All but the last set of initials were hers. The last entry was made at the end of March and the initials belonged to her husband, Marc, who’d died last month.

Marc had no legitimate reason to have access to Aunt Gert’s safe-deposit box.

The cool air from the air-conditioning vents and her crisp linen pantsuit couldn’t touch the hot wave of fear that had her trembling in the vault of the National Bank of Alabama.

She tried to take a deep, calming breath like she’d learned from years of yoga class. A technique she’d used many times in the past.

Marc couldn’t have gotten access to the box, she thought, trying to alleviate her fears with cold, hard reason when deep-breathing exercises didn’t work.

Her hands shook as she set the card on a table. Slowly she reached inside her purse and took out her Palm. With a few taps of her stylus, she opened the file that listed all the items inside the safe-deposit box and set the organizer on the table.

She lifted the hinged top and looked inside. The thin, black velvet jewelry case, which usually sat on top of all the saving bonds, insurance papers and the deed to her great-aunt’s house, was gone. She could feel the blood drain from her face.

“Oh, God, Marc. How could you take it?”

Renee closed her eyes and leaned her shoulder against the wall of locked boxes to keep from falling. She pressed her cheek against the cold metal. The diamond necklace that her great-aunt treasured and loved was gone. The necklace that she’d placed around Renee’s neck when she was six and made her feel wanted when her parents had left her in boarding school. The necklace was more than a piece of jewelry. It was the one thing her great-aunt had left from the man she’d loved. She’d never let anyone wear it except Renee. Now, it was gone.

She pushed against the wall and stood up straight. Maybe I just overlooked it. Even as the thought materialized, she didn’t believe it in her heart.

She took out every item inside the box, hoping the jewelry case was there under the papers. When she’d pulled out the last item, she realized that her husband had betrayed her yet again. Everything was accounted for except the diamond necklace. Renee added the savings bond, which Aunt Gert received yesterday, to the large stack of bonds inside an envelope marked Savings Bonds. She put everything back inside and checked the table to be sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

Reluctantly she closed the box and lifted it to put it in its proper place. The one-carat diamond solitaire and matching wedding band flashed under the fluorescent lighting. She would have traded the ring and everything she owned for the missing necklace. She looked at the wedding band then took the box back down and opened it.

Renee slowly slid the solitaire and wedding band off her finger. Her marriage had been a sham and she should have stopped wearing the rings weeks ago. As she put the rings in the box, she wondered what it was about her that made the people she cared for abandon her.

She hadn’t married Marc for love. Theirs had been a marriage of mutual interest. Marc had agreed with her belief that love develops and grows during marriage and she’d been in love with the idea of loving him. Now, she knew that was lie. He’d lied about everything. She closed the box and placed it in the empty opening in the wall.

A few minutes later, she braved the heat and walked to her car. Through the windshield, she watched the heavy, gray clouds billow and roll in the hot Birmingham sky. The dark, rolling clouds matched her mood as hurt and fear circled and expanded inside her.

“Damn him. Damn him,” she said. Her voice was husky as she put the key into the ignition. The V-8 engine roared to life and she pressed the buttons on her door and lowered her windows letting the hot air escape.

Why had Marc taken the necklace? she wondered.

Marrying Marc Foster had been a mistake. She didn’t mind taking responsibility for her mistakes. Hadn’t she taken it like a big girl when she learned her husband of less than a year had not one but two other wives, Danielle Timmons Foster and Alexandria Lord-Wright Foster? Hadn’t she swallowed her pride and agreed to join forces with Danielle and Alex instead of waging war like she wanted? They’d worked together to learn the truth about the man they’d married and to untangle his web of lies. During the past month, the three of them had become friends instead of enemies.

Danielle and Alex couldn’t help her with this. She’d married Marc and if he’d taken the necklace then she was partially responsible for its disappearance. It wasn’t fair that her great-aunt would be hurt by her mistake.

Renee turned the air-conditioning on high, letting the rapidly cooling air blow on her face. What was she going to tell her aunt Gert?

She brushed away the tears on her cheek, leaving dark stains on the sleeve of her jacket. It was no use crying. Crying never solved anything. If it did, she would have been the girl her parents wanted her to be. She would have been the wife Marc wanted her to be.

What she needed was a plan, she thought. Renee shifted into Reverse and backed out of the parking spot. She maneuvered her way into the afternoon traffic. By the time she got on I-459, she had a sketchy outline of a plan. If she could avoid telling her great-aunt that the necklace was missing, she would. She was going to find the necklace. It was her fault it was gone in the first place. If she’d never married Marc, this wouldn’t have happened. Since his death, she’d had nothing but heartache and one unpleasant surprise after another. She realized she didn’t know the man she’d married but she did know her aunt Gert. Renee knew what that necklace meant to her. Marc had known it, too.

Renee pressed her lips together. Marc had hurt her but she wasn’t going to let him hurt her aunt. She was going to find that necklace. One way or another she would.

June 4

The office of Smithstone & Wasson was exactly as Chris Foster had imagined: traditional, Southern and intimidating as hell. It was a good thing that he wasn’t easily intimidated. Chris leaned back in the large leather chair and scanned the quiet waiting area. It wasn’t a room but more like a den with leather chairs and sofas, thick brown carpet and he’d bet his salary that the furniture was antique. The place said money and a lot of it. Renee Foster hadn’t scrimped when she’d sicced the junkyard dog of a lawyer on him…or rather Marc Foster’s estate, he thought.

Chris rubbed his hand over his chin. His brother, Marc, had never been one to do things the easy way, even in death. He’d grieved when he’d gotten a call from the police in South Carolina telling him his older brother was dead. He hadn’t seen or spoken to his brother in over two years. They hadn’t been close for more than ten years but despite that Marc had been the only family he had left. Marc had become a perpetual liar. It had gotten to the point where he trusted very little Marc told him and his lies had been the major reason they had drifted apart. Chris curled his lip and brushed aside the memory.

Essentially he’d been on his own since he was fourteen. But part of him remembered his older brother who would beat the hell out of anyone who messed with him, the brother who would bring him sandwiches from the diner where he worked when there was hardly any food in the house. Those images conflicted with the selfish bastard who’d married three different women. Chris hated the situation Marc had put him in.

He could have walked away. Hell, he’d wanted to say “to hell with this” many times in the past month. But he’d given his word, and once he gave his word that was that. Now, he was in Birmingham, Alabama, to meet with Renee Foster’s lawyer. They wouldn’t have needed lawyers if she’d been reasonable. The estate could have been settled and he would have been out of this mess and gone on with his life.

A dark paneled door across the room opened and a young Asian woman walked out. “Mr. Foster?”

“Yes,” he said and stood.

The woman smiled. “Mr. Smithstone will see you now. Please follow me.”

She led him through a quiet hallway filled with paintings and other artwork. Thick carpet muffled the sound of their footsteps. He gave an inward nod of approval to the discreet cameras and motion detectors. The lawyer had hired a good security firm. He wasn’t surprised.

The woman opened a door at the end of the hall and stepped into a large room where an older woman stopped typing and gave him a smile. The woman who’d led him there closed the door quietly behind them. She walked to another door and knocked twice before opening it.

Chris stepped inside and paused. A large, dark wood conference table dominated the room, and all but two chairs stood empty in the room. Chris barely glanced at the suit, who he assumed was Terrell Smithstone; it was Renee Foster who captured his attention.

Chris kept his expression blank as he watched his brother’s widow. There was nothing classically beautiful about her features. Her skin was a light brown, which reminded him of his favorite milk chocolate candy. Her eyes were dark brown and somber. She had an air of vulnerability around her that made him want to protect her. The thoughts were quickly dispelled when her lawyer stood.

“Mr. Foster. I’m Terrell Smithstone. I believe you know my client, Renee Foster.”

Chris shook the man’s outstretched hand, noting the rough calluses. He had the hands of a man who did manual labor, not the soft hands of a desk jockey or a lawyer. Chris would have to add that bit of information to Smithstone’s file. He’d investigated Smithstone and all of Marc’s wives.

Renee cleared her throat. “Terrell, would you mind if I spoke with Chris alone?” Her voice was smooth like honey. Chris mentally raised a brow at the use of Smithstone’s first name and at the tone of her voice. It was a tone used with friends. He wondered how well the two knew each other.

Chris didn’t like the feel of this situation. He’d worked as a special agent for the FBI for almost six years and before that he’d worked three years as a cop in California. He’d developed a radar for trouble and right about now his radar was telling him things were about to hit the fan.

“I don’t think this is wise,” Smithstone said. “As your attorney, I’m advising you to rethink this.”

Renee folded her hands on the table and leaned forward. “I’ve made up my mind,” she said softly.

Chris watched the interaction between the two. He didn’t know what was going on but if her lawyer was against it maybe she’d decided to be reasonable. Maybe he could put this whole mess behind him.

Who the hell was he kidding? Renee Foster hadn’t made a damn thing easy.

Smithstone picked up a folder on the table. “If you need me, just tell my secretary.” He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Chris returned his gaze to Renee.

“Please have a seat, Chris,” she said, nodding to the chair on the opposite side of the table. Chris walked to the chair and sat down across from her and waited. If she was nervous, she didn’t show it. Her expression was serene and carefully blank. She’d learned to hide what she was thinking and he wondered what was going on in her head.

“What do you hope to accomplish with this meeting today?” she asked.

This was a surprise, he thought. He’d made his plans clear to all three women. He wanted to settle Marc’s estate in a way that was fair to everyone. “The same thing I’d hoped to accomplish for the past month—to settle Marc’s estate. Why the sudden interest?”

She held his gaze and studied him with the intensity of a starving man at a buffet. For a brief moment, he could sense the turmoil behind the polite expression. He tensed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Renee studied her hands, surprised they weren’t shaking or clenched. She was taking a risk. A big risk. It would be worth it, she thought. It had to be.

Meeting Chris Foster again was harder than she thought it would be. He looked nothing like Marc, for which she was grateful. She didn’t know if she could go through with her plan if he’d remotely resembled his brother.

She could do this, she thought. She would do this. She lifted her head and met his steady gaze. His eyes were the color of pale amber framed by long, black lashes. They reminded her of a panther she’d seen on a television documentary. The panther looked like a lazy cat but later proved that looks could be deceiving. The cat had been a dangerous and deadly predator. She hoped Chris Foster wasn’t.

“I will agree to the terms of your latest offer. If…” She paused and swallowed. Her mouth felt dry and she wished she’d accepted the secretary’s earlier offer to get her something to drink. “If,” she continued, “you will find something Marc took from my family.” Please, God, she prayed. Please let him accept this offer.

“What did Marc take?”

Renee opened the black portfolio in front of her and slid the photograph across the table. She watched as he picked up the picture and studied it. She was surprised by his lack of reaction to the photo. The picture was flawless like the diamonds in the necklace were—flawless and breathtaking.

“Real diamonds?” he asked, then put the picture on the table.

“Of course,” she said. “I had the necklace appraised again for my great-aunt last year. Here are copies of two appraisals,” she said and gave him a folder.

He took the folder and flipped through the pages. His brows drew together in a frown. “Are you sure Marc took it?”

“I’m positive. My great-aunt asked Marc to take it to the jeweler to have it cleaned. I usually do that for her, but this time she asked Marc to do it. The necklace was in a safe-deposit box and Marc’s initials were on the release form. I’ve contacted all the jewelry stores in Birmingham and none of them had the necklace. I’ve looked through all of Marc’s papers and couldn’t find anything about the necklace.”

“If I decide to look for the necklace, what guarantee do I have that you will keep your word?”

“I will have Terrell draft a contract. You haven’t known me for long and you have no reason to trust me. I understand that. But I have no reason to trust you, either. I think a contract clearly stating the terms would be best.” He seemed like a nice enough guy. He’d tried to create order at Marc’s funeral when the three wives learned of each other’s existence. When she saw him again on the Marc III, the yacht Marc purchased with money he’d stolen from Alex, Chris appeared to honestly want to do what was fair for all of them. Still, she had a hard time trusting him, Marc’s brother, without an iron-clad contract. Marc had shown her that it was best not to trust a Foster man.

“What makes you think I can find this necklace and how long has it been missing?”

“The necklace has been gone for about a month. Why do I think you can find the necklace?” She raised her hand, lifted her index finger. “One. From what I’ve heard, you are good at your job. Two. You work for the FBI and you have access to more resources than a private investigator. Three. I think you want to see the last of me and my lawyer. Because if that necklace isn’t returned to my aunt Gert before she finds out it’s missing, I can guarantee you that I will make this process as slow and painful as possible.”

“Are you threatening me?” he asked softly. His pale brown gaze hardened.

Her mouth grew dry like Weiss Lake during last year’s drought. She didn’t want to imagine what he could do to her if he thought she was a threat to him. Marc had been in decent shape, but this man exuded a kind of strength and power that was unmistakable.

“No. I’m not threatening you. I’m just letting you know how important it is for me to get this necklace to Aunt Gert. So do we have a deal?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound as desperate and afraid as she was. She leaned her arms on the large conference room table and linked her fingers together to keep them from shaking.

He glanced down at the picture of the necklace that he’d laid on the table in front of him. His long, black lashes concealed his gaze and should have made him look feminine, but there was nothing soft about Chris Foster. He slid the photo to the side. “I’ll help you find the necklace.”

“Great,” she said, nearly sighing in relief. “I figured we could start with Marc’s credit cards.”

“We?”

“Yes, we.”

“I thought the deal was for me to find the necklace.”

“I do want you to find it, but I’m not going to sit around doing nothing.”

“What do you know about recovering stolen jewelry?”

“Nothing, but I do know how to find information and how to find it quickly. This will be a joint effort. I expect you to include me and to use my skills as a research librarian. I won’t be left out of the loop on this.”

“I work better alone.”

“Working alone isn’t an option. It’s all or nothing.”

Chapter 2

Renee sat with her back straight and her hands resting in her lap. After years of Saturday morning etiquette and decorum classes, she was well aware of the calm and relaxed image she projected. She’d learned two important lessons from all those years of misery in classes where she just didn’t fit in with the other girls: straight and erect posture and what she called her “game” face. Social etiquette didn’t make sense to her. There were too many rules and too many exceptions to the rules. But learning to hide her emotions behind the game face had gotten her through the countless social events her parents forced her to attend. It had helped her hide her pain and saved her pride when her parents left her at school during the holidays. This time it wasn’t just her pride at stake. Chris Foster had to accept her offer. He was her last hope.

She kept her expression calm and serene. But her stomach felt as if she’d swallowed a box of rocks. She needed his help and she hated feeling so dependent on him. If she could have found a private detective willing to find the necklace without telling her aunt Gert, she would have done everything she could to avoid coming in direct contact with Chris Foster again. The man made her nervous. He was too suave, too sexy, too charming.

To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t his charm that made her nervous. It was the fact that Chris Foster was drop-dead gorgeous. Impossibly long, black eyelashes framed his golden-brown eyes. The combination was all the more disturbing now that she had his complete attention. It was as if he was searching for answers in her expression and he had all the time in the world to find them. She wanted to look away and break the connection his look had forged between them. But she couldn’t afford to back away—not if she wanted to find the necklace.

“All right,” he said, breaking the silence in the conference room. “We’ll work together, but under my terms.”

She silently sighed in relief then tilted her head to the side. The relief she felt warred with suspicion. “What terms?” She needed him, but she’d learned from her mistake with Marc to not totally trust the Foster men.

He rested his arms on the table and leaned forward.

Everything in her wanted to draw closer to him. Renee blinked. Startled by her reaction, she drew back and willed her heart rate to return somewhere close to normal. Years ago, she’d helped her friend, Karen Smithstone, gather research for her thesis on sexual chemistry. Until now, Renee had never experienced the strong sexual attraction described in Karen’s paper. This was just great. Why did he have to produce pheromones that made her body ache? She didn’t care how attracted she was to him. The only thing that mattered was getting the necklace back.

“First,” he said, his voice firm, “we’ll work together, but what I say goes. If I feel the situation is too dangerous for you, you’re out and you’re staying out.”

“If you think the situation is dangerous then I’ll let you handle it, but you can forget the other. This is a partnership, not a dictatorship.”

“Dictatorship,” he said and raised his brows. “Call it whatever you want. You don’t know anything about finding stolen jewelry. Your inexperience could get us both in a tight situation or worse.”

He had a point. “Fine. Teach me what I need to know, but don’t expect me to blindly follow you. This necklace is too important for me to leave it entirely in someone else’s hands.”

“Even if the hands are more capable than yours?”

“If you’re as good as I’ve heard, then there won’t be any reason for you to worry about me. Oh, and another thing, I don’t want Aunt Gert to know the necklace is missing. She’s an old lady and I don’t want Marc’s actions to cause her pain.”

He studied her and silence grew between them. Her stomach tightened with fear. She knew she was pushing her luck with him, but had she gone too far?

“If she gave Marc permission to take the necklace then I’ll need to talk to her.”

“Talk to her all you want, but just don’t let her know the necklace is gone.”

“I won’t say anything to her. For now.”

She felt a tinge of uneasiness. He’d qualified his statement, but she had a feeling that he would balk if she pushed him again. She’d take it because she really didn’t have a choice.

“Then we have a deal.” Renee held out her hand.

He grasped it. Heat seemed to smolder where their hands met. His grip was strong without being too overpowering. Unlike Marc’s hands, which were fairly smooth, his hands were firm and callused. Unwilling desire sparked inside of her. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in years. She raised her gaze to his and the heat spread quickly throughout her body. This was crazy, she thought and pulled her hand away. She didn’t know what it was about Chris that made her feel this way, but she couldn’t afford to think of him as anything but the man who was helping her find Aunt Gert’s necklace. As handsome as he was, he was the very last man she should trust.

“Deal,” he said.

It took everything within her not to sag in the chair like a Raggedy Ann doll. She’d been so afraid that he’d refuse to help her and then she’d be forced to admit to Aunt Gert that she’d brought a thief into her life.

“Great. I’ll get Terrell to draw up the contract so that we can get started.” For the first time in weeks, she felt as if she was finally going to get this situation straightened out.

“You don’t have to do that. I give you my word that I’ll look for the necklace.”

“No offense, but your brother has made me question everything people have told me. I’m taking no one’s word for anything. I insist on a contract between us.”

His expression went from relaxed to angry. She’d always considered brown eyes as warm, but icy fury filled his golden-brown eyes. “I’m not Marc, Mrs. Foster.” His voice was sharp and cold. “Send me the contract.” He rose to his feet.

There was no mistaking his anger. “Too bad you’re angry. You’ll have to get over it. This is very important to me and it’s urgent that the necklace is found quickly. I’m not taking any more chances and certainly not with you.”

He looked at her coldly and picked up the photo of the necklace. “I’ll get this back to you.”

“Keep it.” She bit the words off.

He slid the photo into an envelope and walked to the door. He turned toward her. “I’ll be in touch.” He opened the door and started to walk out.

“Not so fast.” She stood and walked around the table. He turned toward her and held open the door.

“I expect you to call me tomorrow.” She raised her chin at his frown and plowed on. “I also expect you to call me whenever you find something new. You’re going to have to work in Birmingham some of the time. I have an excellent computer network in my home. I want you to work there.”

He looked at her as if she’d turned into the Wicked Witch of the West. “I’ll call you. Soon.” His tone was cold, but his gaze even colder. He gave her a curt nod and walked out.

When the door closed, she finally let down her guard and her shoulders slumped under the weight and worry that had gripped her since learning the necklace was gone. She walked slowly to her chair and sat down. She’d gotten what she’d wanted in this meeting. She’d won the battle, but she wasn’t sure she’d win the war if Chris Foster was involved. She leaned back in the chair. Now that he was gone, she realized how tense she’d been. If he made her feel this way in an office, how was she going to feel when he came to her home? Renee tightened her lips. She’d deal with it. Like she’d dealt with every unpleasant thing she’d had to deal with since Marc’s death.

The door opened again and Terrell walked inside. “So do I need to draw up a contract?”

“Yes,” she said and sat up straight.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

She looked at her friend and lawyer. “This is what I have to do. I don’t really have a choice if I want to find the necklace before Aunt Gert finds out it’s gone.”

“You should tell her about Marc. She’ll understand. This isn’t your fault.”

But it was. If she hadn’t married Marc, none of this would have happened. There was no way she was going to tell her what happened. Her great-aunt was the only family who cared for her and she wasn’t about to lose her. She couldn’t bear it if Aunt Gert treated her like her parents treated her. Renee wouldn’t take that chance.

“I brought Marc into her life. I’ve got to make this right.”

“You aren’t responsible for Marc’s actions. He’s responsible.”

She shook her head. “Let’s agree to disagree.”

Terrell raised one side of his mouth. “In other words, shut up and leave you alone.”

Renee shrugged her shoulders and smiled. Terrell understood her. She considered him and his sister, Karen, to be her only friends. But even with them, she never really completely let down her guard to be herself. People never wanted to see the real Renee. They only wanted to see the preconceived image, and that image couldn’t be hurt.

“Hey,” Terrell said. “Dad’s cooking out in two weeks and Mom said to tell you to come over around six and bring Miss Gert.”

“Okay, but I’ll have to check with Aunt Gert. She’s usually busy on the weekends.”

He shook his head. “I thought people slowed down when they got older.”

“Try explaining that to Aunt Gert.”

Renee called Alex when she arrived home. She’d been so busy contacting the jewelry stores in Birmingham trying to locate the necklace that she hadn’t thought to ask Alex or Danielle if they had it.

Alex was the youngest of the three women Marc had married. Because of her wealth and past party-girl lifestyle, she hadn’t taken Alex seriously when they’d first met. That had changed. She’d learned over the last few weeks that Alex had a generous heart and a fine business mind.

Alex and Chris’s friend, Hunter Smith, had worked together to recover the millions Marc had embezzled from Alex’s family business.

“Renee, I’m so glad you called. I was going to call you and Danielle tonight,” Alex said.

“Well, you can tell us now. Hang on. I’m going to add Danielle.” Danielle owned half of a large shipping company that her brother and his best friend, Tristan Adams, started before her brother’s death in Iraq. She’d been married to Marc the longest and was a former model.

“Hello, everyone,” Danielle said.

“I’m so excited. I’ve got good news,” Alex said.

“Well, tell us,” Renee said, needing some good news today.

“Hunter and I are getting married.”

“That’s wonderful,” Danielle said.

“Congratulations. I’m so glad everything worked out,” Renee said.

She and Danielle could see that Hunter had deep feelings for Alex when they were all on the yacht. They’d encouraged Alex to take a chance and to not let what happened with Marc stop her from finding love with Hunter.

“Oh, thank you. Little Sweetie and I are so happy and I want both of you to come to my wedding,” Alex said.

Renee smiled. Little Sweetie was Alex’s pampered Chihuahua whom she’d brought with her to Marc’s funeral.

“When are you getting married?” Danielle asked.

“We’re having a small ceremony on the yacht in two weeks,” Alex said.

“Two weeks?” Renee asked, surprised.

“I know it’s short notice but there’s no reason to wait,” Alex said.

“I’ll be there,” Danielle said.

“So will I, Alex,” Renee added.

“Oh, good. Having the two of you there will mean a lot to me,” Alex said. “Oh, but, Renee, you called me. What did you want to talk to us about?”

“I wanted to know if Marc gave you diamond jewelry other than your wedding ring,” Renee asked and waited anxiously for their response.

“No,” Danielle said.

“Me, either. Why?” Alex asked.

“I’m trying to find a piece of jewelry and I wondered if Marc had given it to you, but I guess he didn’t,” Renee replied. It had been worth a try.

“I’m sorry,” Alex said. Renee could hear the sadness in her voice.

“Don’t worry about it, Alex. You’ve got a wedding to plan. What do you wear to a wedding on a yacht?” Renee asked. She didn’t want bad news to spoil Alex’s announcement. She would tell them about Aunt Gert’s necklace after the wedding.

They yielded to Danielle, who’d been a fashion model and agreed to wear a nice dress before they ended the call.

Later that evening she’d placed two chocolate cakes on wire racks to cool when her cell phone rang. She wiped her hands on the vintage apron and removed the phone from the pocket of her skirt. She looked at the number on the screen and steadied herself.

“Hi, Aunt Gert. How was your day?” Aunt Gert and five of her friends had hired a van and a driver to take them to the casinos in Mississippi. She’d told her great-aunt that Marc had a younger brother and she was meeting with him about Marc’s estate. It was mostly the truth and would explain the time she’d have to spend with Chris Foster.

“Never mind about that. Tell me, how did your meeting with Marc’s brother go today?” Aunt Gert asked, her voice brimming with curiosity.

So much for stalling, she thought. She’d been expecting the question all evening. Aunt Gert had to be the nosiest person in the world. The older she got the more personal and blunt her questions became. She’d tried to get her to tone down her questions, but Aunt Gert had said to her, “I’m too darn old to be beating around the bush. If I want to know something I’m just going to ask.”

“It went fine. Both of us want to settle Marc’s estate as quickly as possible.” Okay, Chris wanted to settle the estate quickly and she wanted the necklace.

“So are you okay financially? Marc didn’t leave you in debt like Mrs. Hutton’s husband left her?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. There are just a couple of loose ends to finalize.”

“What kind of loose ends, and did you find out why Marc never told you he had a brother?”

Leave it to her aunt to get straight to the point. She wished she could tell her the truth and remove the weight of Marc’s betrayal from her shoulders. But she couldn’t. She was too afraid she’d lose the one person who hadn’t let her down, who hadn’t left her. “I don’t think they were close. He’s Marc’s younger brother.”

“They must have been close at some point for Marc to make him the executor.”

“I guess so.” Renee sighed. “At this point, I just want this whole thing over with.”

“I know you do, sweet girl.” Her tone softened. “You know if you need me, I’ll come back.”

“No. Don’t cut your trip short. I have got everything under control.”

“You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

“I’m not. Terrell is doing a great job of representing my best interests.”

“I’m sure he is. I’ll be back home next week. If there’s anything you want me to do just let me know.”

“I will, Aunt Gert.”

“Hmm. No you won’t. I’ll have to invite myself to do something, then you won’t have a choice but to let me help.”

Renee laughed. “I promise to let you help me.”

“See that you do. Love you much, Renee. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good night.” Renee hit the off button and put the phone back in her pocket. She’d gotten off easy tonight. Usually Aunt Gert was focused when it came to asking questions and she had a lot of questions about Marc. Questions Renee couldn’t answer without risking Aunt Gert’s love. She didn’t know what it was about her that made her parents not love her. She’d spent years trying to be the kind of daughter they would love and in the end nothing she did made a difference. Aunt Gert loved the image she presented to the world and Renee had worked hard to never reveal her true self because no one loved the real Renee.

Gertrude Mitchell placed the cell phone on the nightstand and frowned.

“How’s Renee?”

Gert looked at the man she’d loved for most of her life. He lay back against the mound of extra pillows he always requested when they were together. He looked nothing like the bold young man she’d fallen in love with in New York. The doctors in Switzerland had done an excellent job of transforming gangster Ike “Big Ike” Henderson into now-retired businessman Dean Benson. They’d given him a new face, but the eyes were the same. Gert laid her head on his shoulder, enjoying the scent that was truly his own.

“Something’s bothering her and she’s trying hard to pretend everything is okay.”

“Is something going on with Marc’s estate?” He ran his hand along her shoulder.

“I don’t know if it’s Marc’s estate or Marc.” She placed her hand on his chest, indulging in the cool feel of the black silk robe. “Whatever it is, I’m going to make sure she doesn’t face this alone. You can best believe her selfish, no-good parents aren’t going to help her.”

He kissed her brow. “She’s lucky that she has you.”

“Yes, she is, and I’m lucky to have her. She deserves to be happy.”

“Wasn’t she happy with Marc?”

“I don’t think so. I know this business with the estate isn’t making her happy.”

“We’ll find a way to help her get through this.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes and enjoyed being held in his arms. They didn’t have much time left to spend together. He had an early-morning flight to his home in Switzerland tomorrow. “You will come to the dance in a few weeks, won’t you?”

He tightened his arms around her. “I’ll be at the dance. I want to see you wearing the necklace again.”

“I’ll wear it just for you.” Gert smiled and kissed his chin. She’d ask Renee to get the necklace from her safe deposit box before the dance. Her thoughts returned to her conversation with Renee.

Gert smiled and kissed his chin. One way or another she would find out what was bothering Renee.

Chapter 3

Renee looked at the Victorian-style clock that separated the biology and botany sections of the bookshelf across the room. At eight-thirty most Saturday mornings, she would still be in her pajamas and enjoying her first cup of coffee. Today, she had been awake since six o’clock, unable to sleep a minute longer. Chris Foster was coming to Birmingham to begin looking for the necklace. She’d been standing at the window waiting for a car to park in front of the house for the past five minutes. There was nothing else for her to do but wait.

She wanted to call and find out his exact location, but she could not bring herself to do it.

“He’ll be here,” she whispered. She turned back to the window. There was no reason for him to not show up. There’d been no reason for her parents not to show up at her school, either, but they hadn’t on so many occasions that she’d stopped expecting them by the time she was in the seventh grade. Unlike her parents, he had an incentive to come here.

He wanted to settle Marc’s estate as much as she wanted to find Aunt Gert’s necklace.

She’d spent every minute of her free time trying to put together all the information she could find on Marc’s travels for the last year. Renee, Danielle and Alex decided to work together and track his movements in hopes of trying to rectify the havoc Marc had played in their lives. Alex was missing about a million dollars that Marc had taken from her family’s business and her personal accounts. He’d taken the opportunity to have children with Danielle, and he’d taken Aunt Gert’s necklace from her.

Marc Foster had a lot to answer for. The anger she’d thought she’d released by beating the living daylights out of bread dough this morning still bubbled inside her. Every time she thought about Marc, she wanted to punch something. Yoga and meditation weren’t helping to release the rage she felt when she imagined how hurt Aunt Gert would be if she learned her necklace had been stolen.

Renee unclenched her hands and rubbed them on her black cotton pants. Getting mad wasn’t going to help. She left the window and walked across the thick rug to one of the sections of the wall-to-wall bookshelves.

She moved a book a quarter of an inch forward to line up with the rest of the books on the shelf. She couldn’t believe how anxious she was to have Chris in her home. With a sigh, she glanced at the clock again. Punctuality hadn’t been Marc’s strong suit. Neither had fidelity or truthfulness.

She tugged on the hem of her white cotton blouse that was still crisp and wrinkle free. It wouldn’t remain that way. No matter how hard she tried, her clothes ended up wrinkled or stained by the end of the day. One thing her parents had drilled into her was that appearances mattered, which was why they’d been so disappointed with her. Renee wasn’t the beautiful, socially adept child they’d tried to mold her to be. Instead they got an awkward child who was more interested in books and learning to cook than looking pretty on demand. She’d spent years trying to please her parents. Marc had accepted her for herself, or he’d pretended to accept her.

She could feel herself getting angrier just thinking about the way he’d lied to her just like her parents had lied when they said they were going to visit her in school. They never had. Renee walked across the room to a chair, slipped off her black clogs and sat down. She closed her eyes and tried to enter into her “peaceful” place, but peace was hard to find when you wanted to strangle someone who was already dead. After a minute she gave up and opened her eyes. She reached for the book on the table. Meditation wasn’t helping her to relax…maybe the latest murder mystery would.

Chris put his Explorer in Park and lowered his window. He didn’t need to check the address because he’d made a point of learning exactly where Renee lived on his last trip to Birmingham. The large, white Victorian house was unexpected. He knew she and Marc had lived in a condo in downtown Birmingham and as of yesterday, she still owned that property. He’d driven down several streets with rows of Victorian-style homes on large lots and sidewalks on either side of the street on the way here. Chris got out of the car. The sound of children laughing drifted from the backyard a few houses down.

This neighborhood was a long way from the falling-apart houses and apartments where he and Marc grew up. It was the kind of house a kid like him had dreamed of living in. How different would his life have been if he’d lived here? He shrugged then reached inside the car and grabbed his briefcase and a box of Marc’s possessions. That was the past. Now, home was wherever his next assignment took him. No strings. No obligations. No ties. Only the next assignment, or in this case, where his promise to Marc took him.

Heat enveloped him as he walked up the front walkway that was lined with a straight row of bushes thick with small, white flowers. As he climbed the short flight of stairs to the wraparound porch, he could smell the sweet scent of the flowers.

When he reached the door, he rang the doorbell and waited under the cooler shade of the porch. The cement floor had been painted the color of the reddish-brown Birmingham soil. A green mat in front of the door spelled Welcome in black letters. He waited a moment then rang the bell again. She couldn’t have forgotten that he was coming, of that he was sure. She’d even sent him an e-mail verifying the date and time of their meeting. The front door was solid and for her sake he was glad. Doors with fancy glass were pretty, but provided little protection if someone was trying to break in.

A few seconds later, Chris walked to the windows on the left. Heavy curtains blocked the view inside. He moved to the windows on the other side of the house and cupped a hand over his eyes. The lace curtains might as well have not been there for all the good they were doing. Four froufrou girly chairs were grouped together. In one of those chairs sat Renee Foster. She sat with one foot beneath her knee and the other leg swung lazily. Her pant leg bunched at the knee revealing her calf. A pair of geriatric black shoes sat at attention beside the chair. His gaze went to the bright blue nail polish on her feet.

She had the prettiest feet he’d ever seen. If they were as soft and smooth as they looked, why in the hell did she hide them in shoes that were just plain ugly? It made him wonder what else she was hiding. He let his gaze follow the arch of her foot, to her ankle and up the smooth curve of her calf. He felt a pull of desire and heat that had nothing to do with the summer weather. What the hell was wrong with him? All she was doing was reading a book and showing her calf and he was acting like she’d offered to strip naked for him.

“Hell, Foster. Get a grip,” he muttered. She was off-limits. Way off-limits. Chris rapped hard on the window. “Just find the damn necklace and get back to Atlanta.” He knocked harder, making the glass rattle from the force. She blinked as if coming awake after a long night’s sleep. She stared at him as if she didn’t recognize him for a second. Then color flooded her cheeks. He watched as she put the book facedown on the armrest and mouthed, “Be right there.”

Chris watched as she walked out of the room. Her black pants outlined the shape of her rear. He stood, enjoying the sway of her hips. If things were different he’d make a point of getting to know this woman. But things weren’t different. He turned from the window and walked to the door.

She opened the door and gestured him inside. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear the bell. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

He stepped inside the foyer. Sunlight streamed in from a large second-story window and the sweet smell of chocolate reminded him of his favorite bakery in Los Angeles. He hoped she’d offer him a sample of whatever it was she’d baked. If it was as good as it smelled, it might make up for him leaving his apartment so early in the morning.

“I didn’t wait long,” he said. “You seemed to be really into your book. Do you always get so involved in your book that you don’t hear the doorbell?”

She closed the door and he saw the faint hint of color in her cheeks. “Not always, but I can pretty much tune out anything when I really get involved with a book. Do you want anything before we get started?”

Not really, but if getting a drink would get things started he’d take one. He shifted the box and nearly dropped it. “I’ll take anything cold.”

“Let me take your briefcase,” she said, reaching for the battered leather case.

Their hands touched briefly, but he could feel the touch as if he’d been branded. Only years of training kept him from jerking his hand away. She walked to the door opposite the library and opened it. “We’ll do most of our work in my office.”

Chris whistled low and long when he stepped inside. Her office was more like a computer lab. He counted at least five computers and various other types of equipment stacked on racks—lights flashed and blinked. All of the equipment looked brand-new. “I can see why you have your curtains closed for this room.”

“I like to play with my computers.”

He raised a brow and looked at her. “This is more than playing.”

“It’s not really,” she said, placing his briefcase on one of the desks. “I’m going to get something to drink before we get started. What would you like? I’ve got Coke, sweet tea, lemonade, ginger ale and water.”

“Tea’s fine.”

“I’ll be right back.” She turned and hurried out the door. He placed the box on the desk beside his briefcase and walked to a rack on the opposite side of the room. He knew enough about computers to know that Renee didn’t “play” with these computers. The equipment looked like top-of-the-line stuff.

When she’d mentioned her computer network, he thought she meant she had a relatively new home computer network. What he saw here was above and beyond the average home setup. There was nothing in her background check that mentioned her skill with computers. Math and library science—yes. If she was so good with computers why didn’t she work in that field? This bit of information played hell with him. Like the blue nail polish. He was beginning to think there was more to Renee Foster.

He turned when he heard her footsteps. She carried a good-size metal tray loaded with a pitcher of tea, two glasses and a plate of cookies. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said. He took the tray and set it down on the desk next to his briefcase. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s no trouble. Besides, I figure we’ll need it. I hope you like chocolate pecan cookies.”

Chris felt his mouth water. “What’s not to like?” He reached for a cookie and bit into it. The cookie tasted like chocolate-covered sin. “This is good. Really good.”

“I’m glad you like them,” she said and smiled. It was the first time she’d really smiled at him. He was surprised how much he wanted her to remain smiling. Keep your mind on the job, Foster.

“The recipe makes three dozen so feel free to eat as many as you’d like,” she continued.

Chris looked at the stack of cookies on the plate and wondered how she would react if he told her he wanted something more than cookies.

“Thanks,” he said. “I am curious why a librarian has a network like this in her home.”

“I have a graduate degree in Information Science. Most people get jobs as librarians with that degree, but you can also get a computer specialization with an Information Science degree. After all, a library catalog is just one big computer database,” Renee said.

He relaxed a little at her explanation.

He opened his briefcase and took out his laptop and the file he’d started on his brother. The file wasn’t as complete as he wanted it to be, but he figured he could get more information from Renee and the other wives to help fill in the gaps.

“Let’s start looking for the necklace.” The sooner it was found the better for him. He picked up another cookie on the tray and bit into it.

“Okay,” Renee said. She walked to the computer cart and rolled it next to the desk beside his. On top of the cart sat a wide-screen laptop that made his laptop look like a relic. Three thick black notebooks lay on the shelf below. She put the laptop on the desk.

Chris got another cookie and opened his file. “I’ve checked with agents in Los Angeles, New York, Miami and Houston. None of their contacts have seen the necklace.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Is that good or bad?”

“Good because that means the necklace hasn’t been fenced through the major jewel laundering hubs in the States. The stones are sometimes removed and sold or used to make other jewelry.” He bit into the cookie and put it down on the open folder.

“Oh, no,” she said, her eyes wide and filled with fear. “You don’t think that’s what happened, do you?”

“No. If the necklace had gone to any of those locations, someone would have let it slip and Marc didn’t have ties to gangs or organized crime. My guess is he either sold the necklace to an individual or he took the necklace to another jeweler to be cleaned.” He removed a page from the stack. “This is a list of commercial and smaller flights Marc took during the last month,” he said, putting the paper on the desk in front of her.

She slid the paper closer and studied it. Her hands looked soft and delicate. He wondered how they would feel on his bare chest.

“This looks right,” she said, then picked up one of the black notebooks on the cart. “I asked Alex and Danielle if they could track Marc’s travels on their end and I created a travel calendar.”

He took the calendar and compared it to his information. It was an exact match. His gut twisted in a knot. Chris looked at her. Hard. “How did you get this information?”

She looked at the calendar and then back at him and frowned. “I just told you. I got information from the other wives and added it together with my information.”

The look she gave him said she was confused by his question. He was damn confused as to how she’d found information that had been difficult for him to find.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Not all of those flights were booked under Marc’s name,” he said softly. He’d found the information in some of Marc’s possessions from the crash, but most of the information came from sources available to law enforcement and government officials. Renee was neither.

“Yes, I know. I found out that Marc had several credit cards he used under different names and addresses.”

She passed along the information as if she were telling him Marc’s favorite color, not like she’d just revealed that her husband had committed yet another crime.

“And you learned this how?”

“Oh, easy. Marc didn’t know there was monitoring software on our computer network at home. The software recorded everything he did. Once I had credit card numbers, it was easy to find out the rest. You just need access to the right database.”

Chris leaned back in the chair. Playing with computers. Accessing the right database, my ass. He didn’t know who she thought she was fooling, but it wasn’t him. He’d have to dig deeper into Renee’s background. The computers in this office combined with her ability to get that kind of information on Marc said loud and clear that Renee was more than a librarian. He made a mental note to contact a librarian at the FBI Library in Quantico to find out if Renee’s story was feasible. “Which credit cards did you find?”

“I found three so far,” she said, flipping through the notebook. “But I’ve only searched the last four months, so there may be more.”

There were more, but he wasn’t going to share that with her just yet. She seemed to get more than enough information on her own. “What was the date that Marc took the necklace from the bank?”

“It was March 28.”

“During that time, Marc had been to at least fifteen different cities. We need to contact jewelers in the area and see if anyone has seen the necklace.”

“I can get a list of all of the jewelers in those cities,” Renee said.

“That’s good, but it would help to see anything Marc left at your old home. Did he leave any papers, notes or clothing? Did he make calls?”

“I don’t know about phone calls. He didn’t leave much. I put all of his things in boxes after he died. I brought them from the garage this morning,” she said and pointed to the far corner of the room. “They’re over there.”

Chris looked at the two large cardboard boxes. It looked as if Marc traveled light like him. It was a lesson they’d had to learn as boys and neither of them had gotten out of the habit. Chris stood and walked to the corner where the boxes sat. A label with Marc’s Clothing was neatly printed on top. He assumed it was Renee’s writing because Marc’s handwriting was sloppy and barely legible.

He took out his pocketknife and quickly cut the heavy-duty brown tape. The knife was within legal length limits in most states, but it was razor sharp at all times. This knife had saved his butt a few times in the past so he made sure it was always sharp. He slid the blade back into place and opened the box.

A crisp, white dress shirt lay on top. Chris felt nothing but sadness that this was as close as he would come to his brother ever again. He didn’t know why it bothered him. They hadn’t been close since they were boys. As adults, they couldn’t have been more different. He lived his life with justice and honor. Marc broke the law when it suited him. It didn’t matter to him who he hurt.

Chris pushed those thoughts aside. What mattered was the job and he would do it properly. He picked up the shirt and checked the pocket. It was empty. Unperturbed, he checked the seams along the bottom, then the cuffs of each sleeve.

“What are you doing?” Renee asked and came to his side.

“Checking to see if Marc had anything sewn into the seams of his shirt,” he said as he guided his fingers along a side seam.

“People do that?” she said, picking up one of the sleeves.

Chris smiled at her amazed tone. “Yes.”

“That’s good to know,” she said.

What the hell? Chris turned and looked at her. A frown wrinkled her brow as she fingered the seams of the sleeve with the focus of a sniper with a target in sight. He couldn’t just let her comment pass. “Why is that good to know?”

“I have a friend who designs computer games and he’s always looking for new twists to add to the games.”

“I see,” he said and moved to put the shirt to the side, but Renee had a sleeve. He let go of the shirt when he realized that she wasn’t going to let it go.

“What kind of things do you find in clothes?”

“Jewelry, drugs, money,” he said and picked up a jacket. “Anything.”

“You don’t think he put the necklace in his clothing, do you?”

“I don’t know. If he didn’t, maybe he hid something that could point us to what he did do with the necklace.”

Renee shook her head. “I just don’t see Marc being the kind of guy to sew something in his clothes. He couldn’t even sew on a button.”

Chris raised his brow. “Marc knew how to sew.”

“What do you mean? He took his clothes to the tailor if a button fell off.”

“I mean we both had to learn to sew a seam and repair our clothes. We didn’t have enough money growing up to throw away anything.”

“So he lied about that, too.”

“Yes, he did.” Chris wished he’d kept his mouth closed. He could see that this information hurt her. It was just one more mess Marc made that he’d have to clean up. Chris moved his hand along the hem of the jacket and felt something hard. The kick of satisfaction had him reaching for his knife again.

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