Boiling Point (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 2) Page 14

The caller was Lyman with the news that Marian was being discharged in a couple of hours. After assuring him she would be there to pick them up, Zoë returned the receiver to its cradle.

  “I’ll need to leave for the hospital around ten.”

  Nick folded the paper and set it aside. “If we leave a little early, you can drop me at the car rental agency. My insurance agent has arranged for a loaner while my truck’s in the shop. I’ll meet you at the hospital and follow you back to the house.”

  Normally, she would have insisted she could handle the task on her own, but after yesterday, the thought of seeing Nick’s face in the rearview mirror brought a welcome reassurance.

  At the hospital, the staff insisted on bringing Marian to the curb in a wheelchair. Her hair hung limply across her shoulders, and her face was pale and drawn, but she greeted Zoë with a warm smile. Lyman helped her into the back seat of the Mini then slid in beside her.

  After arranging her seatbelt around her belly, Marian settled back with a sigh. “I can’t wait to get home.” She reached for her husband’s hand and gave him a tired smile. “We’re both exhausted. I don’t know how anyone can sleep in a hospital. People pop in and out of the room all night, and then there are all those tubes and wires and beeping things.”

  “It’s nice and quiet at home,” Zoë assured her. “And I’ve made you a special welcome home lunch. Then you can take a nice nap.”

  “That sounds like heaven.”

  Before pulling away from the curb, Zoë glanced back to see Nick idling behind her in a big black Escalade. That was his loaner? He must have one heck of a good insurance agent. For a moment she wondered if it would be safer to transfer Marian and Lyman to the Escalade, then she decided she’d prefer to have Nick riding shotgun. If anyone tried to intercept the Mini, he had the weight and power to stop them. He would also have more freedom to take offensive action without passengers in the car.

  The drive home was smooth and uneventful, but when they pulled up to the gate, a large brown box sat on the ground next to the intercom. It looked as if the delivery person had abandoned it after failing to find anyone at home.

  Zoë glanced back at her passengers. “Is either of you expecting a package?”

  Lyman leaned over to peer out the car window. “Not me. Marian, did you order something for the baby?”

  “No. We got everything on my list on our shopping trip.”

  It might be a gift, but it was awfully big. Zoë’s stomach twisted and tightened. What if the box contained a bomb? After yesterday, her imagination might be in overdrive, but she pushed the opener and drove through the gate at twice her normal speed, only slowing when she reached the courtyard behind the house.

  She met Lyman’s gaze in the mirror. “We’ll go inside and let Nick take care of the package.”

  He nodded and helped Marian out of the car and up the back steps, while Zoë waited for Nick to park behind her.

  “Did you see that box by the gate?” She kept her voice low because Lyman was still fishing through his pockets for the key to the back door.

  Nick nodded. “I stopped to check it. The box is unmarked and the delivery label is torn, so there’s no sender’s name or address. I assume it’s the last remaining piece of inventory from that baby shop downtown.”

  “No. We didn’t order anything, and neither of the Prescotts is expecting a package.” She shot a worried glance down the driveway toward the gate. “Do you think we should call the bomb squad?”

  “That’s kind of a stretch, but I don’t think we should take any chances.” He pulled out his phone and placed a call to the Lake Forest Police Department. After a quick explanation, he tucked the phone back in his pocket. “They’ll be here as soon as they can muster the team and equipment. I’ll wait at the gate. You go inside and take care of the Prescotts.”

  Curiosity and duty grappled for the upper hand. Although she was anxious to find out what was in the box and had never seen a bomb squad in action, responsibility won out. “Okay.” After one last glance toward the gate, she hurried up the steps and into the house.

  For lunch, she’d made a chicken pot pie. She’d cheated and used frozen vegetables and prepared pastry, betting neither of the Prescotts would know the difference. She was right. For whatever reason—probably sheer exhaustion—they both seemed to have forgotten the box at the gate. They raved about the pot pie and cleaned their plates before Lyman ushered Marian into the elevator and up to their bedroom for some desperately needed sleep.

  Zoë tried to settle on the living room sofa with the newspaper but found herself re-reading the same article over and over without absorbing a word. Her mind was on the officers outside. After fifteen minutes she gave up and went to Lyman’s office to peer out one of the long front windows. She couldn’t see the activity on the other side of the elaborate wrought iron gate clearly, but the suggestion of movement helped calm her nerves.

  As time dragged on, she wondered if she should call Nick’s cell to ask him for an update. There had been no loud noises, so they hadn’t exploded the package. What could be taking so long?

  After what seemed like hours, the figure of a man stepped through the gate opening and walked up the driveway toward the house, carrying some kind of contraption. As he drew closer, she recognized Nick’s dark hair and long, purposeful stride, although she couldn’t yet identify the device in his arms. She rushed to the front door and stepped out onto the porch. Within a minute, the object became clear.

  He was carrying a stroller.

  He toted it up the steps then set it on the porch at her feet. “I called the bomb squad for a freaking stroller. They brought the sniffer dog and the robot. Those guys are never going to let me live this down.”

  “You couldn’t have known. We had no idea what was in the box. And after yesterday…”

  She bent for a closer inspection. The device was incredibly elaborate, much more than a simple stroller. It reminded her of one Marian had seen at the baby shop, but this one was even fancier. Someone had spent a pretty penny on the gift. “Was there a card?”

  Nick handed her a small envelope. “This was inside.”

  She turned the envelope in her hand. It was made from heavy duty, high quality paper stock—the kind often used for wedding invitations—and read Mrs. Lyman Prescott. Zoë opened the envelope and slid out a card of the same quality. The front of the card was emblazoned with an elegant monogram—LBE. She recognized it immediately as belonging to Le Bébé Élégant. When she opened the card, it read simply, “So Very Sorry.”

  She showed it to Nick. “Who’s sorry, and for what?”

  He examined the card and envelope as if some clue would magically appear. “I have no idea, but I don’t like it.”

  “We’ll have to ask Marian. Maybe she told a family member or friend about the accident.”

  “Maybe, but don’t you think someone close to her would have signed their name?”

  “I do.” She certainly didn’t know anyone who would send such an expensive gift anonymously. “Is it safe to bring inside?”

  He pressed his lips together and waited a couple of seconds. “Would I have brought it up here if it wasn’t?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “I guess not.” She opened the door and stepped aside as he pushed the stroller into the foyer.

  Three hours later Zoë heard the hum and rattle of the elevator from her place on the living room sofa and hurried into the foyer. When the door opened, Lyman and Marian appeared, both looking rested and refreshed.

  Marian’s face lit with delight when she spied the stroller in the middle of the floor. “What’s that?”

  “It was in the box at the gate. Apparently, it’s a gift for you.”

  Marian beamed as she ran her fingers over the canopy. “It’s The Entourage.” She turned to Zoë. “We saw one like it at the baby shop, do you remember? It has so many amazing features. But I couldn’t bring myself to buy it.”

  Lyman wrapped one arm around her middle where h
er waist used to be. “Why not? I told you to buy everything you wanted.”

  She turned in his embrace and touched his cheek in a gentle caress before shaking her head with a smile. “Don’t be silly. It cost more than my first car. I wasn’t about to spend that kind of money on a stroller.”

  Nick frowned at The Entourage as if it were hiding some malevolent intent. “Do you have any idea who might have sent it?”

  Marian hesitated a moment then shook her head. “None at all. No one I know could afford one.”

  “Maybe it’s a group gift from your co-workers,” Zoë suggested.

  “I’m sure it’s not. They gave me a car seat at the shower. Was there a card?”

  “Oh…yes.” Zoë retrieved it from the hall table. “Here.”

  Marian read the brief message then showed it to Lyman, who pursed his lips and frowned. Then she handed it back. “That’s strange and kind of creepy. What do you think it means?”

  Zoë glanced at Nick. “We assumed it referred to the accident yesterday. Did you call any family members or friends from the hospital?”

  “No. At first things were too chaotic, and later I was too tired. Besides, I had Lyman with me.” She smiled into her husband’s eyes. “I honestly didn’t think to call anyone else.”

  Nick glanced from one to the other. “So, as far as you know, no one is aware of the accident except the four of us, the police, and the medical personnel. Is that correct?”

  If he’d been standing closer, Zoë would have given him a subtle kick in the shin. How did he expect Lyman to believe he was nothing more than a chauffeur if he couldn’t keep the cop out of his voice?

  Lyman stiffened and tightened his hold on his wife. “That is correct.”

  Since the Prescotts clearly couldn’t provide any useful information, Zoë decided it was time to puncture the growing bubble of tension in the room. She pasted a bright smile on her face. “Well, it’s a fantastic stroller, so you might as well enjoy it, no matter who sent it.”

  Marian’s blue eyes sparked, and the tight lines around them faded. She eased out of her husband’s embrace and turned, her face alight with renewed excitement. “The Entourage is much more than just a stroller. I can’t wait to show you everything it does. It even comes with this matching diaper bag. Isn’t it cute?”

  Lyman smiled and nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Zoë suspected he wasn’t referring to the stroller, and her throat tightened. His devotion to his wife was a palpable entity, hovering around him at all times. No man had ever looked at her like that, and she’d pretty much given up hope one ever would.

  She blinked a couple of times then caught Nick’s attention and signaled for him to follow her to the kitchen. While Marian demonstrated the wonders of The Entourage to her ostensibly captivated spouse, Zoë and Nick left unnoticed.

  He poured himself a cup of stale coffee left over from breakfast, but before he could bring it to his lips, she snatched it from his hand and dumped it in the sink.

  “Hey! What—”

  She rinsed his cup. “You can’t drink that stuff—it’s foul. I don’t know why I didn’t throw it out after breakfast. I’ll make a fresh pot.”

  He crossed his arms and studied her as she measured fresh grounds into the filter and placed it back in the machine. His scrutiny made her already jumpy insides leap higher.

  She kept her attention on her task as she poured the water into the coffeemaker and set the pot on the warmer. “You’re a lousy P.I., you know.”

  He stiffened. “Where did that come from?”

  She wasn’t sure. The words had just popped out on their own. “Keep your voice down.”

  Nick narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. “You’re the one who started a conversation we shouldn’t be having here.”

  She eased away from his simmering anger. “We’re okay for now. The Prescotts went into the living room. I saw them through the doorway.”

  He glanced into the foyer, and Zoë picked up faint voices from the television in the living room.

  He faced her and crossed his arms. “Fine. So tell me what makes you an expert on private investigators.”

  “I’m not, but I do know something about working undercover.”

  “I’ve worked undercover before.” A current of challenge ran through his flat statement.

  When pushed, her natural response was to push back, regardless of whether it was the smartest tactic. “I don’t see how. Everything about you screams cop—the way you look at people, the questions you ask and the way you ask them, even the way you walk.”

  “What’s wrong with the way I walk?” The defensive edge in his voice was sharp enough to slice through granite.

  She pictured his strong, confident stride. Nothing’s wrong with your walk—if I’m the only one watching.

  But she wasn’t the only one, and that was the problem. “You march into a room like you’re in charge.”

  “So?”

  She poured two cups of fresh coffee and handed one to him. “You’re supposed to be the chauffeur.”

  Based on his puzzled expression, he really didn’t understand. She elaborated. “You’re an employee, not the boss. Why do you think Lyman gives you strange looks and bristles when you speak?”

  Nick swirled the coffee in his cup with ominous nonchalance. “I haven’t noticed anything like that.”

  “Then you’re not watching closely enough. I thought police detectives were supposed to be trained observers.”

  “We are, but we’re also trained how to ask questions and where to look for answers.”

  “Well, if you watched the people around you more closely, you’d see that Lyman is developing serious suspicions about you.”

  He scowled at his coffee before slugging it down in one long, continuous gulp. When he lifted his head, anger snapped in his eyes. “I’ll try to be more subservient in the future.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  He brushed past her and stalked out of the kitchen.

  She dumped the untouched contents of her cup in the sink. The thought of coffee, which she usually loved, curdled her stomach, along with the dregs of guilt. Her mother was right—sometimes she didn’t have the sense God gave a flea. She could tell herself she was only trying to help, but the truth was she’d been on edge since her close encounter with Nick the night before. Still, she shouldn’t have taken it out on him that way.

  He was furious, and she couldn’t blame him. Nobody liked being told they were bad at their job. Besides, the man was a former police detective, and she was a…what? A novice bodyguard on her first real case. Who was she to criticize his methods?

  But yesterday’s accident had brought the whole situation to a tipping point, and she didn’t know what to do next. She’d been putting off a status update to her boss for days. A glance at her watch told her she had at least an hour before she needed to start dinner. Maybe now was the time to make that call.

  Madelyn picked up on the first ring. “Zoë, why haven’t you returned my calls? You know company policy. Texts don’t cut it. I was nearly ready to drive to Lake Forest to check on you.”

  Zoë’s pulse jumped. Had she put her job in jeopardy by trying to handle such a complex situation on her own? “I know. I’m sorry. But things have been a little crazy here.”

  “You’d better tell me about it.”

  Referring to her notes, Zoë filled her boss in on everything that had happened, from the break-in the day before she arrived to the car accident yesterday, including Jimmy Mahoney and his connection to Marian.

  “It sounds like you might be in over your head,” Madelyn said at the end of the litany. “Maybe I should drive up tomorrow to talk to Mr. Prescott about taking over the case personally.”

  Calm and confident, Hargrove. Calm and confident. “I’m sure that’s not necessary.” At least not yet. “But I could use some help.”

  “The full resources of Phoenix, Ltd. are always available to our operatives.” Madelyn’s wo
rds were strictly business, but her voice had softened a degree or two.

  “I know, and Risa’s been a big help so far. But a strange thing happened this afternoon, and I wondered if she could check it out for me.” Zoë detailed the appearance of the pricey stroller and its mysterious card. “Finding out who sent it might help clarify the situation here.”

  “I’ll ask Risa to call the store and try to talk them into giving her the name of the sender.”

  “If they won’t, maybe she could use some of her mad computer skills to find out.”

  “I am not going to authorize hacking the store’s database when the only potential crime we’re looking at is someone anonymously sending our client an extravagant baby stroller.”

  “But—”

  “No. And that’s final. Additionally, I believe it’s time to make some major changes in the way this operation is being handled.”

  Madelyn’s words jolted Zoë as hard as Nick’s truck hitting the tree. She closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck. The boss was going to replace her. She knew it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Zoë had failed to protect her client from a possible attempt on her life, and now her boss was going to pull her off the Prescott case, maybe even fire her. Not that she didn’t deserve it. She’d accused Nick of being a lousy P.I., but she was an even worse bodyguard. She’d really thought she was ready to handle an assignment on her own.

  Impulsive and unprepared, Hargrove.

  Why did her inner voice always have to channel her old drill instructor? Why couldn’t it choose someone more positive and affirming?

  “Zoë? Are you still there?” Madelyn’s voice penetrated her veil of self-pity.

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” She might as well get it over with, take her lumps, and figure out a way to move on.

  “Regardless of the nature of the previous incidents,” her boss continued in a brisk, professional tone, “the accident yesterday has elevated the threat level. It’s time for Mr. Prescott to take his wife into his confidence and share the real purpose of your presence in the house. You will find it much easier to protect her if she’s able to cooperate.”