Secret Cinderella

Once again her ready smile flickered to life. “You could be right. They certainly pinch like the devil.”

He suppressed an answering smile and added spunk to her other attributes. “Why don’t you take them off?”

“My feet would get cold,” she said reasonably. “Besides, I’d trip over the hem of this coat. Your lady must be a giant.”

His lips tightened at the reminder of Shereen. If by some chance she had returned to the table and missed him, she would not be in the best of moods when he made it back upstairs. On the other hand, she wouldn’t lack for a partner to take her back out on the dance floor.

“On the contrary,” he told the woman. “Shereen’s the perfect size for a model.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

“Explains what?” he asked, curious despite himself.

She gave him another of those disarming smiles and shook her head without responding.

Sanity belatedly surfaced. He knew nothing about this puff of a woman. She could be running from the police for all he knew.

“You weren’t an invited guest, were you?”

She tipped back her head to regard him, humor glinting in her eyes.

“What gave me away, the lack of diamonds?”

“Among other things.”

“Maybe I find all that flash and dazzle boringly overdone.”

“You’re a woman,” he told her flatly. “Don’t pretend to be so cynical.”

“Chauvinist. I wouldn’t dream of it. You’ve already perfected that role.”

Stunned, he watched her step onto the last leg of the escalator. The heavy coat nearly tripped her this time. Roderick steadied her. She nodded her thanks as a subtle awareness hovered between them. He didn’t want to admit it, but she fascinated him.

“I hope you and your lady weren’t in a terrible hurry to get home. I’d hate to think I delayed you.”

“No. Shereen’s apartment isn’t far from here.”

“That’s good. Thank you, again.”

She wasn’t ignoring him now, but wariness had crept in around the edges of her expression. Roderick released the coat and her arm, unsettled by his reluctance to do so.

“You’re welcome, again. I’ll drive you home.”

He wasn’t sure who was more surprised, the woman, or himself. Shereen was probably fuming by now. Or, he conceded more honestly, still dancing with one of her many conquests. They were with a large, boisterous group of acquaintances after all. Still, he couldn’t drive off and leave her there. He needed to go back up and fetch her. First, he’d have the valet bring his car around so his mystery woman could wait inside safely. Shereen would be furious, of course, but even she would see that they couldn’t just leave her at this hour of the night.

Where was her coat? Still upstairs? He could bring it down with Shereen. But before he could voice these thoughts, the two of them reached the expansive lobby. The woman stepped forward briskly, turned and slid out of the heavy fur. Lifting up on tiptoes, she placed a chaste kiss on his chin.

Once more, she’d caught him unprepared. Roderick wasn’t used to being surprised. Things generally went as he planned them. At least they had until she’d waltzed into his life. As she drew away he realized there was no artificial odor of perfume or other fragrance on her skin.

“Thanks again, hero. I’m not what you think I am, but I did need rescuing. Happy New Year.”

“Wait!”

But she didn’t wait. She dropped the heavy coat and stepped away. Automatically, Roderick caught the fur before it hit the ground. She hurried off without a backward glance, heels clattering against the marbled floor.

Roderick had every intention of pursuing her, but stunned, he found his brain still focused on the absurd bit of material she called a dress. There wasn’t much fabric involved. The high mandarin collar and long sleeves were the garment’s deceptive concession to modesty. The key-hole effect in front was so low she looked in immediate danger of disaster.

And she was built perfectly for disaster. For such a petite woman, she was incredibly full and lush. The bodice snugged her body like a layer of glittery green skin before it flared out from her waist to swirl about slender, well-shaped calves. It appeared she wasn’t wearing a thing under that dress because in back, the fabric was missing clear down to her coccyx.

“I’m not what you think I am.”

He wasn’t sure what he thought she was, but the word stripper boldly came to mind. Certainly that clingy, sparkly material begged to be stripped from her enticing form.

Roderick was irritated to find himself aroused. He curbed the impulse to chase after her and demand answers. The lady was a mass of contradictions. That sweetly innocent smile did not go with that dress.

But the body did.

He muttered a low oath. One hand returned to massage his temple as he watched her step outside. He’d managed to forget his headache while he’d been with her, but now it returned with a vengeance. Beyond the plate-glass windows of the lobby, snow billowed in the wind. It wasn’t merely snowing, it was snowing hard. And all he could think was that there was very little of anything covering all that soft bare skin.

With a curse, he strode after her. He reached the double glass doors just in time to see the bellman shut the door of a taxicab.

Roderick paused. The cab would have a heater. She wouldn’t freeze. Obviously she had somewhere to go—someplace private, no doubt—and he did not want to think about watching her strip away that clingy bit of fabric.

Roderick shook his head at the disquieting train of thought. Who cared what the woman did with her nights? Hooker, stripper, paid companion…there were plenty of lost souls in Washington, D.C.

With a growl, he started back across the concourse to the escalator. He wasn’t sure why he was angry, or why her departure left him feeling so dejected. It made no difference who she was running away from. He had problems of his own, not the least of which was getting Shereen to agree to leave the party before midnight so he could go home and relax.

Going up the escalator, he attempted to push the stranger from his thoughts. The unsettling imp would have to fend for herself. She’d already demonstrated an uncanny ability to do just that. There was no reason for concern to jab at him. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help comparing the past few minutes to the ridiculous fairy tale his sister had been so fond of as a child.

So this was how the prince had felt when the clock had struck twelve. And while Roderick would hardly consider himself a prince, the only thing missing had been the glass slipper.

Chapter Two

Melanie Andrews waited for the driver to repeat the address in heavily accented English before she settled back against the seat of the smelly cab with a hard shiver. The vehicle would have been plenty warm if she’d been wearing a coat, or even decent clothing, but she wasn’t. She thought longingly of her warm cloth coat, still inside the luxury suite on the top floor of the hotel. The coat was old, but still serviceable. Too bad she’d never see it again.

She met the driver’s expression in the rearview mirror. He smiled broadly and winked. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a hostile glare. If he had any perverted ideas about taking her someplace besides the address she’d just given him, he’d find out exactly how valuable these stiletto heels could be. He needed to pay closer attention to the worsening road conditions.

No doubt he thought she was a hooker. That’s probably what her rescuer had thought, too. This dress was enough to give anyone that impression. It was exactly the impression she’d been trying to create.

Mel sighed. She looked down at the objects in her hand and a jolt of panic tingled down her spine. She’d shoved the dead man’s keys and plastic card in the deep pocket of the fur coat, but she’d only been able to palm the card before she dropped the fur because she’d also had her rescuer’s wallet and keys in her hand. She was going to need those keys.

She stared at the garish club card and tried to fight the panic clawing at her. She’d taken the wrong bit of plastic. This was not the key card she’d removed from the dead man’s wallet. The card to get into his office building must be still inside the fur coat. Her prints were all over that bit of plastic.

Mel forced her breathing to steady. Panic was the fast road to disaster. Her prints weren’t on file anywhere and the model wouldn’t know what the card was or where it had come from when she did discover the thing. She’d probably toss it out without a second thought. Besides, there was nothing Mel could do about the situation at the moment. She didn’t even have a last name for the woman her rescuer had called Shereen.

Ignoring the driver’s covert glances at the front of her dress, Mel opened the well-tooled leather wallet she’d palmed. Her fingers shook, and not from the cold. She hated that she’d repaid his kindness by lifting his wallet, but she’d needed to pay for the cab ride somehow. It was galling to realize that she hadn’t planned as well as she should have. She should have pinned money inside her dress, or at least grabbed her purse when she fled. Not that there had been time for that. Getting away had been far more important than searching for her purse on the bed filled with coats and a dead man.

Mel knew her thoughts were darting about in a ridiculous manner, but thinking of other things was better than thinking about that horrible dead body and the fact that the D.C. police would soon be scouring the city for her.

She shook her head and stared at the driver’s license in her hands. Roderick Anthony Laughlin III. There was a mouthful, yet somehow the stuffy name suited him, even if it was at odds with that kiss.

She touched a finger lightly to her lips, remembering the hot press of his mouth and the answering heat that had stirred within her. The man had almost swept her off her spiked heels. For a split second Mel had lost track of everything. That had never happened to her before. It unsettled her.

Who was Roderick Laughlin?

The picture on his driver’s license didn’t do him justice. His wasn’t a handsome face. The shape was too angular, the features too boldly intense. Yet even in the picture, the sense of controlled power and self-assurance came through. From the balcony, she’d singled him out as much for his height as for his apparent destination. Yet according to his driver’s license, Roderick Laughlin was only six feet tall. He’d seemed taller. Larger.

Safe.

How crazy was that? Claire was right. She needed to get out more. Meeting interesting men was not easy when one was stuck in a kitchen day after day.

Of course, it would be even harder to do from inside a jail cell.

Mel sighed. Roderick Laughlin’s leanness had been deceptive. There had been undeniable strength in the rippled muscles she’d felt beneath that perfectly fitted tuxedo jacket. Why was it men always looked so appealing in a tuxedo?

Mel shook aside that thought. Her slight frame tended to give some men the mistaken belief she needed to be shielded and protected. She was willing to use that impression when it suited her purposes, like tonight, but mostly coddling annoyed her. Roderick Laughlin hadn’t annoyed her. Instead he’d made her sharply aware of her femininity.

That had been some kiss.

Mel yanked her thoughts from that path, too, and flipped to the compartment holding his money. The unanticipated wad of bills made her bite her lower lip to stifle a gasp of dismay. Didn’t the man believe in banks and credit cards?

Wryly, she wondered what she had expected. A bash like the one at that fancy hotel catered only to the rich and famous. Apparently, Roderick Laughlin was rich. How unfortunate that he chose to carry around enough cash to send her to jail for grand theft if she was caught.

She nearly laughed out loud. Grand theft was the least of her worries. The police would be far more interested in tagging her for murder than a simple lift.

“Blast!”

“You say something lady?” the driver asked.

“No!”

His stare was just this side of a leer as they stopped for a traffic light. Mel met his gaze coldly in the rearview mirror until he lowered his eyes.

Good. She did not need another problem tonight.

The evening had not gone well. At first she’d stayed close to the group she’d come in with. Then she’d spotted Harold DiAngelis across the room. She was sure she’d seen a flash of startled recognition in his eyes before she’d moved away in search of her quarry.

Except he shouldn’t have known who she was.

DiAngelis worked with Gary, but her brother didn’t like the older man. The two had never socialized. Heck, they barely spoke, from what she gathered. There was no way Gary would have mentioned her to DiAngelis.

There hadn’t been time to wonder about that then, but she was fretting over it now. DiAngelis was bound to identify her to the police. His presence at the hotel at that particular party couldn’t be coincidence. Was DiAngelis somehow involved in the theft of her brother’s program? Maybe he was even the person who had killed Carl Boswell and taken the DVD!

The taxi slid on the slick pavement as they rounded a corner. The driver swore fluently. He barely avoided a collision with a stretch of parked cars. He offered her a wink and a wide grin as he straightened out and double-parked in front of a tired-looking redbrick building.

Mel handed him the money she’d pulled from the wallet in anticipation.

“Want company?” the driver asked, his leer firmly in place.

Mel inclined her head toward the lighted window of the apartment three stories up. Even from inside the cab the sounds of a party in full swing were unmistakable.

“I’ve already got plenty of company,” she said as she handed him the money.

The man nodded acceptance, but he waited, watching her climb the stone steps to the entrance before he roared off to disappear into the swirling snowflakes. As soon as the cab was out of sight, Mel went back down and hurried along the sidewalk as fast as her borrowed too-high heels would allow.

Snow peppered her skin. In minutes she was liberally coated from her hair to the pinching points of her shoes where her frozen toes begged for mercy. She was so cold she wasn’t sure how she made it to the Metro parking lot where she’d left her car earlier.

The police would trace the cab, of course, but the building would bring them to a dead end. Now, if only she could get her reluctant engine to start! Her twelve-year-old car did not like the cold any more than she did, and the transmission was going.

Curbing her frantic need to get away from the area, Mel finally coaxed the engine to life while shivers wracked her. Nothing resembling heat came from the vents even after she pulled out of the subway parking lot. The streets were growing more treacherous by the minute. Mel didn’t have to turn on the radio to know a snow emergency ban would be in effect. That meant she’d have to find a parking place near her apartment building on one of the side streets that wasn’t deemed an emergency route. Too bad she couldn’t afford the monthly fee to park in the parking garage a block over.

By the time she reached the foyer of her apartment building, two horrifically long blocks from where she’d had to park, the new year was several minutes old and she could no longer feel the finger that pressed Claire Bradshaw’s apartment buzzer.

“Yes?” the tinny voice questioned over the speaker.

“Claire, it’s Mel. Let me in.”

The buzzer answered her plea. Teeth chattering uncontrollably, she grasped the door handle and pushed eagerly into the warmth of the foyer. Her skin burned with returning circulation as she climbed the three flights and tried to ignore the icy rivulets of water melting against her skin.

“Good Lord’a’mighty have mercy,” Claire exclaimed as Mel reached her floor, huffing between fierce shivers. “What on earth were you doing running around outside dressed like that?”

“Tempting frostbite,” she managed.

Claire tsk-tsked as she ushered Mel inside. “Where’s your coat? Never mind. Get inside before you drop.”

Her elderly neighbor ushered her into a cozy warm room. Mel heard her suck in another gasp as she got a good view of Mel’s backside.

“Good Lord,” Claire whispered. “Didn’t I tell you that dress was overkill?”

Another time, Mel might have laughed. Claire had told her as much, even though she’d only seen the dress on the hanger until now.

“I didn’t have a lot of choice. Sue has flamboyant taste.” A serious understatement. Sue had been Mel’s next-door neighbor when she first moved to D.C. Outgoing and courageous, the pretty redhead had made it impossible for Mel not to be friends with her despite how little they had in common. But her friend was exactly her size right down to the shoe size. There hadn’t been time to go shopping for something more suitable after Gary called so she’d stopped at her friend’s apartment to borrow an outfit for the party.

Fortunately, Claire hadn’t lived some seventy-odd years without learning when to give in to shock and when to get on with what needed doing.

“Into the shower,” she ordered. “You’ll have pneumonia if we don’t get you warmed up.”

“No time.”

Claire Bradshaw scowled. Without bothering to argue she went to the closet and plucked out a heavy cardigan sweater and helped Mel into the thick wool. Forcing her down into the nearest chair, her friend quickly wrapped the afghan from the couch around her legs.

Lethargy pulled at her. Mel shut her eyes and allowed herself a minute to huddle in the chair, absorbing warmth into her chilled, damp body. When Claire set a steaming cup of hot chocolate on the end table at her elbow, Mel forced her eyes open again.

“Drink every drop,” Claire ordered. “Hot chocolate warms a body faster than anything else.”

Mel tried to pick up the mug, but her hands shook too much to hold the heavy stoneware. Claire’s wrinkled face added new creases as she lifted the mug so Mel could take a sip. The liquid was hot but not scalding, and Mel drank greedily. The next time she told her hands to reach for the cup, they closed around the blessed warmth and she shuddered gratefully.

A moment later Claire produced a fluffy warm towel. She must have taken it from the small clothes dryer in her kitchen because the terry cloth was soothingly warm and smelled of fabric softener.

“Use this on your hair.”

Mel sank her hands into the thick towel with a sigh of pleasure.

“I don’t have much time,” she told her friend as she toweled her sodden hair.

“The police?” Claire asked quietly.

Mel grimaced. “I’m afraid so.”

“Did you get the disk?” Claire asked with a nod at the wallet and key case Mel had dropped on the end table.

Mel shook her head, feeling the bitter weight of defeat. “It’s a DVD, not a disk, and no. Someone beat me to it.”

“Oh, dear. What can I do?”

“I need the spare key to get inside my apartment. My key is in my coat pocket and I had to leave it behind. I have to disappear for a few days.”

“The wallet?”

Used to her friend’s verbal shorthand, Mel had no trouble understanding that question. “That isn’t the reason. The wallet didn’t come from that party.”

“You went to another party?”

“Not by choice.”

She picked up the supple leather, allowing her fingertips to stroke the soft, expensive-looking material. Claire raised questioning eyebrows and Mel lifted her shoulders trying not to think about the handsome stranger who had helped her escape.

“Carl Boswell was murdered before I got there.”

“Oh, my.”

“It gets worse. The program was gone and someone Gary works with was at the party. Harold DiAngelis. I’m pretty sure he recognized me. I caught him staring at me.”

Claire snorted and looked meaningfully down at her dress.

Mel managed a weak smile. “I wish it had been the dress, but I’m not even sure he noticed what I was wearing.”

Claire raised expressive eyebrows.

“Really. It’s no coincidence he was there, Claire. I’m betting he killed Boswell and took the program.”

“Large assumption.”

“Maybe, but you know how Gary feels about DiAngelis.”

“How would he know about Gary’s program?”

“How did he know who I am?” Reluctantly, she pushed aside the blanket and unwound the towel from her head. “I’d better go. DiAngelis is sure to put the police on to me.”

“Where’s your purse?”

“I dropped it on the bed when I searched Boswell.”

“You searched him?”

Mel shivered at the memory. At the time, she hadn’t let herself think about what she was doing. She didn’t want to think about it now, either.

“Where’s your coat?”

“I had to leave it and Sue’s purse behind.”

“Mel!”

“I wasn’t carrying ID, not that it matters now. But I do owe Sue a new purse. I need to go.”

“You’d be safe here,” Claire protested.

“I don’t think so. If DiAngelis recognized me, there’s no telling what he knows about the people connected to Gary. He may know about you, as well. Pull the shades, turn out the lights, and don’t answer the door or the phone, whatever you do.”

Mel rose to her feet, feeling woozy and more tired than she would have liked. She was still chilled and damp but her instincts were screaming at her to get moving. Claire bustled back to the kitchen and returned with Mel’s spare key.

“Where will you go?” she asked.

Once again, Mel rubbed the supple leather of the wallet. “I have a bolt-hole in mind. Don’t worry.”

“At my age, worrying is an art form.”

Mel smiled and started to remove the sweater. The older woman shook her gray curls.

“Later. Do what you have to, Mel. I’m here if I can help.”

“You already have.”

Mel hugged her friend. For just a second, she let herself inhale the older woman’s familiar powdery scent. Claire had once been her grandmother’s best friend. Now she was Mel’s.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Claire issued another ladylike snort. “You’d manage. You’re like your parents.”

“Not Grandma?”

Claire smiled. “She’d be proud of you.”

“Not after tonight’s debacle,” Mel said ruefully, “but thanks again, Claire. Oh, and happy New Year.”

“Stay safe.”

“That’s the plan.”

Mel was still smiling as she let herself inside the dark apartment across the hall. Without light, she crossed to the bedroom and began collecting what she needed. She pulled a pair of sweatpants from the dresser drawer and tugged them on over the dress. She couldn’t afford to leave the dress behind and she didn’t want to waste time removing it. Moving fast, despite the shivers plaguing her, Mel struggled into a baggy black sweatshirt that barely fit over the cumbersome sweater. The result was restrictive, but seductively warm.

She found heavy cotton socks by touch in another drawer before she reached for the shoe tree to feel for her black sneakers. Snatching underwear at random, she fumbled for the old scuffed duffel bag shoved in the back of her closet and stuffed it with the rest of the essential items.

Because she’d been listening hard the whole time, the anticipated sound of a car pulling up outside sent her rushing across the room to peer down at the sidewalk. Two men exited a long sedan that had pulled to the curb. They peered up at the building through the hurling snowflakes.

Mel knew they couldn’t see her, but she remained perfectly still anyhow until they looked away and mounted the steps. She was out of time.

Tossing the tennis shoes on top, she closed the bag, jammed her feet into black steel-toed work boots, grabbed her only other jacket and raced for the door. Claire’s buzzer shrilled. Hers a moment later. No doubt they were buzzing at random in hopes someone would let them inside. Sooner or later someone would.

Mel took time to lace her boots and relock her front door before sprinting down the hall to the laundry room at the far end. It took muscle, but she finally got the frozen window open. Tossing her coat and the bag to the ground, she climbed onto the narrow snow-covered ledge that circled the third floor. She maneuvered the window down until it snapped closed and wished she’d taken the time to pull the gloves from her coat pocket. Her fingers cooperated despite feeling numb as she worked her way along the ledge to the drainpipe. Testing the give, she found it still anchored securely. Using the pipe she worked her way down the side of the building.