Next To Nothing!

Derek stood up, pacing across the room, a scowl on his face. Chasing cheating fiancées was obviously not his idea of a stellar career move. Too bad. It wasn’t like Tyler was in a position to be choosy. True, it wasn’t his usual area of business, but this was the kind of job he needed right now—quick, uncomplicated cash.

“Yes,” said Brandon Rice. “I think she’s cheating. I’m in Boston, and she’s in Seattle. I want a full report on her activities. Where she goes, who she sees. She has a decorating business. Canna Interiors.”

Tyler jotted down the woman’s name and the name of her business. “Is there anyone in particular you think she’s seeing?”

Derek made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and shook his head. Well, hell, every case couldn’t be a crown jewel theft or a murder mystery. A guy still had to pay the bills.

Some days more than others.

“I want to know everything,” said Brandon. “Money is not an issue. I want to know everyone she sees. Everything she does.”

Tyler tapped the pencil eraser against the desktop. Reggie had taken on cases like this before. Rich man, pretty woman, edge of desperation. There was probably a big age difference.

“I’ll pay you ten thousand plus expenses,” said Brandon. “One week. A full report. And I mean full.”

Tyler resisted the urge to scowl at the phone, aware of Derek’s keen interest. He always submitted a full report to his clients—no matter what his opinion of them.

If this fiancée had any brains at all, she’d stay in Seattle and well away from Mr. Demanding. Of course, she was the one who’d agreed to marry the guy in the first place.

She was probably willing to put up with his crap for the money. Women generally did forgive a whole lot of ills for a whole lot of bank balance.

“When do you want me to start?” asked Tyler.

“Today,” barked Brandon. “I want you to start today.”

“You got it,” said Tyler. “Where do I send the report?”

After jotting down Brandon’s contact information, Tyler hung up the phone.

“You’re going to follow a cheating wife?” asked Derek.

“Fiancée,” Tyler corrected, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness.

“But you won’t lower yourself to join the family firm and negotiate with offshore investors?”

“You really want to help me?” asked Tyler, ignoring his big brother’s sarcasm, pretending it didn’t bite. From experience Tyler knew the best way to get Derek off his back was to give him a mission.

“Name it,” said Derek, pulling his checkbook out of his suit pocket.

“I’m not taking your money. If you really want to be useful, you can head over to Canna Interiors.”

Without Reggie as a second body, Tyler was handicapped. “I need to know how many employees are there. What kind of an outfit it is. And what Jenna McBride looks like. But I can’t let her see me yet.”

“Can I have one of those fountain pen cameras and a decoder ring?” asked Derek.

“Don’t be an ass.” Tyler stood up and shoved his big brother toward the door.

“But, Tyler, how am I going to case the joint without the proper James Bond paraphernalia?”

“Just tell me what she looks like, and what they do, so I can make a plan.” That ten thousand would go a long way towards operating expenses for the next couple of months.

2

“JENNA MCBRIDE?”

Jenna stopped short, halfway into the Canna Interiors offices as the large man rose from a white leather chair in the reception area.

“Mr. Reeves has been waiting for half an hour,” said her secretary, Rosemary, a lilt of excitement in her voice, and an appreciative glimmer in her eyes.

Rosemary was a grandmother in her early fifties, but Jenna could see why a woman of any age might find the burly Mr. Reeves attractive. She heard Candice suck in a quick, admiring breath behind her.

“Yes. I’m Jenna McBride.” She moved toward the waiting area, hand extended. “And this is my partner Candice Hammond.” For an impish moment, Jenna considered adding the fact that Candice was single.

“Derek Reeves,” said the man, grasping Jenna’s hand.

Then he turned to Candice and gave her a cursory glance and a nod.

“Candice,” said Candice, offering her hand.

He shook it with an absent nod, then he immediately turned back to Jenna. “I was wondering if we might talk for a few minutes?”

She felt Candice stiffen.

Jenna half turned her head to smile in Candice’s direction in an effort to include her. “How can we help you?”

Derek Reeves gestured to the low table in the reception area. “I’ve been reviewing your portfolio.” He still spoke directly to Jenna. He almost seemed to be studying her face.

“You’re interested in the services of a decorating firm?” she asked politely. Judging by the cut of his suit, Derek could be a great prospective customer.

“Uh…yeah.” He nodded. “That’s right. I am.”

“We’ll probably be more comfortable in the boardroom.” Jenna gestured to an open doorway behind the receptionist’s desk. While the man’s attention switched to the boardroom door, she signaled to the coffeepot.

Rosemary gave her a quick nod of understanding.

Derek Reeves glanced at Candice, then back at Jenna. He cleared his throat. “Sounds fine.”

“I have a conference call in about two minutes,” Candice quickly inserted, obviously picking up the same strange signals as Jenna. “Do you mind, Jenna?”

“Of course not.” Jenna reminded herself that Derek was the customer, and Candice was acting like a professional. Still, she couldn’t help feeling a little annoyed on Candice’s behalf. “I’ll bring you up to speed later.”

“Great. Thanks.” Candice turned a stiff smile on Derek. “Nice to meet you Mr. Reeves.”

“Likewise,” he replied formally, again with barely a glance.

Ignoring the obvious undercurrent, Jenna led Derek Reeves into the small boardroom.

“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about your project,” she suggested as they sat down at the polished, round table. The deep patina absorbed the late day sun. Candice had insisted their offices exude success, even before they had their first client. Jenna found herself glad of that right now.

“Sure.” Derek paused, glancing around at the sample pictures on the wall of the room. “Good idea…It’s a…lobby.” He stopped scanning the walls and sat back. “A lobby.”

“Oh.” Jenna waited a moment for him to elaborate. “Would that be in an office building?”

His forehead furrowed and he glanced around the room again. “Yes. I mean, no. It’s a…hotel.” He slowly smiled and nodded as if he’d just had a mental revelation. “A hotel lobby.”

Jenna experienced a twinge of disappointment. So far, they didn’t have any experience decorating hotels. They’d started with private homes and branched out to some office buildings. The hospital lobby was their big break into special purpose space, but she didn’t think whale fountains and monkey carpets would impress many hotel owners.

Her uncertainty must have shown, because Derek jumped back in.

“Did I say lobby?” he asked.

“Yes…”

“Well, actually, it’s more than just the lobby.” He nodded. “It’s the restaurant, too.”

“The restaurant?” Her heart sank. They had absolutely nothing in the way of experience that would qualify them to decorate a restaurant.

“And,” Derek continued, “well, the spa, too. In fact, you know, the whole hotel should really be upgraded.”

“The whole hotel?” Jenna’s eyes widened.

“Right.”

“Uh, Mr. Reeves—”

“Call me Derek.”

“Sure. Derek.” Jenna debated the merits of blunt honesty versus the incredible opportunity of decorating an entire hotel. She wanted the job. She wanted the job very, very much. But there was the touchy matter of experience.

“It sounds like…” she tried. “I mean, of course we’d be delighted to submit…” A little voice inside her told her to shut up and say yes. “Uh, is the hotel here in Seattle?”

“Yes. On the lake. The Quayside.”

“The Quayside?” Jenna’s heart stopped for a split second. She felt the blood drain from her face.

“You’ve heard of it?”

“Yes. Of course.” Who hadn’t heard of the Quayside? Jenna dropped her hands into her lap and pinched herself.

The Quayside was a gorgeous, venerated historic hotel on a scenic point of land right on the shore of Lake Washington. It was an architectural dream, water on three sides, and a stunning view of the Cascade Mountain range.

It had played host to business magnates, movie stars and royalty. This was a job which could catapult their firm to the stratosphere.

Jenna swallowed. Do not mess this up. “We could draft some preliminary sketches—”

“Tell you what.” Derek rose from the table, and Jenna followed suit. “I’ll give you my card.” He reached into his suit jacket pocket. Then he flipped the card over and pulled out a pen.

“I’m writing the name and phone number of the hotel manager on the back. Give me a few…Uh, I mean, give him a call. But wait until late tomorrow afternoon. He’ll give you the details.”

Jenna nodded silently. Her brain was running a million miles an hour. Candice was going to die. She was going to fall off her chair and die right there in the office.

Derek straightened up and handed Jenna the card.

“Thank you, Mr…. Derek.”

He smiled, and his eyes lit up like Santa Claus. “Thank you, Jenna.”

TYLER SNAPPED a couple of pictures from the Quayside Hotel parking lot as Jenna and her partner Candice emerged from the front entry. Derek had called last night to describe Jenna, and to tell Tyler she currently had a contract at the hospital. From there, Tyler had followed the pair to the hotel.

Jenna seemed to be having the time of her life with her fiancé out of the picture. The two women walked down the sidewalk, talking animatedly, laughing, and gesturing in the air like a couple of college students as they headed for Candice’s sedan.

Tyler raised his newspaper so that it shielded his face as they passed his SUV. Whatever had happened in the hotel, they were certainly excited about it. He wondered for a moment if they’d met their boyfriends. It was a definite possibility.

As their vehicle backed out of the space, he turned his attention to the stone building, training the camera in preparation for the emergence of their dates. He could catch up with the women at either the hospital or the Canna Interiors office later.

A family emerged from the hotel, then a lone businessman, then…nobody. Five minutes went by, then ten, then fifteen. Finally, the door opened again. But it was an elderly couple who stopped to talk to the doorman.

Okay, so Jenna and Candice weren’t meeting men for a clandestine lunchtime date. At least not men who were leaving the hotel a discreet few minutes after them.

He supposed they could have met men who were guests at the hotel, who didn’t need to come out to the parking lot after lunch. But that was stretching his initial theory a little too far.

He placed the camera on the seat beside him and reached for the ignition key. He could go inside and talk to Henry Wenchel, the hotel manager. Henry was an old friend of the family and, technically at least, Tyler was still a company shareholder. But the odds of Henry having noticed two women having lunch in one of the restaurants were ridiculously small.

Except that they were unusually attractive. Candice was tall and willowy, with a fresh, wind-blown supermodel look that would turn any head. Jenna was shorter, a bit more understated. But her thick, auburn hair was gorgeous, and there was something about her smile and the glint in her sea-foam eyes that made Tyler think it was a shame she was being wasted on Brandon Rice.

None of his business, he reminded himself. Rich men and gorgeous women had been making marriage deals since time immemorial. His job was to see if she was making side deals with anyone else.

He pulled out of the parking lot. Sea-foam eyes and his personal opinion notwithstanding, he’d stay focused. He’d get some photos, write the report and collect his fee. The sooner he was out of the adultery business the better.

NEXT MORNING, Tyler found himself pulling right back into the Quayside parking lot. This time, Jenna was alone when she strode purposefully into the main foyer.

Looked like his first instinct had been right. Who went to the Quayside two days in a row? Who went there alone at this time of the morning, unless they were meeting somebody inside?

Tyler loved it when his instincts were firing on all cylinders. He pulled his baseball cap down low, donned dark sunglasses, grabbed his camera and followed her.

He pushed through the revolving glass door, glancing around the antique lobby until he spotted her near the concierge desk.

Perhaps somebody had left her a key with the concierge. Perhaps a young, virile somebody who would make her forget her fiancé for a couple of hours.

The concierge didn’t hand her a key, but Jenna did pick up the house phone. Maybe luck was with him. Maybe young and virile would meet her right here in the lobby. Right here in camera range.

Though the light was bad, Tyler took a quick shot of Jenna talking on the phone.

Then he sidled over to a furniture grouping and eased down into a soft armchair. He wished he had another newspaper to hide behind, but he had to settle for the obscuring foliage of a large potted plant. He felt like a tacky Sam Spade, hovering, waiting, watching.

Jenna hung up the phone and moved away from the concierge desk, turning to face in his general direction. Her beauty rocked him back. For a minute, he almost wished he had a bank balance that would put him in the running to date her.

Angling his head, confident she couldn’t tell the direction of his gaze through the tinted glasses, he looked his fill. Her thick, auburn hair bounced around her shoulders, setting off a creamy smooth complexion. Her lips were full, her cheekbones high and her skirted business suit showed off a figure that nipped and tucked in all the right places. He could sit here and watch her all day long.

He sighed. Too bad she was so willing to trade in those stunning looks for Brandon’s money.

Something on the far side of the lobby caught her attention, and her amazing eyes lit up with recognition. Tyler gripped the camera as she smiled a greeting and started to walk toward an unseen person.

His gaze strayed to her silky legs. He’d always had a soft spot for shapely calves, especially those that rose so gracefully from strappy, feminine sandals. He felt a sudden burn in his chest at the thought of watching her greet a strange man with a squeeze and a kiss.

It got worse when he imagined those shapely calves doing…well, doing what shapely calves do when they don’t have their stockings on. He ruthlessly tamped down the unruly image, sitting forward to peek around the edge of the plant.

Henry?

Gorgeous Jenna was here to cheat on rich Brandon with Henry Wenchel? The scenario didn’t bear thinking about.

This was way more information than Tyler wanted concerning his father’s friend. And he couldn’t help thinking that Henry’s wife was not going to be happy.

Trying not to cringe, he quickly snapped a shot.

Henry reached out to briefly shake Jenna’s hand. They spoke for a minute, keeping a respectful two feet apart. Henry talked and Jenna nodded. She smiled, but it wasn’t an intimate smile, and neither of them made a beeline for the penthouse elevator.

Tyler tried not to feel too relieved. When he thought about it, if Henry was going to carry on an affair with a younger woman, he’d be pretty stupid to do it in his own hotel lobby in front of the security cameras.

A moment later, Jenna and Henry headed up the mezzanine stairs. Towards Henry’s office. Henry’s very public office. Tyler sighed, relieved that Jenna had legitimate business at the hotel. Even though it meant his instincts were malfunctioning again.

IN HENRY WENCHEL’S OFFICE, Jenna sat very still and concentrated on not hyperventilating. He was taking out a pen. He was flipping to the back of the contract. He was touching the pen to the signature line. The pen was moving. He was signing.

Her heart rate increased, and she could feel her extremities start to tingle.

He was done.

He’d signed.

Henry Wenchel had just signed a contract to pay Canna Interiors an exorbitant sum for the preliminary designs. Preliminary designs which could lead to the interior decorating contract of a lifetime.

“Understanding the ambiance is so important, don’t you think, Jenna?” He passed the contract across the table toward her and held out his gold pen.

“Yes.” She nodded, taking a shaky breath. Her fingers were still tingling as she reached for his pen. She half expected to wake up any second.

“I hope a week away from home won’t be too inconvenient for you.”

Jenna slid the contract until it was directly below her, only half listening to Henry Wenchel. “A week?” she asked automatically.

There it was. A swoopy H, a pointy W, then a squiggle and a swirl and a dot. She suddenly wished she had a signature that looked more artistic than her plain old name. A signature that nobody could really read, because she was important enough that they’d all learned her squiggles.

“We’ll assign you a suite,” said Henry.

She touched the pen to the paper above the line that read proponent. “Suite?” Jenna asked as she wrote her first name.

“You’ll stay here, of course, while you work.”

The pen faltered on the M. Drat! The biggest signature of her life, and she couldn’t even get the M right. She sure hoped that didn’t void the contract.

She carefully finished McBride, then looked up at Henry. “Stay here?” she asked, blinking.

“The only way to get the true ambiance,” Henry smiled. “That’s not a problem is it?”

“No,” Jenna hurriedly shook her head. She’d stay in Timbuktu if it made Henry happy.

“Perfect,” said Henry. He pressed a button on the telephone console.

Jenna tried valiantly to look like she made deals of this magnitude every day of the week. If Henry could tell she was faking, he was certainly being polite about it.

“I’ll put you in one of our executive suites,” he continued. “They have a phone, fax, personal computer, printer, Internet access. If there’s anything else you need, be sure to let Anna know.”

Jenna nodded. She couldn’t think of a single thing she could possibly need in life besides a plum contract and an executive suite at the Quayside.

Henry gestured toward the door. “Great. Let’s go see a registration clerk.”

Feeling like she was drifting through a dream, Jenna followed Henry back down the wide, curved staircase toward the reception desk. While they walked, she gazed at the marble pillars, the dome ceiling, the leaded windows. The carpets, wall coverings and furniture were aging, but the building itself was extraordinary.

“Hello, Tyler.” Henry’s hearty voice pulled her attention away from their surroundings.

A man standing at the reception desk turned abruptly, drawing back as if he was startled by the sight of them.

“What a coincidence.” Henry clapped the man on the shoulder. “Tyler, I’d like you to meet Jenna McBride, our new decorator. Jenna this is Tyler—”

“Carter,” the man inserted, holding out his hand.

Henry’s eyebrows briefly knit together.

“I’m a security guard here at the hotel.” Tyler Carter grasped Jenna’s hand.

His hand was warm, his grip strong and his skin leathery enough to indicate he enjoyed some kind of outdoor sport. His dark glasses were perched on a straight nose, above a strong, square chin. The smile he flashed was friendly enough, but Jenna sensed some kind of tension behind it.

“Yes. Well.” Henry cleared his throat. “We’re just getting Jenna set up with a suite for the next week or so.”

“Don’t let me get in the way.” Tyler gestured toward the receptionist and gallantly moved back.

HENRY WAS close on his heels as Tyler cut across the lobby. Meeting Jenna so soon wasn’t exactly what he’d planned. But Tyler had to congratulate himself on coming up with the security guard cover story. Now he had an excuse to hang around the hotel. Even better, he had an excuse to snoop.

“Odd that I don’t recall hiring another security guard,” said Henry as the distance between them and the reception desk increased.

“I’m undercover,” said Tyler. “On a case.”

“Somebody staying at the hotel?”

“As it turns out.” He glanced back to where Jenna was checking in. A decorating job at the Quayside. Small world, but a convenient one.

“There’s not a criminal in my hotel, is there?”

“Not a criminal.” Still smarting from Derek’s reaction to an adultery surveillance case, Tyler didn’t jump to share the particulars with Henry.

“Are you planning to stay?” asked Henry.

“Stay?”

“For the undercover operation. Do you need a room?”

What a good idea. It would make snooping even easier. Besides, he was on a “money is no object” expense account. And it would sure keep Derek from worrying about where he was living.

“Sure. I’ll take a room,” said Tyler.

“Shall I put it on the Reeves-DuCarter account?”

Tyler grinned. “Bill IPS. I’m getting expenses on this.”

“Good enough. You will let me know if my guests are in any danger?”

“That’s a promise,” said Tyler. Though it seemed unlikely that any of the guests could be decorated to death. He found his attention straying back to Jenna.

“What is Jenna McBride decorating?” he asked.

“She’s giving the entire hotel a facelift.” There was some kind of a twinkle in Henry’s eyes. “She came very highly recommended.”

Tyler squinted at Henry’s expression. It was sort of a wink, wink, nudge, nudge, inside joke expression.

Redecorating the hotel wasn’t a bad idea. But Henry was sure acting strange about it. Maybe the older man did have a crush on Jenna.

If that was the case, Tyler could have told him that Jenna was already taken. He could also remind Henry that Henry was already taken.

Jenna started across the foyer toward them.

“Can you give me a security key?” asked Tyler.

“Not a problem.” Henry nodded.

3

THE LIGHTHOUSE, the Quayside’s rooftop seafood restaurant, wasn’t light at all. Jenna squinted at the maitre d’ as she took her seat at a small table in a secluded alcove. She supposed the darkness might seem romantic to some, but it was a crying shame to waste the view.

Although the restaurant was located on the fortieth floor, right on the lake front, only about a quarter of the exterior wall space had windows. The rest was covered in a heavy, burgundy wall paper, layered between dark, hewn beams.

The feeble ceiling lights cast a smoky, orange hue, and the carpet was in red tones. At least she thought it was in red tones, she leaned sideways in her seat and peered down at it. She could barely see her feet down there in the dark depths.

Glancing around to make sure nobody was paying attention, she lifted the candle from the middle of the table and held it close to the floor.

She was right. Swirls of burgundy and bloodred. She shuddered.

“Lose something, ma’am?”

Jenna quickly straightened in her chair, giving her emerald cocktail dress a surreptitious tug down her thighs and smoothing her fingertips across the straight, strapless neckline to make sure everything was where it ought to be.

“Nothing.” She smiled at the waiter, placing the candle back on the table.

“Can I offer you a cocktail?” he asked, reaching out and returning the candle to its original position.

“Sure.” Jenna tapped her fingernails against the gold tablecloth. “A glass of red wine?”

“We have the Andollin Beaujolais from France, very light, very smooth. Or the Posselini Merlot from Italy, bolder, very dry.” He flipped open a leather-bound wine list. “Or I can open a bottle.”