Lost Distinction (Jordan James, PI Series) Page 13

  The ambassador straightened his lapels once more as he strode across the room for the door like a man on a mission, suddenly sober despite the alcohol on his breath. He turned to face me. “Of course. You’re on the case and time is of the essence. We need to get there as soon as possible. Is that going to be a problem for you?”

  Jon suddenly flashed across my mind. Although I was still mad at him for his overreaction, I knew that I could not leave the country without telling him. This was, after all, a case.

  If I called him, however, I would be forced to deal with a confrontation, one I was not equipped to handle at four in the morning. I decided to take the coward’s way out and send him a text message. Ambassador Cross stared at me while I pondered all of this. “Miss James, will that be a problem for you?”

  I snapped back to reality and blushed. Damn. Daydreaming again. “No, sir, it won’t be a problem. It’s just, well, I only brought enough clothes for the weekend. They’re not exactly the type of outfits I would wear to work.”

  With his hand on the doorknob, he answered, “When we get to London, you may use our charge account to purchase some outfits at Quincy’s.”

  “That’s a department store,” Rick whispered.

  “Oh, no, sir, that’s not what I meant—”

  “Listen, if it’s a business expense, it’s a write off. Otherwise, we’ll deduct it from what I owe you later.”

  Without another word, he strode out the room. His shoes echoed along the wooden floors. I listened until they faded into nothing before turning to Rick.

  “What do you think?” He pulled me into a strong embrace and kissed me. When he finally released me and I regained my composure, I smiled, raising an eyebrow. “What was that for?”

  “For being yourself and for not being bullied. The ambassador’s pretty intimidating. Most people can’t stand their ground against him.”

  “You do.”

  He shrugged it off. “Not always. I’ve been subjected to both the Cross charm and the Cross temper. I’ve learned to pick my battles with this family.”

  Rick led me out the room. We turned left and headed down the long hallway and toward the stairs.

  “Why do you call him Mr. Cross? Isn’t he your uncle?”

  Rick shook his head. “No, he’s a cousin. He’s suggested I call him ‘Uncle’ for years, but he was Mr. Cross when I met him and that’s what he’ll always be.”

  We tiptoed up the stairs, careful not to break the silence as we headed down the hall. I paused outside the door to Arthur’s room where Rick was staying. “I know it’s early, but I feel guilty about not telling Michelle goodbye. Do you think it would be a bad idea to try?”

  Rick scratched his jaw. Stubble had appeared on his face as the evening progressed and was now made visible by the moonlight pouring in through the hallway window. It gave him a mysterious and rugged look that I found incredibly sexy. “That’s up to you. I don’t know her. I do know Edward, though, and he’s a sound sleeper. You could literally saw the newel post off the bed he’s sleeping on and he wouldn’t notice.”

  “Well, at least I know I won’t disturb him if I tell her goodbye.”

  “Here, give me your cell. I want it charged before we leave. I didn’t think I’d be heading to London tonight. If this is gonna take more than a day, I need to phone the office and let them know I’m taking some personal days.”

  I rummaged through my black patent-leather purse and extracted my dead phone. Handing it to him, I said, “I want to tell her goodbye. It should only take a minute and then I’ll grab my stuff and meet you here.”

  “That’s fine.”

  I turned and paused. “Which room is theirs?”

  Rick lovingly placed his hands on my waist, which filled my stomach with butterflies. He turned me to the right. “That way”— he kissed my ear—“Second door after the stairs.”

  I walked down the hall as the butterflies faded. I counted the doors several times before taking a deep breath and knocking. I prayed that I knocked on the right one. Less than a minute later, my fears were alleviated as the door flew open and Michelle stood in the entry.

  She wore a lavender, sleeveless v-neck nightgown. Her hair lay carelessly across her shoulders and despite having been awakened by my knocking, she appeared composed and somehow still managed to look amazing. I found myself a little jealous at how gorgeous she always looked. That feeling subsided when I saw the concern on her face.

  “Jordan, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, but Rick and I are leaving.”

  She blinked. Stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind her, she said, “If nothing is wrong, then why are you leaving? You’re still in your dress. You haven’t been to bed yet? Did you and Rick have a fight?”

  “No, everything is fine. We’ve been speaking with Mr. Cross and we’re flying to London with him.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re flying to London now? Why?”

  I knew that since Mr. Cross was a client, information that he gave me, although relevant to the case, was still confidential. I thought carefully about how to word my response. “It has to do with Arthur.”

  “Did he show up?” she asked, her gray eyes dancing with excitement.

  I shook my head. “No, Mr. Cross wants me to check out a few things and see if we might be able to find him.”

  I knew by her behavior that no one else knew about Henry’s death. She took a strand of her raven hair between her index finger and thumb and began twirling it in a nervous manner, chewing her lower lip.

  “This sucks.” She sighed.

  “What does?”

  “Well, we’re just getting to know each other and now you have to leave. Do you want me to come with?”

  Although the concept sounded like fun, I knew it wouldn’t work. My first time abroad was a business trip and I couldn’t run the risk of blowing this case or risking Arthur’s life further by goofing off. “I’d love to hang out, but I think I’ll be working the entire time. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right. I doubt Eddie would let me run wild in a foreign country anyway, especially with a friend. Who knows what kind of trouble I would get myself into?” She smiled sadly. “Wait, what are you planning to wear? You only packed for the weekend, right?”

  I cringed at the reminder. “Well, Mr. Cross offered to let me use their charge account at—”

  “Quincy’s?” she interrupted, making a disgusted face. “Oh, no. No way. You will not buy anything from that place. My mother-in-law shops there. Let’s just say they don’t sell anything that was made after 1995.”

  I glanced down at my cocktail dress. “Well, I can’t exactly wear this all day. I guess I could wear the halter top and capris again”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” She laughed. “Listen, we don’t come here often but I have a few clothes here just in case. Come on in,” she said, quietly opening the door to the bedroom. “I’m sure we can find you a few outfits.”

  I held up my hands and shook my head. “No, that’s okay, really.”

  “What? You need something to wear, don’t you?”

  “I do, but I, well—”

  “What? What is it?”

  I frowned. “There’s no way I can fit in your clothes. You’re, like, super skinny.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, right. And you’re really a whale. Listen, I’m not skinny and you’re not fat, so come on. You’re taking some of these outfits with you. I will not take no for an answer and I doubt you have time to argue.”

  I stood there for a second, weighing my options. Unfortunately, she was right. I didn’t have time to argue. There was a slim possibility that I might find a few loose-fitting ensembles that could work, so I decided not to fight her.

  I followed her i
nto the thickly carpeted room, careful not to rouse Edward. It became clear to me that Rick was right. A bulldozer could not awaken Edward Cross. Michelle did not take the precautions I did, flinging open the closet door and flipping on the light switch. Light filled their large bedroom and a stream shone directly upon their Baroque Victorian king-size bed and into Edward’s eyes.

  “Shouldn’t you close that door?”

  Michelle glanced back as she led the way into the walk-in closet. “No, this won’t bother him. Come see.”

  The closet was ten-feet-by-fifteen-feet, only slightly smaller than my apartment’s living room. Michelle’s idea of “a few clothes” was more outfits than I even owned.

  Edward’s clothes were located on the left side of the closet and included everything from designer T-shirts to black tuxedos. Everything was organized by length, color and even season.

  Michelle’s clothes were on the right side of the closet. She possessed a stunning array of evening gowns, cocktail dresses, attractive tops and designer jeans on two different shelf levels. A third shelf held her numerous shoes and a fourth, smaller one held a few handbags. It was like a mini Neiman Marcus / Louis Vuitton / Prada outlet store. I totally wanted to live in that closet.

  She brushed some loose strands behind her ear. “Let’s see. I doubt you’ll have any formal events to attend, so let’s just stick to the basics. Okay, you’ll need some jeans, a few shirts, and, well, maybe one dress. You never know. Do you like this one?”

  She held up a fuchsia, v-neck dress with spaghetti-straps. I stared at it, trying to determine if it was a size zero or two. It was gorgeous, but definitely too small. Ugh. Figures. Shaking my head, I replied, “I really don’t think I’m gonna need a dress, but if I do, I have another one in my bag.”

  She frowned, but nodded as she hung it up. Grabbing two pairs of jeans, she muttered, “I really wish I could go.”

  “Yeah, that would be fun,” I agreed as she handed the jeans to me. “Maybe sometime we could plan to go there, if I could ever afford it.”

  She gave me a quizzical look. “Afford it?”

  “Yeah, afford it. Not everyone can drop a couple grand at a moment’s notice for a holiday across the Atlantic.” She looked hurt by my sarcasm. I immediately regretted my comment. “I’m sorry. I’m just kind of frazzled. When I agreed to this weekend, I didn’t know I’d be leaving the country.”

  “I can imagine that would be a little stressful. Plus, spending more than an hour with this family could leave anyone needing some serious psychological treatment.”

  I laughed.

  “You’ve seen them.” She piled four designer shirts atop the jeans I was holding. “You know what I mean.”

  “Family keeps things interesting.”

  “That’s one way to put it.” Michelle laughed. “Okay, so we’ve got two pairs of jeans, one dark and one faded, and three shirts, two short-sleeved and one long-sleeved. They’re not formal, but also, not so casual that people won’t take you seriously.”

  I glanced down at the outfits in my hands. I estimated I was holding approximately two thousand dollars worth of clothes. “These are great, thanks. I’d better get going.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’d better.”

  “Any advice for a first-time overseas traveler?”

  She narrowed her gray eyes and stared at her plush slippers, thinking. “Um, do you get air-sick?”

  “No.”

  “Good, because you should expect a nine-hour flight. That can be kind of rough. Also, you’re going to a different time zone. London is, like, five hours later than Eastern Time. Keep that in mind. If you’re leaving now, it’s almost ten in the morning over there right now.”

  “Gotcha.” I nodded as I made a mental note. “Anything else?”

  She smiled. “Nothing except good luck.”

  “Good luck?”

  “You’re about to spend more than twenty minutes in a confined area with Gatlin Cross. I think that merits well wishes for anyone.”

  Chapter 11

  I thanked Michelle again before heading down the long hallway to the guest room in which I’d stayed. Once inside, I decided to wear her light-colored jeans and burnt-orange shirt. I packed the rest of the clothes she loaned me as well as my own into my small suitcase. Despite my reservations about the sizes, I was actually able to squeeze into the outfit with only a little difficulty. Looks like that gym membership is paying for itself, I thought.

  I went into the bathroom and washed my face with the fresh bar of petunia-scented soap that replaced the rose-scented one from the night before. I glanced around the bathroom and realized all the towels were clean too, which suggested the staff had cleaned both the guest room and the bathroom as if I were staying in a five-star hotel instead of someone’s private home.

  I left the bathroom after brushing my hair. I took one last look to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything before hauling both my purse and luggage down the hall toward Arthur’s. I knocked quietly on the door and within moments, Rick answered.

  His appearance literally took my breath away. His brown hair, although technically a mess, managed to look as hot as his rugged stubble. As usual, his blue eyes lured me in with their tantalizing gaze despite the purple tint surrounding one of them. Although I would have been blind to have not been affected by these features, they were not what caught me off guard.

  Rick stood in the doorway wearing a tight, navy-blue T-shirt with the word “YALE” in white lettering across the chest. The shirt not only accentuated his muscular chest but also offered a glimpse of his perfect abs. Since he rarely wore form-fitting clothes, I forgot just how ripped he was. He cleared his throat and the trance was broken.

  I felt my face flush. I hoped he didn’t notice. He opened the wooden door further and I walked inside, stealing another quick glance. Clearing his throat, he crossed his arms.

  “Sorry,” I laughed self-consciously.

  “No, it’s my fault. I must look like an idiot in this. I didn’t bring anything else, so I had to grab a few things from Arthur’s closet.”

  I stared at Rick. Somehow, he had mistaken my desire for disgust. Suddenly, I remembered the threatening note scrawled on the news article that was folded carefully inside his jacket pocket. “Where’s your jacket? The one you were wearing tonight. It had that article from Arthur’s dorm room in it.”

  His eyes lit up with understanding and he unzipped his large, hunter-green luggage case. He rummaged through the jacket and extracted the article and the envelope. He handed both to me and I carefully placed them inside my purse. He then lifted his two bags and mine and tiptoed down the hall and toward the stairs. At the base, he placed the luggage on the floor and reached into his jeans’ pocket. He pulled out my cell phone.

  “It’s half charged,” he said as I accepted it. Staring at the ceiling, he added, “You might want to let your parents know.”

  “My parents?” I frowned until I understood his meaning. He wanted me to call them. I glanced at the phone then at him. “That may not be the best idea.”

  At the sound of muffled voices, we both turned toward the front door. When no one entered, he persisted, “Jordan, I don’t know your parents that well, but I think it would be a bad idea if you left the country and didn’t tell them.”

  I frowned. He was right, naturally. Letting them know would be the considerate thing to do, but I was never one for confrontation that could be avoided. I gazed up into his beautiful eyes. “I know I should call them, but it’s so early there right now. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until we get to London? That way they’ll know we’re safe and won’t worry.”

  Rick crossed his arms. Finally, he shook his head and laughed, “You should have been a lawyer. You could argue your way out of anything.”

  I grinned triumphantly and watche
d as he opened the massive front door and then carried our luggage out. His concern filled me with guilt because I knew it was wrong not to notify them. I suddenly remembered Jon. I took a deep breath as I typed the text message that I hoped he wouldn’t read for several hours: “Took the case. On my way to London. Yes, London. Will call u later. J.”

  I hit “SEND” and then placed the phone in my purse. I glanced up and saw Rick walking toward me.

  “Ready?”

  I nodded and he offered me his hand as we walked outside. It was still dark, but the moon provided enough light to behold the incredible sight before me. Parked in front of the house was a sleek, black vehicle. Drew, the ambassador’s assistant from Martha’s Vineyard, carefully stored our luggage in the trunk while Mr. Cross paced back and forth with his cell phone affixed to his right ear.

  “What kind of car is that?” I whispered to Rick.

  Before he could answer, Drew closed the trunk and said, “It’s a Rolls Royce Phantom Limo. The ambassador prefers to be picked up in this when he and Mrs. Cross return to the States.”

  The ambassador sighed and shoved his phone in his coat pocket. He was no longer wearing his evening attire but had changed into a navy-blue, double-breasted suit with a white shirt and light-blue tie. He turned toward us and inquired, “Are you ready?”

  Before we had a chance to respond, a cherry-red convertible roared into the driveway, screeching as the driver applied the brakes at the last minute, narrowly missing Edward’s car.

  I was not surprised to see William behind the wheel, laughing and clearly drunk. Beside him sat the slinky blonde from the country club who tried flirting with Rick. William stumbled out of the car and wobbled as he headed to the door. It was only when he was mere feet from his father that he noticed him. The ambassador’s jaw was clamped tight and his temple pulsated as he glared at his son.