Cowboy Undercover. Alice Sharpe
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more than an hour they sorted and organized in near silence. Chance was anxious to do something about Charlie and he knew Lily was, too. It made sense to try to find something she could use against Block in some way, but it seemed unlikely they had sufficient time to make such a discovery.
“Let’s go to your husband’s house,” Chance finally said. One more useless receipt and he was going to scream.
“No. He doesn’t get home from work until six thirty or so.”
“So we’ll get there before he’s home.”
“Not a good idea. I want to catch him unaware.”
“You said earlier that he knew you’d come after Charlie.”
“I know, but he doesn’t know when or how. Be patient.”
“We’re not going to be able to wade through all of this in one afternoon,” Chance said, gesturing at all the bits and scraps of papers before them.
“You’re probably right. I’m going to go take a shower and change clothes. I hope the clothes in my emergency escape suitcase still fit.”
Chance walked over to the window. He stood looking out into the parking lot for a few minutes. Was she getting gussied up for Jeremy Block? That was a disquieting thought.
With a sigh, he returned to the papers. Thirty minutes later, his heartbeat quickened as he detected the first clear pattern he’d come across in the form of several orders from a florist shop in Boise. He stacked them apart in order of ascending dates. The deliveries were spaced at intervals of seven days and all went to the same address. Without knowing his way around this city, he had no idea if they went to an individual or a business. For all he knew, they could be flowers Block purchased for his office or his secretary’s desk or even for the house he’d shared with Lily.
For a second he rubbed his eyes. The long nap in the car had taken the edge off fatigue, but he was still tired. Sleep had been so elusive lately. He felt if he laid his head down he’d fall into slumber for a hundred years and wake up ready to punch Block in the nose, reunite Charlie with his mother and take them both back to the ranch and...
Wait a second. Was this about Lily and the fantasy he entertained on long nights that someday he and she...
Oh, please, don’t go that route, he cautioned himself. Don’t pretend because she needs your help she actually wants you.
He looked up when a noise at the bathroom door caught his attention. Lily emerged with her soft brown hair waving around her heart-shaped face. Gone were the baggy dress and long, limp sweater, and in their place, tight black jeans, a black form-fitting top and a brown leather belt that matched her boots. She’d gone from plain Jane to a country-Western knockout and he swallowed a jolt of desire that shot through his body like a lightning bolt.
“Feel better?” he managed to say in a voice that sounded remarkably steady.
“A lot better,” she murmured. Her gaze dropped to the stack in front of him. “Did you find anything?”
He tore his mind from the lovely curves and dips of her body around which the top had molded itself. “I don’t know. Where is Vance Street?”
“Vance. I’m not sure.”
He punched the address into his phone and showed her the resulting map. “That’s over in the Tower District,” she said. “Mostly condos.”
“But you and Jeremy didn’t live there?”
“No. His family had money of its own. When his father died, he left Jeremy a house and a little land right outside the city. Jeremy pictures himself lord of the manor.”
“He sent flowers to this address once a week for several months near the end of the period when you lived together.”
“Flowers? Really?” she said as her huge brown eyes came alive. “Jeremy hates cut flowers. I don’t think he ever bought me a single rose. There must be a special reason why he did that.”
“It could be nothing,” Chance cautioned.
“Or it could be he was seeing someone else,” Lily said. “Oh, my gosh, I bet he was having an affair. This is great!” She started pacing the room again, gesturing, suddenly animated. “If he’s involved with someone else, maybe I can use that as leverage.” She grabbed her handbag off the back of a chair and the baggy gray sweater from the bed. “Let’s go check out that address.”
He took the keys from his pocket, ready for action of any kind.
* * *
1801 VANCE STREET turned out to be located within a small villa of condos arranged around a central courtyard, all encased within the confines of an ornate iron fence. At this time of year, the pool had been drained and covered in preparation for cold weather. The trees were a riot of color, leaves drifting to the ground as the wind teased them loose.
They found a row of brass mailboxes built into a small arch near the street. The name on 1801 was V. Richards.
“Vicky, Valerie, Vivian?” Lily mused.
“Or Vincent, Victor, Val,” Chance said.
“How do we find out?”
“We ask.”
She looked around at the complete absence of other people and raised her eyebrows.
“Look, at the risk of making you mad, how about you let me knock on the door and see what I can find out.”
“Why you?” she said. “I’ll do it.”
“What if this person is actually home and what if you know them or they recognize your face? You aren’t disguised, remember?”
“I know. But so what?”
“So they call Block, Block calls the cops, Charlie spends the next twelve years living with daddy dearest.”
“Oh.”
“Just go sit in the car, okay?” he coaxed.
“Okay, but don’t mess this up.”
“Your faith in me is truly heartwarming,” he said. “Here, take my hat with you so I don’t stand out so much.” He waited until she got back in the car, then he walked down the narrow path to 1801. He wasn’t surprised when no one responded to the doorbell as it was a late weekday afternoon. He imagined the tenant of the condo was still on his or her commute. He walked around the grounds looking for someone, anyone, and finally spied a middle-aged guy raking leaves out by the pool/patio area.
“Excuse me,” he called. “I have a delivery out in the truck for 1801, V. Richards. They’re not home. Is there a manager here or anything?”
“I’m the manager,” the man said, leaning on his rake. He gave Chance a once-over, probably deciding he didn’t look much like a delivery man but glad for anything that interrupted the raking, especially as the fading light must make the job a tough one. “What can I do for you?”
“Is it safe to leave a package outside the door? It’s pretty heavy. I wouldn’t want it to be a problem for the recipient to get it inside by themselves.”
“Yeah, it’s safe enough. That door doesn’t face the street. If Valentine needs help, all she has to do is ask for it. She’s a nice enough kid.”
“Kid?”
He laughed. “Everyone under thirty is a kid to me and she’s way under. Probably nineteen or so.”
“Does she live alone?” Chance asked and immediately wished he hadn’t. But the manager didn’t seem to find the question intrusive.
“Oh, you mean how does a gal her age afford this place? Easy. She’s a student. Her parents pay the bills and they wanted her someplace safe.”
“So she lives