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BOOK 7
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Being Yours BOOK 7
Rachel came to an abrupt halt by the door reserved for prisoners and stared in horror at the crowded courtroom. Behind the table where her attorney sat, leaning back in his chair with a bored expression on his plain face, her mother, Penny and Mark sat together, hands linked in the first row of wooden benches.Excited murmurs rose, then were cut off as if a dozen invisible hands had simultaneously clamped over everyone’s mouths. She felt a dozen pairs of eyes turn to her. People she recognized. Mrs Gibbons, the Donaldsons, Senator Hastings, all watched her with silent condemnation. They were clients who’d shopped in her store, women whose cards she’d read, civic leaders whom she’d helped raise money for charity. Everyone present had been a victim in the crimes. Was that why they’d jammed into the courtroom? To ensure justice was served?Linda sat beside the senator, her hands clenched in her lap, a frown pulling at her full mouth. Biting down on her lip, she looked about the room and
Being Yours BOOK 7
Rachel lurched to her feet, looking to where Linda was seated with the senator. Her chair was empty. Detective Hutchins noticed her absence at the same time as Rachel. He pulled a cellphone from his coat pocket and dialed a number, issuing orders to whomever he’d called.He hurried to Senator Hastings side and urged him up from his seat. ‘Sir, I’ll need you to come with me.’‘What’s going on here?’ Jerking free, the senator brushed a hand down his suit.The detective withdrew another photo from the envelope and handed it to the senator. ‘Your fiancee was the one who stole the statue and planted it in Miss Gold’s house. Now, if you’ll come with me.’ As they reached the door, Rachel could hear the detective ask, ‘Do you know where she might have gone?’Looking confused, his face flushing with distress, the senator stammered, ‘She . . . she said she was going to the ladies’ room.’‘It doesn’t matter. We’ll find her.’Judge Reiman cracked his gavel against the desk. ‘I suppose the evidenc
Being Yours BOOK 8
For one gut-wrenching moment Matt thought that the woman walking toward him was Adriana. Same dark curls and olive skin, same compact figure, same ridiculously high heels tapping across the airport concourse. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, she was standing beside him while she anxiously scanned the crowd gathered around the arrivals gate.He scowled. He really must get a grip. Close up she was nothing like Adriana. The curls were softer and shot with chestnut streaks, and her skin was honey-colored with a tiny smattering of freckles across her nose. What was the matter with him that he thought every small, dark-haired woman was his wife? Why, this one wasn’t even dressed like Adriana. Instead of high gloss and sparkle, she was wearing varying shades of beige. The slouchy trousers and T-shirt, as well as the thin sweater tied around her shoulders, were obviously aimed at travel comfort rather than elegance. Only the shoes, copper- colored sandals with a four-inch heel,
Being Yours BOOK 8
Crash pad just about described it, Alex decided fifteen minutes later as she followed him up two steep flights of stairs to a cramped attic accommodation at the top of a square, white-painted building on the outskirts of the town.The offices of Miguel & Anderson occupied the first two floors. Although not at all grand, they were cool and professional. Marble tiling in shades of cream was complemented by dark wood and modern desks. The four computers, each with a webcam, were recent models, all of which Alex found encouraging.A pretty, dark-haired woman in her midtwenties had greeted them when they arrived. She had tried not to stare at Alex as she relayed a series of messages to Matt in Spanish. He listened intently and then, with his cell phone already clamped to one ear, had made hasty introductions in English.“Conchita, this is Alexandra Moyer, our new designer. Alex, this is Conchita Eberardo, Miguel & Anderson’s office manager. Without her, we couldn’t function! She’s related
Being Yours BOOK 8
Much later, replete after a meal of fish served with a green salsa, tiny baked potatoes, and a tomato salad, Alex sipped the last of her wine and listened to Rufino and Cristina reminiscing about a touring holiday they had once had in England.“We ended up in the Yorkshire Dales,” remembered Rufino.Cristina nodded. “Yes, and the scenery was beautiful—all soft curves lit by pale sunshine and shadow—and so many sheep! Even the food was good most of the time,” she added in her attractively accented English. “It wasn’t at all what we expected. We had heard so many bad things about England and its weather.”“You were just lucky.” Matt held his empty wineglass out for a refill. “Usually it’s gray and wet, or cold and wet, or windy and wet, or just wet. Why do you think I've settled over here? What’s to choose between wet and continuous sunshine?”“That is such an exaggeration!” Alex protested as Rufino topped up her gla^s. “We have loads of good weather. Think of all the poets who’ve writt
Being Yours BOOK 8
Awaking early the following morning, Alex lay in bed and listened to the sounds of the house. She heard the murmur of Cristina’s voice and then little fluting sounds like birdsong. It took her a moment to realize that it was the twins, who had woken and were calling. Soon the sounds grew louder, and then she heard the patter of small feet on the wooden floor. Slowly her door was pushed open, and two sets of sparkling black eyes peeped in at her.“ Hola she said, guessing that they probably understood only Spanish.Immediately they disappeared to the sound of much giggling. Smiling, she swung her feet onto the floor and welcomed the new day with a luxurious stretch. She felt more rested and relaxed than she had in months, and she was looking forward to settling into her new home and starting work.Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed in casual clothes, she gave her hair a final brush before descending into the kitchen. There, ensconced in matching high chairs and covered from chi
Being Yours BOOK 8
Alex arrived at Miguel & Anderson’s office at eight thirty the following morning after an evening spent settling into her new home. She had refused Cristina’s offer of an evening meal but had agreed to meet up again later in the week.After unpacking her clothes and putting the food she had bought at the market into the kitchen cupboards, she had made herself a coffee and taken it onto her balcony to enjoy the last of the evening sun. When it turned into a spectacular sunset that bathed the roofs below her in pink and gold, she congratulated herself anew on her good fortune and decided that she would make the most of this unexpected chance to stay in such a beautiful, sunny place. She would use it to provide the energy she needed to restart her social life. She would forget people like Rory and his friends, who had all sucked her dry. Any liaisons she enjoyed in Tenerife would be casual and fun and conducted solely on her terms, while she concentrated on making a success of the Alcasz
Being Yours BOOK 8
Once she was alone, Alex began to walk slowly around the courtyard, filling it with imaginary items as she did so. In her mind’s eye it became a place of light and shade. She soothed the lurid decor into warm pastels, painted the slim columns with fresh white paint, and introduced wooden tables and chairs and large urns of exotic flowers, making these its only decoration apart from the foaming fountain, which she would return to its former glory.Then, after allowing herself another moment to savor it, she moved purposefully back toward the entrance and began a systematic tour of the whole building, making copious notes on a set of plans that Matt had left with her. It took her a long time, and by the time she reached the topmost tower, she was thirsty and her feet were aching. She sat on the low stone windowsill, kicked off her shoes, and wriggled her toes. She really must stop this stupid predilection for ridiculously high heels. They might help her forget her lack of inches, they m
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