threaten me,” Carlotta said in a hoarse whisper.
A man’s harsh laugh sounded. “You know that I don’t make idle threats. Two grand by next Friday.”
The stone-cold tone of the man’s voice sent a chill down Jolie’s neck. The silence stretched on, then Carlotta murmured, “H–how will I find you?”
“Don’t worry, Lottie,” he said. “I’ll find you .”
Footsteps sounded against the tile floor, then receded. Jolie held her breath, wondering what kind of trouble Carlotta was in, and what was going through the woman’s mind right now. A couple of sniffles sounded, then a thump, as if Carlotta had brought her hand down on the counter in frustration. Jolie felt an instant kinship, then shook her head at the absurdity of suddenly feeling aligned with the woman because they both were in dire straits.
A light knock at the dressing-room door sent Jolie scooting away from the wall.
“Jolie, it’s me,” Carlotta said, then opened the door and stuck her head inside. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” Jolie said, then stood and flipped on the light. She blinked against the glare and glanced at her watch. She’d been asleep for twenty-five minutes.
“Were you able to get some rest?” Carlotta asked, showing no signs of being threatened only a moment ago.
“Yes, thank you so much,” Jolie said, then slid her feet into her shoes and reached for the jacket she’d shed.
“Wait, I want you to try on something.”
Jolie gave her a wry smile. “I don’t have the time or the money.”
“Oh, shush, Michael can spare you for five more minutes. Get a load of this.” She held up a sleeveless butternut-colored Ultrasuede jumpsuit with wide legs and a silver-tone belt that hung low on the hips.
Jolie’s lips parted and she felt an irrational gush of appreciation for the designer. “Oh, my.”
“It’s perfect for you; try it on.”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“Sure you can,” Carlotta said, stepping in and closing the door behind her. “Just try it.”
Jolie wavered, then reached forward to touch the fabric and was lost in the exquisite liquidity of the cloth. “Okay, but I’m only trying it on.”
Carlotta eased the jumpsuit off the hanger while Jolie undressed a bit self-consciously. Carlotta hummed and eyed her figure critically. “Wow, if you were a few inches taller, you could be a model.”
“I’ve lost weight recently,” Jolie said, glad that at least her Wal-Mart white underwear matched, but knowing it made her look bluishly pale. “I guess I haven’t adjusted to my new schedule.”
“How’s your real-estate business coming along? Have you called that hunky Beck Underwood yet?”
Jolie stepped into the jumpsuit, nervous at the mere sound of his name. “He’s supposed to call me.” She didn’tadd that she’d left her cell phone turned off all day. She wasn’t sure who she wanted to hear from less: him or Detective Salyers.
“Are you kidding me?” Carlotta gaped. “Do you know how many realtors in this city would sell their soul to be Beck Underwood’s agent? We’re talking a multimillion-dollar home. The commission would set you up for a year!”
She’d told herself the same thing a thousand times. “I know.”
“You act as if you’re afraid of him,” Carlotta said. “Or is it men in general?” She wet her lips. “Um…Michael told me that your boyfriend is…missing.”
Jolie glanced up from shrugging into the top of the jumpsuit.
Carlotta winced. “Don’t be angry with Michael—he thought you could use a little moral support.”
So that was why Carlotta was being nice to her. Jolie wondered if everyone would be as supportive if they knew all the details of her “missing” boyfriend.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Carlotta murmured.
In answer, Jolie dropped her gaze and allowed Carlotta to fasten the silver-tone buttons running up the front from waist to breastbone. In light of the conversation she’d overheard, the
A man’s harsh laugh sounded. “You know that I don’t make idle threats. Two grand by next Friday.”
The stone-cold tone of the man’s voice sent a chill down Jolie’s neck. The silence stretched on, then Carlotta murmured, “H–how will I find you?”
“Don’t worry, Lottie,” he said. “I’ll find you .”
Footsteps sounded against the tile floor, then receded. Jolie held her breath, wondering what kind of trouble Carlotta was in, and what was going through the woman’s mind right now. A couple of sniffles sounded, then a thump, as if Carlotta had brought her hand down on the counter in frustration. Jolie felt an instant kinship, then shook her head at the absurdity of suddenly feeling aligned with the woman because they both were in dire straits.
A light knock at the dressing-room door sent Jolie scooting away from the wall.
“Jolie, it’s me,” Carlotta said, then opened the door and stuck her head inside. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” Jolie said, then stood and flipped on the light. She blinked against the glare and glanced at her watch. She’d been asleep for twenty-five minutes.
“Were you able to get some rest?” Carlotta asked, showing no signs of being threatened only a moment ago.
“Yes, thank you so much,” Jolie said, then slid her feet into her shoes and reached for the jacket she’d shed.
“Wait, I want you to try on something.”
Jolie gave her a wry smile. “I don’t have the time or the money.”
“Oh, shush, Michael can spare you for five more minutes. Get a load of this.” She held up a sleeveless butternut-colored Ultrasuede jumpsuit with wide legs and a silver-tone belt that hung low on the hips.
Jolie’s lips parted and she felt an irrational gush of appreciation for the designer. “Oh, my.”
“It’s perfect for you; try it on.”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“Sure you can,” Carlotta said, stepping in and closing the door behind her. “Just try it.”
Jolie wavered, then reached forward to touch the fabric and was lost in the exquisite liquidity of the cloth. “Okay, but I’m only trying it on.”
Carlotta eased the jumpsuit off the hanger while Jolie undressed a bit self-consciously. Carlotta hummed and eyed her figure critically. “Wow, if you were a few inches taller, you could be a model.”
“I’ve lost weight recently,” Jolie said, glad that at least her Wal-Mart white underwear matched, but knowing it made her look bluishly pale. “I guess I haven’t adjusted to my new schedule.”
“How’s your real-estate business coming along? Have you called that hunky Beck Underwood yet?”
Jolie stepped into the jumpsuit, nervous at the mere sound of his name. “He’s supposed to call me.” She didn’tadd that she’d left her cell phone turned off all day. She wasn’t sure who she wanted to hear from less: him or Detective Salyers.
“Are you kidding me?” Carlotta gaped. “Do you know how many realtors in this city would sell their soul to be Beck Underwood’s agent? We’re talking a multimillion-dollar home. The commission would set you up for a year!”
She’d told herself the same thing a thousand times. “I know.”
“You act as if you’re afraid of him,” Carlotta said. “Or is it men in general?” She wet her lips. “Um…Michael told me that your boyfriend is…missing.”
Jolie glanced up from shrugging into the top of the jumpsuit.
Carlotta winced. “Don’t be angry with Michael—he thought you could use a little moral support.”
So that was why Carlotta was being nice to her. Jolie wondered if everyone would be as supportive if they knew all the details of her “missing” boyfriend.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Carlotta murmured.
In answer, Jolie dropped her gaze and allowed Carlotta to fasten the silver-tone buttons running up the front from waist to breastbone. In light of the conversation she’d overheard, the
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