White Hot

Croc didn’t answer immediately.

Jeremiah inhaled, not wanting to take his mood out on his young friend—cohort, source, whatever Croc was these days. Kissing Mollie in a damned parking garage had used up what little patience he’d gotten up with that morning. “Croc—”

“Well, if you’re crabby and I say something that pisses you off, I don’t want you feeding me to your lizard here.”

“My lizard’s a vegetarian.”

“Oh. Okay.” He glanced over at the sleeping creature. “Ugly bastard, isn’t he?”

Jeremiah set his can down on the counter with a bang that he didn’t intend. No muscle control. He needed a run, an hour in the weight room, something to burn off the tension that had gripped him the moment he’d spotted Mollie walking across the Trib cafeteria.

“Heck, you are cranky.” Croc grinned, highly entertained; but at Jeremiah’s dark look, he got serious. “Okay, I know this isn’t much, but some people in high places think Friday’s attack definitely wasn’t the work of our jewel thief. Could be a copycat, someone squeezing in on our guy’s territory, or it could be a deliberate attempt to throw the police off the trail.”

“Then you’re off Mollie? You don’t think she could have ripped the necklace from her own neck?”

“I didn’t say that. Let’s say she’s our thief. She knows she’s the only common denominator we’ve got. So to throw us off, she fakes an attack on herself. Or let’s say she’s in with whoever the thief is and wants to throw us off his trail.”

“This is getting convoluted, Croc.”

“It’s Palm Beach. You’ve got to think convoluted or you can miss the boat. These people know how to cover their tracks.”

Jeremiah tried to figure out what Croc was saying. “You’re mixing your metaphors.”

“All I’m saying is, anything’s possible when that much money and those kinds of reputations are at stake. My usual haunts, it’s usually more straightforward.” He leaned back on his chair, his feet going, one hand drumming the table; the critters didn’t seem to mind, just slept in their cages. “So how come you’re in such a foul mood? I mean, this is bad even for you.”

“Mollie came to see me,” Jeremiah told him, a quick tactical decision. “She had a threatening phone call this afternoon.”

“Whoa,” Croc said, still drumming his fingers.

“Yeah. The caller said Miami’s a dangerous town and suggested she go back to Boston.”

“Which says he knows she’s from Boston.” Croc jumped up, paced, if possible even more restless and jittery. “Wow, this is interesting. I’ve got to put this one into the old mental slow-cooker and let it simmer.”

“Croc, if you know anything you haven’t told me, you need to part with it now.” Jeremiah kept his tone calm, steady, serious. “A woman’s been hurt and threatened.”

Croc went momentarily still. “You’re either going to trust me, Tabak, or you’re not.”

“That’s a two-way street.”

“Yep. Sure is.” He grinned. “Thanks for the iced tea.”

“That’s it? You’re out of here?”

“That’s it, I’m out of here.” He started for the door. “See you around.”

Two seconds later, Croc was gone. Jeremiah felt like kicking things, but his critters were still sleeping. With a growl, he grabbed his jackknife and headed downstairs. Bennie and Albert handed him a chunk of wood, and he whittled until it was time to head north to Palm Beach and his six-twenty-five rendezvous at Pascarelli’s house. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Mollie would be expecting him.





9


Whittling, traffic, and an attack of common sense almost kept Jeremiah from making it to Leonardo Pascarelli’s by six-twenty-five. As it was, he arrived in Palm Beach with only two minutes to spare. Griffen Welles, not Mollie, opened the front gates for him and met him in the driveway. She had on a short, sleek white cover-up over a bright pink bathing suit, her long, golden legs just the right side of too thin. She tossed back her dark curls, eyeing him with frank curiosity and maybe a little suspicion. “Mollie’s around back at the pool. I assume you’re looking for her?”

“I am.”