Chapter 10
When Daniela entered Roarke Investigations that afternoon, the phone was ringing off the hook. The secretary, Carole Hightower, was frantically trying to keep up with the rapid succession of incoming calls while entering information into the computer in front of her.
Daniela quickly surveyed the reception area, which had undergone a radical transformation with the purchase of rustic pine tables and chairs artfully arranged around the large room.
The seat cushions were upholstered in earthy shades of orange, red, salmon and turquoise that added to the Southwestern motif, and black-and-white prints graced walls the color of papaya.
The new and improved decor—courtesy of Daniela—was a marked departure from the sparse, no-frills private detective offices characterized in hardboiled mystery novels.
In one chair, a burly, balding Hispanic man barked rapid-fire Spanish into his phone while puffing away on a cigarette.
Daniela walked over to him. “Excuse me, sir.”
When he glanced up at her, she pointed toward the sign prominently displayed above the large oak reception desk. “We don’t allow smoking in the building.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly. He glanced around the room for an ashtray. Finding none, he stubbed out his cigarette against the sole of his lizard-skin boot.
“Would you like some coffee, Mr—?”
“Rodriguez. Luis Rodriguez. Yes, thank you very much.”
“Coming right up.”
Daniela made her way toward the reception desk where the secretary was juggling multiple calls.
She sent Daniela a flustered look as she approached.
“Kenneth Roarke isn’t in at the moment,” she spoke into the receiver.
“Can I transfer you to his voicemail? All right, please hold.” She pressed a flashing button on the phone and then groaned. “Oh, no. I hung up on him. Again.”
Daniela inwardly cringed. “Why don’t you take a break and get Mr. Rodriguez a cup of coffee?” she suggested.
The woman was only too eager to vacate her station in exchange for a less demanding task.
Daniela spent the next fifteen minutes answering and forwarding calls with a swiftness and efficiency borne from years of practice. Three years, to be exact.
That was how Noah found her when he emerged from his office followed by another man. After escorting his client to the door, Noah doubled back to the reception desk, one dark brow raised at his sister.
“Where’s Carole?” he asked.
“Making coffee.”
Noah grimaced. “Have you tasted her coffee?” he muttered under his breath so he wouldn’t be overheard by those waiting in the reception area.
Leaning forward, Daniela whispered back, “It can’t be much worse than her receptionist skills.”
“Don’t be too sure about that.” Noah turned and gestured for Luis Rodriguez to follow him back to his office.
Carole returned a few minutes later carrying a disposable cup filled with a burnt, sludgy brew masquerading as coffee. “Where’s Mr. Rodriguez?”
“With Noah. I’ll take him the coffee,” Daniela promised, knowing she’d do no such thing as she accepted the cup from the woman and rose from the chair.
After going through two Keurig machines over the past year, Kenneth had insisted they return to making coffee the old-fashioned way, using a standard coffeepot and ground coffee beans. One taste of Carole’s unpalatable brew would cure him of such frugality, but he wisely wouldn’t touch the stuff.
The phone rang, and while Carole was preoccupied, Daniela dumped her muddy coffee into a giant potted plant and tossed the cup in the trash before heading to her own office in the back.
Her office was actually a windowless cubbyhole that doubled as the supply room.
The space was dominated by a wooden antique desk and bench, and black metal filing cabinets that marched along one wall.
The basic functionality of the room was offset by soft, feminine touches interspersed throughout—a ceramic vase here, a cluster of decorative candles there, a multicolored wool serape that hung on a wall, a cashmere throw draped over a chair.
Ignoring a mound of paperwork that awaited her attention, Daniela dropped her purse on the desk and turned on the computer to check her email.
Although she was on assignment and technically “out of pocket,” she couldn’t stay away entirely.
For the past three years she’d ate, slept and breathed Roarke Investigations, serving as secretary, bookkeeper and part-time private detective as she helped her brothers establish the business.
It was as much a part of her as it was part of Kenneth and Noah.
Just as she was responding to her last email message, Noah stuck his head through the open door and frowned.
“What’re you doing here, by the way? Not that I mind seeing you around, kiddo, but I thought we all agreed you should avoid this place as much as possible in case Thorne gets suspicious at some point and starts having you followed. ”
“I know, I know,” Daniela muttered, sending off her reply. “I had a ton of messages to respond to.”
“You can check your email from home,” Noah reminded her dryly. “That’s why we set you up with remote access.”
Grinning at her brother, Daniela leaned back in her chair, propped her long legs on the desk and crossed her feet at the ankles. “One message was from a client who wanted to thank me for proving that her husband wasn’t cheating on her. What do you have to say about that?”
Noah chuckled, stepping into the tiny office and causing it to shrink even more by the sheer breadth of his wide shoulders.
He wore slim black trousers and a gray polo shirt that showed off his muscular physique.
He could have stepped from the cover of GQ, though he’d sooner wrestle tigers than suffer the cliché compliment.
“What I have to say,” he grumbled good-naturedly, dropping into the chair opposite her desk, “is that you’re in the wrong line of business, El. You’re supposed to want spouses to be guilty. How else are we supposed to make any money around here?”
Daniela made a face at him, but she knew that Noah, like her, took no pleasure in chasing down cheaters, especially when children were thrown into the equation. He loathed being the bearer of bad news almost as much as he loathed the act of infidelity itself.
“Not that we’re hurting for business around here,” Daniela said. “The phone’s been ringing off the hook all afternoon. What gives?”
“We’ve been running ads everywhere. Guess they’re finally starting to pay off.”
“Not for long if Carole keeps hanging up on people.”
Noah scowled. “Tell me about it. She’s the third secretary we’ve hired in a month. After the first two disasters, we figured we couldn’t go wrong using a temp agency—especially since Carole came so highly recommended.”
Daniela snorted. “I’d hate to see what they consider incompetent.”
“For real. We have to get rid of her before she puts us out of business.”
“Hey, don’t look at me,” Daniela said quickly. “I’m not even supposed to be here, remember? I only stopped by to see how you’re doing, and to commend you for not accompanying Kenny yesterday on his quest to pry information out of me.”
Noah grinned. “You know I don’t operate that way, baby girl.” He paused, searching her face. “But since you’re here, why don’t you fill me in on how things are going?”
“Didn’t Kenny tell you?”
“He mentioned that you ran into Caleb at the library and made small talk, but that’s pretty much it.”
Of course Kenneth would deliberately leave out certain details that suggested she was getting cold feet.
Noah eyed her carefully. “I guess what I’m asking is, how do you feel things are going?”
He was asking her, without really asking her, whether she still had reservations about her role in the undercover investigation.
The fact that he cared at all was what set him apart from Kenneth.
And it was for this reason that she readily confided in him, telling him all about her coffeehouse excursion with Caleb—minus the vanilla ice cream incident.
That would be something she kept to herself, savoring the delicious memory like…
well, like ice cream and espresso melting on her tongue.
Only better.
“By the way he reacted to the news,” she explained, shoving aside the wicked thought, “I knew something was wrong, even before I heard that his father might be representing Olivares. Why do you think that would bother Caleb so much?”
“Well, based on what Philbin told us, Caleb and his father don’t see eye-to-eye on the type of clients Crandall chooses to represent. Obviously this labor union boss is no exception.”
Daniela frowned, unsatisfied with the simple explanation. “But there was something else, something that went beyond disapproval. It was more of a…quiet rage.”
Noah gave her a long, measuring look. “Do you think it was directed at his father, or Olivares?”
“I’m not sure. And I know it may sound crazy, but I think he’s hiding something.”
“I guess that’ll be your job to find out,” said Noah, rising from the chair and walking to the door. He turned back to look at his sister, his expression unreadable. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, Daniela. There’s a lot at stake here.”
She nodded slowly. “I know.”
Noah didn’t have to tell her how much was at stake. She knew as well as anyone how much they all stood to gain if she successfully completed the mission.
But a funny thing was starting to happen, something she hadn’t admitted to herself until that very moment.
The more time she spent with Caleb Thorne, the less she found herself eagerly anticipating what she and her family would gain at his expense. Instead, her thoughts were increasingly dominated by what she, alone, stood to lose.