Free Sailing to Capri by Elizabeth Adler Page B

qualifications.”
    Anger simmered as I found I was defending myself again. “Bob wasn’t after qualifications. He wanted to help me. You read his letter. Anyhow, as you might have noticed, I was a quick learner. He said I was indispensable to him, he said he couldn’t run his life without me.”
    “Then you’re saying there’s no way you could be suspected of murdering him?”
    Furious now, I leapt to my feet. “Stop it,” I snarled. “Just stop! And no, I did
not
sleep with Bob Hardwick. No, I was
not
after his money. No, I did
not
‘covet’ anything he owned, except the time he had to spend with me. He was my best friend as well as my employer and … and …” I ran out of words and steam.
    “Just wondered,” Montana said mildly.
    I glared at him. “You know what? If I was ever going to kill anybody, right now it would be you.”
    “That’s exactly the way it happens. Passion of the moment.”
    Furious, I flung myself backward onto the bed, arms over my head, slippered feet kicking the air. “Ohhhh,” I yelled. “Why did I ever have to meet you anyway?”
    “Because Bob arranged it. He’s given both of us a job. Now it’s up to us to carry it through, regardless of our personal feelings.”
    I sat up and stared icily at him. “I don’t know that I can do that,” I said, stiff as Her Majesty the Queen.
    “Tough,” he replied coolly. “We have our orders. And anyhow, you’re not doing it for me, you’re doing it for the man you really cared about.” He walked to the table and picked up the teapot. “More tea?”
    “No thank you.”
    He refilled his mug, looking quite at home in his bathrobe in my bedroom. Rats trotted over to Montana, then settled down at his feet.
Traitor,
I thought.
    I got up, kicked off my slippers, slipped out of my robe. “I’m going to bed,” I said, remembering too late the granny nightie, buttoned to the neck and down to the ankles. I climbed hurriedly into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin.
    “Okay, we’ll talk some more in the morning, around ten, make some plans,” Montana said. He walked around my room, checking the windows, closing the curtains, turning off the lamps. He gave Rats a final pat as he walked to the door.
    “By the way … cute nightie,” he said as the door closed behind him.
    I could swear I heard him laughing.
    I turned my head in to the pillow and was asleep within seconds.

11

Montana
    Montana did not sleep. He lay on the bed for a long time, hands clasped behind his head, staring up at the pleated redsilk canopy, lost in his thoughts.
    He’d met Bob Hardwick ten years ago, when the mogul called him in to investigate the backgrounds of certain applicants for a high-powered executive position within his company. Montana had taken care of the job rapidly and efficiently, then he’d gone to see Bob.
    Hardwick had leaned back in his oversized leather chair behind his impressive rosewood desk in his lofty Manhattan offices, looking expectantly at him. Secretaries bustled in and out with papers for him to sign, which he did with barely a glance. Various assistants came to warn of his imminent lunch meeting at Four Seasons and to say that his tailor was on his way up with the new suits to be fitted, and that a woman with an impressive society name wished to talk to him. He wafted themaway with his big hand like so many annoying flies. “I’ll be there when I get there” was all he said, and the assistants rolled their eyes as they went to try to placate those kept waiting. He looked like a wild man in his rumpled suit, his thick gray hair standing on end, his flinty blue eyes under his grizzly, scowling brows, his pink complexion hinting of high blood pressure. He was impressive in his stature and his ugliness.
    Montana’s raised eyebrows must have expressed his disbelief that Hardwick was actually listening to what he had to say, what with all the interruptions.
    “Don’t worry, lad, I’m listening.” Hardwick leaned across