Page 24 of Heartbreaker (Buchanan-Renard 1)

  They backtracked to Russell’s Jewelry Store. Nick impressed the socks off of Miriam Russell when he picked out a two-carat diamond ring—the biggest in the store. Laurant didn’t want that one though. She liked the one-and-a-half-carat, marquise diamond. Since it didn’t need to be sized—it fit her finger perfectly—Nick said it was meant to be.

  She held out her hand, waving her fingers so the light would catch the sparkle in the diamond, ooh-ing and ah-ing like a woman in love. She worried she might be overdoing it a bit, but Miriam seemed to be buying the act. Her hands were clasped together, and she was beaming with satisfaction.

  When Nick handed Miriam his American Express card to pay for the purchase, her expression sobered. She asked Laurant if she could have a word in private before she ran the charge. She led Laurant to the back of the store while Nick waited at the counter. He didn’t know what they were discussing, but whatever the topic was, it embarrassed Laurant. Her face turned pink, and she kept shaking her head.

  A few minutes later, after Nick signed the purchase slip, he picked up the ring, put it on Laurant’s finger again, and then leaned down and kissed her. It was a gentle, undemanding kiss that left her thoroughly shaken. He had to nudge her away from the counter.

  As they were leaving the store, Miriam called out, “Remember what I said, Lauren. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”

  Clearly mortified, Laurant hurried away. Nick caught up with her. “What was that all about?”

  “Nothing important.”

  “She’s gonna keep her fingers crossed for you?”

  “It’s nothing, really.”

  “Come on, Laurant. Tell me.”

  She stopped trying to outrun him. “Fine, I’ll tell you. That little conference we had in the store was all about Russell’s return policy. She thinks I’m going to botch this one up. Those were her words, not mine. You do realize, don’t you, that when this is over and you’ve gone away, they’re all going to think I screwed up again. This isn’t funny, Nick, so you can stop grinning.”

  He wasn’t at all sympathetic. Laughing, he said, “You’ve got a real strange reputation here, don’t you? Exactly what is it you do to the men who try to get close to you?”

  “Nothing,” she cried out. “I don’t do anything. I’m just . . . discriminating. There’s a small group of women in town who have nothing better to do than gossip, and if one of them happens to see me talking to an available man, she assumes all sorts of things that aren’t true. Before I know what’s happened, that nosy editor, Lorna Hamburg, is printing it in the local paper. It’s ridiculous,” she added. “When I’m not seen socializing with the same man, everyone assumes I’ve gone and botched it again.”

  “She actually prints stuff like that in the paper?”

  “She runs the society page,” she explained. “It’s all gossip and rubbish. There isn’t a whole lot going on here, and so she . . .”

  “Embellishes?”

  “Oh, God, speaking of the devil,” she whispered. “Let’s get out of here. Move it, Nick. She’s spotted us.”

  Lorna Hamburg caught sight of them a block away and came running. Long, curly, platinum hair dwarfed her already small features, and huge pendulum earrings dangled from her lobes and flapped madly to and fro with each step. She carried a leopard print canvas bag the size of a suitcase looped over her left shoulder, and as she ran, she tilted to that side, like a drunk who couldn’t walk a straight line.

  She was sprinting now to intercept them, her fuchsia-colored, four-inch heels clipping along the sidewalk. The sound was like teeth chattering.

  “Man, can she move,” he remarked.

  As she bore down on them, Nick couldn’t help but notice her eyebrows, or rather the lack thereof. Lorna had plucked hers out and used a pencil to draw a straight line above her deep-set eyes.

  Thanks to Nick’s lack of cooperation in running for cover, Laurant was stuck.

  “I thought FBI agents were supposed to be fast,” she muttered as she patiently waited to introduce him to the woman she secretly called Gazette Gorilla.

  “Keep the goal in mind. This is a golden opportunity. Now stop frowning and look like you love me.”

  Nick was disgustingly charming, and that only encouraged Lorna to be pushier than ever. She demanded an on-the-spot interview. Whipping her eight-by-ten notebook out of her bag, she wanted to know all the details of how the two of them had met.

  Within fifteen seconds, Nick knew two things about the woman. One, she detested Laurant, and two, she wanted him. It wasn’t an arrogant assumption. Nor was it a shrewd observation. Hell, the way she was looking at him while she repeatedly moistened her lips with her tongue darting in and out made it real apparent. Disgustingly so.

  The knot in Laurant’s stomach twisted tighter and tighter as Lorna’s questions became more and more personal, but she didn’t reach her unraveling point until Lorna asked if she and Nick were already living as man and wife.

  “That’s none of your damned business, Lorna.”

  Nick squeezed her shoulder and then said, “Honey, show Lorna your engagement ring.”

  Laurant was still fuming as she lifted her hand and waved it in front of Lorna’s face.

  “That must have cost a fortune. Everyone in town knows you work for the FBI,” she said then. “Why, I must have gotten six phone calls about you already. It’s true,” she added when he looked skeptical. “It’s the gun, you see. People wondered about it. They’re much too polite to ask you, of course.”

  “So they whisper behind his back,” Laurant interjected.

  Lorna ignored her. “FBI agents don’t make much money, do they?”

  “Are you asking me if I can afford the ring?” Nick wondered.

  “I wasn’t going to be that forward.”

  Nick squeezed Laurant’s hand. “I live a comfortable life. Family trust,” he added.

  “Then you’re rich?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Lorna. It’s none of your—”

  Nick placed his other hand on Laurant’s shoulder and said sweetly, “Now, darling, don’t get all bent out of shape. Lorna’s just curious.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Curious. Where are you from, Nick? You don’t mind if I call you Nick, do you?”

  “No, of course not. I live in Boston. I was raised on Nathan’s Bay.”

  “Will you be taking Laurant to Boston after you’re married?”

  “No. We’re going to be living here. I’ll be doing a lot of traveling, but I can be based anywhere, and Laurant loves this town. It’s growing on me too.”

  “But Laurant won’t have to work after you’re married, will she?”

  “I’m not selling the store, Lorna, so give it up,” Laurant snapped.

  “You’re holding up progress, Laura.”

  “Tough.” It wasn’t a great comeback, but it was the best she could do on the spur of the moment. “And I happen to want to work.”

  “Of course you do.” Her tone was condescending.

  “If Laurant wants to work, she will,” Nick said. “She’s a modern, independent woman, and I’ll support whatever she does.”

  Lorna closed her notebook and stuffed it in her bag. Then she turned her full, patronizing attention on Laurant.

  “I want to believe this one’s the real thing, but honestly, I have my doubts. I certainly don’t want to be forced to print yet another retraction. I just hate doing that. People believe that what I print in my column is true, so you can understand my concern.”

  Nick draped his arm around Laurant’s shoulders and pulled her into his side.

  “You’ve had to print a retraction about Laurant?”

  “Twice I’ve had to do it,” Lorna said.

  “It’s not important,” Laurant blurted. “We really need to get going. I’ve got a lot to get done this afternoon.”

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed what a small town Holy Oaks is,” Lorna began. “But I’m actually quite important here. I’m the society edito

r at the Gazette. People depend on me to keep them abreast of the latest happenings about town. They also expect me to be accurate, but your fiancée has made that task extremely difficult. I’ve gotten to the point where I just hate writing anything about her. I really do.”

  “Then don’t,” Laurant suggested.

  Turning back to Nick, Lorna continued, “As I was telling you before I was so rudely interrupted, Laura keeps changing her mind. I mentioned in one of my articles that Steve Brenner and Laura were a serious item and that marriage appeared to be on the horizon, but I was forced to print a retraction.”

  She paused to smirk at Laurant before continuing. “She made me do it. Can you imagine? My credibility was on the line, but she didn’t care about that. She still insisted I print a retraction.”

  “Because it wasn’t true,” Laurant pointed out in exasperation. “I’ve never dated Steve Brenner and you know it, but you didn’t care about being accurate, Lorna. Did you?”

  Laurant’s French accent was getting thicker, a dead giveaway that she was upset.

  “Must you be insulting? I am accurate. I print what I’m told.”

  “If memory serves, you wrote about my wedding plans.”

  Laurant was backing her into a corner, and Lorna didn’t like that one bit. “I can’t remember the details now, but I’m sure I must have gotten it straight from the horse’s mouth or I wouldn’t have printed it,” she muttered, her lips puckered with distaste now.

  “The horse being Steve Brenner?” Nick asked.

  “I’ll admit I might have . . . exaggerated a bit, to make the article newsworthy,” she explained. “But I certainly didn’t make it all up, no matter what Laura’s told you. I have my reputation to protect.”

  “What did Steve have to say about the article?”

  Lorna shrugged. “He didn’t say anything about it. Have you met him yet?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “You’ll like him,” Lorna predicted. “Everyone likes him, everyone but Laura,” she said, waving her hand at Laurant. “Steve wants to improve the economy here, and he’s done so much to help this town. I know he must have been as embarrassed as I was about the retraction, but he never said a word. He wouldn’t, of course. He’s such a gentleman. I wouldn’t have printed that retraction at all if Lauren hadn’t threatened to go over my head. She can be a very . . . difficult woman.”

  “We really need to get going,” Laurant said again. She had had enough of Little Lorna.

  Nick didn’t budge. “Just for the record . . . since you want to be accurate and all . . .”

  “Yes?” Lorna asked, her pen posed to strike.

  “Her name’s Laurant. That’s Laurant, not Laura, not Lauren. We’re in love,” he added. “So you aren’t going to have to worry about printing another retraction. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

  When she didn’t answer right away, he squeezed her shoulders.

  “Yes,” she said. “Nick loves me and I love him.”

  Lorna had that ugly smirk on her face again. It was apparent she didn’t believe Laurant, and all of a sudden it became imperative to Laurant that the obnoxious woman be convinced.

  “It happened just like that,” she said, snapping her fingers in front of Lorna’s nose. “I didn’t believe in love at first sight, but then I met Nick. I thought it was just plain old lust, didn’t I, darling? But then I realized it was real. I’m madly in love with him.”

  Lorna’s small eyes were darting back and forth between Nick’s complacent grin and Laurant’s earnest expression.

  “I’m going to quote you.” She made it sound like a threat.

  “That’ll be just fine,” Nick told her as he turned toward the car with Laurant still tucked against his side.

  Fortunately the car wasn’t parked far away. Nick opened the door for Laurant and then went around to the driver’s side and got in. Lorna stood on the sidewalk, watching them with a malevolent glare.

  “I get the feeling Little Lorna doesn’t like you much,” Nick said, glancing back at the society editor in the rearview mirror.

  “I can see why the FBI wanted you. You’re very observant.”

  “My article’s going to be in the Sunday paper,” Lorna shouted. “Please try to stay in love until then.”

  Infuriated because the woman wouldn’t believe her, Laurant hit the button to roll the window down and then leaned out. “I’m telling you for the last time, Lorna. This is true love. It’s the lasting kind.”

  Lorna stepped off the curb. “Really.”

  “Really,” Laurant repeated.

  “Have you set a wedding date?”

  It was a challenge, and it didn’t go unanswered. “As a matter of fact we have,” she said. “We’re getting married on the second Saturday in October at seven o’clock.”

  “Is there a reason the wedding’s so soon?” she asked.

  “We don’t want a long engagement. Besides, everything’s planned. Honestly, Lorna, everyone knows about this. You really should keep up, shouldn’t you? I mean, you are the society editor after all.”

  Lorna’s response was a loud snort. “Still . . . planning a wedding in so little time. You don’t have to get married, do you? Is that the reason for the rush?”

  “That’s it,” Laurant snapped as she reached for the door handle.

  Nick grabbed her arm and hit the door lock. He was trying not to laugh, but he was dying to ask her what she would do if he let her get out of the car. Was she going to deck Little Lorna?

  It suddenly occurred to Laurant that she was acting like a complete lunatic. She slumped down in her seat and rolled the window up.

  “Will you please start the car. I want to get out of here.”

  Neither one of them said another word until they had driven away from the town square and were heading for the abbey. Then Laurant exploded in a tirade. “Lorna Hamburg is the most opinionated, gossipy, nasty-spirited woman in Holy Oaks. I can’t abide her. She’s mean and cruel, and she loves to stir up trouble. How dare she not believe me,” she cried. “I’ve never, ever lied to her before. Never. But she didn’t believe me, did she? You saw the look on her face. She thought I was lying.”

  A minute passed in silence and then Nick glanced at her. “Laurant?”

  “What?” she asked, sounding downright surly.

  He pointed out the obvious. “You were lying.”

  “But she didn’t know that, did she?”

  “Apparently she did.”

  “Drive, Nick. Just drive.”

  He laughed. He simply couldn’t help it.

  She ignored him and stared out the window while she struggled to get her temper under control.

  “You aren’t being very logical,” he pointed out. “What’s going to happen when this is over and I go back to Boston? Are you going to make Lorna print another retraction, or are you just going to admit that you lied to her?”

  “I’m never going to admit I lied. Never. I won’t give that vile woman the satisfaction of knowing she was right. I’ve got a horrible reputation with the men in this town because of her lies.”

  She folded her arms and stared down at her lap. She knew she wasn’t being reasonable, but she was too angry with the Gorilla to care.

  “Lorna doesn’t have any ethics. None at all. I swear I’ll go to any lengths to avoid admitting I lied. I’d even marry you,” she exaggerated. “And you’re totally unsuitable.”

  Nick slowed the car. “What do you mean, I’m unsuitable? What’s the matter with me?”

  “You aren’t safe. That’s what’s the matter with you. You wear a gun, for heaven’s sake.”

  “I told you before, it goes with the job.”

  “Exactly.”

  “There aren’t any guarantees in life, and there’s no such thing as completely safe, at least not the way you mean it. Bus drivers can be killed while they’re doing their job.”

  “Oh? How many bus drivers do you think get involved in shoot-outs?”  He gritted his teeth. “I don’t know all that many FBI agents who get into shoot-outs, as you so quaintly put it,” he muttered. “You’re being completely illogical. You do know that, don’t you?”

  Her spine stiffened. “Maybe I don’t want to be logical. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Let me get this straight. Even though you know it’s illogical, you’d still marry me just to spite Lorna?”

  Of course she wouldn’t do such a thing. And of course she wasn’t going to admit it to Mr. Always-logical-know-it-all. “What’s your point?” she asked

  “Nothing. If you don’t see anything wrong with it, then I don’t either.”

  She folded her arms and gave him a belligerent nod. “Good. October fourteenth . . . seven P.M. . . . Pencil it in.”

  CHAPTER 22

  One man’s trash could become another man’s treasure. That was Laurant’s hope, anyway, as she sorted through a dozen mildew-infested boxes of old, moth-eaten linens and broken knickknacks someone had stored in the attic over fifty years ago. By the time she stopped for the day, she was covered in a layer of dust, her white slacks were gray, and she was sneezing every other second from the moldy cardboard. Unfortunately, she didn’t find a priceless van Gogh or Degas painting tucked in with the trash. In fact, she didn’t find anything she didn’t consider old junk, but she refused to lose heart. She’d only just started the job, after all, and there were over sixty boxes still sealed for her to sort through.

  Nick helped her haul the trash down four flights of steps on their way to the car.

  “Do we have time to stop by the seamstress to pick up my bridesmaid dress?” she asked.

  “Sure, if we hurry. We’re supposed to pick up Tommy and Noah in an hour. That’s enough time to shower and change.”

  The minute they arrived home, she ran up the stairs, passing Joe on his way down.

  “Just made the rounds and everything’s locked up tight,” he assured her.