Troublemaker - Lisa B. Kamps Page 0,57

business-like. I wasn't used to hearing her like this, without her usual amused and sometimes flippant tone. For some reason, that worried me even more than the news she'd called with.

"What happened?" My own voice was short and clipped and low.

"We were heading over to my place when she was confronted by that old battle-axe—"

"Who?"

"Mrs. Young, the mother of Morgan's ex-fiancé. She happened to notice Morgan at the restaurant the other night."

I closed my eyes as a piece of the mystery puzzle snapped into place. "That was why Morgan was in such a hurry to leave."

"Apparently."

"How'd she find her?"

"I'm not sure and that isn't important, not right now. What's important is that Mrs. Young accused Morgan of stealing some jewelry."

"Bullshit. Morgan isn't a thief."

"I'm aware of that."

"And she doesn't wear jewelry."

"I'm aware of that, too, but that's a discussion I'll have with you later."

I ignored the comment and exhaled my impatience. "Then why the fuck was she arrested if she didn't have the jewelry?"

"That, cher, is the problem. She did have it."

"What? No, she couldn't have. I would have seen it—"

"I think you probably did."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Was she, by any chance, wearing a set of pearl earrings with a matching necklace the day you found her in your apartment?"

"How the hell should I know? I wasn't paying—" I stopped, frowning as an image of Morgan popped into my head. I had no trouble remembering the dress with its yards of virginal white satin and lace but the jewelry was another matter. I couldn't swear to it but maybe she had been wearing jewelry.

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose again. "I don't remember. Maybe she was."

"Maybe. Or it's possible she took them off before you saw her."

"Yeah. Maybe. What does that have to do with anything?"

"The set belongs to Mrs. Young. She was adamant that Morgan wear them for the wedding. Some nonsense about tradition or something."

"Okay, so? She took them off and forgot about them. Can you really blame her? I doubt she was really thinking too hard about it. Not a big deal."

"Not to any reasonable person, no. Unfortunately, Mrs. Young is anything but reasonable, cher."

"But Morgan didn't steal anything. She can just give them back and that's that."

"Yes, well, she tried." Jacqui's sigh echoed through the phone and my stomach automatically clenched and twisted. She sounded tired...and worried. Neither was a good sign, not coming from Jacqui. "She was mortified, Dylan. I've never seen anyone look so...so horrified, not even my father. It was painfully obvious she expected us to believe the worst."

"But you didn't, right?"

There was a long pause, followed by Jacqui's low voice. "You have no idea how lucky you are that you are not within striking distance of me right now. Of course, we didn't. I can't believe you'd think—"

I cut off Jacqui's threat with a veiled one of my own, one that should be crystal clear in the tome of my voice. "What the hell happened when she tried to give them back?"

"Apparently that wasn't good enough. Mrs. Young wasn't satisfied and pushed the issue, demanding that charges be brought against her."

"So of course, that's what happened, right? Morgan was automatically guilty because this woman said so."

"I'm not entirely sure."

"What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"The officer didn't handcuff her. To be honest, I got the impression he didn't even want to be involved."

"But he got involved anyway."

"He didn't have a choice, hockey boy."

I squeezed my eyes closed and sucked in a deep breath, knowing she had a point. Neither the realization or the deep breathing helped.

I opened my eyes and glanced at my watch, silently cursing the delay once more. If our commercial flight had arrived on time, I'd already be home. Hell, if we left after last night's game like we usually did, I would have been there when this happened—

My eyes snapped open at the thought. "When did this happen?"

Silence greeted my question, one that went on long enough that I pulled the phone away so I could check the screen and make sure the call hadn't disconnected.

It hadn't.

"Jacqui. When did this happen?"

"Yesterday. Just before lunch."

"Yesterday." I repeated the word, my voice so soft I doubted she even heard me. My next words came out a lot louder—loud enough that I was sure everyone three gates down could hear. "Yesterday? And you're just now fucking telling me?"

A hand clamped down on my shoulder, the grip hard and unforgiving. I whirled around, ready