He ran his fingers down the center of her back, the light caress making her toes curl in her shoes.
“Actually, I pretty much worked that out for myself.”
“I mean that ninety-nine percent of the time they aren’t born to high-blood parents,” she said, relieved when her voice was steady. No need feeding his outrageous ego with the fact he could make her melt with one careless touch. “So they’re brought to us as abandoned babies or as children who can no longer live with their biological families. They need the reassurance they’re wanted and valued by their new community.”
He came to an abrupt halt, swinging her until they were face to face. “My ma is going to love you.”
Her heart missed a beat at his unexpected words. “Because I enjoy children?”
“Because she was forever taking in stray chicks despite our constant protests the house was about ready to bust at the seams.” His gaze swept over her upturned face with a piercing intensity. “She’ll be delighted to meet a fellow mother hen.”
His mother . . . The woman who no doubt thought no one was good enough for her baby.
Certainly not a freak from Valhalla.
Aaaaand cue panic.
She pulled away, waving an unsteady hand toward the door on the corner that was shaded by an elegant ivory canopy. “I think that’s the place.”
With a heavy sigh, he reached down to brush her lips in a brief kiss.
“Someday,” he murmured against her lips.
Duncan leashed his impatience. Baby steps, he silently told himself. If I rush her, I might lose her. And he wasn’t prepared to risk that.
Instead he led her into the chichi store, surprised when she pulled away to wander through the racks of clothing that cost more than he made in a year.
Maybe she liked shopping more than she was willing to admit. With a shrug, he turned to watch the silver-haired woman wearing a discreet black dress cross the plush ivory carpet, her thin face pinched as if she’d caught a foul odor.
Duncan hid a wry smile. He wasn’t the sort of cop who got off on busting the balls of perps. He did what had to be done, no extracurricular activity included.
But he couldn’t deny a very human anticipation in pissing off this sour-faced female. There were few things that peeved him as much as someone thinking a few bucks in the bank made them better than others.
“May I help you?” she asked in tones that indicated he needed to return to the gutter he crawled out of ASAP.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his badge to flash it with a feral smile. “KCPD. I’m here to ask you a few questions.”
The woman gave a small gasp, her hard blue eyes shooting around the empty store as if afraid someone might overhear them. “I can’t imagine what questions you could have for me.”
Duncan replaced the badge with his phone, flipping through the images until he found one of Leah he’d pulled from the Rabbit Hutch’s Web site.
“I need you to tell me if you’ve seen this woman in your shop.”
She glanced at the picture, her lip curling in disdain at Leah’s flashy makeup and revealing outfit. “Certainly not.”
A cold anger sliced through him. The bitch. Whatever Leah’s career choice, she’d been a young woman who deserved a far better fate than she’d been given.
“How many employees do you have?” he growled.
“I have two assistants, but I’m Victoria, the owner of this boutique, and if the store is open, then I’m here.” Her lips thinned until they were nearly invisible. “If the woman was a customer I would recognize her.”
“You know every customer?”
“Naturally.”
Duncan snorted, skimming his thumb over the screen of his phone to bring up Calso’s image.
“What about this man?”
Her pencil thin brows arched in surprise. “Mr. Calso?”
“He’s a customer?”
“Unfortunately no.”
“But you know him?”
“Our paths have crossed at various charity functions,” she said in haughty tones. Translated . . . this woman hung on the fringes of Kansas City society in the hopes of luring them into her shop. “He’s a prominent businessman who has always been very generous in giving to those less fortunate.”
“Yeah, I bet,” he muttered. Nothing like tossing a few dollars at a charity to gain the goodwill of a city.
“I don’t understand,” she snapped. “Why are you here?”
“Duncan.” Callie’s voice floated from the corner of the showroom. “This looks similar.”
Turning his head, he watched as the diviner held up a pair of stretchy pants and tiny top that looked remarkably close to what Leah had been wearing.
“Smart girl,” he breathed in low tones before turning back to carefully monitor the older woman’s expression. He didn’t think she was involved, but he treated everyone as a suspect until they were proved innocent. He was a cop, not a judge. “How many of those have you sold?”
Victoria gave an impatient wave of her hand, the diamonds that were crammed onto her knobby fingers nearly blinding as they caught the overhead light. “I don’t discuss my customers—”
“You can discuss your customers or I can get a warrant and start hauling them down to the station,” he warned, his expression grim. “Your call.”
She paled, her spine so stiff it was a wonder it didn’t snap beneath the strain. “It’s impossible to answer your question,” Victoria at last managed to respond, her teeth clenched. “Each Your Sung piece is individually designed. No two are alike.”
Without hesitation, he pulled up yet another image on his phone. If she wanted to play rough, he would play rough. “What about this one?” he demanded, showing her the picture of Leah lying on the bank of the Missouri River.
For the first time the woman’s icy composure cracked, her hand lifting to press against her lips.
“Oh my god. Is she—”
“Dead,” Duncan supplied.
“I need a . . .” She bit off her hasty words, looking with obvious longing toward the counter at the back of the store. No doubt she had a stash of prescription feel-good-pills hidden in her purse. “Water.”
“You can pop your Prozac after you’ve told me who bought this particular outfit, Victoria,” he informed her, his flat tone revealing he didn’t give a shit about her rattled nerves.
Her fingers fluttered to toy with the pearls hung around her neck. “I don’t know.”