Love Can Be Murder

the shoes, she was confronted with a crowd that had grown exponentially—the sales floor was a solid mass of bodies, and the line to meet Manolo Blahnik snaked out of the department and through the belly of the store. Jolie handed the requested shoes to Michael, then glanced around to see what she could do to help in the confusion. A bearded face in the crowd caught her attention.
    Gary?
    Her pulse spiked as she stepped to the side to get a better look. But the crowd shifted too, and the face was lost in a sea of shuffling bodies. A droning noise sounded, like a swarm of killer bees, as a murmur moved through the crowd. The mob of shoppers turned collectively to see Manolo Blahnik stride in, flanked by security and his "people." A cheer went up and the older gentleman raised his hand and smiled in greeting. He was a striking figure dressed in a dark suit, his thinning white hair combed back, his jet-black eyebrows setting off inquisitive eyes.
    Jolie's first thought was that he looked like a banker. But when the crowd pressed forward and his security inched closer, her next thought was that anything could happen in a crowd like this—shoplifting, pick-pocketing...or worse. She scanned the crowd frantically, looking for the face she thought was Gary's. Manolo Blahnik began to speak to the press, and someone jostled her from behind as everyone surged forward for a better spot. She jerked around, jittery now and a little claustrophobic. The air conditioner hadn't caught up with the crush of bodies, and her underarms and neck were moist. She fanned the neckline of her blouse and decided to move toward the front to get more air.
    With whispered apologies, she elbowed and sidled through bodies until she was standing a few feet behind the shoe designer. Lights glared on him and cameras rolled, reminding her of last night when Beck Underwood had been interviewed at the reception. She'd sat up like a groupie to catch the fifteen-second spot on the local news.
    "Beckham Underwood, son of Lawrence Underwood and heir to the Underwood Broadcasting empire, was on hand to honor the award nominees of the Broadcasters and Journalists of Georgia. Mr. Underwood, who has been living in Costa Rica for the last few years, says he's glad to be home, but is cagey about whether or not he'll stay to take over his father's company."
    "I love Atlanta." Beck had said. "But I enjoyed the work I did in Costa Rica, helping to build the infrastructure to support a broadcasting venture there. I haven't ruled out going back. It's important that we support communications growth in developing countries."
    He had looked so handsome, she was sure hearts were breaking all over Atlanta at the news that he might not stick around for long.
    Not my heart, of course , she thought while easing around the perimeter of the crowd. Her heart was perfectly intact and beating wildly at the thought of Gary being close by. Was he watching her, worried about her? Did he have a message for her?
    Or was her mind playing tricks on her?
    She kept her eyes peeled, but when Manolo launched into the history of his involvement with shoes, her pulse had begun to settle down.
    And then she saw Roger LeMon.
    His head was turned and he wore sunglasses, but she recognized his profile. He was about ten yards away. The reporters and the guest of honor stood between her and him.
    The breath froze in her lungs. It couldn't be a coincidence that she thought she'd seen Gary, and now LeMon was standing right in front of her. Before Jolie could decide what to do, LeMon turned his head and appeared to look directly at her. In fact, he took a half step forward before he seemed to remember where he was and stopped.
    At that moment, the speech ended. Applause sounded and chaos reigned as Manolo Blahnik headed toward the line of shoppers waiting to meet him. In the confusion, Jolie lost sight of LeMon, and hoped he'd lost sight of her. Panic rose in her stomach. Had Gary followed LeMon, or had LeMon followed Gary? She made a beeline for cosmetics and was almost in the clear when a shot rang out, then another, then three more in rapid succession. Startled screams sounded and Jolie dove under a hosiery display, covering her head and waiting for something to bleed.
    She peeked through her fingers and saw people gathered around, gaping at her. It must be bad, she thought, because she couldn't feel any pain.
    Suddenly Michael's face appeared above hers. "Jolie," he hissed, "you're causing a