Wildest Hearts

her back teeth. She was well aware that the phrase, “used with discretion” was a blatant warning to the uncertain client. The message was that she should not even contemplate selecting an item from the shop on her own. She must remember that she needed Stanford J. Littlewood's professional advice.

    Annie smiled benignly at Littlewood's client. Charlotte Babcock was a pleasant woman in her early thirties who was obviously going through the trauma of dealing with an interior designer for the first time.

    “Some of my pieces do require a certain boldness on the part of the client, Mrs. Babcock.” Annie stroked the cloisonné elephant that Raphaela had returned after the Shore benefit. “Designers often decide to play it safe when it comes to choosing a finishing touch. But a single stroke of daring can do wonders for a room.”

    “Yes, I'm sure you're right.” Charlotte glanced uneasily at Littlewood.

    Littlewood smiled condescendingly again. “When one is dealing with a finishing touch, one must always ask the vital question that separates the good, the bad, and the ugly.”

    “What's that?” Charlotte asked anxiously.

    Littlewood gave the cloisonné elephant a derisive, dismissing glance. “Is it art or is it just plain tacky?”

    Annie resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. He was deliberately intimidating his client. But, then, Littlewood was very good at intimidating clients.

    Today he was at his most impressive. His wavy silver hair had been moussed and blow-dried so that it swept straight back from his artificially tanned face. He was dressed in an off-white shirt, off-white tie, silver-gray suit, and off-white tassled loafers.

    “Did you bring some sketches of the interiors with you, Stan?” Annie asked. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ella hide a quick grin. Everyone knew that Littlewood hated to have his first name shortened to “Stan.” “And can you give me some idea of the colors you're using?”

    Littlewood peered down his nose. “Naturally.” He flipped open his off-white leather briefcase and fished out some drawings and color swatches.

    The phone rang on the counter just as Annie started to study the sketches of Charlotte Babcock's residence.

    “It's for you, Annie.” Ella held the phone aloft.

    “Please take a message, Ella.”

    “He says it's important.”

    Annie glanced up in concern. “Who is it?”

    “He won't say. I'm not even sure it's a man.” Ella's eyes were conveying a message of urgency. “I think you had better talk to him. Or her. Or whatever.”

    Annie smiled at Charlotte. “Excuse me.”

    “Certainly.”

    “I'll take it at my desk.” Annie walked past the counter and into her small office.

    She lifted the receiver of the desk phone. “This is Annie Lyncroft. What can I do for you?”

    There was a scratchy sound on the other end of the line. A low, barely audible voice spoke in a sexless whisper. “If you want to know what happened to your brother, find the mechanic.”

    Annie went numb. For an instant she couldn't think. “What is this? What are you talking about?”

    “Find the mechanic who worked on Lyncroft's plane the day he disappeared. He can tell you what really happened.”

    “Wait.” Annie gripped the phone with a feeling of desperation. She sensed the caller was about to hang up. “Who are you?”

    “Let's just say this is someone who wants to see justice done,” the voice rasped. “One more thing. If you want to find the answers, don't ask Rain for help. In fact, if you value your life, don't tell him you're going to track down the mechanic.”

    “Are you crazy? Who is this?”

    “Find the mechanic on your own, Ms. Lyncroft. And keep in mind that the only person who has benefited from your brother's disappearance is Oliver Rain.” There was a slight pause. “Be careful, Ms. Lyncroft. Be very, very careful.”

    “Wait, please…”

    But the caller had cut the connection. Annie realized she was holding the receiver so tightly her fingers hurt.

    “Oh, my God.” She put the receiver down very slowly, willing herself to think.

    Find the mechanic.

    “Annie?” Ella poked her head around the corner. Her brows drew together in a frown when she saw Annie's face. “Everything okay?”

    “Yes. Everything's fine.” Annie sat down in the chair behind her desk. “I'm not feeling well, that's all. Would you mind making my excuses to Stan and his client? Let them look around and get some