Plain Jane and the Playboy / Valentine's Fortune. Marie Ferrarella

because someone,” she looked at him pointedly, “spilled coffee on his jacket last night.” She ran her hand along his stubbled face affectionately. “And just because it’s a technical holiday doesn’t mean that the world suddenly stops spinning.”

      “Technical?” he echoed, just a little perplexed at her meaning.

      “Technical,” she repeated. “Do you have any idea how many sales are going on at this very moment as you are lounging around in your PJs?”

      Getting out of bed, Patrick groaned. “I could never understand that. Why would anyone want to get up that early just to go shopping? What kind of bargains could they possibly offer to warrant that?”

      Sometimes the man she loved could be adorably naive, Lacey thought. She laughed at the look on his face, then stopped to pick up the shirt he must have dropped on the floor last night—or early this morning. He’d been pretty tired as she recalled.

      “Spoken like a man who has never had to search for a bargain in his life.”

      “My biggest bargain,” Patrick freely confessed as he came up behind her and enfolded his wife in an affectionate embrace, “was finding you and making you my wife. Anything that happened after that would only be deemed anticlimatic.”

      “You do know how to turn a lady’s head,” she told him with a warm smile. “But I’m not going to be distracted.” Draping his shirt over her arm, she looked around for the suit she’d mentioned. “Where are the rest of your clothes from the party?”

      He released her. “The cleaners aren’t having a sale, are they?” he asked, amused.

      “I just want to put the suit aside while I think of it,” she told him. One finely shaped eyebrow arched over a sparkling green eye. “Remember leaving your house key in your pants pocket the last time? Remember wasting all that time, looking for it?”

      Patrick inclined his head. “Point well taken,” he allowed with a sigh.

      He moved to his side of the walk-in closet. He’d meant to hang the suit back up, but somehow, it had only made it to the floor of the closet. Picking up the pants and jacket, he quickly checked all four pants pockets.

      “Empty,” he announced, handing the slightly wrinkled gray slacks to Lacey.

      “And the jacket?” she asked as she dropped the pants on top of the shirt she had over her arm.

      He checked the right pocket. He distinctly remembered taking out his wallet and depositing his keys beside it on the bureau. But as he slipped his fingers into the left outer pocket, he frowned. His fingers had come in contact with something.

      It was a folded piece of paper and he opened it up as he removed the paper from his pocket. He had no memory of putting it in his pocket, no memory of anyone handing it to him.

      He scanned the small sheet quickly, his frown deepening slightly.

      “Not so empty, is it?” Lacey teased, then saw his expression. Something was clearly wrong, Lacey thought. “What’s the matter?”

      Not waiting for him to answer, she came closer in order to read the note, which was printed in large block letters.

       “ONE OF THE FORTUNES IS NOT WHO YOU THINK.”

      It was Lacey’s turn to be puzzled. She looked up at her husband for enlightenment. “Who gave this to you?”

      He turned it over in his hand. There was nothing on the back. “I have no idea.”

      A touch of apprehension wove through her. “A note just turns up in your pocket and you have no idea where it came from?”

      Rather than crumple it and toss it into the wastepaper basket, he placed it on the bureau. This required closer scrutiny. But not when Lacey was around. He didn’t want to alarm her.

      “That about sums it up,” he agreed.

      It was Lacey’s turn to frown as anticipation got the better of her. “Do you think that it’s some kind of warning?”

      “I think it’s some kind of waste of paper.” Patrick handed her the jacket. “Here you go, one suit, as per your request.” And then he gave her a quick, courtly bow. “Now, if milady doesn’t mind, I’d really like to take a shower.”

      She nodded, the note already relegated to a thing of the past unless something more about it came up. Right now, she had a lunch to oversee.

      “When you’re done with your shower,” she told him, “I’ve got a few things I need you to do.”

      He grinned and kissed her quickly. He’d expected nothing less.

      “Of course you do.”

      But as soon as Lacey was gone, Patrick picked up the telephone next to the bed and called his brother, William.

      Younger by a year, William had an offbeat sense of humor. This might have been his idea of a joke, although, truthfully, Patrick did have his doubts that William’s humor was this offbeat.

      “Bill,” he began when his brother picked up on the other end. “It’s Patrick. Happy New Year,” he prefaced, getting the amenities out of the way, even though he’d just seen his younger brother less than nine hours ago at the party.

      “Same to you,” William responded. “You know, this is rather a coincidence, you calling like this. I was just debating calling you.”

      There was an unsettling note in William’s voice that caught his attention. “Oh?”

      “Yeah.”

      William paused, hunting for the right words. He’d found himself later in life than Patrick had, finally making a niche for himself with Fortune Forecasting, a company that predicted stock market trends. But ever since his wife had died last year, he’d lost his focus again and had felt adrift. He’d begun to look toward Patrick for guidance again.

      “Now this is going to sound a little off the wall,” he finally said, “but I just found this note in my pocket this morning. It says—”

      “—One of the Fortunes is not who you think,” Patrick completed.

      For a second there was stunned silence on the other end of the line. And then William laughed nervously. “So it was you.”

      He’d obviously missed something, Patrick thought. “Excuse me?”

      “It was you,” William repeated. “You were the one who put the note in my pocket,” he elaborated when Patrick made no response. “I’ve got to say, this isn’t your usual style, Patrick. What’s the point?” he wanted to know.

      “I have no idea what the point is,” Patrick said, sitting down on the bed. “I didn’t put the note in your pocket, William. As a matter of fact, I found an identical note in mine. Someone slipped it into my jacket.” He tried to think of when that could have happened. The restaurant was fairly crowded all night. He’d been jostled any number of times during the evening.

      He heard William sigh. “Well, that makes three, then.”

      “Three?” Patrick repeated, not sure where William was going with this.

      “Three,” William said again. “I just got off the phone with Lily,” he said, referring to their late cousin Ryan’s wife. “She just called. Someone slipped a note into her purse. She had no idea what to make of it. I told her I thought it was someone’s inebriated idea of a joke.”

      Patrick looked at the note in his hand. “That was my first thought, too.”

      “And now?”

      “And now I don’t know,” he admitted truthfully.

      He was getting a very uneasy feeling about all this. Why would someone target all three of them with this note? And were they intended as warnings—or threats?

      “What