Desperate Measures (7 page)

Joe knew she was reminding him of their agreement. He let it go—for the moment. “Uncle Thomas likes you.”

She smiled. “And I like him. Very much. Dammit, Joe, he would be devastated if he knew what Mario was up to. And now that I’ve met Mario, I … well, I don’t feel guilty at all about helping you. If I may say so, like Cassius in Shakespeare’s
Julius Caesar
, he ‘has a lean and hungry look.’ ”

“I’ve always thought that,” Joe said.

She nodded. “You better tell Thomas right away about Mario.”

“I have no choice, really, even though he’s going to be hurt. But I think Uncle Thomas will be safe enough from giving away company secrets tonight.” He chuckled. “Let him enjoy Sinatra. Mario must have paid a fortune for those tickets, and it would be a shame to waste them.”

“A shame,” Ellen agreed, grinning.

The momentary silence between them was easy. Joe reached up and touched her hair, feeling the silkiness wrap around his fingers. Beautiful, he thought. The tendrils slid away as Ellen shifted farther around the horseshoe booth. Her movements were natural and unhurried.

“I must say I’m glad I could help you somewhat,” she said in an easy tone. Her blue-green eyes were wide with apprehension, however. “Even though Uncle Thomas wasn’t the man at the rink. Still, you’ve put your cousin on notice, I’m sure. When he realizes how futile it really is, he’ll probably abandon within a day or two his crazy idea of selling the recipe.”

Joe smiled at her, deciding he’d had enough of subtlety. “I like the way you so casually and adeptly put space between us like that. Any other man would think you hadn’t been aware he was touching you, and you had moved over only to face him more directly.”

She raised her eyebrows. “But you’re going to tell me you aren’t any other man, right?”

“You aren’t any other woman, Ell,” he replied. “I know it. And you know it.”

She gazed at him steadily for one long moment,
then blinked and said, “I agreed to help you this one time, Joe. I felt I owed you that. And it was just a kiss, remember? You said so yourself. And I couldn’t agree more.”

He stared at her, trying to suppress his anger at her refusal to acknowledge the attraction growing between them. She
would
have to remember his stupid words too. But she had been through so much, and he sensed that the more he attempted to force her out of her shell, the more she would withdraw. He had no choice but to concede. For now.

“All right,” he said, and uttered the words that seemed like a death knell. “We’ll keep it light. Your mission is accomplished, Scotty, and I thank you very much for your invaluable help, without which I might possibly have managed on my own, but we will never be sure now—”

She giggled reluctantly. “You sound just like Robert Culp.”

“Then let’s beat it home before somebody expects me to play tennis. I’m about as good at tennis as I am at roller skating.” He slid out of the booth and helped Ellen around and up on her feet. He refused to show any reaction to her touch, knowing he had to keep things light. “Thanks, really, Ellen. You were wonderful.”

She smiled shyly and began walking to the lounge entrance. They had taken no more than three steps when a waitress stopped them.

“Sir, I’m sorry,” she said, pushing something into his hand. “But you forgot this.”

Joe looked down at the piece of paper he was holding. “Dammit! Mario stuck me with the check.”

Ellen burst out laughing.

Grumbling, Joe paid the bill, leaving a generous tip. Ellen was still laughing long after the waitress disappeared and they were again on their way out of the lounge.

Although his every instinct protested the thought, Joe knew he had to let her go peacefully tonight. Ellen was vulnerable, and he had no wish to trade on that in any way. He’d have to have a plan, he decided.

One hell of a plan.

“What is Joe Carlini to you?” Lettice Kitteridge asked, the fire of determination in her eyes. “That’s all I asked three days ago when you left so abruptly for Atlantic City with him and that’s all I want to know now. But you, missy, have given me a load of baloney. And don’t tell me this is the end of the discussion this time! I love you, and I’m concerned, and I want to know.”

Ellen glared at her grandmother from across the breakfast table. Inquiring minds, she thought, were a pain in the tush. Her ravenous appetite of a moment ago for the sausage and eggs on her plate had vanished.

“And I’ve been telling you for three days that he asked me to go to Atlantic City, and I decided to go,” she practically growled between clenched teeth. She was suddenly tired of suppressing her frustration on the subject of Joe. “That’s all there is to tell. Honestly! He hasn’t called again, has he? Or written, or used a carrier pigeon or satellite, or any other means of communication?”

“Did he dump you?” Lettice asked.

Ellen nearly screamed, aggravated beyond endurance. “No, he didn’t dump me! There’s nothing to dump from one trip to Atlantic City. For goodness’ sakes, you were just yelling at me to get out more, and when I do, you complain!”

What else, she wondered, could she tell her grandmother anyway? That she went on an exciting spy hunt with a sexy man, who drew her to him as helplessly as iron to a magnet, was told she was terrific and wonderful … and then was dropped on the doorstep at one in the morning without a word since? She knew she shouldn’t even be thinking these things herself. Her perverse mind and body needed no reminders at all where Joe Carlini was concerned.

“Well, you’re moping around worse than before,” Lettice snapped. “So don’t tell me a tale about a casual date, young lady. Every time that phone rings, you jump and rush to answer it first.”

Ellen reminded herself that she needed to explain nothing. There was nothing to explain. One time they had both agreed. And one time it had been. Whatever was happening now with Mario wasn’t her business.

If it wasn’t Joe himself wreaking havoc with her peace, then it was Joe’s problems. She wondered for the hundredth time what was happening with Mario and the sauce. Had Uncle Thomas been saved from betrayal and embarrassment? She hoped so. He was such a sweet man. But what about the others Joe had mentioned? Had Mario gone after them too? And if he hadn’t, what was he trying now? The questions had been racing
around in her head for days. She had even looked up the phone number for Carlini Foods and was irritated with herself for doing so.

Damn the man, she thought, unconsciously clenching her fists. He had disrupted her peace and quiet with a vengeance. He had made her forget things she never should be forgetting. Because of him, she had been having fun when she had really only wanted …

“Well?” Lettice prompted.

Ellen jumped up from the table. She couldn’t stand the questions from her grandmother combined with the questions in her own head any longer.

“Okay, okay. I’ll confess,” she exclaimed. “I was involved with Joe to stop a dastardly plot to steal a secret formula from his company. That’s the only reason I went to Atlantic City with him! Now that’s the real truth, Grandmother. I promise not to mope around the house and rush to answer the phone. Are you happy?”

Lettice arched her eyebrows in clear disbelief. “I suppose you’ll try to sell me Grant’s tomb next.”

“It would be a whole lot easier,” Ellen muttered, turning away from the table and the continuing argument.

Her grandmother called after her. Ellen ignored her. Blindly, she walked into the library … and immediately walked back out. She swerved toward the stairs, intending to go up to her room. Then she went toward the dining room again. She realized what she was doing, and stopped in the middle of the hall.

It was over with Joe, she told herself. Done.
Finished. She had been whatever help she had been, and that was that. So what if he hadn’t tried to kiss her when he brought her home? Why would she want him to? She didn’t, of course. She couldn’t. And she had told him so. She knew she wasn’t ready yet for a relationship, and she doubted if she ever would be—certainly not with someone as exciting and gentle and determined and sexy as Joe Carlini.

And if she was a little curious about what might be happening with the sauce, well, that was only human nature. Her peace and quiet had been … stirred up a little, that was all. Everything was now back to normal, just as she needed it, and she ought to be grateful to Joe for accepting that.

The telephone rang.

Ellen jumped for it without thinking. Before the first ring had even stopped, she yanked the receiver out of its cradle and brought it to her ear.

“Hello?” she said breathlessly, her heart beating frantically with anticipation.

“Lettice?”

Ellen swallowed back a huge wave of disappointment. “One moment please.”

She put her hand over the mouthpiece and turned to call her grandmother to the telephone. Lettice was already there, eyebrows raised. Clearly, she had seen her granddaughter’s mad leap for the instrument.

“For you,” Ellen said sheepishly, handing over the receiver.

“A spy mission, my Aunt Muffy,” Lettice said in a quelling voice. She raised the receiver to her ear. “Hello? Yes, Margery, that was Ellen playing
telephone operator.… Yes, I’m thrilled my granddaughter, Anne, got the Olympic equestrian team for us this year. It will be wonderful. Lovely child Anne …”

Ellen gritted her teeth at her grandmother’s effusive tone. She walked to the front door and went outside, leaving Lettice in her grand planning stages for the annual horse show in Devon. It was a charity benefit for the children’s hospital, and Ellen knew she’d be expected to put in an appearance. Life was definitely back to normal.

And she was hating every minute of it.

“Damn, damn, damn!” she muttered.

She had to rid herself of this … curiosity about the sauce. And she definitely had to get rid of her attraction to Joe.

She would take a drive, she decided, turning toward the garages. A long drive. And she wouldn’t come back until she was rid of all thoughts of Joe Carlini.

Three hours later, Ellen strode into the kitchen. Mamie, her grandmother’s housekeeper, glanced up from her dinner preparations.

“I need to use the kitchen line,” Ellen announced. “And you didn’t hear this conversation, okay?”

Mamie grinned at her. “Ya, sure, Ellen.”

Ellen took a deep breath, told the little protesting voice inside her to shut up, then picked up the telephone and dialed.

“Carlini Foods.”

She took another deep breath.

“Joe Carlini, please.”

Five

“Joe Carlini, line five.”

The page on the intercom echoed off the thick, impossibly white tile walls of the spice room in the Carlini Foods main processing plant.

“Dammit,” Joe muttered, his concentration disrupted when he heard his name. He straightened from the small bowl on the stainless steel counter. “I think you’re right, Terry. That oregano does smell … old. I think. It’s hard for me to tell exactly what’s wrong with it. I don’t have the gift like you do, Terry. All I know is that the oregano is definitely not up to our standards.”

“They’ve covered it very cleverly with some kind of oregano essence,” the foreman said. “That’s why I called you down here to confirm. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

Terry Kowalski’s nose could smell a rose at a hundred paces, Joe thought gratefully. The spice room was kept immaculately clean. It had to be
for those like Terry to distinguish the various scents they worked with. He frowned, hearing himself paged again. He was tempted to ignore it because of the problems here, but he knew it must be important or his secretary would have taken a message. She usually did when he was in the plant.

“Okay,” he said to Terry as he walked over to the wall telephone. “I’ll call Marcus Spicers. Jim Marcus won’t like knowing someone’s pulling this switch with his customers.”

“This isn’t from Marcus,” Terry said. Joe turned around in surprise, and Terry added, “Mario changed spicers, Joe. I thought you knew.”

Anger shot through Joe in a jolting red haze. Carlini Foods had an excellent contract with Marcus Spicers. That Mario had somehow circumvented it was appalling. And if the new spice was lousy, Joe was positive the price was higher—and that Mario was getting a kickback. That little creep wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d drained the company in any way he could.

He controlled his fury enough to say, “I didn’t know, Terry. I’ll call Marcus and get good oregano over here right away. And I’ll take care of this garbage. Anything else Mario changes, clear with me personally first.”

“I’m sorry, Joe,” Terry said. “He said the change was cleared in the office. I thought it wasn’t right, but he’s one of the family—”

“The fault is mine, not yours,” Joe said. He realized that employees could be taken advantage of in a family-owned business, especially by sneaks
like Mario. “I should have been more clear about his duties with everyone.”

Joe turned back to the phone. He picked up the receiver and stabbed the winking button. Whoever was on the other end had better not hand him any garbage, he thought furiously.

“Hello,” he snapped.

There was a tense silence, then a feminine voice said, “Joe?”

His anger drained away, and he forgot everything as he recognized the voice on the other end of the line. He knew it intimately already.

“Ellen,” he said with immense relief. He had decided the best plan—temporarily—was to give her some time to cool down, and then he would call. He couldn’t believe she had contacted him. She had been so adamant in Atlantic City that he would have thought pride, at the least, would have kept her from making the first move.

“Am I calling at a bad time?” she asked.

“No,” he said, meaning it. His secretary had seen the picture of him giving Ellen that check at the charity dance and had even kidded him about it. She had realized he’d want to take this call. He told himself to remember to give her a raise. Smiling, he added, “It’s not a bad time at all.”

“Are you sure? You sound busy. Why don’t I call back—”

“No,” he broke in, fearing she would hang up. He remembered Terry was right behind him, so he calmed himself down before saying, “You’re not disturbing me, Ell. In fact, I’m very pleased that you called.”