Hidden Gems (18 page)

“Did it make sense?”

“Not particularly, unless there really are crocodiles in the sewers of New York. Therefore, I’m ignoring you.”

His hands sank into her hair as he kissed her. Their legs tangled.

Keep her close.

“Am I going to have to chain you to this bed?”

“Ooh. Sounds like fun.”

“Or I could pin you like a butterfly.”

“Oh? Impalement?”

His chest expanded. “That’s right.”

She stretched out flat. “Might work.”

He rolled over onto her, running his hands down her body. Instead of the sleep shirt, she wore a tiny tank. Her skin was incredibly smooth. He would never get enough of touching her.

“You’d need a day off from work,” she mused. “And extraordinary staying power.”

“I’ll give it a try.”

She made a sound of approval as he palmed her breast, molding it for his mouth. He sucked her nipple against his tongue.

She twisted her shoulders. Lifted one of her racy thoroughbred legs and wrapped it around his waist.

He thought of her running through the streets of New York, skirt flying, hair flowing. She’d been on an adrenaline high when they were followed into the church, but the next time she might not be so lucky.

And there would be a next time, knowing Marissa, even if turning in the photos had halted further attempts from the bad guys’ end. She wouldn’t let the puzzle rest there, unsolved.

With a wet smack, he plucked his lips from her breast. “If you could identify the client,” he offered, “I’ll research him. That might get us somewhere.”

“Now you’re thinking.”

He sighed. “Promise me you won’t put yourself into a dangerous spot.”

“I’ll send Ophelia instead,” she joked.

“Seriously, Marissa. Be discreet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because I’m never compliant?”

“That’d do it. Not cooperative or compromising either.”

She burrowed into him. “You know you like it.”

Too much to let her go, he decided, enfolding her in his arms.

He’d been waiting for this showdown, and finally the time had come.

THAT AFTERNOON, Marissa called Ophelia into her office. “What did you find out?”

They had scanned, enlarged and cropped the best of the Cayman Islands photos, eliminating Paul and the blonde for the sake of discretion. Ophelia had then e-mailed the resulting closeup of the mystery client to half a dozen carefully selected assistants in various departments of the firm, asking for an identification.

“Four What-the-Fs and one ‘He looks like my uncle Nicky from Sheepshead Bay.’” Ophelia checked herself out in the mirror on the inside of the door to the narrow coat closet. She wore a lime-green sweater and black slacks, with hoop earrings as large as bracelets, and bracelets the length of necklaces, wound around both wrists. They rattled when she patted her freshly clipped Afro.

Far too pleased with herself, Marissa thought. O must know something good. “Leaving…?”

“Leaving Marquese Griffin in accounting. He has a crush on me.”

“Does that mean he’ll help?”

“He already has. The photo rang his bells, but he couldn’t place the man, so he went through old files until he found the name to go with the face.” Ophelia produced a note pad. “Hector Belbano, second vice president of Winter Industrial.”

“Winter Industrial? Never heard of them.” Marissa tapped keys to call up a roster of the firm’s clients. “I’ll see what I can find.”

“Don’t bother. Winter dumped us a year ago when they were bought out by one of those huge conglomerates with attorneys on twenty-four-hour tap.”

“Then I’ll run a search on Belbano. See what he’s up to these days.”

“Already did it.” Ophelia flicked open her note pad. “And that’s the most interesting thing. Belbano was ‘removed’ from the Winter payroll right after the buyout. I found nothing on him since. If he’s employed, it’s very discreetly, with a privately held business.”

“Dead end.” Marissa thumped her fist on the desk. “Unless we can get info directly from Paul.” She cocked a brow at Ophelia. “Or his assistant?”

“Jodi Milbank.” Ophelia shook her head. “The brain of a gnat. She’d run straight to Paul if I pried.”

Marissa wasn’t ready to give up. “How are you at creating a distraction?”

Ophelia rubbed her hands. The chunky gemstone bracelets clacked against each other. “Just point me in the right direction.”

“Here’s the plan. We watch for Paul to leave the office. Then you distract his assistant while I slip inside to see what I can find on Hector Belbano.”

Ophelia seemed more than willing, but she hesitated. “Jamie wouldn’t approve.”

“How do you know?”

“He calls. We talk, we laugh. We share war stories.”

“Not about me!”

“Watching after you is a full-time job,” Ophelia said with fond indulgence. “Thank the Lord the boy is finally getting some compensation.”

“Compensation,” Marissa snorted, rushing O out of the office for a scouting mission. “Go see if Paul’s working.”

Ophelia pressed a hand to her rounded midriff. “Oh, I’ve got a pain in my side. Might be having me another of those gallbladder attacks any minute now. Right down the hall from sweet li’l helpful Jodi.” She winked. “You be ready, boss.”

Checking the computer would be a wasted effort unless she had enough time to crack his log-in password. She sat, intending to try the desk, but there were no drawers except one so narrow and shallow only pens, a letter opener and a stash of Howard, Coffman letterhead fit inside. The notepad on the desk was blank, even when she held it to the light and looked for indentations.

She glanced around the office, desperate for any hint of life. Paul had no clutter. Some said a disorganized life was a sign of a scattered mind, but she chose to believe that an empty space indicated a lack of soul.

“Oh, oh, o-o-oh,” Ophelia wailed from the hallway.

Marissa crossed to the file drawers built into the paneled wall. Every single one was locked.

“You’d think he had something to hide,” she muttered.

She opened the coat closet, similar to her own. Inside was a pair of polished wingtips, a rack of spare ties, a gray cashmere scarf. On the built-in shelf were two dress shirts, still in the Bergdorf’s store wrapping.

Yep. All surface. No soul.

She turned away, her gaze falling on the telephone. Why not take a shot?

“I do believe I’m feeling better,” Ophelia boomed from outside. Closer now. “If you’d just help me back to my desk, Jodi.”

Panic spurted in Marissa. “Feeling better” was their code for Beware of Approaching Danger. Marissa had only seconds to spare. She could either get out of the office or pick up the phone.

She picked up the phone and hit the redial button.

After one ring, a male voice said, “McArdle.”

She clamped her lips together, afraid that he’d hear her breathing.

“Beckwith?” the man asked with some suspicion. “You there?”

Marissa replaced the phone. She heard Jodi’s lilting little-girl voice outside, answered by Paul’s baritone.

Damn! She was stuck. The closet was too small, not to mention undignified. There was a couch, but it was backless, offering no possible hiding place.

With no choice but to brazen it out, Marissa darted across the room. She was standing by the window, admiring the view, when Paul entered. His face showed an instant of shock before he recovered and offered her a warm smile. “Hello, Marissa. How did you get past Jodi?”

“She wasn’t at her desk.”

He walked slowly around the room, his eyes sweeping the space, but she’d been meticulous in her search. Not a speck was out of place.

He sat, the smile almost gloating. “You’ve reconsidered.”

“Reconsidered what?”

“Becoming a power couple. Ruling this firm.”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then what is it?”

She intended to go on the aggressive, but the phone rang before she could begin. Paul raised a finger to her and picked up.

A private line, she noticed, one that apparently bypassed Jodi’s desk.

Paul watched Marissa coldly as his caller spoke. “Let me get back to you,” he said, and hung up.

Her skin crawled. Was McArdle calling back after she hung up? She’d hoped he’d think Paul’s phone had simply cut out.

She lengthened her neck, looking down on Paul with regal hauteur. “I came to ask if Mr. Howard had spoken to you.”

Paul laughed without mirth, idly swinging from side to side in his swivel desk chair. “You thought you’d get a little revenge, is that it? Sorry to disappoint. Thomas saw your ploy for what it was, especially after I explained what a jealous lover you are.”

She sucked in a cutting breath. “Do not think that I am as easy to fool,” she seethed. “I know the woman from the beach has nothing to do with this.”

Paul blinked. “With what?”

“The break-ins. The threats. The man you have spying on me.”

“You’ve become paranoid. I have no one spying on you, Marissa.”

Sure. “And the break-in? That wasn’t an attempt to get the photos?”

Paul was so confident of his position that her accusations merely made him smile. “The photos have been destroyed.”

She nodded as she edged toward the door. “So that’s how it is.”

Suddenly, Paul was up and across the room, pinching her by the shoulders, breathing hotly in her face. “You could have been a partner. You could have been with me.”

She wrenched away. “Hard to decide which I want less,” she snapped, and walked out of his office, thinking, McArdle, McArdle. She knew that name.

Ophelia was at her desk, chewing on a licorice stick when Marissa’s memory banks kicked in. “Isn’t one of the private investigators that the firm has on retainer named McArdle?”

“Ed McArdle,” Ophelia said instantly. “You got a job for him? Are we hunting down Belbano?”

“Forget Belbano for now. Tell me what you know about McArdle.”

“He’s a tough customer. Ex-Marine, dishonorable discharge. The rumor around the lunchroom is that McArdle’s the guy they call to handle touchy situations. Some say he’s even known to lean on reluctant witnesses.”

So much for the law firm’s sterling reputation. Marissa’s idols were crashing off pedestals all around her. She was rapidly reaching the point where if she could get out with an uncracked head, she’d count herself lucky.

Ophelia was watching Marissa’s face. “You planning to clue me in?”

“You’ll be the first to know, after Jamie.” Marissa got a whiff of a strongly acrid scent as she walked by. “O, are you smoking again?”

The assistant made a guilty face. “I just sneaked one. All that moaning and wailing took it out of me. I don’t know how Meryl Streep does it.”

Marissa sniffed. Her senses were popping. “What kind of cigarettes do you smoke?”

“Newport. But I crushed all of mine during the big purge. I had to bum a ciggie from one of the paralegals. Terrible taste. Some pretentious brand she picked up when she went to Paris a month ago. Gauloises Blondes, I think she said. They’re very strong.”

“Paris.” Marissa contemplated that, then shook her head. “The smell is naggingly familiar.”

“Don’t you mean gaggingly?” Ophelia shrugged. “Someone you know must smoke them.”

“Must be,” she mused, thinking of her tobacco-addicted stalker. The smell was the same, but why French cigarettes?

“I’m going back on the patch tomorrow,” Ophelia promised.

“Good for you.” Marissa meant that, but she was distracted by the latest piece of the puzzle. She suspected that if just one fell in place, the rest would follow. Jamie would say she should take her time, look over the entire picture before making the next move.

But that wasn’t her way.

“WHAT’S UP?” Shandi said, throwing down her bag and dropping into the molded plastic chair opposite Jamie. He’d arranged to meet her at a coffee shop near his office, one that catered to a local clientele that ran in and out for coffee and sweets during the workday. Sisman was at the counter, hovering over the glass case of pastries as he selected his post-work doughnuts.

Shandi wrinkled her nose. “You said you need to interview me for an article?”

“I lied. That was just to get you here.” He grabbed her wrist in case she tried to flee. “You’re a hard person to get hold of.”

“I’m busy. I’ve got stuff going on.”

“What kind of stuff? Conspiring with Paul Beckwith perhaps?”

“Shit.” She jerked her hand away. “You still on that? I haven’t seen Paul in weeks and weeks.”

Jamie went for shock tactics, to see how she’d react. “I know you slept with him.”

“Oh, yeah? How do you know that?”

“I saw you two leave Mac’s together, once upon a time.”

She leaned her elbows on the table. “Guess what? You’re not as smart as you think you are. Yeah, I talked to Paul. I even walked out with him. But I didn’t go home with him. He tried for a piece, but I didn’t go for it.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?” Jamie searched Shandi’s face, trying to look beneath the bravado and purple eye shadow.

“Believe me or not, I don’t care.” Her expression was pouty. She’d put a hand up to her hair and was twisting her corkscrew curls tighter and tighter around her fingers.

He shook his head, sure there was something she wasn’t saying even if his assumptions about her hooking up with Paul had been wrong. “I’m sorry. I still don’t think you’re telling me everything.”

She ran her teeth over her bottom lip. “It was always Marissa for you, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll lay it out for you.” Shandi inhaled. “Never say I didn’t do my bit for true love.” She exhaled. “It’s like this. When I was sleeping at Marissa’s, y’know, right after she came home, I answered her cell and it was Paul. He tried to give me a line of crap, but the upshot was that he asked me to snoop around Marissa’s place for some vacation photos she supposedly took. He said he’d pay me a couple of hundred bucks if I found them.”

Shandi shifted nervously, avoiding Jamie’s eyes. “I know it was a rotten thing to do, but I kinda needed the money, so I snooped. But I didn’t find anything, and Paul had a screaming fit when I told him.” She made a face. “There’s something really wrong with that guy, if ya ask me.”

“You should have told Marissa all of that as soon as you heard about the break-in.”

“How was I supposed to know—”

“You knew. Guilt was all over your face.”

“Maybe so.” Shandi gulped. “Whatever. I tried to warn her, at least.”

“‘Watch your back,’” he said, repeating her warning. “Big help.”

She scooted her chair back. “Are we through?”

“We’re through.”

“You’ll be watching out for Marissa…?”

He crushed his paper coffee cup against the heel of his palm. Hot drops spattered. “Count on it.”

MARISSA MET WITH a new client, studied an interrogatory pertaining to an ongoing lawsuit and stayed late researching Cayman Islands banking laws. She’d connected the dots between client cases that had required Ed McArdle’s assistance, thanks to Ophelia’s friend in payroll. Attorney of record on a disproportionate number of them: Paul Beckwith.

Interesting, but not totally illuminating.

She phoned Jamie, leaving voice mail when he didn’t pick up. She’d had two messages from him, saying that she shouldn’t go near Paul until they’d talked. Muttering about telephone tag, she reached under her desk to retrieve the pumps she’d kicked off an hour before. Her toes protested being stuffed back inside them, so she carried them in her hand as she picked up her Italian leather brief-bag and shut off the lights.

The offices were quiet, but not deserted. Too many of the lawyers worked late. The hum of vacuum cleaners testified to the cleaning staff’s diligence.

Marissa walked on bare feet to the law library, where she dropped off a book on the librarian’s desk. He got snippy if the lawyers didn’t follow protocol about requesting and returning the volumes. She was heading out when she recognized two hushed voices.

Paul Beckwith and Thomas Howard. Coming in her direction.

She ducked back into the vast space of the law library, hurrying past the stately bookcases and threading through the more utilitarian banks of file cabinets without actually thinking where she was going.

The men had stopped directly outside the doorway. “I’m sure she was searching my office,” Paul said. “She also called McArdle from my phone. He rang back when he got a hang-up from my number.”

Marissa crouched, even though she was well hidden among the rows of cabinets that stretched to the ceiling. Her ears pricked as the conversation continued.

“What’s she looking for?” Howard was clearly disgruntled. “You said you had her under your control, but first she sashays into my office with those damn photographs and now she’s playing Nancy Drew. This is becoming more than an annoyance.”

“She’s nothing. She knows nothing.”

Not wanting to miss a word, Marissa moved closer on silent feet, hugging her bag against her chest.

“Seems to me that she figured out that you had McArdle send that punk after her.”

“But she doesn’t know who Belbano is. That’s what’s important.”

So tell me, she pleaded, but they weren’t that stupid.

“She did surrender the photos without a fight,” Howard said grudgingly.

“You’ll have to give her a line about how you spoke to me.”

“I’m the senior partner. I don’t answer to her.”

“No, sir.” Marissa heard a shuffling sound. Paul must have moved because his voice lost volume. She inched closer, straining to hear. “We only have to placate her for the time being.”

Howard grumbled.

“I know Marissa,” Paul said. “She wants to keep her job a lot more than she wants to stick it to me. She’s only being difficult because of her hurt pride.”

Marissa’s face grew hot. As much as she hated to admit it, there was a grain of truth in Paul’s statement. The woman she’d been a few weeks ago might have been persuaded to put ambition above her ethics, if that only meant looking the other way.