Brandon never asked her what she
did.
His questions focused singularly on who she was. A flutter rose in her chest as she recalled telling him about her favorite pastime of drinking at hotel lounges. Even in her hometown, being at a hotel lounge took her away from reality. For an hour, she could be anyone on the road to anywhere. Or maybe, once in a while, when she was feeling particularly bold, she’d even be herself.
He admitted to a phobia of heights, which was why he never flew in a plane. As for quirks, he had denied having any, except for an occasional overwhelming craving for carnival foods. He had said it took him back to his happy childhood days at the state fair.
He’d held her close to him and promised that some day he would find a five-star hotel that served the perfect gin martini and a kick-ass funnel cake with corn dog, in the shadow of a classy ice-swan sculpture nestled in a nest carved from butter.
The vision had made both of them laugh so hard their faces hurt and tears streamed down their faces. He’d kissed away her tears of pure joy. His lips had been rough and chapped from being in the sun, sailing for days. Underneath the coarse surface, though, a gentle and soft fullness had been present. His mouth had grazed hers from one side to the other. His heat had been able to reach her before his skin did.
“Jackie?” Marilyn’s voice cut through her remembrance.
“Hmm?” Jackie rubbed her hands over her face to wipe away the flush she knew had arisen in her cheeks.
Marilyn presented a vase of yellow roses to her. “These just came for you.”
Chapter Twelve
Brandon left the US Attorney’s office with heaviness in his chest. He’d hoped that turning over the documents to the FBI would exorcise his demons. He would be able to detach himself from Ashe and obtain some sort of redemption from his involvement in Brynn’s death. Instead, that night of horror had been dredged up and he couldn’t get the picture of his first love’s face from his mind.
He couldn’t bring Brynn back, but maybe he could keep Ashe away from Jackie. Hopefully, the FBI would be able to wrap up their case soon. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could play the charade of being Ashe’s expert.
He was scheduled to meet Ashe for lunch at Ashe Financial Service’s building. Brandon looked for a cab to escape the scorching heat even though the walk to Ashe’s building would be short. Several motored by, all occupied. He shed his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and started down the street. By the time he reached Ashe’s building, he was drenched, his shirt sticking to his back. He headed toward the men’s room to clean up. He didn’t want Ashe to think he was coming apart.
Gary Stone burst from the bathroom and practically bowled him over. Stone looked like he’d just gone through hell and back. Brandon froze. Seeing Stone there was like coming unexpectedly across a slithering snake.
Stone curled his lip at Brandon as if smelling something bad. “Ashe is waiting. You better get up there fast. He’s spitting nails about the Boyers Report. And what Jackie might dig up.”
Brandon kept casual and gave a one-shoulder shrug. “There’s nothing for her to find. What are you and Ashe so worried about?”
Stone got in his face and jabbed a finger in Brandon’s chest. “You know goddamned well what I’m worried about, and you should be too. Whose side are you on anyway?”
Brandon resisted the urge to punch in him the face like he deserved. He had to keep up the charade for Jackie’s sake. “Ashe’s, of course.”
“Then keep your hands off Jackie. Because if Ashe finds out you’ve been banging her—”
Brandon grabbed Stone’s jacket and shoved him hard against the wall.
Stone laughed tightly. “Oh, so you have been banging her. She’s very hot in bed, isn’t she?”
Stone was baiting him. He gave Stone one last push against the wall and let go. “I have an appointment.”
Brandon moved past Stone into the men’s room. He splashed water on his face and toweled off the beads of sweat on his forehead and neck. He remembered the palpable heat that sizzled between Jackie and Stone during his deposition. Were they lovers? How could she be attracted to such an asshole?
Brandon straightened his tie and jacket and headed out to face Ashe.
The conference room of Ashe Financial Services defined swank. His office was high-end, but nothing like this. White marble covered the expanse, and the floor-to-ceiling windows framed an impressive view of the Inner Harbor. All the trim was sleek, light wood. Everything from the mile-long conference table to the built-in floating credenza was custom-made. It was a stylish modern masterpiece.
Sterile. Cruel.
Brandon preferred Jackie’s white whale with its dated oak trim and stained and frayed carpet. Although the card table and chairs she used in her conference room were far from comfortable, there was a sense of welcome there. A sense of purpose infused her space. Maybe it was just Jackie’s desire to make it right for her clients, but being in her office working alongside her made Brandon feel more alive and purposeful than he had since he’d worked with his mom and dad at their store.
“Sit.” With a cavalier wave, Ashe indicated the seat to his right. “Wine?” He raised a bottle of red wine in Brandon’s direction
“No thanks, Rob. I have a lot to do at my office this afternoon.”
“Since when did work get in the way of fun? You’ve changed.” Ashe flashed his beady eyes at Brandon over the rim of his wineglass as he sipped.
“What did you want to talk about? I thought we covered quite a lot of ground last night. Was your father not pleased?”
“Dad? Not pleased? Dad loves you, bro.” Ashe paused and took another deliberate sip of wine. “Have you talked to the lawyer today?”
“No. Why?”
“Tell me, do you like this Gary Stone guy?”
Brandon shrugged. “I wouldn’t say I know him well enough to form an opinion on whether I like him or not.”
Ashe swirled the glass he held in his long slender fingers. The force pulled the wine up the sides of the glass into a ruby tornado. “I’d rather have that Jackie North as my attorney, wouldn’t you? Reminds me of Brynn.” His gaze sliced through Brandon.
Ashe was trying to push his buttons, but he wouldn’t take the bait. He said casually, “That comparison hadn’t occurred to me.” He tucked Ashe’s comment away, though. Keeping Ashe away from Jackie moved to the top of his priority list.
Brandon’s phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. He slipped it out to check the message. It was a text from Jackie. She wanted him to come over and look at the documents Stone sent over.
“Stone sent documents over to North’s office. Make sure she finds nothing. Are we clear?”
“There’s nothing to hide, right?”
Ashe flashed his greasy grin. “Let’s eat. My chef made crab cakes. Caught locally of course, this morning. They are hands down the best in the area. Then I want your opinion on some possible new ventures for the company.”
Brandon forced a tight smile. He couldn’t look too eager to flee, or Ashe might suspect something. “Let me just send a message to the office.” He texted Jackie that he’d be at her office in an hour. He needed her to wait. He couldn’t risk her stumbling into anything that would bring down the wrath of Ashe.
* * * *
“Who would be sending me flowers? Did you read the card?”
“Of course not.” Marilyn held her hand to her chest and pulled her head back.
“Right,” Jackie said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.
Marilyn raised her gray eyebrows, and a smile flickered across her face.
“Here, let me see them.” Jackie took the flowers from Marilyn and set them on the conference room table.
The attached card was a standard florist stock. Jackie read aloud, “Take care, F.N. Who’s F.N.?” she asked Marilyn.
“I checked your Rolodex, and there are no contacts with those initials.”
Now it was Jackie’s turn to raise her eyebrows.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, of course I looked at the card. You pay me to be on top of everything, after all,” Marilyn said defiantly.
“I don’t pay you, actually.” A twinge of guilt rippled through Jackie’s stomach.
Marilyn crossed her arms. “Well, how about we continue to maintain the illusion that you do pay me, then?”
Jackie smelled the roses. Sweet and buttery. Prim, for sure. She’d never been a rose lover. They were a far too mundane expression of emotion.
“Although I’m intrigued as to the identity of my mystery admirer, I’ve got enough documents to make a preacher swear.” Jackie handed Marilyn the miniature envelope that bore the name and phone number of a national grocery-store chain located nearby. “Can you call the florist and see if they have any information on who the sender is?”
Marilyn frowned. “I’ll do my best, but I have to admit that I have no contacts at the lower-end florists.”
“Marilyn Morris, you snob. I thought you had contacts everywhere from the pearly gates to the sleaziest strip club on The Block.”
“Dearest, when you are as old as me, you have no time for cheap wine or tacky flowers. And, as far as that establishment in The Block goes, Mano happens to be a hardworking business man who was best man at my cousin Jimmy’s wedding.” With an icy glare, Marilyn turned on her heels and headed back to her station.
Jackie returned to her search through the Boyers Report and managed to cross off two more search items before Marilyn returned.
“They were tight-lipped, as I expected, using that old ‘company policy’ excuse about not giving out names or information on customers. She did say the person who ordered it was very specific about there being nine roses, even though that would cost more than the standard dozen. Plus, she admitted that F.N. did not stand for the sender’s name, but he was adamant she put that on the card.”
Something teased Jackie’s brain. She narrowed her eyes. “A code, huh? You know who loved cutesy code-speak.”
Marilyn gave her a wide-eyed stare. “Gary?”
Jackie pulled the flowers closer. “Why would Gary send me flowers with a cutesy code?”
“I’ve known Gary Stone for twenty years,” said Marilyn, “and if he sent this, he’s either trying to trick you or manipulate you to going back to him and the firm.”
“Probably, but…” Gary did say that he still loved her and he had tried to warn her about this case and the Ashe family the other day. The swagger was gone, replaced by a hunched pallor. As much as she despised Gary Stone as a person, and especially as an ex-boyfriend, she still respected him as a lawyer. Gary had handled sophisticated cases from the most demanding and questionable clients, but she’d never seen him spooked in the eight years she’d known him. Until now.
“But what?”
Jackie waved her off. “Let’s assume Gary sent these. What could F.N. stand for?”
Marilyn pursed her lips. “Dare I ask if there was a pet name between you two?”
“Not with those initials,” Jackie barked back.
“Fine. What about a legal term?”
Jackie stared blankly at her computer screen, ticking off legal terms beginning with the letter F. False arrest, fee simple, footnote. “Footnote!”
Going with her gut, she checked how many there were in the Boyers Report. Although the document was only thirty pages long, it was rife with footnotes. It would take days to check each of the ninety-three notes’ referenced material.
Jackie took another look at the unimpressive arrangement. Nine long-stemmed yellow roses fanned from a nondescript, clear stock florist vase. Neither baby’s breath nor other filler augmented the display. The standard-issue card was preprinted with a single rose and the words “Thinking of You.” The message was typed in.
“You said the sender specifically requested nine roses, right?”
“Yes.”
With a click, the document was back up on Jackie’s monitor. Unlike many of the other notes, which included explanatory text, footnote nine was nothing but a citation to another document.
“The index. Where’s the index?” Jackie bounced in her chair. An almost photographic memory caused sleepless nights too often, but it also came in handy from time to time. The name of that document was in the index.
Marilyn dashed out of the room and returned with the laptop, which still had the CD of the index in it and pulled up. Within seconds, Jackie found the location of the document in question to be in box thirty-four. “Box thirty-four. Come on.”
A sweep of Jackie’s arm cleared the conference room table of other papers. Marilyn had already started moving boxes to get to number thirty-four, which was buried at the bottom of a column of boxes.
“Here we go.” Marilyn hoisted the box on the table.
With the box opened and lid tossed aside, Jackie peered into the contents. Reams of loose-leaf paper filled the box. Each page bore a stamp, the unique number stamped on the page to identify it. “It was stamped 30863. What does the box start with?”
Marilyn pulled out the first document and read the stamped number on the bottom of the page. “This box starts at 30444.”
Another four hundred pages back would be about the size of a ream of paper. Moving back through the papers a few inches, Jackie grabbed a fistful of papers and started shuffling through them.
“Got it.” She high-fived Marilyn.
The spreadsheet went on for twelve pages. The columns of numbers ran neatly from top to bottom and left to right. Jackie stared in disbelief. Stunned, she walked slowly back to her office, her eyes glued to the numbers.
After she’d read and reread the report, the numbers swam in a whirlpool in her head. Her own expert, Professor Frank Boggs at Johns Hopkins, would need to verify this, but Jackie’s hand shook to hold the proverbial smoking gun. Maybe this stuff did happen to real people after all.
She picked up her phone and dialed in Professor Boggs’s number. His secretary reported that he was teaching but was expected back in his office within the hour. The spreadsheet stuffed into her messenger bag, Jackie slid her sunglasses on, grabbed her bike, and headed toward the door.
A text was waiting on her phone. It was from Brandon and read,
on my way. be there in 1 hour. wait for me.
He’d have to wait.
Chapter Thirteen