On top of that, showing that Gio had two adoring parents who would love and take care of him, even if one of them had alleged sketchy mental issues, would present a much stronger case if those parents were married.
“All right.”
She felt the tenseness go out of him. They’d get Gio back, and then at some point, the marriage would be dissolved, but Gio would still have two parents who loved him. Lots of families didn’t live together.
“You have a valid driver’s license?”
“Yes, but not with me.”
“We can work around that.”
“But aren’t we supposed to stay off the grid? Wouldn’t getting married call attention to us?”
“Not right away. But when it does, we’ll be ready. I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah. The sooner the better. When we get back to Virginia, we’ll go see an attorney McCall knows. One he trusts. We’ll go from there.”
“Okay.”
She told herself it could work. Maybe he wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but what they had shared last night, the intimacy they’d experienced, wasn’t some anomaly. They still had a connection—one that neither time nor betrayal could destroy.
And tomorrow they were to be married.
Chapter Thirty-one
East Hampton, New York
The home office of Clarissa Fletcher matched the woman perfectly. It was coolly sophisticated without an ounce of warmth to soften the pretentious atmosphere. Olivia sat across from the immaculately dressed older woman. The first time she’d met Clarissa, she had seemed softer, less sure of herself. Apparently, now that she was back in her home environment, all the arrogance had returned. The forceful personality was as off-putting as it was impressive. If Daniel Fletcher was her equal in intimidation and snobbery, it was no wonder Giselle had felt overwhelmed.
“Our initial interview was a mere introduction to one another.”
Was that a warning? Had Olivia given off vibes that Clarissa had picked up on, or was this just the woman’s way of getting down to business?
“I’m told you are the best,” Clarissa continued.
“That is true.” Arrogance respected arrogance. Her intent was to impress Clarissa, as well as feed her ego. The woman needed to feel as though she had made the perfect decision. When she left here today, Olivia planned for Clarissa Fletcher to give herself a huge pat on the back for being so bloody brilliant.
“The boy needs a strict, structured environment. He may only be six years old, but he has a bright future ahead of him. He needs to be prepared early on for the heavy responsibilities that will be placed on his shoulders.”
“You are the young gentleman’s grandparents, is that correct?”
Olivia considered herself not only a good judge of character, but also an expert at reading deception, yet she detected absolutely no lie in Clarissa Fletcher’s demeanor when she answered, “Yes. We are his grandparents and have full custody.”
“Excellent. I, of course, would need to meet him, talk with him. Though I have a standard regimen I use with my charges, I will redesign and refine it based upon my assessment of his needs and abilities.”
“He’s an exceptional child. Gifted, I believe.”
“I’m sure you understand that grandparents have a tendency to be somewhat biased when it comes to their grandchild. If he is gifted, I will design his curriculum with that in mind. I will, however, need to evaluate the child myself.”
When Clarissa looked as though she would argue, Olivia, though showing no outward sign of her unease, went tense with concern. What was the woman’s hesitation about? Was Giovanni all right?
Taking a risk, Olivia stood. “Perhaps you would prefer another governess? One who is not so rigid regarding excellence and hard work.”
“Sit down, Ms. Wainwright.”
Not surprised by the arrogance of the command, Olivia sat back down. She would not overplay her hand. She waited in silence as Clarissa grappled with whatever was holding her back from committing to hiring her.
Finally, Clarissa said, “You have an example of your assessment material?”
“Of course.” She handed over a folder that Jamie, Dylan Savage’s wife, had put together for her. Jamie had told her the curriculum far exceeded what should be expected for a six-year-old, but it should pass muster and impress Clarissa Fletcher with its thoroughness and inflexibility. That was a good thing, since rigidity seemed to be of paramount importance to the woman.
Olivia again waited in silence while Clarissa perused the material.
After several moments of examination, Clarissa closed the folder. “All right. I’m hiring you on a contingent basis. I’m still in the process of having you thoroughly vetted, but I want the best for the boy, and it is my understanding that you are the best. If I find out different, you’ll be dismissed and will have great difficulty finding another position. Do I make myself clear?”
Forget warm or cozy, Clarissa Fletcher could make ice feel comfy. “My references are impeccable, as is my record. However, if something displeases you, then I would expect no less.”
“The Fletcher name must be protected at all cost. You will be expected to sign a nondisclosure agreement. You will not talk to the press or anyone regarding what goes on in this household. Will that be a problem?”
Olivia took a moment to thoroughly assess Clarissa Fletcher. She had come into this op with an open mind, but she had to admit she had seen Daniel Fletcher as the villain and perhaps viewed Clarissa as less dangerous—maybe even an unwilling participant in all this. She adjusted her evaluation. This woman was no innocent party or second-in-command. Clarissa Fletcher was fully in tune with her husband. They were together, in a partnership.
Olivia would never underestimate the woman again.
“I understand. That won’t be a problem.”
“Good.” She stood. “Come with me, and I’ll introduce you to the boy.”
“Why is it you refer to him as ‘the boy’?” Yeah, she was probably on thin ice here, but dammit, the child had a name. Why didn’t they use it?
For the first time since meeting her, Olivia saw actual emotion in Clarissa Fletcher. Not embarrassment and not even anger at the impertinent question. It was confusion, surprise.
Instead of giving her a reason, she said quietly, “His name is John.”
Feeling like she’d won a small victory, she followed Clarissa through the house and then up a long, winding stairway. She could only imagine what Giovanni must be feeling. The only father he’d ever known was dead. His mother had mysteriously disappeared. And he had been left with these people—cold, imperialistic, egomaniacal creeps who lived in a museumlike mansion without a hint of warmth or kindness in sight. So yes, just getting the bitch to say the child’s name, even the wrong one, felt good.
On the third floor and down a long hallway, they entered a suite that was obviously designed and decorated for a child. A wealthy, overindulged child’s dream. Shelves filled with toys and books lined three of the walls. A large-screen television hung on another wall. There was a drafting table, train sets, replicas of ships, model cars. It was like they had purchased a toy store and installed it in the room. The word overcompensation came to mind.
“He seems to have a lot of toys.”
“He’s a bright, imaginative boy and needs a lot of mental stimulation.”
Or he was missing his mother, and they were doing everything they could to take his mind off of the loss.
“His psychologist recommended many of these things.”
“Psychologist?”
“Of course. He lost his father and then his mother. No matter how unprepared she was to be his mother, he still misses her.”
Detecting some defensiveness in Clarissa’s tone, Olivia throttled back. “You have provided a stable, loving environment for the child.”
“Yes, exactly.” Clarissa’s eyes roamed the room. “He’ll not want for anything.�
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Olivia imagined that if they had an ounce of conscience, this was what they told themselves if they felt the least guilty for what they’d done to Giselle.
“I look forward to meeting him.”
“I believe he’s in the game room.” She started toward a closed door, and as Olivia followed her, she asked, “Does John have a daily schedule yet?”
“A loose one for now. We wanted to give him time to adjust. That will be your responsibility. From the time he wakes until he goes to bed, his day should be structured. He turned six a few months ago, so we’re starting later than I would like. There should be no idle time where he might get into trouble.”
Those words clicked inside Olivia’s mind. Giselle had indicated that Clarissa looked upon Giovanni as her second chance. By controlling every aspect of his waking hours, did she think that would keep him from being a willful, wild child, as her son had apparently been?
Despite herself, Olivia felt a moment of pity for the woman. She really had no clue, did she? Some people were not designed to have children. In her estimation, Clarissa Fletcher belonged in that category.
They entered a large room, and once again it appeared that the Fletchers had spared no expense. There was so much, it was all she could do not to turn to the woman and ask her just what the hell was wrong with her. She could only imagine what a little boy who’d lost his mother thought of all of this. It had to be overwhelming and scary as hell.
She heard a sound, soft and low, like a little sigh. She turned and was faced with a tiny replica of Raphael. He was sitting at a child’s table, crayons neatly organized by shade in front of him.
Going to her knees so she would be on his level, she said, “Hello. You must be John.”
Eyes, dark and sweetly innocent, glanced up at Clarissa, and then with a mutinous look on his little face, he looked at Olivia and said, “My name is Giovanni. You can call me Gio.”
Clarissa sighed loudly. “That is not your name now. Remember what I told you?”
Ignoring Clarissa for the moment, she said, “Hello, Gio. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Susanna.”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m talking to your grandmother about being your teacher.”
“I don’t want you to be my teacher.”
“John, that’s an inappropriate thing to stay to an adult. You—”
She smiled up at Clarissa. “I admire honesty above all else. Children are so completely without artifice, don’t you think?” Before the woman could respond, she turned back to the courageous little boy. “But honesty must be tempered with good manners.”
“You talk funny.”
“I have a British accent.”
“It’s nice. Mommy has an accent like that, too.”
“That’s enough, John. Go find Ms. Mavis and ask her to take you for a walk.”
Looking like he wanted to say something else, he pursed his little mouth for a second. Then, apparently changing his mind, he nodded at Olivia. “Nice to meet you.”
The instant Gio ran out of the room, Clarissa said, “As you can see, he has a stubborn streak you’ll need to tame.”
“Tell me about his mother.”
For just an instant, Olivia saw the disdain she figured Giselle had lived with on a daily basis. Clarissa was good, though, and covered it almost immediately with fake sorrow.
“She was just so lost after our son died. We did everything we could for her, but she fell into a deep depression, and no matter what we did, she could never recover. She took her life a few months ago. We haven’t found the right time to tell John.”
“Where does he think his mother is, then?”
“He believes she’s on a long vacation. The doctors advised us to wait a little while longer. When he’s used to her being gone, we’ll tell him she’s gone on to heaven. It’ll be easier for him to accept.”
Likely, that’s what they believed would actually happen. Giselle would be dead, and they could get on with whatever plans they had for the child. This little boy was their pawn. If he didn’t please them, would they at some point do away with him, too?
Every protective instinct in Olivia told her to grab Giovanni and get him the hell out of there. But she knew she wouldn’t get more than five feet away before she was stopped. There were eyes everywhere. Discreet but easily spotted if one knew what to look for and where to look. She imagined they had been here long before Giselle had come here as a new bride. There were likely no secrets inside this house.
She had done what she’d set out to do today. Her assignment had been to assess Gio and his condition, plus determine if he was in immediate danger. The spirit she’d seen in the little boy told her he was far from being beaten down, but at some point, that bright spirit would diminish. However, he was in no physical danger that she could see.
“Losing his mother will have an impact on his life, but we’re doing everything we can to minimize his pain.”
Hence the overabundance of toys and entertainment options. “Does he have friends? Perhaps he—”
“For the time being, we are limiting his exposure to other children. At the right time, we’ll introduce him to appropriate children of his age group.”
Appropriate children. How could there even be such a term? Children were children. Period.
Her training was the only thing that allowed her to nod and say, “I understand.” And she did understand, much better than Clarissa Fletcher would ever know.
“Testing could begin immediately, even today, if you like.” Olivia held up the folder. “I have what I need to make my initial assessment.”
“No, not yet. In one month. No sooner.”
She read between the lines. They didn’t want her here until Giselle and Raphael were dead and Gio was completely theirs to control and manipulate.
Walking a thin line, Olivia pushed it a little. “My schedule will accommodate now. I’m not sure I’ll be available at—”
“We’ll pay whatever you require to retain you. Consider yourself hired but with a month’s vacation. You said you wanted a holiday before you took another position. Now you have a fully paid one.”
Before Olivia could come up with a reasonable reason why she would turn down a paid vacation, Clarissa continued, “Once you’re here, you won’t have a lot of time to yourself.” Clarissa’s smile was both condescending and kind, a hard thing to carry off, but this woman did it with style.
“How kind of you.”
“In the meantime, I’ll send along the child psychologist’s reports. As I’ve already said, John is a gifted child. The more you know about him, the better you’ll be able to help him achieve his maximum potential.”
Clarissa led the way out of the room, talking as she headed down the hallway. Olivia kept an attentive look on her face, but used the time to once again get a feel for where cameras were set. She spotted three in the ceiling corners of the hallway and one larger one in the chandelier that hung just over the stairway. As she had installed more than her share of secret cameras, these were easy to identify.
There would be others, though. Giselle had told them that cameras were everywhere. That was how Fletcher had learned that Giselle had overheard him and Rawlings discussing murder.
Who was watching them now, and what exactly were they looking for?
Owen Holcomb watched Mrs. Fletcher and the kid’s new teacher head down the stairs and toward the door. With those thick round glasses and pale skin, the woman wasn’t much of a looker. Not that it was any of his business, but when you sat on your ass and stared at a hundred or so monitors for eight hours a day, you had to stay entertained some way.
He’d been working here for a little over a year now. As long as he stayed out of their way, everything was fine. If he happened to pass them on the way into work, they pretended he wasn’t there. Guess it took all kinds. They paid well, and all he was required to do was look at the screens and report a
ny unusual activity.
Didn’t take a lot of skills or imagination. He’d kinda taken the job for granted until that one day. Ratting out Giselle, the daughter-in-law, had felt kind of strange. She’d done nothing really wrong. She and her kid were playing hide-and-go-seek. Fun game until it took you places you weren’t supposed to be. Since he didn’t listen to audio, he had no idea what the girl heard. Whatever it was, her eyes had gone wide and her face had lost all color. When he’d reported the incident to Fletcher, it’d been all he could do not to back away from the man. There was something dangerous in the depths of that man’s eyes, and he for one didn’t want to have intimate knowledge of what that was.
Later on that day, he’d seen Fletcher and the girl talking. She’d looked even more terrified than before. Whatever Fletcher had told her must’ve really struck a chord. She’d practically run away from him that day.
Almost made him sorry that he’d had to rat her out for a second time. She had tried to take the kid out. That’d been a near miss that had almost cost him his job. Felt sorry for the girl. Sure, he did. He wasn’t a bad person, but a guy had to eat, didn’t he? He had a job, just like other folks. When he was told to do something, he did it.
Girl cried like a baby, though. Hated seeing that. He wasn’t sure where she was now. Probably dead, like they were telling everyone but the kid. Sad, really. She’d been a pretty thing, but crossing the Fletchers just wasn’t a good idea. That’s why he never would.
Chapter Thirty-two
Louisiana
They emerged from the woods just after dawn. Giselle felt as worn out as an old mop. Her head throbbed, her body ached, and she desperately wanted a hot shower.
And while she felt and likely looked terrible, Raphael had the appearance of a rough, sexy pirate. A dark beard stubbled his face, his thick tangled hair looked like fingers had sexily run through it, and his clothes—black T-shirt and black jeans—just made him look tougher. The young, skinny boy of his youth was now a gorgeously hot and sexy man. And soon he would be her husband.
Running Strong Page 24
