A MAN CALLED BLUE

by EC Sheedy

  "Kinky." He leaned back in the seat.

  She gave him an icy glance. "No. Careful."

  "And if my underwear isn't acceptable?" he asked.

  "Then I hope you can swim."

  He smiled. "What, no cab fare home?"

  "Afraid not." She went back to her salad. When he didn't say anything more, she gestured with her chin toward his untouched plate. "You're not eating."

  He pushed it aside. "I'm more of a red meat man myself."

  "In that case, we're done. I have background material on the trip in my briefcase. When I'm finished lunch, I'll have Nance give it to you. Pay particular attention to the Hallam Industries file. It involves a porcelain factory that's for sale. Anjana's interested in buying, if it's a good deal." That said, she turned her attention to her salad.

  Aware of his dismissal, Blue watched her. The lady worked overtime in the control department. He wondered why.

  She raised her eyes and gave him an irritated glance. "You can go now, Blue."

  He stood and looked down at her. "Got a parachute?"

  "Very amusing, but don't push your luck. My patience, like my trust, is limited. It's simple really. Do as you're asked and we'll get along fine."

  He shook his head. "Lady, somehow I doubt that."

  Back in his seat, Blue spent the next few minutes alternately cursing himself and Nolan. Twenty-one days with this woman? Inconceivable! If Nolan had his job after day one, he'd be lucky. Blue wasn't good at taking orders or keeping his mouth shut. And there was something else. Damned if he wasn't attracted to her on some basic level, but he sure as hell didn't like her much.

  * * *

  Simone didn't like him.

  If he weren't a friend of Nolan's, she'd give him that parachute he'd asked for and personally escort him to an open hatch. She felt his eyes on her now. Refusing to take further notice of him, she concentrated on her salad. The minute he shifted his attention to the window, her chest contracted and a quiet breath crossed her lips.

  Blue. What a stupid name! It probably had nothing to do with his being called "bluebell" and everything to do with the color of his eyes, a brilliant, intimidating cobalt. She hated them. Hated the way they probed, questioned without words. Those eyes made it difficult for her to remember what was most likely a special friendship with Nolan. At least he wasn't a talker.

  Nolan talked continuously, but it was comforting chatter; she'd miss it—and him. He was the only person who'd made this past year bearable. They'd planned on playing a little hooky while in London, and she'd been looking forward to it. Now it would be like every other trip—a full-blown workathon. With this her third trip to Europe in six weeks, she was exhausted, permanently jet-lagged. Her nerves were on scream alert and her responses came as much a surprise to her as the people around her, but Josephine said to "get a grip on the European operations" as quickly as possible, and whatever Josephine wanted, Josephine got.

  God, she hoped Nolan was okay. Kelly was checking with the hospital right now. She'd have word soon. Her lips compressed. As for Mr. Insolence back there, she'd put up with him because she needed him. But she'd make sure he knew his place. That's what Josephine would do.

  * * *

  At Heathrow they were through customs in minutes. It was Miss Doucet this, Miss Doucet that; Blue expected a foot-kissing ceremony was next up. He doubted the Queen of England received better treatment. Outside they were met by a Rolls-Royce long enough to span the English Channel.

  Blue watched as a young man loaded their luggage, meticulously stowing Simone's three perfectly matched cases as though they were crates of Faberge eggs. When he picked up Blue's mangy duffel, he glanced around, seeming confused, then with a shrug, and the care reserved for shredder fodder, tossed it in and closed the trunk. As metaphors for himself and the Doucet woman, the luggage thing worked. Blue smiled thinly.

  "If you get so much enjoyment watching baggage stowed, Blue, you must think the carousel is a riot," Simone said, her tone dry. She'd come up behind him.

  He turned to look down at her. They'd not spoken to each other since lunch, two continents and one ocean ago. "A joke, Miss Doucet? Or a poison-tipped arrow?" And what the hell was that lethal scent she was wearing?

  "An opening line, nothing more or less, and call me Simone. We'll be working closely together. I don't want people to think you're a recently promoted bank clerk."

  "What do you want them to think?"

  "That we're close."

  "How close?"

  She gave him an arch look. "Close enough. I'll need an escort while I'm here. I think the agenda makes that plain—or should I draw you a picture."

  Blue's grin widened. Simone Doucet, one of the wealthiest women on five continents, needed an employee escort. No doubt Nolan was exactly the kind of escort she preferred, charming, urbane—and safe. Blue could, if he worked at it, hit two out of three.

  "We can be as close as you like, but I draw the line at pictures. I'm not really into that kind of thing."

  "I know what you're into, Blue. You're a friend of Nolan's. That's why you're standing on firm English ground instead of doing the butterfly across the Atlantic."

  Damn she was good! It could be fun getting under this woman's skin. Hide, Bludell, this woman has hide.

  Before he could answer, Nance called from the curb.

  "Ready, Miss Doucet?"

  "Ready, Nance. Thanks." She stepped briskly toward the Rolls. When Blue didn't follow, she turned. "Aren't you coming?"

  He gave her a bland look. "You mean I get to ride... inside... with you? You're sure you don't want me to just hang on to the tailpipe?"

  Her lips nearly curved to a smile. Nearly. "Get in, Blue. I don't have the stamina for more repartee."

  He got in. The interior of the Rolls was the same deep burgundy as the jet. He settled in directly across from Simone and stretched out his legs. One thing about wealth, it guaranteed leg room. Not that Simone needed it. When she'd stood beside him on the curb, he'd realized how tiny she was. Measuring against his six feet, he put her at five one, five two, tops. Physically she looked soft, delicate. At first he'd thought the cover didn't represent the book, now he wasn't so sure.

  Silence dominated the early part of the trip, with Blue looking out the window on one side and Simone looking out the other. When they neared London's center, she spoke.

  "Did you read the Hallam notes?"

  "Uh-huh."

  She waited—about a half a second. "Well," she said, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

  "Well what?"

  She gave him an impatient look, as if he were schoolboy hiding behind his desk in the back row. "What did you think? Or do you ever involve yourself in that strenuous an activity?"

  "Occasionally, when the mood strikes," he drawled.

  He watched her draw in a breath, briefly close her eyes. When she opened them, she pinned him with her gaze, and her tone was huskily direct. "Well then, I'd like your professional opinion—if it isn't too much trouble, of course."

  "So." He nodded his head. "You approve of my underwear?"

  She looked stunned. "Excuse me?"

  "I checked out. I don't have to swim home?"

  He sensed she was just short of grinding her teeth. "Yes," she finally said. "You checked out. Harvard MBA, top of your class. Last position, president of Allmonde International, followed by an extensive contract as a special consultant to a consortium of companies wanting to establish a beachhead in Russia, Poland, and the Ukraine." She dipped her chin. "Impressive."

  He blew on his fingernails and made a show of examining his cuticles.

  She tilted her head then, her look genuinely curious. "So, what happened after the consulting job? It's as though you disappeared. That was five years ago."

  Chapter 2

  Simone stared at the man across from her, waiting for him to answer. Sprawled comfortably, ankles crossed, sockless feet inches from her high-heeled Italian pumps, he looked at home, confident
, as if he owned the damn car. He possessed the same complete self-assurance as Josephine, who'd always told her, "Simply behave as if you owned the universe, Simone, and it will fall into your hands."

  So easy for Josephine, for Bludell, so difficult for her no matter how hard she tried. She did the mental equivalent of pulling up her socks. She had nothing to whine about. Josephine was right, she had the world by its "codpiece." What more did she want?

  She hated that question, so instead of answering it, she decided to repeat the one she'd asked Blue. He still hadn't answered her, just sat there, studying her through those dark glasses of his as if she had three heads and none of them pleased him. It surprised her she cared. She erased the thought, reminding herself he was Nolan's friend.

  "So, what happened?" she asked again. "Why aren't you in business anymore?"

  "What makes you think something happened?"

  "Cause and effect. Successful businessman walks out of corporate jungle. There has to be a reason, or are you one of those burned-out types who couldn't take the heat anymore?"

  "Nope. I just decided to revisit an old dream before my creeping senility caused me to forget it entirely."

  "How old are you?"

  "Thirty-eight. How old are you?" he shot back.

  She straightened, taken back by his echoing query. Normally only she asked the questions. She hesitated, not because she wanted to hide her age; she just wasn't sure she should give him the right to ask it. Certainly Josephine wouldn't.

  He grinned at her and her stomach did a surprising flip. "Cause and effect. Tit for tat," he said.

  "They're not the same thing." She sounded huffy, even to herself.

  He waited.

  "I'm thirty-two."

  "Yeah? Then you're holding up pretty good," he said, before casually turning his head to again look out the window. They were passing Buckingham Palace.

  The insolent—

  Before she could muster an appropriate response, Nance's voice came through the intercom.

  "We're here, Miss Doucet," he said, pulling the Rolls up to a town house in Eaton Square, one of the most exclusive areas in London. Her questions would have to wait. She caught Blue's self-satisfied expression, a smugness that said, "Gotcha, this round to me," and had a sudden thought. It had a lot to do with vengeance.

  Simone touched a button on her armrest. "Nance, after we're settled in—" she gave Blue an appraising glance "—Mr. Bludell and I will be going shopping. In about an hour. Harrods, I think. There's not enough time for Savile Row." She took her finger from the button and watched the movement in Blue's lower jaw, a kind of sliding motion before it locked firmly into place.

  "Shopping?" he asked, not moving a muscle.

  "Shopping," she confirmed, trying not to smile. "Unless you have something suitable for a black tie evening at Claridges in that thing you call luggage."

  She waited. Finally, and reluctantly, she thought, he shook his head.

  "I thought not, and as we have a dinner tonight, a dinner hosted by Josephine, I'd like you to at least look—" she eyed him again, frowning at his scuffed deck shoes "—respectable. As I see it, that can only be accomplished by shopping. You don't mind if I pick out a few things for you, do you?" Her voice dripped with enough honey to sicken a bee.

  She wished he'd take off his sunglasses so she could see his reaction. He didn't, but his grin came back, full force, and he tugged lightly at his earring. "Hey, that's fine with me. I love shopping," he said enthusiastically.

  "Good," she said, his eagerness making her uncertain. Perhaps, she'd misjudged. Maybe, like Nolan, Blue held an advanced degree in shopping and as a gotcha it wasn't the ace she'd counted on. Still, the man had to be exhausted. She certainly was. The idea of traipsing around Harrods numbed her. "An hour, then," she said, caught in her own trap. "I'll meet you in the library."

  Nance opened the door and, without a backward glance, she sailed out of the Rolls.

  Shopping! Blue rested his head back on the soft leather seat. He hated shopping. He couldn't count the hours they'd traveled, and there'd been that long stop in Chicago. He'd managed some sleep, but not nearly enough. Here the day was in full bloom. Damn, he'd been on enough trips like this in his "corporate days," as he'd come to call them, and he sure as hell hadn't topped them off by shopping.

  The truth was he didn't have the right clothes for this assignment. Not with him anyway. After Nolan's call, he'd barely had time to moor Three Wishes and catch an island hopper to Sea-Tac. He might enjoy teasing the woman but didn't see a need to embarrass her—or himself for that matter.

  Resigned to "performing" for Miss Simone Doucet for the next three weeks, he stepped out of the car and followed her path into the house. At the door a dour-faced man greeted him, introducing himself as Dreiser.

  "Miss Doucet has gone ahead, sir. If you'll be good enough to follow me, I'll show you to your room." The man intoned the request as if he were leading him to the last pew at a funeral service. He wondered vaguely if all employees of the imperious Simone had their smiles surgically removed as a prerequisite to employment.

  Nance was friendly enough, but around Simone, he was painfully sober. Nolan in this atmosphere? Blue couldn't see it. Smiling was second nature to him, as was his notoriously bawdy humor.

  Spotting his abandoned bag inside the door, Blue picked it up and followed Dreiser to his room. It was on the third floor. Blue gave it a cursory scan. Done in a dark rose color, it was the kind of room he'd expected; wood paneling, smooth with years of polish; carpets, gently worn and beyond price; antiques, buffed to a rich luxurious glow. The room had breeding, he thought, a kind of faded elegance exactly right for its early nineteenth-century roots.

  He looked longingly at the canopied bed, then pulled out his cell phone.

  He called Jelly at the marina. By his estimates it was after 5:00 a.m. on the West Coast. Early fishermen would be going out. Jelly would be up.

  "Jellyfish Marina. Mornin'."

  "Jelly. Any word from Sam Pearson?" Blue asked.

  Jelly's marina was near Friday Harbor on San Juan Island, home base for Blue and his one true love, a fifty-three-foot Hatteras, custom outfitted for offshore cruising, with state-of-the-art electronics, extended salon, and engines that could take him to the edge of forever. She was his home and at the moment the only "woman" in his life. Three Wishes, he called her, but she was really only the first wish—to come true at least. Owning Moonlight Island was the second. As for the third? At thirty-eight, he'd given up on that one. Boats and islands were easier to come by than the right woman to share them with.

  His last serious relationship with a woman of the flesh and blood kind ended three years ago. He'd nearly married Bridget She was beautiful and smart, but in the end the relationship ran out of steam. They were drifting and Blue knew it, and drifting into marriage was a mistake he didn't intend to make.

  "Hey, Blue. Where you run off to anyway?"

  "London."

  "Where?" Jelly asked. Blue could hear him munching on something. Jelly always munched.

  "London, as in England. Now can we talk about Pearson?"

  "What in hell you doin' there?"

  Blue lifted his eyes and waited for patience. It came. "Doing a favor for a friend," he said. Pearson, Jelly, tell me about Pearson. But there was no rushing Jelly.

  Jelly chewed on... and on. "Old Pearson was up yesterday. Saw him eatin' with Jack Roth in The Skull," he said.

  Blue rubbed at his temple hard. Jack Roth was as determined to have Moonlight Island as he was, although for entirely different reasons. Damn! He should be on San Juan, not following some too rich woman around London so she could get richer still. "Anything come of it, you think?" he asked.

  "Pearson says Roth's a bit slick for his likin'."

  Blue started to smile, but Jelly's next words wiped it off. "Likes his money well enough though. Says he's thinkin' on it. Takin' his wife on a little trip, and he's gonna think on it. That's what he
says."

  "How long is this trip?"

  "A month maybe. Says he's gonna visit the kids, and when they throw him out, he's comin' home."

  Yes! Luck was with him. In three weeks he'd be back on San Juan, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

  "Jelly, get a pencil, will you? And write down this number." Blue read the number off the older style black telephone on the night table by the bed. "Call my cell first. This number second. The thing is, if Sam comes back early, call me—immediately or sooner, whichever comes first. Got that? There's no way I'm going to lose that island to Jack Roth—or anybody else."

  "Will do, but you know Sam, Blue. He's been talkin' about sellin' that island for years. You know how the old geezer waffles."

  "But this time he's going to do it. I know it."

  "If you say so. Anything else?" Jelly sounded skeptical.

  "Yeah, run a check on Three Wishes now and then, will you? She's secure, but I'd appreciate you looking in on her. I'll be back in twenty-one days tops—and thanks, Jelly."

  San Juan, one of the larger of the San Juan Islands, lay in a cluster of islands lying north of Seattle's Strait of Juan de Fuca and south of the Canadian boundary. For the last couple of years, this emerald gem was his home. He left it only when business demanded it. A business that, rhetorically at least, took him to Hollywood and Vine these days more often than Wall street.

  He ran a hand over his beard and headed for the shower. Twenty minutes later, a towel sarong-style around his hips, he strode back in the bedroom. Showered and shaved, he was, if not a new man, at least a reconditioned one. He was rooting around in his duffel for clean briefs when he heard the door open. He turned, watched, and smiled.

  Simone came straight at him, her attention focused on the papers in her hands. Her nose nearly bumped his chest before she realized he was there. Dazed, she stared at his bare chest, then quickly raised her eyes.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked, looking around as if to verify where she was.

  "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

  "But you're in the main guest room; it adjoins mine. When I'm here I use it for an office. This—" Her voice rose slightly.