by Rickie Blair
“Who’s back?”
“My stalker.”
Hari leaned on one elbow and stared at her, his chest tightening.
“Your stalker? Are you in danger?”
“I don’t know, to be honest. Probably not. But he’s … unpredictable.”
Hari sat up, pressed a hand to his side, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
“I’m getting up.”
“No, don’t.” She gripped his arm, holding him back. “Wait till I’ve told you the whole story. There’s no need for heroics.”
“Talk fast.”
“He was a kid. Late teens. I met him in foster care and he attached himself to me, in that way kids do sometimes. We kicked around together a bit, but I hadn’t seen him in years.”
“What changed?”
“He showed up at Capital Street one day and threatened to tell them about my past.”
“Unless you paid him.”
She nodded. “But then he wanted more. A job. I arranged for him to work at a company in New Jersey that’s affiliated with Capital Street.” She took a deep breath. “But now, he’s working for Fulton.”
“Doing what?”
“I have no idea. Hari, what should I do?”
She gave him a beseeching look that melted his heart. He reached out and enfolded her in his arms, overwhelmed by the need to keep her safe.
“If he shows up again, I’ll make sure he never comes back. And if he harasses you in any way, Leta, you must call the police.”
“What if he tells Fulton about me?”
“Tells him what? About a few underage exploits? Those records are sealed. And he’d have to reveal his own past to explain how he knows about them.”
“I guess you’re right.” She pulled away and stiffened her jaw. “And if he does come here, I’m ready.” She reached over and opened a drawer on the nightstand, pulled out a handgun, and placed it on the bed between them.
Hari stared at it.
“You look surprised,” she said.
“No, I—okay, I am surprised.” He forced a smile. “If I known you were armed, I wouldn’t have been so … familiar.”
“Good thing you didn’t know, then.” Her mouth twitched.
He picked up the gun. It was heavier than he expected.
“Is this loaded?”
“No, but I keep the ammunition in the same drawer.” She reached over and pulled out a magazine. “It goes in like this.” She clicked it into place, showed him how to rack the slide, and then removed the clip. “I’ll leave it unloaded for now.”
“Good idea.” He watched her drop the gun and magazine into the drawer and close it. “Is that locked?”
“The drawer? No. That wouldn’t help much in an emergency, would it? Those are expanding bullets, by the way.”
“Which means?”
“Which means if you hit somebody with one, it makes quite a mess.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Now get over here.” She snuggled up against him. “There won’t be be any emergencies, Leta. Not if I can help it.” He buried his face in her hair and her breath warmed his chest.
She slipped from his grasp and slid off the bed.
“I have to get ready for work.” She smiled at him from across the room and his pulse raced the same way it had at the hospital when he saw her face in the doorway.
By the time Leta emerged from the shower, wrapped in a terrycloth robe, Hari was in the kitchen. She padded across the bare floor and he handed her a mug of coffee.
“Thanks.” She sipped it and sighed heavily. “I should have left for work an hour ago.”
He nodded, glancing at the front door.
“My apartment won’t be fit to live in until the super arranges a locksmith. I hate to ask, but if I’m staying here for a few days—”
“You’ll need a key.” She reached for her purse on the kitchen counter, pulled out a leather Gucci keychain and dangled it in front of him. “Spare keys. The building’s front door, and my door.”
“Thanks. My place should be back together by the weekend and I’ll return them.”
She shrugged. “Keep them.”
His chest expanded as he stared at her.
“Are you giving me a key to your apartment?”
“Not if you don’t want it.”
“Of course I do. I’m just—surprised.”
“Don’t be. I might need someone to water my plants.”
He glanced around the sparsely furnished room.
“You don’t have any plants.”
Her lips twitched.
“Not yet.”
Chapter Nineteen
The woman’s voice on his phone sounded familiar. “It’s Ruby Delaney,” she said. “Ford Robinson suggested I talk to you about investments.”
Vincent Quinn tucked his cellphone against his shoulder. That pudgy ex-actor had warned him Delaney might call. Robinson thought she was trouble, but he was probably wrong as usual.
“Did you have a specific investment in mind, Miss Delaney?”
“Yes, I’m interested in that fund Natalia Wolff and her friends are in. She said you represent it.”
“I do. But it’s fully subscribed at the moment. No more room.” He poked his tongue into his cheek. Let her squirm.
“That’s too bad. I hoped—”
He cleared his throat.
“Of course, if you had a substantial investment in mind—”
“How substantial?”
“At this point, they’re reluctant to take on anyone new for less than a million.”
“I can do that.”
Quinn broke into a grin. This was the lucky break he needed, but it was vital not to sound too eager.
“I can give you fifteen minutes, no more. You’re Upper West Side, correct? As it happens, I have a meeting uptown this afternoon. Meet me in an hour. I’ll text you the address.”
He clicked off the call without waiting for her response.
* * *
As the light changed and the Town Car drove through the intersection, Quinn pulled out his cellphone and keyed in a number. A woman answered.
“It’s me,” Quinn said. “I need to make a withdrawal.”
“Not allowed.”
He frowned, tapping his thigh and looking out the window.
“I know that. Let me talk to him.”
“He’s busy. And he has no reason to talk to you.”
“Tell him I can give him one million reasons.”
“Hold on. I’ll see if that makes any difference.”
Raymond Fulton came on the line.
“You have someone who wants to invest a million dollars? Who?”
“Ruby Delaney, the actress.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No, it’s not a joke. She called me today and I’m on my way to meet her now.” Quinn pressed his hand against the door as the car veered around a corner.
“I thought you said that she and Hari Bhatt are investigating Global TradeFair.”
“Bhatt is. Delaney’s name is on the company but she doesn’t have much to do with it. Must be a silent partner or something.”
“Yet suddenly she wants to invest a million through you? Quite a coincidence.”
“Give me a little credit. It’s not a coincidence. Maybe I missed something.”
“I hope not, for your sake.”
The phone shook in Quinn’s hand, and he drew a deep breath before replying.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you should do as you’re told.”
“Or what?” His voice rose. “You think I haven’t been taking notes all this time?”
Fulton didn’t reply, and Quinn nodded. That was good, it meant he had the old goat’s attention.
“And there’s something else.”
“Oh?”
“I want to withdraw my investment. Today. Or at least by tomorrow.”
The car pulled over a block from the café and the driver turned to fa
ce him. “We’re there.”
Quinn held up a finger. The driver popped a stick of gum into his mouth, leaned back on the headrest and tilted his cap over his eyes.
“Is there a problem?” Quinn said into the phone. “You told me I could take my money out any time I wanted. So when can I sign the papers?”
“That’s not possible at present. We’ll arrange for a delivery.”
A sudden chill raised goosebumps on Quinn’s arms. Delivery? As in, personally?
“Can’t you email me the paperwork and deposit the money to my account?”
“You’ve been an important part of our organization and I would like to thank you in person before you leave town.”
“Leave?”
“You do intend to leave, don’t you? Isn’t that why you want the cash?”
Quinn nervously straightened his tie and glanced at the passing traffic. How could Fulton know that?
“I might take a vacation or something, but I’m not going anywhere.”
Silence.
“I said, I’m not going anywhere.”
“May I ask, why now? Why do you need the money now?”
Why? Because he would be boarding a plane the minute the cash hit his account, that’s why. He smirked. Best not tell Fulton that.
“Remember that actor and his friends? Ford Robinson? A few of them are getting worked up and asking questions about withdrawals.”
Fulton gave a derisive snort.
“I told you small investors like that would be more trouble than they’re worth.”
“I know, but—”
“If they withdraw their money, they won’t be allowed back in. Nor will you.”
“I told them, but they’re not listening.” Quinn propped the phone on his shoulder and wiped a handkerchief across his moist palms. “I think Delaney is getting them worked up.”
“So you intend to withdraw your investment and disappear before they do the same.”
“I never said—”
“Withdrawals are out of the question at the moment. The market has been fractious of late.”
Fractious? What pretentious bullshit.
“Can I have my money or not?”
“If you can’t convince your clients to leave their investments alone, tap your usual source to pay them out. Then we’ll transfer their investment units into your account. That’s the best we can do.”
Their investment units? What good would that be? He needed cash.
“I can’t risk that with Bhatt watching.”
“Can he link you to the fund?”
“There’s no direct connection.”
“Then I don’t see the problem.”
Quinn sighed and shut his eyes, recalling his lover’s delighted squeals when he told her they would be on a plane to Paris before the end of the week. All he had to do first, he told her, was get his money.
“What if Delaney visits Global TradeFair? The offices, I mean?”
“Why would she do that?” Fulton asked.
“She might decide to get involved in the investigation.”
“I don’t like it. Shut them down.”
“How do you expect me to do that?”
“Scare them off.”
“That will take time.”
“So?”
Quinn switched the phone to his other shoulder.
“I need my money now.”
“Why the rush? Surely you and your little tart can wait a few weeks.”
Quinn’s cheeks flushed with anger.
“It’s my money, isn’t it? Why can’t I get at it?”
“You misunderstand me.” Fulton’s voice was soothing. “Shut down the investigation and placate your investors. Then we can make an exception and cash you out.” The line went dead.
Quinn tossed the phone on the seat beside him and lowered his head into his hands. The driver sat up and straightened his cap.
“Are you getting out?”
“Just a minute,” Quinn mumbled. With a sigh, he reached for the phone, made another call, and waited until a woman answered.
“Darling! I’m all packed. When do we leave?”
“That’s good, sweetie. But there’s a small delay. Just a day or two.”
“I’m so disappointed.”
Quinn pictured her full, pouting lips.
“I know, darling, but it can’t be helped. I’ll call you.”
He put the phone into his pocket and tapped the divider. When the driver turned around, Quinn pulled five hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and held them up.
“I have a proposition for you, fella.”
The driver raised his eyebrows.
“Is it legal?”
“I need you to scare somebody, that’s all. Nobody gets hurt.”
The driver reached for the bills.
“I’m listening.”
A few minutes later, Quinn watched as the car pulled away. Nobody gets hurt? Did it matter? With a shrug, he strode to the café and his meeting with Ruby Delaney.
Chapter Twenty
“Another refill, hon?”
Ruby looked up at the waitress who held a coffee pot poised over her cup.
“No thanks. Just the bill, please.”
She had been sitting in this coffee shop for over an hour waiting for Vincent Quinn. The fifteen minutes he promised to spend with her had been up forty-five minutes ago. But as Ruby pushed her empty cup away, a man spoke over her shoulder.
“Well?”
She looked up. A black man in his mid-thirties, wearing trendy heavy rimmed glasses, stood beside her. His tie was loosened, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and his suit jacket was slung over one shoulder by his thumb.
“Are you—?”
“Vincent Quinn. You wanted to see me?”
Ruby had expected a salesman like Ford Robinson, smiling and blustering and a little desperate. Quinn was nothing like that. He hung his jacket over the back of the chair opposite hers, smoothed the shoulders, then sat and motioned to the waitress.
“Medium latte, non-fat.” He turned to Ruby.
“I appreciate your seeing me, Mr. Quinn. I have a few questions.”
He raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
“As I told you on the phone, I’m interested in investing in the fund that Ford Robinson told me about. But I’d like a few more details.”
“Such as?”
“What is the fund invested in? And who manages it?”
“If Robinson’s already spoken to you, then you know the fund’s trading methods are proprietary. That means they don’t share them with me, and certainly not with you. And it’s managed by a Wall Street investment specialist who wishes to remain anonymous. It’s a closed fund, he can’t offer it to very many people, and he doesn’t want to be inundated with requests.”
“I don’t understand how—”
Quinn cut her off with a gesture of impatience.
“You’re either in with no questions asked, or you’re on the outside looking in.”
The waitress placed Quinn’s latte on the table.
“So.” He picked up his cup. “Are you in?”
His manner was nonchalant, but the look in his eyes was far from casual. Ruby shivered under his intense gaze.
“I don’t mean to be difficult, but I want to be certain I’m doing the right thing before I sign up. Are you a registered investment adviser, Mr. Quinn?”
“I’m advising you to take advantage of this opportunity, if that’s what you mean. You don’t realize how lucky you are. Robinson has several clients in this fund. Didn’t you talk to them?”
“Yes, but—”
“You have a lot of questions, Ruby.” He hooked his arm over the back of his chair and stared at her. “Why is that? Does it have anything to do with your relationship with Hari Bhatt?”
“That has nothing to do with this.”
“Doesn’t it?” He studied her face. “You know, a less level-headed man might take offense at these questions. Might
even think you’re accusing him of something.”
“I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. But if I’m investing a million dollars, I’m entitled to ask a few questions. And if you can’t give me any details about the fund’s portfolio, at least tell me who manages it. Who is this Wall Street investment manager?”
Quinn glanced around the restaurant and leaned toward her.
“Have you heard of Capital Street Management?”
“Raymond Fulton’s company? Are you saying that Fulton manages this fund?”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“If Capital Street manages this fund—”
“I didn’t say that.”
“—why is there no prospectus, or offering circular? I haven’t even seen a brochure. Isn’t that a little irregular?”
He stared at her and Ruby held her breath. Had she gone too far? She wouldn’t get answers by pissing him off. She smiled at him.
“Perhaps I could invest a smaller amount to start and see how it goes?”
“How much?”
“Five thousand?”
Quinn pushed his cup aside, placed both hands on the table and leaned in, his eyes intent on hers.
“Bhatt sent you, didn’t he?”
“What? No. I told you, he has nothing to do with this.”
He studied her for a moment before pushing his chair back.
“If you can’t recognize a good thing when you see it, that’s your problem. But if you persist with this line of enquiry, I can assure you that Robinson’s access to the fund will be shut off and his investors shut out. Then you can answer to them. And if I were you, I’d be very careful what I said about any Wall Street firm, never mind one as famous as Raymond Fulton’s. Do you understand?” His brow knitted as he scowled at her. She nodded, fidgeting with her cup.
Quinn picked up his jacket and walked out.
Ruby’s hand shook as she counted out money for the bill. She had antagonized Quinn for nothing. She winced, anticipating Hari’s reaction when she told him about her bungled interrogation attempt.
After walking outside she paused at the curb to watch the traffic stream by. Should she hail a cab or take the subway?
“Look out!” a voice shouted.
Ruby jerked her head left as tires screeched on a Town Car racing down the street, headed straight for her. She stood, frozen, as its wheels mounted the sidewalk a few yards away.
