by Irene Hannon
But she also needed to talk to Joe. Try to figure out how the cops had connected those bones to the ring they’d gone to such effort to remove.
She swiveled toward the expansive window in her office, but for once she didn’t savor the view from her executive suite. Instead, the gruesome scene from twenty-four years ago played out in her mind. The struggle to remove the ring. The realization that it wasn’t going to budge. Joe, at her prompt, digging out the pocketknife he’d always carried. The crack of bone, loud in the quiet woods, as Alena’s finger finally broke under the backward pressure she’d exerted. Erika barfing beside her. Joe going white as the full moon and looking away as she cut the finger free and removed the ring. The blood on her hands as she passed the ring to him for disposal.
The ring had not been in that grave. Joe had gotten rid of it.
At least that’s what he’d claimed.
But had he instead dropped it somewhere on the site—perhaps even in the grave—and not discovered his mistake until the next day when they all went their separate ways to dump the incriminating clothing they’d shredded?
If so, why hadn’t he told them? He had to know a missing ring was a major loose end.
No, that scenario didn’t hold up. Erika might make a fumble like that, but Joe was a lot more precise and buttoned up.
Yet what other explanation could there be?
A soft knock sounded on her door, and her heart stuttered as she checked the Waterford crystal clock on her credenza. She’d been gone from the meeting for twenty-five minutes. No doubt someone had been sent in search of her—and with the light-speed of gossip in this place, every member of the staff had likely already heard about her visit from the cops.
Better to kill any rumors before they got out of hand.
She’d worry about Joe later.
Replacing her scowl with the pleasant corporate face she’d perfected, she rested her hands on the arms of her chair and swiveled back toward the door of her glass-enclosed office.
Cathy stood on the other side.
Her scowl was back in an instant as she motioned her in. “What is it?”
The woman wiped her palms down her off-the-rack discount-store slacks, and Jessica’s nose twitched. They were better than her own bad-old-days Goodwill wardrobe as a child, but not by much. “I know this isn’t the best time, but I-I have a family emergency. My son’s coach called while you were talking to the police officers. Chris isn’t feeling well, and they want me to pick him up.”
“Get someone else to do it. I need you to finish making the changes to my PowerPoint presentation for the meeting tomorrow with Frank Nelson.” Jessica rose and strode toward the door. “I’ll be in the conference room.”
“But there’s only my mother, and she’s not in the best of health. It’s hard for her to—”
“That’s your problem.” She cut the woman off as she brushed past. “If you hadn’t made so many mistakes on the first draft, you wouldn’t have to worry about corrections. Have a clean version in my in-box by three o’clock.”
She exited without looking back.
Once outside the conference room door, she straightened her jacket, summoned up a smile, and slipped inside.
Gary was presenting, but fifteen heads swiveled toward her when he stopped, curiosity etched on every face.
So the rumor mill had, indeed, been active during their break.
“Go ahead, Gary. I want to keep this moving.” Robert rose and joined her in the back of the room. “Everything all right?” His expression was benevolent—but at odds with his undertone of concern.
No surprise there. Scandal was anathema to the CEO. Peterson-Bradshaw had a sterling reputation, and as he’d said on many occasions, if you lose your reputation, you lose everything. Hadn’t he let both an account executive and secretary go after they’d violated the company’s non-fraternizing rule by indulging in a fling? As he’d told the employees in a full-company meeting after their departure, there was zero tolerance for anything that could tarnish the company or bring its high moral standing into question. Their conservative clients wouldn’t stand for it—and neither would he.
She had to play this just right.
“Yes. Everything’s fine. I’m sorry Cathy interrupted the meeting.” She gave him a topline of the police discovery, glossing over her association with the dead girl, her tone calm and reassuring. “They’re talking again to everyone who knew her. I wish I could have been more helpful, but as I told the police at the time, I was only acquainted with her because she was the roommate of a friend of mine. My memory of her is even less clear after all these years. But you have to commend the authorities for following up on such an old case.”
“Well . . .” The parallel creases above his nose smoothed out. “I’m glad it wasn’t anything serious—from your perspective, anyway. As soon as Gary wraps up, we’ll get back to your presentation.” He motioned for her to retake her seat at the table.
She slid into her place, casting a surreptitious glance toward Robert as Gary resumed. His full attention was once again focused on the presenter. As usual, the head of the firm had addressed a prickly issue, dealt with it, and moved on. She’d convinced him there was no need to worry. That nothing connected with her would hurt Peterson-Bradshaw’s reputation or undermine his plans for his heir apparent.
And nothing would.
She’d make sure of it.
Mac drained the dregs of his coffee and stood. Time to get back to work.
As he tossed the empty cup into the trash container next to the coffee bar in the lobby of the Peterson-Bradshaw building, the elevator door opened. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a figure in dark glasses making a beeline toward the front door.
Jessica Lee’s secretary.
Why was she in such a hurry?
Heeding his gut, he followed her.
By the time he exited through the revolving door, she was halfway down the block. A dozen seconds later, she made a sharp right and disappeared.
Picking up his pace, he kept his gaze on the spot where he’d lost sight of her.
As he approached the edge of the building, he slowed. A collection of shrubs and small trees came into view between the two tall, adjacent structures, marking the entrance to one of the tiny pocket parks scattered around the business district. A nice concept—no more than a bench or two, with lush plantings that disguised the concrete jungle, but they offered businesspeople privacy and a moment of respite from their busy lives.
Not that he’d ever had a spare minute to linger in one.
But the way Cathy had headed straight here, it wasn’t her first visit.
He stepped into the narrow opening between the shrubs, zeroing in on her at once. In the leafy privacy, she’d claimed the only bench. Shoulders shaking, she was bent forward, her head in her hands.
A study in misery.
Because of something that had happened at work—or might her distress have a bearing on Alena’s case?
Whatever the cause, he couldn’t walk away at this point. His SEAL buddies had nailed his personality with that Uncle Sam moniker they’d sometimes used for him, which had no connection to the U.S. of A.; he’d been born with the Good Samaritan gene.
Moving toward her, he made no attempt to hide his approach. In fact, he was careful to create enough noise to alert someone who was half deaf to his presence.
As he drew closer, she jerked upright, uttered a small gasp, and sprang to her feet. Tension radiated off her in waves.
He stopped. One step closer, she might bolt.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I stopped to have some coffee in the lobby and saw you run out.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled, doing his best to appear as nonthreatening as possible. “Blame it on my mom, but I was brought up to come to the aid of women in distress—even if that’s not too PC these days. At the risk of being called a chauvinist or getting clobbered . . . is everything okay?”
He coul
dn’t read her eyes behind the dark glasses, but her stiff shoulders relaxed a hair. “Yes. I—I’m fine. I just needed a . . . a breath of fresh air.”
The tremor in her hands, clearly visible from several yards away as she pushed her hair back, belied her words.
But unless he could detain her, she was going to flee before he had a chance to find out why she was upset—and to dig a bit deeper into the dynamics of her office.
“By the way, the name is Mac McGregor. We were never properly introduced.” Taking a chance, he extended his hand and closed the gap between them.
She gave it a wary look, then reached out. “Cathy Ryan.”
Her fingers were ice cold—and quivering.
When he released them, she clutched her purse to her chest. “I appreciate your concern. Today’s been a little . . . rocky.”
“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?”
“Not unless you can conjure up a new job for me.”
The perfect opening.
Keeping his tone and stance casual, he slipped off his jacket and hooked it over his shoulder with a finger. “Peterson-Bradshaw isn’t such a great place to work?”
She hesitated. “The place is fine.”
Almost the same thing she’d said as she’d walked them out.
But this time he could follow up on the enigmatic comment. Fortunately, he’d done his homework on the firm.
“I know the company has a stellar reputation, but I guess politics can be an issue everywhere. I get the impression Robert Bradshaw is a by-the-book kind of guy. I suppose he can be a hard taskmaster.”
“Oh no. Mr. Bradshaw is super. He expects a lot, but he’s fair.” She looked down. Fiddled with the clasp on her purse. “My problems are closer to my desk.”
Careful, careful. Don’t scare her off.
“With Jessica Lee?”
She hesitated again.
“I don’t mean to undercut your loyalty to your boss, of course.”
The woman snorted. “I have no loyalty to her.” She whipped off her sunglasses to reveal puffy, red-rimmed eyes now flashing with anger. “She’s nice to the people who matter, but she treats me—and every other underling—like dirt. You want the truth? I don’t have any idea why you needed to talk to her today, but I hope she’s in big trouble!”
Whoa.
Not the kind of reaction he’d expected.
Before he could respond to her bitter words, she sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.” Her shoulders slumped again, and she groped in her purse for a tissue. “I’m not usually vindictive.”
“It sounds as if you have legitimate reasons for the way you feel.”
“I do. But it’s still wrong.” She swiped at her nose. “I just reached the breaking point today, I guess.”
“May I ask what happened?”
She let out a quiet, resigned sigh. “It’s a long story. More than you’d want to know, trust me.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t interested.”
She assessed him for a moment, then launched into an explanation about her son’s injury, her mother’s poor health, and her husband’s struggle with ALS. “I’d quit, but this job has great pay and benefits. I was very blessed to get it, with only a junior-college education. But I’m afraid Jessica will fire me eventually, anyway. Nothing I do seems to please her. And it’s not like she’s going anywhere. Rumor has it she’ll step into Robert Bradshaw’s shoes whenever he retires.” As Cathy’s eyes teared up, she slipped her glasses back on.
Mac searched for some words of comfort but came up with only the pat response. “I’m sorry things are so difficult.”
“Me too.” She checked her watch and hoisted her purse onto her shoulder. “I have to get back. The meeting she’s in could wind down anytime. I just needed five minutes alone.”
“Instead, you had to put up with me.”
She swallowed. “Believe me, I appreciate the friendly ear. But I hope . . . that is, I wouldn’t want anything I said here to get back to Jessica.” An anxious note crept into her voice.
“Don’t worry. She won’t hear a word about our conversation from me.”
Some of the strain in the woman’s features eased. “Thank you. I hope the rest of your day will be better than mine.”
With that, she hurried toward the entrance and exited onto the sidewalk.
Mac gave her a head start, then followed.
As he emerged from the green oasis, he looked down the street. She was already pushing through the door of the office building. Heading back to face the woman who’d so graciously greeted him and Lisa.
Mac surveyed the building that housed the offices of Peterson-Bradshaw. He still might not have a handle on what Jessica Lee knew about Alena’s death or the role she’d played in it, but he did know one thing.
There was a whole lot more to the PR executive than met the eye—and there were some very dark places under her veneer of civility.
Erika closed the door behind her departing attorney, flipped the lock with shaky fingers, and leaned her forehead against the wood.
She was going to lose everything.
Not today or tomorrow—but soon.
All because Jack was a crook.
A tear leaked out of her eye, and she stumbled toward the study. She needed a scotch.
Straight up.
No ice.
Halfway there, she stopped.
No. Jess had said to lay off the booze—and she was right. If the police were going to be nosing around, she needed to keep her wits about her.
But Jess hadn’t said anything about cigarettes.
She changed direction and hurried toward her stash in the kitchen.
Once there, she rooted through the drawer until her fingers closed over a new pack. Using her fingernail, she ripped off the cellophane and shook out a cigarette—or a coffin nail, as her father used to say. But who cared? If the courts took everything she had, what was the point of living? Jack had long ago plowed through the trust fund her parents had left her. She’d be penniless, with no means of support.
And no one gave a rip about her sorry state—even her so-called friends.
After flicking the lighter on the end of the cigarette, she took a long drag, sat on the stool at the counter, and eyed the phone. Speaking of friends . . . Jess had said she’d call, but the phone had been silent all afternoon.
Surprise, surprise.
Not.
Miss High-and-Mighty had always done things her way, pushed everyone else around, acted like she was the only one who ever had an intelligent thought.
Well, she wasn’t.
Joe was smart too.
And while no one had ever praised Erika Butler’s great intellect, she wasn’t dumb, either—except when it came to Jack, maybe. Allowing him to sweet-talk her with his grandiose dreams had been dumb.
Real dumb.
But she was smart about other things.
A lot smarter than Jess thought.
She took another puff. Blew the smoke toward the ceiling.
In fact, if she put her mind to it, she could surely think of some way out of her financial mess. Not that she’d ever be able to make a fortune the way Jess had, with her high-paying, perk-filled, jet-setting job. There were no plush offices or stock options or a CEO spot in her future.
Tapping the ash into her orange juice glass from this morning, she studied the pulp congealed against the sides. No, she wasn’t smart enough or focused enough to achieve that kind of success. Jessica Lee had been well on the road to independent wealth and status long before she’d married that doctor who died. Erika Butler’s designer clothes and fancy car, on the other hand, were courtesy of other people’s money.
She sucked in another lungful of nicotine.
Other people’s money.
Hmm.
She toed off the high-heeled pump that was pinching her foot, letting the seed of a plan take root.
Now that was an interest
ing idea.
She blew out the smoke. Tapped off the ash.
There was some risk, but if it worked, she wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore. She could start over. Move somewhere else and create a new life for herself.
And hadn’t her father always said anything worth doing required some risk? That the reward was, in fact, often proportionate to the degree of risk?
Besides, what did she really have to lose? If it didn’t work, she’d be no worse off than she was now—broke and facing a dismal future. Jess might dump her, but so what? She hadn’t been the best of friends, anyway.
Erika straightened her shoulders, stubbed out her cigarette, and stood.
For once in her life, she was going to take the initiative. Go for the gold. Do what she wanted to do instead of what someone else told her to do.
But she wasn’t going to act on impulse. She’d think this through before she took any action. Analyze all the pros and cons, then make careful plans, like Jess always did.
And if all went well, maybe her financial problems would soon be history.
14
How was your day?”
As her mother handed her a raspberry-flavored water, Lisa swirled a piece of celery in the low-fat dip. “Busy.”
Stephanie Grant rolled her eyes. “Why do I even ask?”
“How are the preemies?”
Her mother’s expression softened. “Precious.”
Lisa grinned. “Why do I even ask?”
“Touché.” Her mom turned the chicken breasts she was sautéing. “How is the bones case coming along?”
“That’s one of the reasons I had a busy Wednesday.” Lisa opened the cabinet and removed two plates. “Are we eating in or out?”
“In. It’s too hot for the patio. Maybe we’ll go out for dessert.”
“Works for me.” She moved to the table, grabbing cutlery on the way. “I interviewed another one of the girl’s classmates today.”
“Find out anything interesting?”
Lisa lined up a spoon and knife next to a plate on the table. “She was very cool and professional. But there were a couple of subtle slips that made us think she was giving a very polished performance.”
