Desperate Measures

by Linda Cajio

  “At least you wised up, packed up your bank accounts, and came home,” her grandmother said.

  Ellen closed her eyes as the familiar, sharp pain of loss ripped through her. The price for that wisdom had been terrible. She would gladly have continued to sacrifice her pride and dignity to Florian if she hadn’t lost her son, Paulo. But whatever dreams or hopes she’d had crumbled, and she had come home divorced and disgraced. Only the very conventional Lettice Kitteridge had surprised everyone and stood by her granddaughter’s side. Since then, Ellen had been content to drift.

  “There you go blanking out again!” Lettice snapped.

  Ellen opened her eyes to find her grandmother glaring at her.

  Lettice went on. “I know everyone acted like an idiot about the accident and your divorce. Especially that boneheaded son of mine. Good thing he and your mother have taken to living in Palm Beach year round now. My blood still boils when I think of the way they’ve both cut you off.” Lettice clamped her jaw shut.

  “I’m sorry I caused a rift between you and my father,” Ellen said in a low voice.

  Lettice rapped a spoon against the table. “Don’t be silly, Ellen. I’ve told you before: When they handed out brains, your father was in the short line. Your mother too. None of us have gotten along for years. When I think of the genes you could have inherited … Now that was a real crapshoot. Fortunately, you came up a winner.”

  Chuckling, Ellen shook her head.

  “Still, back to my point,” Lettice said. “You’ve had a right to hide yourself away after all that’s happened. But you’ve been moping around ever since you came back from Europe. It’s about time you stopped being depressed, Ellen, and pulled yourself up by the bootstraps.”

  Ellen started laughing. She couldn’t help it. Her grandmother’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “Only you would order someone out of a depression, Grandmother.”

  “Of course. So you will go to the charity dance,” Lettice said, bringing Ellen abruptly back to the issue under discussion.

  She smiled. It was obvious her grandmother was ready to do battle. She hated to disappoint her, but a charity dance wasn’t worth the fight.

  “If it will make you happy, then I’ll go to the dance.”

  “Good,” her grandmother pronounced with clear satisfaction. “Now, I have an escort in mind—”

  “I don’t need a date,” Ellen said firmly. Her grandmother had tried to fix her up before, but Ellen had no interest in “dates.” A little voice inside her suggested one particular man might be a very interesting date. She ignored it. Joe Carlini had literally sailed out the door, and she ought to be grateful for that. One Italian in her life had been more than enough.

  “But—”

  “Don’t push your luck,” Ellen said, rising from the luncheon table. She walked around it and kissed the older woman’s cheek. “I’ll find my own date if I need one, thank you very much.”

  “I just want you to be happy,” Lettice said in an innocent tone.

  Ellen shook her head. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a manipulator of the first water?”

  “I take pride in it, my dear,” Lettice said, smiling at her. “You’re getting very uppity, you know.”

  “This family could use another Anne,” Ellen said pointedly.

  “Heaven forbid!” her grandmother exclaimed. “Your cousin is a trial.”

  Ellen chuckled. The clashes between her independent cousin and the “matriarch” of the family were notorious. Still, she wished she had some of Anne’s courage for confrontation. Instead, she always took the easy route. Like now.

  “I suppose it’s enough that you’ve agreed to attend,” her grandmother finally said in clear defeat. Obviously, one Anne was enough.

  “It’s all you’re going to get,” Ellen said, smiling to take any sting out of her words.

  “I’ll take it. But you ought to get out more. About the only place you’ll go to willingly is that spa of yours.”

  “Yes, grandmother,” Ellen said, her tone meek to cover renewed amusement. It wasn’t her fault if Grandmother assumed her morning excursions were to an Elizabeth Arden’s.

  The doorbell rang, and Ellen glanced up in surprise. She knew nobody was expected. Shrugging, she said, “I’ll get it.”

  “Mamie will do it,” Lettice said.

  “Mamie’s in the kitchen cleaning up the luncheon dishes,” Ellen reminded her. “Sometimes I think you’re back in the thirties, Grandmother. I’m surprised you never took President Roosevelt to task for his methods of fixing the Great Depression.”

  “I did, dear,” Lettice said smugly.

  “I’ll still answer the door.”

  As she walked to the door, Ellen couldn’t keep her thoughts from turning back yet again to the other day. She had been indulging herself at the rink in New Jersey, far from her grandmother’s Gladwyne, Pennsylvania, home. That wonderful urge to get on skates and “bop” to the music was one she had acquired in boarding school. It had gotten her into trouble before. Maybe she ought to blame the school for giving her a flamboyant roommate, she thought. Cecilia St. Martin had taught her to skate in the first place.

  Now she was older and wiser about the “acceptable.” Truthfully, it was nobody’s business what she did, but she had no wish to upset her grandmother needlessly. Lettice had firm notions about what was acceptable. Still, rebellion was one thing, privacy quite another.

  Ellen swallowed, her steps slowing. But then she had met a man. One very sexy man. At thirty, she had sternly told herself, she should be long past schoolgirl reactions to handsome men. Still, she had rushed out of that rink at the first opportunity, as if the hounds of hell were after her. If ever there was a time to let sleeping dogs lie, this was it. And the dogs had better be deep in dreamland. She had no desire to complicate her life any more than it already was.

  At least she’d hung around long enough to see that Joe Carlini had been unhurt, she thought, chuckling as she remembered his grand exit. She knew she shouldn’t be laughing, but she couldn’t help it. It seemed so long since a man had made her laugh.

  A picture of his strong, darkly tanned Roman features flashed across her mind, and she immediately sobered. He was good-looking, she admitted. Even without the skates, he would be quite tall. His hair was almost black, which wasn’t surprising given his heritage, yet his eyes were an unexpected light brown, nearly hazel. Under his easy exterior, she had sensed a power that came from a man used to being in command.

  Ellen groaned as she tried to force her thoughts in another, safer direction before she answered the door. And she tried with even less success to ignore the little voice that said she had had more than help on her mind when she’d first approached Joe at the rink. She wouldn’t have left anyone struggling along as he had been. She knew she wouldn’t. She’d had to offer help. And then, when she had looked into his eyes, she had been momentarily willing to do anything for him. She understood the expression “like lightning” all too well now. She had been struck.

  And she didn’t need that, she told herself. Not now, not ever. Hadn’t she had a whopper of a lesson about men? She’d even sworn off Italian food, for goodness’ sakes! And she certainly wasn’t interested in any Americanized version of her ex-husband. Or in any man. She’d had about all the infamy and excitement any person was entitled to.

  All she wanted now was peace and quiet. A lot of peace and quiet. She had a feeling that there wouldn’t be any with a man like Joe Carlini.

  She opened the double front doors to find her wish completely shattered.

  Joe Carlini smiled at her.

  Two

  “Hello, Ellen,” he said.

  She just stared at him as a jumble of sensations ran through her.

  “Aren’t you going to say ‘Hello, Joe’?” he asked.

  “Hello, Joe,” she parroted, still in shock. His gray suit and dark blue tie made him more attractive. Too damn attractive. She blinked and tried to pull herself toget
her. And immediately lost it. “How did you find me? I never said … Who told you? Nobody could. Nobody knows who I am. I mean nobody at the rink knows who I am.”

  “They do if they read the papers,” he replied. “You shouldn’t go to events that make the society column.”

  “Who thought anyone even glanced at that thing?” she muttered, realizing she had given herself away. It must have been the Children’s Burn Center fund-raiser. That was the only public function she’d gone to recently.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Just cursing the fates.”

  Joe grinned, and she remembered that she’d said something similar at the rink.

  “You were part of the background of the picture they printed,” he said. “A very pretty part of it.”

  “Thank you.” The photographer must have had the largest wide angle-lens in existence, she thought. She had been sitting as far away from any picture-taking as possible.

  Instantly she pushed the thought away. She should be more concerned that Joe had sought her out. He must have gone to a lot of trouble too; she wasn’t in the phone book. She couldn’t think of one reason he should want to find her. People didn’t trace people from newspaper pictures just to say “Howdy.”

  “Ellen? Who is it?”

  Ellen groaned at the sound of Lettice’s voice. There was no sense trying to explain this to her grandmother.

  “Just an acquaintance,” she called back to the dining room. “I’ll be there in a moment, Grandmother.”

  She stepped outside and pulled the doors closed. The interruption had given her a moment to regain her equilibrium. But she sensed that under Joe’s friendly exterior was a powerful cat stalking its increasingly mesmerized prey. The thought was scary.

  Then it clicked in her head why a man she didn’t know and hadn’t encouraged would seek her out.

  He was a fortune hunter.

  Anger shot through her at the thought. It made sense. After all, she’d married one. And she’d attracted them before that. There must be a sign on her forehead that said Sucker. This one, though, was very bold for coming here out of the blue. His suave manners and pretty compliments were probably designed to smooth over the shock of his sudden appearance. She would bet what was left of her trust fund that his excuse for coming was that he had found a skate key and just knew it had to be hers.

  “I would really like to talk to you about that day at the rink,” he said. His smile was so casual on the surface. “Is there somewhere more private—”

  “I’m very comfortable here,” she interrupted, which wasn’t exactly true. She felt warm, and she had no idea why. Then she realized her traitorous body was responding to the closeness of his. She edged away from him and focused on his face.

  He was frowning at her. “Okay. Do you remember the man I pointed out to you when we were skating together?”

  Bewildered by the totally unexpected question, she nodded.

  “Did you happen to see him stop and talk to anybody?”

  “I …” She paused. He asked the strangest questions for a fortune hunter. “Are you a policeman?”

  It was his turn to look bewildered. “No.”

  “Then I don’t think I should tell you.”

  “But … Why?”

  “Because I don’t know who you are.” He started to speak, but she held up her hand. “I mean, I don’t know you or anything about you or the man you’re asking about. And you’re not a policeman doing your job or anything. It’s only common sense.”

  “Maybe I’m trying to give him his lottery winnings,” Joe pointed out.

  “They announce the winning numbers on TV,” she said, setting her jaw. She vaguely remembered the man he was asking about standing with someone after Joe had made his exit. Still, it would be foolish to say anything. And this need for her “help” could be a ruse to somehow gain her confidence. She wasn’t quite ready to let go of her fortune-hunter theory. She wasn’t sure she should. “I can’t help you.”

  He took a deep breath and stared hard at her, clearly becoming frustrated with her. “Look, it’s all right. He’s my cousin, Mario Penza. I’m the chief executive officer of Carlini Foods, and Mario works for me. I eat all my vegetables and think fairly clean thoughts, if you need a further recommendation. Believe me, I really am a good guy.”

  He seemed just as earnest and charming as he had been at the rink, and she could feel that invisible pull urging her to move closer to the heat and protection of him.

  Ellen swallowed and forced the urge away. What he said he was and what he was could be two different things. She’d been fooled before. About time she started being overly cautious, she thought with satisfaction. Her grandmother would be proud.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  He made a face. Hunching his shoulders, he shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “I guess I should feel complimented. Most people think I’m so upstanding that I’m dull.”

  The last thing he looked was dull.…

  Suddenly, the polished brass doorknob was pulled from her hand. She whipped around as the door swung open to reveal her grandmother.

  “Ellen, where are your manners?” Lettice asked reprovingly. “This is too long to be out on the step. Even if your friend can’t stay, you could at least ask him into the house.”

  Ellen groaned loudly. “Grandmother, you don’t understand—”

  “I understand rudeness.”

  “Your granddaughter is being cautious,” Joe said. “I’m Joe Carlini. Ellen and I have met only once before, when she rescued me at the roller skating rink.”

  “That’s done it,” Ellen muttered.

  “Roller skating rink?” her grandmother repeated, her eyebrows shooting up in perfect, outraged arches.

  Joe nodded innocently. Ellen closed her eyes in resignation.

  “Yes,” she heard him say. “She’s very good on skates, but I’m sure you know that.”

  “I see.”

  Ellen opened her eyes as her grandmother turned to her.

  “I thought we discussed this once before,” Lettice said coldly.

  The queen of England could take lessons in being regal from Lettice Kitteridge, Ellen thought, then shook her head. Really, this was ridiculous. Lettice had caught her coming home from a rink during a vacation from school when she was sixteen, and she’d been the victim of a “discussion” then. Sixteen, for heaven’s sake! Anyway, she’d told herself enough times that she was a grown woman. Now she ought to start acting like one.

  “We did discuss this before, Grandmother.” She gazed steadily into the older woman’s eyes. “Nearly fifteen years ago. I’m thirty now and answerable only to me.”

  Her grandmother drew herself up even straighter. “We will discuss this—”

  “No. This is the end of the discussion.”

  Lettice gaped at her in astonishment. It wasn’t surprising, Ellen admitted, as she took the opportunity to brush past Joe and head for the garage around the left side of the mansion. Sometimes her grandmother took the term “grande dame” a little too seriously. Over her shoulder she added, “I’ve decided I need a dress for the dance, Grandmother, so I’m going to Suki Rosen’s now. I’ll be home in time for a pleasant dinner. Good day, Joe.”

  That wasn’t so bad, she decided as she made her escape. In fact, it was downright invigorating to stand up for herself.

  “That was a very good speech,” Joe said, catching up with her.

  She glanced over in surprise and was disconcerted to see him keeping pace with her.

  “It was meant for you too,” she said, and turned back again. She stared blankly at the blooming azaleas lining the walkway, trying to ignore him. It wasn’t easy. Her hand brushed against his and hot fire burned its way to her shoulder before she could move away.

  “I wish I could be nicer about this,” he said, “but unfortunately I’m too desperate. All I need is a description, or even just that he was huddled with somebody. Anybody. It’s extremely importan
t.”

  He sounded more sincere than before. She forced herself not to feel guilty. “Then ask your cousin. If that’s what he is.”

  “He is, but I don’t think he would tell me if I asked him.”

  “Then I can’t help you. Good day, Joe.”

  She hustled past him and ran to the garages. It wasn’t until she was in the Audi passing both him and her grandmother that she allowed herself to sigh with relief. She acknowledged that she’d just gained a bit of self-respect.

  And a little peace and quiet.

  She thought he was a nut.

  Of course, she would, Joe admitted dryly, as he sat in his large corner office of Carlini Foods later that afternoon. Every time she saw him, he was acting like one. He might be able to run a company, but he was lousy at the espionage business. He shouldn’t complain about her reaction, anyway. After the way she had disappeared from the rink, his had been no better. He’d thought she was the person Mario was to meet. They had both conveniently disappeared while he’d been falling on his face. The theory made sense—until he’d seen her picture in the paper.

  Ignoring the piles of paperwork cluttering his huge, polished teak desk, he stared at the photograph. It made no sense for someone like Ellen Kitteridge to be involved in stealing Carlini Foods’ most closely guarded secret. He doubted she’d do something for “kicks.” She just didn’t seem that way. After all, she had once been a princess, a job with no time for kicks, he was sure. Knowing she had been married to an Italian playboy prince was vaguely intimidating. He wasn’t sure why, but it was. No wonder she had seemed familiar, though. She had been in the news enough times. More than her fair share, really.

  The death of her child had been international front-page headlines. How, he wondered in awe and sympathy, had she survived that?

  After discovering who she was, he should have realized she’d been guarding her privacy. If he had told her the truth about Mario right away, maybe she would have been more willing to talk, he decided belatedly. Instead, he’d been vague because of his own caution, and then there hadn’t been an opportunity to correct the matter. Witnessing the discussion between her and her grandmother, he had finally known why she had left the rink without a good-bye. She skated on the sly.