She had strength and stamina and grace … important attributes for her line of work, Luke ruthlessly told himself, trying to ignore the sudden need to feel her wet body pressed hard against him.
She levered herself out of the water, dragged a towel over herself a few times, pulled the green caftan she'd been wearing back over her head, and started for the house. Luke walked around the pool, meeting her halfway.
"Ms. Alcott, I'd like to speak with you."
"Oh, not again," she said disgustedly.
He couldn't help but smile. It was one of her more annoying habits: no matter how damn mad he was, she could make him smile. "I'm afraid so," he said. "I owe you an apology and I intend to make it."
Apparently puzzled, she peered up at the blue sky and then looked at him. "You've been out in the sun too long, Mansfield. Better get inside before your hallucinations get worse."
She started to walk around him, but Luke had no intention of starting that old dance again. He grabbed her arm—gently.
"Hold it right there," he said. "I am bigger and stronger than you, so forget any ideas about walking away from this. I am going to apologize to you and you are going to listen!"
She shifted most of her weight onto one leg and sighed heavily. "All right, all right. Just get it over with."
This was not a helpful attitude, particularly when Luke was not precisely in the habit of apologizing to anyone. Remembering what he was apologizing for, he hurriedly released her arm.
"I'm sorry for using Brute Squad tactics on you this morning," he said, forcing himself to be sincere rather than relying on the safety of anger. "I should never have manhandled you like that. Nor should I have thought, let alone said, such horrible things to you. You're an acknowledged con and thief, but you would no more prostitute yourself to win your case than I would. So I apologize for every insulting thing I said to you … last night and this morning."
"Are you done yet?" Tess asked in a bored voice.
Every good intention flew out of his head. "You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met! Has your life of crime so completely corrupted you that you can't even accept an honest apology?"
"It's a free country, Mansfield. I can accept, or refuse, what I choose. I don't like your bullying tactics, I don't like your filthy mind, and I don't like you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to change."
"Change? That's a good one," Luke sneered. "What role are you going to play now? Abandoned waif? Pollyanna? Lucrezia Borgia?"
"I am a thief, not a murderess, Mansfield!"
"And so proud of being a thief."
"Yes, I am!" she said, blue eyes blazing up at him. "Why shouldn't I be proud of doing a difficult job and doing it well?"
"Do you even know what a moral or an ethic is?" Luke demanded.
"Oh, give me a break," Tess said, arms akimbo as she glared at him. "This whole country is based on the fine art of highway robbery! First we stole the land from the Indians, then we started stealing it from each other. There isn't a family fortune in this country that wasn't built on piracy, bootlegging, or creative doctoring of the accounts. Look at your own noble house. The Mansfield fortune really took off when your illustrious great-grandfather stole an entire railroad from his stockholders!"
"Now that is a deliberate skewing of the facts—"
"Bullshit," Tess snapped. "He wanted to run the railroad his way and when the stockholders balked, he hijacked the company. Your illustrious grandfather happily bought up company after company while their former owners were jumping out of windows in 1929. Your great-uncle was a very successful bootlegger. Do you even know what half the Mansfield companies do?"
"My brother Joshua runs the family business—" Luke began.
"And you keep your pristine hands off all that ill-gotten lucre. How noble of you. Aren't you even now defending that beloved millionaire Jesse Wallingham in a very nasty extortion case?"
"I'm his attorney, certainly. But Wallingham is my father's friend and he is innocent and I resent—"
"And what's your fee for taking on this headline-making case? Two hundred dollars an hour? Three?"
"Four hundred," Luke muttered.
"And consoling his young trophy wife while poor Jesse cools his heels in jail, no doubt."
"I have met Gloria Wallingham exactly twice in my life!"
"What about that little affair of public record with Linda Collier?"
"How on earth do you know about Linda?"
"Hey, I read the gossip rags, just like any red-blooded grocery-shopping woman. So, was Linda as good as her press suggests?"
"Better!" Luke barked.
"That must have been fun. However did the very tall Maria Franklin win you away from the double-jointed Ms. Collier?"
Luke couldn't help himself. The image was so ludicrous that he burst out laughing. Just as suddenly, he stopped and stared down at Tess. "Hey, wait a minute!" he breathed. "Just who is interrogating whom here?"
Tess smiled sunnily up at him.
Luke, in spite of himself, was amused. "My hypothetical hat is off to you, Ms. Alcott. You are very good at what you do."
"Aren't I, though?" Tess said serenely as she started for the house.
He let her go this time, watching her walk away with a jaunty lilt in her step. She was so damned … irritating. And challenging. And fun. And lovely.
He drove to his office at Rockefeller Plaza, alternately insulting himself, remembering Tess's sweet kiss and worrying about what was happening to his self-control, his good sense, his moat with the ferocious crocodiles.
He immersed himself in work to chase away all thoughts of Tess Alcott. He spent two hours on the phone, developing a cauliflower ear that demanded a break. So he spent forty-five minutes discussing with Carol, his paralegal, the precedents he wanted her to find for the Wallingham case. He revamped his calendar with Harriet, his secretary, dictated five letters, three court motions, and a demand for payment. Then he began returning his phone calls.
He was in the middle of trying to refer an old acquaintance to a renowned divorce lawyer when it finally hit him.
If Tess wouldn't sell herself to win an ally—and she wouldn't, he knew that now as surely as he knew his own name—why had she kissed him? Why had she arched into him and practically melted into his arms?
"My God," Luke breathed. She might very well be trying to con Jane's millions, but her reaction to him, from her anger to her kisses, had been honest from the start.
"What did you say?"
Luke dazedly returned to the phone call. "Sorry, Jeff. Call Apodaca, that's the best advice I can give you."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Jeff said with a sigh. "I've heard she's the best."
A moment later, Luke hung up his phone and stared straight ahead. How could an acknowledged thief who knew how to plant a punishing blow to the midsection be heart honest in the midst of a cold-blooded con?
Suddenly a familiar voice from the reception area pierced his consciousness.
Startled, he looked at his calendar and then his watch. With a groan, he dragged his hands down his face. Then he stood up, put on his coat, and walked to the door. She was the last person he wanted to see right now, but he had no choice. A Mansfield did not stand up his steady date.
"Luke, darling, there you are!" Maria Franklin said in her silky voice. "Ready for lunch?"
"Sure. Sorry I'm late, Maria. I got caught up in some work."
"You always get caught up in work, darling," Maria said as she looped her arm through his.
Startled, he glanced at her. Good heavens, she was tall! Her chin topped his shoulder. It actually made him uncomfortable.
She made him uncomfortable. Her black hair was piled on her head in a seemingly careless fashion that must have taken her hairdresser hours to arrange. Her glossy red lipstick was perfectly applied to her slender lips, her makeup artfully hiding all signs of natural beauty. Her black eyes were coy as she looked up at him.
"I've just been shoppi
ng," she said as they stopped at the bank of elevators. "What do you think?"
She turned in a slow, slinky circle before him, the red Italian minidress molded to her voluptuous body, the dark stockings emphasizing her shapely legs.
"Gorgeous as always, Maria. That dress was made for you, what there is of it."
Maria laughed with pleasure as they stepped into the elevator. She tilted her face up and kissed him for a moment on the mouth.
He stared at her. Nothing. He had felt nothing.
"I just wanted to make sure you only had eyes for me at lunch," Maria said.
"Guaranteed," Luke automatically replied. Had he ever felt anything when they had kissed these last two months?
They walked to their usual restaurant where his secretary had made their usual lunch reservations. They followed the maitre d' to their usual, secluded table, people turning in their chairs to watch them.
"I just love being the center of attention," Maria whispered in his ear as she leaned against him.
"I never knew you were an exhibitionist, Maria."
"Only in public, darling," Maria replied, laughing.
Sipping a glass of wine after ordering, Luke watched her as she chatted with him about the charity ball she had attended the night before, the scene thrown there by the wife of one of New York's more prominent stockbrokers and ladies' men, and the lunch Maria had had with Luke's mother the week before.
As she talked and laughed and teased, she leaned invitingly across the table toward him, displaying her high breasts to best advantage, flashing her perfect teeth at him, her black eyes speaking sensual promises she had no intention of keeping.
He sat watching the performance and wondered who was the greater fraud: Tess Alcott or Maria Franklin?
Maria's musical laughter at one of her own jokes settled the matter. It really was no contest.
Whatever ulterior motives she might have, Luke realized he had met an honest woman, and it wasn't the Giantess.
When had he become so shallow, or so removed, that a woman like Maria could actually attract his interest? He thought he had done such a good job of protecting himself from further betrayals by burying himself in his work and keeping every relationship on the surface, far from his heart. Instead, it seemed that the women over the last twenty years who had wanted him for his money and his name had succeeded in making him value himself as little as they had valued him.
He had betrayed himself. Maria Franklin was proof of that.
What mirror had been uncovered, what door opened, that he should see his life so clearly?
Shaken, Luke stared at his wine glass. Had Tess Alcott's kiss done so much?
Forcing himself to refocus on lunch, he joined in Maria's laughter, offering up his own amusing anecdotes as they ate, while he silently planned the best way to break up with the Giantess without ruffling too much fur.
He went back to work, but he found it hard to concentrate. He kept feeling Tess's hot mouth on his lips, hearing her soft cry of pleasure, seeing her anguished face as they had backed away from each other.
This now painful reverie ended when his secretary buzzed him to say that Leroy Baldwin was on line one. Luke was pacing behind his desk before he even said hello.
"What did you find, Leroy?"
"And a good afternoon to you, too, Mr. Mansfield," Leroy retorted. "Your lady checks out one hundred percent, Luke."
Luke stopped in his tracks. His grip tightened on the receiver. "What?"
"Miami police have records on your Tess as well as dozens of other kids used by the Carswells that I should be able to hand you in a day or two. And Oxford has records of every one of the names you gave me. Oh, and here's an interesting tidbit. Four years ago, Oxford received a cashier's check from one Tess Alcott covering complete tuition and board, with interest, for a full three-year undergraduate education. Whatever game she's playing, your Tess is telling the truth in the middle of it. I like this lady more and more. Mind you, I wouldn't want to be one of her enemies because I wouldn't think much of my longevity, but she might make a helluva friend."
"Terrific," Luke muttered, slumping into his chair.
"WEB's files on her go back eight years and they confirm the career she's described. Your lady has made off with some amazing pieces of art in her time. But get this, only from private collections. There isn't a museum gig in the bunch. The jewelry she's stolen—all from private collections, too—would make the Queen of England turn green with envy. My sources at Interpol agree with WEB: Tess Alcott is the best around."
"But is she still active?"
"No one's clear on that. It's possible that she just got so good that no one can trace her heists. Or else she's telling the truth."
"Wonderful. Anything new on Weinstein?"
Leroy sighed. "The guy continues to check out good as gold. Has it ever occurred to you, Luke, that you just might be dealing with the genuine articles?"
For a moment exultation stole his breath, and then a red light began flashing: Danger. Danger.
He was treading perilously close to a precipice and he had to do something, anything, to save himself from plunging over the side. He had to stop being amused by the damned woman. He had to stop enjoying their verbal combat. He had to stop thinking about kissing her. He had to stop believing that her childhood could really have been as horrible as she'd described.
"Luke? Are you okay?"
Her childhood. The Carswells. Of course! Why hadn't he thought of them before? According to Weinstein's story, the Carswells had had Tess for six years and they might be able to prove her identity as Elizabeth Cushman. Or disprove it.
Oh, they had to disprove it! They had to rescue him from every feeling that was trying to eradicate the sober, rational road he had relied on for so long.
Luke took a deep breath. Self-preservation was his god and he called on it now.
"They are not the genuine articles," he grimly informed Leroy, "and I intend to prove it. Find the Carswells."
"Luke," Leroy said wearily, "Weinstein's the path to follow."
"So are the Carswells. Find them."
"I already have."
"What?"
"Luke, have you forgotten how much you're paying me on this job? I am being very thorough on your behalf. I like the prompt way you pay your bills."
"Sorry, Leroy," Luke said, leaning back in his chair. "I must be suffering from foot-in-mouth disease."
"Apology accepted. Let me tell you about the Carswells. Both of them ended up in federal penitentiaries in Florida three years ago. Old Man Carswell got his intestines permanently sliced up in a knife fight last year. He is very dead, but Old Lady Carswell is alive and kicking. She is a pit in the fruit salad of life. You want to talk to her?"
"Oh yes," Luke said softly. "I've always wanted to see what a child buyer looks like."
* * *
CHAPTER SIX
« ^ »
The slam of the door behind Luke was hollow, jarring. He stood in the small, gray interview room and stared at the woman he had flown fourteen hundred miles to see. Barbara Carswell, according to her records, was fifty-two. She looked sixty-five as she sat at the gray metal table. Her once-brown hair was white and unkempt, her skin leathery, her face deeply wrinkled, her body thin and shrunken in on herself. But her brown eyes remained large and horribly alive, cold and calculating as they watched him walk into the room.
"Mrs. Carswell," Luke said, sitting down and being careful not to shake the woman's hand. The prison guards, watching them on a video monitor, would not have been happy with such an action. "Thank you for agreeing to see me this morning."
The woman slouched back in her chair. "It helps pass the time, and I like French cigs. Thanks for the carton," she said, lighting an unfiltered cigarette.
"You're welcome. I've come to talk to you about Tess Alcott."
"Who?"
Luke handed her two photos of Tess. One had been taken by Leroy's surveillance team, one had been taken by the
Miami police when Tess was ten and apprehended for shoplifting on the Carswells' orders. "Her name is Tess, the last name changes a lot. She used to work for you as a child."
"Oh, her," Barbara Carswell said with a sniff. "Who could forget her? She was a real pain in the ass."
Luke felt the bile rise in his throat. "How so?"
"Damn kid had asthma. Nearly croaked on us a couple of times. I kept telling Ernie she was more trouble than she was worth, but he always said a blond girl brings in the most dough, and he was right, I guess. She did good work when she worked."
"How long was she with you?"
Barbara Carswell stared up at the ceiling, a bit bored. "Five or six years. I don't remember exactly. We had a lot of kids coming and going."
"Do you remember how you got her?"
"Bought her, just like the others."
"Who did you buy her from?"
"I don't remember."
"Then the interview is over." Luke rose and started for the door.
"Hey!" Mrs. Carswell shouted. "Where do you think you're going?"
Luke turned back to her, his eyes as cold as hers. "I came for information. You don't seem to have it, so I'm leaving."
"Honey, that's not how the game's played. I say I don't remember, you offer me something to jar my memory, and I give you the answers you want."
"I have no intention of giving you anything, Mrs. Carswell, beyond a carton of cigarettes. You can either cooperate with me, which will go on your record and aid in your next parole hearing, or you can return to your cell and kick yourself for missing out on this opportunity."
Barbara Carswell swore, impugned Luke's family tree, then sighed and told him to sit back down, her memory had suddenly returned.
Luke sat in the chair opposite her once again. "Well? Who did you buy her from?"
"Hal Marsh," Mrs. Carswell said with another sigh. "At least, that's how we knew him. Hal went by lots of different names, which was typical in our business."
"Was he your usual supplier?"
"No, just the opposite. He used to buy kids off us when they got to be too old. You know, twelve and thirteen and the like. We'd sell the kids to him or to the kiddie porn crowd, a few white slavers, that sort of thing."
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