He shook his head again in disbelief. “It’s so unlike you to do something like this. And if McCallister’s finds out, that could be the end of you ever working for them again. Apart from being incredibly sordid, it’s ... well, it’s unprofessional.”
The censure lifted her hackles. Okay, going to a hotel with an almost-stranger might not be her smartest move, but there was no need to make a federal case out of it. And no way would she tolerate him questioning her professionalism. Kyle could get off his moral high horse right now.
She put on her best pout. “That’s not fair! What happened happened, and it’s done with. I won’t be seeing him again, so there’s no point in discussing it.”
But she didn’t really believe her words, and from Kyle’s resentful expression, he didn’t either. Mack would be back, bringing his hot body with him. She still wanted him. Lord, she so needed to have her self-preservation instincts professionally examined.
Gemma jumped to her feet, suddenly longing for the solitude of her apartment. “Is there anything else you should know before I leave?”
He sighed and followed her to the door. “No, but I’ll set up a time with McCallister’s.” He took her arm and turned her around to face him. “Does Buchanan know you have the numbers?”
She shook her head. “No, he was in the shower.”
He had that disgusted look again. “Look, if anyone contacts you about the fraud, tell them you’re only talking through your lawyer. Can you at least manage that?”
She nodded.
“And for God’s sake, stay away from Buchanan. I mean it, Gem. This is serious.”
She nodded again and left him raking his fingers through his fair hair. He was hurting. Jealous. Worried for her.
She had almost reached the elevator when her phone rang. Lucy’s name glowed on the screen. Wonderful Lucy.
“Hey Lucy. I’ve been waiting to hear from you.”
“You’ll never believe it, GG. You just so totally won’t believe it!”
Gemma scrunched her eyes shut, holding her breath, waiting for the glorious news that would give her something to think about other than her disastrous meeting with Kyle.
“What won’t I believe, sweetie?”
“Jamie and I went on a date. A real date, not just for a burger or anything like that. First he took me to dinner—”
Hell! If she could murder someone by just thinking it, that girl would be toast.
“Lucy!” she interrupted, trying hard to control her exasperation. The last thing she needed was her best detective hanging up in a huff. “The notes, girl. The notes.”
“Sorry, GG. They’re gone.”
Gemma closed her eyes, willing her tone to calmness. “What do you mean, gone?”
“Gone. Jamie went through every cabinet in your workroom. Nada.”
Gemma leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling weak. “Have you any idea who has them?”
“No, and it’s so annoying because usually I know these things.”
Annoying all right. The one thing she really needed, and Lucy was stumped. That could only mean one thing.
Mack Buchanan.
He had her notes. It was only logical: If any of her coworkers in the office had taken them, Lucy would know who it was. Damn him.
“Do you want me to find out who has them? It might take a while, but I’m sure I can find out.”
“Sure, Lucy.” Gemma didn’t hold out much hope, but still, Lucy might get lucky. Knowing for sure that Mack had her notes wouldn’t make much difference, but at least it would give her something to go on. “Anyway, how are things at the office?”
“Okay, I guess. You know, old grumpy-chops Allen called a staff meeting this morning. He says McCallister’s security system is down for a few days, so all afterhours access to the building has been stopped. It’s like Fort Knox around here. You know, Jamie just loves sailing, and his father has a yacht. We’re going out on Saturday. And you know, GG, he’s so good at kissing.”
Gemma couldn’t help but smile at Lucy’s description of John Allen. It was pretty close to accurate, even if John was only forty. In Lucy’s teenage brain, anyone a day past thirty was ancient. “That’s nice. Listen, sweetie, I have to go, but keep in touch, won’t you?”
“Veronica Mars is on the job. See ya.” Lucy giggled.
Gemma arrived home an hour later, her floaty, post-orgasmic state totally gone. All she had now was a blazing headache. She needed sleep. Taking two acetaminophen, she fell into bed.
Five minutes later, her phone buzzed. It was old grumpy-chops himself.
“Can you come into the office tomorrow, Dr. Gilmore? There are a few things I need to discuss with you.”
She didn’t feel particularly obliging toward the hard-nosed John Allen.
“That’s not possible. Can’t you tell me now?”
He ignored her cool tone. “This needs to be discussed in person. What say we make it late tomorrow afternoon, around six?”
What say she hung up on him? Except McCallister’s might have realized their mistake and wanted to apologize. An invitation to meet at the office should make her feel better, but somehow it only gave her a sense of foreboding.
“All right. I’ll see you at six.”
Ending the call, she sank back into her pillows. Overall, it had been an up-and-down day. In more ways than one.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It felt strange to be back at McCallister’s. Only a few days ago, she’d been dragged out of the place like a criminal who’d committed the crime of the century. She half-expected to see an FBI wanted poster of herself on the wall of John Allen’s office.
“Please take a seat, Dr. Gilmore.”
So typical of John. Always formal and polite, but cold. Today he was in his usual steel-gray suit and steel-gray tie, looking his usual steely, composed, unemotional self. If he had good news for her, it obviously didn’t include the words welcome back.
Gemma sat down in the chair opposite his desk, now wishing she hadn’t come. For a start, she didn’t like the way he was looking at her—like she was a naughty schoolgirl brought in front of the principal for reprimanding. And now he was ignoring her by shuffling through his papers while she sat waiting. So rude. If he didn’t say something soon, she’d get up and go find a coffee.
Two impatient, toe-tapping minutes later, he finally looked up and paid attention to her, his voice crisp.
“Right, Dr. Gilmore.” He paused to glance disapprovingly over her dress jeans and blue silk shirt as if she’d come to school out of uniform. “We have progressed on uncovering the fraud.” He waited for a response, but she stayed silent, deciding then and there that if he intended to pause like that between every sentence, she’d definitely go find that coffee.
“Philip Taurel has agreed to have the painting examined. It was delivered here yesterday.”
She sat up, her irritation dissipated. Progress at last. Now she could finally clear this whole thing up.
“I’m so pleased that you have it, John. Can I see it now—to check its authenticity?”
He shook his head, and she caught the hard flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. Drat John Allen. She’d always had the impression that he resented her success, but even so, she hadn’t expected the man to take such blatant pleasure from her fall from grace.
“You won’t be checking the painting. It will be examined by a forensic investigator employed by Mr. Taurel. Our insurers insisted the painting be examined at McCallister’s with a representative from the insurance company present.”
Okay, so she wouldn’t perform the examination, but that didn’t really matter. Philip Taurel’s expert would establish that it was genuine.
“Can I at least be there when it’s examined?”
He looked at her as if she’d just asked him for a Lamborghini. “Of course not! We also have your notes.”
Going by his smug expression, her surprise must have been obvious.
“So it was you who took my notes ..
. ” Her voice died when he shook his head.
“Actually it was Mr. Buchanan who retrieved them from your workroom.”
“I need to see them, John. That’s the only way I can—”
He shook his head impatiently. “He also informed us that Lucy Barton and Jamie O’Mara had gone through your filing cabinets. They will, of course, be investigated. If we find that either of them helped you with the fraud, both will be referred to the police.”
“Oh no, they weren’t helping—” Gemma stopped. That sounded halfway to a confession.
“It’s all over, doctor.” He spat the last word in a self-satisfied bark.
“What do you mean?” Gemma couldn’t stop her voice from trembling—which seemed to please John Allen no end. He might resent her, but even so, she hadn’t expected such outright hostility from him.
“Of course, once the investigator compares your notes to the forgery, it will be obvious that you knew.”
“I don’t know—”
He carried on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Of course, it’s your notes. They won’t match the painting. That discrepancy alone will be enough to convict you.”
Going by his smirk, her shocked gasp was exactly the sound he wanted to hear.
“For goodness’ sake, John,” she flashed impatiently, “I didn’t deliberately authenticate a forgery. In fact, the notes will prove the painting I saw was genuine.”
There was no mistaking the icy gleam of satisfaction this time. “No, doctor, they will prove the opposite. You never expected the forgery to be discovered.”
“Look, John. I’m asking—no, I’m begging you to let me see the Bonvalet. To check whether it’s the same painting I authenticated. Surely you want to know as much as I do.”
“Absolutely out of the question. Mr. Buchanan personally put the notes in the safe early yesterday morning when the painting was delivered, and no one is allowed access. By tomorrow, we’ll have proof of your fraud, and the whole matter will be referred to the police.”
From the way he was leaning forward across his desk and staring at her with eyebrows high in expectation, John obviously hoped for a full confession right there and then. But Gemma had only one thought, and it was making her ill: Mack had taken her notes from her workroom before she’d met him at the Enright. All through their so-called lovemaking yesterday, he’d kept that deceit to himself.
“However,” John continued into the silence, “McCallister’s may be prepared to drop the charges in exchange for a full confession and recovery of the $50 million. As you can appreciate, McCallister’s would prefer to keep this quiet, but you must cooperate fully.”
She watched dumbly as he rested his elbows on the desk and pressed his fingertips together, savoring the anticipation of his next words. “You have one chance, Dr. Gilmore. Talk to me now, or go to prison.”
Gemma couldn’t have said a word if she tried. Not with her breath seized in her lungs to the point of dizziness. Prison. The word rang so loudly that it took her a moment to realize it wasn’t in her head. The whole building was ringing. The fire alarm had gone off.
John was already at the door by the time she stumbled to her feet.
“Damn. I forgot to cancel the fire drill. You go ahead. Use the stairwell; the elevators will be out. I’ll call the fire department and let them know.”
Gemma made her way into the tenth-floor stairwell. She couldn’t hear anyone coming down the stairs above her or any noises drifting up from below. The place was deserted, but that was to be expected if McCallister’s security system was out. Nobody would be allowed to stay after five thirty.
She worked her way down the stairs, stopping at the fourth floor to take a breath. She was one floor below her workroom. She rarely went to the fourth—which held the safe.
Safe!
The numbers she’d memorized from Mack’s wallet. They had to be to McCallister’s safe.
She leaned against the banister and stared at the half-open fire exit - beckoning her like it was the gateway to salvation itself. Slipping her fingers into her bag, she clutched her phone and ran her thumb over the screen, her mind whirling with the significance of her discovery. She had the combination. Her notes were in that safe and, more importantly, so was the Bonvalet. She could check the work right now. She knew Bonvalet better than anyone. It would take only a few minutes to examine the painting, and then she would know if it was the same one she’d seen three weeks ago. If it were, John Allen would be groveling for forgiveness. And if it was a forgery, she could ... what?
Nothing. She couldn’t do anything. Her notes wouldn’t match. She’d be charged with fraud. There’d be a trial. Whether she was found guilty or innocent, it wouldn’t matter. Her career would be over.
Mack Buchanan had destroyed her. He’d taken her career. He had no feelings. No conscience. She’d known all along he was dangerous. But even so, she’d still underestimated what he was capable of.
No, she wouldn’t give that jerk the satisfaction of making her cry. But she would sit down to think things through.
The alarm shut off a minute later, but Gemma stayed put on the cold concrete step, staring at that half-open door.
Thinking.
There was something she’d missed.
Okay, first she’d found the safe combination in Mack’s wallet, which in itself was a little strange. Why a set of numbers and nothing else? Then Lucy had called and mentioned the security system was down. That was innocent enough, as it had been down a few times lately. But then John Allen had asked her to meet him at McCallister’s—at a time when he knew the building would be empty.
Now today, the fire alarm had gone off, and John had told her to take the stairs by herself, knowing she would go past the floor where the safe was. It was all too convenient. Too arranged.
Too obvious.
Talk about being slow on the uptake. It was a trap. Mack wanted her to go into the safe to check the painting and her notes. She’d be caught and arrested. Guilty as charged.
For all she knew, he was probably waiting within ten feet of her right now, ready to cuff her and drag her away.
“Go to hell, Mack Buchanan,” she said out loud, enjoying the sound echoing up and down the stairwell. She said it again, shouting this time for his benefit. It felt good. Good enough to grow some backbone and deal with him once and for all. Even if she did go to prison, she’d damn well go down fighting. And what’s more, she didn’t care if he was listening to her right now.
She should let Kyle know what had happened, but he would only start on her case again. Pulling her phone out of her bag, she called Lucy. She needed to be warned.
A male answered with a tentative, “Hello.”
“Jamie?”
He sounded shy and more than a little embarrassed. “Oh, hi Gem. Lucy’s ... well, she can’t come to the phone right now.”
Oh. Lucy certainly hadn’t wasted much time getting to know the love of her life. Still, Gemma hadn’t exactly kept her own sexual urges under control. “That’s okay. I need to talk to you both anyway. The thing is, Mack Buchanan knows you and Lucy were looking for my notes.”
“Oh, sure, we know that. Lucy has that covered. She heard him talking to John Allen about locking your Bonvalet stuff in the safe.”
So, Mack had planned it all. “Anything else?”
“Here’s Lucy now.”
“Hi, GG. What ya want to know?”
Gemma caught the extra bubble in Lucy’s voice. She was happy. Excited at being with Jamie. It seemed a shame to flatten it.
“I’m sorry, Lucy, but you need to know. John Allen is threatening to refer you and Jamie to the police.”
“Yeah, we know.”
How did the girl do it? “You know? How?”
Lucy sounded impatient now. “That’s so not important. The thing is, grumpy Allen was in the safe yesterday morning, right after Big Mack locked it.”
Gemma’s backside almost slipped off the step when she straightened in astonish
ment. So much for John taking any notice of Mack’s order to stay out of the safe. Of course, it didn’t mean he was doing anything wrong. As the operations manager and a trusted employee of McCallister’s for ten years, he was entitled to go into the safe whenever he liked. It was probably about something that had nothing to do with the Bonvalet or her notes for that matter.
“Are you still there?” Lucy’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“I’m here. Anything else?”
“I reckon Big Mack is a spy or something.”
A James Bond with an exploding wallet “Maybe. Anyway, please be careful, Lucy.”
Her concern was rewarded with a loud snort. “Of course, silly. You know, Jamie’s totally excellent at—”
Lord, she so didn’t need to know.
“That’s great, sweetie,” she interrupted quickly. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
As usual, she might as well be talking to the walls for all the good it did. “You’re such a worrywart, GG. Anyway, gotta go.”
A second later, Lucy was gone. Pushing herself to her feet, Gemma started down the stairs again, then stopped. Dragging her phone out of her bag again, she called him.
He answered immediately, making Gemma wonder if he expected her call. Maybe he was watching her right now?
“Are you okay?”
Her anger flared. What an act.
“Like you would care. Your plan didn’t work!”
She heard his small intake of breath. “Where are you?”
“Where are you, Mr. Buchanan?”
“I’ll come and get you.”
Like she’d go anywhere with him ever again. Definitely not to a hotel, for sure. A restaurant wouldn’t do either. Too public. What she had to say would involve shouting. Lots of shouting. She might even throw something at him.
Whirlwind Romance: 10 Short Love Stories Page 13
