Immovable Objects

by Marie Ferrarella

  He was smiling at her, she thought, as if he knew something she didn’t. As if he suspected just how deeply he’d shaken up her world. She was going to have to watch that, she cautioned herself. Otherwise, Anthony would be proven right; she did need a protector standing over her, protecting her from the world.

  Protecting her from herself.

  I can protect myself, Anthony. Even from myself. At least, she fervently hoped so.

  Chapter 5

  The woman had very nearly set off her own earthquake, Cole thought but she really still hadn’t answered him.

  “Am I correct in assuming that we have a deal?” He put his hand out, waiting for hers.

  Elizabeth looked down at his hand. It was the kind that belonged to a man who toiled with his brain rather than his brawn. Because she’d been carefully schooled, she hesitated a moment. Heaven knew she’d more than touched her lips to his, but a handshake, well, that was something else again. That still meant something in the circles she frequented. It represented her word, her bond.

  That couldn’t be done recklessly.

  As the kiss had been.

  Finally, she slipped her hand into his. After all, it was a great deal of money they were talking about. And it would be a good test of her abilities—solo. “We have a deal.”

  Cole nodded, noting that her handshake was firm, sure. Strong. And because it was, he felt that he needed to set the ground rules at the very start.

  “All right, we need to have one thing straight. I give the orders. That means I control things.”

  Elizabeth pulled her hand back. She was right about Williams. He was just like Anthony. Another man out to dominate her every move.

  Ain’t gonna happen, mister, she promised him silently.

  “No, we need to have one thing straight,” she said, echoing his phrase. “You tell me the parameters and hand me the canvas. I paint on it.” Her eyes narrowed just a little. “And I don’t do well on a leash.”

  The woman was raising images in his head again, hot, steamy images that had no place here and now. Later, when this was behind them, he knew he wanted to avail himself of her, to see if she lived up to the promise he’d just sampled, but now wasn’t the time.

  Cole inclined his head. “I’ll remember to keep that in mind.”

  “Do that.” She looked at him, wondering if she’d just made a deal with the devil. They said that Lucifer was the most beautiful of the archangels. And the one to be most leery of.

  But this was her maiden run and, for better or for worse, she’d struck a bargain. She meant to be the one who came out on top.

  Because she was also pragmatic, Elizabeth got down to business. “Now, then, do you have any idea who might have taken the statue?”

  Cole laughed softly as he poured himself another drink. He raised his brow in her direction, but she shook her head, declining another brandy. She wanted a clear head from here on. Kissing him had rattled her enough, she didn’t need anything more to taint her perception. “You mean do I have any enemies? Anyone in my position has enemies.”

  Elizabeth nodded. She knew all about that. A back issue of Time magazine in the library had told her as much. “And you have more than most. The vindictive kind, if I’m not mistaken.”

  When she paused, he beckoned, as if coaxing more words out of her. His grin was amused. Inviting. She was determined not to get lost in it. “Come on, impress me some more.”

  “It wasn’t done to impress you,” she told him crisply. “It was homework. I always do my homework.” It went hand in hand with never being unprepared. Accidents had a nasty habit of happening no matter what. Being prepared cut down on the risks.

  His amusement seemed to grow. “You must have gotten very good grades in school.”

  School, after the age of thirteen, had revolved around Jeremy and tutors he brought in. Men and women, she suspected, who came from the same walk of life, had the same frame of reference, as Jeremy did.

  But she and Williams were still waltzing around each other, still testing for weaknesses, for breaks in the walls. She gave nothing away freely. “When it counted.”

  Cole took another sip of brandy, thinking that the spirit had tasted better on her lips. “What made you say ‘vindictive’?”

  He knew that better than she did, she thought. Williams was testing her. All right, she’d take his exam. “You’ve shown up a lot of people, exposed them for the dirty dealings they were involved in. That doesn’t get forgotten very easily—or forgiven. My guess is that there’s nothing some of those people wouldn’t like better than to see you covered with the same kind of mud that they wear.”

  If she’d gone this far this quickly, maybe she had a hunch who was responsible, Cole thought. It didn’t hurt to play along until he learned something. “Go on.”

  She didn’t want to go too far out on the limb. Not too quickly, anyway. She still wasn’t that sure of Williams. The articles she’d read made him out to be a straight shooter, someone whose word was his bond. But then, he had a fleet of public relations people who knew how to make him appear to be covered in roses. She wanted to form her own opinion. That meant proceeding slowly along that limb.

  “That’s it for now,” she allowed. When he looked disappointed, she added, “Except that if I were to look for the man or group responsible for the sculpture’s theft, I’d begin with the man who agreed to loan you the piece in the first place.”

  His eyes captured hers. Was that a random guess? Or did she know something? He still really didn’t know anything about her except that she stirred him. Him and every red-blooded male within a five-mile radius. He was going to have to get in contact with Hagen and have him run as intense a check on her as was possible.

  “What makes you think MacFarland is responsible?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Proximity. Access.”

  “All very true, except for one thing.”

  He was leaning over her again. She began to do multiplication tables in her head, trying to hold her reactions to him at bay. It was an old way she had of distracting herself. It usually worked. Usually. “And this is?”

  “He doesn’t have an ax to grind.” As if declaring a time out, Cole moved back toward the bar. “The merger between our two companies was advantageous to both of us.”

  His answer didn’t change her opinion. “Maybe he didn’t want it advantageous to you both. Maybe he wanted it advantageous only to him.”

  He thought of Jonathan MacFarland. She might be right, although to do what she suggested would throw the whole deal into jeopardy. “I think you’re going off in the wrong direction.”

  Maybe he did, but she didn’t. The more she talked about it, the more convinced she was that she was right. As she was wont to do, Elizabeth dug in. “Now, you see, this is where that free-will thing is going to come in. My direction, my choice.”

  “But it’s my money. And my clock that’s ticking.”

  She spread her hands wide. “I don’t locate it, you don’t pay me.”

  He studied Elizabeth for a moment, not sure what to make of her. “You’re that confident in yourself?”

  The smile on her lips told him nothing. Except that he felt like kissing her again. But that wasn’t going to get him back the sculpture—or keep his good name intact. Nothing ruined a good name faster than an arrest. Even if it didn’t stand up in court, people remembered the scandal, the media hype, not the outcome. He of all people was aware of that.

  “I would have to be, don’t you think?” she told him.

  He was paying her to work for him, but he’d chosen her because of her uniqueness, which had struck him as he’d watched her get by the security beams. “All right, you look into it your way, but I want to be kept apprised of every detail.”

  She grinned, picking up the brandy glass again. Now she could afford to let her mind be the slightest bit cloudy. She held it up to him, waiting for him to fill it. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Cole picked up
the decanter and poured two fingers worth into her glass. He had the distinct impression she was humoring him, but that was all right, as long as the result was the same. And he meant to make sure of that. “One more thing.”

  She watched him retire the decanter to the bar. “And that is?”

  Cole turned around to face her. She couldn’t read his expression. “For the duration of this arrangement, I’d like you to remain at my mansion.”

  Erotic images, emerging out of nowhere, rose in her mind’s eye. Remaining in close contact was one thing, staying under one roof was another. Did he want to keep close tabs on her—or was he asking for the arrangement for another reason? “Why?” she asked matter-of-factly.

  Cole was playing with fire and he knew it. But there was a great deal at stake, and in the event that she turned out to be working for someone else, getting close to him so that whoever it was she owed allegiance to remained one step ahead, he wanted this woman where he could get his hands on her.

  “Let’s just say I believe in keeping my friends close, my enemies closer.”

  “Taking advice from Winston Churchill, very commendable.” She smiled at him, feeling her stomach quiver just a little. “Friends and enemies,” she repeated. “Which am I?”

  He had no answer for that. Only a hunch. But hunches sometimes turned out to be wrong. And he was big enough to admit that, if only to himself. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

  “We’ll discuss my moving in tomorrow.” She needed that much time to make plans. This was a big step she was taking. Elizabeth raised her glass in a toast, clinking it with his. The adrenaline had begun rushing through her veins again. “This is going to be very interesting.”

  His eyes never left hers as he brought his glass to his lips. “My thoughts exactly.”

  Cole frowned as he listened to the voice on the other end of the telephone the next morning. He wasn’t being told something he wanted to hear.

  What he was being told, in essence, was nothing.

  For all intents and purposes, the woman known as Elizabeth Caldwell did not exist. He was doing business with a ghost, an apparition. Granted, it was still early and Taylor Hagen, the chief investigator he’d relied on for over seven years, had merely done a preliminary search, but even those, given the man’s resources, usually turned up something.

  Cole glanced down at the pad on his desk. Throughout the conversation he’d been writing question marks. Annoyed, he pushed the pad aside. “All right, keep digging, there’s got to be a trail somewhere.”

  “You know me, I don’t give up until it’s over,” the deep baritone voice on the other end of the line assured him.

  Hagen had come to him with an excellent reputation and had never disappointed him so far. If there was anything to be found, the man would find it. “Get back to me when you have something.”

  There was a pause, then Hagen asked, “What about the other thing?”

  Cole’s office was swept daily in an effort to root out any bugs that might have been planted. Industrial espionage was alive and well, and as such had always to be kept one step ahead of. He knew this was Hagen’s way of referring to the search for the missing statue. Hagen had been placed in charge of tracking it down, along with two other men. So far, he’d had no luck with that, either, which was what had prompted Cole impulsively to throw in his lot with Elizabeth.

  Cole knew that Hagen felt personally responsible for the theft. It had happened on his watch.

  “This is for the other thing,” Cole replied.

  This time, the pause was pregnant. “What do you mean?”

  Because he’d always played his hands close to the vest, Cole said, “I’ll let you know once you find out who she really is.”

  He heard a small intake of breath, but no further questions were asked. Hagen knew the rules. Cole wasn’t paying his people to ask questions of him, just of everyone else.

  “Got it.” The connection terminated.

  Cole replaced the receiver in the cradle. “So who the hell are you, Gypsy?” he murmured to himself.

  The next moment his secretary was tapping on his door. The woman’s knock sounded more like a small animal scratching at the door to gain access.

  “Come in.”

  Measuring barely five feet in her shoes, Evangeline Witherspoon, fiftyish and pencil-thin, seemed dwarfed by the newspapers she was carrying into his office. With a look of relief, she placed them on his desk. There was a copy of each of the local newspapers, as well as the New York Times and the Los Angeles Times.

  Her eyes were smiling as she looked at him. “They’re all very favorable, Mr. Williams. The gala last night was a huge success.”

  He nodded, still somewhat distracted. “People rarely slam charitable events, Vangie.” His new gallery’s opening gala had neatly coincided with a fund-raiser that he annually chaired. The fund-raiser collected money for breast cancer research, a disease he personally hoped to see eradicated in his lifetime because it had stolen away both his mother and his older sister, Lisa, decades too early.

  He felt that the specter of the stolen piece of art would make everything he dealt with suspect, including the charity. Someone was out to tear him down with no regard as to the kind of repercussions something like that might have.

  He wasn’t going to allow it to happen.

  Elizabeth was all moved in for the duration. Even though the arrangement was for only two weeks, she wasn’t totally comfortable about it. Still, she could see why it would make sense. This way, Williams could remain on top of things.

  As long as one of those things wasn’t her.

  Not that she’d mind exactly, but she wanted it on her terms, not his. And making sure the man didn’t get the upper hand might take some doing on her part.

  In the meantime, she had her hands more than full with this assignment. Pausing, she stretched as she sat at the computer where she’d been for the last few hours, working a magic all her own.

  From what she’d discovered, Williams seemed to have dealings with the world at large. The list he’d given her this morning of people he personally thought might want to get some kind of revenge against him was incomplete. His acquisitions, though all aboveboard—at least from what she could discern at the moment—still were far from bloodless.

  In each and every case, there’d been other moguls out there bidding against him. And other would-be moguls who’d had companies bought right out from under them before they could make their move. It was difficult not to have hard feelings over that, even if the man doing the acquiring had a reputation that was just a shade less rowdy than Sir Galahad.

  Or maybe that was just the point, she thought suddenly.

  Everyone loved discovering that the saint had feet of clay, and although Cole Williams certainly didn’t kiss like anyone’s idea of a saint, he was the white knight of choice for a great many causes. Even the gala last night had had a dual purpose. He had wealthy people who fancied themselves patrons of the arts opening up their pockets for a charity that touched them all in one way or another.

  It had taken very little poking around on her part to discover that as his fortune had grown, so had his largesse. And although he didn’t give it away as fast as he made it, he’d certainly donated more than his share. More than his state’s share, she thought as she went over the last few years of tax forms she’d managed to access on her computer.

  “You’re not supposed to be checking me out.”

  Cole’s resonant voice seemed to fill the den. She’d caught a whiff of his scent the moment he’d entered the room less than a heartbeat before he spoke. Consequently, he hadn’t surprised her.

  But her pulse still chose to accelerate a little.

  Turning her head, Elizabeth glanced at him over her shoulder. It was close to six o’clock. She thought big executive types didn’t come straggling in until the late hours of the evening. But then, Cole Williams wasn’t your average executive, or even your average billionaire if half
of what she’d read was true.

  “I’m not. I’m checking out everyone you ever had any dealings with.” She leaned back in her chair, turning it around to face him. “I’ve come to the conclusion that you know the immediate world.”

  “Not quite. I don’t know you.” Which was what had brought him home early. He’d half expected her not to be there. But Cummings, his housekeeper, had assured him that “the young lady is still in.”

  Here it comes, Elizabeth thought. “Just exactly how do you mean that?”

  “You don’t exist.” Cole sat down on the sofa. Until he did, he hadn’t realized how tired he felt. Or how tense. It felt as if he’d been doing a balancing act on a tightrope and his feet kept threatening to slip. “At least, Hagen can’t find any proof that you do.”

  “And Hagen would be?”

  “My chief investigator.”

  She was aware that he kept an investigative agency on retainer. “You might do better having Hagen looking into the identity of the person trying to steal your reputation.”

  He didn’t like being dictated to, even by someone as attractive as she. When he was a kid, his teachers had all told his mother that he would never amount to anything because he never adhered to rules. But they were wrong on all counts. He didn’t mind adhering to rules, as long as the rules were his own.

  “Why is there no record of an Elizabeth Caldwell going to school?”

  She’d been Elizabeth Payne back then. Payne had been her father’s name. Caldwell was a name a well-meaning social worker had christened the three of them with in an effort to hide them in plain sight. The woman’s intent had been to keep them safe from a father who was obviously deranged. It seemed to her now a wasted effort. As far as she knew, her father, a man by the name of Benedict Payne, had never attempted to find any of them in the twenty-eight years that had passed since her mother’s murder.

  She was mildly curious. “It’s a common enough name. I would have imagined that you would have found someone who answered to it.”