Hell, she’d probably been sleeping with the other guy at the same time she’d been sleeping with him. All those, “Wow, Owen, that was incredible,” must have been fake, too. Just as fake as the rest of their relationship.
“You played me.”
She shook her head.
“Yeah, you did. I can’t believe I fell for it. My mother was right. You really are common as dirt.”
She flinched like he’d hit her, and for a second he regretted saying it. But just for a second. She was leaving him—leaving him for Matthew Vogel!—and if that didn’t make her a two-faced, low-class bitch, he didn’t know what would.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper, and big, fat tears were rolling down her cheeks.
Oh, sure. “If you’re sorry, why don’t we just forget that all this happened? I’ll tear up the check. You go back upstairs and put your clothes away. And we go back to the way things were.”
“I can’t,” Kaylee whispered.
Uh-huh. “Then it’s your choice, isn’t it? I guess you must really love this guy, huh? If you’ll leave me and all my money—the whole Norris fortune—to be with him?”
She didn’t answer, and he took a step back, because he couldn’t stand to look at her anymore. Couldn’t handle the despair he felt, but more, he couldn’t handle the urge to wrap her in his arms—in spite of everything she’d done—and tell her he forgave her, that they’d work it out, whatever it was. Hell, he’d even forego his plan of siccing the police on Vogel if Kaylee would just agree to stay with him.
But she didn’t. She just looked at him with those big, blue eyes. He fumbled for the door knob. “I’ll just get out of your way. Let you do what you have to do.”
No way could he stay and watch as Vogel came to pick her up. Watching her walk away with another guy was more than he could take. He’d go have a chat with the police instead. Stop by Norris Industries on the way, to pick up the evidence he and Carolyn had gathered on the fake Damian Cooper, and tell the cops everything. Put a stop payment on the check while he was at it, and ensure that whichever bank the bastard used knew to detain him when he presented it, and would keep him until the police arrived.
He held out the check. When she didn’t move to take it, he let it drop to the floor. “If you’re planning to sue me, just be warned that you won’t succeed. I can afford lawyers you can’t even dream of. You’ll be lucky to be left with your underwear by the time they’re done with you.”
“I’m not going to sue you.”
Sure. He’d believe that when he saw it. And even if she wasn’t planning to, he wouldn’t put it past Matthew Vogel to talk her into it.
He wanted the last word, wanted to leave her with something pithy, something cutting, to make her realize what she was giving up... but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. She looked so small standing there, hunched into herself, with her eyes enormous, and shadowed, in her pale face, that the image hit him right where he didn’t want to get hit anymore: in the heart.
In the end he said the only thing he could say, because in spite of everything, it still mattered. “I’ll keep you on my insurance policy until you’ve made arrangements for other medical care.” It wasn’t the baby’s fault that both its parents were mercenary bottom-feeders, after all.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She just nodded, as her eyes overflowed again and two fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Take care of yourself, Kaylee.”
He turned abruptly, before he could do what he wanted to do, and pull her into his arms to comfort her. She didn’t want him. It wouldn’t do him any good to fall to his knees in front of her and beg. I’ll give you anything you want. Half the money, free and clear. All of the money. Just stay with me. I love you.
She didn’t say anything when he pushed the front door open, and she didn’t call him back. When he got into his car and pulled out of the parking space, the door was still standing half open. At least he thought it was, although it was a little hard to see, with the tears in his eyes.
BY THE TIME Fake Gil AKA Matthew knocked on the door, Kaylee had finished crying. At least for the time being, although she was fairly certain she’d break down again soon. Her eyes were red and swollen, and when she opened the door, the jackass took one look at her and smirked. “Something wrong?”
She gave him a stony stare, as stony as she could make it considering that she was close to tears, and he chuckled and looked at her, top to bottom and back. “Going somewhere?”
“Coming back from the bank,” Kaylee said, to explain away the boots and overcoat. “I told you it would take time.”
He waved it away. “Did you get it?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” She handed him the envelope with the check. “Take it and go.”
He didn’t move from the open doorway, of course, just stood there and took his time opening the envelope and pulling out the check. She saw the surprise that flickered over his face, and deduced he hadn’t been sure she’d actually come through. When he looked up at her again, he was grinning. “Thank you very much.”
She didn’t tell him he was welcome, since he really wasn’t. “You’ll stay away from us, right?”
“Of course.” Fake Gil—it was hard to think of him as anything else—looked terribly sincere, his eyes earnest in his too handsome face. “You won’t see me again, I swear.”
No, she wouldn’t, but not for the reason he thought. Once he was gone, she’d be gone too. If she stayed with Owen, it would only be a matter of time—months, maybe even weeks—before the bastard was back, knocking on her door and asking for another handout, in return for staying away from her for another period of time. If she stayed with Owen, she’d have to keep paying Fake Gil for the rest of her life—or until Owen figured out what was going on and put a stop to it—and then the SOB would be part of her life, hers and the baby’s, for as long as they were alive. Short of killing him, there’d be no way to get rid of him.
But if she left now, the next time he came back, Owen would tell him she was gone. She’d make sure Alana and Melody knew, too, and between them, they’d get the point across. He’d have no way of blackmailing Owen. She’d write a note to explain, once she was settled somewhere, and to thank him for everything he’d done for her. He didn’t deserve her walking out like this, without an explanation—the pain in his eyes earlier had almost undone her, at least until he jumped to the wrong conclusion and the pain was replaced with betrayal and anger.
He’d lashed out at her, and his repugnance had cut her to the heart. The things he’d called her... Owen bringing up her past, her origins, and holding them against her, was her worst nightmare. He had always respected her and appreciated her. He had never made her feel like she was less than him just because she’d been born poor. Not until today. Not until he thought she was leaving him for someone else, and stealing his money while she was at it.
He had the right to be angry. From where he stood, it was open and shut and she was guilty. She looked guilty, so she couldn’t even blame him for jumping to the wrong conclusion. Although he probably wouldn’t have believed her even if she’d tried to explain.
Or maybe he would have. He was Owen. He was special. She loved him. And now she had to leave him because he deserved better than the trouble she’d brought down on him, just for trying to do her a favor.
Matthew Vogel pocketed the check, grinning. “A pleasure doing business with you.”
Whatever. She waited until he’d stepped out, and then she closed the door behind him. And watched from the dining room window to make sure he was really leaving—watched as he crossed the parking lot and disappeared down the sidewalk outside the wall. Watched the empty parking lot for a while to make sure he wasn’t coming back—before she took a bag in each hand and walked out, on her own again after three months of being Mrs. Owen Taylor.
Chapter Nineteen
SHE WAS GONE by the time he got back, and so was the c
heck. No surprise there: it was what Owen had expected. He hung his coat on the rack by the door and stood for a second looking around. The place felt different, empty.
He’d lived here longer on his own than he’d lived here with Kaylee. But she’d become part of the townhouse, and without her, it didn’t feel right. Even if he knew she’d been two-timing him the entire time she’d lived here with him, it still felt empty without her.
He padded down the hallway and into the kitchen in his stocking feet, aiming for the refrigerator and the beer he knew was there, only to stop in the doorway, struck by the image he’d once seen, of Kaylee in his shirt, with her head in the fridge and those panties with the strawberries on display.
God, he loved those panties.
God, he loved her.
And God, she loved someone else more than him.
He got the beer and took it to the living room. And stood for a second thinking about watching television on the sofa, with Kaylee’s feet in his lap, before he decided he wasn’t up for sitting there alone. He turned and headed up the stairs instead.
Being without her shouldn’t feel this bad. Not when he knew what she was and what she was doing right now. But he felt like someone had gone at him with a baseball bat, and had ripped his heart out of his chest while they were at it, leaving a gaping hole.
If possible, the second floor was worse. The bedroom they’d shared. The bed. The empty drawers and the unused hangers in the closet, where her clothes used to be.
The note he’d left on the bedside table this morning was gone. He looked for it, but it was nowhere to be found, not even crumpled in the trash can. She must have taken it with her. Maybe she planned to use it to help that bastard Vogel forge Owen’s signature?
In the end, he went to bed. Just laid down on the king sized bed, pretended she was next to him, and fell asleep at seven o’clock, dreaming that when he woke up, she’d be there.
She wasn’t. And it was gray and gloomy, with some nasty combination of rain and snow spitting at the windows. It was the kind of day he just wanted to spend in bed. If he’d had Kaylee next to him, he could have. He tried not to think about her, and about the things they could get up to in this big bed on a rainy day, but found himself going there anyway. Remembering. And hating himself for doing it.
She’s gone. Rolling around on Vogel’s bed with him instead. She doesn’t love you.
At eight thirty-five, the call from the bank came. Five minutes after the doors opened for the day. The bastard hadn’t wasted any time.
The call was from the branch closest to Shelley Vogel’s address, just as he’d suspected it would be. “Mr. Taylor? This is Doug Callahan with Mid-State Bank. The item you alerted us to yesterday has been presented for cashing.”
Cashing? The bastard wasn’t even going to deposit it?
But no, he was probably going to take the money and run, leaving Kaylee and her baby—his baby—to fend for themselves. Big surprise there.
“Who presented it?”
“The individual you described,” Mr. Callahan said, in his extremely precise voice. “The payee. Matthew Vogel.”
“Is he alone?”
He was. Apparently he’d been confident enough that the check was good, that he hadn’t seen the need to bring Kaylee to vouch for it.
“Is he still there?”
“Waiting,” Mr. Callahan confirmed. “In our customer service area.”
“How long can you keep him there?”
There was the hint of a very self-congratulatory smile in Mr. Callahan’s voice. “Almost indefinitely, Mr. Taylor. It can take quite a while, putting together twenty-five thousand dollars in cash. We have to make sure we have enough reserve in the vault so none of our tellers end up short today. And there is paperwork that needs attention. Any cash transaction amounting to more than ten thousand dollars must be reported to the Internal Revenue Service. They keep a close eye on possible money laundering.”
“It’ll take me thirty minutes to get there. Can you keep him on ice till then?”
“That,” Mr. Callahan said, “will not be a problem.”
After a tenth of a second he added, perhaps as a safeguard, “Unless Mr. Vogel determines that waiting isn’t in his best interest. If he gets up and walks out, I won’t be able to forcibly detain him.”
“But he’d be leaving the money, right?”
“That he would,” Mr. Callahan confirmed.
“Then I don’t think we have to worry about it. He isn’t going to walk away from twenty-five grand, not if he thinks he has a chance to get it. The check is legitimate, he isn’t trying to do anything illegal, so he has no reason to be afraid. Just keep telling him you’re getting there. Offer him coffee. Whatever it takes.”
“Certainly, Mr. Taylor,” Callahan said.
“Thank you. I’m on my way.”
He turned the phone off and dropped it in his pocket. Less than a minute later, he was in the Toyota, on his way toward the Mid-State Bank branch.
THE RUSTY PONTIAC from yesterday was parked outside the doors when he pulled the Toyota into the lot and found a space a few car lengths down.
Obviously Matthew Vogel was still hanging on, waiting for his ship to come in.
The Pontiac was empty—of people, even if it was full of trash and other things—and there was no sign of Kaylee anywhere. Straightening his glasses, Owen headed for the door to the bank, doing his damndest to gather every bit of Norris he had in him for the confrontation.
He saw Matthew Vogel at the same time Vogel saw him. The other man jumped up from the chair he was occupying, in a small sitting area with a half dozen chairs and a flat-screen, just to the left of the doors. His gaze darted around, as if he were looking for a way out, but the only exit to the outside lay past Owen, through the main doors, and there was nowhere to run. And Mr. Callahan must have told bank security what was going on, because the burly security guard stationed beside one of the teller windows put his hand on his weapon and moved a few steps closer.
Mr. Callahan—tall, thin, and proper—hurried across the floor toward them, while Matthew Vogel searched—in vain—for a way out.
“Mr. Vogel? If you’ll come into my office, please?”
“I just want my money,” Vogel said. “The check’s good. It’s a cashier’s check. It’s like cash money.”
“Not exactly like cash money,” Callahan said, and steered Vogel toward the enclosed office in the back. “If you’ll just come this way, Mr. Vogel...”
Vogel thought about making a break for it—Owen could see it in his eyes—but in the end he must have decided it wasn’t worth it. He was, above all else, a con man, and he probably counted on his mouth—and the fact that he hadn’t done anything illegal, at least today—to get him out of trouble.
“Mr. Taylor?” Callahan said over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” Owen followed the other two into the branch manager’s office and closed the door behind him. A few seconds passed, and then the burly security guard wandered into view outside the glass enclosure and took up station within shooting distance. Owen doubted the guard’s services would be needed—in his estimation, Vogel was venal but not stupid, and wouldn’t try anything heroic—but the uniform and gun were a welcome reminder.
“Have a seat, please.” Callahan waved them both to chairs, side by side across the desk from his own, and waited for them to sit before he seated himself. “Now, then.” He stapled his fingers.
As expected, Vogel took the lead, playing the put-open and long-suffering customer, unaccountably held up by bureaucratic red tape. “What’s going on? I just came here to cash a check. A perfectly legitimate check. All I want is my money.”
“And I explained to you, Mr. Vogel,” Callahan said, “that it’s no small task to withdraw twenty-five thousand dollars in cash from a small branch. If you had given us notice, we could have made sure we had the bills on hand, but as it is, it will take us a little while to arrange. An
d in the meantime, there is the Internal Revenue Service to contend with.”
Vogel paled. “The IRS? Why? I was gonna pay income tax on the money.”
Yeah, right. Owen held back a snort, but just barely. And maybe he didn’t hold it back as well as he thought, because they both turned and looked at him. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Carry on.”
Callahan nodded. “In matters of large cash deposits and withdrawals, Mr. Vogel, those in excess of ten thousand dollars, the Internal Revenue Service requires paperwork. If you will be so kind as to fill this out.” He produced a sheet of paper with the air of a conjurer, and put it in front of Vogel with a pen on top, uncapped.
“All this?” Vogel asked, dismayed.
“Name, address, telephone number, date of birth, social security information.” Callahan rattled them off. “Just the basics. And if I may borrow your driver’s license, so I can make a copy for our records?” It sounded polite, but wasn’t actually a question. He held out a hand.
Vogel hesitated, but in the end he pulled out a worn leather wallet and extracted a license. Callahan held it between two fingers and practically at arm’s length, as if afraid it would contaminate him. “Thank you. If you will excuse me, I shall go and have a copy made. In the meantime, if you would be so kind as to fill out the form, Mr. Vogel?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, just exited the office and pulled the door shut behind him.
“Shit,” Vogel said, looking at the form.
Owen smirked. “Didn’t count on that, did you?”
Vogel shot him a look of active distaste, but he didn’t say anything, just began filling in the rubrics.
“What are you doing here?” he asked after a minute.
“Isn’t it obvious? You’ve stolen enough from me, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t steal the check,” Vogel said with a smirk. “Kaylee gave it to me. Out of the goodness of her heart.”
The smirk, and the tone of his voice—not to mention the fact that Kaylee loved this colossal waste of oxygen and had left Owen for him—had Owen curling his fists. He straightened his hands with a bit of effort. “Where is Kaylee, anyway?”
Friends With Benefits Page 16
