“I’ll call you,” he said, then lifted his hand in a wave.
Jolie nodded and watched him walk away until she realized that Carlotta was watching her watch him. She glanced over and Carlotta grinned triumphantly. “Well done. You managed to snag the attention of the most eligible pair of pants here.”
Jolie shook her head. “I’m only interested in selling him a house. People like that make me nervous.”
“You mean people with money?”
Had she just put her foot in her mouth? “Well, I—”
“Don’t ever let people with money make you nervous,” Carlotta said, her voice suddenly level. “But always be suspicious.” She scanned the crowd. “Did you know the governor is here? And Arthur Blank? All the carats and the cash in this room would be easy pickings for a thief.”
Her eyes were serious and her voice was tinged with a mixture of resentment and excitement that made Jolie wonder how much of a thrill seeker Carlotta was. She had a feeling the woman was more complicated than she pretended to be.
Jolie spotted Roger LeMon. “Carlotta, do you know that man in the yellow shirt?”
Carlotta squinted. “Yeah—Roger something or another. I see him out all the time. He’s a big Buckhead muckety-muck. He’s hit on me a couple of times. Why?”
“I think he and I have a mutual friend.”
“Well, let’s go see.”
Carlotta barreled toward the knot of people where the man stood talking, and Jolie followed, her heart thudding in her ears. The man was in a mixed group, but was seemingly alone and disengaged, standing a half step back and constantly surveying the room.
“Excuse me,” Carlotta said, touching his arm.
He pivoted his head and when he saw Carlotta, turned away from the group all together. “Hel-lo.”
“Hi,” Carlotta said with a flirty smile. “My name is Carly, and this is my friend, Jolie.”
He glanced at Jolie and nodded. “Hi there.” But his attention snapped back to Carlotta. “I’m Roger LeMon.” He put the twirl of a French pronunciation on the last name, and he might as well have said, “I’m zee big cheeze.” He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, she noticed.
“So, Roger LeMon,” Carlotta said, mimicking the pronunciation and improving upon it, “my friend Jolie thinks you two have a mutual acquaintance.”
He looked back at Jolie, his thick eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “Who would that be?”
Jolie tried to affect a casual tone. “Gary Hagan?”
He drew back slightly, his eyes narrowing, then he recovered and shook his head. “Hagan, did you say?”
“Yes, Gary Hagan.”
He made a noise in his throat. “No, the name doesn’t ring a bell. Why would you think I would know this Hagan fellow?”
Unprepared for his flat denial, Jolie chose her words carefully. “It was a photo I saw—you look like one of the men in it with Gary.”
He gave a little laugh. “Well, they say everyone has a twin somewhere. Who is this Hagan guy?”
“Just a friend,” she said, her breathing shallow.
He squinted. “What did you say your name was again?”
Fine hairs rose on the nape of her neck. “Jolie Goodman.”
He nodded, then drained his wineglass. “Ladies, it was nice meeting you,” he said, edging away. “But this is, after all, a wine tasting, and I need another taste.” He lifted his glass, turned and strode away.
Carlotta gave her a wry smile. “I guess you were mistaken.” Then she frowned. “It’s weird, but the name Gary Hagan sounds familiar to me.”
Jolie’s heart rate picked up, but she tried to maintain a steady voice. “You know Gary?”
A furrow formed on Carlotta’s forehead, then she shook her head. “No, I’m thinking of another guy I used to know, Gary Haggardy.” She shrugged and looked around, already bored.
Jolie watched Roger LeMon moving through the crowd. His pace seemed more hurried than someone who was chasing a drink refill. Indeed, instead of stopping at the bar, he strode past and veered off down a hallway. Curious.
“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she murmured to Carlotta.
“I’ll meet you at the food table,” Carlotta said. “Hannah said they were getting ready to put out lobster cakes.”
Jolie barely heard her as she walked away. Keeping an eye out for Roger LeMon, she traced his steps through the crowd and down the side hallway. A twin bank of pay phones sat at the end of the hall, just before the entrance to the restrooms. Roger LeMon stood with his back to her, a black phone receiver pressed to his ear. From the angry, chopping gestures he made with his other hand, she gathered he wasn’t talking to his mother.
Thankful for the carpet, she walked quietly toward him. As she drew closer, she could hear his agitated, lowered voice.
“—recognized me from a photograph…Hell, I don’t know…She said she was a friend…Goodman, Jolie Goodman…”
At the sound of her own name, Jolie’s feet faltered and her knees threatened to give way. She spun around to make a silent retreat, but as she rounded the corner, the wineglass slipped out of her hand. She clawed the air, but the glass tumbled and bounced on the carpet, spilling wine in a red arc. Jolie stared at the glass, knowing if she retrieved it, she’d be in LeMon’s line of vision—and if he’d heard the noise, he would most likely be looking. Instead she turned and racewalked back through the crowd until she reached the food table.
Carlotta, in her look-at-me ensemble, was hard to miss. She grinned. “Jolie, try the quiche—”
“I have to go.”
Carlotta frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m…not feeling well,” Jolie said. Which was true. “I’ll s–see you tomorrow—thanks for the ticket.”
She turned and practically trotted toward the exit, sending panicked glances over her shoulder for Roger LeMon. She flew by the ticket taker and stumbled down the entrance ramp, walking as fast as her shoes would allow along the dimly lit sidewalk to her car. She gulped air as she fumbled to get her key in the lock, then realized she’d forgotten to lock the door. She grabbed at the handle and opened the door, then practically flung herself inside and slammed it shut.
She gripped the wheel, inhaling and exhaling slowly to calm her vital signs, trying to figure out what to do next. Call Detective Salyers? The woman’s suspicion resounded in her head. Would she accuse Jolie of grasping at straws, or maybe lying altogether? Jolie hesitated, then reached for her purse.
“Jolie,” a man said. From the back seat.
She froze, and terror bolted through her body at the realization that someone had been lying in wait for her. The muscles in her legs bunched and her arm flew to the door handle.
“Jolie, it’s me—Gary.”
Seven
“Gary?” she whispered on a breath that seemed to be pulled out of her.
“Don’t turn around, Jolie.”
She stopped, mid-turn, her heart thudding in her ears. “Wh–why not?”
“So that when the police ask if you’ve seen me, you can say no.” His voice sounded reedy and unfamiliar. Terrifying.
Her fingers curled around the metal door handle. “W–what happened to you?”
“I don’t have time to explain now, but I want you to know that I didn’t do what the police are accusing me of. I was set up.” His voice ended on a choke.
Think, think, keep him talking. “Who…who was the woman in your car, Gary?”
“I can’t tell you. The less you know, the better.”
“But…where have you been?”
“Staying out of sight. They think I’m dead, and I want them to keep thinking it.”
She frowned. “Who is ‘they’?”
“Like I said, the less you know, the better.” He sounded more agitated. “If anyone asks you about me, I simply disappeared.”
“With my car,” she reminded him.
“I’m sorry about that. I’ll pay you back, I swear. Money, at least, is
n’t a problem.”
She pulled the door release as far as it would go, without making noise. “How did you know I was here?”
“I followed you from your apartment. It was too dangerous to talk to you there. They would expect it.”
Her skin crawled and her mind raced with questions. “Gary…if you were set up, why don’t you go to the police? The detective I’ve been talking to—”
“Jolie, if anyone knows I’m alive, you could be in danger. That’s why I had to do this—to warn you.”
She swallowed. “Why would I be in danger?”
“Because of the envelope.”
“What envelope?”
Silence, then…“Oh, God, maybe they intercepted it.” He sounded desperate, making mewling noises.
“Gary,” she said carefully, “what was in the envelope?”
A scrambling noise sounded from the back. “I have to go, Jolie. I’m sorry that I got you involved. I’m sorry for a lot of things.” He sounded almost philosophical, as if he were talking about something in the very distant past.
“Wait, Gary—don’t go. Let me drive you to a police station.”
“No.”
“If you’re in danger, they’ll put you in protective custody.”
He scoffed. “That only means I’ll be alone when they come to kill me.”
“Who is ‘they’?”
“Bye, Jolie. Promise me you won’t say anything to the police. Both of our lives depend on it.”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head, fighting tears.
Suddenly he came up over the seat and put his arms around her, pressing his cheek against hers so she couldn’t move her head. She screamed, but the sound was lost against the hand he cupped over her mouth. She sucked air through her nose, jerking in her attempt to fill her lungs. His hands smelled grimy, his rough beard pricking her skin. He had her arms pinned to her sides. He had never behaved aggressively toward her, and the possibility of him being high on cocaine blipped into her panicked mind. She struggled and tried to bite his fingers.
His grip tightened like a vise. “Jolie, for God’s sake, I’m not going to hurt you, but you have to promise me you won’t go to the police. Please,” he begged, his voice tearful. “I need time to get my ducks in a row, then I’ll go to the police.”
His despair reverberated in the small car. Real or imagined, he was indeed afraid for his life. She nodded against his hand.
“Thank you,” he breathed, then slowly released her mouth. “I’ll be around, keeping an eye on you, but be careful, Jolie.”
She gasped for fresh air and glanced in the rearview mirror, but she saw only the outline of his head and shoulders. The door slammed, sending a vibration through the small car. She clawed at the controls on the door panel until she heard the comforting thwack of all four doors locking, then she laid her head on the steering wheel, giving in to shuddering breaths and waves of relief…frustration…confusion. Nothing remotely like this had ever happened to her before. How had she, a normal, hard-working, good girl, suddenly become enmeshed in a murder investigation?
She massaged her temples, trying to chase away the fear, to clear her head enough to think. Gary was obviously terrified, but was it possible that he’d become mentally unstable—sometime before or after he’d driven his car into the river and killed that woman? And was he doing coke? With all the talk about what “they” would do to him, he’d sounded clinically paranoid. She’d promised him she wouldn’t go to the police, but that went against her every gut instinct.
And what if he was telling the truth? What if he had been set up by some kind of drug ring and the police couldn’t protect him? Roger LeMon had seemed intent on hiding his relationship to Gary, although the man didn’t strike her as a criminal mastermind. If he were a successful investment broker, he might simply be worried about his reputation if the media tied him personally to a murderer.
Common sense itself kept pulling her away from Gary’s fantastic tale of being set up. Wouldn’t denial be a likely first line of defense? On the other hand, if he were guilty of murdering the woman in his car, why would he stay in Atlanta? Why not flee to another state, or to Mexico? He’d made it sound as if he were going to try to resolve the situation himself and go to the police afterward. What if he was right—what if she went to the police and their interference only made things wors e…or cost him his life?
A knock sounded on the window. Jolie gripped the steering wheel and screamed until her tonsils quivered, then turned her head.
Beck Underwood stood there with his hands up, his eyes wide. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he shouted, his voice muffled by the window.
Her shoulders fell in relief, but she’d had enough of men sneaking up on her for one night. She rolled down the window and demanded, “Are you following me?”
He looked perplexed. “What? No.” He gestured in the direction Gary had gone. “I was coming back from walking my sister to her car and I saw you sitting here. Are you having car trouble?”
She looked up at him and burst into tears—a first for her, ever. And she wasn’t sure who was more horrified, her or the man standing outside her car. While she tried to pull herself together, he squatted down to her level and placed his hand on the car door. He had big, strong hands that matched his physique…capable hands…capable of harm? She retreated a few inches, suddenly suspicious of everyone.
He sighed. “Look, Jolie, I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in, but it’s clear to me that you’re scared of something. Does this have anything to do with that police officer coming to see you the other day?”
His voice pulled at her with a promise of comfort. Once again she had the overwhelming urge to confide in this stranger. But as the seconds ticked by, the desire to spill her guts was overridden by the fear that Gary might still be watching her, might even be within hearing distance. “I’m fine,” she said, dragging a tissue from her purse. “I’m not feeling well, that’s all.” Now accustomed to the man seeing her at her worst, she blew her nose noisily.
“Let me drive you home,” he said.
“No.” She stuck the key into the ignition and turned over the car engine. “I’ll be fine. I just need a good night’s sleep.”
“I’ll follow you home,” he said.
“No,” she said, more vehemently than she’d intended. What kind of mess was she that in the space of a minute she could find him suspicious, then trustworthy, then suspicious again?
“Good night,” she said quietly, then buzzed up the window, displacing his hand.
As she pulled away from the curb, she glanced in the side mirror and watched him standing with his hands on his hips, staring after her. He had to be thinking she was the most bizarre woman he’d ever met.
Considering her current predicament, she would have to concur. In the past couple of days, she felt as if she’d entered the Twilight Zone. As she proceeded north on Peachtree Street, she scanned the sidewalks for any sign of Gary on foot, while keeping an eye on her rearview mirror for headlights. She wiped the corners of her eyes and exhaled heartily, then turned on the air conditioner full blast to dispel the faint smell of cigarettes and body odor Gary had left behind. How long had he been following her, waiting for her? She shivered, remembering the desperate edge to his voice.
What had been in the envelope he’d sent her—money? Drugs? And was this “they” he was talking about intercepting her mail? If so, “they” had already made a connection between her and Gary. Who were “they”…friends of his? People who knew about the missing person’s report she’d filed? Police officers? Was that why Gary was afraid for her to go to the police, because they were involved somehow? Of course, the missing persons report was a matter of public record, for anyone to access.
She shook her aching head, realizing she was buying into Gary’s thin explanation of a conspiracy. Because, despite evidence to the contrary, she wanted to believe him, needed to believe him. Because she needed to justify her de
cision to become involved with him? Otherwise, what kind of a woman would she be if she could be conned by a con man?
Gullible? Or, in this case, criminal?
She reached for her purse and rummaged with one hand until she came up with her cell phone, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her thumb hovered over the number pad as she tried to decide whether to call Detective Salyers.
But what information could she provide really—other than the fact that Gary was alive, which the police already suspected? He’d given her no names, no specifics at all, to support his contention that he was set up. Salyers would probably dismiss his ramblings as those of a strung-out fugitive, then have him hunted down. And maybe haul Jolie in for good measure.
If he was guilty and she didn’t call Salyers, he would eventually be found and brought to justice. If he was innocent and she didn’t call Salyers, he might be able to gather more information in his defense before the police closed in.
So in reality, there was nothing tangible to be gained from telling Salyers about Gary’s sudden reappearance. And if she implicated herself further, the police would pester her to no end. Gary’s warning to be careful rang in her ears…The police couldn’t help her there, either, other than to reiterate his warning…and maybe make things worse if “they” thought she was cooperating with the police.
She glanced down at the phone, wavering. When she stopped at the next intersection, she punched in a number and waited while the phone rang one, two, three, four times.
“Hello,” Leann said, sounding out of breath.
At the sound of a familiar voice, Jolie’s blood pressure instantly eased. “Hey, it’s me. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Just dealing with some throw-up,” Leann said with a tired sigh.
Jolie cringed. “Your sister sounds miserable.”
“Almost as miserable as I am,” Leann murmured. “I thought you were going to a party tonight.”
Party Crashers Page 7
