“May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Lincoln James. Fifteenth floor, room number—”
“Does Mr. James expect you?”
Dee had the urge to flip off the smug automaton. However, unlike the kid on the subway, she was an adult with a professional reputation to maintain. Sometimes, she thought, fisting her hand, growing up sucked.
“He does.”
The man, Shiloh, according to his nametag, gave her a long, considering look. Knowing she looked like she belonged, Dee held his gaze without wavering. Her dove-gray cashmere overcoat carried the subtle whiff of money, as did her butter-soft black gloves. Under the coat, her blouse was silk, her pants the softest high-end wool. On her feet, she wore a pair of polished leather boots, not a scuff or nick in sight.
Paired with her conservative attire, the streak of purple in her dark hair was admittedly incongruous. Dee doubted the diamond-shaped tattoo on the back of her left hand was de rigueur with clientele the receptionist dealt with daily.
The receptionist wasn’t the first to judge Dee’s book by the cover, he wouldn’t be the last. She was annoyed, but her hackles settled. If he did his job and let her pass, she didn’t give a flying leap what he thought.
“The name is Dee Wakefield.”
Shiloh checked his computer.
“Ah.” If possible, his eyebrows rose another inch. “Please proceed to the elevator on the left, Ms. Wakefield.”
Dee couldn’t manage a thank you. Instead, she nodded at Shiloh, surprised when he nodded back. Apparently, Linc’s seal of approval raised her in the receptionist’s estimation.
People, she sighed as she entered the elevator. With so much animosity and general bitchiness, Dee sometimes wondered how civilization managed to move from a basic wheel to the industrial age, and beyond, without everyone killing each other.
Looking at the men and women surrounding her in their expensive suits, headed toward their fancy offices, she had her answer. A person would learn to work with the devil himself if money were involved.
Dee didn’t give herself a pass on the subject. She enjoyed the perks provided by a healthy bank account. The ability to take care of her monthly bills without a second thought. To see the stunned expression on her father’s face, the tears in her mother’s eyes, when she handed them the deed to their house, mortgage free for the first time. And the seed money she loaned her brother so he could quit a job he hated and open his own auto repair shop.
Money was good, necessary. However, when greed became avarice, Dee drew a big fat line in the sand. For some, no amount was ever enough. Worse was the twisted justification that allowed them to cheat, steal, and in extreme cases, kill to get what they wanted.
Lincoln James amassed a fortune, not by hook or crook, but through hard work. An athlete and a businessman. Brawn plus brains. Obviously, he wasn’t content to let his hard-earned money molder in the bank.
However, according to her research, he didn’t keep his wealth to himself. The list of charities he generously contributed to was long and varied. Not to mention his own foundation, set up to help underprivileged youths attend college.
Everything Dee learned about Linc said he was a good man. Her instincts said the same. For the first time in a long time, she wanted to believe in a man.
Dee expected surprises, a wild card or two. No matter how deep she dug into Linc’s past, she couldn’t expect to find everything. Fingers crossed, whatever his secrets, he turned out to be exactly what he seemed.
On the fifteenth floor, the doors opened with a ding. Waiting on the other side was Linc. Dee swore she heard the other women in the elevator sigh at the sight of him—and a few of the men.
Tall and handsome, Linc seemed genetically engineered to make the rest of the world’s mere mortals gasp. Envy, desire, or something in between, the response was automatic—the human equivalent of Pavlov’s dogs. With less drool.
Dee wasn’t immune. When she met Linc’s gaze, her stomach did the usual slow flip, a feeling she’d come to expect but didn’t think she would ever get used to.
As she stepped from the elevator, she hid a smile. He’s here for me, she gloated silently. Eat your hearts out.
“You came.” Linc seemed almost surprised.
“By your invitation.”
“Occurred to me you might cancel at the last minute.”
The ultra-confident Lincoln James had doubts about a woman? About her? Dee was amazed and secretly flattered. The revelation settled her stomach. Funny how a tiny chink in his armor could calm her nerves and somehow make Linc even more appealing.
“My office is just around the corner.”
Dressed to the nines in a black, pinstriped suit, Linc led Dee past a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. After a week of sunny weather, a trickle of snow fell from the gray, overcast sky, a reminder not to look ahead. Winter still had a few tricks up her sleeve.
As Linc opened a heavy, oak-stained door, he stood aside to let her enter first. Dee expected, like the rest of the building, to find sleek and modern. While the furnishings were minimalist, a large desk, two wingback chairs, a leather sofa, the design was warm as was the color scheme of deep blues and a rich, complementary chocolate brown.
“I was surprised by the address,” Dee said as Linc took her coat. “Why downtown? Wouldn’t an office closer to your apartment be more convenient?”
“You know where I live?”
Busted. Dee could admit she ran a background check on him, or she could keep quiet and hope he didn’t push the subject. Lips sealed, she looked into Linc’s eyes and shrugged. A beat later, he grinned.
“You’re a private investigator. What else would you do but investigate?” He motioned Dee toward the sofa where he joined her. “Find anything interesting?”
“Your life,” she shrugged. “You should know.”
“True. In my case, details would be redundant.” A silver carafe sat on a nearby glass table. Without asking, Linc poured a cup of coffee. “Black?”
Nodding, Dee took the mug. She breathed in the distinct aroma before taking a sip of the hot, strong liquid.
“You aren’t having any?” she asked when Linc took his seat empty-handed.
“I try to avoid caffeine,” he explained. “I don’t need you to tell me about my past, Dee. To satisfy my curiosity, what was your reaction?”
Linc seemed relaxed—more interested than concerned. Either he was a good actor, or, as her investigation indicated, he had nothing to hide.
“My idea of interesting might vary from yours,” Dee said as she watched him over the rim of her cup.
“Did the details bore you?” Linc rolled his eyes. “Talk about the kiss of death.”
Lincoln James was many things, boring wasn’t one of them.
“Your past is just colorful enough.”
“Not exactly a glowing endorsement, but I’ll take what I can get—for now.”
“One thing did give me pause.”
“Oh?” Intrigued, Linc shifted until his body angled toward hers. “Let me guess. You want to know what a weekend in jail is like.”
“Been there, done that,” Dee said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Tell me about your name.”
“I’d rather hear the reason you landed behind bars.”
Dee shook her head.
“The subject is your past, not mine.”
“Something tells me yours is more colorful.”
Colorful, no. Personal? Painful? Definitely. And not fodder for a casual get-to-know-you-better afternoon.
“I’m boring. However, unlike you, I don’t mind a bit.”
“Bull,” Linc scoffed. “You’re an intriguing woman, Dee. The stories you have to tell would be the same.”
“Only because you haven’t heard them.” She set aside her cup. “The topic was you. Your name to be exact.”
“Ah.” A twinkle entered Linc’s blue eyes. “You discovered my dee
pest, darkest secret.”
“Hardly deep, dark, or a secret. The information is on your birth certificate for anyone to see.” Dee raised an eyebrow. “Abraham Lincoln James. Quite the moniker to live up to.”
“My mother’s fault.” The indulgent affection in Linc’s voice was accompanied by a half-smile. “Mom has a major life-long crush on our sixteenth president. If she were alive in Lincoln’s time, she’d be today’s equivalent of a political groupie—her words, not mine.”
Weird, but as obsessions went, a crush on one of the greatest men to ever live was kind of sweet—even admirable.
“Abraham is a good, solid name. Why go by Lincoln?”
“Just what I was always called.”
Mystery solved. Family dynamics, hers, his, or anyone’s, were unique and too complicated for Dee to figure out.
“More coffee?” Linc asked.
“No, thank you.”
Moving to his desk, Linc retrieved something from the drawer—a manila file.
“Guess we should get down to business.”
“Business?” Confused, Dee tentatively accepted the folder.
“The reason I asked you to meet me.” With a sigh, Linc rubbed the back of his neck. “The first email arrived in late November, filled with flowery lines from an adoring fan. Nothing I haven’t seen before. The more I received, the more the tone changed. The innocent I love you took a sexual turn. Again, I wasn’t worried. However—”
“Wait.” Dee held up a hand. “You asked me here to talk about some shady emails?”
“You’re the only private investigator I know.”
Dee was speechless, a rare phenomenon. The idea that Linc wanted to see her in a professional capacity hadn’t crossed her mind. She thought of him as a man, a potential lover. Apparently, he thought of her as a P.I., nothing more.
Fine. Dee shook off her disappointment and opened the file. He wanted professional? No problem.
“Give the person points for creativity,” she said as she finished the last email. “What did the police tell you?”
“Keep a copy of all correspondence. Otherwise, unless something overt happens, their hands are tied.”
“Sounds about right.” Thoughtfully, Dee tapped her finger on the sofa’s armrest. “I can get my best IT person to trace the emails. If your fan was dumb enough to use his or her home computer, a name and location won’t be hard to find. I estimate a week start to finish, maybe less.”
“Great,” Linc nodded.
“However,” Dee warned. “If tech savvy, your biggest fan could know how to link bogus addresses and ping pong the source to servers all over the world. Do you have a pen I can use?”
He retrieved a black Mont Blanc Classic from his desk. Hardly surprising, Dee thought as she unscrewed the cap. Couldn’t expect Linc to use something as mundane as a Bic.
Dee scribbled a few quick notes on the back of the file to jog her memory once she was home—not that she was likely to forget a thing about this afternoon.
“Are you worried?” she asked as she wrote.
“Should I be?”
“The emails are probably harmless. Still, you never know. They might escalate to something more.”
“I might blow out my knee getting out of bed. I might slip on the ice and destroy my elbow. Both could end my career. A few emails are chicken feed by comparison.”
Dee could have made the argument that Linc’s priorities were skewed. Then again, she wasn’t a world-class athlete.
“If you aren’t worried, why hire me?”
“My coach, Pete Winchell, pushed the issue. Pete prodded my manager, who consulted with my agent, who had a talk with my nutritionist.”
“Quite a chain of people.” Dee paused. “Why would your nutritionist care about some kinky emails?”
“Wanda believes stress can affect the way our bodies perform. Plus, she’s married to Boris Carlsbad—my agent.”
“Handy.”
The humming sound he made was noncommittal. Whatever the relationship, he had a lot of people who counted on him to pay their salaries. To them, Lincoln James was the proverbial golden goose. No wonder they kept a close eye on his back. And his front. And every other part of him.
Dee removed a card from her wallet.
“Here’s my contact information. Have someone get in touch. I’ll send a list of detailed questions along with my standard contract, how much I charge by the hour, expenses, etc.”
“Sounds good.”
Before Linc could help, Dee slid on her coat. Their business concluded, she wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, get home, and nurse her wounded pride with a bottle of wine and a night of mindless Netflix offerings.
“Dee.”
Just let me go, Dee wanted to shout, her hand on the doorknob.
“Yes?” she asked without turning.
“I’m….” Linc cleared his throat. “I’m glad you feel better.”
With a nod, Dee left the office. As she waited for the elevator, her mind raced, going over every look, every word, every gesture they exchanged. Gradually, embarrassment was replaced by annoyance. Her foot began to tap, her teeth began to grind. By the time the doors opened, she was full-on pissed off.
Turning, she marched back the way she came and pushed into Linc’s office without knocking. Startled, he looked up from his computer.
“What the hell is going on?” She tossed her coat onto the sofa and started to pace. When Linc didn’t answer, she rounded on him, slamming her palms against the desktop. “Well?”
“You need to pare your question down to something more specific.”
His voice was calm, too calm in Dee’s opinion.
“The night we met, you couldn’t keep your eyes off me. Remember?”
“Vividly.”
“All flirty and charming.”
“Don’t forget gallant. I don’t give my jacket to every woman I meet.”
“Exactly.” Dee waggled an accusatory finger. “You were interested.”
“Very interested,” Linc corrected.
“So, I thought.” Feeling energized, she resumed pacing. “And yesterday? I would have been fine on my own. But you were determined to wheedle your way into my good graces.”
“Wheedle?” Linc shook his head. “Sounds too much like weasel.”
“If the rodent fits, wear it.”
“Please.” Linc closed his laptop with a snap as if to show she had his full attention. “Sit, relax, and tell me what you think I did wrong.”
“Think? I know exactly what you did.” Dee’s blood pressure spiked. “And don’t tell me to relax.”
“Dee. Dee!” Linc’s voice rose for the first time, a sign he wasn’t as calm and collected as he wanted her to believe. “What the hell did I do?”
As Linc’s temper heated, Dee’s cooled enough to let her feel a touch of satisfaction. She finally found the right button to push.
“You asked Destry for my phone number.”
“I asked for your permission. Which you gave.”
At the moment, Dee didn’t care about semantics.
“If you lost interest, why text right away?”
“Who said I lost interest?”
“You!”
“I don’t think so,” Linc frowned.
“You should have warned me. I’d have dressed appropriately. Business meetings mean jeans, army boots, leather jackets. Look at me!” Dee clawed off her coat. “I wore freaking cashmere. And silk, damn it.”
“Oh, Dee.” Linc reached out. When her lip curled into a snarl, he wisely pulled back. “Too soon?”
“Depends on how fond you are of your hand.”
“Damn,” he grinned. “Attitude to spare. How could I not be interested in a woman like you?”
“Come on,” Dee scoffed, her head of steam still pumping. “We aren’t exactly a logical match—on any level.”
“You’re not my type?�
� Linc’s words were more of a challenge than a question.
“Am I?” she challenged back.
“According to various sources, no.”
“You aren’t my type, either.” Dee was determined they stay on level ground.
“Do you want to sit?”
“No.”
Running his hand over his face, Linc let out a hefty sigh. Rising, he leaned a hip on the front corner of his desk.
“What do types have to do with anything?”
“You like tall, skinny blondes with blinding white teeth and vapid smiles.”
Linc crossed his arms, one brow raised.
“I take exception to vapid.”
“Take what you want. My research says differently.”
‘You know what I’d like to take?” Linc asked in a conversational tone.
Dee waited, feet firmly planted, a give me your best shot look in her dark eyes.
“You. Name the time, name the place.”
Taken off guard, Dee waited for a beat to respond. Was the man out of his mind? Or was she?
“Back up. Way back.” She frowned. “One second, you want me, the next, you don’t. Flirty Linc, business Linc? Now, back to flirty? Do you always send such mixed signals?”
“My signals aren’t mixed.” Linc shrugged. “More like strategic.”
“Explain.”
“Gladly.” His gaze met hers. “Sit? Please?”
The please got her. Besides, Dee decided as she moved to the burgundy leather wingback, the adrenaline rush had passed, her legs could use a break. She sat, sinking into the soft cushion. If alone, she would have sighed with pleasure.
“You, Dee Wakefield, haven’t been the most receptive woman to my attention.”
“I was leery,” Dee admitted in a low grumble. “Am leery. I don’t respond to slick. Usually.”
“Usually? Meaning, I’m the exception?” Linc seemed pleased.
“After this afternoon, your status is in deep limbo.”
“Give me a minute to dig myself out.”
The man had a ready response for everything. To be fair, so did she.
“Dig away. Just keep in mind, if I don’t like what you tell me, the hole will get a lot deeper—fast.”
Linc grinned. A sign he, unlike some men, appreciated her sharp mind and sharper tongue.
SIX DAYS Page 9
