They were working at Matt’s penthouse and she took a moment to look out at Lake Union. It was early evening and there was still plenty of light in the summer sky. A seaplane took off as she watched, probably carrying tourists for some aerial sightseeing over Seattle.
“Do you still think it was a man in the SUV that sideswiped us?” Matt asked.
“It was just an impression. But more than one person could be involved—male or female.”
“Fair enough. Though I suspect there are fewer women in prison.” He quirked a smile at her. “That damned testosterone, right?”
“You said it, not me.”
Over the past few days, they’d spent practically every free minute working...and nothing else. Layne knew she was becoming too fond of Matt, but didn’t know what to do about it. His reputation still bothered her, but he was decent and smart and struggling to figure out his new life. He couldn’t help his feelings about marriage and children. Perhaps if she’d grown up in his unusual family, she’d feel the same way.
And she might as well face it—his past was mostly a problem because men like Matt Hollister did not end up with women like Layne McGraw. One of her sisters, sure. Matt was one of the beautiful people and so were they. Not that she wouldn’t want to punch Jeannie’s lights out if she looked at Matt again...
Urghhhh.
Layne wanted to scream. Jealousy was ridiculous. Instead she gave Matt a tight smile and pointed to the list. “Who’s next?”
“Let’s see, Phyllis Kemp, now in the travel industry. Fifty-seven, never married, worked as an assistant in the accounting area.”
There were annotations next to each name, including information they’d learned through their calls and data that the Eisley security staff had gotten about them. The group still working for Hudson & Davidson was particularly touchy about inquiries, possibly afraid that saying anything could get them fired. And maybe they weren’t far wrong with a man like Peter in charge.
A number were already employed elsewhere since there had been layoffs following the scandal. Others had retired, some apparently because they didn’t like the personnel decisions Peter had been making. The ones working other jobs weren’t quite as uptight, but the retirees were easiest to contact—they had pensions and weren’t worried about their livelihoods.
Matt dialed the number and waited. “Hello, is this Phyllis Kemp?” He nodded as he listened. “This is Matt Hollister. I think we met when we were both working at Hudson & Davidson last year. I saw your name on several recipes in the employee cookbook. They look delicious.”
He went on charming Phyllis the way he’d managed to charm most of the women he had called. Layne didn’t think it was simply name recognition; his voice was mesmerizing, low and sexy, with the right touches of humor. Still, the conversation inevitably got tenser when he arrived at the reason for phoning and a request to put Phyllis on speaker phone. But he obviously got a yes, because he pressed the button.
“We’re on speaker now,” he said.
“I don’t know anything about the thefts,” Phyllis announced. “Mostly I remember being shocked when Mr. Hudson was accused.”
“I’m not trying to make trouble,” Layne interjected, mentally making a note that the other woman hadn’t said guilty. “I just want the truth about Uncle Will.”
“Mr. Hudson used to have photos of you in his office,” Phyllis said unexpectedly. “I’d see them when I took meeting notes in there.”
“He was a second father to me.”
“Hmm, yes. You know, I’ve heard from some people at the firm. They aren’t comfortable with your questions.”
Layne let out a breath. “I know, and I’m really sorry to bring this up again, but my aunt and I need to make sense of what happened. Surely you can understand that.”
“I can’t give Mr. Hudson an alibi. I didn’t work that closely with him.”
“But maybe you can help in another way. For one thing, how are phone calls handled at the firm? I have a phone message that was apparently taken when Uncle Will’s voice mailbox was full.”
Phyllis chuckled. “Oh, that. He liked to take his own calls, rather than having his assistant screen them. Of course, if he wasn’t available he was supposed to transfer his number to Emma, but he’d forget and the box would fill. When that happened, the call was automatically routed to any available assistant. We’d put the message on his desk. Is it important?”
Layne eased herself down to the floor near the phone. “Apparently he had plans to visit his brother-in-law on one of the nights in question. We’re trying to confirm it since my other uncle doesn’t remember the date of the visit. We don’t think the message was taken by Emma Farnon.”
“It’s been months—that’s a long time for anyone to remember taking a phone call.”
“I know it’s a long shot. The police should have looked into it at the time, only they—” Layne stopped when Matt nudged her, shaking his head. He was right—complaining about the police wouldn’t help. “Anyway, I’m following up on everything.”
“Any one of us could have taken it.”
“Except the message is very distinctive, written in texting shorthand.”
“Oh, Lord, that was Brandi Porter,” Phyllis said, sounding disgusted. “We could never make her understand that it didn’t look professional.”
“Brandi Porter?” Layne repeated as Matt flipped through the list. It was alphabetical and he turned the page around so she could see it—the surnames skipped from Polke to Proctor. “Uh...how long has she worked for the company?”
“Not long, and she isn’t there now. Hudson & Davidson had a contract with a temp agency, but they weren’t used that much. Brandi got sent over when we had a cold going through the staff. She worked for a few weeks, and then just didn’t show up one day.”
“What was she like?”
“Young, pretty, always distracted. She was late a lot.”
Layne wrote Brandi’s name and the information on a separate sheet of paper. “Are there any other temporary employees you remember working there last fall?”
“No...the company is so big, we could usually shift people around in case of illness.”
Matt leaned closer to the phone. “Phyllis, can you think of anyone who might have been acting suspiciously? Somebody spending money too freely? Maybe a new car they shouldn’t have been able to afford, or something else that stood out?”
“Not really,” she replied slowly. “But I don’t pay attention to that sort of thing. One of the accountants did go to Hawaii over the Christmas holidays. It was Roger Lewis. He took his girlfriend and bragged about impressing her with the best hotels and restaurants.”
Matt found Roger’s name on the list and made a note next to it. Most of the interviews had been like that, little bits of information thrown out, sometimes a name, often innocuous.
Layne was still sitting on the floor when they’d finished.
She looked up at Matt. “Brandi Porter sounds interesting. She might remember more, simply because she only worked at the company a short time.”
“I’ll have Connor look for her contact information.” Matt was focused on the employee list, his face grim. “I’d forgotten we had a few temporary employees. I wonder how many other names aren’t here?”
* * *
EDGY, MATT GOT up and brought Layne a bottle of sparkling mineral water. He had to admit, his tension didn’t just stem from his growing doubts about Peter. Layne was twisting him up worse than a spinning top.
Not that they’d argued.
Ever since Monday she’d kept things friendly. He ought to be grateful for it; a woman like Layne McGraw could easily read more into their night together than was warranted. Nevertheless, it was annoying the way she’d brushed it off.
They’d gotten up after midnight, eate
n another sandwich, made love a second time, and then...
Matt scowled as he recalled waking up the next morning to see Layne searching through a dresser drawer, clad only in a damp bath sheet. She’d been brisk, friendly and in a hurry to rush off to work.
With the other women he’d known, he would have expected an unspoken agreement that the sex had been pleasant but didn’t require analysis. But not with Layne. She fell into a category of “Danger: could be looking for commitment” women that he’d always avoided in the past. Because of that, he’d expected her to analyze everything to death.
Instead she’d stayed silent, and it was bugging the hell out of him.
“Do you think it’s too late to call someone else, or should we leave for your house?” he asked.
“We’d better wait until tomorrow. But you don’t need to go with me or stay there.”
“I won’t sleep unless I know you’re okay.” He’d insisted on staying over as extra protection, much to Layne’s disgust.
She snorted. “With the cavalry stationed outside? Please. Of course I’ll be okay. I can’t sneeze without someone saying bless you.”
Matt winced. Layne did not enjoy knowing there were video cameras around the house. “I swear, there are no video or listening devices in the house.”
Thank goodness.
Their horizontal activities would have been broadcast to the security van, and Layne would be more justified than ever wanting to strangle both Connor and him.
“If you’re worried about it, we could also sleep here,” Matt said. “I’ve got a king-size bed. Plenty of room for two.”
“And join the legions of women who’ve gone on safari there? I don’t think so.”
“Hey, I haven’t had a single overnight female visitor here except for my sister Tamlyn.”
He wanted Layne to believe him, but he didn’t know why he cared. Besides, she’d probably just say women preferred their own beds.
“Oh, I forgot. I brought my advance copy of the Babbitt for you to see,” Layne said, suddenly looking apprehensive. She got up and pulled the news magazine from her bag.
The pages were folded back to an article about Peter. Like the one published a few weeks before, it wasn’t outright critical, but there was a subtle tone that made Peter sound like a prick.
A grim humor went through Matt.
Peter actually might be a prick.
Or worse.
“If Mr. Davidson sees the article, he’ll probably assume I’m responsible,” Layne said. “But I swear no one has talked to me at work, and I haven’t been asked to research anything on him or the Eisley Foundation.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Matt tossed the magazine onto the floor. “A few criticisms aren’t going bother Peter once I confront him about the sale of Hudson & Davidson.”
Layne still looked concerned. “Those criticisms are in print for everyone to read. Won’t it upset your mom?”
Matt tried to keep his expression neutral. It would hurt Katrina a whole lot more if she discovered her husband was a vengeful, unethical businessman who was trying to cheat the widow of his best friend. He leaned over and tugged Layne down on the couch; he liked having her warmth next to him...liked it too much. She stiffened, then relaxed.
“Like I said, don’t worry about it,” he murmured. “If Peter has nothing to hide and hasn’t done anything wrong, he shouldn’t care what the Babbitt has to say.”
“False words can still do damage,” Layne said seriously. “We were lucky there was only limited press coverage about Uncle Will and the thefts. They didn’t accuse him, but the implication was unmistakable.”
“We’ll have to wait and see what happens. Peter may not think anything of the article.”
“I suppose. So you’re going to confront him?” she asked.
“Have to. You don’t want to believe your uncle was that wrong about him, and neither do I. But people change. My stepfather mentioned losing his first wife in an accident. Maybe he wouldn’t let himself care as much about anyone after that.”
“I hope that doesn’t happen to Aunt Dee.”
“I’m sure it won’t.”
Matt kissed the top of Layne’s head and held her closer. It was a struggle, not wanting her to think he’d changed his mind about long-term relationships...and wanting more time with her. She was an amazingly generous, responsive lover.
“By the way, how is your shoulder?” he asked.
“Getting better. Instead of a lovely purple, it’s now an impossible to color-coordinate green, yellow and reddish-brown. I had to settle for basic black.”
Since she was wearing jeans and a green T-shirt, Matt’s mind instantly flashed to a black bra and panties. Now he really wasn’t going to sleep tonight. He’d gotten a brief look at Layne’s underwear drawer the other morning, a rainbow of silk and lace. Layne obviously indulged her feminine side in private. Was it because she’d gotten teased as a kid about being a tomboy, or because she didn’t think she could compete with her older sisters?
“Layne, you mentioned spending most of your free time with your aunt and uncle while growing up.”
“Yeah. I was the surprise kid the folks didn’t know what to do with. When Aunt Dee and Uncle Will moved back here, Jeremy was already a competitive athlete and the twins had their music and ballet classes and school activities. Everybody was crazy busy. I was too young to leave alone, so Mom asked Aunt Dee if she could start watching me after kindergarten. Before long I was in Carrollton most of the time.”
“Do you think your parents feel guilty about that now?”
Layne tilted her head to look at him. “Why would they? Aunt Dee and Uncle Will were wonderful and I could be myself with them. Besides, Mom and Dad were so busy with their medical practices and the other kids, they really didn’t have time for me.”
“Maybe they feel guilty because they weren’t there for you and that’s why they nag you so much. Your sisters and brother could even be envious of the relationship you had with William and Dorothy.”
“Maybe.” Her eyes were thoughtful, then all at once she sat up. “Oh, I need to call Aunt Dee before it gets too late. She’ll worry if she tries the house and doesn’t get me.” She scrambled away and hunted through her purse for her cell phone.
Matt tried to be philosophical about it. At least Layne had let him hold her for a few minutes. And it wasn’t as if he wanted to seduce her.
Liar.
He wanted back into her bed.
But for once in his life he should be thinking about what someone else needed and wanted.
* * *
DOROTHY MIXED THE paint on her palette into the desired shade of sunrise-pink and tried to clear her mind of everything but the tranquil mystery of a mountain lake at daybreak. She didn’t have a photographic memory for information, but she could think of something she’d seen and it appeared instantly in her mind. Colors, the arc of a branch or the stately height of a tree. The sway of wildflowers in a breeze or the wildness of an animal, ready to flee at the hint of a threat. They were all stored in her memory.
The phone rang as she reached for a brush and she grabbed the handset instead.
“It’s me,” said Layne when she answered. “How is it going over there?”
“Let’s see, I still have a van parked near my house, presumably filled with those security experts you told me about. And Connor Patrick O’Brian rings my doorbell several times a day, but when I don’t open it, he leaves gifts, like tins of apricot tea.”
“He’s still trying to be forgiven, then.”
“Apparently. So, how is it going with you and Matt?” she asked casually. She’d quickly spotted the signs of two people who’d taken their relationship to a physical level and were in the backing-off stage.
“Oh, the same,” her ni
ece replied in a careful voice. “You know how it is.”
“He’s there, listening?”
“Yup. We’re still at Matt’s penthouse.”
Dorothy got up and moved restlessly around the studio. “Has Detective Rivera found anything out about that SUV?”
The little sleep she’d gotten the past few nights had been broken by nightmares of Layne in the Mustang, careening into a ravine or tree or another car. At least that was one positive about Matt Hollister’s involvement—he’d kept her niece safe.
“There isn’t much to go on since the license plate was covered,” Layne replied. “Rivera is looking into whether anybody on our list has a gray SUV, but he doesn’t know if he can get a search warrant, even if they do.”
“What about how detectives do it in the movies or on TV? Just follow the suspect to see if there’s damage to the vehicle, then sneak a sample of paint and send it to the lab.”
“I don’t think he’s that kind of detective. Hollywood doesn’t worry about evidence being thrown out of court. Well, not unless it’s a convenient plot device. Since when do you watch cop shows?”
Dorothy smiled reluctantly. “I don’t now, but Will enjoyed them sometimes, and I watched with him.”
“Okay, you’re excused. Sleep well.”
“You, too.”
Just not with Matt, Dorothy wanted to add as Layne said goodbye. Nothing had changed her mind about the man. She still didn’t think he was right for her niece; he was too charming, too rich and too experienced. All you had to do was look at a magazine article about him to know his female preferences—pictures told a thousand words, and the ones of Matt Hollister always had a blonde beauty standing nearby.
Sighing, Dorothy picked up her palette and began blending the reflected color of sunrise into the lake water. The canvas was large, but though she’d spent some of her sleepless hours in the kitchen, many others had been spent in her studio. The painting was nearly finished.
But it wasn’t just worries about Layne and her finances keeping her awake; Patrick’s trickery was also on her mind. She felt violated and cheated and still so furious with him she could hardly see straight. She was even angry with William for creating a perfect world for them to live in, then leaving her alone as it crashed down. It had left her vulnerable to lying snakes with ulterior motives. Wasn’t losing her husband under such circumstances enough to teach her not to trust anyone so easily?
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