by Andrea Kane
“That’s why Lane couldn’t have come into her life at a better time. I hope they have a fabulous time tonight. At the very least, he’ll be a great distraction. But I have a hunch it’ll be more, maybe even explode into a full-blown romance. Either way, I’d be thrilled. Anything to divert her focus.”
“I agree.” A thoughtful pause. “Maybe you should spend tonight at our place. Extra security or not, I’m not thrilled with the idea of you or your mother being alone. I won’t be home until late, which means Morgan will be out with Lane until all hours. I’d feel better on all fronts if you stayed with us. Morgan, too, for that matter. I don’t want her walking into an empty house. I’ll talk to Lane, tell him to drop her off after their date.”
“Uh—I’d hold off on that,” Jill advised.
“Why?”
“Dad, do I have to paint you a picture? It’s possible that their date might last longer than expected. Your instructing Lane about where to drop Morgan off would definitely throw ice water on any romantic plans he might have.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “I see your point. How do you suggest I handle it, then?”
“Don’t handle it at all. I’ll tell Morgan where I’ll be, and that she’s welcome to join us if her dinner ends before sunrise. Either way, she won’t be alone.”
RACHEL OGDEN WAS propped up in her hospital bed, looking pale and definitely weary, when Monty walked in. Still, there was more than a trace of curiosity in her wide green eyes as she asked him to sit down.
“Thanks for seeing me,” Monty began. “I’m sorry about your accident.”
“I look worse than I feel,” she replied with a faint smile. “I just finished my morning physical therapy session. I’m convinced their goal is to divert my attention from my injuries to the pain they inflict.” She took a sip of water. “My doctor said you’re a PI. I don’t get meeting requests from many of those.”
“I’m sure you don’t.” Monty sized her up as he settled himself in the armchair across from her bed. Even banged up and having undergone surgery, she was clearly great-looking. Devoid of makeup, she looked young, but Monty could tell that she had a presence that would make her seem older, more sophisticated. He’d be willing to bet that when she was at her corporate best, Rachel Ogden was a ball-breaker.
“Morgan hired you to investigate the accident?” she was asking. “Why? Is there something more than the police have told me?”
It was Monty’s turn to smile. “There’s always more than what the police tell you. I should know. I was one of them for thirty years.” He flipped open his pad. “You’re aware that both you and Karly Fontaine, the woman who called in the accident, are clients of Winshore?”
She nodded. “My assistant told me. I asked her to send Karly flowers as a thank-you. We never met before, but she was apparently right behind me on that street corner.” A rueful grimace. “Two New Yorkers, rushing to their appointments with their minds rushing elsewhere. Typical.”
Monty grunted his understanding. “Let me begin with the obvious. To your knowledge, is there anyone who’d want to hurt you?”
“In business? There are a handful of people who’d do anything if it meant beating me up the corporate ladder. In reality? No one I can think of.”
“That’s pretty harsh.”
A shrug. “I’m a management consultant, Detective. The youngest in a brilliant and cutthroat company. My colleagues aren’t known for their big hearts. That doesn’t mean they’d run me down.”
“What about outside of work? People you’ve had falling-outs with? Ex-lovers?”
“Or their wives?” Rachel shot him an astute look. “I’m sure you’ve done your homework. You know I’m not a Girl Scout. That’s one of the reasons I went to Winshore, to change the profile of the guys I got involved with. As for the married men in my past, trust me, they were either estranged from their wives, or forgetful about mentioning they had one.”
“Is one of those men a major political figure?”
For a moment, Rachel looked blank. Then her brows shot up. “Are you referring to Congressman Shore?”
“You said it, not me.”
“Probably because you’d either get sued or get your ass handed to you if you did. But I’m willing to answer the question, since I’m very fond of Morgan. No, Detective, I’m not sleeping with Arthur Shore. I may be less than stellar about my choice of partners, but I’m not stupid. Why? Is one of his mistresses a suspect?”
Monty liked this girl. She told it like it was, accepted her flaws, yet made no apologies for them. “There are no suspects. As things stand, this was an accident caused by a cowardly idiot. I’m just covering all the bases.” He jotted down a few notes. “In your opinion, was the fact that you were the victim just a random event? Could it just as easily have been Karly Fontaine who was hit?”
“Sure. If she’d been in a little more of a hurry and gotten by me before I darted ahead, she’d have beaten me into the street. That’s why I doubt this was some premeditated plot. It was too iffy.”
“I see your point.” Monty wrote down a few more words, then rose. “I don’t want to overtax you. As it is, your doctor wasn’t too thrilled about my visiting so soon after your surgery.”
“I won’t lie.” She winced. “It hurts like hell. But I’m a fighter. My assistant’s on her way over here with my BlackBerry. I’ll be caught up by noon. So if you have any more questions and my doctor gives you a hard time, just e-mail me. I’ll get right back to you.”
“Thanks. You take care of yourself. The world of corporate barracudas awaits.”
TWENTY
The Manhattan branch of the Lairman Modeling Agency—a classy office suite located in a high-rise in the heart of midtown—was a tribute to its success stories. Minimally furnished, it drew a visitor’s eye right to the glossy white walls, which were covered with photos and magazine spreads of all the beautiful people it represented.
Karly Fontaine was the ideal candidate to manage the place.
In her midthirties, with red-gold hair, a willowy build, and sculpted features, she was clearly an ex-model herself, probably one of the agency’s most highly touted success stories. Model to manager. It didn’t take a brain trust to figure out why.
Monty was clued into this, not only from his first impressions, but from his research. Karly Fontaine had started out a virtual nobody, waitressing to pay for modeling school. When she’d heard that a major shampoo manufacturer was looking for a newcomer to represent the all-natural hair-care line they were rolling out, she’d walked in cold and auditioned for the job.
She got it.
After that, the Lairman Agency was more than happy to snatch her up as a client. The new hair-care line took off, leading to all sorts of catalog and magazine opportunities. Within a year, Karly Fontaine had become an in-demand model with a thriving career. The rest, as they say, was history.
Now she walked forward, extending her hand and smiling as she shook Monty’s. “Detective Montgomery. I’m Karly Fontaine.” She glanced around, noted that the chair behind the front desk was empty. “May I get you something—coffee? Tea?”
“Actually, your receptionist is already doing that. She was nice enough to put up a fresh pot. I’m not a connoisseur, but I am an addict. A somewhat fussy one. I like my coffee strong and without bottom-of-the-pot sludge.”
“I hear you.” This time the smile was less practiced, more spontaneous. “Why don’t we have a seat in my office? Cindy will bring in the coffee when it’s ready.”
Monty followed Karly into the power corner office down the hall from the reception area. Cream leather chairs. Scandinavian wood. Art Deco area rug. Very eclectic.
“Thanks for taking the time to see me,” he began.
“Not at all.” She gestured for him to take a seat, then lowered herself into the cushy chair behind her desk just as Cindy knocked, brought in two cups of hot, great-smelling coffee. Karly nodded her thanks, waiting till the receptionist left, shutting the doo
r behind her, before she turned back to Monty.
“Are you a caffeine freak, or just a coffee junkie?”
“Both. Don’t know many cops or PIs who aren’t.” Monty took an appreciative swallow.
“That applies to all workaholics,” Karly amended with a rueful smile. “This is my second cup today, not counting the Diet Pepsi I gulped down between phone calls, and it’s barely lunchtime.”
“I win. No Pepsi. But four cups of coffee, one of which was monster size.” A corner of Monty’s mouth lifted. “If I were in your line of work, I’d need double that. Charm and tact? Not my strengths. I’d need all the help I could get.”
Hearing her chuckle, seeing the tension in her body ease, Monty was comfortable that he’d done enough icebreaking to get down to business.
He flipped open his pad. “I won’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes of your time. I just have a few questions about Rachel Ogden’s accident.”
Karly nodded. “You mentioned that Morgan hired you. I hope she’s not worried about something absurd like a lawsuit. She isn’t responsible if her clients happen to be standing at an intersection when some lunatic roars by.”
“No, nothing like that. Although Morgan does feel terrible. She’s clearly fond of both you and Rachel. And she wants to make sure this hit-and-run was strictly random.” Monty studied her, rolling his pen between his fingers. “You’re a successful woman. You were a visible, sought-after model. You sailed up the corporate ladder in a backstabbing business. Now you’re managing an entire regional office. Any chance there’s someone out there with an ax to grind?”
“Wow.” Karly blew out her breath. “You really are direct.” She interlaced her fingers in front of her. “I won’t deny this is a dog-eat-dog business. I’m sure lots of girls resented me. I know I resented the hell out of modeling success stories when I was the one living hand to mouth. But that was ages ago. I haven’t modeled in six or seven years. As for the management track, I didn’t sail. I climbed—rung by rung. And, no, I didn’t make the kind of enemies who’d hate me enough to run me over.”
“What about men? Any harasser types? You know, wack jobs who’d feel like you had some sort of connection? Maybe one who’d follow you here from L.A.?”
Rather than looking worried, Karly looked amused—and somewhat pleased. “I’m flattered that you find me young and desirable enough to warrant a stalker. But I haven’t had one of those die-hard fans since I was twenty. And even then, it wasn’t like something out of Fatal Attraction. No psychos.”
“What about the regular men in your life? Guys you’re dating, or have dated?”
“That’s a lean list. I spend most of my hours working. That’s why I signed on with Winshore as soon as I moved back east. At this point, that’s where all my dates originate. And I’m sure Morgan is very thorough about weeding out the nutcases.”
“I’m sure she is.” Monty scribbled down a reminder to himself. “Your real name is Carol Fenton?”
She nodded. “I changed it when I got to L.A. At seventeen, I wanted a more exciting name—one that screamed stardom. Carol Fenton seemed too ordinary for the fabulous modeling career I was determined to have.”
“Makes sense. What about your family? Do they call you Carol or Karly?”
Sadness flashed across her face. “I don’t have any family. My parents died when I was in my teens. And I’m an only child.”
“Is that why you originally left New York and moved to L.A.?”
“Partly, yes. There was nothing tying me to New York, nothing but pain and loss. I wanted to make a fresh start. So I did.”
“You said partly. What’s the other part of why you left?”
“To jump-start my modeling career.”
“Huh. I understand the need for a fresh start. But isn’t the modeling industry centered in New York?”
“Some aspects of it, yes.” It was obvious that Monty’s interrogating style was starting to upset her, maybe bringing back raw memories. “New York is where the fashion magazines are based. But L.A. has the film industry, TV advertising, and the modeling school I wanted to attend.” She took a sip of coffee, and Monty noted that her hand was trembling. “Forgive me, Detective. But I was a pretty messed-up kid back then. I’d lost everyone I loved. I acted on impulse. It was a ridiculously drastic move. Still, as it turns out, I’m not sorry. I wound up with a pretty amazing life.”
“Yes, you did.” Monty shut his notepad. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stir up painful memories.”
“I realize that. You’re just doing your job.” Karly took another sip of coffee. This time her hand was steady. “May I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Is this really just caution talking? Or is there some reason Morgan believes this accident was intentional, and that it was aimed at one of her clients?”
“There’s no evidence to support the claim that this was anything but a random accident. If you’re asking if I believe someone targeted you in particular, the answer is no. I meant what I said—Morgan hired me to check into the coincidence of you and Rachel being in the same place at the same time as this hit-and-run because she cares about her clients. Also, to be blunt, I pushed for the investigation. Anytime you have a high-profile family, especially a political one, everything—and everyone—should be checked out.”
Karly spread her hands quizzically. “I’m not following. Is Morgan’s family in politics?”
“You didn’t know?” Monty’s brows arched in surprise. “No, I guess maybe you wouldn’t. You’ve only been back in New York for three months. And Morgan and Jill don’t exactly publicize their family’s congressional connections. In fact, from what I’ve seen, they draw a distinct and separate line between their agency and their personal lives. That having been said, it’s no secret that Jill’s last name is Shore. So I’m sure most of their clients know who she is. And with her father’s bill being front-page news every day—like I said, you can’t be too careful.”
Karly’s eyes had widened in astonishment. “Shore? Jill’s father is Congressman Arthur Shore?”
“One and the same. And Morgan’s lived with the Shores since her parents were killed seventeen years ago. The Shores and the Winters were very close.”
“I had no idea.” Karly processed that for a minute. “That sheds new light on why you’re here. Given what I’ve read in the tabloids, the congressman’s notoriety extends beyond his role in the House of Representatives.”
Monty gave an offhand shrug. “I don’t read the tabloids. And I don’t pay attention to rumors.”
“I’ve learned over the years that where there’s smoke, there’s often fire.” Karly leaned her head back against the chair cushion, eyeing Monty pensively. “Let me ask you something, Detective. I asked you before if you’d been hired to ward off lawsuits. You implied that Morgan’s mind wouldn’t work that way, and I agree. But would the congressman’s? Is that what this is about? Is Arthur Shore the real reason we’re having this meeting—because he wants to put a lid on any ugly publicity this hit-and-run might generate?”
Karly Fontaine might not have Rachel Ogden’s education, but she sure as hell matched her in street smarts.
Monty kept his answer short and sweet. “Congressman Shore didn’t initiate this meeting. He also didn’t hire me. Morgan Winter did. My being here isn’t about damage control. It’s about making sure that Rachel’s accident was an accident. Question answered?”
“Most succinctly.” Karly’s tone was dry, but she looked more than a little taken aback. “You don’t pull any punches, do you, Detective?”
“Nope. I’m a no-BS kind of guy.”
“So I see.”
Reminding himself that Karly Fontaine was used to more genteel interactions, Monty purposely softened his approach. “Look, I didn’t mean to come off like a Brooklyn cop. Old habits die hard. Your question was a legitimate one. So, for the record, yeah, the congressman is dedicated to his career. But he’s more dedicated to
his family. Any concerns he has about Rachel’s hit-and-run are grounded in issues of security, not politics. Okay?”
“Okay.” Karly’s tone had lost its edge. But her face was drawn tight.
“I’ve taken enough of your time.” Monty shut his notepad and rose. He reached into his jacket pocket and whipped out a business card, passing it across the desk to Karly. “If you think of anything we didn’t touch on, give me a holler.”
KARLY POPPED A Valium the minute Monty left. This hit-and-run had suddenly taken on a whole new meaning, one with her in its crosshairs. Especially in light of the confidential meeting she’d had on Monday.
The New York relocation was beginning to feel like a huge mistake.
AS SOON AS he left the Lairman Modeling Agency, Monty acted on the reminder he’d jotted down for himself when Karly pointed out that Morgan restricted who did and did not become a Winshore client.
The reminder was Charlie Denton.
He was the third component of Monty’s immediate action plan. He was also most definitely a Winshore client, a very relevant one. Not only was he the common denominator between the two women Monty had just interviewed, he was also a factor in both Morgan’s life and Jack Winter’s life—a factor Monty couldn’t quite wrap his mind around.
The guy was an enigma. He was a kick-ass prosecutor, who definitely had his eye on the prize—climbing the advancement ladder in the D.A.’s office. Monty got the fact that making waves didn’t jibe with Denton’s plan. So it made sense that the A.D.A. was less than thrilled about the digging around he was being pushed to do, even if it was unofficially sanctioned by his boss.
Still, there was another side to him. And that side definitely had a personal interest in the Winters’ case. What Monty couldn’t shake was the feeling that Denton’s interest was rooted in something more substantial than scoring points with Morgan or securing justice for Jack.
Monty was impatient for answers. He’d put out the necessary feelers yesterday morning, and his contacts were the best.