Halfway to Paradise

by Neesa Hart

  Maggie raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were familiar with my work, Carl.”

  “I do my homework. It’s what makes me good at my job. Just go with your instincts and don’t let anybody talk you out of it.”

  Maggie shifted her briefcase to her other hand. “Just how much do you know about Max Wedgins?”

  Carl regarded her with a shrewd stare. “I know there are rumors about Max. He’s an odd sort. No doubt about it. But you almost have to be odd to make the kind of money Max has just following his nose.”

  “Have you ever met him?”

  Carl shook his head. “No. I’ve talked to him on the phone once or twice, but he deals mostly with Pete. He’s a recluse, almost never seen in public. I’ve heard stories that range from wild expensive parties with lots of women, to reenactments of sea battles using minimodels and remote-controlled equipment on a private lake on his estate. Last time I heard, Max was having twenty-seven miles of railroad track laid inside his house. No one knows why.”

  “Aren’t you a little worried about your investment?”

  Carl made a small sound in the back of his throat. “Maggie, the guy predicted the personal-computing boom and made a fortune off it, he was one of the first investors to turn an enormous profit off of real estate, and somehow, he avoided losing his shirt when the market went belly up in the late eighties. He owns a cruise line, a major-league sports franchise, a television network, a baseball diamond, a Broadway production company, a telecommunications conglomerate, one of the leading software producers in the world, a toy manufacturer, a gold mine, and, I hear, although this is the only thing that’s not in his portfolio, that he’s got an aviary filled with rare and exotic birds that would rival any sanctuary on the face of the planet.”

  Carl paused and straightened the knot of his tie. “If Max Wedgins says Cape Hope is worth three-point-four billion, it is. It’s the closest guarantee you can get in this business.”

  A movement to her left caught Maggie’s attention. She frowned when she saw Scott tip his head closer to Irene, as if to catch some soft-spoken comment. She forcibly pulled her conversation back to Carl. “Then what makes you think Wedgins will be interested in my work?”

  “He’s unorthodox.”

  “Weird,” Maggie said.

  Carl’s frown didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Different. If you submit something unusual, the kind of thing I know you can put together, I think Max will go for it. Especially if he’s confronted with two or three more traditional scenarios.”

  Maggie felt better than she had all morning. “I appreciate the tip. I hope I’m not going to disappoint you.”

  He nodded briefly. “You won’t. I’ve seen what you can do. I think you’re going to blow Max Wedgins right through the roof of his seventeen-million-dollar house.” Pete Sherban was signaling for his attention, and Carl said a quick good-bye before easing his way through the lingering crowd toward his partner. Maggie studied Carl’s retreating form a few seconds before she turned to leave. And collided with Scott Bishop.

  He flashed her a brilliant smile that made her teeth grind. “Hey there,” he said. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  “Out,” she snapped.

  His smile faded a bit. “I thought we were going to lunch.”

  “Why don’t you take Irene to lunch?” Maggie said, brushing past him. She had time to register his befuddled expression before she marched toward the door. She heard the jealous note in her own voice and hated it. Between the scene she’d made at Lily’s, and now this, she was turning into a lunatic.

  “Maggie”—Scott’s fingers closed on her elbow— “what the hell are you talking about?”

  She walked through the reception area of Sherban Imports, and stopped at the elevator bank. “The two of you looked cozy enough this morning. Maybe you’d enjoy a little change of scenery. I’m sure Irene would enjoy the chance to pick your brain on the project a little.”

  Scott frowned at her. “Cozy”—his eyes widened— “Maggie, you don’t think—”

  “Think what?” she said, punching the elevator button a second time.

  Scott grinned at her. “You do. You’re jealous.”

  “I am not. Why on earth should I be jealous?”

  “You tell me,” he said. The elevator doors glided open and Scott stepped aside to let Maggie enter first.

  “Oh, forget it,” she said. She walked into the elevator. She opened her purse and started digging for her keys.

  Scott followed her inside. He waited until the door shut before he wrapped a hand behind her head and gave her a hard, thorough kiss. “You’re adorable, Ms. Connell,” he said when he lifted his head.

  She frowned at him. “What did you do that for?” Her hand was still buried inside her purse. She flexed her fingers, feeling her way along the bottom. “Where the hell are my keys?”

  Scott’s smile was lazy. “I did it because you looked all prickly and flustered, and it turned me on.”

  Maggie felt herself blush. “I am not flustered.” She zipped the compartment of her purse shut with a muttered oath, then started searching in the other side.

  “Oh no?” he said.

  “No.” She shoved her wallet to the side as she continued to scrounge through the contents.

  He pointed to her briefcase, where her keys were linked to the handle. “Then how come you’re having so much trouble finding those?”

  Maggie glared at him as she grabbed the keys. “Oh, shut up.”

  Scott laughed. “Maggie, how could you possibly think I was interested in Irene Fussman?” He shivered. “Just the thought makes my skin crawl. The woman has as much warmth as a boa constrictor. I can just imagine her in bed with—”

  “Shut up, Scott.”

  The elevator glided to a stop. Maggie stepped out, feeling foolish and embarrassed. “I haven’t seen or heard from you for two days. Then the two of you arrived together, late,” she said. She knew she sounded defensive, but didn’t see any help for it. “What was I supposed to think?”

  “How about that I got turned around on my way to the building. I got lost, got here late, and ran into Irene in the foyer?”

  Maggie retrieved her coat from the coat check. She shrugged into it. She tucked her scarf around her neck, then waited while Scott pulled on his cashmere overcoat. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. And stressed. And it bugged me.”

  Scott’s gaze narrowed. “How late were you up last night working on your designs?”

  She hedged. “I don’t know. Late, I guess.”

  “How late?”

  Maggie met his gaze. “Four-thirty.”

  Scott frowned. He grabbed her elbow, ushering her toward the door. “Geez, Maggie. You’re going to drop dead if you keep that pace. They’re just preliminaries.”

  “I know. It’s just that I want them to be perfect.”

  He pushed open the door and let her precede him into the frigid afternoon air. “Jackrabbits it’s cold.” Scott flipped up the collar of his coat before linking his gloved fingers through hers. He set a brisk pace down the street.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  He gave her a hopeful look. “Downtown?”

  Maggie shook her head. “This way.” She pointed in the opposite direction.

  With a shrug, Scott turned, then started toward the downtown area. “You’re really worried about this bid, aren’t you?” he asked.

  Maggie paused. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

  “Is it that important to your business?” He met her gaze while he waited for a crossing light to change. “I didn’t know you were having that much trouble.”

  She shook her head. When the light changed, they stepped into the street. “It’s not the money. Not really. I’m doing all right with the business just doing homes and offices and smaller things. It’s the idea that I can do this.”

  Scott pushed open the door of a small restaurant, then hurried inside with her. “Of course you can do it.” He loo
ked at the hostess. “Two, please. Nonsmoking.”

  “There’ll be a ten-minute wait,” the young woman said.

  Scott nodded. “Fine.” He looked back at Maggie. “Now, what are you talking about?”

  Maggie slowly unwrapped her scarf. “I’ve never done anything this big. Not on my own.”

  “Are you talking about the designs or the business?”

  She rewarded his insight with a small smile while she stuffed her gloves into the pockets of her coat. “The business. I married Mark when I was twenty-one years old. I’ve never proven to myself that I can make it on my own. I really want this bid, Scott. I need it.”

  Scott opened his mouth to respond when a blast of cold air caught his attention. His gaze slid to the door. When Maggie saw his eyebrows lift in surprise, she slowly turned her head. Her eyes widened when she saw Pete Sherban enter the cozy interior of the restaurant with Irene Fussman hanging on his arm.

  Annie’s gaze narrowed on Irene. “I don’t like this,” she told Mark.

  He frowned. “Me either. If Sherban’s one of the key investors on this project, what’s he doing cozied up with that bitch?”

  “What do you think we should do?” Annie glanced at Maggie. She was frowning at Pete Sherban.

  Mark didn’t take his eyes off Pete and Irene. “I think we should stick real close to them.”

  Maggie studied Pete across the dim expanse of the restaurant foyer. “What’s he doing?”

  Scott’s gaze narrowed on Pete and Irene. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s really odd for the two of them to be together. People could say it jeopardizes Pete’s objectivity for the bidding process.”

  “People could,” Scott agreed.

  Maggie pressed her hand against her throat. “You don’t think . . .”

  “I don’t know what I think.”

  “Bishop,” Scott jumped when the restaurant hostess called his name, “party of two.”

  Maggie looked quickly at Pete Sherban. He appeared to be engrossed in his conversation with Irene, who was stroking his arm with long, red-tipped fingernails. It reminded Maggie of a cat preparing to scratch the stuffing out of a piece of furniture.

  Neither of them seemed to have noticed her or Scott. Maggie followed Scott to a partially secluded table, breathing a sigh of relief when she realized they would be almost completely hidden from view.

  She accepted a menu from the hostess as she slipped into the booth. She peeked over the top at Scott. “What do you think they’re doing here?”

  He glanced back toward the foyer. “Who knows? Maybe Irene’s working on another project for him.”

  “But you don’t think so?”

  “I think it’s damned convenient that she’s bidding on a multimillion-dollar deal, and she’s stuck to Pete Sherban like white on rice.” He lowered his menu, his expression thoughtful. “How well do you know Pete Sherban?”

  “Hardly at all,” Maggie admitted. “I do know Carl Fortwell, though, and he hardly seems the type to be in business with a man who’d do something so shady.”

  “Maybe Carl doesn’t know.”

  “He’s pretty shrewd.” Maggie leaned her chin on her hand. “In fact, I’d say he’s very shrewd. Besides, do you think Irene and Pete would be here, in a place so public, if they were really conducting business under the table?”

  Scott snorted. “Under the sheets is more like it.”

  “Scott!”

  He frowned. “Sorry, Maggie. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She took a sip of water and slowly replaced her glass. “But really. Don’t you think this is a little obvious?”

  Scott folded his menu, then laid it down on the table. “It’s been my experience that boardroom affairs are usually conducted in public. I think it must add to the thrill. What good would a woman like Irene be to a geezer like Pete Sherban if he didn’t have the chance to show off a little? It’s a male thing.”

  “What’s her excuse?”

  Scott smiled. “Your claws are showing, Maggie.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “But you’ve got to wonder. I mean, Pete can’t possibly think Irene is attracted to him.”

  His smile turned into a laugh. “Men are capable of convincing themselves of a lot of things, especially after they reach middle age.”

  Maggie leaned forward so she could study Pete and Irene through the protective foliage of a large fern. Irene was draped against his side like a well-worn overcoat, and a seductive smile was plastered on her lips. Pete appeared to be enthralled. “What do you think we should do?”

  “How much do you know about Max Wedgins?” Scott asked.

  Maggie looked at him in surprise. “The developer? Nothing. Nobody knows anything. There are plenty of rumors about how reclusive he is. I think he lives just outside Boston, and I’ve heard rumors that his house is a throwback to the Tower of London, but I’ve never actually met the man. I don’t think anyone has. Maybe not even Pete and Carl. He’s weird. Real weird.”

  Scott stroked his chin. His forehead furrowed in concentration. “I wonder how Wedgins would respond if he knew one of the guys he was counting on for advice and guidance in this Cape Hope project was thinking with his sex drive.”

  “Now, Scott, we don’t know that.”

  “No, but it’s damned suspicious.”

  Maggie wet her lips. “I guess, but I just, well I hesitate to do anything based on what could be a perfectly friendly lunch appointment. It isn’t as if we actually saw them doing anything, or that we know Pete’s not capable of separating one from the other.”

  “You really are naive, aren’t you?”

  Maggie felt stung. “I don’t consider trying to find the good in people naive. I consider it nice.”

  Scott frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m acting like a jerk. This just really puts a burr under my saddle.”

  She smiled at the Western idiom. “And dust in your boots?”

  He looked baffled. “Dust in my—Oh. That’s supposed to be funny.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re making fun of my Westernism.”

  “It’s just good-natured teasing. I didn’t know you were so touchy.”

  His smile was slow, but finally came. “I’m not. I guess I’m just determined to be in a bad mood. I have to leave tomorrow after I put my plans in, and I’m feeling the pressure.”

  Maggie reached over and laced her fingers through his. “Maybe we should just forget we saw Pete and Irene today.”

  Scott frowned. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  But Maggie didn’t believe for a minute that he was convinced.

  “All right.” Mark ducked around the corner of the Carson Hotel. He signaled Annie to follow him. “The coast is clear.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean the coast is clear? No one can see us. Remember?”

  “Shh.” Mark felt an odd tension, as if something were not quite right about their presence in the hotel. Annie’s irreverent disregard for the circumstances was eating at him. “I can’t explain it to you, Annie. I just know something is wrong.”

  “You mean besides the fact that we’re sneaking around trying to catch Pete Sherban and that Irene woman in the act.”

  Mark stopped by Room 716. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I feel like we’ve got to do this. What if Sherban is wielding influence with Wedgins on the bid process? That could hurt Maggie.”

  “What if it’s none of our business?”

  Mark flexed his shoulders, willing away some of the tension. “How can it not be our business? If Sherban is trying to hurt Maggie, you’d better damn well believe it’s my business.”

  “I just don’t feel right about this, Mark. I mean, what are we going to do if we find out it’s true?”

  “I haven’t gotten that far,” he admitted. “I’m not sure. All I know is, Irene Fussman checked into this hotel this afternoon, and I’d bet the ranch that Pete Sherban is going to join her.”

  Annie sighed. “She’s from out of to
wn, Mark. It’s perfectly normal for her to be staying in a hotel.”

  “I know.”

  “But you think there’s something going on?”

  “Didn’t you see enough at lunch today to make you suspicious?”

  Annie waited until a young couple, seemingly oblivious to their presence, passed by. “This feels weird. It was hard, I mean really, really hard to leave Scott. I feel like part of me is missing.”

  Mark hesitated. He had felt the same way when he’d finally left Maggie’s home and met Annie at the hotel. There had been a persistent nagging pain in his midsection ever since he’d stepped out the door. “I felt it, too.”

  Her eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I think this is more important.”

  Annie held out her hands and stared at them. “Look at me. I’m really starting to disappear now.” She rubbed her hands together. “My skin is tingling, like it’s dry or something.”

  Mark cast a quick look down the hall before returning his gaze to Annie. He paused, then pulled his sweatshirt up so she could see his midriff. “Look.”

  Annie’s eyes widened. “Mark.” She reached out a tentative hand and touched the place where the hallway carpet was clearly visible through the previous substance of his torso. “What’s happening?”

  He shrugged. “Same thing that’s happening to you, I guess.”

  “But why there?”

  “I don’t know. I’m as new at this as you are.”

  She managed a slight smile. “Of course you are. That was a dumb question.”

  “It started this afternoon. I’ve felt kind of funny all day. All I know is, I have this sense of urgency, like we’ve got to hurry up and get this over with. I can’t explain it, and I don’t understand it, but I’ve got the strongest feeling that if we don’t do something about Pete Sherban, it could ruin everything.”

  Annie leaned against the wall. She stared at the elevator doors. “All right. We’ll wait a little while longer, but I’m exhausted. I think it takes more energy to keep myself away from Scott.”

  Mark laid his arm across her shoulders. “I know. I’m not sure how much longer . . .” He trailed off when the elevator doors slid open and Pete Sherban, looking guilty as hell, hurried down the hall toward Room 716. “I’ll be damned.”