He’d already turned away, headed toward Rex like a man with a mission.
“Ohhh, damn.” Cold sweat slid down her sides.
When in a state of high anxiety...it was either eat or wade in and separate the two men. Stomach fluttering, she picked up the plate Pierce had brought her. She’d better fuel up in case she had to kick their butts out.
The fragrance from the miniature beef Wellingtons distracted her long enough to take a first bite. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pierce’s head snap back. Her whole body flinched. Crisp phyllo dough stuck in her throat. Her heart did a double somersault, and her chest refused to expand.
God, had Rex slugged his former boss?
A roar of laughter drowned out music, conversation and the clink of silverware. Quinn’s accountant and his fiancée ambled over to Rex and Pierce. In thirty seconds, everyone in the corner was howling—including Pierce. Another twosome joined the first group, chuckling almost the instant they stood still. Four more guests pushed into the widening circle around Rex. They guffawed immediately.
Quinn overheard one of the servers say to Nancee, “That guy does great impersonations. He looks and sounds more like Woody Allen than Woody Allen.”
Nancee whispered, “My God, look at those earrings.”
Brittany stood in the doorway like the queen waiting for homage. Quinn made her way through the crowd, her face frozen in a rictus smile. Chill. Or people will think La Brittany still makes you nervous.
“It’s so late,” Quinn said, “I’d hoped your other plans came together.”
“Not even a phone call.” Brittany’s voice was high, brittle, but she managed to move her head to show off the earrings. Their glow put the candles to shame. “Is there anyone here I know besides you and Pierce?”
Before Quinn could respond, Brittany pointed at the circle of laughing guests. “What’s going on over there? I could use a good laugh almost as much as a glass of champagne.”
A discreet signal from Quinn brought the champagne. The server left and Quinn said, “That’s Rex Walker. He worked with—”
“With Tony! I remember!” Brittany held up her empty glass. “Tony couldn’t stand him. Sometimes I thought he was almost jealous.”
“I doubt that.” Quinn took a second glass of bubbly.
Brittany tossed her head, putting Quinn in danger of diamond blindness. “For the past six, nine months, Tony’s ranted—absolutely ranted—about Rex. How he was going to make sure he didn’t get the promotion Tony wanted. I’d call that jealousy.”
Several heads turned their way. Quinn smiled and spoke to the nearest guests. Brittany glided toward Rex’s circle.
Quinn’s heart sank. Damn, one more motive for Tony framing Rex.
Chapter 19
The headache banging in Pierce’s skull deserved its own TV commercial. How Brittany got off suggesting Tony was jealous of Rex...
Hold on. Pierce pinched between his eyebrows. He just had to hold on. Quinn was trying her damnedest to herd the last guests into the hallway. The dozen diehards—with Rex still the center of attention—ignored the open elevator and stood chatting.
God, they were going to spend the night. Pierce wanted to shove them down an open shaft. Instead, he stood next to Quinn as they praised the food, marveled at the lights, yakked and yakked and yakked until he thought their tongues would fall out.
The hangers-on crowded into the elevator on a wave of hilarity. Brittany wiggled up next to Rex. Someone begged him for “one more” impersonation.
“Jay Leno again.”
“No, Seinfeld.”
“No, George on Seinfeld.”
Quinn waved, right up until the elevator doors snicked shut. “Brittany and Rex. Who’da thunk he’d be the life of the party?”
“Yeah, who’da thunk Tony would embezzle five million dollars?” Pierce pinched his nose. “Recess time is over, boys and girls. Time to get to work.”
Quinn held her tongue and headed toward her office to change clothes.
Any excuse to escape his radioactivity. And avoid giving him a straight answer to his proposal. Determined to regain control, he sat on the edge of a stuffed chair and swallowed several wise-ass comebacks about undressing her. Sexual banter and foreplay held zero appeal when his heart wasn’t in it.
At that moment his heart lay like a boulder in the pit of his stomach.
True to her word, Quinn returned in five minutes. Dressed in dark slacks and matching sweater, her hair a mass of flyaway curls, she gave him a tentative smile.
His heart didn’t lift, but at least it beat faster.
“Let’s go,” she said. “The caterers will handle this.”
“You’re sure?” Quinn, The Perfectionist, letting go, letting someone else take charge? Had to be a sign she was worried. About Tony? About him?
Bastard that he was, he grabbed her hand and dragged her into the elevator.
“My brain’s been whirling like a damn blender ever since you told me Brittany’s screwy theory. No one will ever believe that crap about Tony being jealous.” Pierce tapped his foot double time, trying to speed them to the Penthouse.
A tiny line appeared between her brows, automatically setting off his internal alarm system. “Whatever it is, tell me.”
She squeezed her waist. “I agree about Brittany’s theory, and I understand about brain meltdown. I’ve felt off balance ever since Michael called about Rex.”
“No comparison. Impersonations or not, you don’t even like the guy. Tony’s like my brother, Goddammit.” Heart pounding, Pierce got right in her face.
The blood drained out of her cheeks. She withdrew, but there was no place to escape.
“Suppose we were talking about Michael.” He spit out Michael like it was poison. A memory flashed of her opening up to him in his office, but he couldn’t stop his attack—maybe because he wanted—needed—her permanently in his life. “It’d be like finding out the Pope kicks puppies when nobody’s watching.”
Tears glittered in her eyes. “I-I can’t imagine.”
“Then spare me the empathy.” Disgust stung his heart for wanting her to understand. If she understood, she’d give him a straight answer to his proposal.
“How about Rex? You think he’d understand feeling betrayed? Let down? Hung out to dry? Or do you think he’s too repulsive to have feelings?”
“Frankly, m’dear, I don’t give a shit about his feelings. I told you I should’ve fired him months ago.”
“Does that mean you won’t rehire him? Not even after Tony’s confession? “
“What do you think?”
The elevator doors opened, but neither of them moved. Quinn looked over his shoulder at an invisible buddy. Adrenaline hummed in Pierce’s ears. He felt like kicking something. His own ass, for starters?
The elevator door whapped against the foot Quinn held in front of the sensor.
“Move,” Pierce said, “and I’ll put my head down there. Then, I’ll apologize.”
“Sounds messy.” Ice crackled on each word.
“About what you’d expect from a jerk.”
“You’re stressed.” No signs of thawing evident to him.
“Uh-huh. All stressed out and no one to kill, so I go for you. Nice guy, huh?”
“Not at the moment.”
Whap, whap. Would he ever learn that Michael was the only man who could run the pity play on her?
“Give me a second. My meltdown was temporary. Sorry I went off on you.”
“Sooner or later, we have to reach closure on Rex.”
“Closure. I hate that word.” He snorted. “But no problem. I’ve reached closure on Rex Walker.”
“A closed mind isn’t closure. Firing him wasn’t right, Pierce.”
“It felt good, though.”
“That’s probably the best sign it wasn’t right.”
“Oh, hell. You just won’t give up, will you?” He hated seeing that disappointed shadow in her eyes.
“I know
meeting Tony comes first, so I’ll back off. But I’m not giving up on you rehiring Rex.”
“Got it.” Would she agree to marry him if he rehired the weasel?
“Maybe if you got out of the elevator, you’d feel a little less...trapped.” She stepped into the hallway and lifted his spirits by holding the door open.
“Good idea.” He didn’t consciously feel trapped, but being hemmed in probably didn’t help him think straight. He blinked. Why was his reception room black as a cave?
“The damn lamp must’ve burned out.” Backlit by the light in the elevator, Quinn kept her hand in front of the sensor. Pierce fumbled along the wall for the switch, flipped it and cursed.
Had Tony arrived early and turned off the electricity?
Pierce rubbed the chilled skin on the back of his neck. How could Tony do that? Software controlled all the lights in the building. Because of the party, the ops gurus had programmed the lights on Quinn’s floor to burn full blast until midnight.
He snapped his fingers. “The overheads cycle off because it’s a holiday.”
He breathed easier, sure he was right about this detail.
“If Tony comes by and the whole place is dark, won’t he leave?”
“I swore I wouldn’t call the police.”
“That probably reassured him.”
Nursing his stung pride, Pierce said, “I see your point.”
She ignored his pathetic barb. “Think about it.”
“I don’t have to,” he growled. “I know you’re right.”
“On the other hand, maybe he’s using a flashlight.”
“Make up your mind. We’re looking for simple answers here.”
“Do you know how to override the software?”
“I can spell C-O-M-P-U-T-E-R. You already know I’m limited to spreadsheets, yada, yada, yada.”
“I assume George knows how? Maybe Tony assumed it would be dark?”
“Lots of assumptions.” Pierce pulled out his cell, dialed, waited, slammed down the cover. “Honest to God, that old man has a bladder the size of a peanut.”
“He had a prostate operation six months ago. He told me you visited him in the hospital.”
Feeling as mean-spirited as Scrooge, Pierce didn’t try to defend his faulty memory. “I forgot I visited him six months ago. Even if it was six years, ago, he’s entitled to go to the john. No way being in the dark’s his fault.”
“Do you have a flashlight?”
“In the emergency kit.” Pierce exhaled. “Which since it’s dark, I can’t find.”
“I have an emergency kit. If we hustle, we can get down and back before Tony gets here.”
When he didn’t move, she said, “Unless you’ve got a better idea?”
A longer exhale. “This is your way of making me pay for being a jerk about Rex, isn’t it?”
“I’ll take that as a no.” Her tone sounded warm and kind, the way most people spoke to the mentally challenged—or to the true morons of the world.
****
Nancee was one hundred percent sure she had a flash in the van and handed over her keys to Quinn, who opted to check her emergency kit first. She couldn’t hold back a subdued whoop of triumph. She waved an industrial-sized red flashlight and a pocket-sized blue one under Pierce’s nose.
“Cover your eyes.” Quinn pointed both flashlights at Pierce.
He placed the heels of his hands over his eyes. The bigger flashlight blinked, went out.
“No spares?” He nodded at the dead batteries Quinn had dumped on the desk.
“Not in the emergency kit.” Grabbing Nancee’s key, Quinn didn’t give him time to rub it in. She led the race to the elevator.
In the garage, the smell of burned gas hit her between the eyes. She blinked and stopped dead in her tracks.
Pierce, cussing as if he’d invented a new language, rammed into her.
“He’s already here.” She stated the obvious...in a quavery whisper. She stared at the black Jeep. “How’d he miss hearing us clatter around like clowns?”
Why didn’t he look their way? Or, move?
Maybe he’s resting. Her mind scrabbled for an explanation of Tony’s hunched position over the steering wheel.
May he rest in peace.
The idea slithered out of her subconscious like a snake. Her heart dropped. Of course he wasn’t dead. Dread settled in her full stomach. The bitter taste of gasoline fumes stung her throat. Her fingers found Pierce’s hand.
“Stay here.” He squeezed her fingers. “You may need to...get help.”
“No.” She clung to his hand. No matter how hard he squeezed her fingers, she wasn’t listening to reason or letting go.
Oh, God, don’t let her pee her pants.
Hand-in-hand, they tiptoed across the cold pavement. A foot or so from the car, Pierce called Tony’s name.
“Where’s George?” she said more to herself than to Pierce.
The old man had come up to the bash about seven and stayed no more than half an hour. Quinn remembered hustling him out as soon as he started quizzing her about the incident in the garage.
“Tony?” Pierce repeated softly, glancing at the security monitors.
“Let’s go inside.”
“Not until I’m sure.” Pierce pried her vise-fingers off his arm.
He reached for the handle, and the garage exploded in light.
****
The chairs in the ICU waiting room were waaay too comfy for Quinn.
Every five or ten seconds, the need to sleep overpowered her. Her chin then fell forward, her whole body relaxed, and she teetered on the edge of consciousness. Sleep beckoned. She could feel herself drifting away from the waiting room.
At the last second, her head snapped back. She jerked awake. Her tongue felt as big as a beached whale in her dry mouth.
No sleeping. Not while sixty-three-year-old George Johnson’s condition remained critical. Not if she didn’t want nightmares about Tony.
A curtain crashed down in her mind. Don’t go there. Not without Pierce. He’d promised to come by the hospital once the police finished questioning him. He’d solemnly promised he wouldn’t call the Franklins unless she was with him.
What in the world would they say to Tony’s parents after they said hello? The KCPD had offered to call the sheriff in Junction City. If he knew the Franklins, he’d probably go to their home. If he didn’t, he’d notify a friend or a relative or a neighbor. Someone who knew them well would have to be there for their shock of a lifetime.
Tony Franklin was dead—apparently by his own hand. Quinn groaned. Disgust at her weakness spiraled through her and her legs quivered. She planted her feet on the floor and lurched out of her chair. She scrubbed her eyes and kneaded her lower back, walked the hundred miles across the waiting room and tapped on the window to the ICU-nurse. The secured door swung open. Alcohol, antiseptic and other hospital smells assaulted Quinn’s nose. Her heart pounded high in her chest with each step toward George’s bed.
The petite nurse at his bedside shook her dark head. “No change.”
Doubt and hope grappled in Quinn’s shattered brain. The clack and whir of machines punctured the eerie silence and grated on her nerves. She fought the ridiculous urge to check under the bed. Lord, deliver her from a stint in ICU.
A vision of Luce exploded, vaporized by the constant read-outs of George’s vital signs. Tubes in his arms and chest, plus a huge bandage around his head reminded Quinn of Frankenstein’s monster. She bit her bottom lip, patted George’s icy hand, shivered. Most meat lockers were warmer than his curtained cubicle.
The minutes she stood next to him crawled. Her mind went numb and her feet felt like slabs of ice. Why, why would Tony hurt this old man?
Wake up, George. Give us a clue.
The monitor beeped. George moaned. Muscles in his face twisted. The nurse appeared out of nowhere, checked his pulse, said, “Let’s give him a break. He’s a little agitated right now.”
****<
br />
Relieved four-minutes were knocked off her fifteen minute visit, Quinn turned tail and ran for the waiting room. A thin, middle-aged man sat in a chair, chin forward on his chest, eyes closed. She knew from an earlier conversation his ninety-year-old mother had gone into cardiac arrest ten minutes before he arrived to take her out to Thanksgiving Dinner.
An unforgettable Thanksgiving. Quinn poured another cup of the coffee. The stuff was thick as mud and bitter as dandelions. It could substitute in a pinch as a pacemaker. She swallowed and her body jolted awake, followed by her brain. Her legs no longer trembled as she carried her styrofoam cup into the hall.
Discovering patterns in people’s work histories was a daily task for her. Ditto for figuring out exactly what an employer wanted in an employee. Both processes began with questions. Lots of them. Lord knew there were more than enough questions about Tony as an embezzler. Maybe, before Pierce arrived, she’d discover a pattern in the unanswered questions.
“Why would Tony hurt George, then kill himself—only minutes before meeting Pierce?” She skirted a bank of chairs between her and the door to the hall. Talking to herself helped her think.
“Not a good first question.” The overhead fluorescents buzzed. “Why did Tony embezzle the money?”
She drained her coffee cup. “Follow the money.”
A secret account in the Caymans or Switzerland?
As a banker, Tony must know the ins and outs of off-shore accounts. But his house and Jeep and outward lifestyle gave no sign of extravagance. Those diamond earrings...
Her heart beat a little faster. The erratic rhythm wasn’t because of the coffee. Off-shore deposits made more sense for Rex. A tidy sum for cosmetic surgery and a new life with a new face.
“Problem is, Rex is innocent.” She retraced her steps into the ICU.
“Follow the money,” she repeated.
She crushed her cup, and a trickle of coffee seeped onto her hand. The world’s most preferred drug.
Drugs!
“Oh, my God.” Quinn stopped breathing.
Her Inner Puritan was convinced she and her mother were the only people in the Western world who hadn’t used drugs. A week ago, she’d have scoffed at the idea of Tony Franklin into drugs. Tonight...the idea glittered with perfect logic. Drugs meant blackmail. But who would blackmail Tony? Surely not George.
Unraveled Page 25