Delicious Torment

by Linsey Lanier

  “Time for class.” Curt Holloway’s lanky form appeared over her cube wall.

  “Ready, Steele?” As always, Dave Becker was at his side.

  Her two best buddies at the Agency, the pair had befriended Miranda on her first day and she’d been secretly grateful to them ever since.

  Per the company rules, they were both clad in suits and ties. Of course, Miranda was in a suit, too. A black, form-fitting number with a slit so high up the skirt, it would make Gen, Administrative Head of the IITs and Parker’s only daughter, send out a fuming email reminder about the dress code, when she got a load of it. Gen and Miranda weren’t exactly best buds.

  “Interrogation Methods.” Holloway bounced up and down on his toes with excitement. Tall and thin, with a habitually suspicious air, Holloway was a former Marine from Texas.

  His cohort rolled his eyes. “I know all about that after my last job.” Becker’s accent was nasally Brooklyn.

  A short, nervous little guy with a large nose, big expressive eyes, and thick dark brows, he reminded Miranda of a cross between Groucho Marx and Joe Pesci. He’d worked in Collections before coming to the Agency.

  “This is different.” Holloway bent his knees to give Becker an elbow in the ribs. “This is interrogating criminals. I’m going to get an A on this assignment.”

  Becker gave his buddy a punch on the arm. “You won’t score higher than me.”

  “Oh yeah?” Miranda closed her email, grabbed her notebook, got to her feet, and sashayed past the pair. “We’ll see who gets the highest score.”

  * * *

  “Are you telling me you went straight to your desk this morning?”

  “Sure. Like I do every morning.”

  Miranda leaned in toward her suspect. Becker squirmed.

  After a long, boring lecture, Detective Judd, the large-bodied senior staff member with a head of thick, wavy gray hair, had announced to the class that the cucumber sandwich he’d brought for lunch had been stolen. He suspected one of the IITs. Their assignment was to find the culprit.

  After grilling all her classmates, she now had her buddy Becker in a chair at the front of the class and was proceeding to skewer him. “No stopping at the water cooler?”

  “Nope.”

  “No ducking into the break room for coffee?”

  His lips twitched. “I wasn’t in the mood today.”

  Damn, if he wasn’t tougher than she’d thought. She was sure of her facts. She even had an eyewitness.

  She turned her back to him and strolled toward the whiteboard. “So how come Smith over there saw you with your head in the refrigerator?” She peered hard at him over her shoulder.

  His big dark eyes bugged out, but he didn’t answer. He rubbed his palms over his thighs. She was making him even more nervous than usual and felt a stab of guilt. Judd had warned about giving in to feelings like that.

  She took a deep breath, put her hands behind her back, and paced back toward him. “Did you forget to bring your own lunch?”

  His thick black brows shot up. He ran a finger under his collar. No answer.

  She stopped pacing right beside his chair and got in his face. “Were you…hungry?”

  “Not a bit.” He grinned awkwardly, gnawing on his lower lip.

  She had him. With a frown, she pointed at his mouth. “So what’s that piece of green stuck between your teeth?”

  “Huh?” Right on cue, Becker’s stomach growled, loud enough for everyone to hear. The class broke out in giggles.

  Becker threw up his hands, as if he were being arrested. “Okay, okay. I took Detective Judd’s lunch out of the fridge and ate it. I was going to pay him back.”

  Miranda let out a breath, glad this assignment was over. The faces of her classmates were a mix of admiration and jealousy. Especially Smith, who’d never liked her.

  From the corner, Detective Judd nodded, looking smugly pleased. “Excellent work, Steele. You get an A.”

  * * *

  “You really got me good, Steele,” Becker moaned on the way back to their cubes.

  “What do you mean? You did a great job playing the thief.”

  “I should have held out longer, but I just couldn’t.” Becker was so easily intimidated, she’d thought she could get him to confess to the O. J. Simpson case, but he’d held his own, even though all the evidence pointed to him.

  She gave him a nudge. “C’mon, you put up a heck of a fight, Becker.”

  He shook his head.

  “You wouldn’t have confessed if your stomach hadn’t growled.”

  Becker’s cheeks turned a shade of red that clashed with the décor. “Or gotten cucumber stuck in my teeth.” He scraped at his incisor with a fingernail.

  “I can’t believe you actually ate that sandwich,” Holloway said as they rounded the corner where a tall potted palm stood. “Yuck.”

  “Detective Judd told me I had to, or it wouldn’t be realistic. If only I’d checked in the mirror.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, buddy.” Holloway shrugged a shoulder toward Miranda. “Can’t forget she’s a pro.”

  Somehow her colleagues had gotten the impression she had years of PI experience. She’d never corrected it. After cracking the Taggart case, she had a feeling they wouldn’t believe her, anyway. When she’d returned to work less than a week after her knife fight with Leon, she’d gotten a standing ovation from her class, which was humbling and embarrassing at the same time.

  “Oh, I don’t mean it that way, Steele,” Becker said in his nasal accent. “I’m glad to know the pro in the class.”

  “Likewise,” Holloway chimed in.

  She came to a halt at her cube and glanced inside. The red light was blinking on her phone. A message from Parker? Her heart skipped a beat. No doubt he’d come to his senses and was ready to tell her the deal for the mansion was off. She knew he’d cave.

  Holloway leaned over and peeked at her phone with a bet-that’s-from-the-boss look. Becker and Holloway worshipped the ground Parker walked on.

  Jeez. She grinned at her buddies awkwardly. “Guess the boys at Quantico need some advice.”

  Holloway’s cheeks colored, but Becker’s chin dropped. “Quantico?”

  She rolled her eyes and gave him a punch. “Stop with the sucking up, you two. You’re making me nauseous.”

  With a cough, Holloway looked down at his shoes. Becker studied the floor.

  Shit, now she’d hurt their feelings. She had no tact at all. “You did fine in class, Becker,” she insisted. “You had me doubting the evidence for a while.”

  He looked up again, his eyes hopeful. “Did I? Really?”

  “Sure. Judd wouldn’t have picked you to play the bad guy if he thought you’d cave easily.”

  “Yeah, you got a point.” He nodded about five times.

  Both he and Holloway wanted to do well at the Agency. She couldn’t help it if this detective stuff came easy to her. Maybe always feeling like she was on the other side of the law gave her an inside perspective.

  “You two want to grab some lunch?” Holloway asked.

  Becker’s face grew pensive. “Nah.” There was a faraway look in his moody brown eyes. “I’ve got a peanut butter sandwich at my desk. I’ll just eat that. Talk to you guys later. Thanks for making me feel better, Steele.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and ambled away to his own cube.

  She stared after him. That was weird. Becker loved going out to eat in the Buckhead restaurants. “I wasn’t trying to show him up, Holloway.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “What is it then?” she asked.

  Holloway looked around in that suspicious way of his. “He’d kill me if I told you.”

  Miranda shrugged, turned toward her cube. “Suit yourself.” She didn’t want to pry.

  Holloway touched her arm. “You know those skip-tracing exercises we did in class a few weeks ago?”

  She thought back. “Yeah.” When they’d first got computers.

 
; “Remember he tried to find a girl he dated in high school?”

  She nodded. “Uh huh.”

  “Well, ever since then, Becker’s been kind of hung up on the idea.”

  She folded her arms. “What idea?”

  “The idea of finding his old girlfriend. He spends a lot of time searching on the computer for that girl. He makes calls back home asking about her. He even spent money on one of those ‘Find Your Classmates’ ad.”

  “Good grief. Most of those sites are bogus. The Agency’s databases are a lot better than those online ads.”

  “That’s what I tell him, but he won’t listen. He keeps saying she was the love of his life. He’s really carrying a torch for her.”

  “Old flame, huh?”

  “Yeah, he’s got it bad. I told him he should bury those old memories. But he says he can’t. You know how it is.”

  Not really. Miranda’s “old flame” had tried to kill her.

  “Wish there was some way to take his mind off the past.”

  Take your mind off the past. That would be a good trick.

  “Hey, you don’t know anybody we can set him up with, do you?”

  “Huh?” Holloway was definitely barking up the wrong tree if he wanted help with that. She made it a point not to get emotionally involved with anyone. She didn’t have girlfriends. “Sorry,” she said flatly. “I’m not the social type.”

  “Sure. Just thought I’d ask.” He looked down at his feet, scuffed at the carpet with the toe of his long shoe. “So, you want to try the new Italian deli down the street?”

  She was about to say yes, when she remembered the message on her phone. “Uh, I think I’m going to be busy for a little while, Holloway. You go ahead. If that place is good, I’ll go next week.”

  He looked almost as let down as Becker. “Okay, but I think you’re missing a great chicken parm sandwich.” Guilt stung her as Holloway shrugged and moved down the hall.

  She just wasn’t good with people. Not when it came to being friends. Shaking it off, she settled into her chair, tapped her fingers on the desk beside her phone. Parker would want to have a talk with her. He’d probably take her to lunch and gently, in that suave way of his, explain why he couldn’t let her take the house.

  She’d have to let him go on and be sure to act disappointed. But not too much. She didn’t want him to change his mind.

  With an eager grin, she picked up the receiver and pushed the button. The recorded voice gave her a jolt.

  “Ms. Steele, I hope you’ve reconsidered taking my case.” The familiar Southern drawl had the same mix of sadness and demand Miranda had heard this past weekend.

  Delta Langford.

  Miranda’s heartbeat picked up. “My poor sister’s body is barely cold and already Usher is contesting her Will because she didn’t leave him anything. All he cared about was her money. That must be the reason he killed her. He was such a brute. If only you could have seen how cruel he was to her. How miserable he made her. Ms. Steele, you’re the only one who understands. You have to help me.”

  The voice paused for a long moment, as if Delta were deciding her next move. “I need to talk to you in person. Come to the funeral this afternoon. It will be at Saint Simon’s. Please.” The message ended with a beep.

  Miranda stared down at the phone and shivered. Usher was cruel. He made Desirée miserable. She knew how that felt. Images of that weird, bleached-blond dude in the tangerine coat brutalizing Desirée Langford shot through her mind. If he had killed her…

  Funeral. Quickly, Miranda reached for her keyboard and brought up the Atlanta Journal-Constitution on her computer. Sure enough, there was a story about Desirée Langford’s service this afternoon. It was at one o’clock. She clicked the link for a map to Saint Simon’s. She’d have just enough time to grab a bite and get over there.

  “Steele.”

  Miranda almost took a sky dive through the ceiling. She spun around.

  Gen.

  Parker’s daughter was head over the IITs and she’d hated Miranda from the day she started at the Agency. She especially despised Miranda’s relationship with her father, though she’d softened a bit after Miranda had saved his life.

  But from the flash of her dark eyes and the tinge of her complexion that made her short blond hair look even blonder, Miranda had a feeling that was wearing off.

  She decided to act formally. She sat up straight. “Yes, Ms. Parker?”

  Gen’s eyes narrowed. “Someone wants to see you.”

  Now? She glanced at the clock on her computer. “Can it wait? I’ve got to meet someone for lunch.”

  “No, it can’t,” Gen snapped, irritated at not being immediately obeyed. “You’ll just have to cancel. Or be late.”

  “Okay. Guess they can wait for me.” Gritting her teeth, she got up and followed Gen down the long hall.

  * * *

  They wended their way around a corner and down another hall, until they reached a huge meeting room. Miranda stared at the closed paneled doors. She’d heard this was where the board met, but she’d never been in here.

  With the expression of a drill sergeant with indigestion, Gen reached for the handle and gestured her inside.

  Gingerly Miranda stepped through the entrance and noticed several suited men milling around near the credenza at the end of a long meeting table. Were they who she thought they were? She swallowed, suddenly feeling like she was breathing through cotton. Goosebumps sprang up along her arms. Her nails dug into her palms.

  Then she recognized the white-haired gentleman standing in the middle of the suits, this time sans wheelchair.

  With a huge smile, he stepped toward her, arms outstretched. “Ah, Ms. Steele. How good to see you.” Purring with Southern charm, he clasped both her hands, which were still clenched.

  “Hi, Mr. P.” Her voice cracked.

  He was perfectly dressed in a sharp-looking, light colored business suit, and looked as fit as a twenty-year-old. Guess he had a fast recovery, now that he had his—uh, affairs settled.

  “Are you ready for your closing?” he crooned.

  She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. “Closing?” she managed to gasp, finally.

  Mr. P smiled smoothly. “Why yes, Ms. Steele. My staff has everything prepared.” He gestured gallantly toward the suits.

  “They do?” Parker wasn’t calling off the deal?

  “Yes, of course,” he chuckled. “Are you ready to sign the papers?”

  “Papers?” As in legally binding documents? What happened to their secret conspiracy? Icy fingers dancing down her spine, she leaned toward Mr. P and whispered. “Where’s Parker?”

  He waved a hand. “Oh, just over there.”

  She glanced up as one of the lawyers stepped aside and saw Parker in the corner leaning against the credenza, his arms crossed over his sexy broad chest, a sly look of satisfaction on his handsome face.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. That scoundrel. Had he seen through her charade about buying the house? He must have. He was calling her bluff. No wonder he looked so smug.

  And Mr. P was letting him? No. She got it now. Mr. P was calling Parker’s bluff right back. And she was stuck in the middle of a family feud. A battle of the wills between two powerful men, both used to getting their way. What had she been thinking? Good thing she’d asked for a six-month rental agreement. She refused to be tied down. Or let Wade Parker the Younger win this one.

  With a careless shrug toward her boss, she turned to his father. “Okay, Mr. P. Let’s get on with it. Where are the papers?”

  Mr. P grinned with delight. “Eager, are we?” He snapped his fingers. “Sullivan?”

  As she sat down, the lawyers gathered around the table like hawks. The one named Sullivan slid a thick contract in front of her. Swallowing, she opened it and squinted at the tiny print.

  She drew in a tense breath. This wasn’t real, she told herself. Picking up the pen one of the suits had set before her, she waggled it in Parker’s
direction.

  Without budging from the corner, he watched her steadily with those deep gray eyes, eyes the color of the barrel of a Magnum, as if daring her to go through with it.

  Hah. She turned back to Sullivan. “Where do I sign?”

  “Several places, actually.” His voice was dull and lawyer-like. He pointed to the first line.

  In a minute, she’d break out in sweats. Miranda exhaled and met her boss’s steady-as-Gibraltar gaze. “You sure you want me to do this, Parker?”

  From across the room, he shot her a cavalier, iceberg-like smile. “It’s entirely up to you, Miranda. I don’t tell my employees how to spend their money.”

  She smiled back at him through gritted teeth. What a stubborn mule he was. Was he really going to make her go through with this? So what if she signed papers? It was only a six-month rental agreement. Okay. If that was what it took to make Parker come to his senses, she’d do it. She’d play hardball with him.

  She eyed Sullivan. “Where’s my escape clause?”

  He looked bewildered. “Escape clause?”

  Mr. P chuckled. “Ms. Steele is very shrewd, Sullivan.” He turned a page and tapped a paragraph with his finger. “Right here. You may void the contract at any time during the first six months with one week’s notice.”

  She read it over again carefully. “No strings attached?” It didn’t look like it.

  “None whatsoever.”

  She looked up at Parker. No reaction. Shit.

  With a grunt, she picked up the contract and began wading through the mumbo jumbo. It wasn’t like it was the first time she’d seen a legal document. She’d carefully read every rental contract she’d ever signed, which were quite a few, making sure no shifty landlord was taking advantage of her and that she wouldn’t be overcharged.

  She noted several passages written in Mr. P’s favor. He was no fool. But nothing she couldn’t live with. Everything looked pretty kosher. There was even something about Mr. P supplying a part-time staff. Guess he thought the house was too big for her and he wanted to keep it in good shape. Fine. Whatever.

  She set down the papers, picked up the pen and tapped it on the polished tabletop. “You really don’t mind?” This time she played the Southern belle and batted her eyes at Parker.