They had to do this fast, she noted. There were too many people gathered within this Who’s Who affair that knew her real name, and all she and James needed was to be summarily kicked out for crashing the event. Beyond the mere humiliation of that consequence, it would definitely create a credibility problem. Those being researched needed to be surprised by her presence, as though it were a mere coincidence. The goal was singular: to catch them off guard. So far, that had worked. Once they were sufficiently flustered, she could move in to possibly negotiate a deal.
“George,” she cooed, coming up close to George Townsend and then turning to Devereaux. She touched his arm and smiled warmly. “And James Devereaux, you are a sight for sore eyes. What’s it been? A year ... maybe more, since Donald’s funeral?” She shook her head as they blanched at the mention. “We should all do better at staying in touch, and that was such an unhappy circumstance to have had our last sighting.” Before they could answer, she threaded her hand through James’s elbow. “Let me introduce my husband, James Carter.”
“Gentlemen,” James said stiffly, extracting himself from Laura’s hold to shift his wineglass to his left hand, and to then shake their hands. “Laura’s told me a lot about you,” he added, receiving a smile of approval from her.
The two men before him guffawed and stepped back with strained smiles.
“Wow, well ... this is new,” Devereaux said tensely. “Congratulations.”
“Yes, welcome, uh, congratulations,” Townsend said. “Really, Laura, you are always full of surprises.”
She chuckled and sipped her wine, peering over the glass at them. “Always, gentlemen. A little sun in the Grand Caymans can change a woman’s perspective.”
They raised their glasses toward her and James, but their eyes belied the smiles on their faces.
“So, are you back home now, in Philadelphia?” Devereaux asked. “The landscape has dramatically changed since last year.”
“Yes, we just got back, and are consolidating households now. We’re looking at property up in Radnor, maybe Chestnut Hill,” she lied, glimpsing James from the corner of her eye as he simply sipped his wine without emotion.
“Are you thinking about restarting Rainmaker’s, Inc.?” Townsend asked coolly, polishing off his glass and setting it on a passing tray to claim another.
“I don’t know,” Laura breathed out with a sad sigh. “I’ve lost my passion for it.” She turned to James and gave him a brilliant smile. “We’re both semi-retired and looking into real estate investments as a quiet option.”
Both Devereaux and Townsend fixed their gaze on James.
“Ah, it’s coming back to me,” Devereaux said, his smile containing a warning. “You were the officer in that big, nasty case with Paxton.”
James chuckled, and the sound of it startled Laura into taking another sip of her wine.
“Yes, I’m the one,” James said coolly. “But like Laura said, I’m semi-retired. Figured if I can’t beat ’em, might as well join ’em. She has a way of developing the sweetest compromises.”
Both Townsend and Devereaux laughed, but the sound was brittle.
“Please tell me Mike Polanski is here?” she crooned, giving James’s arm a little shove, like a love pat for theatrical effect.
Again the two men before her and James exchanged nervous glances.
“Yes, uh, I believe I saw him a bit ago,” Devereaux hedged.
Laura glanced around the room and spotted him in deep conversation with some men she didn’t know. “Well, before the night is over, I must say hello to him.”
“We’ll let him know you’re here and asked for him,” Townsend said after a healthy swig of his wine.
She kissed Townsend’s cheek and gave Devereaux a brief hug. “Thank you, gentlemen. You know I wouldn’t miss giving my best to Mike for the world.”
“OK, break it down,” James said under his breath as they melted back into the milling throng of dignitaries. “What’s with the real estate and whole Cayman thing?”
“I needed to let them know I was back, or make them think I was, and that I was fishing for an in ... which meant that I was oblivious to the attacks—or didn’t associate myself with them, but that I was also holding real estate aces. Second point was, I blithely told them about the Caymans so they wouldn’t know whether my comment alluded to the fact that I’d not yet heard about the attempted bombing of our home, or that I had. Keeping the bastards off balance. They’ll kiss and tell Polanski, who, if they’re still connected, will inform Moyer. Just some cheap insurance that word will make the rounds, if we can’t tonight.”
“I love how your mind works,” he said, pecking her cheek.
“Not bad yourself. You didn’t blink or stutter when they made you as the cop that shot Paxton. Very cool, Mr. Carter. It let them think you came in here on the guest list as yourself, and don’t have a clue that anyone’s been after us.”
For the first time that evening, James offered her a genuine, sly smile. “I’ve been known to play a good game of poker in my day.”
“Touché. I stand corrected,” she murmured as they slipped into a group of men standing near Polanski.
“Forgive me,” she said to the unknown men around Polanski. “But I just had to say hello to an old friend.” Using the feminine prerogative, she stepped around them, inserted herself into their midst, and extended her hand while James hung back and watched her work.
“Mike, we’ll leave you to this lovely friend,” one of the men said, and moved away to another group of guests with the others.
The floor had cleared around Polanski, which let her know that those men previously standing close had been ready to bolt from the conversation that they’d been having. An instant distancing meant only one thing—whatever Polanski was lobbying them for wasn’t being heard, and there was resistance to whatever he’d proposed. Good. That left him isolated with thinning allegiances.
“Laura,” Mike said, trying to sound upbeat as his eyes flitted between her and the men who’d vacated his presence. “Long time.” He looked at James as he walked up. “I don’t believe I’ve formally met your escort.” By rote, Polanski extended his hand and shook James’s. “Mike Polanski.”
“James Carter,” James shot back, shaking the man’s hand in a vice grip.
Laura smiled. “My husband.” She watched the color drain from Polanski’s face.
“Congratulations, and, uh, forgive me if I’m too bold ... but haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” Polanski’s eyes studied James for a moment.
“I guess I just have one of those memorable faces,” James said evenly, and then took a sip of wine. He let the comment hang, and enjoyed how Polanski twisted in the brief, uncomfortable silence, knowing how he’d process the unspoken reference to all black men looking alike.
Laura glanced between both men without elaborating and also allowed the comment to dangle a bit for theatrical effect. He was pleased that she’d followed his lead on this one. They were on the same page in throwing a key target off balance.
“No, I’m sure of it,” Mike Polanski said, pressing the issue and raking his fingers through his thinning hair. “In Philadelphia ... but I just can’t ...”
“Maybe in the newspapers?” Laura said, mischief tugging at her mouth.
Polanski tilted his head for a moment, and then his eyes widened. “The Paxton case.”
James smiled. “I don’t like to talk about it. Not every day you have to take a man’s life.”
Polanski’s and James’s eyes locked, until Polanski glanced away and sipped his wine.
“I don’t suppose so, Detective,” Polanski said, giving James a respectful nod. With that, he turned his attention to Laura. “Well, married, back home from the Caymans, what’s next for you, Laura?”
She and James shared a glimpse at each other from the corners of their eyes. She hadn’t told Polanski they were in the Caymans or that she was back in Philadelphia, plus Devereaux and Townsend hadn’t crossed
the room yet. OK. Time to play. He was in it.
“Real estate,” Laura said with a threat in her smile. She didn’t bother to inform Polanski of the fact that James had retired, either.
“Really?” Polanski said, nervously twirling the stem of his wineglass.
“Really,” Laura said in a flat tone. “I have access to old program properties via very trusted friends in the grassroots community, but ... it is becoming somewhat of an overhead burden for them, given the recent change in funding priorities. We may consider just purchasing it from the state outright, or whoever was ultimately granted that property—since the nonprofits are beginning to fall behind on their lease payments.”
She watched Polanski’s mannerly smile fade to a tight line of concern. They both knew the state no longer owned that property, and that Akhan, her uncle, did. But it was a delicate game of unmentionable knowledge.
“In fact,” she added, throwing gasoline on the fire that quietly raged within Polanski’s eyes, “James and I may manage those leases and buildings ourselves to take the tax incentives, or recommend that they donate a good portion of it away to a larger, worthy foundation, if I can be assured that the paperwork will be handled properly.” Laura allowed the tender offer to dangle as a negotiating ploy.
Polanski nodded fervently. “I’m sure Micholi Foundation can help you with that. Our general counsel is excellent.”
“Alan Moyer is renowned for his meticulous handling of such affairs,” Laura said to let him know she was well aware of his foundation’s power structure, and then took a cool sip of wine.
“Moyer will work with you,” Polanski said in an unnaturally quiet voice.
“Can you set up a meeting between us?” she asked, now toying with her wineglass. She waited and glanced at James as Polanski took his time responding.
“I’m sure I can,” Polanski finally said, but there was uncertainty in his voice. “I just need to let Alan know a general framework ... what we’re talking about.”
Polanski had to be out of his mind if he thought she’d give back lands deeded to Akhan’s personal neighborhood nonprofit—the one he’d founded and ran practically alone as executive director, and that now held several newly renovated buildings, courtesy of Haines and also housed several huge, new economic development non profits. The revenues off the leases alone were worth a mint, and the land itself represented ridiculous, primo, urban real estate that they’d definitely have to kill her and Akhan to acquire.
Laura smiled and pushed a wisp of hair behind her ear. Yeah, she heard him and fully understood why she and Akhan had been a target. If her uncle died, the lands were then under her control as cofounder, and the board and bylaws were stacked to elect her as the next executive director to run everything. With the two of them gone, the board would have no focus and could be persuaded into anything, and the little caveat in the bylaws about original founders controlling land would be moot.
“I think, given the current executive director’s age and health issues, and my new marriage,” she finally said beaming at James, “most, if not all, of it could be transferred to a larger institution that has the resources and wherewithal to deal with the constant problems of building maintenance, upkeep, late lease payments, security ... all of that is so daunting.”
Polanski rubbed his palm along the edge of his jaw. Cool, repressed excitement glittered in his beady, gray eyes. “Well, then, Laura, I’m sure Alan would love to meet with you as soon as humanly possible.”
Something indefinable tugged at her gut. Polanski was obviously just a middleman. She and James needed to know who had called for the hits and sanctioned them, and then she had to be sure to keep an ace up her sleeve that would guarantee their lives if any so-called transfer was made.
“Isn’t Alan here tonight?” she asked in her most innocent tone.
Polanski shifted nervously where he stood. “Uh, I’m sure he’ll be here shortly, but I haven’t seen him yet.”
Interesting. Moyer was arriving with the senior VIPs and keynote, time-wise? Very interesting. She glanced at James, who hadn’t said a word since the conversation began. She monitored her husband’s tension as James carefully set his empty glass down on a passing server’s tray and kept a steely grit on Polanski.
“Is there a number where he can reach you, Laura?” Polanski said quickly, noticing the way she and James had fallen silent. There was urgency in his voice, as though he were trying to keep the deal on the table and from unraveling before Moyer had a chance to weigh in.
“How about if I call him, to save him the long distance call to the Caymans,” she said, offering the thinly veiled excuse. They both knew a call there was nothing for Moyer to pay for, but it also indirectly said that she wasn’t giving him a definitive stateside location or a cell number, which added pressure to Polanski’s hope of holding on to the deal.
Reading her signal, James took her by the elbow. “You know, Laura, maybe we should have this conversation with several of the other major foundations and nonprofits. The Red Cross, for example, and The Salvation Army, both could use the properties as semipermanent housing and facilities for all those good people displaced in the Gulf ... and I bet there will be new nonprofits, or even older, more established ones, getting into the post-hurricane relief and family settlement business. That land and the subsequent buildings on it could be leased to a variety of worthy causes, to take the burden off of Akhan’s smaller organization. So, honey, why don’t we think about this some more?”
She kissed James’s cheek, but spoke to Polanski without glancing at him. “Do you see why I married this man? He helps me to sleep at night.”
“In all due respect, Laura,” Polanski said, clearing his throat in agitation. “You and the Micholi Foundation go a long way back, and have very positive history—based upon your relationship with Donald Haines. I think first right of refusal is in order, don’t you? So let’s not be hasty. I’ll find Alan, and we’ll set up a meeting quickly.”
“In Philadelphia? Say tomorrow?” she cooed.
“For you, Laura,” Polanski said, dabbing his brow with a nervous smile, “I’m sure Alan will clear his calendar.”
Chapter 12
He didn’t like it. They were supposed to get out of there before the serious VIPs arrived, and while the waiting media rush to mob them was in full effect. The way Laura was lingering was messing with his mind. But he knew she had to do it, had to see who came in with Moyer. He also knew his wife well enough to know that she was creating a strategy on the fly. So he waited, chilled, and kept his gaze scanning the guest-filled room.
She hated this shit. Once playing the political wine-and-cheese circuit had been her forte, but more than a solid year away from it had her wondering how she’d ever hung in there with it so long. As she looked at her husband’s nervous system drawn wire-taut, and at the feigned smiles and coy glances, the position-jockeying that was going on amid the exhibits, she knew. Never again. No more Rainmaker’s, Inc. No more galas for whatever reason or cause. She was out—just as soon as this was over. If anything, she’d become a radical philanthropist. Maybe she’d fund kids like Megan and Sean to become cyber-pirates and help watchdog agencies ... but these people ... never!
“I can’t stand it,” she said to James through her teeth, brandishing a tight smile that bordered on a snarl.
“I hear you,” he said after a moment, but held her gaze as though worried she might snap.
“Just look at them,” she whispered in a hiss, turning away from the crowd to compose herself by only staring at him. “People died like dogs in the streets, were denied food and water and shelter and human decency while these fat cats sat around with their thumbs up their privileged tight asses, and now they have the gall and audacity to host a fund-raiser as a media photo op to show their concern!”
Laura drew a shaky breath and smoothed her hair as James stepped in closer to her to shield her expression and her words from others.
“You’ve got insur
ance lobbyists in here, James, pleading their cases for why they shouldn’t be financially impacted by all those tax-paying homeowners down in the Gulf who paid them hard-earned wages, believing that ...”
“I know, baby. But you have to keep focused—”
“You’ve got other nonprofits in here trying to ensure their taps don’t get turned off while funds get diverted to New Orleans, Mississippi, and Alabama, because donor fatigue has set in, and the little people, the American public, just gave up a cool billion from hardworking households to help.” She could feel hot tears rising in her eyes. “All this happened while we were away. Did you hear the conversations as we passed by the chic huddles? Private corporations are in here lobbying to get a chunk of the rebuilding, the cleanup, waste removal, you name it, while you’ve got politicians in here using this tragedy as election platform fodder. People died because they were poor. Any trust I had in any aspect of the so-called system has been shattered, James. Shattered fucking trust, is what I have now.” She briefly covered her face with her hands and took a deep breath and then summarily straightened.
“Laura—”
“I’m all right,” she said quickly. “But this is why I used to do what I did.”
“That’s why I used to do what I did, too,” he said quietly, his steady gaze holding hers. His eyes only left hers to scan the filling room. “Justice always meant just us po’ folk going to the pen while larger, more serious crimes that impacted masses of people went unchecked ... so I was trying to make a difference at the street level. You were real good at it, Laura, like me.” He smiled at her sadly. “We did this thing before as straight-up vigilantes.”
She nodded and caught a glimpse of Elizabeth Haines entering by the door. “Well, I’ll just be damned,” Laura whispered. “Two o’clock. Mommy dearest Haines.”
“Your take?” James casually glanced over his shoulder and then back to Laura.
“One of two things,” Laura said, her gaze on Elizabeth becoming lethal. “Either she’s a part of this, which I wouldn’t put past her, or she’s trying to keep her son out of it, given they might take him as a proverbial hostage.”
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