I glanced near the front entrance, noticing a pair of dirty, sandy boots propped up in the corner. They looked like their owner had been digging holes on the beach recently. "Should we take our shoes off?" I asked.
The caretaker shrugged. "There's no trouble if you wish to keep them on," he told me, before returning his attention back to Rob, giving a helpless shrug. "I've received several packages recently, but I don't have anything for you, sir. I could give Mister Cartmann a call, perhaps, if that would help-"
"Let's not disturb him yet, not unless it's necessary," Rob interjected, and I saw a flicker of relief pass across the old man's face. I had never met this Chad Cartmann in person, but he seemed like he had quite the rude and grating personality. If the caretaker didn't need to disturb his boss, he'd probably be much happier leaving Cartmann in peace.
Rob looked around, thrusting his hands into his back pockets. "Surely, Chad has a study around here, doesn't he?" he asked after a minute. "He told me that he had been working on the papers in his study when he last saw them, and he'd have them ready for me. He probably forgot to get them ready, so they're still sitting in the study."
A part of me wanted to applaud Rob for how he masterfully handled the situation, steering us towards the study while giving us a totally reasonable explanation for wanting to see it. Still, I saw the caretaker's expression cloud for a moment.
"Mister Cartmann's study is very private," he demurred. "I'm not sure if-"
But Rob already had his phone out and in his hand. "Maybe it would be better if I called Chad after all, confirmed where the ball got dropped," he said, flicking his thumb across the screen.
I watched with a slight twinge of guilt as the caretaker's lined, wrinkled face switched from suspicion to alarm. "No, no, there's no need!" he cut in hastily, his hand even reaching out to block Rob from placing the call. "The study is right this way. If you'll just follow me..."
We tailed along behind the man as he led us into the mansion, Rob reaching back to grab my hand. He gave it a single squeeze, as if reassuring me that we could handle this. I squeezed back, hoping that he was right, that we wouldn't screw this up somehow.
Chapter Fourteen
*
The study turned out to be located in the rear of the mansion, with massive windows gazing out over a slight cliff, down at a manicured lawn and a huge, curving pool that had been designed in an abstract, bulbous shape. When I looked beyond the pool, sure enough, I could just make out the diminutive shape of Diana's cottage out at the edge of the property. I couldn't see the little hidden beach between the dunes that rose up on either side of it where the water began, but I could point out and and approximate its location. The study itself had bookshelves lining two of the four walls, filled with leather-bound tomes that looked like they had been installed along with the bookshelves and then never removed once in place.
The focal point of the room was a massive desk, at least six feet across, carved out of some sort of dark reddish wood. Papers covered the top of the desk, barely organized into any semblance of piles and looking on the verge of spilling over onto the floor. Rob nodded as he saw it.
"The papers have to be here," he said, moving towards the desk. "I'll need a few minutes to look through these and locate the right ones that I'm supposed to handle, of course."
The caretaker nodded, but didn't leave the room. After another minute, when it became clear that he didn't really want to leave Rob alone in the study, Rob flicked his eyes towards me.
Oh. I should do something, shouldn't I?
"Oh my," I said, fanning at my face and trying to not overdo the theatrics. "You know, this might be too much of a bother, but could I trouble you for some water? We've been wandering around cute little boutiques all day, exploring and on our feet, and I have probably made myself far too dehydrated."
Rob raised his eyebrows at my words, and I grimaced back at him when the caretaker's back was turned towards me. What did he expect me to say? I pasted a smile back on my face, however, when the old man looked back at me.
"Um, sure, I can fetch you a glass of water," he said reluctantly.
"Oh, wonderful." I considered for another moment. "Here, let me come with you. Now, do you have sparkling water? Something in a glass bottle, not plastic?" That was probably how these rich Hamptons people acted, right?
I followed the man out of the study and down several hallways to the kitchen, where, indeed, he had bottles of sealed Perrier inside one of the several refrigerators. He handed me one, glancing over his shoulder as if eager to get back to the study and keep on watching Rob.
"Oh! And perhaps some ice?" I added, holding up the bottle like I needed to indicate exactly why I needed some ice cubes.
Given how the caretaker paused for a second, I strongly suspected that he was rolling his eyes while his back was turned to me, but he pulled out a glass from a cupboard and filled it with ice from a nearby freezer. "Here you are, miss," he said, holding it out to me.
Well, I couldn't keep on asking for more drinks. Maybe it was time to try some charm. "April," I replied, smiling and meeting his eyes. "This is a very nice house, Mr..."
"Rind," he answered, probably responding automatically. "Alfred Rind, Miss April."
Ooh, Miss. "Just April is fine," I replied, upping the wattage of my smile until my teeth started to hurt a little. "Rind. That's a lovely name. And you certainly are doing a great job with this big place! I'm sure you have quite the large staff working for you, right?"
"Just me, Miss April," Alfred answered. Even though he looked down, I still caught the brief little flash of pride as he smiled at my kind words. "That's very nice of you to say, Miss April. Are you and Mister Hendricks-"
"Oh, yes," I burst out, not sure exactly what he thought we were but not wanting to poke any holes in whatever story he'd concocted in his head. "And very happy, too! At least, if he can get these papers so we can get back to enjoying our time up in the Hamptons."
Alfred's eyes flicked back towards the exit from the kitchen, and I winced internally to myself. Shouldn't have reminded him that he'd left Rob alone to poke around in the study. I hastily tried to think of something else to say to distract the caretaker, but we both paused as I heard a faint tinkling sound.
"What was that?" I asked. It had sounded a bit like breaking glass - and unless my ears deceived me, it hadn't sounded like it came from the same direction as the study.
Alfred also wore a frown. "I'm not sure, Miss April. Perhaps you should stay here while I go and investigate."
Before I could protest, he ducked out of the kitchen, leaving me alone.
I frowned after his rapidly retreating back. Well, this wasn't ideal! What if there was a burglar? Or what if Chad Cartmann himself had shown up and, annoyed that Alfred wasn't around to open the door for him had... smashed a glass in frustration?
That didn't make sense, but I didn't want to just stand here and picture all the possibilities. I should go investigate.
I started towards the exit from the kitchen - but then paused, looking around. I'd seen far too many movies where the heroine ended up falling helplessly into a trap. I wandered back around to the other side of the kitchen, where half a dozen frying pans hung from hooks. I took one down and hefted it, liking the weight of it in my hands.
Now feeling much more confident with a makeshift weapon in my grasp, I went out of the kitchen, heading back towards the study. Best to check on Rob first, I decided.
In leading me to the kitchen, Alfred had taken several turns, and I soon found myself turned about and unsure which hallway to take. I turned down several corridors, but quickly realized that I'd made more turns now than I had taken when going to the kitchen in the first place.
That meant, I decided, that I was lost.
I turned around one last corner, hoping that maybe I could come in a full square and get back on track - and saw a man's back, up ahead of me.
This wasn't Rob's back, or Alfred's, I saw immediately. H
is shoulders were big and broad like Rob's, but he wore a black windbreaker, instead of the light blue suit blazer that Rob had been wearing. The man crouched slightly next to a doorway, his head pulled back so it looked like his skull grew directly out of his shoulders, with no neck between the two features. He held his hand off to one side, with something dark gripped in it.
I took a step closer, the sound of my footsteps muffled by the thick carpet beneath my feet, trying to see what the man held in his hands. When I realized what he held, however, I nearly gasped, and my hand flew up towards my mouth.
The man held a pistol, his fingers wrapped around the grip and trigger!
Robber or attacker, I decided, my eyes flicking between the back of his head and the gun in his hand. Definitely not someone friendly. Someone friendly wouldn't be sneaking around this place with a drawn weapon.
But what should I do?
My eyes flicked down to the dozen feet that separated us, and I weighed the heavy frying pan in my hand. It had a good heft to it, and he hadn't heard me approach so far. Maybe, if I took a few more steps, I could get close enough to crack him over the head, or to knock the gun out of his hands...
God, this was crazy. Had Teddy, or any of the other reporters, done anything like this in the course of their investigations?
I slowly advanced, my heart in my throat, doing my best to place each foot right on the carpet, trying my hardest to think light thoughts.
Clouds.
Little fluffy bunnies.
Fog.
Silent little breezes...
Up closer, I saw that the intruder's hair was cut short, revealing a blocky and slightly dented head. He wore baggy, badly cut suit pants under the windbreaker. His big fingers, making the gun in his hands look tiny, looked scarred and scraped, like he'd been punching something hard and rough.
Almost there. One more step...
"Excuse me! What in the world is going on!"
I jumped nearly a foot in the air at the sound of Alfred's voice from behind me. I saw the blocky, brutish head of the man in front of me jerk around, too. Shit! His eyes widened as they focused in on me, and that arm holding the gun started to move.
My head filled with exclamation points, I lashed out with the frying pan, smacking the man in the elbow.
"What the fuck!" he roared in a deep, rough voice that made it sound like he'd been gargling with gravel. His hand kept on coming up, but my blow made his fingers jerk open, and the pistol dropped down to the floor.
Both of our eyes scanned down to the gun on the floor. I kicked out, sending it flying down the hallway further across the carpet - and the man lashed out at me, his big fist flying out at me in a knockout blow.
Somehow, entirely by luck, I managed to move so that, instead of connecting with my head, that fist hit right in the middle of the frying pan.
The man roared again, this time in pain, as he recoiled and shook his smashed knuckles. I also staggered back, knocked off balance by the sheer force behind that impact. The frying pan had saved me, acting as a shield, but I still absorbed all of that momentum from the hit.
"What in the world is going on out here?" From the other side of the doorway that this attacker had been peeping around, Rob emerged, his eyebrows drawn down. Those eyes widened, however, as he saw the big man in the cheap, ugly suit nursing his hand and glaring daggers at me. "Oh, shit!"
"Bitch," the attacker growled, lunging for me again, but this time Rob managed to grab my wrist first, tugging me out of the way.
"This way!" he shouted, charging down the hallway, away from the ugly brute, towing me behind him as he clutched at my wrist.
I heard the man behind us roar again, and the thunder of his feet as he came after us. I felt something dragging at my free hand, and realized that I still held the frying pan. Trying my hardest not to stumble over my own feet, I half-turned and threw it over my shoulder.
Somehow, entirely by accident, my throw connected with the man's face. He stumbled to a stop, clutching at his face. Between two fat fingers, one eye glared bloody murder at me - but then Rob hauled me around the corner, and the sight of him vanished.
"What the hell is going on?" I asked, but Rob just kept running.
"We need to get out of here, that's what!" he answered, somehow managing to take the right sequence of turns to get us back to the front of the mansion.
For just a moment, I saw Alfred's face flick past us, his eyes wide as he watched us sprint out of his house. "Call the police!" I shouted at him as we ran past. "There's someone in the house with a gun! Intruder!"
Alfred looked like he just had more questions, but we didn't slow down. Rob's car was still parked right in front of the main entrance, and we piled in.
"Drive!" I shouted unnecessarily at Rob, even as the car's tires squealed on the driveway and we peeled out of there, away from the mansion.
I risked a glance back out the rear window, but didn't see any signs of pursuit. That didn't help my thumping heart slow down, however, and I had to sit in the seat and take several deep breaths as we increased the distance between us and the mansion before I stopped feeling light-headed.
Teddy and the other reporters wouldn't even believe me when I told them about this!
Chapter Fifteen
*
"What the hell happened back there?"
Rob kept his voice pitched low, but that didn't lessen the intensity of his words as he glared across the table at me. Now, we sat in a local little eatery. I'd wanted to go back to his house, but he pointed out that the intruder might decide to follow us, or see us pull in next door, and that it would be better for us to stay someplace public, someplace with lots of witnesses in case he showed up again, gun in hand.
So now, instead of sitting at home, we sat at a back table in a busy little cafe. Rob had ordered something for me, insisting that it would help me calm down, so a large milkshake in an old-timey frosted glass sat in front of me, a red and white straw poking up from the top and angled towards my lips.
I took a few sips of the milkshake, and discovered that it was chocolate flavored. In addition, it did calm me down a little. I took some more sips.
"I don't know," I answered, after I'd swallowed my mouthful of chocolate milkshake. "I heard breaking glass, like someone threw a rock through a window. I went out to look for you and see if you'd caused it, and saw that guy peering around the corner at you, holding a gun."
"What about the frying pan?"
"What about it?"
Rob rolled his eyes. Seeing him do it made me want to slap him a little bit, but the gesture also seemed strangely comforting. No one in mortal danger would waste time rolling his eyes at his partner. "Where did it come from? Why were you walking around with a frying pan in your hands?"
Briefly, I explained to him how in horror movies, the heroine always wanders out into dangerous areas without a weapon, and ends up helpless and in trouble. "So I took the frying pan so that I could defend myself," I finished, feeling like it was a totally reasonable explanation.
Rob opened his mouth to reply, but didn't say anything for a second. "Most women wouldn't have thought about that sort of thing," he finally said, shaking his head at me. In his eyes, however, I saw the glint of something unexpected - respect.
"Well, it saved your ass," I pointed out.
"You did, although I'm not sure how much of that was luck. What was your plan in sneaking up on him?"
"Er, to sneak up on him," I said. "I was about to clonk him in the head, but then Alfred came up behind us and shouted, and he turned around."
"Alfred?" Rob just looked even more confused.
"The caretaker," I explained. "He yelled, and the intruder guy saw me, so I hit him with the frying pan in the elbow to make him drop the gun."
Rob raised his eyebrows at me. "On purpose?"
"Um, no comment." I took another big pull on the straw in the milkshake.
After a moment, Rob sighed and sat back. "Well, I did find some int
eresting stuff in the study, before I heard the shouting from outside," he said. "It seems like Cartmann had a lot of data on us traders - including printouts of all the trades, and it looks like he was tracking several of us in particular."
"Is that weird, though?" I asked. "I mean, as the boss, isn't it his job to oversee everything?"
"Sure, but he doesn't need to print the stuff off," Rob replied. "And again, if he wanted to pin this on me, this is what he'd need to do - he'd need to really pore over my trades, so that he could track how he doctored the documents to make this all look like it was my fault. Even when they're cooking the books, a company needs to keep the honest set around somewhere, so that they know what lies they've told."
"But that's not enough to prove that you're innocent, and that Chad Cartmann is behind everything, is it?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No. It's not."
He sounded dejected, so I reluctantly relinquished my mouth's grip on the milkshake. "Here, have some of this," I said, pushing it across to him. "It'll make you feel better."
Rob looked doubtful, but he took a big swallow of milkshake. "Eh, maybe it works better for you." He did look a little less stressed, however, I thought privately to myself.
"So what would you need, if it really is Chad at fault behind all of this?" I asked, after another minute.
Rob considered the question, looking out the window. A family with three young children sat at a table outside; one of the kids was happily pelting the others with French fries. "If Cartmann is behind this, he's got to be doctoring my trades. Every trader has their own program for submitting trades. If Chad's pretending to be me, doctoring my trades, he must have some way of breaking into my account so that he can pretend to be me."
Bad Boy of Wall Street: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Page 9