by Kylie Brant
He stared at the envelope. He didn’t doubt that it was stuffed with a neat pile of bills that would pay the rent on his apartment for years. And he wasn’t tempted in the least to pick it up.
His gaze rose to rest on her face. “I’ve only known Jacey for three years, and I know her better than you ever will. You don’t want to understand her, you just want to control her.”
“Jacinda,” she said with emphasis, “is strong-willed, but she also has enough pride to shut you out of her life if she learns the truth. I’m her only family, she’ll eventually forgive my motives. But you…” She pursed her lips, swept him with a disparaging look. “You are dispensable, Mr. Boucher. Are you willing to take the chance that you’ll be left with nothing?”
A cold block of ice settled hard and heavy in his chest. “Despite my nickname, I’m not much of a gambler.” He waited for the triumphant little smile to cross her lips before he added, “But I know enough about cards to recognize when my opponent is bluffin’.”
He waited for her to blanch before he rose. “Do your worst, Ms. Wheeler. Somehow I think you know that you’ll be the big loser in all this if you go through with it.”
Striding out of the café, he pushed open the door, hauled a huge breath of air into his strangled lungs. He walked to his car, unlocked it, then yanked open the door, slid behind the wheel. Currents of rage were speeding along his nerve endings, fiery circuits of fury that had him longing to smash something. Anything. Years ago he’d have headed to the nearest tavern, taken his temper out on the first person who looked at him wrong.
But a lot had changed in the last few years. He wasn’t the same man he’d been back then. He wasn’t always sure just who he was now, but he was far different from the man who had walked into Jacinda Wheeler’s office with the intention of sending her running home to her maman within the month.
And if he’d changed, Jacey had had a lot to do with it.
He turned the key in the ignition, shifted the car into gear. Charlotte must be desperate to make a threat like this, especially when he was fairly certain she had no intention of going through with it. She couldn’t expose his original intentions without exposing her own, and she wasn’t about to take that kind of risk.
Broodingly, he checked the rearview mirror and switched lanes, heading for the freeway. But for all his conviction, the encounter left a block of foreboding in his chest. He didn’t need the woman’s reminder about Jacey’s reaction if she found out what had really brought him to her office three years ago. She’d slice him from her life in one precise swipe.
And the hell of it was, he wouldn’t even blame her.
Chapter 9
Lucky spent most of the next day out of the office, and he was honest enough to admit that it was to avoid the woman he worked for. After lying awake most of the night with the conversation between him and Charlotte Wheeler replaying over and over in his head, he didn’t trust himself to face Jacey right away. He needed time and distance to tuck away the twin spears of guilt and remorse. He’d spent most of the night trying to convince himself that it wasn’t his initial intentions toward Jacey that counted; it was the relationship that had been forged between them in spite of it.
In the darkest hours before the dawn, he’d almost believed it.
He checked in with Joan, then spent the morning making calls on his cell to former clients of Amanda Garvey’s while pretending to be a Human Resources employee for a hospital in Baton Rouge. The calls didn’t elicit anything but glowing reports of Amanda’s firm. Despite his finessing, none of the contacts were able to provide any information the least bit personal. He wasn’t discouraged. There were plenty of other sources that could be tapped to provide them.
When he’d finished, he drove to the building that housed the woman’s offices. In the midst of the business district, it was on the third and middle floor of a newer glass-and-chrome building. With some difficulty, he found a parking spot. He took his digital camera and hooked a wide strap around it that he slipped over his head. Then he grabbed a Saints hat, put it on backwards, and took a quick look in the mirror.
With the grim expression and the unmistakable marks of a sleepless night, he wasn’t sure he’d pass for a tourist, but he’d learned to play whatever role was called for at the moment. He walked to the building in question, and then past it, down the street for several blocks and back. Only after familiarizing himself with the area did he pull open the door and walk inside.
He wouldn’t have much time before he was approached. High-class places like this didn’t allow casual street traffic. He spotted the desk situated several yards away, with the elevators beyond it. The person manning the desk would be politely referred to as a security guard, but they were usually glorified receptionists, buzzing visitors by once they’d proved a legitimate purpose for being in the building.
Ignoring the man behind the desk who’d looked up at his entrance, he slowed, pretended to be examining the list of building occupants. He was unsurprised to see the name of Amanda’s firm, but the sight of another familiar one had him taking a second look.
“May I help you?”
He turned to greet the guard who was approaching him, and then, as if his feet had gotten tangled in the act, tripped, and nearly fell to the ground. He made a production of saving the camera before he hit the floor, depressing the button to take a shot as it was aimed in the direction of the occupant board. Then, to make it look realistic, he fell to his knees, letting loose a string of mild curses as he did so.
“All you all right, sir?”
It was the man’s tone that caught Lucky’s attention first. He picked himself up and dusted himself off, appraising the stranger. Far from the slightly bored, yet polite tone he’d expected, this man’s voice was tinged with suspicion.
“I’m fine. Think I’m lost, though. I was looking for the Renault Agency. Could you tell me if they’re located anywhere around here? I lost the slip of paper that I had the address written on, but I know I’ve got the street right.”
The guard’s tone never changed. “I wouldn’t know. You won’t find that business in this building, however.”
“You must have heard of them. They’re sports agents. They handle some big-time names, too. As long as I’m in town, I thought I might stop by there, see if I can catch sight of any famous clients comin’ or goin’.” He patted the camera the way he would a baby. “Folks back home would have to believe me if I showed a picture, right? Sure you don’t have any idea where that place might be?”
“No, sir, I’m afraid not.”
Lucky grinned at him. The man’s expression never cracked. “Guess I’ll keep looking then. Sorry to bother you.”
He turned and ambled back outside, fully aware that the guard stood staring after him. Heading in the direction of his car, he mused on the surprises the short scene had revealed.
He hadn’t expected to find that Stephen Garvey’s investment company was located in the same building as his sister’s business. Jacey hadn’t mentioned it, and he’d been concentrating his investigative efforts so far on Jeffrey and Amanda. But what was even more curious was that the man working the downstairs desk was almost certainly a cop.
Getting in his car, he headed to the office. He was experienced enough at recognizing the type. It had been in the man’s eyes, in his manner. There was also the fact that he hadn’t had a clue that the Renault Agency was only three blocks down, on the other side of the street. So whatever his purpose there, Lucky doubted he’d been on the job long.
He hadn’t had a chance to do more than glance at the rest of the occupant names. When he reached the office he’d download the digital picture onto the computer. He was beginning to wonder if there was any business connection between Amanda and her stockbroker brother. It wouldn’t hurt to dig a bit deeper into her finances.
Jacey’s car wasn’t in the parking lot. Given the time, he guessed that she’d gone to Garvey Enterprises to be in position to tail Mark Garvey aft
er work. She was fairly accomplished at the task, but if the time came that they needed in-depth covert surveillance on any of the subjects, they’d have to contract out for extra help. Either of them ran the risk of being identified.
He downloaded the picture and jotted down each of the building occupant names to be checked later. Then he immersed himself in Amanda Garvey’s finances, and by the time Joan’s voice finally interrupted him hours later, his shoulders were stiff from poring over the documents. Looking up, he regarded the secretary, who was slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Are you going to work all night? Because I’m heading out. You’ll have to lock up.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he promised. “Unless…do you expect Jacey back?”
She shook her head, already turning. “I know she had dinner reservations, so she probably won’t be in again tonight.”
“Dinner reservations?” Every instinct went on alert. Simple interest, he told himself, as he pushed away from his desk and trailed the woman into the outer office. Certainly not jealousy. He’d never been jealous of a female in his life. “With who?”
“A new client. At least that’s the way it sounded from what I heard of the conversation. He seemed quite insistent that they meet tonight.”
“What was his name?”
Joan sent him an exasperated look. “What’s with the third degree? I’m sure Jacey will tell you all about it tomorrow.”
“I’m interested, okay?” He followed her to her desk, where she looked at the appointment book. Running her index finger over the page, she stopped at a name. “Here it is. Vinny Tomsino, is his name.”
There was a roaring in his ears, and sheets of ice moved over his skin. “Tomsino?”
“That’s right. They’re discussing business over dinner, she said. I’m late. Promise to lock up, or Jacey will have my hide.”
He nodded distractedly and she left with a wave. He went to the desk and peered down at the appointment book, as if to make sure. But there it was, in Joan’s neat handwriting. Vinny Tomsino.
Bracing himself with both hands on the desk, he drew in a deep breath. The man might not be a made wise guy, but he was definitely connected. There wasn’t an enterprise he was engaged in that was legit, and Lucky knew that first-hand. There was also little the man wouldn’t do to get what he wanted.
If he’d tried, he couldn’t have imagined anyone he’d want to keep further away from Jacey.
“What sort of services are you interested in, Mr. Tomsino?”
Jacey sipped from the wine the man had ordered and nodded her approval to the waiter who stood nearby. Like a wraith, he disappeared.
The smile on Tomsino’s wide seamed face didn’t touch his eyes. They remained watchful. Assessing. Not for the first time since she’d joined him, she had a feeling that she was being weighed and measured. But if he had formed an opinion of her, there was no sign of it in his expression.
She hadn’t known what to expect from the brief conversation they’d had on the phone. From the persistent way he’d pressed for this meeting, she’d been left with an impression of a man who was well used to getting his own way. After several minutes in his company, she was no more enlightened.
She hadn’t recognized his name when he’d called earlier, and seeing him now, she was certain their paths had never crossed. He wasn’t exactly forgettable.
He was no more than six foot, but he had to tip the scales at over three hundred pounds. Even with his girth, however, he gave the impression of strength. And unmistakable aura of power. The wait staff at the restaurant spoke to him with a deference that indicated they knew him well and accorded him a certain amount of respect.
He wore money in the manner of some people who hadn’t been born to it. His navy suit was obviously custom-made, and the diamond on his finger bordered on ostentatious. His dark hair was thinning, but immaculately trimmed. But it was rarely the outward trappings that told the most about a person, she’d learned. It was the eyes.
And his dark fathomless gaze revealed nothing. It was as empty, as flat as a shark’s. “I’m actually thinking we can help each other.” He pushed the menu toward her. “If you like steak, the New York strip here is the best in town.”
Flipping open the menu, she glanced over the entrées. There were no prices listed, which always meant those who needed to inquire about them couldn’t afford the meal. “Mine is a small firm, but I have several other sources I contract with. So if you’re looking for a specialized service, I’m certain we can oblige you.”
“That’s good to hear. What I’m looking for is real specialized. And I don’t think you’ll need to contract out for anything. You’ve got everything I need.”
She gave him a polite smile. “That’s good to know. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like you to forward to me all your future reports before sending them to J. Walter Garvey. Then I’ll let you know how I want them rewritten.”
He raised a finger and as if on cue, the waiter reappeared. Tomsino placed his order calmly, as if his words hadn’t struck Jacey completely dumb.
Her mind seemed to have gone numb. Thoughts tumbled incoherently, no single one making logical sense. Icy fingers of shock inched up her spine.
“What about you, Miss Wheeler?” Tomsino’s tone was solicitous, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. “Are you going to try the New York strip, too?”
“I’ll have the crab legs,” she heard herself say evenly. “Caesar salad with the plum dressing. No potato.”
She waited for the man to scribble down the order and move away, before forcing herself to meet Tomsino’s gaze again. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do.” His voice was almost gentle, his gaze anything but. “The old man’s going to die, and he’s looking for someone to take over for him. I’ve got someone in mind and I’ll save you a lot of time and effort by telling you who you’ll recommend. All that you’ll have to do is fake some more reports, sit back, collect the old man’s money and what I’m going to pay you, as well.”
“Why would you think I’m working for Mr. Garvey?” There was a flare of anger, melting some of the frost that had encased her system.
“I don’t think—I know. We can spend the rest of the meal dancing around it, but we both recognize that I’m right. Just like we both know you’re going to do exactly as I say.”
She reached for her glass, brought it to her lips and sipped again, distantly pleased that her hand wasn’t trembling. When she’d replaced the glass on the table, she said, “You seem to be way ahead of me on this one. What gives you the impression that I’m so easily manipulated?”
He picked up the table knife idly, his ring catching the reflection and bouncing off it. “I guess you could say I’ve been spoiled. Everyone does what I want, Miss Wheeler. Because if they don’t, things start going very very bad for them in a hurry.”
The waiter came back with a basket of rolls, which he set on the table between them. Tomsino reached for one, broke it in half and began buttering it.
“The problem with being spoiled, Mr. Tomsino, is that you’re unprepared for being told no. But that’s what I’m telling you.” She leaned forward, looked him straight in the eye and said clearly, “No. I don’t respond well to threats, and I don’t need your money. So whatever scheme you’re planning, you’ll plan it without me.”
Remarkably, he grinned, this time with real amusement. “I like a woman with some backbone,” he said, in a tone that had her flesh crawling. “Maybe we can do more business after this deal is taken care of. You’ll find that I can be real generous when I get my way.”
Revulsion snaked through her. “I’ll have to take your word for it, because as far as I’m concerned, our association ends right now.”
His cell phone rang in the midst of her words, distracting him. Frustrated, she sat back in her seat as he answered it. He hadn’t seemed to be paying much attention to the gist of her message, in any case. She
was getting the distinct impression that he was used to steamrollering over any protests.
His phone conversation didn’t appear to be making him happy, however. His face was growing red, his responses terse and angry. A sliver of satisfaction lanced through her. It was good to see him thwarted by someone else. He needed to get used to it. Because there was no way she was going to comply with his demands.
When he ended the call she opened her mouth, intent on telling him exactly that. But he was already rising, slipping the cell phone into his pocket. “Something’s come up that requires my attention. Feel free to stay and enjoy the meal you ordered.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said coolly, pushing her seat back. “Our business here was finished anyway.”
He leaned over her, one arm braced on the table to prevent her exit. His face shoved close to hers, he said, “It’s not healthy to say no to a man like me, Miss Wheeler. I suggest you go home and do some of that investigating you’re supposed to be so good at and figure out exactly who you’re dealing with here. Maybe when we meet again, your attitude will be different. I hope, for your sake, that it is.”
With that he straightened, turned and walked out of the restaurant.
It wasn’t until the third try that Jacey was able to fit her key into the lock of her front door. She’d left the restaurant with temper still simmering forty minutes earlier, but on the drive home, she’d noticed with a little shock that her hands had had a tendency to shake as she gripped the steering wheel. The sign of weakness irritated her. Even that small reaction seemed like a victory for the man who’d tried to muscle her, and it was infuriating to give him even that much power.
She set her purse on the gateleg table in the foyer and shut the door behind her. The inviting air of her home failed to calm her as it usually did. She was too busy trying to make sense of the scene that had occurred earlier.