The Man For The Job

by Marie-Nicole Ryan

"Anything you can remember? A sound or a hint of perfume?"

  "No, nothing."

  He looked up at his mother. “Has anyone called a doctor?"

  "I asked Grayson to call Dr. Morgan,” his mother said, “the one who was here last night."

  "She's on her way, ma'am."

  "Good. I'd invited her tonight, anyway. I hope you don't mind. I thought she'd even out the table."

  Mike concealed his irritation with his mother's persistent attention to the finer details that, in his book, didn't amount to anything. “Whatever—as long as she's coming."

  He turned to Gwyn, touching her cheek lightly. “Are you sure you're all right?"

  "Yes. I'm so glad you sent Marina and Adam away.” She placed her hands in his.

  "I should've sent you, too."

  "She can't leave the jurisdiction,” Edmund Everley insisted with a smug smile that, in Mike's mind, was more of a grimace.

  "So now you're a lawyer?” Mike bore down on him. “And where were you just now?"

  Everley tilted his head and put his hand to his mouth in a self-conscious pose, giving the matter consideration. “Let's see. I was in the kitchen, wooing the housekeeper. But she wouldn't have anything to do with me. Damned uppity for the hired help, don't you think?"

  "I'll be checking your alibi with her."

  "Of course, you should.” Everley's smirk grew wider.

  "Edmund,” Lilith Sand reproved her son, “I'll speak to you in private."

  "Don't be such a drag, Mother. I'm a big boy."

  Mike stood up. Time he took control of the situation while he still could. “I'd appreciate it if everyone would clear out while I talk to Gwyn."

  "We were just going for some air.” Lilith Sand smiled up at her escort. “Weren't we, Paul?"

  "I believe we were.” Paul offered the woman his arm. “Shall we?"

  Watching the couple leave, Mike glared at Everley. “Don't go far. I'm not through with you."

  "Oh, my.” Everley's mouth twisted into a smarmy grin. “Does that mean I'm a suspect? May I go out onto the terrace, sir?"

  "Suit yourself.” Mike would've given anything to take that smart-ass down a peg and teach him some manners. Too bad. Wouldn't be a fair fight.

  The doorbell rang, and the housekeeper rushed to answer it.

  Doctor Morgan walked into the salon. Mike looked up and gave her an anxious grin. “Thank you for coming so quickly."

  "You again?” She gave him a wide smile. “Who hit you this time?"

  "Not me—Gwyneth. Someone shoved her down the stairs."

  "Really?” Dr. Morgan dropped her playful expression and shifted into a no-nonsense medical persona. She snapped open her black leather bag and pulled out a small, lighted instrument. “You're sure you didn't faint or trip?"

  "I damn well ought to know when I'm shoved down a staircase...” Gwyneth added with some heat, “...and I don't faint."

  "I stand corrected. Now, did you lose consciousness?"

  "A few seconds, I'm told."

  "That's good. All right now, I want you to focus on a spot over my shoulder while I examine your eyes.” The doctor switched on the opthalmoscope.

  Gwyn did as directed, muttering, “I wish I'd never heard the word concussion."

  "Good, now the other.” Dr. Morgan shut off the lighted scope. “Eyes are equal and react to light. No sign of hemorrhage."

  Mike let out a quiet sigh of relief.

  "Hold out your arms. Flex your fingers. Good, now grip. Good, normal strength. Your legs? Can you stand?"

  Obediently Gwyneth stood up, then grabbed for Mike's arm.

  "I'm still a little wobbly, but everything else seems to be in order."

  "No matter, I want to check you into the hospital for overnight observation."

  "No.” Gwyn shook her head. “Been there, done that. Mike can wake me up every two hours and look into my eyes. I don't need some sadistic nurse doing it."

  Dr. Morgan glanced at Mike. “She really must be checked frequently."

  "No problem, I'll do it. I'd rather she stay here where I can keep an eye on her."

  "Please, I want to stay here,” Gwyneth insisted, “with Mike."

  Dr. Morgan shot a cagey glance at Mike, then grinned at Gwyn. “Can't say that I blame you. But it's still against my best judgment."

  "I understand, Doctor."

  "Please call me Tara. All this doctor stuff is so formal."

  "Well ... Tara, is it all right if I eat? I'm starving."

  Tara nodded. “I'd go light, but from the looks of you, you don't eat a lot anyway."

  "But I do."

  "Then I'm afraid I hate you. Every bite I eat goes to my hips."

  Edmund Everley returned to the salon, casting a leering glance at Tara's hips. “They look all right to me. In fact—"

  Gwyneth groaned. “Back from the terrace already, Edmund? Grow up. Haven't you ever heard of sexual harassment?"

  "Now, cousin, don't be so cranky."

  "Then act like an adult instead of the immature little dweeb you are."

  Everley glared at Mike. “You put up with this? She must be really something in bed ‘cause—"

  Mike hauled back and slugged him.

  "Umph—” was all the little jerk managed. The momentum of his blow knocked Everley back two steps before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed.

  Mike shrugged. “Tara, I think he might have a concussion."

  "I think you're right."

  "Edmund?” Lilith, with Paul Winston trailing behind, rushed in from the terrace. She scowled at Mike. “What have you done? You-you thug."

  "Auntie Dearest, Eddie has a foul mouth. And he was warned."

  "Paul, I want you to sue this man, and I want him arrested for assault."

  "Lilith, your son had it coming."

  "Well, you're not the only lawyer in town. I'll find someone else."

  "Don't waste your time or the court's.” Paul gave a heavy sigh. Then Gwyneth noted a wicked gleam appeared in the attorney's eyes. “Maybe Judge Judy could explain it to you."

  "Well, if you know someone who—"

  "I was joking."

  "This is no joke. Mike Carlton assaulted my son, and I want him arrested."

  "Arrested? Looks like I came just in time.” Sheriff Bauer ambled in from the foyer accompanied by Detective McKenzie, who looked quite presentable in her basic black, off-the-shoulder dress. Alas, Bauer still wore his khaki tan uniform. And it didn't do a thing for his potbelly, Gwyneth thought with satisfaction.

  "Carlton, don't you ever learn?” the sheriff asked.

  "I'm afraid Mr. Everley's bad attitude got the better of me, Sheriff."

  Tara Morgan looked up from her place beside Edmund. “He's coming round. He should be all right."

  "I want Mike Carlton arrested,” Lilith insisted.

  "You'll have to wait until I unmask Klein's murderer. Then you can take me to the pokey if you still want to, Sheriff."

  "Who says I have to wait? I'll haul you in right now!"

  Just then, Mike's father rolled in and joined the fray. Gwyneth's neck was getting stiff from all the comings and goings. It was worse than a tennis match—or better, depending on the point of view.

  "And miss dinner, Sheriff?” George cast his steely gaze on the lawman. “I'd consider it a personal favor if you'd wait. My son isn't going anywhere, but if he can tell us who killed that young man, I, for one, would be grateful."

  "Yeah, if he can.” Bauer offered with a sneer twisting his face into a mask.

  "I can.” Mike squared his shoulders, and Gwyneth didn't doubt him for a minute.

  "We'll see about that.” The sheriff's sneer had taken up permanent residence on his rat face.

  "You think the murderer is one of us?” Lilith asked with eyebrows arched.

  Mike grinned. “It should be obvious."

  Elinor clapped her hands softly. “I think everyone should calm down and remember that dinner is ready. Why don't
we go out to the terrace and enjoy it?"

  Mike beamed at his mother. “An excellent idea. What do you say, folks, we do as our hostess asks and have some of that grilled steak I smell all the way in here?"

  Everley raised up, fists clenched. “You son of a bitch."

  "Quit while you're ahead, kid.” Paul Winston placed a hand on Everley's shoulder. “Or you're going to find yourself on the floor again."

  Edmund jerked away from the attorney's hand, but pulled his face into a desultory glare.

  Gwyneth stood up and poked her cousin on the chest. “You little worm. If Mike hadn't hit you, I would've."

  An ugly sneer crossed her cousin's face. “Yeah, right.” Still he retreated with a careful gait.

  Tara looked from Gwyneth to Mike and back again. “Is it always this exciting?"

  Mike shrugged. “Sometimes it's worse."

  * * * *

  "Detective McKenzie, how nice to see you again.” Gwyneth sat down by the detective who appeared uneasy.

  "And no bars this time."

  "Ouch."

  The detective's face flushed with obvious embarrassment. “Sorry, being tacky wasn't my intention."

  "No problem.” Gwyneth admitted with a slight shrug. “I'm still a little sensitive about my time behind bars."

  "Is your life always this interesting?"

  "Interesting?"

  "Well, let's see. Your ex-fiancé is murdered. You already have a new lover in the wings. By the way, I can't fault your taste in men. Then someone pushes you down the stairs. I could go on, but why bother?"

  "Actually, until someone started stalking me, my life was pretty ho-hum—but once I met Mike, everything changed."

  McKenzie's gaze narrowed. “I believe you mentioned someone was stalking you in New York City."

  "Yes, for about two weeks. That's why I hired Mike. He thought my breakup with Richard might be behind the stalker."

  "You're right. Be careful. Someone here—"

  "I know, but Mike's going to smoke out the killer tonight.” Gwyneth looked back over her shoulder in Mike's direction, where he was spending entirely too much time talking to pretty, little Doctor Morgan. “He's spoken with everyone here tonight. I wonder who..."

  The detective's mouth dropped open. “He hasn't told you?"

  "No."

  "But surely..."

  Gwyneth shook her head and shrugged. “He wants my reactions fresh and unstudied."

  "Still, it's a risk."

  "I trust him."

  "You must."

  * * * *

  Lilith leaned forward and asked Paul in a hushed tone, “What do you think he's up to?"

  Paul kept his tone low as well. “I think he's winging it. For all intents and purposes, he appears to be chatting up that very luscious, young doctor—not that I blame him."

  "My niece had better rein him in, or she'll lose him."

  "I think you underestimate her hold on him. But he's up to something. That's certain."

  "I think it's insulting saying that one of us pushed her. Gwyneth was just clumsy and fell."

  "Well, you can't deny that Klein is dead."

  "And Gwyneth killed him. She was covered in his blood. Mike is just trying to besmirch all of us in a futile attempt to clear her."

  "You really think your niece stabbed her ex-fiancé in the back?"

  "Who else?” Really, Paul could be so dense. “Gwyneth—or maybe Mike did it for her."

  Beer in hand, Mike ambled up to the couple. “Interesting point of view, Mrs. Sand.” Now what the devil were they up to?

  Lilith jumped. “Well, it's true."

  "You think so?” Mike took a long swallow, but he waited for Lilith's reaction.

  Hot damn. Tiny lines appeared at the corners of the woman's mouth as she bit back her answer. Even better. He was punching the right buttons.

  "In fact...” He took another pull on his beer. “...There could be several people here tonight who'd like to frame Gwyneth for murder. One of them might even be a relative—say, you or your son?"

  "That's preposterous."

  "Paul, did you know Lilith—I hope you don't mind my calling you Lilith, since we're almost related—Lilith has been investigated for the death of a husband or two? I'd be careful if I were you. She might have her eye on you next."

  "Lilith? What's he talking about?"

  "Evil, vicious minds, that's what he's talking about—disgruntled children, unhappy with my share of my late husband's estate when he passed."

  A blank expression passed over Winston's face. “We'll discuss it later. Why don't we circulate?” he suggested.

  "Good idea, Paul.” Unless Mike was mistaken, Lilith Sand was a black widow. Would she kill a blood relative? Why not? Surely she wasn't in Gwyneth's will. Contrary to his confident statement earlier, he didn't know who killed Klein. Not yet.

  * * * *

  Reggie Gruhn's hands sweated as he gripped his cellular. “Now, see here, Uncle Gianni."

  "Don't call me that."

  "Well, see here. I've done me best. I'm serving their bloody dinner, but that peeler ain't about to let me near ‘er."

  "Never mind. I've already taken matters in hand. Some of my men are going to snatch her and bring her to me. I mean to find out where Sylvia is, if I have to dirty my hands to do it."

  "But this place is like a bloody fortress. Guards, guns and gates."

  "Listen up. This is what I'm going to do."

  Reggie listened, then let out a low whistle. “Bloody ‘ell."

  Thirty-nine

  Rocky maneuvered the SUV into the traffic crossing the George Washington. Beside him sat pretty little Marina. She looked up at him with trustful doe eyes from beneath those thick dark-fringed lashes of hers.

  Keep your eyes on the road, man.

  "I hope you don't think I'm a coward for leaving when so much was happening."

  "No, ma'am. You have the boy. Mike's right. It isn't safe there. You're just doing what any mother worth her salt would do."

  She smiled back at him. And damn, if his stomach didn't flip-flop.

  "I know you and Mike will be all right, but I hate the thought of leaving Gwyneth in danger."

  "So, whaddya think of Mike and Gwyn?"

  With a slight shrug, she replied, “I hated it at first, but she's—"

  "High maintenance,” Rocky finished for her.

  "That's not what I was going to say. We had time to get to know each other. She has a big heart, in spite of her—"

  "Bad ass—uh, attitude.” Rocky cringed. “Uh, sorry. Guess I'd better watch my mouth.” Even though he was pretty sure the kid had fallen asleep by the time they'd left DC.

  Marina glanced at the back seat. “It's all right. He's still asleep."

  "Sorry, I spend too much time with guys. My mama taught me better—honest."

  "It's all right, really. I'm not some delicate flower you have to guard your tongue around, although I would appreciate it if you're careful around Adam."

  "He's a bright kid. Real full of himself."

  "He takes after Mike. Mike's brilliant."

  "Yeah, I always figured him for a bright guy."

  "That's why Mike's father's so rough on him...” Her calm composure soothed Rocky's tension. “...about his joining the police force and now that he's a P.I.—Mr. Carlton thinks he's wasting his talents."

  "Yeah, well, fathers are like that. Mine said I'd never amount to anything. He wasn't far wrong."

  "Oh no, Rocky, you're Head of Security for Mr. Carlton. He wouldn't have just anyone."

  "Nah, that's not what I mean. My old man was a grifter. You know—a con man. He nearly sh—had a fit when I joined the Navy. And then I went to college after I got out. I spent some time on the force in DC, then and one of my buddies and me started our own security firm. As they say, the rest is history."

  "Well, I think you've done quite well. Your father should be proud."

  He raised an eyebrow. “Like Mike's dad is?
"

  "I see what you mean."

  "But you know,” he added, “the old man isn't that bad. I know he comes off like a real hard—uh, case, but he's old guard. None of that touchy-feely stuff for his generation."

  "My father's like that, too. He's an old softy with his only grandchild, but he was really strict when I was growing up. Maybe that's why I—"

  "Rebelled? You couldn't have been that bad."

  "I disappointed my father by...” Marina nodded toward Adam. “He's never forgiven me. But at least he doesn't hold it against my son."

  Rocky's face heated up. He'd heard all about his friend's illegitimate son. It was the only thing he'd ever heard of Mike doing that was out of character. How could he have hung a sweet little gal like Marina out to dry?

  "I know what you're thinking. It wasn't Mike's fault. It was mine."

  He couldn't hold back. “Humph. Last time I looked, it took two to—you know."

  "That's because you don't know what really happened,” she whispered, “and this isn't the time or the place."

  He sighed. “Sorry, I keep talking out of turn. It really isn't any of my business."

  "No, no, it isn't.” Marina's face turned a deep red. “I didn't mean to be rude. It was a difficult time, but it's over, and I don't regret it. How can I?"

  "Course not. Heck, you've got a great kid."

  Marina rewarded him with a shy smile. Damn, if she didn't get prettier every minute he spent with her. And double damn, if his heart wasn't pounding in his chest at the very sight of that little smile of hers and those sparkling, brown eyes. I'm done for. She's got my number and doesn't even know it.

  * * * *

  Gianni Damico shouted over the thwap-thwap of the propeller and roar of the helicopter engine. “How much longer?"

  "Fifteen minutes,” the pilot shouted back.

  Gianni laughed. That blond, bitch lawyer was in for a surprise. He'd show her what happened to people who crossed him. And then, he'd show his wife, too. He rubbed his hands together. Hell. He'd show ‘em all.

  He twisted around in his seat and smiled again. A second chopper was a discreet distance behind the first. Carlton wouldn't know what hit him.

  * * * *

  Wilford Wells sat in the far corner of the terrace and nursed his Jack Daniel's. The hair on the back of his neck just didn't want to lie down. He shook his head as he leaned over to George Carlton. “I don't feel good about this."