“Yes.”
“But why? What reason would I have to do such a thing?” he growled.
She’d gone this far; she might as well tell him everything. “There’s a little matter of the land you’re holding as collateral on the Ackerly loan being worth five times as much as the loan itself to a certain California real estate conglomerate.” Shelley stared very hard into the night, willing him to come back with a demand for another explanation or a dumbfounded denial of any knowledge of the California group’s interest in the land. Please, she begged silently, please tell me you know nothing about the true value of that land! In that moment, she knew she would willingly trade her certified public accountant’s license for a denial from him.
“Oh, that business,” he said dismissively.
Shelley froze. Then she flung herself around to face him, the pain in her clearly reflected in the taut line of her mouth and in the depths of her eyes.
“Joel—Joel, are you telling me you know about the value of that land?” Her voice was a strained whisper, an agonized thread of sound.
He stood where he was, his hands still shoved into his back pockets. “Sure I know about it. Or, to be more precise, I’ve heard the rumors about it I haven’t actually discussed it with anyone in that group of investors.”
“You know the land Phil Ackerly used to secure the loan from you is worth half a million dollars?” she got out weakly.
“Yeah. What about it?”
“What about it!” she exclaimed. “How can you ask me that? Joel, did you have someone call me up and offer me a bribe to stay out of Ackerly affairs?”
“No.”
Shelley faltered uncertainty under the impact of the quiet denial. In spite of herself, a fierce flicker of hope sprang back to life before it had even been fully extinguished. “But you know about the potential value of the land?”
“Yup.”
His laconic drawl irritated her. “You knew about it, but you weren’t going to act on the information? You weren’t hoping Ackerly would go into bankruptcy and you’d get the land?” she asked quickly.
“After Phil died, I didn’t feel any sentimental attachment to Ackerly Manufacturing, Shelley,” he stated deliberately. “If the company had gone under and I’d taken possession of the property, it wouldn’t have kept me awake nights.”
“Oh,” she whispered forlornly.
“At least that’s how I felt about the situation until you came on the scene,” he went on coolly. “Within half an hour of talking to you, I found myself agreeing to extend the loan and let you have your chance to save the firm. Or don’t you remember that?”
“Of course I do,” she said breathlessly. “I kept telling myself you would never have agreed to do that if you weren’t willing to give me my chance with Ackerly.”
“Did you?” he asked skeptically.
“Yes. Oh, Joel, this is all so confusing!”
“There’s nothing confusing about it We made a bargain, you and I, and I’ve stuck to my end of it”
She sighed and turned back toward the window. “I—I was terrified you might have seduced me as a way of controlling the bargain.”
“I was a little nervous at first that you were doing the same thing to me,” he admitted quietly. “It occurred to me you might have slept with me in order to keep me under your control while you dealt with Ackerly’s financial problems. What better way to keep the most difficult creditor at bay than to keep him happy in bed?”
“Don’t say that,” she begged. “I never planned any such thing!”
“I knew that after the first night, Shelley,” Joel told her calmly. She felt rather than heard him move toward her across the deep-champagne-colored carpet. Her body stiffened as he came up behind her, but he didn’t touch her. “I wanted you from the first time I saw you, but I trusted you after the first time I made love to you. I keep telling you we’re a lot alike.”
“Thank you, Joel. For trusting me, I mean,” she whispered tremulously. “I had no idea you were wondering about my motives. I’ll be so glad when this audit is over and everything is out in the open.”
There was a silence behind her. Then Joel asked deliberately, “Do you trust me, Shelley?”
“I—I think so,” she managed carefully. “It’s like you said. One builds trust bit by bit, like the jigsaw puzzle. A piece at a time. In a couple of days I’ll have the answers to the questions I have about the Ackerly books… and another piece of the puzzle.” She turned around to stare searchingly up at him. “When this is all over, we can start with a clean slate, can’t we, Joel? We’ll both be sure of each other’s motives, and we’ll know where we stand.”
“No.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we can’t start over after you’ve satisfied yourself about my innocence,” he stated evenly. “I mean that I want from you the same thing I’m prepared to give: unequivocal trust No reservations and no waiting for proof. And I want it tonight, Shelley.”
“Joel! You said yourself that trust is something one builds slowly!”
“I’ve changed my mind,” he announced flatly. “I want you to do more than trust me, Shelley Banning. I want you to have complete faith in me even if you don’t have all the proof you need to show I’m not trying to manipulate an Ackerly bankruptcy or gain that chunk of land. I want you to say you’ll come and live with me, and nothing which comes to light during your audit will make any difference. I want you to take my word for the fact that I’ve played the game straight with you, and I want all that before you even begin your damn audit!”
“Please, Joel, you’re asking too much, too soon! I just need a little time!” Shelley pleaded.
“Sorry, I’m not making any more loans tonight. Not of time or money or anything else. I’m demanding payment in full!”
“Payment for what?” she rasped, beginning to grow angry under the implacability of his new mood. “I don’t owe you anything, Joel Cassidy!”
“Perhaps ‘payment’ was the wrong word,” he agreed ruthlessly. “What I want from you is more in the nature of a gift, isn’t it? A gift of trust and—”
She stared at him open-mouthed as he cut off his demands in midflow. “Trust and what else, Joel?” she snapped, goaded.
“Figure it out for yourself,” he tossed back, spinning around on one booted heel and heading for the door. “And when you do, come and tell me about it”
“Joel, come back here! Where the hell do you think you’re going?” she blazed at his back. He was almost at the door.
“Out. It’s been a while since I did some socializing with my customers!”
“Is that a way of saying you’re going to go out and get drunk in one of your tavern locations?” she hissed furiously. How dare he walk out on her like this?
“At least you’ll know where to find me if you want me, won’t you?”
The door slammed shut behind him.
Chapter 9
How did he dare walk out on her at a time like this? Walk out to go drinking in some damn tavern, no less?
Shelley stood staring speechlessly at the closed door as the Maserati roared off into the night When her vocal powers finally returned, they seemed extremely limited for a time, consisting of a small, ancient variety of expressions angry women have used to describe the male of the species since time immemorial.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she finally concluded, hurling the accusation at the silent door. “Just who the hell do you think you are, Joel Cassidy?”
When the door refused to answer, Shelley began to pace the room, her nylon-sheathed feet silent on the carpet as she wove a restless pattern. What right did he have to issue demands and then take himself off to get drunk in some sleazy bar? What right did he have to walk out on her in the middle of an extremely crucial discussion?
All she had wanted was some time, she told herself in angry frustration. Some time to establish his innocence beyond a doubt. Was that too much to ask? He could have gi
ven her that much, surely? After all she’d been through lately, it was hardly asking too much of him!
He wanted her trust, did he? Hadn’t she virtually declared her belief in him already? What other logical, reasonable, sane accountant would have gone looking for another culprit on whom to blame Ackerly’s troubles when the evidence pointed to an obvious suspect? Didn’t he understand how much trust she’d already placed in him? How she was going to do everything possible to prove he hadn’t tried to manipulate the Ackerly deal? And she was still going to do that even though Joel had admitted he knew about the California conglomerate’s interest in the land!
“Damn!” Shelley’s small, curled fist struck the edge of the table as she paced past it No, Joel was no longer willing to give her any time. He wanted everything, and he wanted it tonight!
“What do you think you’re doing to me?” she muttered softly as she came to a halt beside the puzzle table. She stood staring down at the scene of Venice, “What in hell do you think you’re doing to me?”
He wanted a commitment from her, a commitment based solely on a woman’s instinctive trust, not on proof of his innocence.
Staring sightlessly at the canals in the puzzle, Shelley tried to sort through her emotions. As she did so, some of the red-hot anger faded. When all was said and done, one fact emerged clearly: she was in love with the man. Even through her rage she could acknowledge that much. She was in love with him, and he was demanding a declaration of unequivocal trust.
Joel had no right to ask that at this point, Shelley told herself wildly. But hadn’t he given it to her? There was no doubt in her mind that he’d been in a fury tonight when she’d walked through the door. But he’d accepted her explanation, slim as it was. He hadn’t liked it, had made it clear he didn’t want the incident to be repeated, but he’d believed it. Without any proof. And she knew with feminine intuition that Joel Cassidy was a very possessive man. It had been asking a lot of him to expect him to believe she’d been working this evening.
Deep down, what did that same feminine intuition tell her about her faith in him? Didn’t she believe in him?
“Of course I do!” she growled to the room at large. “Why else would I be going through all this trouble?” As an accountant, she was trained to see all the facts as they were set down in dollars and cents. Automatically, she had set out to get them down in just such a fashion in order to clear Joel.
But did she really need that to satisfy her own heart? Perhaps, to satisfy Ackerly management, she would need those facts and figures, but were they truly necessary to satisfy herself?
“Joel Cassidy, so help me, when I get my hands on you—” The sentence died on her lips as she reached for the phone book with abrupt decision. She would find that man tonight and tell him exactly what she thought of him.
And then she would give him her heart and her trust, because there really was no choice. Tonight she must play the game his way and believe him when he said he always played by the rules, even if those rules were his own.
The number for Cassidy & Co. was listed under “Amusement Devices” in the yellow pages. She dialed it with a sense of grim determination.
“I’m trying to reach Mr. Cassidy,” she announced to the answering-service operator who took the call.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cassidy is not in at the moment. I can have one of the company’s service people return your call,” the woman on the other end of the line offered helpfully. “Or I could take a message and give it to Mr. Cassidy when he phones in for messages.”
“When is he likely to do that?” Shelley questioned in irritation.
“Probably not until tomorrow,” the woman hazarded honestly.
“I see. Well, in that case, will you please have one of the service people call this number?” She gave her phone number quickly and hung up. Fuming with impatience, Shelley sat by the phone until it rang shrilly a few minutes later. She grabbed the receiver on the first ring.
“Mac Swanson here. What can I do for you?” inquired a cheerful male voice. Shelley could hear a television set in the background and the chatter of children. Mac Swanson was apparently a family man.
“Mr. Swanson, you don’t know me, but I’m trying to track down Joel Cassidy this evening. I believe he’s making a, uh, tour of some of his tavern locations tonight, and I was wondering if you might have some idea where I could reach him?”
“You Shelley Banning?” Mac Swanson interrupted with great interest.
“Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I am. How did you know?” she asked in astonishment.
“Just had a call from Joel a few minutes ago. He said you might be getting in touch. I’ve got some addresses to give you.”
“Addresses?” Shelley demanded suspiciously. “Plural?”
“Yeah. You want to copy them down? It’s a list of some bars and taverns where we’ve got machines.”
“But which one was he calling from?” Shelley pressed anxiously.
“Can’t say. Kind of a quick call. You want these addresses?”
Shelley stifled a groan of dismay. “Yes, please,” she said meekly, reaching for a pencil and paper. Dutifully, she copied down the list as he read it off.
“There, that’s the lot,” he announced helpfully. Then he asked in a tone of deeply amused curiosity, “What are you going to do when you find him?”
“Throttle him.” Shelley hung up the phone and sat glaring at the hastily scribbled list Joel was playing games again. They were going to engage in a game of hide-and-seek through some of the sleaziest taverns in town, places she normally wouldn’t have set foot in escorted, much less alone!
Grimly, she got to her feet and headed for the bedroom to change into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt in rich, royal purple. Then, remembering some of the places she would be visiting, she reached for the cuffed suede boots at the back of the closet
“I ought to be buckling on a holster. This is beginning to feel like High Noon,” she grumbled to herself in the mirror. Then she headed for her car.
There was no way of knowing where she would find Joel, so the only logical thing to do was choose the address of the tavern nearest to her and start there. Twenty minutes later, Shelley parked her neat little car in a parking lot full of battered pickup trucks and viewed the first stop on her list with dismay.
There were no windows, but the door under the flashing neon sign stood open to the desert night, and the blaring music from the juke box poured forth. It was a guitar-oriented country-western song about drinking and loving, and it seemed to suit the clientele. Shelley watched the pair of cowboys who were entering the place and grimaced. Scuffed boots, worn jeans and crisp white shirts. The tavern was going to be filled with a lot more just like them, and none of them were going to be fake. This sort of place catered to the real thing in cowboys and truckers.
Well, she wasn’t going to get anywhere hiding in the car. Summoning up her nerve and a large measure of her annoyance with Joel, Shelley opened the door and climbed out
She was accosted the minute she stepped through the door. A callused palm slapped the curve of her hip, and Shelley spun around to glare at a grinning young man with a western hat pushed back on his curling black hair.
“Buy you a beer, honey?” he offered expectantly.
Shelley took a savage grip on her temper and reined it in with an effort. “No, thanks. I’m looking for someone.” She had to say it rather loudly in order to make herself heard over the sound of the juke box and the beeps, crashes and explosions from the array of pinball and video games along one wall.
“You just found someone, honey. Me. Come on and I’ll get you a drink.” The young man took hold of her arm and began steering her in the direction of the bar. Shelley dug in her heels.
“I said I was looking for someone. Someone in particular,” she said firmly. “Please let me go.”
“Now, honey, there ain’t no call to get unfriendly,” he protested. “I only want to buy you a beer and maybe talk f
or a while.” He grinned innocently again, and Shelley thought about kneeing him in the groin. Exactly what she needed. A bar brawl with herself as one of the main contestants. Damn Joel! She was going to strangle him for this!
“Look, if you don’t let go of my arm—” she began firmly, only to be interrupted by the bartender, who had emerged from behind the bar to approach the other two. He wiped his hands on his apron as he walked.
“You Shelley Banning by any chance?” he asked politely. He was a large man with a beer belly and a friendly, graying mustache. He obviously had the respect of his patrons because the young cowboy dropped her arm as the older man slid him a stern glance.
“Yes, I am. I’m looking for Joel Cassidy. Is he here?”
The bartender grinned as the young man morosely took himself off without a word. “Said to tell you to have a look around and see. I’m supposed to make sure you do your looking without any interference.” He nodded toward the amusement machines lined up against the far wall. Through the smoky haze a chorus line of jeaned men and a few women moved in strange, tightly woven little dances as they used body English to urge a winning game out of their chosen machines. “You just put up a hand and holler if anyone bothers you, okay?”
“Thanks,” Shelley muttered dryly. Clearly, Joel had left instructions as to how the game was to be played. But though she was the chief player, she was only going to get a peek at the rules as she went along. Her mouth tight, she shoved her hands in her pockets and started toward the row of pinball wizards and video-game tacticians.
The glow of the game lights revealed each player in turn as she walked down the row. There wasn’t a redhead among them. She stood watching in fascination for a moment after she’d finished her initial survey. Several masculine heads turned interestedly in her direction, and there were several offers to buy her a beer, but Shelley shook her head in firm denial, glanced toward the bar where the big man watched helpfully and then turned around and walked out. The lingering glance of the young, black-haired cowboy followed her out the door.
Green Fire Page 14