Closer Than She Thinks

by Meryl Sawyer

  “Thanks.” He walked into his office and found his father standing at the window staring out at the Mississippi. Max was doing the fist thing again.

  Max turned and leveled his dark eyes on Jake. “I thought we were going to have to send out the troops to find you.”

  “Running a company is a full-time job, but I don’t have to tell you about it.”

  “You didn’t have to be so rude to Phoebe.”

  “True, I could let her wrap me around her little finger the way she does the rest of you.”

  Max shook his head. “I can see there’s no reasoning with you. You’re as stubborn as—”

  “You are.”

  “I was going to say as stubborn as your mother. When JoBeth set her mind to something, no one could talk her out of it.”

  “Okay, so I’m double stubborn.”

  Jake remained standing a few feet from his father. He tried not to feel too defensive, but it was hard. He knew what was coming next.

  “Have you decided how to get rid of Alyssa Rossi?”

  “I’m not getting rid of her. You said I was in charge of this company. It’s my decision, right?”

  “See here.” Max stabbed the air with his finger. “I built this company. I gave you the opportunity of a lifetime.”

  “Right, and I’ve worked my ass off for you. If you want the company back, it’s all yours, but I’m not dumping Alyssa Rossi just because Phoebe wants to get rid of her.”

  “You don’t mean it. You wouldn’t give up all this—” Max waved his hand at what had once been his own office—“for some woman.”

  “I wouldn’t be giving it up for a woman,” Jake replied, shading the truth. “I’d be giving it up because you don’t trust my judgment. You said I was ready to run the company. I’ve made more money each year, right? Now let me run it or take it back yourself.”

  There was a long moment of astonished silence. They stood facing each other, stances slightly wide like two gunslingers. Jake could almost hear his father thinking how ungrateful he was, but he didn’t give a damn.

  Jake had already let Max persuade him to buy Duvall Imports against his better judgment. Jake hadn’t liked the company, hadn’t thought it was worth the money. If he allowed Max to bully him now, Jake never would be the one in charge at TriTech.

  “Now, son, don’t go off half-cocked. I’m just making a suggestion. You’d save everyone a lot of grief if you took my advice, but I’m not going to force you.” Max worked at a smile, then said, “Tell me what else is going on.”

  I’ll be damned, Jake thought. How many times had Max Williams ever backed down?

  Rueben Sanchez didn’t look anything like Alyssa had expected. He was slightly shorter than average with a full head of dark hair and eyes like chips of obsidian. She’d imagined him as taller and more impressive, but then, she’d never met anyone from the FBI.

  Her frame of reference came from too much television in her formative years. Verna, the LeCroixs’ housekeeper, was supposed to watch Alyssa. Instead, she planted herself in front of the small television in the servants’ quarters, and she ordered Alyssa to stay by her side.

  “Is there anything else you can think of to tell me?” he asked.

  They’d already been over the case in detail. She couldn’t imagine there was anything else to discuss.

  “I’ve told you everything I can remember,” she responded. “Do you have any new leads?”

  “I’m going over all the information originally collected, and requestioning everyone I can locate. Some leads were never pursued properly.”

  “Two different private investigators also looked at this case. I hired one of them. They didn’t come up with anything.”

  He regarded her silently for a moment. “You’d be surprised how little experience most private investigators have. They usually handle infidelity investigations, pilferage from small businesses, and that sort of thing. This is a very complex case.”

  She nodded and silently told herself not to feel too encouraged just because Sanchez—as he wanted to be called—was more competent than previous investigators.

  “There might be one new lead.”

  New lead. All her hopes hung on those two words, then drained away. She’d had her hopes dashed too many times before to put too much stock in this new lead.

  “Gracie Harper got married two months after the baby vanished. A year later they divorced. I’m trying to track down Claude Harper to see if Gracie told him anything. So far, I haven’t been able to locate him.”

  Again, Alyssa reminded herself not to become excited. Husbands and wives talked, but Gracie might not have confided in Claude—assuming she knew anything.

  “One last question.” Sanchez moved closer, bridging the space between them by leaning on her desk. “What’s your gut instinct? Who took the baby?”

  “Most people think a ring of black market—”

  “I’m not interested in what other people think. I want your opinion.”

  “Phoebe is responsible. That’s what I feel, but she had to have had help. She’d had a cesarean section so she wouldn’t have been able to get out of bed.”

  Sanchez watched her, his dark eyes thoughtful, but he didn’t comment on her theory.

  “You know what I wish—as much or even more—than clearing my name? I’d like you to find Patrick. Nothing is more tragic than the disappearance of a baby. It’s bothered me for years. What happened to him? Is he all right? Is he loved?”

  Is he alive?

  The unspoken question hung between them. Alyssa longed to find out the baby was alive, but she knew there was a good chance Patrick Duvall was dead.

  Her telephone rang, the flashing light indicating it was Olivia. “Excuse me,” Alyssa said, slightly annoyed. She’d asked not to be interrupted.

  “Mr. Williams is here to see you. He says it’s important. Mr. Williams senior.”

  “I’ll be finished in a few minutes.” She hung up, wondering what Jake’s father could possibly want.

  “That’s it.” Sanchez stood up and extended his hand.

  “What about your fee?” she asked as she shook his hand.

  “I’m under retainer to TriTech.”

  “This is a private matter. I can’t let—”

  “Take it up with Jake.”

  The second Sanchez was gone, Max stormed through the door. He closed it behind him, and she could see he was upset about something. He stood in front of her desk and she rose so she could look him in the eye.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked as pleasantly as possible considering the way he was glowering at her.

  “How much money do you want?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I want you out of this company, out of this town.”

  She was so astonished she couldn’t think clearly. “What does Jake have to say about this?”

  “Nothin’. This is between you and me. Name your price.”

  She sighed inwardly. For a fleeting second she’d thought Jake had sent Max to do his dirty work, but when she thought again, she knew Jake would never take the cowardly way out.

  “I like this company. It gives me a lot more time to be creative.”

  “Cut the bullshit. Tell me how much this is going to cost me.”

  “Why do you want to get rid of me?”

  “You’re trouble. Always have been. Now you’re coming between me and my son.”

  “How?”

  “Never mind. Tell me what it’s going to take.”

  “The only way I’m going to leave is if Jake tells me to go.”

  The sullen expression on Max’s face told her this wasn’t likely to happen. Apparently they’d already discussed this and Jake had refused. No wonder she was so attracted to him. Not many people would dare to cross Max Williams.

  “I have other ways of getting rid of you.” Max spun around and stalked toward the door.

  CHAPTER 13

  Jake buzzed Spencer again. “
Is Troy back yet?”

  “He’s still at lunch. I’ll let you know the minute he comes in.”

  At lunch this late? Jake settled back in his chair to evaluate yet another report, but his thoughts turned to his father. The old man had been pleasant enough after he’d given in about dumping Rossi Designs, but Jake didn’t quite trust him. That’s why he was anxious to see his assistant, Troy Chevalier.

  Jake had been troubled about the acquisition of Duvall Imports from the very beginning, and Troy had agreed. For a family-owned company, Clay Duvall’s importing business was quite complex. They hadn’t been able to thoroughly analyze it before Max had pushed for the deal to close. Then Jake had spotted a glitch in Duvall’s books. He’d sent them out to a forensic accountant.

  Now Jake was even more suspicious. What was going on between his father and the Duvalls? Jake knew Max envied their social connections, which was something Jake found difficult to understand. When he was in a room with a hundred people bent on impressing each other, he reached critical mass and got the hell outta Dodge. Not his father.

  Why does Max care so much about Phoebe and Clay? fake wondered.

  Jake picked up the telephone and pressed for Spencer. “Get me Duvall,” he said the moment his secretary came on the line. Jake cradled the phone between his head and his shoulder and began to read a troubling earnings projection.

  “Mr. Duvall’s at lunch,” Spencer told him. “I told his secretary to have him call you when he returns.”

  “Thanks.” Jake hung up. What was it with all the late lunches?

  A few minutes later, Troy breezed into Jake’s office. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Did the report come back yet from the forensic accountants going over Duvall Imports’ books?”

  “No, but we should be getting it soon.” His assistant trained his dark eyes directly on Jake while he smoothed back his receding blond hair. It was a familiar gesture, but one he found slightly vain.

  “Why’s it taking so long?”

  “There aren’t many companies who understand the importing business. Overton and Overton is the best.”

  “Okay, I’ll have to wait. Here are the preliminary numbers from the Lasko Division.” Jake slid the document toward Troy. “Quarterly earnings are going to be down—again.”

  Troy leaned over and examined the report. Well, I’ll be a dog, Jake thought. Is that lipstick on Troy’s collar?

  “Late lunch?” he asked. It was fast approaching four o’clock.

  “Yes. I had to wait to make calls to PanPacific before I could grab a bite.” Troy sounded a shade defensive.

  “Why don’t you take off early,” Jake suggested. “You work too hard. Get out and meet some people. Southern women are the greatest.”

  Troy nodded thoughtfully as if this was new and interesting information. His assistant had been different lately. Maybe Troy was coming around to his wealthy father’s point of view. He wanted his son to return to Paris and run one of the family businesses instead of working for someone else.

  “I’ve been thinking. Life’s short. We should enjoy it more.” He couldn’t help smiling, thinking of Alyssa and hoping Troy would get a life. “I don’t want to feel guilty about you working late if I’m taking off.”

  “That’s what you pay me the big bucks to do.” Troy picked up the Lasko report. “I’ll make a copy of this and get it back to you.”

  Troy walked out of the office, and Jake hoped he hadn’t insulted him or something. Troy seemed a little touchy, which was unusual. Maybe because he was covering up the affair he was having. That was lipstick on his collar.

  Boinking some secretary in the middle of the day? It didn’t seem like Troy, but Jake had almost flung Alyssa across her desk. Aw, hell, let Troy do his thing. He made up for it by working as hard as two people. Jake had no idea what he’d do without Troy Chevalier.

  Jake had taken night courses and studied business relentlessly. He could hold his own now, and more often than not, he was ahead of everyone in a business meeting. Still, business dealings were complicated and getting more complex all the time. Troy’s degree from the London School of Economics made his advice invaluable.

  The late afternoon sun slanted through the space between the Mayfair Club and the adjacent building. Clay shielded his eyes with a raised hand, telling himself he shouldn’t have spent the afternoon in the bar with old friends from the Orion krewe. He should have gone back to TriTech. Well, it was too late now.

  Where was he going to go? He had a room upstairs at the club, but he didn’t want to sit there by himself. Going home was out of the question.

  “Clay, Clay.”

  He recognized Maree Winston’s voice. He’d done right by her, hadn’t he? What did she want from him now? He wished he hadn’t ordered that third Johnny Walker. It had made him a little foggy and not up to dealing with Maree.

  “Maree, what are you doing here?”

  “Dante and I need to speak to you.”

  Clay tried not to groan. He’d met Maree’s psychic before, a six foot plus Bahamian with a television evangelist’s gift for gab and thirst for money. If the South had won the war of Northern Aggression, Clay wouldn’t have to deal with the likes of Dante.

  Dante stepped forward, blocking Clay’s path. “You’ve had a reversal of fortune, mon.”

  Clay couldn’t believe Dante could master such big words. Clearly, he’d come a long way. “What do you mean?”

  “Your wife, mon, she be making big-time trouble for you.”

  He had no doubt Dante was right, and it didn’t take psychic power to know Phoebe was furious with him. She had a sneaky, mean streak that often turned vicious, but she loved him—obsessively—and wouldn’t do anything serious to him. She’d content herself with making his life miserable.

  “We can help you.” Maree grabbed his arm and led him toward a sleek black limousine waiting at the curb.

  Clay allowed her to guide him into the limo. “I don’t need help. Take me to the office.”

  “Clay, darling.” Maree slid in beside him while Dante sat at the far end of the limo. “I know what you need.”

  She gazed into his eyes, and all he could think about was Alyssa. What the fuck was she doing with Jake Williams? She belonged to him, and she always had from the moment he’d first seen her at Phoebe’s sixteenth birthday party. Alyssa had been living with the LeCroixs before then, but she’d never appeared at family gatherings. That evening she’d been in the kitchen helping fill hors d’ ouvre platters.

  Clay had been on his way out to the pool house with Wyatt to smoke a joint where their parents wouldn’t catch them. Wyatt had introduced him to Alyssa, and they’d spoken briefly before the housekeeper had yelled for her to get to work. He’d called to ask Alyssa out, but Hattie LeCroix had emphatically told him Alyssa wasn’t allowed to date because she had to study full-time to be able to stay in school.

  Hattie had given Clay the impression that Alyssa had some sort of learning disability. Since Alyssa didn’t attend the private school where he and Phoebe went, Clay believed Hattie. Phoebe insisted her cousin was “a bit off” and that was why she wasn’t included in family gatherings.

  To his surprise, Alyssa had been among the scholarship students at Tulane when he’d enrolled. She wasn’t anything like the debutantes he’d dated, girls whose sole aspiration in life was to be Mardi Gras queen. Alyssa had been ambitious, but her goal was to become a jewelry designer, and she’d been putting herself through school.

  The only thing “off” about Alyssa was how different she was from the rest of the LeCroix family. The more he saw of her, the more he liked her until he realized he’d fallen in love. Time hadn’t changed how he felt about Alyssa Rossi—not a bit.

  “I need to go back to work,” Clay said to Maree even though he had no intention of staying there. He just wanted to get rid of Maree.

  The sultry brunette gazed into his eyes, but her hands were on his belt buckle. “L-let—” he started to say,
“Let me out of here,” but the idea dissolved as she unzipped his pants.

  “It’s too, too late to go to work,” crooned Maree, stroking the fly of his underwear.

  His sex responded shamelessly, surging upward into the experienced palm of her hand. She cradled it, the cotton fabric a barrier to what he really craved. Maree obliged him and slipped her hand inside his briefs. Caressing his bare skin, she teased him, still not giving him what he needed.

  “Come on, come on,” he coaxed.

  She gripped his cock and gave a little tug. He’d been partially erect, and the motion of her hand brought him to a full erection. He sucked in his breath and waited, barely noticing the movement of the limousine or the reggae music coming from the stereo.

  Clay sank back against the limo’s cushioned leather while Maree positioned herself at his feet. He let her explore the tip of his penis with her deft tongue as if she were eating an ice cream cone.

  “She’s poison, you know, mon.”

  It took a moment for Clay to realize Dante meant Phoebe, not Maree. Clay couldn’t think clearly thanks to the whiskey and Maree. Her mouth had surrounded his sex and was sucking mercilessly. It was all he could do to remain upright.

  “I saw the way you looked at me when I walked into the party last night,” Maree whispered, her soft breath swirling across the tip of his turgid erection. “You want me back, don’t you, darling?”

  No way, Clay told himself. He wanted Alyssa, and he intended to have her. He hadn’t spent all these years loving her to give up so easily. If only Alyssa was the woman with her head between his legs.

  Maree’s mouth closed over him again and the sweet, sweet suction blinded him. A guttural moan escaped his throat. He lifted his hips upward, unable to get enough.

  From the back of the limo, Dante began to speak, and Clay opened his eyes. “We’ve got a plan. A surefire winner.”

  Clay blinked his eyes. Despite the dim light inside the limo, there was no mistaking the king size erection jutting against Dante’s trousers. The psychic was getting off watching them.

  “You’re gonna thank me, mon. And make me big-time rich.”