Whole Lotta Trouble

by Stephanie Bond

  It was the first time in Tallie’s life that she understood the true meaning of “seeing red.” “How dare you go behind my back and steal this assignment!”

  “I didn’t steal anything,” Kara said, her voice sing-songy. “More like…traded.”

  Tallie felt positively light-headed as revulsion rolled over her. “You won’t get away with this,” she said through clenched teeth. She heard a noise and looked up to see that Norah had stepped inside to say good-bye and that she’d overheard her comment. Norah gave a startled wave, then skedaddled.

  “Really, Tallie,” Kara meowed. “You shouldn’t be so competitive. We’re on the same team.”

  “What did Gaylord have to say about this?”

  “That kook? As if he’s capable of making a rational decision. Jerry said Gaylord would do what Jerry told him to do. Where is the manuscript?”

  “I have it here,” Tallie bit out.

  “I left early. And I’ll be working from home tomorrow,” Kara said, ending on a yawn. “Would you be a dear and bring it by this evening?”

  Tallie’s mouth tightened. Kara lived in Chelsea, a few blocks away from her, but in a refurbished area of town—i.e., her hallways didn’t stink of dead rats. “You expect me to deliver this manuscript to you?”

  Kara sighed. “Look, you know Gaylord would have a stroke if I used a courier service.”

  “Then you’ll just have to come in to pick it up,” Tallie said, not bothering to keep the defiance from her voice.

  “Fine,” Kara said wearily. “I was trying to make this easy for you, but if you want me to come to your office tomorrow and get it, that’s okay by me.”

  Tallie pursed her mouth—Kara would make a big honking scene for the office to gossip about for days. She pinched the bridge of her nose, scrunching her face in abject hatred, holding back a gurgling, primal scream. But the pressure must have broken something loose, because suddenly, a brilliant thought slid into her head: Give Kara enough rope to hang herself. She was out of her field when it came to fiction, and it was a good bet the woman knew nothing about Gaylord’s books. Let her take this project and make a fool out of herself, in front of Saundra, no less.

  And the sooner Kara got the manuscript, the better.

  Tallie conjured up a contrite sigh. “No, you’re right. It would be easier if I just dropped it by your place tonight.”

  “Great,” Kara said. “603 Profitt, just leave it with my doorman. Bye now.”

  Tallie listened to the dial tone, and smiled, tongue in cheek. “Bye, Kara.”

  She set down the phone and stroked the manuscript sadly. Editing aside, she had been looking forward to reading the story. She picked it up and glanced toward the hall. For a few seconds, she considered going to the copy room and making a duplicate for herself, despite Gaylord’s strict orders. Keith Wages’ enthusiasm for the book had pushed hers to a higher level…strangely. It was the power of sharing a good book, she reasoned, not to be mistaken for an affinity with Keith himself.

  Fingering the edges, she thought of the promises she’d made to the strange, paranoid Gaylord Cooper this morning when he’d sat in her office soaking up negative ions. She couldn’t betray those promises, no matter what happened. Her integrity was why Ron had given her the assignment in the first place.

  Ron. Her thoughts moved to him as she slid the manuscript into its manila envelope. She set the envelope aside, then reached for the beautiful cloisonné pen that Ron had given her for Christmas. “Whenever you need me, reach for this pen,” he had said lightly. It had been so out of character for Ron that she’d thought he was teasing her…or, more foolishly, that he had been flirting with her. Had he known then that he was heading toward some kind of breakdown? Sudden tears filled her eyes, because she couldn’t imagine this place without Ron. She sent up a brief prayer for his quick recovery—a sobering reminder, she realized, that there were worse things than having the career opportunity of a lifetime ripped away by a sleazy superagent and a conniving leg-spreader.

  She worked her mouth back and forth. Jerry and Kara deserved each other. Maybe hearing about this stunt would cure Felicia of her fixation on the man. Tallie wrote G.C. on the sealed flap of the manila envelope before stuffing it into her bag along with the manuscript that Jané had given her. She glanced over at the envelope that held the Wannamaker manuscript and decided to print the lengthy editorial suggestions she’d written and send it on its way before she left. If the former IRS cost accountant wanted to make some serious changes and agree (or admit) that the story wasn’t an autobiography, he might have a chance of turning Journal Entry into a business thriller.

  While she waited for the letter to print, her mind went back to Felicia. Something was eating at her best friend, she could tell. Tallie narrowed her eyes. And after one backstabbing encounter with Jerry Key, she would almost guarantee that whatever it was, it had something to do with him.

  Chapter 14

  “Jerry Key’s office, this is Lori.”

  Felicia assumed her most friendly voice. “Hi, Lori, it’s Fel—”

  “He’s not here,” Lori cut in. “Still.”

  Felicia closed her eyes briefly, trying to maintain her composure. “Did Jerry get my earlier messages?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And perhaps you should send him an e-mail.”

  “I did.” Three of them.

  “Cell phone?”

  Felicia pursed her mouth. “He isn’t answering.”

  “Sounds like a hint,” Lori said lightly.

  Felicia bit her tongue—arguing with Jerry’s assistant would get her nowhere. “When you see Jerry, would you please press upon him that I need to speak with him about some time-sensitive matters?”

  “Sure thing,” Lori said in a bored voice.

  “Thank you,” Felicia said stiffly and replaced the receiver. Too late, she realized she’d forgotten to ask Lori if a date had been set for the Merriwether auction. She groaned—just one more thing she had to get beyond before she confronted Jerry about his affair with Suze. And then of course there was the photograph. She glanced at the bottom drawer in her desk and ground her teeth. Like the other half dozen times today, she succumbed to temptation and pulled open the drawer. She’d taken the photo out of the envelope, so all she had to do was move aside a box of stationery envelopes to look at the sordid image. She’d considered tearing up the picture a hundred times, but she was afraid she would remember something to help identify who had taken it and not have the photo to prove it by. That was the only explanation…it simply wasn’t possible that she enjoyed the self-torture.

  “Is this a bad time?”

  At the sound of a man’s voice, Felicia jerked up her head. Bike messenger Jack Galyon stood in her office door, holding his helmet in one hand. She slammed the drawer and straightened with a guilty flush. “Um…no. Come in.”

  She stood and crossed her office, circling behind him to close the door. On the way back to her desk, she shut the blinds on her glass wall. Her heart pounded in her ears as she turned to face him. “Did you find out who sent the envelope?”

  He hesitated a few seconds, studying her face, his eyes serious above ruddy cheeks. His hair was light brown and overlong, the top flattened and the sides winged by the helmet. His boyish looks belied the powerful build beneath his close-fitting cycling togs. “Whoever sent it covered their tracks. All I could find out was that it was dropped near Madison Square Park between 7:00 and 7:30 A.M., and the person paid cash. The teller doesn’t remember anything special, doesn’t know if it was a man or a woman. The signature was little more than a scrawl, unrecognizable.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, her stomach twisting. “That’s enough.” She turned away, hugging herself. Madison Square was two blocks from Jerry’s condo. She’d assumed it was him, but deep down…good God, what kind of a scary place was she in if the idea of an unknown stalker had been more palatable?

  “So, you had a good idea of
who might have sent it?”

  She turned back and looked up. Jack Galyon was very tall, his body even more elongated by the black Lycra pants and jacket. “I had my suspicions.”

  He nodded slowly. “Was it some kind of threat?”

  His directness was comforting. Felicia wavered, overcome with the urge to unload on this stranger, yet too ashamed to reveal the details of the photo. Nonsense, really—what did she care what this man thought of her? A few days ago she hadn’t even had words to spare for him. “Not a threat, exactly.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Do you want to tell me, exactly?”

  She shook her head.

  “Okay.” He scratched his temple. “Are you going to get the police involved?”

  His concerned expression made her chest feel crowded—he was getting too personal for comfort. Felicia straightened. “You’re making too much of this.”

  He blinked. “I was asking only because I was going to offer to tell them what I know.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary.” She heard the sting in her voice, and from the look on his face, he felt it.

  “Got it.” He put his helmet back on and turned to go.

  Remorse barbed through her. “Mr. Galyon—”

  “It’s Jack,” he said over his shoulder, securing the chinstrap.

  “Jack,” she conceded. “Thank you very much for helping me.” She glanced back to her purse on her desk. “Wait, I have something for you.” She stepped back to grab her bag, withdrawing her wallet.

  He gave her a pointed look. “Are you giving me your home phone number?”

  She looked down at the wad of cash in her hand, and her face warmed. “No. But I’d like to repay you for your time and trouble.”

  He met her gaze, and she was startled by the flash of disappointment she saw there. “Forget about it.”

  He was almost out the door when she remembered the package he’d dropped off the previous night. “Thank you for the book—I’m enjoying it.”

  “I’m glad,” he said curtly.

  “H-how will I return it to you?” she asked, trying to repair the insult of offering him money.

  “Keep it,” he said, then strode off down the hall.

  She watched him walk away and was struck with a curious sense of loss, but it was quickly overridden with relief that the only other person who knew about the envelope was gone.

  Of course, now that she knew that Jerry had sent the photo, her mind went back to…why? Was it just another level of harassment from the man who had dumped her yet couldn’t seem to let her go? White-hot emotions bombarded her—after a year apart, Jerry could still trigger manic highs and lows. The headache she’d managed to hold at bay all day bloomed into a little flower of pain. The sooner she got to the bar to meet Tallie and get a drink, the better.

  Considering the fact that traffic was at a standstill, she opted to walk the eight blocks rather than hail a cab. And she hoped a little fresh air might clear her head—not that the fume-filled air of Manhattan was all that fresh, but with recent filtering snows, January was a better bet than any other month of the year.

  She dug her hands deep into her pockets and sighed. As a little girl, she’d trained herself not to dwell on the past, to keep looking ahead no matter what, but at this moment, she desperately wished she could turn back time to the night she’d run into Jerry Key at a book-launch party. Years of casual flirting had yielded to seriously good vodka screwdrivers, and he’d gone home with her.

  Within twenty-four hours, she had been head over heels in love, and he had seemed equally smitten. The rumors she’d heard about Jerry’s proficiency in bed had not been exaggerated. They’d been like-minded about sex and nearly every other subject. For two months their love affair had raged like a furnace, and then just like that, he’d called and ended things…as if there had been an expiration date on their fling that she’d been un-aware of. The problem was, there seemed to be no expiration date on the feelings he’d dredged up from the depths of her heart. But now something had to give. She was losing her mind one baked cake at a time.

  She picked up her pace, glancing toward the traffic, wondering if Jack Galyon was still in the vicinity and how many times he crisscrossed the city in a week’s time. So many businesses, but the publishing industry in particular, relied on the fleet of bike messengers to move documents across town faster than the traffic moved. She saw messengers every day, yet she’d never given any thought to them as individuals, which was, on hindsight, quite snobby…and too much like her mother to sit well.

  The man did have wonderful eyes.

  A few minutes later she pushed open the door to The Bottom Rung, suddenly eager to see Tallie and hear about her blind date that had ended so bizarrely. Across the bar, Tallie lifted her hand, and Felicia noticed the furrow between her friend’s eyebrows. And the fact that her friend had starting drinking without her…something was definitely up.

  “Hey,” she said, walking up to the table.

  Tallie looked up, her eyes clouded. “Hey.” She moved her coat, and Felicia grimaced at the sight of the coffee stain spread over the striped wool.

  “Ooh, how did that happen?”

  “Fallout from the coffeehouse shoot-out,” Tallie said dryly. “I was hoping you could give me an idea of how to get it out. For what my dry cleaner will charge, I could probably buy a new coat.”

  Felicia enjoyed the challenge of a good stain, and coffee was right up there with blood. She was a whiz with blood. “The dry cleaner in my building will do it for next to nothing. I’ll trade coats with you when we leave and take it home with me.”

  Tallie smiled. “You’re so good to me.”

  “Yes, I am. Now, tell me about this superhero.”

  Tallie’s smile flattened. “Scarily macho…not my type…let’s leave it at that.” She lifted her glass for a deep drink.

  Felicia lifted her eyebrows at Tallie’s vehemence. Hm. “Okay, so how did things go with the infamous Gaylord Cooper?”

  Tallie’s gaze dropped. “Um, he was fine, actually. Weird, but fine.” Then she fingered the base of her glass. “But things didn’t go so well with Jerry.”

  Heat flooded Felicia’s face. “What did he do?”

  Tallie looked up and squirmed. “He convinced Saundra Pellum to let Kara edit the manuscript instead of me.”

  Felicia gaped. “Kara? Why on earth would he do something stupid like that?”

  Tallie took a drink and swallowed hard. “Because…Kara rode down on the elevator with Jerry when he left.”

  Felicia’s stomach clenched. “Are you saying he changed his mind…afterward?”

  Tallie nodded, looking miserable.

  Felicia clenched her jaw, then reached across the table to squeeze her arm. “Tallie, I’m so sorry.” Loathing backed up in her throat, choking her. “Jerry’s behavior has gotten…out of control.”

  “Have you confronted him yet about the affair with your author?”

  “Not yet,” she admitted. “There are some…complications.”

  “What’s going on?” Tallie leaned in. “I know something has been bothering you—is it Jerry? What did he do?”

  To Felicia’s horror, her eyes filled with tears.

  “Felicia,” Tallie gasped. “What did he do to you?”

  “I thought I might find you two here,” Jané Glass said over Felicia’s shoulder.

  Felicia blinked rapidly to get rid of the tears and manufactured a smile by the time the woman walked around to face her.

  “Hi, Jané,” Tallie said quickly, shifting in her chair to distract, like the good friend she was. “Good to see you again so soon.”

  “Mind if I sit?”

  “No,” they said in unison. Although Felicia wasn’t crazy about the woman, she was grateful for the diversion from the serious conversation.

  Jané pulled up an extra chair and smiled at Tallie. “Have you had a chance to read the manuscript I gave you?”

  Tallie cupped her drink
and nodded.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  A waiter stopped to take Felicia’s and Jané’s drink orders, and by the time he’d left, Tallie had pulled a manila envelope from her bag and pushed it across the table to Jané.

  “The plot was really entertaining, but the writing…well, to be frank, the writing wasn’t where I hoped it would be.”

  Jané looked crushed, then hopeful. “Maybe with some rewriting?”

  Tallie nodded. “Sure. The whole thing about the serial killer murdering people through their e-book reader is really clever.”

  Felicia swung her head up. “What?” She held out her hand and gave a little laugh. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I think I should mention that one of my authors has a book almost ready for production about a serial killer murdering people through their e-book readers.” The waiter set down their drinks, and Felicia gave Jané an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry—you know that synchronicity happens in this business.”

  But Jané looked understandably concerned when she gripped the envelope. “Are you sure it was your author’s original idea?”

  Felicia opened her mouth to say yes, then she recalled the conversation she’d had with Phil Dannon about the book after Suze had stormed out of her office. “That was Suze’s idea, which is unusual.” A finger of unease tickled her neck. “Jané, how many people have read this manuscript?”

  Jané pressed her lips together and frowned in thought. “Me, of course, and my editorial assistant. And it’s been out to half a dozen agents.”

  “Which agents?”

  “Tony Barber, Lori Schaff, Diane Eso, Randy Jason, Jerry Key, and Vicki Carr.”

  Felicia and Tallie exchanged a nervous glance.

  “What?” Jané looked back and forth.

  “Nothing for certain,” Felicia assured her.

  Jané brought her hand down on the table, making their glasses jump. “Jerry Key—he’s involved in this somehow, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know that,” Felicia said carefully. “May I see the manuscript?”