Hidden Gems

by Carrie Alexander

  She flushed. “Not exactly. It is a delicate situation.” Jamie had told her to wait, but she wanted the photos out of her hands. The entire affair, really.

  She began. “Perhaps you know that I accompanied Paul to the Cayman Islands recently.”

  Howard made a noncommittal sound. Probably thinking of keeping neutral in the likelihood of a sexual harassment suit.

  “He was conducting business meetings there.”

  Howard smiled as if she were a ten-year-old visiting his office on Take Your Children to Work day. “We have clients with Cayman connections. The firm often does business in the Caribbean. Nothing untoward in that.”

  “No, of course not. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, if not for—” She tried to think how to put her suspicions. Better to simply state the facts.

  She laid the envelope of photos on his desk. “I took these from the hotel balcony.”

  Howard thumbed through them. “I see.”

  “I have no idea who the client is, and I don’t really want to know.”

  “I’m not following your intention, Marissa. Are you suggesting that Paul’s business with this man was not aboveboard?” He pushed the photos around on his desk blotter. “I see nothing particularly troublesome. Is it the woman? She is rather, uh, obvious, shall we say? I’m sure you have reason to be displeased.”

  Ugh! “No, that’s not it, sir.” Marissa gripped the arms of the torture chair.

  The senior partner cocked his head. “Then you’ll have to tell me.”

  “If you’ll examine the photos closely, you can see that Paul appears to receive the other man’s briefcase.”

  Howard glanced down, then cocked his thumbs into the air before refolding them behind his knitted fingers. So?

  Marissa’s father had used the same gesture when she was a little girl. In a very different context. This is the church, here is the steeple. Open the doors and see all the people.

  “I thought that seemed suspicious,” she said.

  “I’m sure there’s a good explanation.”

  “Yes, I’d agree, if not for—” Again, she hesitated. If this went badly, she was putting her job in jeopardy. Certainly her advancement.

  What, are you afraid? Go ahead. Plunge.

  “Mr. How—Thomas. There have been incidents.”

  He looked troubled. “What do you mean?”

  “A mugging attempt on the street. Two break-ins at my apartment. I’ve been followed.”

  “And you believe these events are…?”

  “Connected to the photos, yes.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because—” She frowned. “I’m not quite sure. But Paul seemed concerned that I’d taken the pictures and that was when the trouble started. Too much of a coincidence, I think.”

  Howard huffed. “Did Paul threaten you?”

  “Not really. He asked me not to bring this into the office.”

  “Yet you are.”

  “Yes, but I’m not making an accusation. There’s no proof, other than the photos, and they’re open to interpretation. I only wanted to give them to you, sir, and let you handle the matter.”

  “I see.” Howard gathered the photographs. “I’ll speak to Paul about this client. He won’t be bothering you again, Marissa, you can be certain of that. I apologize on behalf of the firm for any upset you’ve suffered.”

  Marissa’s spine stiffened. She was getting the brush-off. “I’m fine, sir.”

  The lawyer smiled, less kindly than before. His eyes now seemed as steely as the frames of his spectacles. “You’ve always been an excellent employee. Let’s not allow a minor hiccup in judgment to affect your position here at Howard, Coffman.”

  “No reason it should,” she said, rising.

  He nodded.

  There was a moment of heavy silence.

  “I’ll expect to hear from you then, regarding your—” Investigation was too strong a word. She managed a neutral smile as she stood. “Regarding your inquiry of Paul.”

  Again, the glint of steel. “That you will.”

  “Thank you.” She turned to walk out.

  Howard stopped her. “Just a moment, Marissa. Do you have the negatives?”

  “Why do you need the negatives?”

  “Need? I wouldn’t use that word. I have no particular requirement of them, but it seems prudent in the name of thoroughness.”

  “Yes, I suppose.” She contemplated his request for a lengthy pause, wondering if she could make him squirm. Nope. Not the smallest tic. Maybe she was being needlessly suspicious. “The negatives should be in the envelope.”

  He peered beneath the flap. “Ah, so they are.”

  “I also believe in being thorough.” Marissa nodded. “Good day, Thomas.”

  She walked out, smiling to herself. Luckily, she was so thorough that she always got double prints.

  “CAN’T SLEEP AGAIN?” Jamie asked.

  “I thought it was that lumpy sofa bed keeping me up.” After the first sleepless night, Marissa had insisted they spend a night at her apartment, in relative comfort. “Maybe I have insomnia.”

  “Maybe.”

  She sighed.

  He waited.

  “It’s been two days. And nothing!”

  “What did you expect?”

  “That Paul would storm into my office, if nothing else. Raging at me for getting him into trouble.”

  “Does that mean he’s not in trouble?”

  “Perhaps. Then again, Mr. Howard may not have questioned him because he didn’t take me seriously. Who knows?” She twisted onto her side, muttering, “Certainly not me.”

  “How come you haven’t come right out and asked Howard what the hell is up?”

  She put the back of her hand over her eyes. “Trying to be patient.”

  “I’d rather you could sleep.”

  “Me, too. It’s not easy being passive.”

  He chuckled. “Some people call it cooperation.”

  “Cooperation sucks.”

  “Look at it this way. There haven’t been any more incidents.”

  “Oh, I’m thrilled.” Her face turned toward the window. “Does that mean I can get the burglar bars removed?”

  “Not yet.” Not ever, if he had a say.

  “Harry doesn’t like them either. He stalks them.”

  “Harry’s been very edgy lately.”

  “Kind of like you.”

  “Me? Edgy?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “At least I haven’t peed in the closet.”

  She laughed. “No, but how many times did you check the locks before bed?”

  “I’m taking care of you.”

  She rolled up against him. “We’re partners. We can take care of each other.”

  His hand went to her hip, which was bare except for the elastic of her string bikini panties. “Mmm, sounds good to me.”

  She kissed his chest. “Isn’t sex supposed to be a sleeping pill?”

  “Hasn’t worked on you yet,” he said, “but I’m willing to keep trying.”

  They snuggled against each other, their legs and arms entwining in a way that had become second nature in a very short time. Unless he added up the previous three years.

  Since the evening of the church wedding, Marissa had been more comfortable with expressions of affection. They both knew that they’d taken a major step that night, but so far neither of them had attempted to put it into words.

  He was more patient than Marissa.

  She stroked his upper arm, her fingers tracing patterns around the muscles. “If Howard doesn’t come through, I’ll have to try something else.”

  “We can always go to the police, the way I wanted to. Give them a chance to look into it.”

  “My career would be over.”

  “Not your entire career. But, yeah, maybe this one job.” He planted kisses along her forehead. “You have to decide what you’re willing to put up with, or do, to stay there.”

  “Th
ere are compromises in every job. I’ve already had to represent clients whose business ethics weren’t my personal taste.”

  “Did you say compromise? Not unlike cooperation.”

  She went silent. He felt her breathing against his neck. Sensed the fight inside her.

  Her hand dropped to the waistband of his boxers. “I get what you’re saying. And I am willing to risk a lot. But going to the police would truly be career suicide. When I close my eyes, I see myself back in Miami, working out of a shabby storefront, making out wills for old men in Madras shorts and black socks.”

  “Come on. That won’t happen.” He grazed her with his lips. “And what if it did? Would that be so bad?”

  “Hell, yes!”

  “If I was there?”

  “That would make it better. Tolerable.”

  “Only tolerable?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a woman wanting both a career and a hus—a fam—a satisfying love life.”

  “Yeah, I hear those hus-fams are very satisfying.”

  She giggled, playing with the tag on his shorts, running her finger along the puckered elastic. “So I’m exaggerating. There’s a point in there somewhere.”

  “Yes,” he conceded. “But for the short term, let’s focus on the next few days. There’s not much you can do if your boss doesn’t want to bother with the photos.”

  Her hand slipped inside his boxer shorts. “I could get more evidence.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll nose around. Ophelia knows everything that goes down.” She licked at his nipple as her hand closed on his growing erection.

  He groaned.

  “What was that groan for?” Her tongue swirled in his navel. “This?” Hot blood surged toward his loins. “Or my plan?”

  He put his hand on the back of her head. “It’s a plan now, is it?”

  “I’ll be careful.” She pumped his erection, knowing he needed the firm pressure. His hips lifted, thrust. Her lips opened, sucking the head of his penis into the satin warmth of her mouth. Her tongue rolled, circled, plunged. He slid deeper into heaven. What was left of his brain reeled like a carnival ride.

  Unbelievable. A blow job in the middle of the night. He had to marry this woman or die trying.

  Her head lifted. “Give it to me,” she said in a hoarse voice, her fist squeezing his shaft.

  He thrust. She took him. Again and again, the driving instinct escalating until he was lost in a wet, dark world where there was only her hands and her sweet mouth and the love that he wanted to give to her, the love that she would learn to return, the love that was too big for words, for sex, for the humble human heart.

  But that was all they had.

  Marissa beckoned, taking him to the edge with her relentless, licentious mouth. He closed his eyes and saw lush greenery, a blazing sun, the golden-brown curves of a woman’s naked body. Love. Truth. Destiny. Paradise. With an animal cry, he dove into the raging torrent of his release, tumbling over the edge like a waterfall. His pulsing cock touched the back of her throat and she swallowed convulsively, the liquid movement of her mouth and tongue the only remaining touchstone in a capsized universe.

  The rush!

  He floated. Brainless. Undone.

  Eventually he became aware of Marissa, her hot skin. The tantalizing peak, the roundness of her breast. Swaying beneath his hand.

  She was kissing a path up his sprawled body.

  “Sleepy yet?” he said, and her laugh was husky with sex.

  “That would be you.”

  “What are you trying to do? Put me out for the count so I can make no objections to your great plan to play the innocent heroine who stumbles onto evidence and gets captured and held over a vat of snapping crocodiles while the hero is shot at when he comes to save her?”

  She dug her chin into his abdomen until he winced. “I must not give head as good as I thought if you can put together a sentence like that afterward.”

  “Did it make sense?”

  “Not particularly, unless there really are crocodiles in the sewers of New York. Therefore, I’m ignoring you.”

  His hands sank into her hair as he kissed her. Their legs tangled.

  Keep her close.

  “Am I going to have to chain you to this bed?”

  “Ooh. Sounds like fun.”

  “Or I could pin you like a butterfly.”

  “Oh? Impalement?”

  His chest expanded. “That’s right.”

  She stretched out flat. “Might work.”

  He rolled over onto her, running his hands down her body. Instead of the sleep shirt, she wore a tiny tank. Her skin was incredibly smooth. He would never get enough of touching her.

  “You’d need a day off from work,” she mused. “And extraordinary staying power.”

  “I’ll give it a try.”

  She made a sound of approval as he palmed her breast, molding it for his mouth. He sucked her nipple against his tongue.

  She twisted her shoulders. Lifted one of her racy thoroughbred legs and wrapped it around his waist.

  He thought of her running through the streets of New York, skirt flying, hair flowing. She’d been on an adrenaline high when they were followed into the church, but the next time she might not be so lucky.

  And there would be a next time, knowing Marissa, even if turning in the photos had halted further attempts from the bad guys’ end. She wouldn’t let the puzzle rest there, unsolved.

  With a wet smack, he plucked his lips from her breast. “If you could identify the client,” he offered, “I’ll research him. That might get us somewhere.”

  “Now you’re thinking.”

  He sighed. “Promise me you won’t put yourself into a dangerous spot.”

  “I’ll send Ophelia instead,” she joked.

  “Seriously, Marissa. Be discreet.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Because I’m never compliant?”

  “That’d do it. Not cooperative or compromising either.”

  She burrowed into him. “You know you like it.”

  Too much to let her go, he decided, enfolding her in his arms.

  He’d been waiting for this showdown, and finally the time had come.

  THAT AFTERNOON, Marissa called Ophelia into her office. “What did you find out?”

  They had scanned, enlarged and cropped the best of the Cayman Islands photos, eliminating Paul and the blonde for the sake of discretion. Ophelia had then e-mailed the resulting closeup of the mystery client to half a dozen carefully selected assistants in various departments of the firm, asking for an identification.

  “Four What-the-Fs and one ‘He looks like my uncle Nicky from Sheepshead Bay.’” Ophelia checked herself out in the mirror on the inside of the door to the narrow coat closet. She wore a lime-green sweater and black slacks, with hoop earrings as large as bracelets, and bracelets the length of necklaces, wound around both wrists. They rattled when she patted her freshly clipped Afro.

  Far too pleased with herself, Marissa thought. O must know something good. “Leaving…?”

  “Leaving Marquese Griffin in accounting. He has a crush on me.”

  “Does that mean he’ll help?”

  “He already has. The photo rang his bells, but he couldn’t place the man, so he went through old files until he found the name to go with the face.” Ophelia produced a note pad. “Hector Belbano, second vice president of Winter Industrial.”

  “Winter Industrial? Never heard of them.” Marissa tapped keys to call up a roster of the firm’s clients. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Don’t bother. Winter dumped us a year ago when they were bought out by one of those huge conglomerates with attorneys on twenty-four-hour tap.”

  “Then I’ll run a search on Belbano. See what he’s up to these days.”

  “Already did it.” Ophelia flicked open her note pad. “And that’s the most interesting thing. Belba
no was ‘removed’ from the Winter payroll right after the buyout. I found nothing on him since. If he’s employed, it’s very discreetly, with a privately held business.”

  “Dead end.” Marissa thumped her fist on the desk. “Unless we can get info directly from Paul.” She cocked a brow at Ophelia. “Or his assistant?”

  “Jodi Milbank.” Ophelia shook her head. “The brain of a gnat. She’d run straight to Paul if I pried.”

  Marissa wasn’t ready to give up. “How are you at creating a distraction?”

  Ophelia rubbed her hands. The chunky gemstone bracelets clacked against each other. “Just point me in the right direction.”

  “Here’s the plan. We watch for Paul to leave the office. Then you distract his assistant while I slip inside to see what I can find on Hector Belbano.”

  Ophelia seemed more than willing, but she hesitated. “Jamie wouldn’t approve.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He calls. We talk, we laugh. We share war stories.”

  “Not about me!”

  “Watching after you is a full-time job,” Ophelia said with fond indulgence. “Thank the Lord the boy is finally getting some compensation.”

  “Compensation,” Marissa snorted, rushing O out of the office for a scouting mission. “Go see if Paul’s working.”

  Ophelia pressed a hand to her rounded midriff. “Oh, I’ve got a pain in my side. Might be having me another of those gallbladder attacks any minute now. Right down the hall from sweet li’l helpful Jodi.” She winked. “You be ready, boss.”

  14

  OPHELIA’S GALLBLADDER got Jodi away from her seat and Marissa into Paul’s office without a hitch. She went directly to the polished ebony desk and looked for an address or appointment book. Nothing. Damn his BlackBerry.

  Checking the computer would be a wasted effort unless she had enough time to crack his log-in password. She sat, intending to try the desk, but there were no drawers except one so narrow and shallow only pens, a letter opener and a stash of Howard, Coffman letterhead fit inside. The notepad on the desk was blank, even when she held it to the light and looked for indentations.

  She glanced around the office, desperate for any hint of life. Paul had no clutter. Some said a disorganized life was a sign of a scattered mind, but she chose to believe that an empty space indicated a lack of soul.