Perplexed, Marissa collected her coat and purse and followed Holt toward the elevators. Paige Benoit’s chilly voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.
“Ms. Rooney is coming with me,” Holt said.
Benoit folded her arms, glaring at Marissa. “I wasn’t notified of this.”
“Then perhaps you should take that up with Mr. Regis.” Holt’s lips stretched into a condescending smile.
Leaving Benoit openmouthed and ready to spit fire, they exited the lobby and marched down the hall. Marissa supposed he was trying to be discreet, taking her away from prying ears to fire her. After yesterday’s fiasco in the reception area, the last thing anyone wanted was to cause another scene.
Marissa and Holt stood on opposite sides of the brass-and-copper-caged car without speaking. The elevator operator pressed the button for the thirty-seventh floor. They were going up instead of down. Confused, Marissa frowned and glanced over at Holt. He cocked an eyebrow and eyed her from head to toe, not undressing her with his eyes like Ervine had, seeming more like a scientist assessing a test subject.
Marissa shifted uncomfortably in her heels, well aware that today she did not fit the conservative profile of the firm. Today Holt’s mute assessment made her feel like a low-class bimbo.
“Nice shoes,” Holt said, breaking the silence at last.
“They’re Jimmy Choo knock-offs.”
“I know.”
He smiled. Confused, Marissa stood ramrod-straight, staring straight ahead as the floors slid smoothly by. Despite the brave front she presented, her apprehension grew as the elevator continued its steady climb.
If they fired her, she was screwed. Her savings account would evaporate in a matter of weeks. With Brooke in college, she was barely scraping by. Not only would she lose her family’s sole source of income, she would lose her medical benefits too. There was no way she could afford private medical insurance, and Brooke needed insulin. Without insulin . . .
She clutched her coat against her chest, and the knot in her stomach tightened. Finally they arrived at the thirty-seventh floor. The elevator doors opened, and Marissa stepped out into a sumptuous suite. The floors were dark hardwood, polished to a lustrous glow. Flawless white walls stretched up to high, arched ceilings. Huge banks of windows showed a bird’s-eye view of the city skyline to the north and the football and baseball stadiums to the south. To the west Marissa glimpsed the turbulent waters of Elliott Bay.
She had always loved this view. On her lunch break, she would often ride the elevator to the observation deck overlooking the city. Not only did it get her away from the lunchroom gossip, seeing the city from this angle made her feel larger than life, like a god staring down from atop Mount Olympus.
Marissa followed Holt down a long hallway to a conference room. He closed the door behind her. A bitter taste filled Marissa’s mouth.
Yes. This would be a closed-door conversation.
Holt stood tall at the head of the table, his narrow face solemn as a clergyman’s. Marissa settled into a chair at the other end, staring past him out the huge bank of windows, where a thick layer of dark clouds hung low over Elliott Bay.
Slowly he opened a fat manila folder at the end of the table. A severance package? She could hope.
“So, Ms. Rooney, it looks like you’ve been with the firm just over a year.”
“That’s right. I got hired after finishing my legal secretary certification.”
“At North Seattle Community College,” he finished. “Night school.”
The arrogance in his tone piqued her, and Marissa raised her chin.
“We don’t all go to Ivy League schools,” she said.
Holt’s expression remained flat, and Marissa wondered if there was a heart beating beneath his marble skin.
“Before that you worked for the Boeing Company.”
“It’s a good local company.”
“I’ve heard of it,” he said with a dry smile. “Why did you leave?”
Holt cocked his head, and Marissa wondered what was written in that magic file of his. Why she’d resigned was none of Holt’s business. In truth, her old boss made Ervine look like an altar boy, but she’d never complained and the terms of her resignation had been generous. The money she got had kept the family afloat while she went back to school.
“I decided to upgrade my skills,” Marissa said.
“Your attendance record has been good. I see no complaints in your file, and yet Ms. Benoit claims you walked out of the office yesterday without giving notice. Why?”
She saw nothing, no compassion, no curiosity, nothing in Holt’s expression to compel her to confide in him. But if she wanted to save her job, she had to tell the truth.
“I had a family emergency.”
“What type of emergency?”
Marissa pressed a hand against her flat belly. She wanted to tell Holt to shove his job up his uptight ass. Instead she forced the words from her lips.
“My daughter is missing.”
Saying the words out loud made the situation painfully real. Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away. She wouldn’t cry in front of Evan Holt.
Surprise registered on Holt’s face, and something else. Sympathy? Acid churned at the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want his pity. She needed her goddamned job. He glanced back at the file.
“Which one?”
“Brooke. She’s a freshman at UW.”
“You’ve been married three times . . .”
“And divorced,” Marissa cut in, her patience at an end. “What’s your point?”
His pawing through her private life, though amusing to be sure, was a waste of time, and Marissa was about done with the games.
“Just collecting background information.”
“Do you care to tell me how my marital history relates to my employment status? My kid is out there somewhere, and you want to know how many times I’ve been married? You’re kidding, right?”
Holt ignored the question.
“How long has she been missing?”
“Four days.”
“And you’ve filed a missing-persons report?”
“Yes, of course. I’m not an idiot.”
“How much of this did you tell Ms. Benoit before you left the office yesterday?”
Marissa glared at him, her eyes boring holes in his Burberry suit. She didn’t want to answer any more of his questions. Fuck the job. Fuck him.
Count to ten, she told herself, pulling in a deep breath. But she only made it to five.
“Do you have children, Mr. Holt?”
“No.”
Marissa’s chin jerked up and down in a rigid nod. She doubted Holt had ever cared about another human being more than himself in his whole self-centered, trust-fund-brat, entitled life.
“If you did, you’d know their safety is more important to you than anything else in this world. If the firm can’t see fit to grant me some leniency based on my excellent work record and the extreme circumstances of—”
Holt held up a dismissive hand, stopping her in midsentence.
“I get it, Ms. Rooney.”
Marissa’s anger sizzled white-hot. The arrogant bastard didn’t even have the decency to let her finish. Her hands clenched into fists as she fought to suppress the string of epithets she wanted to hurl in his face. Oblivious to her rage, Holt closed the folder.
“Would you mind waiting here?”
“What for?”
“I won’t be long.”
Left alone, Marissa scratched at the nicotine patch she’d applied before leaving for the office. If she’d had cigarettes in her purse, she’d have lit one up right now. Damn the rules. Damn the consequences. Damn him.
Marissa raked her hands through her hair. What the hell was she going to do? Best-case scenario, they’d pay her severance. That would help, but it wouldn’t be enough. She closed her eyes, knowing full well there was only one option
. As much as she hated the idea, she was going to have to ask Logan for money. She had no other choice. She needed health insurance for Brooke, and she needed to keep a roof over Kelly’s head.
She opened her purse and pulled out her cell phone. She thumbed through her contacts and was about to hit the dial button when she saw Kelly’s name on the screen. A flicker of hope flared in her chest, and she answered.
“Did you hear from Brooke?”
Kelly hesitated. Tension crackled on the line before she finally spoke.
“No.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, Mom. I’m calling about something else. Do you remember my friend Ashley?”
Marissa closed her eyes and kneaded her forehead.
“From Redmond. Sure.”
“Well, her parents are heading to Napa Valley for Thanksgiving weekend. Apparently they’ve got this amazing place. Anyway, Ashley has invited me to go with them. What do you think?”
The words tumbled out of Kelly’s mouth so fast, it took Marissa a second or two to catch up.
“About?”
“Can I go with them to Napa Valley for Thanksgiving?”
The question caught Marissa off guard. She opened her eyes and stared out the bank of windows. Outside, a green-and-white ferry bobbed across the white-capped waters, struggling to hold its course against strong winds buffeting Puget Sound.
“It wouldn’t be expensive, Mom. I’ve already checked flights online. If I book now, it will cost less than three hundred dollars. What do you say?”
Kelly sounded so excited it hurt Marissa’s heart to say no. But what choice did she have? She dropped her gaze to the empty conference room table, gripping the phone tight in her hand.
“Look, Kelly, things aren’t good at work. We can’t afford—”
“But, Mom, all I’d have to pay for is my flight. They’d take care of everything else. I could get a part-time job and pay you back. It’s not like it’s a lot of money, only a couple hundred dollars. Please?”
“It’s money I don’t have to spend. Besides, with your sister missing, how can you even ask?”
Silence greeted her, and she could picture Kelly’s expression all too well. Hurt. Angry.
“I could ask Logan. He’d—”
“Kelly, I said no.”
“Since Logan works for the airline, maybe he can get me a free seat.”
“No.”
“You’re such a bitch. No wonder Logan doesn’t want you anymore.”
Marissa’s mouth dropped open, but before she could utter another word, Kelly hung up. Tears filled Marissa’s eyes. She blinked them back, knowing any minute now Holt would march by, passing judgment, and there was no way she was going to cry in front of him.
Chapter 12
What the hell was taking Holt so long?
Unable to sit still another second, Marissa stood and paced the length of the conference room. How long would he keep her waiting? And for what? He was just going to fire her anyway. He could damn well mail her the paper work.
She snatched her purse off a chair, slung it over her shoulder, and stalked toward the door. Her hand was stretched out toward the door when it opened. Marissa jumped. Holt stood in the doorway, his face revealing nothing.
“Ms. Rooney,” he said, “please come with me.”
Holt led the way to a pair of mahogany French doors. He stopped and knocked once. Marissa scowled. Visions of a firing squad flashed through her brain, and for one brief moment she thought she could smell the seductive scent of cigarette smoke. Holt threw open the door.
“Lizzie,” Evan Holt said in a disapproving tone of voice.
Elizabeth Holt sat behind a huge, ornately carved desk. Her yellowed skin was the same color as parchment paper. Pale, lined, and thin, it covered her sagging cheeks and drooping chin. Evan glared at the cigarette pinched firmly between Ms. Holt’s fingers like it was a stick of dynamite. Marissa watched the silvery ring of smoke swirl up into the air above Ms. Holt, curving around her head like a halo. A pang of longing shot through her. The smell filled her lungs and she could almost taste the warm buttered-toast flavor of a cigarette.
Ms. Holt looked unconcerned by Evan’s censure. Her lips curled up at the edges in an impish smile. Defiance twinkled in the old woman’s eyes.
“That’s Ms. Holt to you, or Aunt Elizabeth, if you must.”
Her voice was like coarse sandpaper, hard and grainy. Evan frowned. His upright stance stiffened and he glared across the desk at his aunt.
“You know what the doctor says.”
“He is not here. Besides, at this point, what difference would it make?”
“Well, if you don’t care about your doctor’s advice, then perhaps you could consider my welfare. I work here too and have no wish to inhale your secondhand smoke.”
Ms. Holt stared at him for a long moment, her sagging chin angled up. She placed the lipstick-stained butt between her lips and took another long drag, as if goading him to say something more. Evan’s mouth opened, but no words escaped as she reached over and flicked on the purifying air filter. The hum of the fan interrupted the silence, and smoke was sucked down into the blunted end of the device.
While Evan evidently found the aroma of cigarette smoke revolting, Marissa drew in a deep, longing breath and held it. Her fingers scratched absently at the patch on her arm.
“Ms. Rooney,” Ms. Holt said, turning her attention to Marissa. “Thank you for coming to see me. If you would be so kind as to take a seat, we can get started.”
Started? Start what? Ms. Holt wasn’t the type of woman you argued with, so Marissa stepped forward and perched on the edge of a high-backed leather chair. Her short skirt inched up her thighs, and she tugged it back into place again, grimacing, regretting her hasty wardrobe choice again.
Holt swished her hand through the air.
“Evan, you may go.”
Dismissed like a lapdog, Evan exited the room. The door clicked shut behind him, and Marissa’s apprehension grew.
“Would you like a cigarette, Ms. Rooney?”
Marissa touched the patch on her arm. Would she? Absolutely, but there was no way she was going to sit here and smoke with Elizabeth Holt. Instead she shook her head.
“I’m trying to quit.”
“A noble effort. I, myself, have never been the quitting type.”
A thin smile stretched Holt’s lips, and she took a final drag on the cigarette. The smoke was released from her lungs in a luxurious, silvery stream. Marissa watched it fade from the air like mist on a sunny morning. Holt crushed the glowing end of the cigarette in the heavy ashtray. Long, bony fingers plucked a file folder off the desk, and Holt opened it without glancing up. Her sharp eyes scanned the first page quickly.
Holt looked draped in wealth. The long, flowing cobalt jacket matched her eyes. The matching dress fell from her slim shoulders in a flattering neckline appropriate for a woman her age, low enough to show the glimmer of the gold necklace around her throat, but not too low. Her steel-gray hair brushed her shoulders in a sleek bob, and huge diamond earrings completed the look.
Holt’s laser stare met hers over the top of the manila folder. Next to Holt’s elegance, she looked like a ladder-climbing bimbo in her ill-fitting outfit. Marissa tugged at the neckline of her blouse and smoothed the hair away from her face.
“In the lobby yesterday, you said you were leaving to find your daughter.”
Marissa’s frustration bubbled over. “Aren’t people in the firm allowed to have family emergencies?”
She regretted her defensive tone as soon as the words escaped her lips, but Elizabeth Holt didn’t look offended. She looked curious. Her lips angled up in a ponderous smile. The smug expression irked Marissa.
“Of course, Ms. Rooney.”
“I know Ms. Benoit was upset when I left yesterday, but when I realized my daughter’s roommate hadn’t seen her since Saturday, I had to leave. Quite honestly, Ms. Holt, I would do the same thing tomor
row.”
Holt dipped her sagging chin in a slow nod. “Given the circumstances, it is entirely understandable.”
Marissa’s eyebrows wrinkled. Understandable? Bullshit. Why had Evan Holt grilled her? Why was she sitting here, if not to plead her case? Marissa had no idea what game Holt was playing, but she no longer cared. She was done with their games.
“So what do you want? Are you hoping I’ll quit?”
“I want to know more about your daughter’s disappearance. What have the police said?”
The abrupt change in topic took her by surprise, and Marissa clasped her hands in her lap.
“Not much. I spoke to Detective Crawford at the SPD. He asked a bunch of questions, and I haven’t heard from him since. I left him a voice mail this morning and am waiting to hear back.”
“You must be frantic with worry.”
Was Holt screwing with her? Of course she was frantic with worry. Anyone in her shoes would be. She shouldn’t be sitting here; she should be out looking for her daughter. She was wasting precious time.
Marissa stood up, looking down at Elizabeth Holt.
“Let’s stop playing games.”
Holt’s eyebrows arched. She probably wasn’t used to people giving her the straight goods, but Marissa was out of patience.
“Just what game do you think we’re playing, Ms. Rooney?” Holt tented her fingers beneath her chin, waiting for Marissa to respond.
Marissa flipped her hands, palms up, returning Holt’s stare. “Come on. It’s obvious, isn’t it? If you’re going to fire me, I’d prefer you just get on with it.”
Holt’s lips thinned, and she regarded Marissa with a curious look.
“Very well then, Ms. Rooney,” she said, and swished a hand through the air like a magician waving a magic wand. “You’re fired.”
Chapter 13
The words didn’t come as a shock. Marissa had already been braced for the blow. Expelling a breath from between pursed lips, she snatched her purse off the floor.
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