Glass Houses

by Anne Stuart

  Laura Winston wasn’t one to give up, but she had also never been the sort to waste her time pining after something that was out of reach. No wonder Michael Dubrovnik had been so cavalier about leaving her alone in his den. His secrets were well protected.

  Moving over to the windows, she looked down to the vacant lot beside the Glass House. The earth-moving equipment was a set of silent, bulky, evil shapes in the city-lighted darkness. Tomorrow or the next day they’d start in again. She couldn’t be certain of what they were doing, but she wouldn’t have been surprised if Dubrovnik, or whoever was next in his chain of command, had ordered the bulldozers and backhoes to spend their working time driving full force into the already compromised foundations of the Glass House. If the building was going to collapse, she could only hope that Michael Dubrovnik was trapped inside when it went.

  She was about to head for the door, temporarily vanquished, when she decided to try the computer one more time. She stood in front of the intelligent beastie, turned it on, and watched as the amber screen haughtily demanded the password. “Whirlwind,” she typed. The machine made a rude noise. “Mother Russia.” Still no response. “Glass House.”

  With a whirring of disk drives, a flash of amber and a buzz of machinery, the computer went into gear, and a menu appeared on the screen. She stared at the list, pushed a button, and came up with a file entitled Payoffs.

  She sank bank into the chair, letting out a silent whistle of shock and appreciation. There in front of her was a list of payoffs to city officials, from minor bureaucrats up to the mayor’s office itself. Enough shameful information to put Michael Dubrovnik out of commission for a good long time.

  It took her a moment to figure out how to run the sleek laser jet printer. It took her another few minutes to turn the machines off and make certain everything was exactly as she’d found it. Clutching the paper in her hand, she sped out of the room, onto the metal stairs and up the next flight to her apartment, practically sizzling with triumph. She had Michael Dubrovnik’s balls exactly where she wanted him, clutched in her angry fist, and all she had to do was tighten her grip.

  She threw herself onto her couch, chuckling. For the time being she wasn’t going to do a damned thing about it. The restraining order would keep Dubrovnik at bay, and when it was up she’d simply present her information to the right officials and watch the fur fly.

  Of course, she could always try blackmail. Instead of taking her damning information to the city government, she could present it to Dubrovnik himself, offering him immunity if he’d just leave her the hell alone. The idea had merit, but a thousand drawbacks. If Michael knew she had that information, he could take steps to cover his butt, rendering her ace in the hole useless. On the other hand, she didn’t necessarily want to see the man jailed and disgraced. Slapped down, yes. Destroyed, no.

  She’d have to wait and see. Timing was everything in this, but fortunately that restraining order had given her the leisure to figure out her best defense. He might decide to retire from the battle gracefully, and she’d never have to use the dirty tricks. Of course, his bribing of city officials was a fairly nasty trick in itself, and the man didn’t deserve her misguided protection. He’d managed to get to a few surprising people, including the city comptroller, her honorary uncle Jake Feldstein. When she’d first seen Uncle Jake’s name in the midst of all those bribe-takers, she’d let out a silent whistle of dismay. If she turned in Dubrovnik, she’d be turning in Uncle Jake. She wasn’t quite sure if she was ready to do that.

  Maybe the best thing was to deal with Michael Dubrovnik himself, rather than turn in the list of payoffs. That way she could protect her Uncle Jake from his one slip into sleaziness, and protect Dubrovnik at the same time. Not that the Whirlwind needed her protection, she reminded herself. Not that he deserved it. But if she was able to keep him away from the Glass House, she didn’t really care whether he paid for his wicked ways or not. She’d just as soon he was safely out of her life, making mischief elsewhere.

  And now she had the information to ensure that he would do just that, she thought, rolling off the couch and heading toward the CD player. She put in Stevie Winwood, cranked up the volume, and knew a moment’s regret that Michael wasn’t down below to be bothered by the noise. With a mischievous grin, she began to dance around her apartment, spinning and whirling, leaping onto the red leather sofa, bouncing off the Missoni chairs, kicking against the white plastered walls. For once in her life, the future looked very sweet indeed.

  At a quarter past two in the morning Michael Dubrovnik quietly walked up the utility stairs between the two floors he rented in the Glass House. His apartment was just as he’d left it, as he’d expected it to be, and he wondered briefly whether the trap he’d laid had been too cunning. Maybe he’d overestimated Ms. Laura Winston. Maybe she wasn’t the nemesis he was beginning to view her as.

  The pair of high, high heels lay just outside the hallway door. He picked one up, staring at it meditatively. He knew she couldn’t still be inside—the wall of windows had been dark when he’d returned from a midnight supper with Zach and Connie. She must have forgotten her shoes, Cinderella after the ball. She had very small feet, not much larger than his hands. And her red leather, high-heeled shoes were very sexy.

  He shoved them into the pocket of his jacket and headed into the tenth-floor office. Nothing had been moved, nothing had been changed. He went straight to the computer and turned it on, noting with pleasure the flashing amber message. “Security breached,” it read.

  He turned to check the printer. The paper with its infinitesimal mark was gone. She’d found what she’d been looking for, printed it and left, forgetting her shoes in her excitement.

  “Gotcha, Miss Laura Winston,” Michael Dubrovnik said quietly, a look of almost satanic pleasure lighting his dark face. “And you don’t even realize it.”

  Marita kept her face an astonished blank as she looked down at the tiny woman opposite her. It was after ten in the morning, and she’d already grown accustomed to sleeping late, but Laura Winston had sounded so adamant when she’d called an hour ago that Marita decided it would behoove her to be conciliatory. At least for now. Later she wouldn’t need Laura Winston. At the moment she’d better watch her step.

  “Jeff Carnaby is here?” she echoed, knowing exactly how she’d look. She’d practiced the expression and a dozen others in the mirrors, and she’d gotten this one down pat. Innocence, surprise, puzzled concern. She could see by Laura’s reaction that it was working. And Laura was no easy mark.

  “He followed you to the Tavern on the Green yesterday. He said you looked right through him.” Her tone was faintly skeptical, but Marita wasn’t discouraged.

  “I didn’t see him. God, I can’t believe he’d follow me all the way to New York. He’s such a sweet man. I never wanted to hurt him.” She laughed ruefully.

  “You were engaged?” Laura prodded.

  “Not really. We just sort of...dated. He read something more into it than I did, and I tried to let him down easy when I left Rigby. Unfortunately my mother always encouraged him.” She shrugged. “It was wrong from the start. I should have seen he wouldn’t want to let me go. I’m sorry he bothered you.”

  “Oh, he didn’t bother me,” Laura said instantly. “As a matter of fact, I found him quite charming. And I think he’s more than ready to let you go. He just wants to hear it from you.”

  A small frown creased Marita’s face before she quickly erased it. “I’m glad he’s being sensible,” she said smoothly. “I’d be happy to talk with him.”

  “He’s taking me out to lunch. I’ll bring him by afterward and you can sort things out. You’re certain you don’t want him?” Laura prodded again.

  Marita stared at her in amazement. “Do you?”

  Laura’s grin was answer enough. “I might. That is, if you’re sure it’s over between you two.”

  “It’s over,” Marita said firmly, not sure if she liked this new development. “It never ex
isted.” All the while her mind was working feverishly. Could Jeff, her faithful, doglike, devoted Jeff be that ready to turn to someone new? Someone like the tiny, trendy, cynical Laura Winston, after he’d spent the last few years devoted to someone who epitomized grace and beauty and gentle femininity? It didn’t seem possible.

  Until a week ago Marita had had him convinced that they’d be married in the spring and have three or four babies by the time she was thirty, and Jeff had believed her Norman Rockwell picture of the future.

  Marita had no intention of having children for a long, long time. Maybe later, when she was safely married to a man with enough money, so that she wouldn’t need to bother with the messy little creatures until they were old enough to be civilized. But farmers, even those whose careers bordered on agribusiness, couldn’t afford nannies and nursemaids.

  Nevertheless, she certainly wasn’t pleased about the ease with which her faithful lover was accepting his dismissal. Even if he’d followed her halfway across the country, it seemed he’d only done so to make sure he was free.

  She was half tempted to crook her perfectly manicured little finger and call him back—just to reassure herself that she still had the power to do so. But that would be a foolish mistake, and Marita didn’t make foolish mistakes. She didn’t want him, and Laura Winston did. If she played her cards carefully, this could be of great benefit.

  She gave Laura Winston her best smile. “I’ll be more than happy to see him. Anytime you want.”

  Laura nodded, seemingly satisfied, though the woman was darned secretive. Marita could never be sure if her newfound mentor was reacting as she was supposed to. “I’ll have Susan give you a call,” Laura said. “I was thinking of setting up some go-sees, but it might be wiser to wait.”

  “Go-sees?”

  “A necessary evil, Marita. The people who will hire you want to look you over. It’s pounding the pavement, basically.”

  “I thought we weren’t going to do that? I thought we were going to wait and have them come to us?” A real thread of panic speared her. Was her incipient triumph crumbling before it even came together? She didn’t want to be just a model. Laura had whetted her already voracious appetite for fame and money. Marita wasn’t ready to settle for anything less than the top of the profession, and she had every intention of starting out there.

  Laura’s smile was hardly reassuring. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. Susan will give you a call.” And with an airy wave of her small, delicate hand the woman was gone.

  Marita turned to stare at her reflection in the huge mirror. She was beginning to hate her luxury suite. She’d hardly been out at all. Once to a party at the ridiculously antique-looking building where Glass Faces resided. Another to lunch with Michael Dubrovnik. She’d been terrified when she’d looked up and seen Jeff glowering at her. But her luck had held. Jeff hadn’t come over and punched her date on the nose. Michael had been suitably flattering, and she’d seen that look often enough in men’s eyes to recognize it. Dubrovnik wanted her. Not badly enough, not yet. But he would. And when she was ready, she’d make sure he paid for it. After all, he could afford it. And she was worth it.

  Michael Dubrovnik was in a foul mood. Ms. Anthony, a stern, grandmotherly type who stood no nonsense from irascible millionaires, had burst into tears at the end of the day. Michael had had to apologize, since Ms. Anthony was the best secretary he’d had in decades, and that apology had made him even grumpier. By the time Zach showed up just after eight, he was ready to tear heads off.

  “You’re late.”

  “Go to hell,” Zach said genially, shutting the ninth-floor door behind him and heading for the bar. “You keep me very busy.” He poured both himself and Michael a short, dark glass of whiskey and thrust it into his associate’s hand. “Drink this, calm down, and tell me what’s eating you.”

  Michael did as he was told, leaning back and glaring at Zach even as the whiskey burned its way pleasantly into his stomach. “You know damned well what’s eating me. Laura Winston.”

  “I thought you had her under control. Didn’t the trap work?”

  “Oh, it worked just fine. Right now she’s the smug owner of a piece of paper incriminating me in all sorts of illegal bribes and payoffs. She’ll be so busy holding what she thinks is her trump card that she won’t take the necessary precautions. When she least expects it the bottom will drop out, and she’ll have no choice but to hand over the Glass House to me and be glad I’m still willing to pay her such an exorbitant amount.”

  “Then why are you in such a bad mood?”

  “I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of messing around with this decrepit building, I’m tired of being bested by a snippy little girl. What’s happening tomorrow?”

  “Same as before. They’ll do foundation work, maybe make a few mistakes here and there. I’m assuming you don’t mind paying for overtime. Most people don’t work on weekends.”

  “Most people don’t work for me. They know what they’re doing?” Michael snapped. “I don’t want lawsuits on my head. I don’t want this damned building to come crashing down and kill dozens of people.”

  “We’ve got the best people in the business. I’ve got half a dozen men and women on the job with nothing more to do but watch for the first signs of collapse. We’ll get the building cleared in time if it comes to that.”

  “It might have to. I don’t think that phony payoff list is going to be enough.”

  “Mischa, she’s just an average New York debutante playing at a career. She can’t possibly hold out against you.”

  “That’s what you think. The woman’s a menace. She keeps throwing Marita at my head, and while I might normally be interested, right now I’m too involved in squashing Ms. Winston to give a damn about beautiful women.”

  “So what’s bugging you right now? If anything, you’re closer to your goal. What’s put you in such a foul mood?”

  Michael considered the question. “I think it’s the fact that she’s busy chasing after some damned man as if she hadn’t a care in the world, while I can’t even spare an evening out with the most beautiful woman I’ve met in ages.”

  “You could spare the time,” Zach said. “You just don’t want to.”

  “Maybe I don’t.”

  “And maybe you don’t resent the fact that Laura Winston has the time and energy for a little on the side. Maybe you resent the fact that Laura Winston is interested in anyone at all.”

  Michael laughed, genuinely amused for the first time in hours. “Very funny. If you think I’m sexually interested in a sharp-tongued waif, then you’ve been wasting the twenty years you’ve known me.”

  “She’s the heir to some very prime Manhattan real estate,” Zach pointed out. “I’d hardly call her a waif.”

  “You ever hear the expression ‘land-poor’? Ms. Winston is in deep trouble financially, as you well know. All we have to do is tighten the screws.”

  “You want me to see to it?”

  Michael considered it for a moment, then shook his head, rising from the sofa and heading for the door. “Not yet,” he murmured.

  “Where are you going?”

  He paused at the door. “We’re finished for the night, aren’t we? There’s nothing new to report?”

  “Nothing new. I repeat, where are you going, Mischa? I know you too well.”

  He considered giving Zach a well-deserved put-down. And then he grinned, reluctantly. “The damnable thing about you, Zach, is that you’re right too damned much of the time. I’m going to badger Laura Winston. I can’t stand sitting around here and doing nothing.”

  “And you insist you’re not interested in her.” Zach was patently skeptical.

  “The day I prefer a feisty little harpy to someone like Marita,” Michael said, “is the day the Whirlwind runs out of steam. See you tomorrow.” And without another word he headed up the utility stairs, whistling tunelessly.

  Chapter Nine

  She had absolutely no right to feel as
she did, Laura chided herself. Things were going very well indeed, if she just stopped to look at them in perspective. Marita was giving up all claim to Jeff Carnaby. The fact that they were having dinner tonight as a farewell gesture was a drawback, but one Laura could put up with. After all, she needed him free of any strings. She couldn’t compete with someone of Marita’s staggering looks, not unless Marita was willing to let go.

  So that was going well. She had Michael Dubrovnik’s list of payoffs in the safe in her apartment, tucked in beside her grandmother’s gaudy, nineteenth-century emeralds and the perfectly matched pink pearls that her unloving father had given her on her debut. She never had been, never would be a person who could wear pink pearls, even ones of such rare beauty, and the gesture from her father had been too little, too late. If things got really bad she’d sell them, along with the emeralds, but she knew perfectly well that that would only buy her time, and not much of it. Besides, on nights when she was feeling particularly bitter she liked to take the pearls out and feel sorry for herself.

  Even Susan’s quiet misery would have an eventual benefit. She was mourning the loss of a dream, an unattainable dream. Everyone had to let go of their dreams sooner or later, Laura thought. Susan was lucky she’d managed to hold on to them into her late twenties. Laura’s had been ripped away the night of the Junior Assembly.

  She didn’t want to think about that again. Think about Susan, she reminded herself. Her assistant had packed up all of Frank’s papers, his portfolio, and the check that had just come in. He still wasn’t answering his phone, but Susan had a key to his apartment.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Laura had questioned her gently. The only person in the world she was gentle with was Susan.

  “I’m sure. The sooner I get his things out of here, his file closed, the sooner I can start behaving like a normal human being again.” She managed a wry, self-mocking smile, but Laura wasn’t fooled. “I’m a bit too old for teenage crushes, don’t you think?”