A Season of Miracles (9 page)

“You fear…what?”

“Ambition. You've got to have it. But too much of it…”

“Douglas, there are all kinds of rumors that you want to bring in fresh blood to mingle with your own.”

Douglas let out a wheezy laugh. “I'm an Irishman, boy, not a matchmaking old woman.” He'd laughed again, but then he'd grown serious. “You were with the special services in the navy.” It was a statement; not a question. Douglas Llewellyn had read Robert's dossier a dozen times over, he was certain.

“Yes,” he responded, anyway.

“You saw some action.”

“A little. Middle East.”

“Well, it's good to have a smart man on board—and a wary man. One who can watch out for himself—and others.”

Robert had leaned back, grinning. “Okay, Douglas. I get it. I'm a crack businessman—but I'm really here because you think I have the skills to investigate what goes on at your office, as well.”

“You're here because you're a crack businessman—it doesn't hurt that you can protect yourself—and others.”

“Which others?”

“My granddaughter.”

“You have two granddaughters, sir.”

“Jillian.”

“Why Jillian?”

The old man was quiet for a minute.

“Because I had a dream,” he finally said.

“A dream…?”

“Do you want the job? You'll instantly become a rich man.”

“I'm not doing badly on my own.”

“I'm aware of that.”

“Why me?”

Again, Douglas hesitated. Then he told him, “You were in the dream.”

“But if you think that your granddaughter is in real danger…”

“That's just it. I don't. There's nothing. Nothing concrete. Nothing I can see, just something strange and hazy…an old man's dotterings, perhaps.”

“I'm not a cop.”

“I'm aware of that. Are you going to take the job?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

Strange. But stranger things had happened in life, he was certain. He was being offered a king's ransom—because of a dream.

And then, of course, the first time he'd actually met Jillian Llewellyn up close, she'd screamed as if he were a psycho killer or a six-foot tarantula, then passed out cold. Great protector he was.

Well, he was here. Though the place seemed to move as smoothly on its own as a Swiss clock. Still…

Would he always be outvoted? Always be an outsider? He wasn't a fool. He had heard all the rumors, and though rumors didn't mean squat, it was true that he hadn't been called in just on account of his business acumen. He was there to watch out. For Jillian.

And he'd tried today. He sure as hell had.

The old man hadn't given him a bit of help. But then, Douglas didn't think the danger to Jillian would come from the outside. He was afraid of his own flesh and blood.

Robert suddenly stood and walked down the hall to Daniel's office. Daniel's secretary, Gracie—Whippet Girl, as he silently termed her—started to rise, but he waved her down. “Don't worry. I'll be just a minute.”

He tapped on Daniel's door and entered. Daniel had risen and was closing his desktop drawer. “Hey, Robert. I was just heading out. Want to stop somewhere for a drink? Since we missed last night?”

“I did show up,” Robert told him, thinking of their missed appointment at Hennessey's. He wondered what Daniel had planned to talk to him about.

Daniel's eyes were dark and grave. “I heard. My cousin passed out, so I was told. You gave her a ride home.”

“They told you at the bar?”

“Yeah.”

“I came back.”

“Sorry, I'd left.”

“I see…”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You didn't put the tarot card reader up to giving me a hard time, did you?”

He'd been certain of it. But now, the way that Daniel looked at him, he wasn't sure at all.

“I didn't talk to the tarot card reader. I don't believe in any of that nonsense. Why? You mean, you went to the woman for a reading? You, of all people.”

“Not exactly. But she knew a lot about me.”

“Practical jokes. More Griff's line of work. Talk to him. I did hear what happened, and before I left, I gave old Henry a call to make sure Jillian was all right. He said she seemed to be fine. Joe Murphy told me this morning that you'd taken her home. I should have hung around a while longer last night. I'm sorry. Anyway, I'd meant to tell you about this ad campaign then, so you wouldn't be taken by surprise.”

“Hey, it's a good campaign.”

“But you don't like it.”

He shrugged. “It still sounds dangerous to me.”

Daniel watched him for a moment. “Jillian isn't a potato-head, Robert. She's strong, smart and resilient.”

“I'm sure she is.”

“There's a ‘but' in there.”

“She's rich. And beautiful.”

“And that makes her…?” Daniel asked carefully.

“A target,” Robert said. “Want to get that drink?”

They started out. Gracie—old Whippet Girl—came nervously up to Daniel as they were leaving. “I was getting ready to lock up, but I haven't seen that cat all day. I always make sure he's out of your office, Daniel.”

“The cat was Griff's idea and he's Griff's responsibility,” Daniel said, impatient. “Just leave my door open.”

“But I haven't seen him all day,” Gracie protested. “I set tuna out for him at lunch—”

“Gracie. He's a cat. Don't worry. Go on home. Leave the office door open.”

“All right,” Gracie said with a sigh. “All right, sir.”

They left the building. “Anywhere special you want to go?” Daniel asked.

Robert hesitated a minute. “Yeah. It's entirely out of the way, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Hennessey's. I want to go back to Hennessey's.”

 

At five, Jillian went around to Connie's office, a cubicle outside her own. “Connie, I was about to leave, but I just realized, I haven't seen Jeeves all day.”

Connie looked up, startled. “Jeeves?”

“Jeeves, Connie. The cat.”

“Oh,” Connie said vaguely. “Jeeves.”

Her friend was acting very peculiarly. “Connie, have you seen him?”

Connie hesitated, then shook her head vehemently. “Uh…not lately.”

“I guess I'll look around for him.”

Easier said than done. The corporate offices were large, taking up the entire floor. She slipped in and out of meeting rooms and those offices that were open, to no avail. Most of the time people worked late, well past five, but today, it seemed, everyone had left early. She found Gracie still outside Daniel's office, preparing her last batch of letters for the mail room.

“Hey, Gracie. I'm looking for Jeeves. Have you seen him?”

“No, Miss Llewellyn, I haven't. But I've been concerned, as well. I opened a can of tuna for him at lunch, then called and called, but he didn't show up.”

“Strange,” Jillian said.

“Daniel—Mr. Llewellyn—didn't seem concerned. He told me that he's a cat and he'll show up.”

“Well, I suppose that's true.”

“I'm still worried.”

“I'll try Griff's office. You go on home, Gracie. Don't worry.”

Griff had already gone. And his office was locked. She frowned. “Well, I hope you're in there, Jeeves, or we'll have little kitty presents all over the place tomorrow.”

She turned back, heading for her own office. Connie was there but reaching for her coat, ready to leave. “I was heading off. Unless you need me?”

“No, I'm on my way out, too.” She hesitated. “I think I'll head downtown with you.”

“You will?”

“Yeah, I've got an urge to stop in at Hennessey's.”

“Do you think that's a good idea?” Connie asked, concerned.

“Don't you want me coming with you?”

“No, no, it's not that. It's Hennessey's. I mean, after last night…”

“After last night, it's important. I don't want to be afraid of going back to a pub.”

“I guess it's okay. I mean, the tarot reader won't be there tonight.”

“I don't intend to be afraid of tarot readers, either.”

“But really, in your day-to-day life, just how many tarot readers do you run into?” Connie asked with sheer practicality.

“That's not the point. I just have an urge to go to Hennessey's.”

“I'll go with you.”

“You have to pick up the kids. I'll just head down to the Village with you. I'm a big girl, and I can go into a friendly Irish pub alone.”

“You're a big girl, and the world is full of wolves. We've discussed that before. I'll stop for a quick drink. Mom is still at my place. She won't mind.”

“All right. I guess I'll appreciate the company.” She studied Connie for a minute. “By the way, I didn't find the cat.”

“No?” Connie wasn't looking at her.

“Connie, do you know something about that cat that I don't?”

“Jillian, what am I, the cat-watcher now? If we're going for a drink, we've got to get moving.”

“Connie, you don't have to come with—”

“I want the drink. I
need
the drink. Can we go?”

It was 5:45 when they reached the street. Traffic was at its worst. They opted for the subway, though it was every bit as busy.

People milled about the platform, the whole crowd lurching toward the train that was just pulling into the station. The mob was pushing Jillian closer, until she was afraid she was going to fall into the path of the train.

She felt a sudden pressure against her chest, heard a whisper.

“Get back.”

The crowd behind her grumbled as she stopped dead, holding up their progress. Who…?

“Jillian!” Connie was calling to her across a sea of heads. The train stopped, the door opening almost directly in front of her. She pushed the whisper out of her head and rushed on, one with the crowd.

 

Eileen was into her second martini when the doorbell rang. Barefoot, she walked across the impeccable white tile of the foyer of her penthouse apartment to swing the door open. She knew who was coming. Gary Brennan, an up-and-coming name in the stock market, the man to whom she had been engaged for a rather long time, had reached the summit of the building.

He was blond, with the perfect business haircut, the perfect business suit, a clean-shaven, scrubbed, impeccable face, and—not the least of his many fine virtues—the world's most perfect teeth.

“Hi, sweetheart, you—”

He didn't get to finish. She had opened the door, then swung around and headed back into the living room, with its huge, panoramic windows. She had a fake fire burning in the fake fireplace—a real one might create soot, which she loathed. The mantel was white; the furnishings were white. In fact, the entire room was almost as white as Gary's perfect teeth.

“As I was saying, hi. Hard day?” he enquired, shedding his coat. He almost dropped it over a chair, then he remembered where he was and walked back to the foyer closet.

“It was a fairly usual day,” Eileen said.

“Oh?”

“I poured you a drink.”

“Thanks,” he said lightly. She seemed so somber. Eileen had always had her eccentricities. Most of the time she admitted to them, even laughed about them. She wasn't mean about them, either—she was fastidious, but she understood that others didn't always share her hankering for a bleached clean that bordered on hospital sanitation.

“Shaken not stirred, of course,” he teased.

“Two twists, not one,” she returned, but she sounded tense.

He helped himself to his martini and slid onto the comfortable sofa before the pseudo fire. Snow was falling. It was beautiful from here. Of course, by tonight it would be sooty gray slush, but right now, as it flew, white as angels' wings, it was beautiful.

“All right, Eileen. What did your wicked family do today?” he asked. She had once told him he was more than welcome to take a job at Llewellyn Enterprises. If he hadn't been engaged to her, it would have been an attractive proposition. But he would never have a relationship with Eileen
and
work for her. Because he would, of course, wind up working
for
her.