Desperate Measures (3 page)

She opened the double front doors to find her wish completely shattered.

Joe Carlini smiled at her.

Two

“Hello, Ellen,” he said.

She just stared at him as a jumble of sensations ran through her.

“Aren’t you going to say ‘Hello, Joe’?” he asked.

“Hello, Joe,” she parroted, still in shock. His gray suit and dark blue tie made him more attractive. Too damn attractive. She blinked and tried to pull herself together. And immediately lost it. “How did you find me? I never said … Who told you? Nobody could. Nobody knows who I am. I mean nobody at the rink knows who I am.”

“They do if they read the papers,” he replied. “You shouldn’t go to events that make the society column.”

“Who thought anyone even glanced at that thing?” she muttered, realizing she had given herself away. It must have been the Children’s Burn Center fund-raiser. That was the only public function she’d gone to recently.

“Pardon me?”

“Just cursing the fates.”

Joe grinned, and she remembered that she’d said something similar at the rink.

“You were part of the background of the picture they printed,” he said. “A very pretty part of it.”

“Thank you.” The photographer must have had the largest wide angle-lens in existence, she thought. She had been sitting as far away from any picture-taking as possible.

Instantly she pushed the thought away. She should be more concerned that Joe had sought her out. He must have gone to a lot of trouble too; she wasn’t in the phone book. She couldn’t think of one reason he should want to find her. People didn’t trace people from newspaper pictures just to say “Howdy.”

“Ellen? Who is it?”

Ellen groaned at the sound of Lettice’s voice. There was no sense trying to explain this to her grandmother.

“Just an acquaintance,” she called back to the dining room. “I’ll be there in a moment, Grandmother.”

She stepped outside and pulled the doors closed. The interruption had given her a moment to regain her equilibrium. But she sensed that under Joe’s friendly exterior was a powerful cat stalking its increasingly mesmerized prey. The thought was scary.

Then it clicked in her head why a man she didn’t know and hadn’t encouraged would seek her out.

He was a fortune hunter.

Anger shot through her at the thought. It made sense. After all, she’d married one. And she’d attracted them before that. There must be a sign on her forehead that said Sucker. This one, though, was very bold for coming here out of the blue. His suave manners and pretty compliments were probably designed to smooth over the shock of his sudden appearance. She would bet what was left of her trust fund that his excuse for coming was that he had found a skate key and just knew it had to be hers.

“I would really like to talk to you about that day at the rink,” he said. His smile was so casual on the surface. “Is there somewhere more private—”

“I’m very comfortable here,” she interrupted, which wasn’t exactly true. She felt warm, and she had no idea why. Then she realized her traitorous body was responding to the closeness of his. She edged away from him and focused on his face.

He was frowning at her. “Okay. Do you remember the man I pointed out to you when we were skating together?”

Bewildered by the totally unexpected question, she nodded.

“Did you happen to see him stop and talk to anybody?”

“I …” She paused. He asked the strangest questions for a fortune hunter. “Are you a policeman?”

It was his turn to look bewildered. “No.”

“Then I don’t think I should tell you.”

“But … Why?”

“Because I don’t know who you are.” He started to speak, but she held up her hand. “I mean, I don’t know you or anything about you or the man
you’re asking about. And you’re not a policeman doing your job or anything. It’s only common sense.”

“Maybe I’m trying to give him his lottery winnings,” Joe pointed out.

“They announce the winning numbers on TV,” she said, setting her jaw. She vaguely remembered the man he was asking about standing with someone after Joe had made his exit. Still, it would be foolish to say anything. And this need for her “help” could be a ruse to somehow gain her confidence. She wasn’t quite ready to let go of her fortune-hunter theory. She wasn’t sure she should. “I can’t help you.”

He took a deep breath and stared hard at her, clearly becoming frustrated with her. “Look, it’s all right. He’s my cousin, Mario Penza. I’m the chief executive officer of Carlini Foods, and Mario works for me. I eat all my vegetables and think fairly clean thoughts, if you need a further recommendation. Believe me, I really am a good guy.”

He seemed just as earnest and charming as he had been at the rink, and she could feel that invisible pull urging her to move closer to the heat and protection of him.

Ellen swallowed and forced the urge away. What he said he was and what he was could be two different things. She’d been fooled before. About time she started being overly cautious, she thought with satisfaction. Her grandmother would be proud.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

He made a face. Hunching his shoulders, he shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “I guess
I should feel complimented. Most people think I’m so upstanding that I’m dull.”

The last thing he looked was dull.…

Suddenly, the polished brass doorknob was pulled from her hand. She whipped around as the door swung open to reveal her grandmother.

“Ellen, where are your manners?” Lettice asked reprovingly. “This is too long to be out on the step. Even if your friend can’t stay, you could at least ask him into the house.”

Ellen groaned loudly. “Grandmother, you don’t understand—”

“I understand rudeness.”

“Your granddaughter is being cautious,” Joe said. “I’m Joe Carlini. Ellen and I have met only once before, when she rescued me at the roller skating rink.”

“That’s done it,” Ellen muttered.

“Roller skating rink?” her grandmother repeated, her eyebrows shooting up in perfect, outraged arches.

Joe nodded innocently. Ellen closed her eyes in resignation.

“Yes,” she heard him say. “She’s very good on skates, but I’m sure you know that.”

“I see.”

Ellen opened her eyes as her grandmother turned to her.

“I thought we discussed this once before,” Lettice said coldly.

The queen of England could take lessons in being regal from Lettice Kitteridge, Ellen thought, then shook her head. Really, this was ridiculous. Lettice had caught her coming home from a rink
during a vacation from school when she was sixteen, and she’d been the victim of a “discussion” then. Sixteen, for heaven’s sake! Anyway, she’d told herself enough times that she was a grown woman. Now she ought to start acting like one.

“We did discuss this before, Grandmother.” She gazed steadily into the older woman’s eyes. “Nearly fifteen years ago. I’m thirty now and answerable only to me.”

Her grandmother drew herself up even straighter. “We will discuss this—”

“No. This is the end of the discussion.”

Lettice gaped at her in astonishment. It wasn’t surprising, Ellen admitted, as she took the opportunity to brush past Joe and head for the garage around the left side of the mansion. Sometimes her grandmother took the term “grande dame” a little too seriously. Over her shoulder she added, “I’ve decided I need a dress for the dance, Grandmother, so I’m going to Suki Rosen’s now. I’ll be home in time for a
pleasant
dinner. Good day, Joe.”

That wasn’t so bad, she decided as she made her escape. In fact, it was downright invigorating to stand up for herself.

“That was a very good speech,” Joe said, catching up with her.

She glanced over in surprise and was disconcerted to see him keeping pace with her.

“It was meant for you too,” she said, and turned back again. She stared blankly at the blooming azaleas lining the walkway, trying to ignore him. It wasn’t easy. Her hand brushed against his and
hot fire burned its way to her shoulder before she could move away.

“I wish I could be nicer about this,” he said, “but unfortunately I’m too desperate. All I need is a description, or even just that he was huddled with somebody. Anybody. It’s extremely important.”

He sounded more sincere than before. She forced herself not to feel guilty. “Then ask your cousin. If that’s what he is.”

“He is, but I don’t think he would tell me if I asked him.”

“Then I can’t help you. Good day, Joe.”

She hustled past him and ran to the garages. It wasn’t until she was in the Audi passing both him and her grandmother that she allowed herself to sigh with relief. She acknowledged that she’d just gained a bit of self-respect.

And a little peace and quiet.

She thought he was a nut.

Of course, she would, Joe admitted dryly, as he sat in his large corner office of Carlini Foods later that afternoon. Every time she saw him, he was acting like one. He might be able to run a company, but he was lousy at the espionage business. He shouldn’t complain about her reaction, anyway. After the way she had disappeared from the rink, his had been no better. He’d thought
she
was the person Mario was to meet. They had both conveniently disappeared while he’d been falling on his face. The theory made sense—until he’d seen her picture in the paper.

Ignoring the piles of paperwork cluttering his
huge, polished teak desk, he stared at the photograph. It made no sense for someone like Ellen Kitteridge to be involved in stealing Carlini Foods’ most closely guarded secret. He doubted she’d do something for “kicks.” She just didn’t seem that way. After all, she had once been a princess, a job with no time for kicks, he was sure. Knowing she had been married to an Italian playboy prince was vaguely intimidating. He wasn’t sure why, but it was. No wonder she had seemed familiar, though. She had been in the news enough times. More than her fair share, really.

The death of her child had been international front-page headlines. How, he wondered in awe and sympathy, had she survived that?

After discovering who she was, he should have realized she’d been guarding her privacy. If he had told her the truth about Mario right away, maybe she would have been more willing to talk, he decided belatedly. Instead, he’d been vague because of his own caution, and then there hadn’t been an opportunity to correct the matter. Witnessing the discussion between her and her grandmother, he had finally known why she had left the rink without a good-bye. She skated on the sly.

Joe grinned. It was intriguing to know the elegant jet-setter liked something as simple as roller skating. Her body movements were naturally graceful, with a sexiness that left him breathless. Unfortunately, he’d been the cause of embarrassment for her, and he doubted if she appreciated it. He certainly wouldn’t if the situation had been reversed.

Still, she was his only hope.

“Dammit,” Joe cursed out loud, as a wave of guilt at using Ellen washed through him. But he hadn’t spent years building Carlini Foods to where it was to have some punk like Mario pull it down. He knew he couldn’t do anything until he had absolute proof of Mario’s treachery. As much as he hated to admit it, a roller skating rink hadn’t been such a crazy choice for a secret meeting. The place had the friendliness of a neighborhood stoop and the anonymity of a subway station. Two people could meet and chat without anyone thinking it odd.…

But he’d violated the anonymity part with Ellen.

He had to fix that, and very soon. Ellen Kitteridge was surprising and puzzling, he mused. On the outside she was serene and poised. Yet he had glimpsed yet again today the fire inside her.

He had to see her again. He had to prove to her that he wasn’t a nut. He also needed an edge with Mario, and he had a feeling she could provide it.

Ellen Kitteridge gave him an edge all right, Joe thought, smiling.

And in more ways than one.

One week later, Ellen stood on the orchestra stage in front of hundreds of people at the Four Seasons Hotel and smiled stiffly at Joe Carlini. The heat of anger and embarrassment flushed her cheeks as she accepted the oversized check from him.

“As chief executive officer of Carlini Foods,” he announced into the microphone, “I am pleased to make this donation to Graduate Hospital.”

“On behalf of the Graduate Hospital Fund-raising Committee, I thank you very much,” she said, forcing herself to offer her hand for the traditional handshake. Her fury and humiliation deepened as she thought of her “fortune-hunter” theory.

His strong fingers closed around hers, and the now familiar reaction to him burned through her body. Camera flashes popped and applause filled the room.

“You stinker,” Ellen added succinctly through the din.

His jaw dropped in astonishment. “What?”

“You heard me.” She pulled her hand away and, turning around, walked briskly off the stage.

Lettice was waiting at the front of the stairs. “Very nicely done.”

Ellen shoved the check into her grandmother’s hands. “Very forcibly done, you mean.”

Lettice shrugged. “He insisted on you accepting it. It’s a very sizable and much needed check. He seems nice enough—no visible warts at any rate. What else could we do without making a fuss?”

“That’s the first rule of the Kitteridges, isn’t it?” Ellen said, her voice as dry as the Gobi desert. “Never make a fuss when being humiliated in front of everyone.”

She walked away, leaving her grandmother staring after her.

“Is the check too small?” Joe asked as he appeared alongside her.

“No, and you damn well know it,” she said, giving him an angry glance. To her disbelief, her brain registered how attractively his tuxedo fit his leanly muscled frame. The music began again,
and she continued along the edge of the dance floor, determined to collect her things and get to her car as fast as she could. She wanted … needed to get away from him.

“Anybody ever tell you you’re very emotional?” he asked.

She whirled around on him, oblivious to witnesses. “I’m not emotional!”

“Could have fooled me,” he said, looking pointedly at the people surrounding them.