DrillingDownDeep (18 page)

“That might be fun just to see how that stuck-up
receptionist took it.”

“But since it wasn’t you I still have quite a problem.
Unless there was a stowaway, and I had the rig thoroughly searched so I’m sure
there wasn’t, somebody on that rig, somebody who by definition I employed,
planted the bomb. But I’m left with nothing more than a bunch of names and
profiles to try to figure out who and why. And I won’t feel exactly easy with
my new investment until I solve our little mystery.”

“And I can help you with that?”

“Yes. That’s what a consultant does. Takes on projects,
pitches in where management needs a particular level of know-how they don’t
possess. And believe me, it’s always for a big fee. It makes the mistress
business look like small change.”

He got a small smile out of her, so he flicked to the files
on the
Treasure Driller
personnel and held out the iPad to her. “Come
on. Educate me. Help me solve this problem.”

She looked at it doubtfully. “I don’t know. I’ve known these
guys, a lot of them, most of my life. Isn’t this sort of like, I don’t know, collaborating
with the enemy or something?”

“Whoever planted that bomb is probably the same person who’s
responsible for your father’s accident.”

“Give me that thing.” She took the iPad and started
advancing pages as she talked.

It was about an hour later when they got to the one name she
wouldn’t even entertain as a suspect. “Not Mick.” She shook her head
definitively. “Never. He and my father are like brothers.”

“You ever heard of Cain and Abel?”

She glanced askance at him. “What kind of a family do you have?”

He laughed. “Actually, I like all my siblings. But all I’m
saying is that’s not always the case. Is there any reason Mick O’Malley might
have to want to harm your father or Transcoastal?”

“No. Not really.”

“A little less definitive than you were a minute ago.”

“It’s just…and I feel like a rat for saying this, but Mick
is the kind of guy who always needs money. He…he gambles a little.”

“Badly, I take it.”

“My pops always said if there was a losing hand at the
table, Mick would get dealt it.” She shook her head. “Some people are like
that. Pops was always a winner…until his accident, I guess. And, not that I’m
saying this means anything, but Mick has been a little flush lately.”

“Flush how?”

“New cowboy boots when he showed up for the stint on the
rig. New hat. Little things. New car,” she muttered at the end.

“On the other hand, he was a staunch defender of yours after
we’d found the bomb.”

“Thanks. Now I feel even worse for suspecting him.”

He got up. “Still, we should check it out.” Picking up the
phone, he dialed a number and said, “Yeah. It’s me.” After rattling off some
instructions about having Mick further investigated, he hung up.

“Who was that?”

“Miss Prentiss.”

“Michael! It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

“Don’t worry about it. Believe me, she’s paid even better
than a consultant.”

Vanny put the iPad on the nightstand. “Oh yeah? Well, then
this consultant is calling it a night.”

He grinned. “If you want to pay me for the sex now, I’m good
with that too.”

She gave him a playful shove and climbed on top of him. “How
about nobody pays anybody?”

“I’m good with that too.”

On Saturday afternoon, Michael drove them out to the
Hamptons in a silver Mercedes convertible so expensive she’d never seen the
model number before. The top down messed with Vanny’s already unruly curls, but
she liked the feel of the wind in her face. Once they were off the freeway and
stopped at a red light on the side road, he glanced sideways at her.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’ve just never had a woman in a convertible not
complain about the effect on her hair, that’s all.”

She shrugged. “Why? Does it look like a mop?”

He twirled one curl around his finger. “I love your hair.”

A honk behind them announced the light was green. He put the
car into gear and took off again, grinning. Michael Reynolds was above letting
a honk or two get to him.

He drove smoothly, as she had known he would even though
they’d been chauffeured around the whole time she’d been with him. He did
everything smoothly she was finding out. She’d decided to stop fighting the
pull she felt toward him, not that she’d ever been fighting it very hard, and
enjoy their time together, for as long as it lasted.

He turned down a private road with, of all things, a manned
gate house at the base of it. Not stopping at the gate house, he drove through
the gate they had automatically opened for him with a wave to the guard.

“Your father’s not mafia, is he?” she joked.

He laughed.

When they pulled up to the house, she shook her head. No
wonder Michael didn’t think his cavernous apartments were any big deal. He was
comparing them to this. The gray, shingled house was huge, wings and white
porches and windows everywhere she looked. He came around to open her door, an
old-fashioned habit she found herself getting used to quickly, and took her
arm. The sea was visible in the distance, the house backing up to it. The roar
of the Atlantic waves seemed very different from the tranquil Gulf she was used
to.

“Somebody will come out and get our things,” he said.

She shook her head. “Always somebody to take care of
everything, isn’t there?”

“Okay.” He opened the trunk and got their few bags out,
handing her the dress bag. “We’ll get them.”

“When that’s your first instinct, I’ll feel like I’ve really
taught you something, Michael.”

“I’m learning every day, Vanny.”

The door to the mansion was opened by a uniformed maid. “Mr.
Reynolds,” she said.

“Hello, Mrs. Fox. This is Vanny.”

Vanny smiled. “Hi there.”

“What room do you have us in?”

As promised, Michael had insisted they stay the night.

“The Winnie Suite,” Mrs. Fox answered. “I thought you’d be
more comfortable in that since Miss Donald is with you. But put your things
down. I’ll have someone take them up. Your father’s in the sun room.”

“No need, Mrs. Fox. We’ll take them up ourselves, won’t we,
Vanny?”

“Sure.”

She was still trying to take in the house. Inside, it was
even more impressive than outside. The front room seemed as tall as the house
itself, with different levels all around, sitting rooms of some sort on each of
the levels. The windows faced the sea.

“This is beautiful.”

“Yeah. I suppose.”

“Don’t you ever get overwhelmed by all of this?”

He glanced around as if he honestly didn’t understand what
she meant.

“It just is. It’s what I’m used to, I guess. This house has
been in my family for generations. Come on.” He led her up the white-carpeted
stairway and down one of the halls to a door.

“The Winnie Suite, I presume,” she said. “Why’s it called
that?”

Michael took her into the luxurious suite, complete with a
bedroom facing the water, a sitting room, a bathroom bigger than… Oh she was
going to stop thinking in those terms. This was just too much. Whatever.

He set down the cases and took the dress from her, hanging
it in a walk-in closet. “I don’t know why any of these rooms are called
anything.”

“Well, who’s Winnie? One of your father’s wives?”

“No. It predates him. She was probably a long-ago ancestor’s
one-night stand.”

“She was not!”

“I don’t know.”

He swooped her up and dropped her on the bed, coming down
beside her quickly.

“You have a very high sex drive,” she observed.

“For an old guy, you mean.”

She swiped at his chest and he caught her hand, kissing the
palm.

“You’re not old.”

“A lot older than you.”

“So, aren’t all your mistresses in their twenties?”

He didn’t answer, beginning to kiss her neck.

“What I meant about the sex drive was when you’re without a
mistress, what do you do? Do you have one-night stands?”

“Besides you, you mean?”

She pursed her mouth. She hoped he never did find out the
truth about why
Shelly
picked him up that night.

“The answer is not really.”

“So what do you do?”

“Why are you so interested in my sex life?”

“Isn’t that what a mistress is supposed to be interested
in?”

He brought her hand to his hard crotch. “Yes, but it’s
supposed to be a
hands-on
interest, if you take my meaning.”

“I’ve been taking your meaning ever since I met you, Mr.
Reynolds.”

“Don’t call me that. It reminds me of Miss Prentiss.”

“Why don’t you two use first names?”

“I never have with my assistants.”

“No matter how long they work for you?”

“Actually, no one’s lasted as long as Miss Prentiss.”

“I like her.”

He shrugged. “I don’t think about it. I guess originally the
idea was to create some distance between me and any assistant.”

“The ‘not sleeping with employees’ thing.”

“Right.”

“Although apparently you just fire them if you want to sleep
with them.”

“You’re my first on that score, Miss Donald.”

* * * * *

The evening of the party, Vanny stood before the mirror in
her bra and panties.

“I have a present for you.” Michael withdrew the slender
black-velvet box from his inner pocket and held it out to her.

“What is it?”

When she didn’t take it, he opened the box and took out the
diamond necklace. Setting the box down, he undid the clasp and, standing behind
her, draped it around her slender neck. Her eyes were so big and green as she
watched him in the mirror that he suddenly wished he’d bought her emeralds. But
diamonds went with everything and he didn’t know the color of her dress for
tonight.

He rested his hands on her shoulders and dropped a light
kiss on her throat. “Do you like it?”

Her hand went slowly up to touch the diamonds. “They’re
cold. Everybody says that and it’s true.”

His hands came down to her slender hips and he pulled her
back to lean completely against him. “I’ll buy you emeralds next time to go
with your eyes.”

“How much did this cost?”

“Never mind that,” he murmured.

“No. Really. Or don’t you know? Did Miss Prentiss buy it for
you?”

“No!” he said with more indignity than the question merited
since that was what usually happened. “I picked these out for you myself.” And
he had. Rather than asking Miss Prentiss to take care of it, he’d had the
driver stop at Tiffany’s on his way home one day and he’d bought Vanny the
diamonds himself, looking forward to her pleasure when he gave her the gift.
“If you don’t like the necklace, we can get you another.”

“How much?”

“Vanny—”

“Tell me.”

He named the price, halving what he’d actually paid for it,
starting to get the idea of where she was going.

She reached around to undo the clasp. “That’s ridiculous.”

He was genuinely astonished when she handed the diamonds
back to him. Maybe he shouldn’t have been, but he was.

“I don’t want stuff like that.”

“Presents?”

“Presents that cost more than I’ve ever earned in a single
year.”

“I can afford it.”

“Well, I can’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t want to get all girly on you here—”

“Something I’m sure you’ve never been accused of.”

“I don’t want to feel like you’re buying me.”

“I didn’t buy
you.
I bought the necklace
for
you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Yes, as subtle as you were being, I sensed that.”

“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, Michael.”

“You’re not,” he said automatically, not sure it was true.
“I just don’t understand your reasoning.”

“What if for tonight I went to Walmart and bought you a
nice, loud, cheap bow tie I really liked? Would you wear it with your tux to
the party instead of the one you have on?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you actually
have
done that. If you
haven’t, then the answer is of course I’d wear it. If you have, let me see the
tie before I answer.”

“See? It wouldn’t go with you. With who you are.”

“You’re not cheap, Vanny. You’re as rare as—” Oh God. He
wasn’t really going to tell a woman she was as rare as diamonds, was he? Worse
yet, he wasn’t going to mean it, was he?

But she didn’t seem to notice his sudden stumble. Instead,
she went to the closet and took the dress she’d brought from the dress bag,
shrugging into it. “This is what I’m wearing tonight. Do you think diamonds go
with this dress?”

She looked lovely. Radiant and natural and stunning as she
always did. But it had nothing to do with the dress. She could make a potato
sack look chic. And in this case, she had made a simple navy sheath look it.

“I paid forty bucks for this dress. It was on sale, half
off. And it suits me fine. If I put that fancy-pants necklace on top of it, I’d
feel like I was trying to be something I’m not. Worse, I’d feel like you were
trying to make me into that.”

He shook his head. “You could wear them another time.”

“You can’t turn me into the kind of girl who wears diamonds.
I’d feel silly. Like I was wearing one of those big hats they wear at royal
weddings with an ostrich feather on it or something.”

“You’d never look silly, no matter what you wore. But I
guess I see what you’re saying.” He dropped a light kiss on her lips and then
put the necklace back into its box, setting it on the dresser. “Is there
anything I can buy you, jewelry wise? Because if not, you’re depriving me of an
important part of my repertoire.”

“I don’t like jewelry. We can’t wear it on the rig. Too much
chance of it getting caught on something, so I never got in the habit of
wearing any.”

“I didn’t notice when I was on the rig.”

“That’s because you don’t wear a wedding ring. If you had,
we would have made you take it off.”

He rubbed the third finger on his left hand.
A wedding
ring…
Why the hell didn’t that thought make him scoff like it always did?

“I’ll leave you to dress and pop down to see my father so he
doesn’t drag me into business half the time tonight. I’d like a dance with
you.”

“There’ll be dancing?”

“It’s what we have a ballroom for.”

He was whistling by the time he found his father at the bar
in the library.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Have you ever considered starting a conversation with hello
once in a while? You know, just to throw me off.”

“I told Mrs. Fox to have you come see me when you got in.”

“No you didn’t. You told her to tell me where you were. Then
you assumed I would report in.”

“So?”

“So I didn’t feel like reporting in. I had better things to
do.”

“I know. I met her, remember?”

Michael’s jaw clenched.

“Uh ho ho…what’s this?”

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about Vanny.”

“Nonsense, you obviously do.”

“Fine. Please go easy on her tonight. For me.”

His father watched him then said, “I don’t believe it.”

“Did you have something you actually wanted to speak to me
about, Father? Other than my beautiful mistress.”

“She is beautiful. That’s true. And you probably don’t even
know why she’s so beautiful.”

“She won the genetic lottery. So what?”

“To
you
. Why she’s so beautiful to you.”

“She’s beautiful to everyone. Doesn’t mean I want to have
kids with her or anything.”

“Kids? Oh my God. It has. It’s happened.”

Michael poured himself a drink, ignoring his father’s
not-so-cryptic comments.

And hoping
it
hadn’t happened.

Because right about now he wasn’t so sure.

* * * * *

Across the ballroom decorated with cherry blossoms and
little white Christmas lights, Samantha Reynolds Pillay eyed her big brother’s
new girlfriend, who was standing by herself. Not what she had expected. For one
thing, the girl didn’t look much older than herself, and Michael had always
steered away from younger women. It was almost superstitious, as if he believed
the age difference was what had tripped up their father when he married
Michael’s mother, his first marriage after staying a bachelor for so long.

And for another thing, this girl was a natural beauty,
emphasis on the natural. Michael’s other mistresses may have been gorgeous as
well without makeup, but who knew? Most likely no one had ever seen them
without it.

And then there was the job. According to her father, who
sounded as if he’d done some research rather than getting it directly from
Michael, this Vanessa Donald apparently had one. Or
had.
And not a model
or an actress either. A real job. An oil driller of all things. Leave it to
Michael, though, to date possibly the only oil driller in the world who looked
as if she was a model playing an oil driller on TV.

But still it was a step up from Michael’s usual fare.

Speaking of which, his witch of an ex-girlfriend was heading
right for Vanessa.