MIND READER (17 page)

Keeping her expression passive, she accepted Charles
Nivens’s outstretched hand—and sensed guilt—and the reason for it. The stoic Mr. Nivens was having an affair
.

Surprised, Caron met his gaze. He hadn’t seemed the type. He stepped out on his wife, but he was faithful to his work; she knew that the moment she saw his eyes.

The men sat down in traditional wingback chairs across
from the sofa. The fire in the grate snapped, and a log
crunched, shooting a spray of sparks up the chimney.

Parker nodded. “I don’t believe in wasting time—yours or ours—so I’ll get right to the point, gentlemen.”

“Yes, sir.”

Forrester alone had answered. Caron didn’t like him. She didn’t like Cheramie, either. She wasn’t sure why... yet. Did
it have anything to do with Misty?

Parker sent Caron a look so warm it conjured up a stellar flush inside her. “My wife and I are seeking a broker to handle some of our stock transactions. We’re considering all three of you. What we want are your personal dossiers
and a status report on all the accounts you’ve handled in the
last, oh—what do you think, darling? Five years?”

He didn’t believe in being timid. Or in asking for just the
sun, not when the moon and stars, too, were hanging there,
ripe for the plucking. Forrester’s brazen attitude had irked her, but Parker’s seemed second nature, unassuming. Admiring him for that, she nodded. “Five years sounds rea
sonable, darling.”

Parker smiled at her, then looked at the men and sobered. “Five years.”

Mr. Nivens lifted a haughty brow. “Releasing personal
information is a violation of the Privacy Act, Mr. Simms.”

“Only if a third party releases it, Mr. Nivens. The typical prospectus is too dry— Boring is deadly, don’t you agree?” Without waiting for an answer, Parker went on. “We don’t require your client’s names or copies of their portfolios, only proof of how you’ve managed those portfolios.” Parker leaned back. “The information is a requisite. We dabble with roughly ten million. But we won’t spend a dime with people we don’t know and trust.”

Eager, Forrester leaned forward on his chair. “If you
have a few minutes,
I’ll
get the information together.”

Brian Cheramie jumped on the train. “So will I.”

Mr. Nivens stood. “My client list is full at present, but
thank you for thinking of me.”

Parker nodded, avoiding Caron’s gaze.

She understood why Mr. Nivens felt compelled to with
draw. His wife’s family was Mafia-connected. Mafia-entrenched, more accurately, straight from Sicily. Nivens was an outsider with an ill wife. That prohibited him the right afforded married “family” men to dally in affairs. If they learned of his infidelity, the family would take it as a
personal slight. And Charles Nivens feared the costs of of
fending the family.

Under the circumstances, Caron deemed that wise.

The gleam in Forrester’s eyes, and in Cheramie’s, Caron catalogued with one word:
greed.
Rubbing Parker’s arm,
she focused, hoping to sense a connection between Decker
and one of the men. Both wanted the account, and would
do anything to get it. That sensation came through loud
and clear. But nothing came that connected either of them
to Misty.

It was
their
focus that was limiting her. They had blocked
all thoughts not pertaining to acquiring the Simms account.

Reaching down, she rubbed the tender spot in her leg.
Misty? Again Caron saw the little girl crouched down in the
corner of the tool shed. And again Caron’s heart ached. She had to try harder, she told herself. She couldn’t let Misty end up like Sarah.

A knock on the office door had the men falling quiet.

Jillian ducked her head in. “Pardon me.” She looked at
Forrester. “I’m sorry, sir, but you have an urgent call.”

“Thank you.” Forrester stood. “If you’ll excuse me?”

Caron watched him leave. Something in his swagger, in the tilt of his head, alerted her senses. And, though she had
no proof, instinctively she knew he was their connection.

She forced herself to be patient for a few moments, then
interrupted the talk between Parker and Brian Cheramie.
“Darling,” she said, “I’ll be right back.”

The men stood when she did, and Caron left the office. The look in Parker’s eye said he wasn’t surprised.

She walked down a short hallway and heard Forrester
speaking to someone.

“Vanessa,” he said, “will you stop panicking?”

The phone, Caron realized. He was on the phone. She checked to make sure no one had entered the hallway behind her, then stepped closer to Forrester’s office door, pretending to be interested in the artwork lining the wall.

“Come on, sugar,” he said in a cajoling tone that grated
on Caron’s nerves. “Now isn’t the time for cold feet. We’re
almost home free.”

A shiver streaked up Caron’s spine. An image was coming. She could feel herself tottering on the brink.

“Mrs. Simms?”

Jillian!

Caron jerked, then lifted her foot to check her pump. Forcing it to wobble, she looked up into the receptionist’s
cold gray eyes. “Yes?”

“Broken heel?”

“No, it’s just loose.” She didn’t wear pumps often, and her arches ached like the dickens.

“The conference room is this way.” She pointed toward
the office Caron had left.

“Yes, it is.” Caron slid her a saccharine smile. “But the ladies’ room is that way.” She pointed in the opposite di
rection.

“Shall I show you?” Jillian’s eyes hadn’t warmed.

She knew Caron had been listening in on Forrester. Fak
ing bravado, Caron smiled. “I can manage.”

Jillian stood waiting. Caron waddled like a duck to the ladies’ room, waited a minute, then exited.

When she returned, Parker, Forrester and Cheramie were
standing outside the conference room door.

“Are we leaving already, darling?” Caron asked.

“Yes.” He held up two folders. “I spoke with Mr. Niv
ens, but
he’s elected not to participate.”

“
Well, I’m sure we’ve found our broker.” She deliber
ately focused on Forrester and took Parker’s arm.

“I’m sure we have.” Parker looked at Cheramie.

Nothing like a little competition to bring out the fangs, Caron decided. Parker was clever. Now, if he’d dangled a one-million-dollar account before the men, rather than a mind-boggling ten-million-dollar one that usurped their every thought, then she would have thought him brilliant.

He started toward the door, and Caron glanced back at the two men. Certain they would hear, she sweetened her voice and said, “I rather like that Mr. Forrester, darling.”

“Cheramie’s our man, my love.”

Parker had given her a license to flirt. Using it, Caron nuzzled closer and fingered the hanky in his pocket. “I suppose I’ll have to change your mind, then. I really do want Forrester. He has an excellent crease in his slacks.”

“Maybe I’ll change your mind.” Parker looked down at her, his eyes twinkling that beautiful dove gray. “Forrester has creases, but Cheramie’s an aggressive broker.” Parker dropped his voice to a husky growl. “We both know how
much you appreciate aggressiveness.”

She stopped and stroked his lapel with her fingertip.
“Now, honey, I’m sure Mr. Forrester’s aggressive, too.”

Parker dropped his voice so that only she could hear. “Kiss me, Caron—to make it look good.”

The kiss wasn’t for Forrester and Cheramie, and Parker and Caron both knew it. But, since it was the handy excuse she’d been looking for since the Mr. and Mrs. Mud Boots incident, Caron covered his mouth with hers. His hand at her waist tightened, and he let out a little grunt of
approval.

“How’s that?” she asked, giving him a genuine smile.

He smiled back. “Better.”

Caron focused. The image came easily. Behind them, Forrester and Cheramie stood watching...and smiling. Parker had been right about this ruse, too. He held the personal dossiers on both Forrester and Cheramie, didn’t
he?

Before the door leading outside closed behind them, an upright Fred had the rear door to the limo open. Caron slid in, kicked off her pumps and wiggled her toes. She could get used to this curbside service. And more so, she feared,
to Parker’s kisses.

When he settled beside her, she let out a relieved breath, glad the charade was over and eager to measure its success.

“I’ll take Forrester.” She reached for the file. “You take
Cheramie.”

“First things first.” He took her hand. “You make a lousy airhead, Caron.”

“Excuse me?”

“You were supposed to act dippy.”

She frowned, trying to keep her temper tamped. “I told you I didn’t want to playact. It goes against my grain.”

He gave her a doubtful look that quickly changed to a smirk. “I guess we’ll have to practice that, too.”

That tilt was curling his lip again. Torn between biting it
and kissing it, she frowned. But before she could decide, Parker tapped on the glass between them and Fred.

It glided open. “Police headquarters,” Parker said.

Caron’s stomach lurched. Watching the glass slide back
into place, she felt something inside her closing, too. For a
while, she’d been able to push aside the fact that someone meant to kill her. But she couldn’t deny it anymore.

Parker lifted the car phone and passed it over, his soft voice insistent. “Let Sanders know we’re on our way.”

Acknowledging the incident by signing a statement somehow would make it more real, more menacing. She
licked her lips, her hand hesitant.

“You have to face it, Caron.” The receiver in one hand, Parker opened Cheramie’s file and thumbed through the pages with his free one. “Then you can start to heal.”

He understood her feelings, the sense of violation that was eating away at her. “I know. It’s just—” She paused,
searching for the right word to describe how inadequate she
felt facing a second unknown enemy.

“Disconcerting?” Parker suggested.

“Yes.”

His voice lowered a decibel. “You could drop your in
vestigation.”

Caron cringed and rubbed her arch with her other foot.
“I can’t just forget that Misty’s in trouble, Parker. What kind of woman would that make me?”

“Then take the phone.”

Staring at the receiver, she forced her fingers to wrap
around the cold, hard plastic. Her hand shook. Cursing the
tremor, she dialed Sandy’s number.

Parker wasn’t watching her. She appreciated that
thoughtfulness. He was studying Brian Cheramie’s file, but
she didn’t fool herself; he’d listen intently to every syllable
she uttered. And if their positions were reversed, so would
she.

Parker flipped the page and, without a word, lifted her foot onto his thigh and began massaging her arch. She
nearly purred. Did he even realize what he was doing? No,
she decided. His brows knitted, he scanned the page, his focus and his attention completely on Cheramie.

She stretched and replaced the phone. “No answer.”

“Here’s our man,” Parker said, then passed the file to her. “Cheramie.”

His fingers still working their soothing magic on her foot,
Caron read through the file, then reread it. “I’m not sure. Just because he’s been in trouble before doesn’t mean he’s
doing anything wrong now.” She dropped the file in her lap
and rubbed her leg. “My money’s on Forrester.”

“Why?”

“Just a feeling.” Parker was looking at her calf. Caron
moved her hand back to the file. “Forrester’s too eager, for
one thing. For another, his dossier makes no mention of a wife, and the man’s definitely married. He was wearing a
wedding band.”

“A ten-million-dollar account can make a man eager.”

“Not Nivens.” Inhaling the smell of the leather, she
inched down in the seat. “And even for a ten-million-dollar account, Forrester’s
too
eager.” She tilted her head. “I was
sensing something about him. I almost had it...”