Nobody's Angel (13 page)

“I have a friend who used to work at Nations. Hit the number for them and ask for David Wilkins.”

She hit the requested phone number. “They're called Bank of America now,” she reminded him. “A lot of people have moved on.”

He nodded curtly in acceptance of that. From this angle, she thought she detected Native American origins in his coloring, but the blade of his nose and the sharp jut of his cheekbone was pure Castilian Spanish. She suspected his height came from some redneck side of his family. She grinned at that and asked the operator for David Wilkins. Never let it be said that she was afraid of a man with a ring in his ear.

She handed the phone to him as his friend's secretary came on the line.

He scowled, eased the car to the side of the road and stopped, letting traffic flash by in the sunlight. Well, that was interesting. A lawyer who couldn't do two things at once.

She heard the wariness in his voice relax as he made an appointment. He handed the phone back without comment and watched for an opening in the traffic.

“Well, you didn't promise him your firstborn child, so I assume he's still speaking to you.”

“I saved his butt once. He owes me.”

She'd heard that before. Men had a peculiar way of keeping score. If she did someone a favor, she didn't count it as a point on her scorecard to be called in whenever she liked. Admittedly, it might be advantageous at times like this if she could.

Autumn didn't touch Charlotte this early in the season. The magnolias still gleamed emerald, the willow oaks had paled a little from their summer color, but they weren't brown yet. The decorative flower beds decorating every office and shopping center still contained the crimson red of summer geraniums and salvia. After the first frost they'd be replaced by pansies, but the sun beamed warm as they descended the ramp into the shadows of the high-rise office buildings of uptown.

“Concrete jungle,” Adrian muttered as he turned toward the financial district. “This town used to have shopping and sidewalks and parking. Now it's all concrete.”

“So is every city in the country. Get used to it.”

He found a parking place in the Seventh Street Station garage.

“Why not the bank's garage?” she complained. “We'll have to walk blocks.”

“Because I'm assuming they still give ninety minutes free here. My pocket money is limited, unless you're offering to pay.”

He opened the door and unfolded from the low seat with a groan, giving away the discomfort of last night's sleeping arrangement.

She wouldn't feel guilty. She wouldn't even like the man for coming around the car and opening the door for her. He was just being polite to get what he wanted.

“We don't look exactly impressive in wrinkled clothes.” She tugged at her rumpled skirt with distaste.

“Want to go to the airport and have the valet press them?” he joked, pressing a hand to the small of her back and practically pushing her toward the exit.

“No, I want to play the wall.” Refusing to be pushed, she halted and examined the mosaic artwork decorating the parking garage wall. The artist responsible for it had built a riddle into the pictures. The correct answer punched into lights outside the garage produced a computerized reward of chimes and flashing lights. She'd always wanted to try her hand at it.

Adrian looked at her as if she were crazy. Then glancing around, it slowly dawned on him. “The riddle. Haven't they solved it yet?”

“Yeah, but there's a new one. I never had a chance to solve the old one.” She knew she was wasting time. Tony had never let her come in here because he'd known she'd dally over the painted clues, but she thought it would be wildly satisfying to solve the puzzle and make a building chime.

“It could take hours. We'll stop on each floor and you can look, and then when we come back, you can try it out.”

Faith stared at him incredulously as he grabbed her arm and steered her toward the wall. He seemed to be as fascinated with the puzzle as she was. His eyes lit with interest and intelligence as he avidly scanned the mural. He'd probably solve it faster than she would. She was just amazed that he'd bother with something so useless.

“Come on, next floor.” He pushed her toward the exit, and they raced for the stairs.

Laughing, she shoved past him and hit the stairs running, emerging into the bright light on the next floor and hurrying to scan the clues in the mosaic before he could.

There was something freeing in just enjoying the moment, in forgetting the world and its problems and behaving like a child. She couldn't remember when she'd last laughed like this.

By the time they'd raced to the bottom floor, punched the chiming lights, and hurried up the block, they were breathless and almost late for the appointment. Adrian grabbed her hand
and together they dodged traffic and ran into the imposing office tower.

It seemed perfectly natural to be holding his hand. It shouldn't. She tugged it away as soon as the stone cold quiet of the imposing foyer hit her. She brushed at her wrinkled skirt again, wished she'd powdered her nose, and tried not to look too intimidated by her surroundings as they rushed past men in Armani and women in business-tailored suits. Tony had always been at home in marble surroundings. She'd always thought wistfully of the small-town banks of her childhood where the clerks offered her lollipops and asked about school.

“You have a smudge on your nose,” Adrian whispered wickedly as the elevator door closed behind them.

“I look like last night's leftover mashed potatoes,” she grumbled, reaching for a clean-wipe.

He licked his finger and rubbed the smudge off. “More like tousled silk sheets.”

She melted clear down to her toes. How did he do this to her? She looked into solemn dark eyes and almost believed every word they promised. She never let anyone this close to her. Then the elevator door clanged open and they stepped back into the real world.

Adrian's friend greeted him with a wariness that relaxed slightly upon sight of Faith. She didn't recognize the banker, but she recognized his readiness to accept her as helpless, witless blonde, ready to flirt. In Tony's time she would have smiled and batted her lashes and oozed honey. She didn't owe Adrian that kind of aid.

She nodded curtly, ignored the banker's hand, and took a seat without asking.

Adrian didn't even notice.

Sitting back in amazement, she watched as Adrian concentrated on spinning his tale, delivering appropriate facts judiciously and leaving out everything in between. Not once did he glance in her direction or appeal for her help. She might as well not be there for all it mattered to him.

Tony had always used her as a social icebreaker and a shield he could throw up when he felt threatened. She'd never fully understood how he'd used her until she watched Adrian step in front of her, protect her from questions, and act for her. She wasn't certain she ought to like being sheltered, but she appreciated a man prepared to assume full responsibility.

She could tell from the way Adrian's knuckles whitened as he leaned forward that he didn't like the answers the banker was giving him, but he didn't explode in a temper or throw out impatient threats of lawsuits as Tony would have done. Adrian's future lay in finding those safe deposit boxes, but he remained as calm and civil as he had from the first greeting. His tough exterior concealed a wealth of willpower. Considering she'd seen the wrong side of Adrian's temper, she thought his control nothing short of remarkable.

The banker's phone rang, interrupting the conversation. “What?” he asked curtly. Then his expression changed. “All right, tell Al just a minute.” He hung up and glanced at them apologetically. “I'm sorry. I've got an angry VIP waiting. Call if I can answer any more questions.”

The two men stood and shook hands without resolving a single issue, and Faith wanted to sit there in bewilderment and figure out what had just happened. They'd been told they couldn't get any help at all, and they were just walking out?

Stunned, she let Adrian guide her from the office. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of one of Tony's golfing buddies waiting impatiently, and shivering, she hurried to hide in Adrian's shadow. It was foolish to hide from the past, but she saw no point in causing trouble if it could be avoided.

Faith studied the grim set of Adrian's jaw and the way his mouth thinned in anger, but he didn't utter one explosive word as they rode the elevator down. If a high-powered bank officer couldn't find those deposit boxes, how the devil did Adrian think they would?

She hated to ask, but she couldn't bear his silence any longer. “What do we do now?” she whispered as they left the air-conditioned foyer for the autumn heat.

“Solve the riddle?” he asked wryly, staring at the traffic
rushing past. “Clanging bells and trumpeting chimes might just hit the spot.”

Her mood for childish games had fled with the intrusion of reality. “We could file for the death certificate, I suppose. I probably should have done that long ago.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Yeah, that's a start.”

She didn't like seeing the energy drain out of him. It was as if he'd used up all his resources in controlling his hope and anger back there, and now he'd finally faced the inevitability of defeat. Oddly, instead of using the moment to escape, she didn't want him giving up.

“The death certificate first, since we're down here,” she suggested. “Then we call the state and have them start tracing unclaimed assets, as your friend suggested.”

Faith started down the street toward the courthouse.

Adrian's long stride easily caught up with her. His long hair and earring were as out of place in the conservative tide of business suits as coconuts on an apple tree, but Faith noticed the sidelong, admiring glances he attracted from the women around them. He seemed oblivious to the attention. He was probably used to it.

“That needs to be done anyway, but then you may as well go home. I need to go back to my family. There's no point pissing into the wind.”

She grinned. Tony would never have said anything so ungentlemanly. “We may as well check the storage unit while we're at it. I can't imagine there's anything in there, but it's been years and I don't remember what I packed away.”

“Fine,” he said curtly, as if he were humoring her and hadn't kidnapped and plagued her for just that purpose.

“I know a groin punch that can bring a man to his knees,” she said conversationally.

The grim look around his eyes eased as he cast her an interested glance. “Planning on trying it on any bankers?”

“My lawyer specialty.”

Although it didn't reach his eyes, he flashed her that heart-stopping
white smile in appreciation. “Maybe I better feed you. I bet you're one of those skinny women who turn nasty when their blood sugar drops.”

“No, and I don't have PMS either. I only turn nasty when men play games with me. You kidnapped me and dragged me from my work to look for those blamed books, so don't quit on me now, Sherlock.”

This time the laughter reached his eyes. “You're kinda cute when you're riled.”

She almost smacked him until she saw the teasing lift of his lips and sunlight caught the sparkle of his earring. He'd been ground up and put through hell. She'd allow him a sulk or two.

“Fine.” She headed for a small Chinese restaurant where the food was cheap. “Now you can feed me.”

Adrian admired the way Faith continued to look brisk and breezy even after they'd climbed ten thousand steps, rode two dozen elevators, questioned three dozen officials, and ended up only a few feet from where they started. She'd knotted her shiny straight hair into a businesslike bun, and silken strands had started to escape at her nape, giving her a more vulnerable look than she probably appreciated, but she filled out the last form with a crisp flourish and turned it in without batting a lash.

Outside the glass door she slumped noticeably. “Tony's still a bastard after he's dead,” she muttered.

“Damned inconvenient of him to choose South America,” he agreed amiably, although he hoped the fiend had died painfully and horribly in some thick jungle after the plane's crash. Maybe a tribe of headhunters had found him.

She glanced at her watch. “We have time to call the state offices before they close. Did you want to do it from here, or would you rather go home?”

“Make the call.” He wasn't ready to go home. He didn't want to go home as a failure. He'd hoped to appear triumphantly, with news that all would be well, that he'd turned
things around. Telling them he was just an ex-con, an ex-lawyer, with no prospects except as a dishwasher wouldn't help anything.

When he heard her reciting her home address into the phone, he grimaced. More forms. This could take weeks. Months. What the hell would he do with himself? And she could change her mind about helping him at any moment.

She sighed as she closed the cell phone and stuffed it back into her purse. He wanted to tuck that straying piece of hair behind her ear, but he knew to keep his hands to himself. One wrong move and she'd leave him high and dry. He was used to women as window dressing. He wasn't entirely certain how to handle one who didn't want to be handled.

“It's late.” She held her hand to her back as she straightened. The concrete bench they'd chosen to sit on wasn't precisely comfortable. She glanced up at the storm clouds scuttling across the sky. “We'll have to drag boxes out of the storage unit to examine them. Is that wise at this hour?”

“You have a better idea?” Watching her breasts push against her blouse gave him plenty of ideas, none of them useful.

She didn't even seem to notice the direction of his gaze. She shoved the straying hair into a pin and watched the beginning of rush hour traffic barricade the intersection. “Why don't we look for Headley? Maybe he has some suggestions.”

Oh yeah, let's look for Headley, Adrian mocked to himself. Headley hung out in bars. Ten good stiff drinks ought to do the trick. Then he'd be out cold and it wouldn't matter what he did next.

“You spring for dinner.” With resignation, he stood and held out his hand. Might as well get used to living on welfare.