Project Seduction (21 page)

"In which case Mr. Sykes needs to make up his mind,” Georgina said. “I've just sent the Gainsborough to Sotheby's, and there's a faded square on the dressing room wall. I need something to cover it up. That nude would be perfect."

Trenton Wakefield III turned to face the couple. His voice rang smooth and apologetic. “Mr. Sykes, if you are not quite sure, then perhaps it might be best if you let the painting go to Miss Coleman."

The blonde tugged at her companion's sleeve. “Please, Harry. I'd be real grateful. She rubbed her fingers over his arm and leaned forward to display cleavage. “Real, real grateful,” she purred.

"Sure, Claudia, sure,” the man said expansively. “It can be an early Christmas present."

"Thank you, Harry.” The blonde wiggled up on her toes and planted a kiss on the old man's cheek.

"I guess I'll have to see if anything else catches my eye,” Georgina said petulantly. She addressed her next comment to the woman. “Where's that still life?"

"I'm afraid that's also reserved.” The old man slapped his lady friend on the rump. “More suitable for the dining room, if you know what I mean."

"I guess it's not my day.” Georgina gave the art dealer a curt nod. “The least you can do is buy me a drink at the bar. Something stronger than champagne. I need it tonight."

"I'll escort you up as soon as I've dealt with Mr. Sykes's purchase. Why don't you have a look around anyway, while you wait?” He left Georgina with the artist. Next to a pile of empty packing crates in the corner, a trestle table was set up with a laptop computer and a printer. He sat down and prepared the invoices.

A few minutes later, Georgina and Trenton Wakefield III stood in the elevator on their way up to the restaurant on the first floor.

"So, you think your boyfriend's done the dirty on you?” he said. The twinkle in his eyes made Georgina's temper flare.

"He's not my boyfriend,” she said curtly.

"No need to take it out on me. Although I do owe you. I'll pay you commission. You were excellent."

"Don't bother. Just stand next to me and pretend you're with me."

"Are displays of affection required? I'd be happy to kiss you.” He sent her another amused look. “I can assure you, it wouldn't be a hardship."

Georgina found the edges of her mouth curving up. “I'll let you know,” she said. “For now, just concentrate on standing next to me and looking gorgeous."

He tugged at the lapels of his suit. “That, I can handle. By the way, it's Trent."

"I know,” Georgina told him. “With a numeral. I thought you'd look like Abraham Lincoln."

Trent roared with laughter. He was still smiling broadly when the lift came to a halt and the doors slid open. Two matronly women in floral polyester dresses waited outside. They stopped in the middle of their conversation and gaped at Trent, as though he was a Greek God stepping down from Mount Olympus.

"This way,” he said, taking Georgina's arm. “I'll buy you that drink."

The long bar was lined with mirrors that multiplied the array of bottles. Georgina asked for a glass of sherry. She ignored the people leaning against the counter. Instead, she craned her neck to inspect the dining tables through their reflection in the mirror.

Crystal and silverware glinted over white damask cloths. She failed to spot Rick in any of the occupied seats. Perhaps he wasn't there at all. Andy could have made a mistake. Georgina whirled to face the room. She scanned the tables again, less concerned now about being seen.

At the opposite end of the room tall windows that overlooked the street were framed with heavy dark drapes. Outside, the daylight had faded. Candles flickered in glass bowls over each table and cast a warm glow.

Georgina let her gaze roam. At first she carried on past Rick, not recognizing him. He sat at a table in the far corner, some twenty feet away from her. He was dressed in a boxy suit with big shoulders, and his hair was slicked back. A striking Hispanic girl wearing a low-cut petrol-blue dress sat next to him. Georgina watched as Rick bent his head to the girl and kissed her lightly on the lips. Then he dragged his mouth along her jaw and nibbled at her ear.

Georgina's lungs stopped working and she thought she was going to choke. She clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. Somehow, she got her breath back. She could still remember exactly how it had felt to be kissed by Rick like that. Now she knew it was just a move. Something he pulled out of his bag of tricks when it suited his purpose.

"Let's go,” she said to Trent. “I've seen enough."

"It's not the big guy in the awful suit, is it?” Trent said with narrowed eyes. “Georgina, I credited you with some taste. What's going on?"

"I want to leave.” Her eyes pleaded into his. “Just get me out of here before I burst into tears."

"He's not worth it. Trust me.” Trent wrapped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. “He's a fool to trade you for that floozy."

"She is beautiful,” Georgina said quietly.

"So are you,” Trent replied. Georgina could feel the gentle pressure as his lips brushed against her hair. She wanted to bury her face into his shoulder and sob until her heart stopped hurting. Instead, she squared her shoulders and fiddled with Grandma Ethel's pearls.

"That's the spirit,” Trent said. “Face him down."

"Oh no.” Georgina drew a sharp breath. “He's seen us. He's getting up. He is coming this way."

"Do you want me to kiss you? Show that bastard you're doing great without him?"

Before Georgina could reply, Rick had crossed the floor and stood next to them. “Georgina,” he said in a voice so flat it sounded dead. “What are you doing here?"

"My friend is running an art exhibition down in the business centre.” She gestured at Trent with a shaking hand. “I've been helping him. What a surprise to see
you
in here.” In the back of her mind, she stored a reminder to find something Andy wanted so badly it would allow her silence to be bought.

Rick turned to Trent. Georgina let out an audible gasp as she spotted the small gold hoop in Rick's left ear. Something inside her shifted and settled, giving her strength. Why was she getting all worked up about a man who was so obviously lacking in taste? Her heartbeat steadied, and her mind filled with a strange calm.

"Rick,” she began, but broke off with a sudden cry when he gripped her forearm so hard she knew the skin would bruise.

"Don't say my name,” he growled. “And don't mention it to your friend.” He gave her a piercing stare. “Do you understand?"

"No.” Georgina met his eyes. “As a matter of fact, I don't."

"I'm working,” Rick said. “It's not what you think."

"I don't think of anything,” Georgina said.

"Yes you do,” Rick told her. “Too frigging much. That's half the problem."

"I'm sorry if my active mind is causing you trouble,” Georgina said stiffly. “I'm afraid we have to go back downstairs. We wish you a pleasant evening."

"She works with me,” Rick said. “We're on a case."

"Who?” Georgina asked.

Rick scrubbed his face with his hands. “Christ. I don't need this tonight.” He turned to Trent. “Get her out of here.” His next words were spoken to Georgina. “I'll stop by when I get home. I'll explain the situation to you."

"You don't owe me any explanations,” Georgina said. She reached out to take Trent's hand.

Rick's gaze flicked over them both. “You're going to get one, whether you want it or not,” he said. “And you are going to get it now, in case you were planning to lock me out later.” He turned back to Trent. “Give us a few minutes.” Then he raised his hand to the girl at the table. She stood up and undulated over to them.

"Maite, can you keep company to this gentleman for a few minutes? I need to talk to my friend."

"Sure,” the girl said, eyeing Trent appreciatively. “Take your time."

Rick twisted Georgina's hand free from Trent's and pulled her behind him toward the empty table, leaving Maite and Trent at the bar. He helped her into the seat Maite had vacated, and sat down next to her. Then he leaned over and pressed his lips against her ear, and spoke in an urgent whisper.

"Maite's a cop. We're on the job. We are meeting a Colombian drug dealer. I can't talk in case the place is bugged. Microphones, cameras. They could be listening and watching. That's why I was kissing Maite. To whisper into her ear."

"I don't need to know,” Georgina said. Across the room, she could hear Trent's voice. Maite was throwing her head back, laughing at something Trent had said.

"Yes you do,” Rick told her.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

"Don't let me cramp your style,” Georgina said. Then she realized Rick was staring past her. She turned around and followed his gaze.

"Shit,” Rick said. “Don't look. Turn this way. Look at me.” When Georgina didn't follow the orders, he raised his hands and yanked her head around. He covered up the rough gesture by kissing her on the mouth. Then he slid his lips next to her ear. “That man is our target. My name is Ricardo Camacho. I'm a drug distributor from LA. You have to take Maite's place as my girlfriend. Don't give your real name. Speak as little as possible."

Then Rick let go of her and stood up. He swaggered a few steps toward a small wiry man in his sixties who approached their table. A pair of muscle-bound youths flanked the man, their alert eyes systematically sweeping the room. All three were dressed in double-breasted suits much like Rick's. A little too long in the jacket, a little too flamboyant in the cut. When Rick reached out to shake the newcomer's hand, Georgina caught a glimpse of a ring sparkling on Rick's little finger.

She tried to recall the words she'd read in The Times back in England a few months ago. It had been some column on sociological trends. Bling. That was it. Rick had turned into a chav with lots of bling.

The introductions in Spanish went over her head, both literally and figuratively. Then the four men sat down, and Rick switched to English. “This is my—"

She cut him off. “I'm Mr. Camacho's financial advisor. His banker. My name is Georgina Coleman."

"Senor Camacho needs his banker with him in order to do business?” The wiry man regarded her evenly with deep-set eyes that seemed endlessly sad. The Spanish accent was faint, with an American twang to it.

"No.” Georgina gave him a cool smile. “This is a social occasion. I was attending an art exhibition downstairs, and I came to get a drink at the bar. When I saw Mr. Camacho, I stopped by to stay hello. His girlfriend is entertaining my art dealer friend while Mr. Camacho and I talk business."

"What kind of business?” The man with the sad eyes asked. The two youths leaned back in their seats, observing Georgina in a detached manner.

"Excuse me,” Georgina said. “I didn't catch your name."

"I am Diaz."

"Mr. Diaz, I specialize in money laundering. I work for Pacific Bank, but sometimes I consult with private clients."

The sadness in the old man's eyes gave way to a hard glint. “You launder money?"

Georgina's smile widened. She shook her head. “My job is to catch people who do it. However, sometimes people find it useful to understand the methods that my job entails."

"I see.” Mr. Diaz gave a few slow nods. “Tell me, what is happening in the world of money laundering these days, Miss Coleman? It is all done with computers and wire transfers?"

"By no means,” Georgina said. “The government is making massive investments into preventing that. The treasury, the FBI, the IRS are all doing their part. Even the US postal service looks out for suspicious transactions. The IRS alone has 41 active teams to review the Suspicious Activity Reports that the banks and casinos file. The FBI uses sophisticated computer software to analyze transaction patterns. Financial institutions employ people like me to comply with reporting requirements."

Mr. Diaz lifted his thin brows. “So money laundering is finished?"

"Far from it,” Georgina reassured him. “The International Monetary Fund estimates that money laundering continues to account between 2 and 5 percent of the world's gross domestic product."

"Is cash the best?” Mr. Diaz dug in his breast pocket and pulled out a slim cigar. He sniffed at it, rolling the tubular shape longingly between his fingers. Then he slipped it back inside the pocket. “Regulations,” he said with a tone of regret. “They make life so difficult."

Georgina pursed her lips in an expression of sympathy. Then she carried on. “Cash is still the main method. The Black Market Peso Exchange system is by far the biggest process. But there's also bulk cash transport, chiefly between the US and Mexico.” Georgina leaned closer and dropped her voice to a gossipy tone. “Just last year, a Texas state trooper seized over two million dollars from a truck he stopped on Interstate 59 for speeding. The cash was hidden under boxes of frozen chicken. And did you know that since 1990, a total of 33 tunnels have been discovered along the border, mostly in Arizona. Two of them had their entrances in churches."

"What you would advise as the best method?” Mr. Diaz asked, disregarding her banter.

Georgina straightened in her seat and gave him a frosty look. “I advise my clients on how to comply with the law. It is up to them to put that information into profitable use.” She nodded at him. “If you wish to continue this conversation, let me know. Mr. Camacho can tell you how to contact me.” She stood up and extended her hand to the old man. “Good evening. It has been a pleasure to meet you.” Then she shook hands with Rick. Ignoring the two bodyguards, she walked away from the table, fighting to keep her steps steady.

When Georgina got back to the bar, she stopped in front of the girl Rick had called Maite. She caught the girl's eye and gave her an imperceptible nod. “Hello Maite,” she said. Then she laid a hand over the girl's arm, bending over to exchange an air kiss on each cheek. Maite caught on immediately. She leaned closer, holding one hand away to protect her drink.

"You're still his girlfriend,” Georgina whispered into Maite's ear. “I'm his banker. We talked money laundering. I gave my real name. It's Georgina Coleman, in case you're supposed to know."