Sweet Talk (19 page)

“We will,” he assured her.

Grayson noticed a car parked in a no-parking zone just around the corner from Olivia’s apartment and called it in. The plates were registered to a woman who lived one block over. He parked in front of Olivia’s building, and she waited until he came around to get her. He was being a gentleman, but he was also protecting her. She noticed he always made himself the target whenever they walked anywhere. It was all part of his job, he’d told her. She’d argued she wasn’t the president, and he shouldn’t have to take a bullet for her, but he’d simply ignored her.

They entered her apartment building, and when the elevator doors opened on her floor, he walked out first. He took her key from her, unlocked her door, and followed her inside. After he’d checked every conceivable place for someone to hide, he came back into the living room. Just as he was taking off his coat, Ronan called.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Olivia’s.”

“Ah.”

“Ah? What the hell do you mean by ‘ah’?” he asked, inwardly cringing over how defensive he’d sounded. He went into Olivia’s study and shut the door so that he would have some privacy and said, “Look, Ronan, I know I said I was going to distance myself from this investigation . . .”

“Yeah, you did say that.”

“And you’ve gotta be thinking it’s Friday night. What am I doing in her apartment, right?”

“Actually—”

Grayson didn’t let him get any further. “I know I shouldn’t have gotten involved with Olivia, but I swear from tonight on I’ll distance myself. So stop bringing it up.”

“Grayson, what the hell’s wrong with you?”

He had the answer, but he didn’t say it out loud. Guilt. He knew what he should be doing and what he shouldn’t. Yeah, it was plain old guilt.

“Are we done?”

“Depends,” Ronan said. “If you’ve finished ranting, I’ll tell you why I called.”

Grayson leaned against the desk and closed his eyes. He had been ranting.

“Ray Martin wants a deal.”

“That son of a bitch bodyguard punches Olivia and pulls a gun on her, and he wants to deal. The hell with that.”

“You’re not being reasonable.”

Grayson knew he was right. “What does he want to deal with? What’s he got to offer?”

“He’ll give us the name of the weapons supplier and will testify against him.”

“Come on. You can’t trust—”

“He says he has proof.”

“Like what? A receipt?”

Ronan laughed. “Something like that. What do you think? If it’s legit, would you press to make a deal?”

“I can’t be objective,” he admitted, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he was appalled. He really couldn’t be objective, and how in God’s name had he allowed that to happen? Hell. “If Martin’s the bastard who tried to kill Olivia, there isn’t going to be any deal made.”

“You weren’t convinced he was the shooter,” Ronan reminded him. “Have you changed your mind?”

“No, I’m still not convinced, but as long as he remains a suspect . . .”

“Okay, I won’t argue.” He sounded resigned.

“Ronan, he punched her and pulled a gun on her. He ought to get a firing squad for that.”

“Are we still doing firing squads?”

Grayson ended the call a minute later and went into the living room. Olivia had kicked off her shoes and was sitting on the sofa with her feet up on the ottoman, her iPad in her lap. She looked up when Grayson entered the room, saw his dark expression, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

He threaded his fingers through his hair and continued to frown at her. “Listen . . .”

“Yes?”

“I just told Ronan I couldn’t be objective, and that’s just not acceptable. This can’t go on. I need to be able to concentrate on the investigation, but you’re messing with my mind, Olivia. I can’t allow that to continue.”

She put the iPad on the coffee table and sat up. “I’m what?”

“You heard me. You’re messing with my mind. I’ve got to get my focus back, stay away from you while I work. I feel like I’m missing something, some detail that might make a difference, but every time I’m with you I get sidetracked. It’s not your fault. You’re a very seductive woman.”

He thought he was giving her a compliment, but she wasn’t pleased. “I distract you.”

“Yes. Not on purpose, but, yes, you do,” he said firmly.

“What did you mean when you said you feel like you could be missing something?”

“I’m not paying attention, damn it. My focus is all screwed up. I don’t know how else to explain it. This is totally not like me. I’ve got to get back on track.”

“Okay, I’ll help.”

He almost laughed. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll help you focus. Why is that funny?”

“Olivia, you’re the problem.”

She took exception. “And you’re not? How about I won’t touch you and you won’t touch me? I have as much self-control as you do, probably more.”

He laughed. That reaction didn’t sit well.

“You think you’re stronger willed than I am? Really?”

“Of course,” he responded, as if there was no doubt.

“I’m not going to argue with you. You believe one thing; I believe another. I’m hungry for something sweet. Would you like something?”

“No,” he replied. “Tell me what you found out about Gretta Keene. Anything that might be helpful?”

Olivia got up, tossed her hair over her shoulder in what Grayson thought was a deliberately provocative gesture, and went into the kitchen. She came back a minute later with a cherry Popsicle and a plate. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

“No,” he said curtly. “Now talk to me about Keene and then I’m out of here.”

She put the plate on the table, tore the paper off the Popsicle, and said, “I just love these.”

“Gretta Keene,” he reminded her.

He watched her use the tip of her tongue to lick the side of the Popsicle.

“I’m sure Agent Huntsman knows all there is to know about Gretta, but I did discover she’s quite a micromanager. She has to oversee every detail, no matter how small.”

Her tongue slowly slid up one side and down the other. Grayson couldn’t take his gaze off her mouth. He knew what she was doing, and he was amused. Still, he couldn’t look away.

“Gretta has trust issues.” She put the tip of the Popsicle in her mouth, her full, luscious lips closing around it. Then she took a bite and chewed. She was savoring the icy cold feeling against her tongue. “She won’t move away from the money or underlings.”

“She what?” He was having a hell of a time concentrating. She was driving him crazy, and she knew it. How could eating a Popsicle be so sensual, so erotic, and such a turn-on?

She repeated what she’d just said and then took another bite. When a drop of the red juice began to slide downward, she slowly drew her tongue across her lower lip to catch it.

“Gretta wants to keep the men who work for her under her thumb at all times so none of them will branch out on their own and become competitors. There was one employee who went against her orders, and she made an example of him. He was tortured before he was killed. I think she’s here because she has to watch Jorguson, especially if a lot of her money is going through his firm.”

Olivia sucked the last bit of the Popsicle into her mouth and put the stick on the plate.

Grayson watched her carry her plate back into the kitchen. He loved the way her hips moved when she walked. Reluctantly, he reached for his coat and pulled it on.

“I’ll check in every now and then,” he said, his voice gruff. “But you don’t go anywhere alone. Got that? You call one of the numbers and get one of your guards to go with you.”

She walked him to the door. “For how long do I have to—”

“For as long as is necessary,” he said. “And by the way, your little seduction didn’t work.”

His restraint was rapidly shredding, and it was taking all of his concentration to keep from grabbing her.

She didn’t act innocent or protest that she didn’t know what he was talking about. She stepped out of his way so he could leave, waited until he was closing the door, and then whispered, “Oh, I think it did.”

NINETEEN

A
week had gone by without a word from Grayson. Olivia kept telling herself she was happy and relieved that he’d stayed away. She was feeling guilty for the seduction game she played with the Popsicle. It wasn’t really fair. He was just trying to do his job, and their relationship was getting in the way. They had been acting like horny teenagers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and it had to stop. It wasn’t right for either of them. Grayson had his job to think about, and she had her heart to think about. She was getting too emotionally involved, and since the relationship couldn’t go anywhere, separating herself was the only decent thing to do.

She wondered if he would ever get married and decided that, yes, of course he would. He’d probably have children, too. He should, anyway, because he would be such a great father. He was so loving and patient with Henry.

Every time she thought about her bleak future, she’d get depressed, and yet she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it. Others might try to convince her that she could have a normal, happy life with a marriage and a family, but she knew better. She had seen the anxiety and suffering that illness could cause, and just the mere possibility that it could rear its ugly head again, as she feared it had done with Jane, made her determined never to let anyone she cared about go through that heartache and sacrifice.

On Friday evening Emma called and insisted that Olivia have dinner with her. Olivia was delighted to have the chance to get out of her apartment for an evening, but that meant she had to call one of her guards to drive her. She had promised. All five guards were nice, polite gentlemen who took their job seriously, but she was getting sick and tired of having to rely on them. She longed to be able to get in her car and go wherever she wanted whenever she wanted. Boring but necessary chores, like grocery shopping or picking up her dry cleaning, now appealed to her. Even though she hated shopping for clothes, she needed a new pair of running shoes, but a trip to the mall was out of the question because there was always the worry of bullets flying all over the food court while the man who wanted her dead tried a second time to kill her.

Her patience was running out, yet every time she was close to throwing up her hands and yelling, “Enough already,” she’d get a look at herself in the mirror and see the raw bullet scars. She’d then decide she needed to be patient a little longer. Besides, the FBI wouldn’t be paying for protection unless they felt there was a real threat. Right?

Ronan accidentally let the cat out of the bag. He called with a question about Simmons, Simmons and Falcon. He wanted to know how long the firm had been working with Olivia’s father. She didn’t have the answer but said she’d try to find out for him.

“While I have you on the phone, I’d like to ask you something,” she said.

“Okay.” Ronan was sure she was going to ask about Grayson.

“The FBI wouldn’t be paying for these bodyguards if—”

Before thinking, he said, “They aren’t paying. They stopped. . . . I mean to say . . .”

Olivia sat up straight, bristling at what he was trying not to tell her. “Who’s paying the bodyguards?” There was no immediate reply, so she asked, “It’s either Grayson or Emma, isn’t it? Tell me.”

Ronan sighed. “Grayson’s paying.” He rushed to add, “He wants to keep you safe, Olivia.”

“Yes, I know. Did you have any other questions?”

Ronan heard the stiffness in her voice. “It doesn’t matter who’s paying. If you go anywhere, you call for a bodyguard first. Understand?” he said sternly.

“Good night.”

“Olivia . . .” he began, but it was too late. She was gone.

She found her car keys, locked the door after her, and took the elevator down to the garage. What an idiot she was, not to have figured it out sooner. If she truly needed a bodyguard, the FBI would have continued to provide the protection. How dare Grayson do this behind her back! She could take care of herself.

By the time she reached her car, she began to calm down. Maybe she was being too hard on Grayson. After all, he’d obviously acted out of concern. He felt there was still a threat out there, and he wanted to protect her. True, his intentions were good, but he should have been honest with her, shouldn’t he? She made up her mind to pay him every dollar he’d spent on the bodyguards. Only then would her pride be salvaged.

She would prove that she could be cautious and self-sufficient. She wouldn’t allow herself to be blindsided again.

She took caution to a whole new level. She carried her pepper spray in one hand and held her key fob in the other, one finger hovering over the panic button. She even checked to see if there were any red lights blinking under the car or in the backseat. Killing someone with a bomb wasn’t all that unusual. She wasn’t being paranoid; she was being smart. She even made certain she wasn’t being followed and took several side streets to get to her aunt’s house. She arrived alive and well.

Mary had set the table in the dining room. She and Harriet stayed in the kitchen, no doubt to eavesdrop because they knew the topic was going to be Olivia’s father.

Emma greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. Her aunt always looked so put together. Olivia had never seen her in what she called casual clothes, and the thought of Emma putting on a pair of jeans made her smile. It was such an outlandish picture. Tonight Emma wore a fitted charcoal-gray wool dress with a high round neck. The skirt was straight and ended just below the knees. Her mid-heel shoes matched the dress exactly. They were a beautiful suede. Her only jewelry was her wedding ring—she’d never taken it off after Daniel died—and a jeweled broach in the shape of a hummingbird. Standing next to her, Olivia felt like a hobo.

She straightened her sweater and said, “I should have taken the time to put on a dress, but I had only just changed out of my clothes from work when you called.” She realized she was making excuses and paused. “I should have changed out of these jeans at least.”

“You’re fine, dear. You worry too much, but then you always have been a worrier. Come sit and we’ll have dinner.”

Olivia didn’t have much of an appetite. Two fudge bars and a grape Popsicle had dampened it. Olivia loved junk food, mostly freezing-cold junk food. It was a dark secret only her friends knew about. The cold had soothed the sores in her mouth after the chemotherapy, and ever since, she craved the icy sweet comfort. Half of her freezer was stuffed with Dove bars, Fudgsicles, Popsicles, and various flavors of ice cream. The other half was reserved for Mary’s healthy casserole dishes.

Tonight, Mary had prepared a roast turkey with root vegetables for dinner. She entered the dining room with a large platter and held it for Olivia to serve herself. Olivia didn’t want to hear Mary tell her she was too thin and needed to put some meat on her bones, as she had often done in the past, so she took a portion of everything and said, “This smells wonderful.”

After Mary returned to the kitchen, Emma said, “Catch me up. What have you been doing?”

Having sex with Grayson, thinking about having sex with Grayson, and having more sex with Grayson.
Emma would be horrified if Olivia blurted out those thoughts.

“I’ve been doing some research on a few of the names connected to Eric Jorguson.” She then explained who and why, and when she was finished, Emma asked several questions.

“It was a wasted effort,” Olivia told her. “Aside from the fact that I made myself sick reading all the awful things these monsters have done, I couldn’t find anything that might help Agent Huntsman.”

“What else have you been up to?”

“Trying to figure out who shot me. And work has been busy.” She put her fork down and talked a bit about her job.

Emma asked, “What about your father? What have you done about him?”

“I’ve sort of put him on the back burner . . . it’s so frustrating,” she admitted. “Word has gotten out that I’m trying to stop him and . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence. Time for some honesty, she decided. “I’ve been seeing Grayson,” she began.

Emma didn’t seem surprised. She smiled.

“You knew?” Olivia asked.

“Yes, dear. You were explaining why you’ve put your larcenous father on the back burner,” she reminded.

Olivia felt cowardly because she didn’t want to admit to her aunt that she feared the repercussions of the truth, that when it all came out and her father was arrested and charged, life would change dramatically. There was going to be such anger, such hate, and it would all be directed at her family. Her father would be safe behind bars and probably become a celebrity with the other prisoners because of his oh-so-clever scams, but the rest of them would be fair game for the press and for all those people who had lost their life savings. Even though Olivia knew it had to be done, she dreaded what was coming.

“There’s a young man sitting in a jail cell waiting to go to trial for a crime your father committed,” Emma said.

Olivia was surprised. “Jeff Wilcox? Why is he in jail?”

“He was arrested. The prosecutors feel they have enough to convict him.”

“Didn’t the court set bail?”

“Yes, but they’ve revoked it. I asked Mitchell to check into it, and he says they’re trying to force Jeff into making a deal, but he’s refused, and so they’ve come up with some excuse to keep him in jail until his court date.”

“Who is Mitchell?”

“Mitchell Kaplan is one of my attorneys. He’s also a financial adviser and a dear friend. I believe you’ve met him.”

If she did, she didn’t remember. “Is he representing Jeff?”

“No. Jeff’s attorney is Howard Asher. Mitchell said he’s a deal maker. That’s all Asher does, make deals, and ninety-nine percent of them are bad deals. He’ll do anything to stay out of court. Mitchell told me that Asher doesn’t know what he’s doing. A public defender would have been a better choice. Jeff doesn’t have the resources to fight this. He doesn’t have any income, and his poor wife is at home trying to hold on until this is all sorted out.” She stared at Olivia a long minute and then said, “And you, young lady, are just the one to sort this all out, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.”

“No more back burner . . .”

“No.”

Emma nodded. “I feel responsible for what’s happened to Jeff. Your father used Jeff’s friendship with me to get close to him. Did you know, if it does go to trial, your father is going to testify against Jeff?”

Olivia was beginning to feel the familiar tightness in the pit of her stomach again. “No, I didn’t know.”

“Your father won’t want it to go to trial. It would bring too much attention to him, and heaven forbid, his attorneys might not be able to keep his records hidden.”

“I promise you, my focus is back where it should be.”

Focus
. That was the word of the week. Grayson had told her he needed focus. She did, too. He’d also told her he felt as though he could be missing something because he hadn’t been giving the investigation his full attention. She’d distracted him. Now she felt the same way. She had allowed Grayson to distract her from her investigation into her father’s dealings.

“I’m going to help,” Emma continued. “Mitchell Kaplan is one of the best attorneys in the country, and investment fraud is a specialty. He’s agreed to take this case on, but you have to hire him. Mitchell made me promise that I would step back from this. He believes if my financial assets are in any way connected to this, your father will try to attach them.”

Olivia agreed. “He’s been trying to get your money into his Trinity Fund for a long time now.”

“I would say there’s a love/hate relationship between us, but the fact is, there has never been any love.” Emma pushed her plate aside and, sitting back in her chair, folded her hands on the table. With a steady voice of authority she said, “I have an unwritten agreement with Mitchell, but you need to give him a small retainer. After this is all over, I’ll transfer money into your account to pay his full fee. I can’t do that now, though, because—”

“It could come back to you.”

“It probably will anyway, dear, but it’s best not to have a paper trail leading to my door. I also want you to give Jeff’s wife a check, enough to make ends meet. Do you have enough to do that?”

Olivia nodded. “Yes,” she said. And if she ran out of money before this was sorted out, she would take out another mortgage on her apartment. Whatever it took, she would make things right.

“You need to go see Jeff as soon as possible, before any deals are made.”

“I’ll go tomorrow.”

“Take a check over to Mitchell on your way. I’ll give you his card.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” she reminded. “Will he be in his office?”

“Yes, he will, and he’s expecting you at ten o’clock. You could messenger the check over, but I’d like you to meet him, and he certainly wants to meet you.”

She didn’t ask why. “What about Jeff? Does he know what you’re doing?”

“What
you’re
doing,” she corrected. “And the answer is no. You’re going to have to explain it all to him.”

“I’m a MacKenzie. How am I going to get him to trust me?”

Emma smiled. “You’ll find a way.”