Vengeance (13 page)

"Do you know him?" Lucinda asked in a low voice.

I jerked my eyes away from Meyer to her. "No. Why do you ask?"

"It seemed to me that you and he knew each other." She ruffled the pages of the prospectus. "Are you really going to read this? I can tell you, I don't care how good it looks on paper. I'm not going to give Robert Masterson any of my shares in this company. Never."

Before I could answer, John Fairchild paused next to us on his way out of the room. "I'll be curious about your evaluation of Dr. Masterson's offer, Mr. Haidess. Can I give you a call and we can chat about it later this week?"

"Of course." I extracted a business card from my case and handed it to him. I glanced at Jeff Delacroix, who was talking to his sister at the doorway to the conference room. "Are you also an advisor?"

Fairchild pocketed my card. "You could say that. Thank you." He left the room, Kathryn and Jeff in his wake.

Lucinda popped to her feet next to me. "I don't believe this." She pushed back her chair so hard it went scooting behind her. "Why does he think he can walk in here and act like God?"

"Why don't we go to your office and talk?" I plucked the prospectus from her and tucked it into my briefcase. "Somewhere private."

Frowning, she led the way down a short hallway to a large office with faux maple furniture in a light, simple style. The window faced out onto the nearby freeway where cars were jockeying for position on an on-ramp. Much of yesterday's snow had vanished, melted by the sun. Pale green shimmered among the trees. I could even see a patch of open water on a lake in the distance. Spring was near.

Lucinda gestured to a guest chair and sat behind the desk. File folders in bright primary colors were stacked in an organizer next to a candy dish depicting two M&M characters, Yellow balancing on Red's shoulders and holding up the bowl. Her pencil cup was a flowerpot and several toys sat on the desk surface, probably fast food kid-meal freebies from the looks of them. A framed and autographed Eric Clapton poster was on one wall opposite what appeared to be an amateurish watercolor of a lake and a house in the distance. A computer monitor and a laptop sat on her desk next to several framed photographs.

She flopped into her desk chair and swiveled to poke at the candy bowl.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"There's yellow, blue and green left for the week. I measure out the colors according to serving size. That's useful information to know if you're counting calories."

"You're counting calories?"

Her dimples flashed at me as she took a plump yellow M&M, cracking into it and obviously savoring its chocolatey goodness. "I have a few pesky pounds I'm trying to lose."

I shook my head. She was perfect as is. Didn't she know that? "Women." I relaxed back. "They're always worried about their weight."

She frowned at me and I realized how patronizing it sounded. I hurried on. "Can I take that copy of the prospectus?"

Waving her hand, she poked through the candies, pulling out another yellow one. "I'll get another copy from Cara. What do you think is behind Robert's motivation? I'm sure he doesn't have the best interests of the company at heart."

"Why do you say that?"

"He hasn't shown interest in the company until recently. His father started this company with my father, back in the Sixties. When his father died, Robert was overseas, living with his mother. Robert dropped out of sight, then we found out he'd gotten his medical degree and worked in research at several prestigious universities. When he expressed an interest in the company, he was offered a position here." Lucinda tapped the desk with a fat pen topped by a pink plastic pig. "I doubt if he's really interested in seeing the company 'get to a new level' or whatever bullshit it was that Cara said."

I was startled and she saw it on my face. "What? Did you think I'd be taken in by Robert's handsome face?" She swept me with one sharp stare. "Why do people assume women are bowled over by some stud who comes along?"

"I beg your pardon? Did you just call me a stud?"

She made an exasperated noise. "You know what I mean. You and Cara act like I lose all reason around a handsome man. Why would I fall for a guy just because he's good looking?" She narrowed her eyes, shooting me a glare. "Unless you think I should be happy that handsome men are paying attention to me. Is that it? I should be grateful?"

I stared at her in bewilderment. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" she snapped.

"I can't say a thing without being in a compromising position."

Her slow smile made me shiver. "Why, Nico. Have I compromised you?"

I leaned forward. "Not yet, but I'll give you the opportunity. Have dinner with me tonight, at my house."

"What?" She drew back, startled.

"I'm an excellent cook. It will be much easier to talk about Dr. Masterson's proposal over dinner, at my house, rather than the restaurant--remember? You were going to dine with me? We'll discuss the proposal over a home-cooked meal. And I'll even let you compromise me."

Lucinda's changeable gray eyes warmed and her cheeks flushed. "I'm not sure. I think you're dangerous."

"Please." I held up a hand. "You've made it clear that you can resist me quite easily." I picked up my briefcase and stood, leaning over the desk to look down at her. "Say yes. I promise I won't be too easy."

"I don't think so."

I saw my chance slipping away. "Then come to dinner tomorrow night. My neighbors are having a potluck. You'll be safe with me in a crowd. Please? Save me from their matchmaking. They're always trying to fix me up with someone. Please."

She was a second away from agreeing when a knock sounded on the door and Cara walked into the room. I slowly straightened. "You're still here?" she asked, her gaze going from Lucinda to me.

"I'm just leaving." I glanced at Lucinda. "I'll call you later and we'll discuss our plans."

She shook her head. "I can't. I'm sorry. But please call. I'd like to talk about the proposal."

I almost cursed at the smug look on Cara's face. "We'll talk," I promised Lucinda. As I passed Cara, she brushed against me deliberately. I smelled a musky, heady aroma, but I was too angry to care at the moment.

I took the stairs down to the parking lot, swinging my briefcase and planning the phone call with Lucinda in my mind. This flirtation with her was dangerous, but I was enjoying myself. But to be truthful, I was glad to be alone. I needed time to think. As I got behind the wheel of the Jag, my mobile phone rang. I opened it, expecting to hear Parker Madison's voice.

"Please listen to me, Mr. Haidess. My name is David Delacroix."

I froze in place, my car key poised over the ignition. "David Delacroix is dead."

"Like Mike Hayden is dead? Nick Hayes is dead? Mark Hatcher is dead?"

I struggled to control my shock. Those were aliases I used in the last century. No one should know anything about those identities except me.

"You've been hired to murder my daughter. I'll pay you an equal amount not to kill Lucinda. If you persist, I'll see to it that you're exposed. I'm almost certain there's a government lab somewhere that would love to get their hands on you."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I said the words automatically as my mind sifted and considered possibilities.

"Please, Mr. Haidess. We don't have much time. I know you've been assigned to kill Lucinda in five days. Neither you nor I want that. Let's work together to prevent it."

"How do you know I don't want to kill Lucinda?" Belatedly, I realized my mistake. I shouldn't have asked that question first. "How do I know you're David Delacroix?"

"Ask Robert Meyer."

I closed my eyes and leaned against the leather seats, the dappled sun warming the car. I smelled moist earth outside, a welcome change from winter's sterile coldness. I was dizzy with memory and the flickering shadows that danced on my face. "We need to talk."

Delacroix laughed softly. "Indeed. We do. Tonight."

"Sooner."

"No. Tonight. I'll call you."

"I'm hoping to have dinner with your daughter."

My words gave him pause. "I suppose it's futile to say this, but I hope you'll be a gentleman with her."

I laughed bitterly. "Why should I?"

Another pause. "Because I don't believe you've lost your humanity yet. I'll talk to you later." The phone went dead in my hand.

"Mr. Haidess!"

Kathryn Delacroix was hurrying across the parking lot toward me. I got out and leaned on the door. "Miss Delacroix," I said in acknowledgement when she neared me.

"Mr. Haidess, I want to talk to you about Robert's proposal." She was breathless, as much from her speed as from her stocky frame. It was amazing that she was related to Cara or Lucinda. Kathryn was plain, bordering on ugly, with a long face, dark eyebrows and unattractive, blunt-cut, red-black hair bundled behind her ears.

"What about Dr. Masterson's proposal?" I was barely paying attention, my thoughts on David Delacroix. He supposedly died fifteen years ago. I'd skimmed his obituary online. Of course, I more than anyone knew how easy it was to fake a death, but I had no indication that Delacroix's death was anything but real. The obit said he died of complications from pneumonia.

"I haven't been in touch with my family for several years," she said, crossing her arms on her ample bosom. "We had a bit of a falling out. However, I've stayed current on what is happening at the company. I think you should know that things aren't all that seem with Delacroix Labs. There are events being set in motion that could have a larger impact than just a small family business changing ownership." She glanced back over her shoulder. I followed her gaze and saw Meyer, watching us from the glass foyer of the office building's entrance.

"I'm not sure I understand what you're saying," I said slowly.

She edged slightly closer to me. "I'm aware of your past association with Dr. Masterson," she said in a low voice.

"I beg your pardon?" I looked at Meyer, whose face was partially hidden by a shadow from the overhang of the building. "What did he tell you?"

"He didn't tell me anything. Let's just say that..." She appeared to be choosing her words with care. "I'm concerned about my aunt. I've made it a point to find out about anyone close to her."

"I just met your aunt yesterday," I pointed out. How the hell could she have found out I was close to Lucinda? Then I remembered. Lucinda had talked to Cara about me last night. "Was it your aunt? Your other aunt?"

She looked briefly disconcerted then nodded. "Yes." She glanced back again and when she turned to face me, there was a steely determination in her gaze that surprised me. Kat Delacroix was far more interesting than I gave her credit for. "When you read Dr. Masterson's proposal, I hope you'll keep in mind that selling to him might have far larger consequences than just an effect on the company."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're implying."

"Just be careful in your evaluation." She turned to walk back to the building. "Robert Masterson is not what he seems."

"Neither are you," I said softly.

She glanced back at me. "And neither are you." She smiled enigmatically.

I opened the door and slid into the car. I saw her hurry back to Meyer and they had a conversation, his head tipped down to talk to her. She glanced back once at me then hurried into the building. He watched me as I drove out of the parking lot.

I wanted to be prepared for the neighborhood potluck in case Lucinda changed her mind, so I drove to Kowalski's, an upscale grocery 'emporium' on the way home. My mind churned through the odd conversation with Kat Delacroix, but her words made no sense. If Meyer wanted to buy into a medical company, what other implications could it have? Why was she warning me? More to the point, what was she warning me about?

I drove on autopilot as I struggled with those questions, soon pushing them aside as immediately unanswerable. I turned my attention to Delacroix, trying to remember his obit. It wasn't until I got to the store that I remembered. He died in New York on a business trip after a brief illness. So it could have been faked. It wouldn't have been easy, but it wasn't impossible. If Meyer was working at a hospital, he could have been there, certified the death and handled the disposal of the 'remains,' all before the family arrived.

Perhaps the family had been involved. This thought made me stop in the middle of the produce aisle, a pomegranate in hand. What if they all knew about Meyer's virus? What if this was an elaborate plot of some kind? As soon as I considered it, I dismissed the idea. There was no reason for David Delacroix to fake his death. He'd been a relatively young man, in his late fifties. He could have remained with the company for several more years with no one suspecting that he was injected with Meyer's potion, if indeed that was what happened.

I put the pomegranate in my basket and went to the dairy aisle, passing a display for Easter featuring
The Velveteen Rabbit
next to egg-decorating kits. On impulse I picked up the small book and the accompanying stuffed animal. Then I got two egg-dye kits, one promising "tie-dyed eggs in fluorescent colors with nifty stickers in fun shapes." I couldn't resist. I gathered the ingredients for lasagna and tiramisu, made my purchases and I was back on the road in twenty minutes.