Читать книгу Next To Nothing! - Barbara Dunlop - Страница 8

“HE STILL OUT THERE?” Jenna McBride watched as her business partner, Candice Hammond, crossed in front of the waterfall fountain in the hospital’s new atrium lobby.

“Short guy?” asked Candice, her high heels clicking on the freshly finished sienna tile floor. “Balding. Doesn’t know polyester is dead?” She spoke loudly enough to be heard above the rushing water.

“That’s him.” Jenna snapped her pencil into the clasp at the top of her Canna Interiors clipboard. The closed-for-construction lobby was nearly empty now that most of the workers had left for the day. “Where on earth did Brandon find that guy?”

Jenna’s partner in Canna Interiors arched her perfect eyebrows, her dark lips curving up in a half smile that revealed the dimple in her left cheek. “One-nine-hundred aging gumshoe?”

Jenna shook her head and raked her auburn, shoulder-length hair back from her forehead. She was hot from working all day, and a fine sheen of sweat dampened her hairline.

“I can’t believe he’s still trying.” She’d finally broken off her engagement to Brandon four months ago. Then she’d moved from Boston to Seattle to put some distance between them.

“You always did live in denial,” said Candice as she settled on the bench facing the fountain, crossing one stocking-clad leg over the other. “Ol’ Brandon’s like the Energizer Bunny.”

“Not in bed,” scoffed Jenna, surprising herself with the moment of pithy honesty.

Candice’s eyes lit up with newfound admiration and humor. She sat slightly forward. “You’ve come a long way, baby.”

“Because I no longer think the sun rises and sets on Brandon Rice?” Jenna took a seat at the opposite end of the bench, curling one denim-covered calf beneath the opposite leg and setting her clipboard down next to her purse.

It was embarrassing to realize she’d been taken in so easily, and for such a long time. Naive and gullible. Book smart and life stupid. That was Jenna.

“Because you can finally admit he was a loser in bed,” said Candice, gazing at the water as it foamed against the natural rocks and sculpted mortar. Her short, chic hair curled against the collar of her jacket.

“It was kind of hard to tell in the thick of things,” said Jenna. She eased off her loafers, wiggling her toes.

The high ceiling fans sent a light breeze wafting down, but the mid-June sunshine had warmed the atrium.

Candice fought a smirk.

“It’s not like I’d done any comparison shopping,” Jenna added. “I was barely twenty-two when we met.”

She was twenty-six now. And, thanks to Candice, she had a second chance on life. A chance that didn’t include becoming Mrs. Brandon Rice—properly behaved trophy wife. Or was that properly behaved lap dog? Hard to know for sure.

“You don’t need vast personal experience to know three minutes is pathetic,” said Candice, giving her head a shake and rattling her silver earrings. “You just need the public library.” She cocked her head, contemplating the newly finished fountain. “You think the whale is too much?”

“The whale is perfect,” said Jenna, turning her attention to the brightly painted stone sculpture spouting beneath the waterfall, which was surrounded by tropical plants.

Forget uptight, three-minute Brandon, the kids were going to love that whale. The hospital board had asked for something with child-appeal when they’d given Canna Interiors the contract to decorate the pediatric lobby. Other than that, Candice and Jenna had been given a pretty free hand in the conceptual designs.

Jenna was proud of the results.

A collection of jumbo African animals adorned one corner. They were made of durable acrylic, and perfectly suited to climbing. Comfortable furniture groupings and lush plants dotted the high, glass-ceilinged room, and the carpet was a maze of brightly colored pathways twisting among cute, brown monkeys.

A week, maybe two at the most, and it would be ready to open. They were on time and on budget. And, on the strength of this project’s success, they’d been invited to submit designs to the public library.

A design invitation wasn’t a guarantee, but Jenna was finally beginning to feel optimistic about the future. After Candice had helped her see Brandon for the control freak he was, they’d moved clear across the country and pumped their life savings into a new interior design firm.

Though Jenna’s financial contribution was much lower than her friend’s, Candice had insisted they become equal partners. Jenna was determined to work day and night to prove her friend’s faith was justified.

“Why don’t you call him?” asked Candice, turning to peer enigmatically at Jenna.

“Call Brandon?” Jenna tucked her loose hair behind her ear, fingering the small gold stud in her lobe.

She hadn’t spoken to her ex-fiancé since she’d left him. In fact, it was Candice who’d insisted she break all ties. They’d burned all his letters, kept their apartment phone number unlisted and screened calls at the office.

“You want me to call Brandon?” Jenna repeated, having trouble with her friend’s about-face.

“Yes. I do.” Candice sat up straighter. “Maybe I was wrong.”

“You? Wrong?”

“I know.” Candice waved a hand in the air. “It’s hard to believe. But, maybe you should tell him once and for all that it’s over.”

“I told him it was over when I left,” said Jenna, reaching for the pencil in her clipboard, releasing it from the spring and tapping the eraser against the top page. She really had no desire to speak to Brandon again.

“You were upset then, hurt, confused. He probably thought you’d calm down and come to your senses.”

“I did come to my senses. That’s why I left him.”

“Apparently Brandon needs a bit more convincing.”

Jenna palmed the pencil and stood up. “You know, the minute I call him, he’s going to try to talk me into coming back.”

Candice folded her manicured fingers together on her knee, tipping her chin in Jenna’s direction. “Would you?” she asked calmly.

“No! Definitely not.” Not a chance in a million. Jenna absolutely did not want to live the rest of her life in a gilded cage, letting Brandon choose her clothes, her jewelry, her hair color. She’d had a taste of freedom, and she loved it.

“Well, as long as you keep hiding from him—”

“I am not hiding. You’re the one who—”

“He’ll convince himself you still have feelings for him,” Candice finished.

“There are no feelings. Period.” As she spoke the words, Jenna realized just how true they were. There was nothing. No hatred, no anger, no fear.

Flat line.

She hadn’t been intimidated by him, maybe overawed. Brandon had been a strong-minded, confident, charismatic guest lecturer at Boston University. While Jenna had been an impressionable undergraduate, fresh from a Minnesota farm community. It was pretty easy for him to convince her that he knew best—in all things.

But those feelings were gone now. Jenna took a deep breath, inhaling the light fountain mist and the scent of the pepper trees. She was free.

Sure she’d call Brandon. There was no reason not to anymore.

“Think about it, Jenna.” Candice interrupted her thoughts. “Call him and let him know that malleable young woman doesn’t exist anymore. Then he’ll back off and call off his troops.”

“You’re right,” said Jenna with conviction. Candice always did give the best advice.

“I am?” Candice looked surprised by Jenna’s easy agreement.

“You bet. He needs to know it’s over. He needs to leave me alone. We can’t have rent-a-Dick-Tracy hanging around the hospital halls scaring the children.”

Candice grinned as she stood up and flipped a concealed switch to turn off the waterfall. “Go get ’im, Jenna.” The whirring motor stopped, and the water dripped to a halt against the huge lava rocks, plunking to silence in the cavernous room.

Jenna nodded decisively, retrieving her tiny cell phone from the depths of her big purse. It was a serious purse, not one of those elegant little evening bags that Brandon bought her. They barely held a comb.

Using the end of the pencil, she dialed quickly.

Hopefully, someday soon, she’d forget his private number and free up the brain space for something useful. She lifted the phone to her ear, and Candice gave her an encouraging grin.

Brandon picked up on the first ring.

Little wonder. The only people who knew this number were his mother, a few captains of industry, some dubious politicians and Jenna.

“Rice here,” he said in that unnaturally low tone that he thought made him sound three inches taller.

“It’s Jenna,” she said, voice crisp and impersonal.

“Jenna!” His voice brightened and rose an octave.

“Finally. Where are you sweetheart?” He sounded so happy, so satisfied, so smug.

“You know darn well where I am. Your hired goon is standing outside my job-site.”

Candice gave her a thumbs-up.

“Goon? What goon? You’re talking nonsense.” His low voice was back. He was displeased. Good.

He was on the other side of the country. He could be as displeased as he wanted, and it wouldn’t affect her.

“Call him off, Brandon.”

“Jenna,” he sighed, and his tone turned patronizing. “Let’s not start this out by arguing.”

“I’m not arguing. I’m stating a fact.”

“You need to calm down and listen, Jenny-Penny.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I don’t know what Candice told you—”

“This isn’t about what Candice did or did not tell me.”

“I always knew she was a bad influence.”

Jenna’s voice rose, and she paced in a little half circle on the cool floor. “Give me some credit, Brandon. I can make up my own mind. I can make my own choices—”

“Is it about the surgery?”

“Yes!” She spun back to face Candice. The plastic surgery, and so much more.

“It’s already cancelled.”

“You bet your life it’s cancelled. So are my hair appointments and my spa membership. You might want me to have a perfect nose and sculpted abs, but that doesn’t mean I—”

Candice’s eyes went wide. She made a frantic calm down motion with her hand.

Jenna paused for a breath, raking her hand once more through her hair. Her auburn hair—a little bright, a little gaudy, but her own natural color.

“Jenna, honey, you just had to say so.”

Yeah. Right. Jenna scoffed silently and shook her head. Like her opinion about her body or anything else had ever counted.

“Brandon,” she began again, calmer this time. Resolute. “I am not the right person for you. And you are not the right person for me. Can we please leave it at that?”

Candice nodded, admiration in her eyes.

“So, that’s it?” asked Brandon, voice hardening. “You finally call and it’s to break up?”

“We broke up four months ago.”

“You had a tantrum four months ago.”

Jenna clenched her jaw. She would not rise to the bait. She was calm, in control. “Call it whatever you like. We’re through.”

“So, you think that’s it? You expect me to tell my colleagues that my little fiancée up and left me? Pawn the ring? Eat the ballroom deposit?”

“You can tell your colleagues any damn thing you want.” Jenna pressed two fingers tight against her forehead. She wondered how he’d explained her absence for the past four months. But she sure wasn’t going to ask him.

Brandon snorted derisively into the phone. He hated it when she swore. It wasn’t ladylike.

“And call off the damn P.I.,” she added for good measure.

The phone cracked as Brandon hung up, and she jerked it away from her ear.

Candice flinched, and they stared at each other in silence for a moment.

“Shall we take that as a yes?” asked Candice.

“I’m assuming so.” A sheepish grin pulled up the corners of Jenna’s mouth. Gosh, that had felt good.

“SAY IT ISN’T SO.” Tyler Reeve’s older brother Derek filled the doorway of his office. Derek’s chin was tipped up, and his arms were folded across his broad chest.

Tyler swore under his breath, following Derek’s gaze to the duffel and the damning sleeping bag, which he’d carelessly dropped on the couch an hour ago. “It isn’t so,” he deadpanned, turning his attention back to his computer monitor.

“Striker said things were bad, but jeez…” Derek took a step into Tyler’s outer office and kicked the door shut behind him.

“Striker should mind his own business,” said Tyler, referring to the middle Reeves brother. He punched in the password to his personal bank account on the receptionist’s computer, hoping to see that the lawyer’s escrow deposit had added a few zeros to his balance.

“At least come out and stay in the guest house,” said Derek.

“No thanks.”

“This is stubborn even for you.”

“I got myself into this mess. I’ll get myself out.” The deposit hadn’t cleared. Tyler closed his eyes for a second.

He needed that money. Needed it today. He’d already cleaned out his savings account.

He’d taken a chance in writing Mrs. Cliff a check last night for her car, but it was either that or admit to the whole world that the IPS Detective Agency was broke—admit to the world that he’d been stupid enough to trust a partner who’d defrauded the company along with several of their clients.

Tyler would just as soon get shot.

Again.

In a place far more painful than his shoulder.

“Why does ‘getting yourself out of this mess’ have to involve eating cheap takeout food and sleeping on a short couch?” Derek crossed the room and picked up the corner of Tyler’s old Boy Scout sleeping bag.

“Because I sold the beach house.” Giving up on the bank balance for now, Tyler pushed back the chair and stood up. He preferred to look Derek in the eye for this conversation.

Derek might be six foot two, but Tyler had caught up to him on his eighteenth birthday, and even managed to beat him by half an inch. Not that it mattered. He was now and always would be the little brother.

And linebacker Derek could still take him out without even breaking a sweat.

“Because you were too stubborn to ask the family for help,” corrected Derek.

“A thirty-year-old man does not go running to his daddy for help just because his business hits a little snag.”

“A little snag?” Derek’s voice was incredulous.

“A little snag,” Tyler echoed.

“Your partner skipped with your clients’ money.”

Tyler gritted his teeth. “I’m handling it.”

“I can accept that you didn’t want to go to Dad. But why didn’t you come to me or Striker?”

Tyler folded his arms across his chest, imitating his brother’s pose. “I needed money, Derek. And I needed it fast.”

It had been forty-eight hours since he discovered Reggie’s duplicity, but saying it out loud still stung. Tyler had to squelch an urge to bash his fist into the nearest wall. It was an urge he’d been battling for two days.

“How much did you sell it for?” asked Derrick.

Tyler named a sum that made Derrick’s eyes widen.

“That’s it? You practically gave the beach house away.”

“They offered cash.”

“I would’ve bought it for that.”

“And I’d still have a place to live?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m not a charity case.”

Derek’s booming voice rose. “Jeez, Tyler, lightning won’t strike you dead if you borrow a little family money.”

“You know as well as I do that once Dad gets his hooks in me, I’ll be his for life.”

“Like me, you mean.”

“No. Not like you. You genuinely want to stare at balance sheets and stock portfolios all day long. Though how you’ve managed to stay sane this long is beyond me.”

Derek was the golden boy, the heir apparent to Reeves-DuCarter International, the pride and joy of three generations. Meanwhile, Tyler was the black sheep.

Derek shook his head. “You never did understand—”

“I understand perfectly. I’m thirty years old. This private eye thing isn’t just a phase. It’s my vocation, my dream, my calling.”

“Doin’ real well for you so far,” Derek snorted.

Tyler winced. “It’s a small setback.”

“How much did he get?”

“Reggie?”

“No.” Derek rolled his eyes. “Of course Reggie.”

Tyler slumped back down in the chair. “What did Striker tell you?”

Derek pulled up a guest chair and folded his big body into it. “That Reggie split with a client’s car and a cashier’s check.”

Tyler nodded. That about summed it up. Reggie had also made free with several hundred thousand in retainers over the past few months, much of which Tyler would have to pay back since Reggie wasn’t around to do the work.

“How much?” Derek repeated.

“Including Mrs. Cliff’s BMW?”

“Quit stalling.”

Tyler voiced the amount that still made him wince. “But I suspect most of it went up his nose before the big disappearing act.”

The books were a mess.

Tyler’s life was a mess.

Derek let out a long, slow whistle. “What’s plan B?”

Tyler gave a chopped, terse chuckle. Plan A implicitly being to hunt Reggie down and take it out of his hide. “Pay Mrs. Cliff for the car—I told her we wrecked it—back out of Reggie’s contracts and eat the penalties, sleep in the office for a while, find some quick, high-paying jobs…”

Derek glanced around the reception area with a frown.

“I’ve got coffee, a bath, a deli on the first floor,” said Tyler. “What more does a man need?”

“Bunk out at my place,” said Derek.

Tyler shook his head. “I don’t want Dad to know what’s going on.”

Derek stared hard into Tyler’s eyes, but Tyler didn’t flinch.

Derek was a fixer, just like their father. Tyler knew it was nearly killing him to sit back and watch his little brother stumble.

But Tyler was not giving in. He’d learned years ago that if he didn’t fight tooth and nail for every little scrap of independence, he’d end up in a Saville Row suit in a cushy office on the top floor of the Reeves-DuCarter building in downtown Seattle chatting nonsense with overseas investors and monitoring the Dow Jones Industrial Average.

“This isn’t high school, Derek. Let me handle it this time.”

Derek drew back in his chair. “One guy. I punched out one guy for you.”

Tyler shook his head. “Blackburn and his friends harassed me for three years thanks to you.” Finally, in Tyler’s senior year, he’d grown big enough to flatten Blackburn on his own and put a stop to the relentless tormenting.

“What?” Derek rocked forward. His fists balled. “They kept at it? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tyler threw up his hands. “So you could punch him out again? Please, Derek. There’s nothing more pathetic than a kid who can’t fight his own battles.”

“Blackburn was twice your size.”

Tyler cracked a half smile. “Not in the end, he wasn’t.”

Derek’s eyes flashed with sudden admiration. “You were the one who broke his nose?”

“I was the one who broke his nose. I solved that problem. And I’ll solve this one, too. It just might take me a while.”

Derek glanced around the office again. “Well, there’s no need to be a martyr about it. Why not take a suite at the Quayside?”

“Because I’m trying to save money.”

“You’re a shareholder. They’ll give you a rate.”

“Rate’s zero if I stay here.”

The phone on the desktop rang.

“Where’s Shirley?” asked Derek.

“Had to cut her back to part-time.”

“What? You can’t even afford one employee?”

The phone rang again.

“Cash flow,” said Tyler. “It’s just temporary. She wanted to spend some time with her kids for the summer anyway.” He picked up the receiver. “IPS Detectives.”

Derek gazed at the ceiling and shook his head, as if invoking divine intervention.

“Reggie Sandhill,” said a man’s curt voice.

“Reggie is out of the country for a few weeks,” said Tyler.

Derek snorted at Tyler’s lie.

Tyler ignored him. “I’m his partner, Tyler Reeves.”

“Reggie came highly recommended,” said the man, in a tone that told Tyler he wasn’t used to disappointment.

“Perhaps I can help you.” said Tyler evenly, annoyed by both the man’s attitude and by Reggie’s habit of taking all the glory for cases that Tyler had solved. Everyone knew Reggie’s name. Nobody knew Tyler’s.

“It’s a surveillance job,” said the man on the phone, a challenge in his voice.

Like, maybe Tyler couldn’t handle surveillance. “No problem. Surveillance is one of our specialties.”

“I see.” The man seemed to be weighing whether or not to trust Tyler. “Her name is Jenna McBride,” he finally said.

“And your name?” asked Tyler, picking up a pencil and pulling a scratch pad closer on the desktop.

There was a slight hesitation on the line. “Brandon Rice. She’s my fiancée.”

“You think she’s cheating?” asked Tyler. Cheating was far and away the most common reason for a man to have his significant other followed.

Derek stood up, pacing across the room, a scowl on his face. Chasing cheating fiancées was obviously not his idea of a stellar career move. Too bad. It wasn’t like Tyler was in a position to be choosy. True, it wasn’t his usual area of business, but this was the kind of job he needed right now—quick, uncomplicated cash.

“Yes,” said Brandon Rice. “I think she’s cheating. I’m in Boston, and she’s in Seattle. I want a full report on her activities. Where she goes, who she sees. She has a decorating business. Canna Interiors.”

Tyler jotted down the woman’s name and the name of her business. “Is there anyone in particular you think she’s seeing?”

Derek made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and shook his head. Well, hell, every case couldn’t be a crown jewel theft or a murder mystery. A guy still had to pay the bills.

Some days more than others.

“I want to know everything,” said Brandon. “Money is not an issue. I want to know everyone she sees. Everything she does.”

Tyler tapped the pencil eraser against the desktop. Reggie had taken on cases like this before. Rich man, pretty woman, edge of desperation. There was probably a big age difference.

“I’ll pay you ten thousand plus expenses,” said Brandon. “One week. A full report. And I mean full.”

Tyler resisted the urge to scowl at the phone, aware of Derek’s keen interest. He always submitted a full report to his clients—no matter what his opinion of them.

If this fiancée had any brains at all, she’d stay in Seattle and well away from Mr. Demanding. Of course, she was the one who’d agreed to marry the guy in the first place.

She was probably willing to put up with his crap for the money. Women generally did forgive a whole lot of ills for a whole lot of bank balance.

“When do you want me to start?” asked Tyler.

“Today,” barked Brandon. “I want you to start today.”

“You got it,” said Tyler. “Where do I send the report?”

After jotting down Brandon’s contact information, Tyler hung up the phone.

“You’re going to follow a cheating wife?” asked Derek.

“Fiancée,” Tyler corrected, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness.

“But you won’t lower yourself to join the family firm and negotiate with offshore investors?”

“You really want to help me?” asked Tyler, ignoring his big brother’s sarcasm, pretending it didn’t bite. From experience Tyler knew the best way to get Derek off his back was to give him a mission.

“Name it,” said Derek, pulling his checkbook out of his suit pocket.

“I’m not taking your money. If you really want to be useful, you can head over to Canna Interiors.”

Without Reggie as a second body, Tyler was handicapped. “I need to know how many employees are there. What kind of an outfit it is. And what Jenna McBride looks like. But I can’t let her see me yet.”

“Can I have one of those fountain pen cameras and a decoder ring?” asked Derek.

“Don’t be an ass.” Tyler stood up and shoved his big brother toward the door.

“But, Tyler, how am I going to case the joint without the proper James Bond paraphernalia?”

“Just tell me what she looks like, and what they do, so I can make a plan.” That ten thousand would go a long way towards operating expenses for the next couple of months.