Читать книгу Dying for You - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 9

LUCIE SLEPT UNTIL ten o’clock that Saturday morning. After glancing at the clock on her nightstand, she rolled over into the center of the bed and sprawled out on her stomach. Yesterday, after lugging five boxes of personal stuff from her office to her car and then from her car to her apartment, she had dropped onto her comfy old sofa, slip-covered in a stain-resistant cream fabric, and sat there for nearly an hour. Most of that time had been spent staring out the southwest windows directly across the room as the afternoon sun slowly sank lower and lower. The harder she had tried not to think about what she’d done, naturally, the more her mind had focused on the fact that she had resigned from the Dundee Private Security and Investigation Agency. The rest of the evening she had simply gone through the motions: eaten a salad for supper, taken a long soak in the bathtub, brushed her teeth, watched the late night news, and gone to bed. The only problem was, she hadn’t slept more than two hours straight and not more than four and a half all night. That might be enough sleep for some people, but not for Lucie. She was an eight-hour-a-night kind of gal.

Groaning at the thought of getting out of bed this morning and facing her first full day of unemployment, she lifted her arms, balled her hands into fists and beat furiously against the two stacked feather pillows. When she wore herself out pummeling her grandmother’s old pillows, she picked up one of them, covered her face with it and screamed. She had learned at an early age what great sound buffers feather pillows made. After tossing the pillow aside, she took a deep breath and got out of bed. Standing there on the wooden floor in her bare feet, she squared her shoulders.

There, she felt better. A mini-hissy fit had done the trick. Whenever she tried to control her emotions instead of releasing them, she wound up making herself sick. If Lucie had learned anything about herself, it was that she should never try to repress her emotions. She just wasn’t geared to calm internalizing. No sirree, in order to function, she needed frenzied externalizing.

Five minutes later, as she emerged from the bathroom, face washed and hair brushed, she heard her doorbell ring. Who on earth? It was ten fifteen on a Saturday morning.

She made her way out of the bedroom and through her combination living room/dining room. When she reached the front door, she peered through the view-finder, then grinned broadly and unlocked the door.

Daisy Holbrook held a drink caddy in one hand and a small white sack in the other. “I come bearing gifts. White chocolate lattes and sinfully decadent cream-filled doughnuts, two for each of us.”

“Well, get in here, girl.” Lucie issued the invitation with a sweep of her hand. “Put the goodies on the coffee table and we’ll dig in.”

Lucie smiled at her next thought. Daisy looked fresh as a daisy. But then she always did. Dundee’s Ms. Efficiency had the wholesome good looks of a healthy farm girl, bred for marriage and birthing babies. Young, pretty, slightly plump, Daisy dressed in classic clothes. Sweater sets, pearls, tailored slacks. Today, away from the office, she wore jeans and a cotton sweater. But the jeans weren’t low-cut, faded, or ragged-hemmed; instead they were pale blue stone-washed, neatly pressed, and accented with a small pink belt that matched her sweater. She had her long, chestnut-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and her only makeup consisted of light blush and lip gloss.

Lucie curled up on the sofa. Daisy lifted each of the coffee cups from the carrier and placed them on hand-painted metal coasters atop the coffee table. Then she removed several large paper napkins from the sack and put two sugar-glazed doughnuts on the napkins.

“You do realize that after we consume this sinful food, our hips will expand at least half an inch and we’ll have gained no less than three or four pounds,” Lucie said, as Daisy sat down beside her.

“I’m willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for a friend.” Daisy grinned. “After all, I couldn’t think of anything else that might cheer you up this morning.”

“Just seeing you cheers me up.”

“But seeing me with lattes and doughnuts makes my visit even better, doesn’t it?”

Lucie reached for the latte. “I can certainly use a little caffeine and sugar this morning, something to perk me up as well as wake me up.”

“Rough night?” Daisy lifted her doughnut, napkin and all, from the table.

“I spent most of the night arguing with myself, part of me convinced I’d done the only thing I could possibly have done by resigning and another part of me convinced that quitting one job before I have another is a definite sign of mental instability.”

“You’ll get another job without any trouble.”

Lucie eyed her friend speculatively. “Without a recommendation from Dundee’s—”

“That’s not a problem.”

“Really? Hmm…Tell me, Daisy dear, just what have you done?”

“Nothing. I simply asked Sawyer about including a letter of recommendation in with your severance package and he okayed it.”

“Did he?” Don’t read anything into it. He’s glad to be rid of you. He’s simply doing what he considers the honorable thing. You know how Sawyer is about right and wrong, all black or all white, no shades of gray. “I should have known that since I wasn’t fired, he probably thought giving me a recommendation was the right thing to do.”

“He got drunk yesterday afternoon,” Daisy said between sips of latte. “I had to drive him home.”

“What!”

“He made a big dent in a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue.”

“So, Sawyer really got drunk? I haven’t seen him drunk since—Not in nine years. Not since his brother died.”

“I didn’t know Sawyer had a brother, but then none of us really know him, except maybe you.” When Daisy took a large bite out of her doughnut, the cream center oozed out and stuck to her mouth. Looking right at Lucie, waiting for a response, she licked the gooey filling off her lips.

“I used to know him. Or I thought I did. But I guess everything I thought I knew about him turned out to be wrong.” Except his innate sense of right and wrong, good and bad, innocence and guilt.

“Look, I’m not asking you to betray any confidences. You don’t have to tell me anything. We’ve been friends for years and I’ve never asked, have I?”

“No, you haven’t and I appreciate that. What happened between Sawyer and me…well, it’s better to stay just between the two of us.”

“Sure.” Daisy popped the remainder of the doughnut into her mouth.

“I may ask you about him every once in a while. You won’t mind, will you?”

After she swallowed, Daisy replied, “I’ll give you a weekly report, if that’s what you want.”

Lucie forced a smile, knowing if she didn’t, she would wind up crying. Damn Sawyer McNamara! “No, I don’t want to hear about him that often.”

“Oh, Lucie, honey…”

“It’s not what you think. I’m not in love with him or anything like that.”

“Of course you’re not.”

“I’d be a fool to still care anything about him. And I’m certainly not a fool.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Actually, if I feel anything for him at all, it’s…it’s…Damn! I hate him. I swear I hate him.”

“Yeah, I can tell how much you hate him.”

Lucie glared at Daisy. She grabbed her doughnut off the table and ate it in three huge bites. She washed it down with the latte, then reached over and grabbed the bakery sack. “I wish you’d bought a dozen of these things.” She opened the sack, stuck her hand in and brought out another doughnut.

“Some people use whiskey to drown their sorrows,” Daisy said, far too all-knowing. “And then some of us prefer dulling our pain with sugar.”

“He hates me,” Lucie said. “He can’t bear to be in the same room with me. Every time he looks at me, he has to face his own guilt. Now, he won’t have to do that, not ever again.” She set the latte and doughnut on the table. “Let’s go shopping.” She jumped up and planted her hands on her hips. “Give me thirty minutes to get ready and we’ll head out to Lenox Square. My Macy’s credit card is paid off, so I can buy myself a new outfit for job hunting.”

“What are you waiting for? Go, go. Get ready. Shopping is the next best thing to overdosing on sugar.”

LUCIE HAD SPENT all day Saturday with Daisy. The name Sawyer McNamara had not crossed their lips again. They had shopped until they dropped, had eaten an early dinner out and then seen a movie. Sunday, she had awakened early, dressed and gone for a long walk. Later, she had stripped her bed and remade it with fresh linens, done all her laundry, cleaned the entire apartment and called her grandmother. Nonna lived in Florida, in a retirement village.

“I’m surrounded by the sun, the sea, and lots of senility,” Nonna had joked the last time they’d talked.

She adored her paternal grandmother, Molly O’Riley Evans, from whom she had inherited her height, her curly auburn hair and her Irish temper. Her nonna had raised her while both of her parents worked in the mill, her mother as a secretary and her father as a midnight-shift foreman. And when her parents had died in car wreck when she was twelve, Nonna had packed their bags six months later and moved them to her hometown of Wayside, Mississippi, where Nonna’s three other children lived. It was there that Lucie had met Sawyer and his younger brother, Brenden. And she had fallen in love with Sawyer the moment she saw him. Twenty-three years ago.

Last night she had taken an over-the-counter sleeping pill, so when she woke this morning, she’d had a too-much-sleep hangover. Now, on her second cup of coffee and with her brain starting to function, she sat down in front of her laptop, which was situated on the dining table, and stared at the screen. Even though Daisy told her that she would receive one month’s salary in her severance package, she knew that wouldn’t last more than a couple of months. She had exactly one thousand four hundred and twenty-six dollars in her checking account and many of her monthly bills would come due on the first. Unless she had no other choice, she didn’t want to dip into her retirement fund, which was the only savings she had. Lucie wasn’t good at saving money. She was good at spending it and giving it away.

She needed to find a job, sooner rather than later. She hadn’t worked up a resume in years—nine years to be exact.

So, what were her qualifications? High school degree, college degree, six years with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, nine years with Dundee’s. She supposed she could go into law enforcement again, something local maybe. Or she could check out other private investigation and/or bodyguard firms. Maybe she could move to Florida, somewhere near Nonna. One thing she knew for sure—she was leaving Atlanta. She would do what she should have done nine years ago and put some distance between her and Sawyer.

As she finished off her coffee and was considering a third cup, her phone rang. When she stood up, she glanced at the wall clock. Nine thirty-two. She hurried to pick up the receiver, taking only enough time to glance at the caller ID.

Bedell, Inc.

Who from Bedell, Inc. would be calling her?

“Hello.”

“Ms. Evans, Lucie Evans?” the baritone voice asked.

“Yes, this is she.”

“Lucie, this is Deke Bronson.”

“Oh, Deke, hi there. How are you doing? How are Lexie and the baby?”

“They’re fine. Emma weighs twenty pounds and is almost as beautiful as her mama.” Deke cleared his throat. “You probably know that I took over as head of security at Bedell, Inc., last year when Larry Nesmith retired.”

“Yes, I’d heard. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Look, Lucie, the reason I’m calling is because I heard through the grapevine that you’ve left Dundee’s and might be looking for a job.”

He’d heard that through the grapevine? What grapevine? The Daisy Holbrook grapevine, maybe?

“That’s right,” Lucie said. “I am looking for a job.”

“Would you be interested in working security for us? The pay is probably not quite what you were making at Dundee’s, but we provide a nice package, including three weeks paid vacation after the first year, excellent health care, retirement benefits and bonuses.”

“Yes, I might be interested.”

“Good. Why don’t you drive over to Chattanooga tomorrow and meet with me, say around ten-thirty.”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll be there. Ten-thirty sharp.”

Lucie replaced the receiver, released a deep breath, spun around a couple of times and laughed out loud.

Daisy, if this was your doing, then you, sweet girl, are my guardian angel. Bedell, Inc. was a multibillion-dollar conglomerate with branches worldwide. Maybe she could get Deke to assign her to one of their foreign offices in some exotic locale. The farther she was from Sawyer McNamara, the better. For both of them.

“WHAT DID SHE SAY?” Cara Bedell asked.

“She’ll be here for an interview at ten-thirty tomorrow,” Deke Bronson replied.

“Good. Put her through the regular interview process, then call her Wednesday morning and tell her she got the job.”

“Yes, ma’am. You’re the boss.”

“And hurry her through the indoctrination process. I want her assigned as one of my personal bodyguards when I go to Ameca. With Wanda on maternity leave, I’ll need a seasoned female bodyguard on this trip and Ms. Evans has nine years experience with the premiere firm in the nation.”

“You’re right. Lucie will be an asset for our security team.”

“Start Ms. Evans out at top level pay. With her background, she shouldn’t be starting at the ground level.”

Deke nodded. “I agree. Anything else?”

“No, that’s all. Just remember that Lucie isn’t to know who recommended her for the job.”

“She won’t hear it from me.”

Smiling, Deke turned around and exited Cara’s private office. As soon as he closed the door behind him, she picked up the phone and dialed Sawyer McNamara’s cell number.

“It’s done,” she said. “Ms. Evans is coming in tomorrow for an interview and she’ll start work on Wednesday.”

“Thanks,” Sawyer said. “I owe you one. By the way, my name wasn’t mentioned, was it?”

“No.”

“Good. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Sounds to me like you’re losing a good employee. I’m surprised you didn’t try to persuade her to stay.”

“Lucie needs a change.”

“Well, she’ll get a big change soon. I’m taking her to Ameca with me in three weeks to act as one of my personal bodyguards.”

Having learned in the past that Sawyer wasn’t a man who indulged in idle chitchat, she didn’t prolong their conversation. Still holding the receiver in her hand, Cara considered making another phone call. Since seeing Bain this past Friday, she hadn’t been able to get him off her mind. Why she put herself through the torment of going to the Hair of the Dog pub every Friday just to get a glimpse of him, she didn’t know.

Liar. You do know.

She couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him. Better a few stolen glimpses from across the room than nothing at all. How pathetic was that? About as pathetic as finding reasons to call him occasionally, just to hear his voice.

Cara replaced the receiver, walked across the room and stood in front of the windows that overlooked downtown Chattanooga. She was standing in her plush office suite inside the Bedell Building, headquarters for Bedell, Inc. How many people would kill to be in her shoes? She had wealth, power and an unequaled social position. She had everything that money could buy. Unfortunately, the one thing she wanted more than anything else in the whole wide world was not for sale.

ARTURO TORRES-RIOS paid the men in cash, a down payment, one-fourth of what they would earn if they did their jobs well. He had hand-picked these men, as he did whenever he needed a team. Each of them had worked for him before and although he knew better than to blindly trust any of them, they understood one another. In his business, betrayal was punishable by death. Usually a slow, painful death. These men knew his reputation, had seen him in action, and were familiar with how he dealt with anyone who wasn’t loyal.

“We will go over the plan again and again until every man knows his job perfectly. There is no margin for error.”

He glanced around the room. Four men. He could have used six. But the more people involved, the more chances for mistakes. The odds were better with only four. Manuel would be the driver. Hector and Pepe would take possession of the package. Rico would safeguard the hideaway. And then the four would alternate twelve-hour shifts, two working together. They would report in to him at the end of each shift.

“Travel the route in a different car and at a different time each day. We may not know until the last minute exactly when to strike. I’ll make arrangements tomorrow for the hideaway and I’ll see to it that the place is well stocked. I don’t know how long it will take to accomplish the mission. Maybe only a few days, but more than likely, a week or more. I don’t want any of you making trips into town and drawing attention to yourselves.”

“This package, it is very valuable, yes?” Rico asked.

“Very valuable,” Arturo agreed.

“Must it be returned in perfect condition?”

The other men laughed. Arturo sliced his sharp gaze from one man to the other, effectively cutting off their laughter and silencing them. “Your assignment is to take possession of the package, guard it and return it to its rightful owner when I give the order. Is that understood?”

“Yes, yes,” they all said in unison.

“Good. You may look, but do not touch,” Arturo told them.

“What happens if anything goes wrong?” Hector asked. “Do we dispose of the package?”

“No. I will take charge of the package and dispose of it myself.”

These men did not know her name nor had he shown them a photograph of her. That would come later, when it was absolutely necessary. The less they knew beforehand the less chance of anyone accidentally leaking any information. To a trusted friend. To a lover. To a family member.

Arturo wanted this assignment to go off without a flaw. If it did, a month from now, he would be a very wealthy man.