Читать книгу Receptionist Under Cover - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 9

NADINE STARED AT THE MANILA envelope on the table, her feet suddenly as cold as ice.

Was this case going to be something she could handle on her own? What would she do if it wasn’t?

She’d been hoping her first client would be a nice, old lady, missing a piece of antique jewelry. Or maybe a sweet, young husband, worried that his new wife was unfaithful. Of course, in Nadine’s imagination, she wasn’t….

But instead she’d ended up with this strong, forceful man brimming with masculine vitality. Patrick O’Neil seemed not quite wild, but close to it, with thick, unruly, chestnut-colored hair, and a body packed with solid muscles.

She’d never met anyone like him, and felt completely out of her element. For heaven’s sake, he was an adventurer by trade. The book he’d just shown her had a picture of a guy paragliding off a cliff and she had no doubt that it was Patrick O’Neil himself in the photograph.

She swallowed, desperate to moisten her parched mouth. She couldn’t let him see that she was intimidated. After all, he was here because he needed help.

“Your son…has he run away?” she asked, trying to sound as if she’d seen it all and didn’t expect to be surprised.

He seemed impatient as he shook his head. “Not really. The situation is complicated. Six weeks ago, when I left on a working trip to Alaska, I didn’t even know I had a son. I found this envelope piled up with the rest of the mail that had collected over the six weeks I was away.”

From the larger envelope, he pulled out two smaller letters. One of them had been opened. The other—addressed simply to Stephen—still sealed.

Puzzled, Nadine waited for him to explain.

“These letters were written by an old girlfriend. One was addressed to me, the other to a young man named Stephen.” He ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “A young man she claims is my son.”

Again Nadine struggled to keep her expression neutral, as if she ran across situations like this all the time. “And is he?”

He shrugged. “I assume so. June Stone and I dated in our senior year of high school. After graduation, she went to university, while I worked until I had enough money for my first trip to Europe. We’d always known we had different plans, so our breakup was inevitable.”

“Where does the baby fit in?”

“Apparently June was pregnant when we broke up.”

“And you didn’t know?”

“No. In her letter, June said she decided not to tell me because she didn’t want me to feel like she was trying to trap me into marriage.”

“I assume she kept the baby?”

“Yes. She named our son Stephen and raised him on her own. He’s eighteen years old now, and he doesn’t even know I exist.”

“June must have told him something about his father.”

“Apparently she led him to believe that his father was dead.” Patrick shifted anxiously in his seat. “She said when he was young, she didn’t have the courage to tell him the truth, and once she became ill, she didn’t have the strength.”

“I see.” Perhaps June had been telling him the truth. But Nadine knew it was her job to be skeptical, to accept nothing at face value. “So why contact you now?”

“In a way, she didn’t. This letter was mailed posthumously.”

Nadine felt her eyes widen and quickly glanced down so he wouldn’t see her surprise. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded, accepting her brief statement of condolence. “Apparently it was her wish that these letters were to be mailed to me after her death. As soon as I read the one addressed to me, I went on the Web and found her obituary. She died of cancer five weeks ago.”

His story was sounding like something from a movie, poignant and romantic. Nadine reminded herself that her job was to be objective and analytical. “Why do you think she wanted you to know about Stephen now?”

“She felt that since her son no longer had a mother, he might need a father.” He shook his head. “She asked if I would contact Stephen and deliver this second letter in person.”

Nadine eyed the unopened envelope. Why hadn’t June asked for that letter to be mailed directly to Stephen? There was only one reason she could think of. “She didn’t want her son to know the truth unless you were prepared to meet with him.”

“Exactly. Whether Stephen and I strike up a relationship is up to us, June wrote, but she did say she’d be grateful if I would help Stephen financially, with his university education, since her long illness depleted her financial resources.”

“Ah.” At the mention of money, Nadine’s back straightened. Had June Stone been aware of Patrick’s successful writing career? Possibly she’d stretched the truth a little—or a lot—in an effort to provide some financial security for her son.

Still, Patrick didn’t seem to doubt the truth of her story. Not one word of it.

“You said the letter was mailed posthumously. By whom?”

“I have no idea. The return address is the apartment in Chelsea where June and her son used to live. The place has since been let to someone else.”

He shook his head. “I wish that I’d kept in touch with June. For a while after we separated we kept up a correspondence. I sent her postcards from my travels and every Christmas she mailed a card to me care of my mother’s address. But after a few years, that stopped. I hadn’t heard from her in years. Until this.”

“So now you want to talk to Stephen Stone?”

“Yes. Only I have no idea where to find him. The letter didn’t provide any contact information.” He unfolded two sheets of paper that looked as if they had been read over many times.

“May I read that?”

He hesitated, then passed it over. “I’m not even sure her son lives in Manhattan. As I mentioned, he left the apartment he lived in with his mother. I also phoned the funeral home listed in the obituary, but they couldn’t help me.”

Nadine glanced up from June Stone’s handwritten lines. “I assume you checked the phone listings?”

He nodded. “I called every S. Stone I could find. And I searched the Internet, including Facebook. I can’t find him anywhere.”

“That’s unusual, for someone his age, though he could be using a nickname on Facebook. Some kids do.”

“Yeah. That’s what I figured. I’m kind of at a dead end here and I don’t have much time, since I’m on a tight deadline with my next book. Do you think you can help?”

He looked her straight in the eyes, and Nadine could see that he wasn’t totally convinced that he’d come to the right person.

Keeping her gaze direct and confident, she nodded. “Like I said earlier, finding missing persons is a specialty of our firm. As it happens, I’m between cases right now and I could start on this immediately.”

Okay, technically that was a lie, but Nadine told herself it wouldn’t matter, not as long as she found Patrick’s son for him. Which she was determined to do.

Patrick’s eyes held hers a moment longer, and then he nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it. What’s the first step?”

She struggled to keep her excitement contained. “We sign a standard contract and you pay a retainer.” She mentioned the base amount, figuring this case probably wouldn’t take very long. When Patrick indicated his agreement, she asked him to wait while she drew up the papers.

“Too bad your receptionist isn’t here to do that,” Patrick commented.

She was halfway to the door when he said that. She paused briefly and glanced back at him.

From his expression it seemed there had been no double meaning to his words, so she smiled and nodded. “That’s okay. It won’t take me long.”

Fifteen minutes later, the business between them was concluded. “I’ll call you in a couple of days and let you know how things are progressing,” she promised as she passed him his copy of their agreement.

His chest expanded on a full breath. “Okay. So…any idea how long it will take to find Stephen?”

“That depends on several factors. But normally, in a case like this, we have results in three or four days.”

She could see the relief on his face and knew she’d finally won him over.

“Great,” he said. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you then.”

One last time their gazes connected, and she felt again the power of his presence. She sensed he had a mental toughness to match the physical perfection of his athletic body. But this letter from his old girlfriend had exposed a hint of vulnerability in him, too. And oddly it was that element about him that she found most appealing.

Following the example she’d seen set many times by the other partners at Fox & Fisher, Nadine escorted Patrick to the door. With a final confident handshake, she saw him on his way, and only once the door was firmly closed and she was alone again, did she allow herself to believe what had finally happened.

She’d done it! She’d signed her first client.

HALF AN HOUR LATER, KATE called to say that her doctor’s appointment was over. “I’m going to stop by the office for some files, then call it a day. Did anything interesting come up this afternoon?”

“Not really.” Nadine’s conscience squirmed at the fib. As soon as she got off the line, she rearranged her files, so that her nameplate was visible again. That had been her only mistake, she thought, that she hadn’t noticed quickly enough that the sign was in view. Fortunately, Patrick didn’t seem to have noticed.

Then she went to the conference room to clear away the used coffee mugs. That was when she noticed that he’d forgotten his book. She took it with her to her desk, where she sat and studied the author photo on the back.

No question about it. The man was incredibly masculine, with a body that was all muscle, skin that was tanned and windblown, and eyes that were as blue as the New Zealand sky on the cover of his book.

She’d have to return this copy to him at their next meeting. In the meantime, she’d get busy finding his son…or the boy June Stone claimed was his son.

Take nothing at face value, Nathan and Lindsay had taught her. Check every fact, at least once, better yet twice. Never cut corners.

With their advice in mind, Nadine started to work, laying out a plan of action that would hopefully lead her to Stephen Stone.

Fifteen minutes later, she was interrupted as Kate walked in. The eight-months-pregnant detective was wearing a cleverly styled trench coat she’d bought from a discount maternity shop, but nothing could hide the huge ball of baby on her tall, normally thin frame.

“Oh, God, I’m tired.” She pulled off the coat and hung it on her usual hanger. Her luxurious red hair was pulled in a messy knot at the back of her head and if she’d applied any makeup that morning, it was now worn off.

Still, she had a beautiful glow, Nadine thought. And she knew Jay felt the same way about his wife. Every time she’d seen them together, he’d been doting on her. “How was the appointment?”

“Everything’s good. Though my doctor says the baby’s head has already dropped into the birth canal, which is early given that the little peach isn’t due for another month.”

Kate frowned as she glanced at Nadine’s computer screen. “What’s that?”

“Just some research I’m doing for Nathan.” The fibbing seemed to come easier each time she had to do it. “He and Lindsay have agreed to give me more case work. So if you ever have something you’d like a hand with—”

“Sure, Nadine. Thanks for the offer.” Kate snagged a bottled juice smoothie from the fridge then headed back to her office, across from the conference room.

Despite her easy agreement, Nadine doubted if Kate was going to throw any work her way. If she did, it would only be basic research work, the kind that could be done from the safety of her desk at the office.

She was dying to get out in the field, performing surveillance, shooting video of suspects, interviewing witnesses…

She wondered if she’d get to do any of that with Patrick O’Neil’s case. She wanted to find his son quickly, but hopefully not too easily. Nathan always said to start a case by listing what you did know, then make a list of what you needed to find out.

She was still working on the first list when Lindsay and Nathan returned from their wedding planning.

“Did you select invitations?” she asked cautiously. The two of them seemed fairly relaxed and cheerful, so hopefully the appointment had gone well.

“They’ll be in the mail by Monday,” Nathan announced happily. “You should get yours next week.”

“While we were out, we also ordered the cake.” Lindsay hung up her jacket, then went for some coffee. “We’re having two—white chocolate mousse cake, and devil’s delight double cocoa cake.”

“Those sound amazing.”

Nathan, who was practically a vegetarian and generally avoided foods laden with fat or sugar, shivered. “Not to me they don’t, but I’m glad you girls are happy.” He kissed Lindsay, and they shared a mushy smile.

Then Lindsay asked if there had been any messages.

Nadine handed one slip of paper to Nathan and two to Lindsay.

“Anyone else call?” Nathan asked.

She swallowed. Here it was—another lie. “No. Just those three.”

“Great.” Lindsay had already ducked back into her office and Nathan was heading for his, when he noticed Patrick O’Neil’s book on her desk. “Hey, I heard O’Neil had something coming out on New Zealand. Where did you find this?”

Oh, crap. “It was a gift,” she improvised.

“Mind if I take a quick look through? Lindsay and I are considering New Zealand for our honeymoon.”

Nadine couldn’t think of any way to refuse that wouldn’t sound suspicious. “Go ahead,” she said, while at the same time berating herself for not hiding the darned book in a drawer. If she was going to keep Patrick’s case secret until it was solved, she was going to have to start being a lot more circumspect.

AT SIX O’CLOCK, NADINE reluctantly turned off her computer and tucked her notes on the O’Neil case into her bottom drawer, under the pair of flat-soled shoes she kept on hand for emergencies.

Patrick’s contract and his check were there, too. She wouldn’t give the check to Nathan—who had taken over the accounting as soon as he became a full partner—until after she’d solved the case and come clean about what she’d done.

What a lot of fun it was going to be to see the expressions on everyone’s faces when they realized she really could handle an entire case all on her own.

Nadine was pumped and didn’t want to stop working, even though it was after five. But she’d promised her mother she would attend one of her charity galas that evening. The cause de jour was saving the rain forest, Nadine thought, with a heavy sigh. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about the rain forest, or the many other worthwhile causes her mother championed.

It was only that, in her opinion, the galas should be scrapped and the thousands of dollars it took to throw those big, fancy parties should be donated to the cause.

Her mother said her views were “shortsighted.”

And maybe she was right. Maybe in ten or twenty years, Nadine would be signing up to join the boards of all these committees and worrying about decorating themes and menus and ticket sales.

But she hoped not.

She and her mother thought differently about so many topics that long ago she’d realized she could either speak her own mind and be estranged from her mother, or keep her opinions to herself.

Because she loved her mother, for the most part Nadine kept her opinions to herself. And attended the parties. And wore the dresses. And dated the men. It was just easier that way.

Two hours later, Nadine was in a strapless black gown in the ballroom of the Waverly Hotel on Park Avenue. The man whose arm she was holding was an up-and-coming lawyer who had done some work for her father.

His name was Trenton Oberg, and he already had three strikes against him.

He wasn’t muscular.

His eyes were brown.

And his hair wasn’t windblown in the slightest.

On the positive side of the equation, the food promised to be good and her cousin Liz was in attendance, so there was sure to be some shocking event or another to entertain the masses. Liz did not enjoy being in the background, ever.

Trenton let go of her arm to snag two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. He handed her one, then clinked his flute against hers. “To a wonderful evening, with a wonderful girl.”

The words were spoken glibly, without a trace of sincerity, and Nadine smiled politely before taking a sip. Then a longer drink. Sometimes champagne was the only thing—

She sputtered as she caught sight of a man with a headful of dark brown hair that glittered with red highlights. He had his back to her, but the color of his hair, not to mention the cut of his suit—those wide shoulders and that impossibly slender waist—made her flashback to the man she’d met in the office today.

But why would Patrick O’Neil be at a high-society charity gala? She pulled on Trenton’s sleeve.

He frowned slightly, then leaned in toward her. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you know who’s speaking tonight?”

He named a local dignitary who had been a friend of her family’s for as long as she could remember.

“Anyone else?”

“Well, there’s that action-adventure travel writer, Patrick O’Neil. But you wouldn’t have heard of him.”

Patrick O’Neil. Oh, Lord. Nadine could feel the skin at the back of her neck tingle. She had to get out of here before he noticed her.

But no sooner did she have that thought than Patrick turned around—and with an uncanny instinct, as if he’d sensed her thinking about him—looked her square in the eyes.