Читать книгу Her Secret Alibi - Debra Webb - Страница 10

Awareness came slowly. Jolie’s head felt heavy and all fuzzy inside. Instinct warned that if she moved or opened her eyes pain would follow. But she had to wake up, had to move. She should be somewhere, doing something besides sleeping. If she could only wake up!

Gradually, her lids drifted open and she blinked rapidly against the brightness of the room. Focus came in unsteady stages until she could fully absorb her surroundings. The sun rising above the Atlanta skyline poured through the wall of windows facing her, spreading its light and warmth. Jolie frowned as her brain scrambled to place the images she saw. She was in bed. The sheets felt cool and smooth against her skin. What time was it? she wondered vaguely.

With her leaden body fighting her every inch of the way, she sat up, cleared her throat and pushed the hair from her eyes. Pain roared inside her skull. She moaned and held her head in her hands until the throbbing eased a bit. Another deeply entrenched instinct niggled at her, urging a response to some threat she couldn’t yet comprehend. She licked her dry lips and grimaced. The taste in her mouth was oddly bitter. She needed a drink of water desperately.

With monumental effort she threw off the sheet covering her and dropped her feet to the lushly carpeted floor. Jolie immediately regretted the move. The room spun wildly for a couple of seconds. God, she had a hangover! She stilled. But she didn’t remember getting drunk.

What day was it? She scowled and surveyed the enormous room and its lavish furnishings. From the elegant fringed and corded draperies drawn back to reveal the expansive windows, to the exquisite, dark wood furniture artfully placed about the room, the place reeked of wealth, but gave her no clue as to where in the world she was or how she had gotten there. Alarm trickled through her, but her fuzzy brain couldn’t yet work up an appropriate reaction.

She stood on wobbly legs and groaned as she rubbed at the steady pounding behind her eyes. She shivered uncontrollably, then froze. Slowly, denial screaming in time with the throb inside her head, Jolie stared down at herself.

Naked.

Outright panic shot through her veins. She was naked. She surveyed the room again. Where was she?

Her chest constricted with fear as she spun around, desperately seeking anything—just one thing—that would provide some shred of evidence as to where she was.

Nothing.

The rich burgundy of the walls and carpet set off the dark mahogany of the heavy furnishings. The generous windows were all that saved the room from being unpleasantly dark. A pair of upholstered chairs occupied one corner like sentries at designated posts. Exquisite paintings graced the walls. But none of it looked familiar. This had to be a friend’s place, Jolie reasoned with mushrooming dread. The alternative was unthinkable. She trembled at the conclusion forming in her lethargic mind.

Oh God. She swallowed convulsively. She wasn’t at a friend’s house. She didn’t have time for many friends. She worked too many hours at the bank. Jolie had only one real friend, Erica, and this was definitely not her apartment.

Jolie’s heart beat harder and faster, the blood thudding in her ears. The urge to flee was so strong now that her breath caught. Where was she? How did she get here? She felt confused and lost…

And frightened.

The sound of spraying water captured her attention, and bewildered, she turned toward the sound. An open door led to what appeared to be an en suite bathroom. Her feet had already taken her halfway across the room before the decision to move penetrated the dense cotton surrounding her brain. She stood stock-still in the doorway to the luxurious bathroom. An enticing, undeniably male fragrance scented the steamy air in the room. Stained glass window, huge sunken tub, gold fixtures and Italian tile all registered briefly, but it was the glass shower cubicle beyond all that to which Jolie’s attention was drawn. Her eyes widened in confused disbelief. A man stood beneath the spray, steam rising above him like a billowing cloud. Dark hair, broad, broad shoulders, muscular back. She jerked back a step when her gaze traced the tight, well-formed buttocks and long muscular legs. She pivoted and took a couple of shaky steps, reality crashing down around her.

Jolie shook her head in denial. Her stomach roiled and the breath evaporated in her throat. She had never gone home with a stranger.

Never. Never. Never.

Clothes. She needed her clothes. Adrenaline burned a path through her veins. She had to find her clothes and get out of here. The man wouldn’t stay in the shower forever. She needed to hurry!

Searching frantically, Jolie found her clothes scattered across a chaise longue, her shoes and purse on the floor nearby. She jerked on her panties and then the dress she had worn out to dinner last night. Dinner. Her hands stilled on the zipper at the small of her back. Flashes of memory slammed into her, making her dizzy again. Dinner with Erica at Carlisle’s. Music. Laughing. People coming and going.

Jolie searched her memory, struggled to remember. What had happened after that? Why couldn’t she remember leaving the restaurant? A new thought caused anxiety to twist in her stomach. Dinner with Erica had happened on Sunday night. That would make this Monday morning. She looked down at her left wrist and the gold watch she always wore. Eight-twenty. Her heart sank. She had forty minutes to get to work. And she didn’t even know where she was or how she had gotten here…

Or with whom.

Silence snapped Jolie back to the present. The soft hiss of water had stopped. Fear such as she had never known before welled in her throat. She stepped into her shoes, grabbed her purse and, without looking back, ran from the bedroom.

SIMON WATCHED FROM behind the tinted windows of his SUV as Jolie Randolph hurried up the front steps leading to Atlanta’s First International Bank. The short green skirt of her business suit showed off her exquisitely shaped legs a little too well for comfort. The fit of the matching jacket emphasized her slender figure. All that blond hair flowed around her shoulders like gleaming silk, making him want to thread his fingers through it. His groin reacted immediately at the thought. A muscle flexed in his tense jaw. Once Jolie disappeared through the towering ornate doors, Simon dragged his attention back to his cell phone.

“She just went inside.” He listened to the annoyed voice of his client on the other end of the line. “No, it won’t jeopardize anything,” Simon argued impatiently, his foul mood steadily worsening. “Jolie is the weak link. I’m certain of that now.” He tugged at the black tie around his neck. “I have an appointment with the bank’s president at noon. I’ll start applying the pressure right away.”

He glanced up at the second floor of the four-story building, pinpointing Jolie Randolph’s office. “Don’t worry, I’ve got everything under control.” Simon ended the call, then started the car’s engine. He cast another assessing glance at the bank and his lips formed a grim line. If Jolie Randolph thought she had problems now, she should think again. Simon was relatively sure she was in deep. Though he still had a few doubts—doubts that bothered him—she was at the top of his suspect list. But she wasn’t alone on that list.

A completely illogical anxiety needled him once more. He had to find a way to keep his objectivity on track here. He’d waited four long years for this opportunity. Whether Miss Randolph knew it or not, her nightmare had just begun.

“MISS RANDOLPH.”

Jolie cringed inwardly as she paused in her hasty retreat from the conference room and this morning’s status meeting. Despite her best efforts, she had been fifteen minutes late, and she hadn’t missed the concerned looks Mr. Knox, the bank’s president and her boss, had cast in her direction. She suppressed a weary sigh. There was nothing to do but pay the consequences. Producing her brightest smile, she turned and faced the older man.

“Yes, Mr. Knox?” She met his analyzing gaze head-on. “Was there something else you needed to speak with me about?”

Her boss drew in a decidedly long breath, crossed one arm over his chest and propped the elbow of the other on it so that he could stroke his chin. Jolie had the sudden, almost irresistible urge to tug at the collar of her blouse. She was still shaking inside from this morning’s episode. Three cups of strong black coffee hadn’t helped.

“Are you certain you’re feeling all right, Miss Randolph?” His bushy gray brows furrowed in concern. “Your new position isn’t proving more stressful than you anticipated?”

Jolie gritted her teeth behind her smile for about two seconds. She had received the long-anticipated promotion to vice president of investments just six months ago, and she loved it. Why did everyone, her own father included, have to be so worried about her ability to handle a little extra stress?

“Everything is fine, sir,” she said calmly. “Just running a little behind this morning.”

Mr. Knox tapped his cheek and studied her a moment longer. “You are the youngest vice president we’ve ever had here at First International,” he reminded her. “And a woman,” he added proudly. “Your well-being is of special interest to me, Miss Randolph.”

Jolie’s smile was genuine this time. She knew he meant well, however unnecessary his concern. “Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Knox smiled knowingly. “You earned this promotion, young lady, and I have complete confidence in you. Like father, like daughter.” With that, he turned and strode toward his own office at the far end of the hall.

Jolie released her pent-up breath when Mr. Knox was well out of hearing range. Only ten o’clock and the day had hit rock bottom already. With her own office just across the hall from the conference room, Jolie didn’t have far to go to find refuge. She closed the door and crossed to her desk. In spite of all that had happened, she stole a moment to admire her spectacular view. The entire back wall of her office was one big window.

Just like the bedroom she had slept in last night.

Dread pooled in Jolie’s stomach when she recalled the tense ride in the elevator to the first floor of the unfamiliar apartment building. Her heart had been pounding so hard by the time she’d reached the street and called a cab that she had been almost afraid she was going into cardiac arrest.

The entire episode was one big blur, and she barely remembered now what the building looked like. That was good, because she definitely wanted to forget the entire event. Oddly, she had found her car parked outside her own apartment building, though she specifically remembered driving it to dinner the night before to meet Erica. Had she gone home afterward? Then gone out again? Why couldn’t she remember? With no time to consider the puzzle further, Jolie had rushed into her apartment, showered and changed, then hurried to work. And still she was late for the weekly status meeting. She’d bet her father had never been late, not once. He’d retired as president of the bank almost six years ago, and he’d left large shoes for all others to fill—including Jolie.

Put all of it out of your mind, she ordered. Forcing away the frightening memories as well as the self-deprecating thoughts, Jolie tossed her datafax onto her desk, put away her purse and buzzed Renae, her assistant, to pass along her requirements for the morning. Jolie dropped into her high-back leather chair and closed her eyes for just a minute. To her dismay, in that brief moment of total relaxation, this morning’s few vivid mental pictures played through her weary mind. All images of the man. She shuddered at the thought that a stranger had touched her. She swallowed hard. How could she have allowed that to happen? She had been at dinner and…

Erica. She could call her friend. Erica would know what happened. But when her recorded voice came across the line, Jolie remembered that her friend had left early that morning for a business trip. She wouldn’t be back in Atlanta until late tomorrow afternoon.

Heaving another disgusted sigh, Julie settled the receiver back into its cradle. The vision of the man—naked, with water streaming over his sculpted body—ricocheted through her still somewhat groggy mind. She shivered. How could she have gone home with that man—been with him—and not remember it?

Fear gripped her, cutting off her breath, at the answer that echoed in her brain. She shook her head as if to deny the thought. She was not like her mother. No. That was not possible. She would never be like her. Her mother had been very ill. The last two years of her life had been a roller-coaster ride through the final stages of severe mental illness. Jolie swallowed hard. Living with her mother had been like living with two different people those last months. One had been the loving woman Jolie had known all her life, the other someone she barely recognized. But her mother had been too weak to fight the demons that had haunted her for far too many years to count. Jolie was strong. She was fine.

“Fine,” Jolie repeated out loud.

Renae rapped lightly on the door. Jolie sat up straighter and composed herself. She would not think about any of that right now. She had a job to do. A job she loved.

She motioned for Renae to come in, then squared her shoulders and forced her attention to her work.

“Miss Randolph…” Renae stepped into the office, a folder clutched to her chest. “We have a slight problem.”

Jolie frowned, then brightened. Good. Work problems she could handle. “What’s up?” she asked, as her assistant moved around her desk to open the folder and spread the papers out before her.

“There’s a fifty thousand dollar discrepancy in this account,” Renae said tentatively.

Jolie scanned the number and then the name of the account holder. This was one of her accounts. “There must be a mistake,” she murmured promptly.

“I felt certain you would be able to take care of it,” Renae suggested hesitantly.

Jolie resisted the urge to frown at her assistant. Of course she would take care of it. Why was Renae behaving so nervously? Realization hit Jolie like a mallet between the eyes. The audit. Next month’s annual audit had everyone at the bank jumping through hoops.

“It’s all right, Renae,” Jolie assured her. “I’ll handle it. I’m sure it’s nothing more than an input error.”

Renae smiled weakly. “You’re right. I don’t know why I was so worried.” She shrugged. “This audit thing has us all out of sorts.”

“It’ll be over soon.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Renae looked thoughtful. “A man called for you this morning before you arrived, but he wouldn’t leave a message.”

Panic pricked Jolie. “Did he leave a name?”

Renae shook her head. “He just wanted to know if you made it to work all right.”

Panic stabbed deeper. “He hasn’t called again?”

“No.” Renae frowned. “It was all very odd.” She smiled wickedly then. “But he had a voice that would make a nun want to break her vows.”

Jolie tamped down the anxiety climbing into her throat. She refused to consider that the call could have been from the man in whose bed she had awakened. She intended to put that episode out of her head. She would simply pretend it hadn’t happened. It was the only way to maintain her sanity.

But how could she pretend last night hadn’t happened? Jolie’s stomach knotted. There could be serious consequences. Dear God, what had she done?

“I’ll get to the bottom of this right away.” Jolie tapped the folder and attempted a confident smile.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Renae said as she skirted the desk and headed for the door.

“Thanks,” Jolie replied vacantly. She watched through the glass wall that separated her office from the hall as Renae hurried away. She and Jolie had worked together for years. Renae was tall, slender and very attractive. She bragged about having a new boyfriend every week. Renae had always considered Jolie too uptight and straitlaced for her own good. What would dear old Renae think if she knew the man who had called this morning was probably the stranger Jolie had slept with last night?

She shook off the troubling thoughts and dived headfirst into her work.

BY NOON JOLIE KNEW she had a serious problem on her hands. She had exhausted every possibility, to no avail. The money had simply disappeared. She chewed her lower lip and allowed the one word that no banker ever wanted to consider to slip into conscious thought.

Embezzlement.

But how could that be? This was her account. Though Jolie could have turned over all her accounts to the other department head in foreign investments, she had kept several to oversee personally. These were special clients who preferred Jolie’s brand of financial strategizing. Mark, now the sole head of foreign investments, was not happy about it. He had all but accused Jolie of keeping the best clients to herself.

But Jolie was the boss now, and Mark had known better than to push the issue. Besides, she didn’t take him for a guy who really went to the mat on an issue. He’d always seemed a little spineless to her. However, Mark was good at his job. Not once had a client complained about his work. He was dependable and charming, and enormously diplomatic with the bank’s clients. And smart, Jolie had to admit.

She stared at the computer printouts before her. She had to be missing something. The money could not have disappeared into thin air. And she sure as hell hadn’t taken it. An uneasy feeling accompanied that thought, but she pushed it away. She did not take the money. And she never made mistakes like this.

Jolie flattened her palms on her desk and stood. Enough. She needed a break. She would go out, have a nice quiet lunch and recharge her batteries. The episode this morning still had her shaken, and she hadn’t eaten all day. Lunch was just what she needed. Jolie grabbed her purse and headed for the door. There was a nice restaurant only a couple of blocks away. The place would be crowded at this hour, but knowing Jolie’s discomfort with crowds, Lebron, the owner, would find her a quiet table in the back.

She paused before taking the stairs down to the first floor, placing her hand on the ornate banister and surveying the crowded lobby. First International’s was the largest and most elegant gallery in Atlanta. Accustomed to seeing it every day, Jolie sometimes forgot just how lovely it really was, with its marble floors, intricately carved wood decor and leaded glass windows. She smiled. She loved this bank. Patrons lined up before the tellers’ windows, others hovered around tables, filling out deposit and withdrawal slips. Atlanta’s financially elite trusted this bank. Trusted Jolie.

She noticed Mr. Knox doing what he did best—mingling with the customers and promoting bank-client relations. He suddenly moved to one side, and the man with whom he was speaking came into full view. Jolie’s next breath caught in her throat. He was tall and breathtakingly handsome, with hair as dark as midnight worn in a short style that complimented his angular features. That bronzed complexion completed the heart-stopping picture.

She couldn’t recall ever having seen a man quite so handsome. His black suit fitted so well it had to have been tailored just for him. She frowned. Why simply staring at a good-looking man should make her heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings she couldn’t fathom. She gave her head a little shake and silently scolded herself for behaving so foolishly.

At precisely that moment the man’s eyes met hers. Time suddenly stood still. The customers, the sounds around them faded into insignificance. There was only Jolie and this stranger looking at her so intently, as if he knew her and they shared some secret. As if…he wanted her. Jolie had the oddest feeling that they had met before. She tried to think of where or when, but couldn’t perform the necessary cognitive function. She could only stare into those dark eyes. A restless sensation started deep in her belly and spread outward, making her too warm beneath the silk of her two-piece suit.

“Jolie, there’s an urgent overseas call for you.”

She whirled abruptly, almost relieved at the summons. Renae’s expression was as anxious as her own must certainly be flustered. Jolie’s cheeks burned with embarrassment when it dawned on her that she had blatantly stared at the man, would still be doing so if Renae hadn’t interrupted. She closed her eyes to banish the image that continued to linger there. She just couldn’t concentrate today.

“Hurry, Jolie, he says it’s imperative that he speak to you.” Renae thrust out a note.

“I’m coming,” she muttered, taking the piece of paper and starting toward her office. She had every intention of going straight there, but hesitated, glancing one last time at the place in the lobby where the stranger had stood.

He was gone. She dismissed the peculiar feeling of connection and hurried back to her office.

Taking a second to catch her breath, she inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. Once more and she was ready. Boy, she was a real mess this morning.

“Good afternoon, Mr.—” Jolie glanced at the note Renae had shoved into her hand “—Millard, this is Jolie Randolph. How may I help you?” She frowned at the words First Royal Cayman Bank scribbled beneath the caller’s name.

“Miss Randolph,” the man began in a thick, distinguished accent. “I was most concerned when I received your latest deposit transfer without the usual instructions.”

Deposit transfer? Jolie wrinkled her forehead in a frown. At a Cayman bank? That was impossible. “I’m sorry, Mr. Millard, are you referring to an account belonging to a client of this bank?” She considered crossly that it might be something new Mark was involved in. It would be just like him to leave her in the dark.

“No, no, mademoiselle, I’m referring to your personal account.”

Jolie almost laughed out loud. “My personal account? I’m sorry, there must be some mistake.”

“Mistake? There is no mistake. You make a transfer twice per month, and always with precise instructions as to your wishes.” He cleared his throat impatiently. “Now, may I have your instructions?”

Ice formed in Jolie’s stomach. This was wrong. It had to be a mistake. She didn’t have a foreign account. She never made personal transfers of an international nature—with or without instructions. Her heart slammed mercilessly against her rib cage.

“Miss Randolph?”

Jolie shook her head in denial of the question she was about to ask. But she had to know. “Would you give me a balance on the account, please, Mr. Millard?”

Jolie slumped back in her leather chair when he recited a number just shy of one and a half million dollars. The room shifted around her, and for one long moment Jolie thought she would faint. This was insane. It had to be some ridiculous mistake.

“You’ve made six deposit transfers since setting up the account in person just three months ago,” he added, obviously miffed that she had no recall of the transactions.

She couldn’t deal with this now. It couldn’t be happening. She had never been to the Cayman Islands, much less set up an account at their most prestigious bank. She had to end this call. She had to think. Jolie drew in a harsh, steadying breath and interrupted the man’s continued protests that he had her signature on file, and other personal data. “Mr. Millard,” she said stiffly, “I apologize for the misunderstanding. Please handle my latest transfer as you did the previous one.” She had no idea what that meant, but it seemed to appease the man. “Refresh my memory, if you would, regarding my other deposits.”

Ten minutes later, Jolie dropped the receiver back into its cradle. She felt numb. This was crazy. She couldn’t have taken a trip, set up a foreign bank account and transferred more than a million dollars into it without remembering….

Could she?

A memory surfaced with gut-wrenching swiftness. Of her mother swearing to her father that she hadn’t bought the clothes and jewelry he’d found hidden in her closet. She’d sworn she hadn’t made the unexplainable charges to credit cards amounting to thousands of dollars. Someone else had done it. Why wouldn’t anyone believe her?

Jolie wet her lips and shook her head. No. That wasn’t happening to her. She wasn’t like her mother. She closed her eyes to hold back the tears. She had loved her mother so, but she wasn’t like her. Jolie wasn’t ill. She was fine. Just fine.

She swiped the moisture from her eyes and took a deep, bolstering breath. She surveyed her office, taking solace in the numerous plaques and other accolades that adorned the two side walls. She was not her mother. This was some sort of mistake and Jolie would straighten it out. Then she would put this entire deplorable day behind her.

Lunch would just have to wait.

ONE POINT FOUR MILLION dollars. The amount deposited in the Cayman bank was exactly the amount missing from the client accounts Jolie personally maintained. Each discrepancy, date of withdrawal and amount matched a deposit transfer to the First Royal Cayman Bank.

Long after the bank had closed Jolie sat staring at the figures. She pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temples and closed her eyes. There was no explanation for it. The money was simply gone.

Oh God.

Another wave of near hysteria washed over her. The audit. She had to undo this damage before anyone noticed. She winced. Renae had already found one discrepancy. What if she discovered the rest before Jolie could fix everything? She would never be able to smile at her assistant and assure her that it was a simple input error.

Okay, she told herself, squashing the panic exploding inside her. She could take care of this. It was late now. She needed a clear head and a fresh start to undo this sort of damage. First thing tomorrow morning, Jolie would redeposit all the money back into her clients’ accounts. She would close the Cayman account and pretend it had never happened.

But it did happen, a little voice mocked.

She pushed herself out of her chair and grabbed her purse. She had to get out of here. Maybe she could reach Erica at her hotel in St. Louis. Jolie needed a plan. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she would work the problem out. This time next month, when the audit was over, this whole nightmare would be just a bad memory.

She hesitated at the door as a vague image flashed in her mind’s eye—the fleeting impression of a man. She stood very still for a time and attempted to recapture the fragment of memory, but couldn’t. God, she was tired.

She turned off her light and locked the door behind her. Everyone else had gone home already. A quiet dinner was just what she needed. But she didn’t really want to go home right now. Her place would be too empty, allowing too many questions to haunt her.

The night watchman let Jolie out the side entrance, the one closest to her car. In her haste this morning, she hadn’t bothered parking it in the garage. She’d never been to Lebron’s for anything other than lunch, but it was handy and familiar, so she decided to head there now. She glanced up at the September night sky and its winking stars, and forced herself to relax. Tomorrow would be better.

It couldn’t possibly get any worse.