Читать книгу The Highest Bidder - Maureen Child - Страница 18

“So you decided to take my advice and seduce it out of her?”

That sounded a lot colder when Roark said it aloud than it had in Vance’s mind. But yeah, the upshot was, that’s exactly what he’d set out to do. It had all started so simply. A dinner date. Then walks and talks and before he had known it, he had been as seduced as she was.

Sex had been the next logical step.

Seduction might have been the plan at the beginning, but it had morphed into something else. Something that felt a hell of a lot more permanent than he had ever considered.

Scraping one hand across his face in irritation, Vance frowned at the phone in his hand, and muttered, “Yeah, all right? I did.”

“And you sound really pleased about that,” his brother shot back with a laugh.

“It’s … complicated.”

“Uh-oh. Sounds bad.”

“Could be,” Vance admitted, hating the fact that he didn’t know where this thing with Charlie was going. Ordinarily, he’d say enjoy it then move on. Just like always. But he didn’t want to move on. Plus, the thought of Charlie moving on to some other guy made him want to hit something. Breakable.

“Okay, leaving that aside for now, what’ve you found out?” Roark asked.

His brother’s voice rose and fell like applause at a bad play. The connection was terrible.

“Where the hell are you that your satellite phone is having a bad day?”

Roark snorted a laugh that came through loud and clear. “In the middle of the jungle.”

“Still in the Amazon?” Vance stood up and looked out his office window at the Manhattan view. Summer was making the streets practically steam, but he had a feeling the heat and humidity were much worse where Roark was.

“Yeah, almost done, though, so should be able to jet back soon. But we were talking about your assistant, remember?”

Like he could forget.

He had expected that sex with Charlie, finally satisfying that staggering need he’d felt for her, would take the edge off. Would, in a way, be liberating. Allow him to take a step back and look at the situation through clear eyes. Instead, sex with Charlie had just pulled him in deeper. Made him think dangerous thoughts. Made him want—

“So, she’s not the spy?”

“No.” Grateful to have his mind pushed off its traitorous track, he shook his head and studied the street scene below. Office workers striding up and down the sidewalk with purposeful steps. A kid on a skateboard was holding on to his dog’s leash for a fast ride and Vance smiled as a woman in heels had to jump out of the kid’s way.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” In a few short sentences, Vance brought his brother up-to-date on the whole blackmail situation—and his plans to end it.

“Well, damn, that’s intriguing. Who the hell is this guy?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out this afternoon.”

“How? The street around the coffee shop will be jammed at four in the afternoon. If this guy sees you with Charlie, he won’t make contact.”

“I’ve got that figured out, too,” Vance said, turning his back on the world to sit at his desk again. He filled Roark in on the plan.

“Sounds good. Lemme know how it goes.”

“I will,” Vance said, then finally brought up the real reason he had called his brother. “About the Gold Heart statue …”

“What about it?”

“How’d you find it? Where’s it been all these years? Ann’s letting the world know about it and people are really talking. This auction’s going to be the biggest thing we’ve ever handled.”

“I can’t get into it right now, Vance,” Roark said, his voice fading. “Just trust me, it’s all good.”

“Wait a minute!” Vance called into the phone and heard nothing in reply. Either his brother had just hung up on him, or the connection had abruptly died.

He did trust Roark. But Waverly’s had a lot riding on the upcoming auction of the Rayas collection. They couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong.

Anything could go wrong. Vance wore black jeans, a black T-shirt and boots. Nothing against any of his suits, but if he had to sprint to Charlie’s side he wanted to be able to move fast and sure.

As it was, he didn’t like any of this. Yeah, it had been his idea, but now that it was happening, he really hated the thought of Charlie being out there on her own.

He stood half-hidden behind the edge of a building on Fifth Avenue. A shoe store, he thought, but didn’t really care. What he cared about was that he had a direct line of sight to Charlie, standing in front of the Coffee Spot. It was a popular enough coffee shop that the crowds were moving in and out constantly. Hard to keep an eye on her, but it would also be hard for the blackmailer to try anything dangerous. She was safe, surrounded by hundreds of strangers.

The summer sun was brutal in late afternoon, blasting down out of a clear blue sky. Traffic was piled up as always, and hordes of pedestrians leaped off the curbs and crossed the street whenever the hell they wanted to. Red lights meant nothing to New Yorkers.

Scowling, he lifted his binoculars and focused on Charlie’s face. She looked worried. And his insides twisted in response. He wasn’t sure how he’d developed this protective streak, but when it came to her and her son, it was ramped up beyond anything he’d ever felt before.

Charlie glanced around, let her gaze slide slowly over where she knew he was hiding and a small smile curved her mouth. Good. He didn’t want her scared. He wanted this to be over. And if he couldn’t be right beside her, then at least she felt better knowing he was close. It also helped to have one of the Waverly security guards in plainclothes, standing nearby.

When the man approached, Vance almost didn’t notice him for a second. He looked so nondescript. Ugly brown suit, bad black wig and ridiculously oversize glasses. Vance focused the binoculars on his new target and wished to hell he could read lips when the man started talking to Charlie.

Twenty minutes later, she was sitting across a table from Vance recounting what had happened.

“Everything went wrong,” Charlie complained over a latte and a doughnut.

“Not everything,” Vance argued with a frown. “You met him. Up close and personal.”

“And didn’t recognize him,” she pointed out. Taking a sip of her latte, she held the cup between both palms to ease the chill she still felt. He even had a weird voice. Like he was disguising it, too.

It had been scary, meeting the man who had been threatening her for weeks. But she also felt good about at last doing something proactive instead of simply hiding beneath her desk hoping it would all go away. Plus, knowing that Vance was just across the street with a pair of binoculars had helped a little. Now that the disastrous meeting was over, she and Vance were sitting in the Coffee Spot, comparing notes.

“Tell me again what he said.”

She shook her head and broke off a piece of her glazed doughnut. Rather than eating it, though, she crumbled it until it was doughnut dust on her plate. All around them, people talked or laughed, the espresso machine hissed and steamed and the clatter of plates and cups played background noise.

“He was furious that I wanted to meet,” Charlie said, remembering the man’s deep, scratchy voice and the rage that had driven him. “Really angry. I think I’ve stalled him as long as I can. He said he was through fooling around and that if I didn’t hand over the files by this weekend, he would go to Social Services and file a complaint about me.”

Grimly, Vance clenched his jaw tight enough to grind his teeth into powder. “I was sure one of us would recognize the bastard.” He took a drink of his coffee. “I can’t believe he wore that stupid disguise.”

“It was creepy. And not so stupid,” she added, “since it worked and kept both of us from knowing who he was.” Frowning, she admitted, “He did seem familiar, though. Something about him …”

“With that outfit he was wearing, it was no wonder neither of us recognized him,” Vance grumbled. “The glasses alone made his eyes almost impossible to see.”

True. The ultramagnified lenses had blurred and distorted the guy’s green eyes completely, and you could usually tell a lot about someone from his eyes. The only really distinctive thing about him was the bright red scar that ran from his forehead down to the left side of his jaw. The whole time they’d talked, Charlie’s gaze had fixed on that scar to the point of ignoring everything else.

“The scar—”

“Fake,” Vance muttered.

“What? Why?” she asked. “Why a scar?”

“To keep you from noticing anything else,” he explained. “And it worked. On me, too. I was too far away to be sure, but for a minute or two, I could have sworn I’d seen the guy before.” Disgusted, he blew out a breath. “The way he moved, stood. There was something there, as you said, familiar. Then he turned and all I saw was that scar. Smart, really, to use that to distract us. Plus, he disappeared into the lunch crowd so fast, our security guy missed him completely.”

Disappointment welled inside her and tangled up with the anxiety that seemed to be such a part of her these days. “So we’re no closer to knowing who he is.”

“Not yet.”

“So Jake is still at risk.” Now fear rose up and swamped her disappointment.

His gaze snapped to hers. “My gut tells me this isn’t really about you. Remember, all this started the day the newspaper article was published. I think this is about Waverly’s.”

“But they’re using Jake as leverage.”

“I told you, I won’t let anything happen to your son.”

Charlie nodded, but couldn’t keep the ache in her chest from showing in her eyes. Vance would do all he could—she believed that. But the truth was, she’d hoped that this would be over today. Instead, they were right back where they started.

The next few days were hectic at Waverly’s.

There were provenances to clear, appraisals to collect and a presale exhibition to arrange. With another, although smaller, less celebrated auction to take place in two weeks, Waverly’s would put the items to be included on public display after the weekend.

Open to everyone, the presale exhibition usually garnered a lot of good press and, right now, Waverly’s could use all it could get. Of course, most people only wanted to talk about the Gold Heart statue.

The papers were full of speculation. Every day someone was coming out with a new theory on where the Gold Heart had been all these years and how Waverly’s had managed to get hold of it.

“I don’t have an answer for them,” Ann said as she paced the interior of Vance’s office. “Roark didn’t have time to explain how he came to lay claim to the statue on our behalf. At first, the media was just frenzied about the statue. Now, they’re looking for details and I’ve got nothing.”

“Just leave it alone, Ann,” Vance suggested. “The press is good for the house and when we auction off the statue, it’s going to solidify our reputation and quiet any more rumors.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said wryly.

“I’m always right,” he quipped, thinking that he had said just that to Charlie a few days ago, after their unsuccessful attempt to stop her blackmailer.

“You haven’t heard anything else?” Ann walked to his desk and leaned over, planting both hands on the edge. “No more rumors about a possible hostile takeover by Dalton?”

“Nothing. You?”

“No, everything’s gotten quiet and that worries me,” she admitted. Pushing up from the desk, she folded her arms over her chest and added, “I’ve got Kendra looking into it, trying to feel people out, see if anything pops, but so far, nothing.” She frowned slightly. “Plus, have you noticed, there’s been no response from Rothschild’s about our acquiring the Gold Heart. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Waverly.”

A voice spoke up from the open doorway and Vance winced. Hell, his mind had been so scattered lately, he hadn’t even shut the door when Ann showed up to talk. Anyone could have been listening to their conversation. But with Charlie out at lunch with her friend Katie, he’d left the door open purposely to be able to keep an eye on the outer office.

Vance looked at the mailroom kid. Teddy. That was his name. Couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, with bright red hair, green eyes and so many freckles he looked as if he’d been spattered with brown paint.

“Come on in, Teddy.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but your assistant’s not at her desk and I’ve got the mail here and—” He stopped nervously. “Ms. Richardson,” he said and just barely resisted bowing.

Ann was gracious, as always. She gave the kid a smile and said, “It’s okay, Teddy. We’ve all got our jobs to do, don’t we?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, leaving his pushcart at the door and carrying a stack of mail to Vance. Once he’d handed it over, Teddy hurried out again.

When he was gone, Ann turned back to Vance and repeated, “Dalton being so quiet about our good fortune. Doesn’t it worry you?”

“It does,” he said, glancing briefly at the stack of mail and the one oversize manila envelope beneath all the others. Then he stood up to walk around to the front of his desk. Leaning back onto it, he continued, “It’s not like Dalton to be so circumspect. I fully expected him to at least question the authenticity of the statue. Do something to take the shine off the good press we’ve been getting lately.”

“Exactly,” Ann said. “He’s up to something. I just know it.”

“Then all we can do is wait for him to make a move,” he said, not liking that one bit. He hated waiting. Hated feeling as if his hands were tied. And he really hated not being able to ease Charlie’s mind about these threats that were still hanging over her head.

Just a day away from the blackmailer’s weekend deadline, Vance was no closer to discovering the man’s identity. Though the sense of familiarity had been bugging him for days.

Who the hell was that guy?

“I’m not very patient, I’m afraid,” Ann said, with a quick glance at her wristwatch.

“No, neither am I. But I don’t think we have a choice this time.”

“Which only makes it harder,” Ann said, giving him a rueful smile. “Thanks for listening to me, Vance. I’ve got to run to make my meeting with the heads of publicity. They want to show me what they’ve come up with so far on the Gold Heart auction.”

“Already?” Impressive, he thought, since the auction wouldn’t be held for months yet.

“This is the biggest auction we’ve—anyone’s—ever done,” Ann said simply. “We’re going to see to it that this is the most talked about event of the year.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, then turned back to his desk when she’d gone.

There was so much going on at Waverly’s these days, there was a damn near tangible thread of anxiety slipping through the whole house. And everyone was feeling it.

He sat down and picked through the mail, setting most of it aside for Charlie to deal with when she got back from lunch. But the thick manila envelope got his attention. There was his name in big block letters. No return address. Heavy. Vance balanced it on his palms and finally flipped it over, undid the clasp and slid the contents onto his desk.

There was no note.

Only pictures.

Dozens of them. Full color and black-and-white and they were all of the same man. Vance tensed as he flipped through them quickly. Every photo showed the same man wearing a different disguise. There was enough about the shape of his head, the way he stood, the way he squinted into the light, that all seemed familiar, again and again, despite the ways he was trying to hide his real identity. In some, he wore colored contacts, others, those magnifying glasses Vance had seen him in. In every photo, he wore wigs, sometimes a scar, sometimes an eye patch, always something to distract the viewer. But it was always the same man.

Charlie’s blackmailer.

“Who the hell took these?” Vance muttered as he found a shot of the mystery man talking to Charlie outside the Coffee Spot the day of their scheduled meet. Vance had been there. He hadn’t seen anyone pointing a camera, although, he’d been too busy focusing on Charlie to have noticed. He continued looking through the photos until he came to the last one.

Then he dropped the others and studied the photo of a good-looking man with wide, dark blue eyes. He tapped the photo with his finger as a flare of satisfaction shot through him.

“Dammit,” he whispered in satisfaction, “I knew you were familiar.” He knew this guy. Had known him for years.

Henry Boyle, one of two assistants to Dalton Rothschild, CEO of Rothschild’s auction house. “You son of a bitch. I’ve got you now. And whatever you and Dalton are planning—not going to work.”

He studied that photo for a long minute or two, reveling in the pleasure he felt at the knowledge that he could tell Charlie her problems were over. Now that he knew who was behind all this, he was going to the police. They’d have Henry arrested before end of business.

Then, as he continued to look at the photo, something else dawned on him. Something that he should have guessed. Who the hell else would have known all Charlie’s secrets? Who else would have known what to threaten her with?

“I know those eyes of yours, too, you bastard,” he said to the man in the picture. “I see them every day, in your son.”

Charlie’s blackmailer was Jake’s father.

It wasn’t easy to tell her. And once it was done, all he could do was listen as she poured out her fury.

“How could he do that to me? To his son?” she raged, prowling the confines of his office as if it were a cage she couldn’t escape. “What kind of man treats people like that?”

“A bad one,” Vance offered.

“‘Bad’?” she repeated, staring at him openmouthed. “He’s more than bad. He’s … evil. Disgusting. Appalling. He was using me to take Waverly’s down!”

“Yeah,” Vance said, “he was.”

If he had needed more proof that Charlie was in no way involved in any of it—which he didn’t—seeing her like this would have convinced him.

“And he’s my son’s father!” She stopped at that and turned wide eyes on Vance.

“What?” he asked, going to her, holding her.

“Jake. Oh, my poor baby. What can I possibly tell him about his father?”

He heard the pain in her voice and speaking only to that, said, “Tell him you loved him.”

“I thought I did, yes.” Her gaze shot to his. “And what does that say about me? What kind of judge of character am I that I could make a child with a man who could do something so hideous?”

Vance pulled her in tightly to him and closed his eyes as she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on. He didn’t like acknowledging that she had cared for the bastard. That some other man had had a shot with Charlie and then was fool enough to waste it. “It says you have a generous heart. It says you don’t look for the bad in people.”

“And that I’m an idiot. Don’t forget that part,” she muttered, her face buried in his chest.

He laughed a little and cupped her head in his palms, tipping her back so that he could look into her eyes. “You’re the smartest woman I know, Charlie. This isn’t about you. It’s about Henry Boyle and the mistakes he made.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Vance told her, willing her to believe him as his heart broke at the sheen of furious tears in her eyes. “He was stupid enough to walk away from you and your son. He’s the idiot. Never forget that.”

Her lips twisted into a half smile. “You’re being nice to me again.”

“I shouldn’t be?”

“You should be furious. Because of me, Waverly’s might have been ruined.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Could have been,” she argued.

“Could-haves don’t count,” he said with a smile. “Besides, look at it this way. You started this scared to death, but you stood up to him. You fought back and you won.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

“Yeah,” she said softly, “it is.” She laid her head down on his chest again and sighed heavily. “It’s over, isn’t it? Jake’s safe.”

“Yeah.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her as tightly to him as he could. “It’s over. Jake’s safe. And so are you.”

“Thank you.” Her whisper was almost lost, but Vance heard it and whispered a “thanks” of his own to whoever it was who had sent those photos.

A couple of hours later, calls had been made, charges filed and it was all over but for the last act.

“You’re sure you want to be here for this?” Vance kept one arm around Charlie’s shoulders, holding her tight to his side.

They stood outside Rothschild’s auction house in the late-afternoon sun. A police patrol car was parked at the curb and people passing on the sidewalk were slowing down to see what was happening.

“I’m sure,” she said, lifting her chin and stiffening her spine. “I want to see him arrested. I want to know that it’s over. Really.”

He understood that, though he would have kept her away if he could. Hell, just remembering the shocked, stunned expression on her face when he’d told her what he’d discovered had been enough to level him. But then he remembered how quickly she had shifted from shock to fury and his admiration for her soared.

No one would ever keep Charlie down. She had too much strength. Henry Boyle should have recognized that.

Vance came up out of his thoughts at the outraged shout.

“You can’t arrest me! You have no proof of anything!”

Still holding on to Charlie’s shoulders, Vance turned to watch as two police officers—one man, one woman—walked Henry Boyle out of Rothschild’s. The man was shouting and pulling at the officers, trying to get away, but with his hands cuffed in front of him, it wouldn’t be easy. A crowd was gathering on the sidewalk, but the traffic in the street was still a steady stream of movement and color.

Charlie stiffened against him when Henry’s wild gaze landed on her and he screamed in impotent rage.

“You stupid bitch! This is all your fault! All you had to do was give me the damn files!”

Vance’s fury was growing to match Boyle’s but he stood his ground and tugged Charlie half-behind him to protect her from the enraged man getting closer.

“Bitch! Stupid!”

“Come on now,” the male officer said as he reached down to open the squad car door. “Enough of that. Let’s go. You’ll get your say eventually.”

“Screw that!” Henry yanked free of the man’s grip, head-butted the female officer, and when she staggered backward, pulled free of her as well. With a last, frantic look at Charlie, Henry sprinted for freedom, pushing through the onlookers, rushing for the street.

He dodged a hybrid car and a yellow cab. Brakes squealed. People shouted. Horns blared. He was almost clear when he ran straight into the path of a city bus unable to stop in time.

Charlie choked out a cry as she turned her face into Vance’s chest. And as the street erupted into shocked screams, he held her there, sparing her from seeing what had become of Henry Boyle.