Читать книгу Once Upon A Marriage - Tara Taylor Quinn - Страница 14

CHAPTER FIVE

LIAM, WHO’D GRADUATED with a degree in finance and business administration, but a minor in journalism so he could pursue his first love—writing—had a full day at the Connelly Building on Thursday. Jeb Williams, his father’s bodyguard and also a financier on the top floor, had Liam’s back while he was in the building, but Elliott insisted on seeing the man to and from the downtown high-rise. Gabrielle first, then Liam. Reverse on the return. With time in between to watch the neighborhood around the Arapahoe. To talk to people. Get a report from the security guard checking residents in at the back door. Something was amiss. He just didn’t know what.

So there’d been a blue car with a stolen plate that had left when he approached. Didn’t mean it had anything to do with Liam Connelly. Or was any threat to Marie.

His gut was telling him not to walk away from this one. Not to let go.

Because there was something he hadn’t seen yet? Something he’d missed?

Or because he needed to believe there was still danger so he’d be forced to stay on this job?

Liam waited inside the employees’ private parking garage entrance to the Connelly Building until Elliott pulled up in the SUV. Finally. He’d been telling his client to take his safety more seriously since news of his father’s duplicity—and the company’s criminal activities—first broke.

“Williams is going to be calling you,” the expensively suited man said as he settled casually into the seat. Before Elliott could ask why, his cell rang and Williams’s name popped up.

“You got Connelly there with you?” The man, whom Elliott had first visited during his initial investigation of Liam on behalf of Barbara Bustamante, didn’t introduce himself.

“Yes.”

“Has he told you about the reporters?”

“No.” He didn’t look at his charge.

Pulling out of the darkened garage into bright sunshine, Elliott turned left, making another quick left to head toward the building that housed the public law offices where Gabrielle worked.

“He sent me an email while I was out. While he assured me he was going to be lunching in, after which I kept the business lunch I’d scheduled, he instead skipped out to a corner deli apparently to meet with his editor to go over last-minute edits to the May installment of the series he’s writing on his father’s life...”

The words earned Liam Connelly a sharp look from Elliott, but the financier didn’t seem to notice.

Elliott knew better. Liam Connelly was a smart man. He knew he’d made a mistake. He’d emailed Williams.

And warned Elliott.

Liam was an honest man. He also was his own man. He did what he thought was right. To the point of stupidity, in Elliott’s opinion. Not that he blamed the guy. Liam’s adamant independence was a product of growing up under the abusively domineering hand of a father who’d been determined to control him at all costs.

“Let me talk to him,” Elliott said now, breaking into whatever Williams had been about to tell him. “I’ll get back with you.”

He didn’t work for Jeb Williams. Didn’t really even know the guy. Other than to know that his initial association with Williams had inadvertently allowed him to walk into the perfect cover for the job he’d been on. And while Liam Connelly was paying him—a nonnegotiable term on Liam’s part, one that Elliott had fought—even Liam was unaware that he’d come to them initially through Barbara Bustamante. And was still on her payroll, as well.

“I screwed up,” Liam said as soon as Elliott slid his smartphone back into its holster.

“How bad is it?”

“That jerk reporter, Tarnished Truth...”

Elliott recognized the name. The sleazy reporter who sold his work to sensationalistic independent internet news sources had gone after Liam and Gabrielle back in February, lying in wait and then infusing slimy innuendo into the stories he reported.

“He must have followed me,” Liam said. “I can’t believe it was the coincidence he claimed that he happened to be there. He said that he thought he owed it to me, because of his unbecoming behavior earlier in the year, to let me know that there’s been some talk at a bar he hangs out at—some reporter hangout, according to him. Word is I’ve now taken over my father’s business.”

“You’ve taken on a more active role,” Elliott said.

“He claims that the rumor is that this whole scheme was prearranged, like Agent Menard and the FBI originally thought. That my father and I had some big plan to frame George so I could take over if the Ponzi scheme ever came to light.”

“They have reams of proof that George Costas was behind the fraudulent investments.” Elliott tackled the obvious while his mind worked furiously on the real piece of news.

The press—at least certain members of it—were still out to hang Liam. Probably because he was young, good-looking and recently married, making him of keener interest to their readers. He was good for drama to those who cared more about such things than about newsworthy facts. And a source of jealousy to a lot of people.

“You and I know all about the evidence against George. Doesn’t mean the press knows.”

“My understanding was that Costas could be close to a plea deal.” He’d heard that straight from Liam.

“That’s what Gwen Menard told me when I spoke with her last week.” The FBI agent who’d originally questioned Liam.

Talk of a plea deal was worth nothing until it actually happened. Could change in the space of a heartbeat—or a conversation. And until it was done, Liam and his father were going to be under attack.

Even after it was done the suspicious-minded would probably still doubt them. Still wonder. Still tell the stories conjured up by their conspiracy-theory mind-sets.

“I’m assuming you set him straight,” Elliott said, making the last turn that would allow him to pull up at the curb right outside Gabrielle’s building.

“Of course I did. And he thanked me for allowing him to know the truth firsthand.”

“He’s up to no good,” Elliott said aloud.

“That’s a strong possibility.”

He couldn’t stop a reporter from reporting—even when the news was false. The guy would just claim that he believed his story to be the truth. Liam could always sue for defamation of character, but not until after the damage was done.

“So I’ll call and get some extra security for the front of the coffee shop just in case. And we stay on high alert,” Elliott said, sliding the vehicle into the curb as Gabrielle, in a navy pantsuit and with briefcase in hand, came outside.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Liam grumbled.

But he didn’t argue.

* * *

MARIE WAS ALREADY UPSTAIRS, having left Eva and Nancy—another college student, a weekend employee who’d asked to pick up some extra hours—to close up the shop for the night, when Gabrielle got home. Gabi called her to invite her to share Chinese takeout in their apartment.

Chinese takeout that had already been ordered and that would be delivered momentarily. Which meant one thing to Marie. Trouble was brewing.

She hoped to God it wasn’t between Liam and Gabi.

Anything but that.

Putting the tuna she’d been mixing in a container and shoving it in the mostly empty fridge, she changed into a clean pair of jeans, a black tailored blouse and sandals before heading out. In the olden days, during most of the past thirteen years that Gabi had been living with her, Marie would have shown up to the table for Chinese takeout in the sweats she’d had on. But in the olden days, they’d never gone to Liam’s world. He’d always come to theirs.

As soon as she stepped into the apartment, she was glad she’d changed. Elliott Tanner was there, his big body looming over the small cardboard cartons from his seat at the table. Liam was in the kitchen getting drinks. But it was clear from the table setting that she’d been left to sit next to the bodyguard.

She wanted to be upset about that.

Or at least unmoved.

It would be their first dinner together.

She pulled out her seat with such force it almost toppled. “How’d you know I’d be free for dinner?” was the first question she asked.

And then, with a glance at Elliott, she answered her own questions. “Because you have my schedule.”

He nodded. Offered her the honey walnut shrimp. “Gabrielle says this is for you.”

They had more for her, too, she found out as they started to eat. With apology written all over his face, Liam confessed his actions of early in the day.

Marie cared about the reporters. Didn’t want their residents or her customers harassed. She cared that Liam and Gabi could be dragged through the mud again socially.

But what worried her most was that Liam had been caught out at an undisclosed lunch meeting with editor woman.

* * *

TARNISHED TRUTH’S THEORY made it onto two internet news sources Friday morning. Elliott had had to search three levels deep, but he’d found the proclamation that Liam and his father had concocted the entire rift in their relationship in an attempt to distance Liam—not to protect him. Liam was completely innocent, as Walter had publically confessed when he’d admitted to his own duplicity in hiding the Ponzi scheme he’d discovered in his company. He’d intended to protect his son from any kind of accountability so that he could take over his father’s business, keep it in the family, in the event that Walter ended up serving any kind of prison term for obstruction of justice. But Liam had not been in collusion with him.

Walter’s plea deal, which included no prison time, had already been accepted and recorded. Either Tarnished hadn’t done his homework, or he simply hadn’t cared, as the ultimate sentence couldn’t have been known at the time that Walter and Liam would have made the plan.

Didn’t really matter at that point. With the news out there, Elliott was bound right where he was. Working for Liam and using the job as a cover for watching over Marie Bustamante. He’d been bound anyway.

He’d known that. Until the Connelly case was settled, tensions around the family were going to be running high with a lot of angry people trying to recover from financial ruin.

They’d get their money back. Walter was seeing to that—paying them out of arms of his company that were legitimate and fluid. But for some the return would be too late in terms of lost credit and homes.

Which inevitably led to some broken relationships, substance abuse, lost jobs, lost hope...

All things that made people desperate.

And that was where he came in. Protecting his clients from desperate people.

He’d been sitting outside Marie’s coffee shop just after nine on Friday, having dropped off Liam and Gabrielle at their respective places of work, watching for any replay of the reporter fiasco they’d had two months before the Connelly investment news first hit the airwaves, when his phone rang. A past client of his—an esteemed doctor who’d been threatened by the family of a man who’d died under his care.

He answered on the first ring.

And by the time a second could have pealed, he had hung up again. To quickly dial the security guard positioned by Marie’s front door, warning him that he was going to be gone for a bit.

There was an alleged gunman at the doctor’s son’s elementary school. The place was on lockdown. He wanted Elliott there, to do anything he could to assist in saving the lives of the endangered children. The sum he’d offered was astronomical.

But having his services hired allowed Elliott to be at the scene.

He’d worry about money later.

* * *

MARIE WAS IN her office with Grace, her eighty-year-old baker, having lunch, when Edith Larkin, a seventy-year-old widow who lived on the fifth floor, came off the elevator. “Do you have your television on?” she asked, clearly agitated as she wiped her hands on the apron she seemed to wear from morning until night.

The small flat-screen in the corner was off. Grace, who was closest, grabbed the remote and turned it on.

Certain that she was going to see something to do with Gabi and Liam—or at the very least Liam—Marie braced herself. She’d had the news on in the shop all morning, just in case, so she could warn her friends, but all morning there hadn’t even been a Connelly mention.

Leave it to fate to blast news during the half hour she took to enjoy a broccoli and cucumber sandwich.

“There,” Edith proclaimed as soon as Grace had turned to the local channel. “Isn’t that our head security guy?” the woman asked, pointing to the screen.

Heart pounding, Marie had already noticed Elliott on the screen. But was confused by all the flashing lights coming from the cars and trucks and ambulances surrounding the scene. Where was he?

“...don’t know any more yet, but stay tuned. We’re on the scene and...” The female announcer’s voice-over could be heard loud and clear.

“Where are they?” Marie asked. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a gunman at Heathrow Elementary,” Edith told her. “Why is our security man there?”

Marie had no idea.

Jumping up from her seat, she moved closer to the screen, scared to death.