Perfect Victim, The (15 page)

"I'll pick them up tomorrow."

"You can pay the advance tomorrow, too. Six-hundred dollars. I'll bill you for expenses."

Disappointment drifted through her when she realized he was thinking of money rather than her safety. For a moment, she'd almost fooled herself into thinking he was actually concerned about her well-being. Stupid thought. Business was business. Men were men.

He rose and walked to the French door that led to her rear patio. He checked the lock, then turned to her. "Keep this locked. Keep your phone handy. Don't let anyone in unless you personally know them.”

"Of course. I'll be careful."

Snagging his coat off the back of the chair, he started for
the door. She followed, hating that she suddenly felt uneasy about being alone.

Before opening the door, he withdrew his wallet and handed her his business card. "My pager number's written on the back if you need it
.
"

His fingers brushed against hers when she reached for the card. His eyes skimmed down the
front of her. A renegade jolt of pleasure barreled through her
.

"I'll call Van-Dyne first thing in the morning and fill him in." He opened the door, checked the hall
,
then looked at her
.

She raised her eyes to his, strangely disconcerted by the dark intensity of his gaze
.
God, he was one of the most unsettling men she'd ever met
.

"I'll hang around the building for a while." But he didn't move. His eyes flicked to her mouth.

Addison
'
s pulse jumped in response
.
She told herself it was because she didn't quite trust him, but she was in tune with herself enough to know it was because she wasn't the only one who'd just felt the arc of electricity.

Feeling uncharacteristically awkward
,
she stepped back, thankful her intellect had kicked in before she did something stupid. The last thing she needed in her life right now was a man
,
especially a volatile, unpredictable man like Randall
Talbot
.

"Thanks for the coffee." He tapped the bolt lock with his finger. "Don't forget to lock it."

"I won't
.
"

His gaze lingered on hers an instant longer, then he turned and walked away without so much as a backward glance.

Addison closed the door, then leaned against it
.
The elevator down the hall chimed. She had the crazy urge to call him back
,
but of course she didn't
.
Instead, she leaned against the door, trying to turn off her thoughts, trying not to be afraid. But her sense of security had been shattered
.
She felt as if she were riding in a car that was careening out
of control, and she could do nothing but hang on for dear life.

The tears came with surprising force. Body-wracking sobs that shook her all the way down to her toes. It was as if all the emotions she'd suppressed in the last hours had finally been unleashed. The memory of the shooting rushed at her like tiny spears. The terror, the helplessness, the knowledge that death had come so perilously near.

And with a stark sense of dismay, she realized that even locked away in her own apartment, she no longer felt safe.

Chapter
7

Beyond the glass wall of his fourth-floor office, rain fell in sheets, bringing a rise of fog to the street below. He watched the people on the sidewalk with a mixture of disinterest and disgust as they went about their daily routines like mindless herd animals
.

He should have been celebratory, sitting where he was, looking down at the rest of the world from his exalted position. He should have felt superior perched above the scampering rats beyond the glass. He should have felt in control and relaxed. But he didn't feel any of those things.

The demons of his past had finally come home. Tasks he'd left unfinished as
'
a careless and
i
rresponsible young man were tumbling back into his life to haunt him, like a persistent ghost that had become as dangerous as it was frightening.

He
'
d dreaded this moment his entire life
.
Not because he was afraid
.
Fear never entered into his decisions. Nor was the dread he felt induced by the thought of violence. Vio
lence was merely a part of doing business, many times necessary, invariably effective.

It was the lack of control that troubled him most. There were too many people in too many places asking too many questions. There were too many loose ends. Predictably, it was the loose ends most men failed to deal with. Loose ends that eventually destroyed them.

Swiveling in the black leather executive chair, he faced the man who'd entered his office. He considered the nondescript features made important not by the European suit or Gucci loafers, but by the knowledge stored beneath the scrupulous facade. He paid his employees well. As a result, they did his bidding for him without objection and without question.

His eyes traveled to the fully stocked wet bar. He watched with a rich sense of satisfaction as the other man walked to the bar, poured, two fingers of Remy Martin cognac into a crystal snifter, then returned and set it on the desk in front of him.

"Our little problem in Denver is no longer a little problem,” he said, leaning back into the plush leather.

"I take full responsibility for the error." The other man fingered the Hermes tie at his throat as if the hideous colors were choking him.

"Of course you do." From the top drawer of the desk, he removed an emery board and filed the tip of a short, perfectly-manicured nail. In a world where perceptions were everything, it wouldn't do to overreact. Even if control of the situation had slipped beyond his grasp, at least he could maintain the illusion. "This young woman seems to be quite resourceful. How much does she know?"

"She found out about the Beckett woman. Of course, her trip to Ohio wasn't fruitful."

"She seems to be very determined."

“
We have some options."

The other man's naiveté irritated him. "Such as?"

“
We could pay her off."

"Don't be an idiot
.
" He smiled inwardly when the man wearing the Hermes tie winced
.
He'd always enjoyed inflicting humiliation. He'd always enjoyed possessing that kind of power.

"I assumed that since she's—"

"Buy-offs are temporary and dangerous. You should know more about human nature by now." He considered himself an expert on human nature, particularly the dark side. "I'm interested only in permanent solutions."

The man's eyes darted to the window and the rain beyond. "I understand."

"I don't want any more questions raised. I don't want any more people involved
.
And I don't want any loose ends. Make certain your solutions are definitive."

Their eyes met. An explicit understanding passed between them. One of them would act. The other would pay an exorbitant fee.

"Consider it done."

"Make sure the remaining records are destroyed
.
"

"I'm working on it."

His perf
e
ctly manicured hand tightened around the snifter. He didn't like vague answers. "Do it quickly." His voice lowered ominously. "You've got all my resources at your disposal. I don't have to remind you what's at stake."

The other man rose. "I know precisely what's at stake
.
I'll take care of it
.
"

"Lord Christ Almighty!
"
Gretchen Wentworth took one look at the front door and came through it like a Peterbilt skidding around a hairpin turn.

Having gone most of the night without sleep, Add
i
son winced at the other woman
'
s worried
-
grandmother tone, wishing she'd taken the time to swallow some aspirin before driving in to the shop to assess the damage and fill in her overprotective employee.

"Hi, Gretch
.
"

Gretchen looked at Addison as if she wasn't quite sure whether to hit her or embrace her. "I ought to throttle you for not calling me last night!" The older woman pulled her close, hugged her tightly, then shoved her to arm's length. "Good God, honey, what in the bejeebers happened?"

"I told you. There was an attempted robbery."

Purse flying, Gretchen swung a wiry arm toward the bullet-riddled bar. "You didn't mention
that
when you called me this morning!" Her mouth flew open at the sight of the hole in the cash register. "Or
that!
Good Lord, I got more details from my TV.”

Addison had called her friend at five A.M. and explained that there had been an attempted robbery and that the shop would be closed for a few days. She hadn't gone into detail—and hadn't expected Gretchen to show up before lunch.

Now she had some explaining to do. "Sorry, Gretch, but I just didn't want to go into it over the telephone. I didn't want to worry you."

"Oh, honey, I'm as sorry as I am mad at you. You didn't have to go through this alone."

The fact that she hadn't actually been alone made her think of Randall—for the dozenth time that morning. She told herself she wasn't preoccupied with him. That her thoughts had wandered to him repeatedly only because he'd saved her life and they'd spent a few intense hours together the night before. Just because she'd hired him didn't mean she was going to start thinking about his dark eyes or that crooked smile of his. Clearly, he wasn't her type. Not that she
had
a type, she reminded herself.

"I'm not a puff, you know." Gretchen raised her hand and touched Addison's cheek with the backs of her fingers.

"You've got enough on your mind with Brittany about to give birth," Addison said.

"There's enough mother in me to take care of my three daughters and you, honey. You know that."

Forcing a smile to head off the emotion that tightened her throat, Addison covered Gretchen's hand with her own and
squeezed. "You never let me forget how lucky I am to have you as a friend."

"Friend?" Gretchen huffed
.
"Family, more like. I consider you one of my own."

"Keep this up and I'm going to cry, Gretch
.
"