Page 13 of Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard 10)

  They had just reached her apartment and Olivia was fishing through her purse for her key when a door at the end of the hall opened and an elderly woman wearing a pink chenille bathrobe stepped out. Her thin white hair was held away from her bony face by two bobby pins, and her lips were pursed to give a breathy whistle. When Olivia looked in her direction, the woman crooked her finger and motioned for her to come closer.

  “Hello, Mrs. Delaney,” Olivia said as she approached the woman.

  “Olivia, dear, I need milk.” As she spoke, Mrs. Delaney was peering around Olivia and looking suspiciously at Grayson.

  “I’m sorry,” Olivia said, “I’m afraid I won’t be going to the store for a few days, but I’ll be happy to get you some milk when I shop again.”

  Mrs. Delaney looked perturbed. “All right,” she said. “I’ll call down to John and have him bring me some when he comes to work tomorrow, but he always buys the wrong kind. I specifically ask for two percent, and he inevitably brings me whole milk. That’s just too rich for me. My nervous stomach won’t tolerate it.”

  “I understand,” Olivia answered patiently. “I’ll be sure to let you know when I’m going to the supermarket, and you can give me a list.”

  “Good,” Mrs. Delaney said and turned to go back into her apartment. “Get me some of those lemon cookies, the ones with the icing on top, not the plain ones like you got me last time.” Grayson and Olivia could hear her adding to her list even as she was closing the door.

  “She doesn’t like to go out in the cold,” Olivia explained.

  “Sounds like she’s rather particular.”

  “A little,” Olivia laughed. “She’s all alone, and I don’t mind helping out when I can.”

  Grayson took the key from Olivia’s hand and inserted it into the lock. “You may act tough, but you have a soft heart, Olivia MacKenzie.” He pushed the door open and stepped back so she could go inside.

  Olivia was happy to be home. Her aunt had sent her staff over to clean the apartment, restock the refrigerator and pantry, and do Olivia’s laundry. There were fresh apples and oranges in a wooden bowl on the kitchen island, chicken noodle soup ready to be warmed up, and fresh baked bread.

  “If you aren’t too tired, I’d like to talk to you about your family,” Grayson said.

  “Okay, but I don’t know what I can tell you that would help.” She was emptying her purse looking for her cell phone. She finally found it and went into her office to plug it into her charger.

  When she returned, Grayson had removed his suit jacket and was tugging at his tie. She noticed what he was doing but didn’t comment. If he wanted to get comfortable, that was fine with her. She would still be able to maintain her distance. He wasn’t a friend; he was her protector.

  That reminder should have helped keep it all in perspective, but he looked great in a suit, and with the jacket off, he looked even better. She had forgotten what a muscular frame he had. Her side was throbbing, her shoulder stung, and her hip felt as though there was still a bullet inside the bone. She was a wreck, and yet she could still lust after him. She could have blamed her thoughts about ripping his clothes off on her pain medication, but she hadn’t taken any today.

  “I’d like to discuss your brother-in-law,” he continued.

  “George? There’s not much to say about him. I haven’t been with him all that much. I’ve usually just talked to him on the phone, and it’s always been superficial. You know, ‘How are you?’ . . . ‘Fine’ . . . ‘How are you?’ Then he’d hand the phone to my sister. George isn’t much of a talker. He’s a bit . . . stiff,” she said. “He makes Natalie happy, though.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Almost ten years. I met him several months after they were married.”

  “You didn’t go to their wedding?”

  “No, it was in San Francisco, and I was here in D.C. It wasn’t possible for me to leave.”

  Olivia never talked about her illness, and he wondered if she knew that he had found out all about her time in the experimental program. According to her aunt, Olivia only discussed those years with her other family, the three girls who went through the program with her. He also knew that her surrogate father was Dr. Andre Pardieu.

  He forced himself to finish his questions so she could rest. “Do you know anything about their financial situation?”

  Olivia sat on the easy chair and put her head back on the cushions. “He and Natalie started an Internet company several years ago, and they’re doing very well. Natalie invested most of their profits with our father, God help her. I tried to talk to her, make her understand what a scam it all was, but she’s sipped the Kool-Aid and is a believer. Like my mother,” she added. “She likes to paint a picture of the perfect family. She thinks Natalie is the perfect daughter; George is the perfect son-in-law . . .”

  “And you?”

  She closed her eyes and smiled. “Imperfect,” she said very matter-of-factly. “So she usually doesn’t include me when she talks about her family. Natalie has become an only child. These days my mother considers me a traitor.”

  “A traitor to the family?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “And I guess I am. I have to stop him. He can’t go on ruining lives and destroying families. I used to think he couldn’t help himself, that it was all just a game to him, but now I know better. Money is everything to him. He’s obsessive about bringing in more and more. He lures his rich friends to give him their savings and their trusts to invest, and he also targets large pensions and charities.

  “The more difficult the potential client, the more my father thrives. My aunt Emma won’t let him near her money, and it’s making him frantic. He hates losing, and he’s determined to find a way to force her to give him everything she has. It won’t happen, but he’ll go to prison still trying.”

  Olivia struggled to get up. Surprised by how much that action drained her, she headed to her bedroom. “I’m going to change clothes,” she said. “Help yourself to something to eat and drink.”

  “Want me to warm up some soup for you?”

  “That would be nice.”

  She walked down the hall but stopped at her bedroom door and looked back at him. “My mother idolizes my father, and she only has room in her heart for him. She can’t help the way she is. It’s like he has this mind control over her.”

  “Does she know what he’s doing? Is she part of it?”

  “No.” She was emphatic. “And if you showed her absolute proof, she wouldn’t believe it or see it. Honest to God, I think she’d throw anyone under the bus to protect him.”

  “Including you?”

  She didn’t answer. “I think, once my father is behind bars, my mother might open her eyes. Then again, she might not. She might want to crawl in the cell with him.”

  “Olivia?” he called when she walked into her bedroom.

  She stepped back into the hallway. “Yes?”

  “Why would your mother think you’re imperfect?”

  She sighed. “I got sick, Grayson. That made me imperfect.”

  She really hoped he was through asking questions about her family tonight. He was dredging up all sorts of emotions she didn’t want to feel. She shut her bedroom door and changed into a pair of blue-and-white flannel pajama bottoms and a blue T-shirt. That little bit of effort exhausted her, and she sat down on the side of the bed. She fell back, rolled to her side, and closed her eyes. She would just rest for a few minutes and then have some soup, she told herself. After that, she’d send Grayson home and get a little work done on her computer.

  Fifteen minutes passed and Olivia hadn’t come back to the living room. Grayson opened the bedroom door a crack and looked in. Her hair covered the side of her face, and her arms were crossed over her chest. Grayson pulled the covers back on the king-size bed, t

hen lifted Olivia into his arms. He held her close against his chest for a minute, liking the feel of her warm body against his. He gently placed her between the sheets and covered her. He brushed her hair back and stroked her cheek. Her skin was so soft, so smooth.

  “There’s nothing imperfect about you, Olivia.”

  THIRTEEN

  Ronan thought Olivia’s brother-in-law, George Anderson, looked good for the shooting and wanted to put him at the top of the list.

  Grayson wasn’t convinced.

  Ronan opened his desk drawer, pulled out a Nerf football, and tossed it across the office to Grayson. Throwing the football while they brainstormed had become a ritual, providing the cavernous office was empty.

  “I’ll put Anderson in the top five,” Grayson said. “But there are others who look better, like Carl Simmons and his crew, and unfortunately, Olivia’s own father. Any one of them could have hired men to silence her. Did you know she was calling the SEC?”

  Ronan smiled. “Good for her.”

  Grayson tossed the football back to Ronan. “Olivia’s been asking a lot of questions about the Trinity Fund. There could be someone connected with the SEC who doesn’t want an investigation.”

  Ronan nodded agreement. “Let’s talk about Anderson.”

  “Yeah, okay. He owes three hundred thousand to a bookie named Subway, and every week the interest escalates.”

  “Every week?”

  “Every week,” Grayson repeated. “If Anderson continues to let the loan ride, in six months he could owe as much as, what . . . six hundred thousand?”

  Ronan tossed the football as he answered, “Right. So I’m gonna go out on a limb here and suggest that Subway isn’t a bookie. He’s a loan shark.”

  Grayson nodded. Then Ronan asked, “Does Olivia know about her brother-in-law’s gambling problem?”

  “I doubt it. I’m going over there in a little while to talk to her about him. She mentioned that George is in town and wants to stop by tonight.”

  “And what did you say?”

  They were throwing the football faster and faster until it was rocketing across the office.

  “I said he’s not getting in unless I’m there. The guard knows,” he added.

  “What about Anderson’s wife, Natalie? Do you think she’s aware of her husband’s gambling problem?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “He could get some money out of the Trinity Fund to pay off the loan—they have close to four million in an account with her father—but he hasn’t taken any.”

  “Because she’d find out.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. She’s put a great deal of her own money in the account. Her uncle, the late Daniel Monroe, was very wealthy. He set up trust funds for his two nieces so that they’d each get a large sum. The minute Natalie got her money, she turned it over to her father to invest.”

  “What about Olivia’s fund?”

  “She gets hers next year.”

  He then told Ronan what he’d discovered about Simmons, Simmons and Falcon. He’d looked into their banking practices and their accounts and had uncovered that Carl Simmons was a silent partner to Robert MacKenzie.

  “Carl Simmons is slandering her, spreading lies about her to get her to stop asking questions. How much do you want to bet her father knows what he’s doing?”

  Grayson nodded. “If things work out, I’ll get to see him in action in a few weeks at the Morgan Hotel.”

  “The big birthday party?”

  Grayson nodded. “I haven’t crashed a party in a while. It should be interesting.” He tossed the football back to Ronan and stood. “I’m leaving.”

  “You’re going over to Olivia’s now?”

  “Yeah. Henry’s sleeping over at a friend’s tonight.”

  “Not that I’m keeping tabs,” Ronan said, “but it appears you’ve been spending an awful lot of time at Miss MacKenzie’s apartment.”

  “What can I say,” Grayson answered with a grin, “I take my investigations seriously, and I’m very thorough.”

  “Uh-huh,” Ronan drawled with a good deal of skepticism.

  The fact of the matter was, Grayson had looked for excuses to see Olivia. Even when a question could be answered with a simple phone call, he’d insist that it needed to be done in person. He couldn’t resist being with her. What he was feeling was so new to him, he couldn’t explain it. The only thing he knew for certain was that Olivia MacKenzie was different from any other woman he had ever met, and the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted.

  He was walking toward the stairs when Ronan asked, “Are you still being a gentleman?”

  “With Olivia?” he said, pretending not to understand.

  “No, with her dog.”

  He laughed. “She doesn’t have a dog, and, yes, I’m still being a gentleman.”

  And it was killing him.

  * * *

  It had been three weeks since Olivia had been shot, and the only time she had left her apartment was to go to the doctor to have her stitches removed. She was beginning to feel like a caged animal. Her routine was so boring. She got up early every morning, dressed, then went into her office and logged on to her computer with her password. Since there weren’t any distractions, she got caught up with her cases fairly quickly.

  The only exercise equipment she owned was a treadmill, and since she couldn’t go to the gym and use the elliptical trainer like she used to, she got on her treadmill twice a day to break up the boredom. Some days, when her asthma wasn’t bad, she would run; other days she walked so slowly she felt as though she was crawling.

  Collins came over two Sundays in a row and stayed for a couple of hours each time. Then she’d go back to the firing range to work on accuracy. Olivia still trembled thinking about Collins carrying a gun.

  Jane stayed at home because of the weather. Washington was having an unusual winter. It was bitterly cold, and snow kept blasting the city. She lived in a townhouse near Dupont Circle and was busy renovating it to be a studio for her painting. Olivia had missed her art show, but Jane told her all about it. She’d sold three paintings and felt validated and invigorated.

  Sam called only a few times, but then she was in Iceland, so she kept in touch by e-mail. She wrote long, rambling letters about the jets she was flying and didn’t complain at all about where she was stationed.

  All three of Olivia’s friends dated, but none of them had ever been in a serious relationship. Though they were healthy today, they lived with the fear that their luck would change. And how could they put a man they loved through that kind of worry? They had decided to be practical. Happily ever after wasn’t in the cards for them.

  * * *

  Olivia had just finished answering a couple of e-mails. She closed her laptop and checked her watch. Remembering that Grayson was coming over, she went to her bedroom to change clothes. She stayed casual in a pair of fitted jeans and a white blouse she didn’t bother to tuck in. She brushed her hair and dabbed on a little perfume and lipstick.

  George would also be arriving soon. He’d said he wanted to have a serious talk with her. Olivia wondered if Natalie would be with him. She was positive she knew what George wanted to talk about: getting Aunt Emma to invest in Trinity Fund to show her loyalty and support to the family. Olivia’s response wasn’t going to change, no matter what George said. Invest in Trinity? Absolutely not.

  How could Natalie and George be so blind?

  Grayson arrived just after she straightened up her living room. She’d gathered up all her newspapers and magazines, put them in a recycle bag, and was folding her afghan when she heard the doorbell. She tossed the afghan on the back of the sofa.

  She always felt a little catch in her throat whenever she saw him. Tonight was no different. He wasn’t wearing a suit. He was

as casually dressed as she was, in jeans and a camel-colored sweater. His gun was at his side. That hadn’t changed.

  He looked wonderful, she thought, but then he always did. She stepped back and waited while he hung up his coat in her hall closet.

  “You’re early,” she said. “George won’t be here until eight.”

  “I wanted to talk to you before he got here.”

  He went to the sofa and sat down. She followed. “Talk about George?”

  “Did you know he had a gambling problem?”

  Her expression confirmed she hadn’t known. She looked shocked, then shook her head. “He doesn’t seem the type. He’s so . . . stuffy.”

  She sat down next to him and listened in growing astonishment as he described the hole George had dug himself into.

  “He owes that much?”

  Grayson repeated the amount. He thought her reaction to the news was comical. Her cheeks turned pink, and she was sputtering. “How could anyone . . . he borrowed from . . . how stupid is he?”

  “Are you asking me?”

  “A loan shark? He really went to a loan shark?”

  “Yeah, he did,” he said, smiling. “And, yeah, it was stupid. People do stupid things all the time. It’s why I have a job. You work for the IRS . . . don’t you deal with stupid all the time?”

  She laughed. “Yes, I guess I do.” She thought about George for a second. “Natalie’s going to kill him.”

  “You don’t think she knows?”

  “George is still breathing, so, no, I don’t think she has any idea.”

  Olivia hadn’t meant to sit so close to him. She didn’t want to move, though. She loved the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. She stared into those eyes and said, “May I ask you a question?”

  “Sure. What do you want to know?”

  “It’s not about the investigation,” she said.