Page 21 of Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard 10)

  By the time she reached her car, she began to calm down. Maybe she was being too hard on Grayson. After all, he’d obviously acted out of concern. He felt there was still a threat out there, and he wanted to protect her. True, his intentions were good, but he should have been honest with her, shouldn’t he? She made up her mind to pay him every dollar he’d spent on the bodyguards. Only then would her pride be salvaged.

  She would prove that she could be cautious and self-sufficient. She wouldn’t allow herself to be blindsided again.

  She took caution to a whole new level. She carried her pepper spray in one hand and held her key fob in the other, one finger hovering over the panic button. She even checked to see if there were any red lights blinking under the car or in the backseat. Killing someone with a bomb wasn’t all that unusual. She wasn’t being paranoid; she was being smart. She even made certain she wasn’t being followed and took several side streets to get to her aunt’s house. She arrived alive and well.

  Mary had set the table in the dining room. She and Harriet stayed in the kitchen, no doubt to eavesdrop because they knew the topic was going to be Olivia’s father.

  Emma greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. Her aunt always looked so put together. Olivia had never seen her in what she called casual clothes, and the thought of Emma putting on a pair of jeans made her smile. It was such an outlandish picture. Tonight Emma wore a fitted charcoal-gray wool dress with a high round neck. The skirt was straight and ended just below the knees. Her mid-heel shoes matched the dress exactly. They were a beautiful suede. Her only jewelry was her wedding ring—she’d never taken it off after Daniel died—and a jeweled broach in the shape of a hummingbird. Standing next to her, Olivia felt like a hobo.

  She straightened her sweater and said, “I should have taken the time to put on a dress, but I had only just changed out of my clothes from work when you called.” She realized she was making excuses and paused. “I should have changed out of these jeans at least.”

  “You’re fine, dear. You worry too much, but then you always have been a worrier. Come sit and we’ll have dinner.”

  Olivia didn’t have much of an appetite. Two fudge bars and a grape Popsicle had dampened it. Olivia loved junk food, mostly freezing-cold junk food. It was a dark secret only her friends knew about. The cold had soothed the sores in her mouth after the chemotherapy, and ever since, she craved the icy sweet comfort. Half of her freezer was stuffed with Dove bars, Fudgsicles, Popsicles, and various flavors of ice cream. The other half was reserved for Mary’s healthy casserole dishes.

  Tonight, Mary had prepared a roast turkey with root vegetables for dinner. She entered the dining room with a large platter and held it for Olivia to serve herself. Olivia didn’t want to hear Mary tell her she was too thin and needed to put some meat on her bones, as she had often done in the past, so she took a portion of everything and said, “This smells wonderful.”

  After Mary returned to the kitchen, Emma said, “Catch me up. What have you been doing?”

  Having sex with Grayson, thinking about having sex with Grayson, and having more sex with Grayson. Emma would be horrified if Olivia blurted out those thoughts.

  “I’ve been doing some research on a few of the names connected to Eric Jorguson.” She then explained who and why, and when she was finished, Emma asked several questions.

  “It was a wasted effort,” Olivia told her. “Aside from the fact that I made myself sick reading all the awful things these monsters have done, I couldn’t find anything that might help Agent Huntsman.”

  “What else have you been up to?”

  “Trying to figure out who shot me. And work has been busy.” She put her fork down and talked a bit about her job.

  Emma asked, “What about your father? What have you done about him?”

  “I’ve sort of put him on the back burner . . . it’s so frustrating,” she admitted. “Word has gotten out that I’m trying to stop him and . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence. Time for some honesty, she decided. “I’ve been seeing Grayson,” she began.

  Emma didn’t seem surprised. She smiled.

  “You knew?” Olivia asked.

  “Yes, dear. You were explaining why you’ve put your larcenous father on the back burner,” she reminded.

  Olivia felt cowardly because she didn’t want to admit to her aunt that she feared the repercussions of the truth, that when it all came out and her father was arrested and charged, life would change dramatically. There was going to be such anger, such hate, and it would all be directed at her family. Her father would be safe behind bars and probably become a celebrity with the other prisoners because of his oh-so-clever scams, but the rest of them would be fair game for the press and for all those people who had lost their life savings. Even though Olivia knew it had to be done, she dreaded what was coming.

  “There’s a young man sitting in a jail cell waiting to go to trial for a crime your father committed,” Emma said.

  Olivia was surprised. “Jeff Wilcox? Why is he in jail?”

  “He was arrested. The prosecutors feel they have enough to convict him.”

  “Didn’t the court set bail?”

  “Yes, but they’ve revoked it. I asked Mitchell to check into it, and he says they’re trying to force Jeff into making a deal, but he’s refused, and so they’ve come up with some excuse to keep him in jail until his court date.”

  “Who is Mitchell?”

  “Mitchell Kaplan is one of my attorneys. He’s also a financial adviser and a dear friend. I believe you’ve met him.”

  If she did, she didn’t remember. “Is he representing Jeff?”

  “No. Jeff’s attorney is Howard Asher. Mitchell said he’s a deal maker. That’s all Asher does, make deals, and ninety-nine percent of them are bad deals. He’ll do anything to stay out of court. Mitchell told me that Asher doesn’t know what he’s doing. A public defender would have been a better choice. Jeff doesn’t have the resources to fight this. He doesn’t have any income, and his poor wife is at home trying to hold on until this is all sorted out.” She stared at Olivia a long minute and then said, “And you, young lady, are just the one to sort this all out, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  “No more back burner . . .”

  “No.”

  Emma nodded. “I feel responsible for what’s happened to Jeff. Your father used Jeff’s friendship with me to get close to him. Did you know, if it does go to trial, your father is going to testify against Jeff?”

  Olivia was beginning to feel the familiar tightness in the pit of her stomach again. “No, I didn’t know.”

  “Your father won’t want it to go to trial. It would bring too much attention to him, and heaven forbid, his attorneys might not be able to keep his records hidden.”

  “I promise you, my focus is back where it should be.”

  Focus. That was the word of the week. Grayson had told her he needed focus. She did, too. He’d also told her he felt as though he could be missing something because he hadn’t been giving the investigation his full attention. She’d distracted him. Now she felt the same way. She had allowed Grayson to distract her from her investigation into her father’s dealings.

  “I’m going to help,” Emma continued. “Mitchell Kaplan is one of the best attorneys in the country, and investment fraud is a specialty. He’s agreed to take this case on, but you have to hire him. Mitchell made me promise that I would step back from this. He believes if my financial assets are in any way connected to this, your father will try to attach them.”

  Olivia agreed. “He’s been trying to get your money into his Trinity Fund for a long time now.”

  “I would say there’s a love/hate relationship between us, but the fact is, there has never been any love.” Emma pushed her plate aside and, sitting back in her chair, folded her

hands on the table. With a steady voice of authority she said, “I have an unwritten agreement with Mitchell, but you need to give him a small retainer. After this is all over, I’ll transfer money into your account to pay his full fee. I can’t do that now, though, because—”

  “It could come back to you.”

  “It probably will anyway, dear, but it’s best not to have a paper trail leading to my door. I also want you to give Jeff’s wife a check, enough to make ends meet. Do you have enough to do that?”

  Olivia nodded. “Yes,” she said. And if she ran out of money before this was sorted out, she would take out another mortgage on her apartment. Whatever it took, she would make things right.

  “You need to go see Jeff as soon as possible, before any deals are made.”

  “I’ll go tomorrow.”

  “Take a check over to Mitchell on your way. I’ll give you his card.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” she reminded. “Will he be in his office?”

  “Yes, he will, and he’s expecting you at ten o’clock. You could messenger the check over, but I’d like you to meet him, and he certainly wants to meet you.”

  She didn’t ask why. “What about Jeff? Does he know what you’re doing?”

  “What you’re doing,” she corrected. “And the answer is no. You’re going to have to explain it all to him.”

  “I’m a MacKenzie. How am I going to get him to trust me?”

  Emma smiled. “You’ll find a way.”

  TWENTY

  For Olivia, Saturday started at four thirty in the morning with a call from a police station across town.

  The officer on duty apologized for the early hour. “Judge Bowen told me to call you. We have a little girl here who needs protection . . . your kind of protection. The judge doesn’t want her in the system. It has something to do with a trial that’s coming up,” he told her. “He said you’d help the child disappear for a while.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Thank goodness for GPS, or she never would have found the police station. The paperwork didn’t take as long as usual because the judge had already signed the order. By eight o’clock she had nine-year-old Lily Jackson settled in her new, though temporary, home.

  When she got in her car and checked her phone, there was a message from Mitchell Kaplan moving their meeting to eleven. Olivia was thankful for the extra time. She drove back to her apartment, showered, and changed into a dark blue dress. She left her hair down but used a barrette to keep it out of her face, then put on her earrings and watch. Since there was still a little time to spare, she went through her briefcase again to make absolutely certain she had all the necessary papers for Jeff. She’d already written her check to Mitchell Kaplan and tucked it in her purse, along with another one for Jeff Wilcox’s wife.

  Coat and scarf on, she headed out. The elevator doors opened, and there stood Grayson. She was so surprised to see him, she froze, but only for a second or two. She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to the garage.

  “Hi.” Not very original, but it was the best she could do.

  Grayson didn’t look happy to see her. “What are you doing?”

  When she didn’t immediately answer, he pushed the button to stop the elevator. “I said, what are you doing?”

  “Errands.”

  “No.”

  “No?” She didn’t shout the word, but she wanted to. Instead, she pushed his hand away from the buttons. “Ronan told me you’ve been paying for my bodyguards, and I want you to know I’m going to reimburse you for every dollar you spent, but, Grayson, you really should have told me what you were doing.”

  “I’m going to keep you safe, no matter how much you fight me,” he countered. He nudged her chin up so she would look him in the eye and said, “Damn it, Olivia. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  She thought he was going to kiss her, but he suddenly stepped back.

  “I am safe,” she insisted. “And, of course, I’m being cautious.”

  “Were you cautious when the elevator doors opened?”

  “I usually have my pepper spray at the ready,” she countered.

  “Usually?”

  His voice was deceptively soft, a bad sign she recognized from past experience. Grayson was about to lecture the hell out of her.

  “Push the button to the garage. I have an appointment I can’t miss.”

  He started to argue, then changed his mind and pushed the button to the lobby.

  “I’ll take you.”

  “I’m perfectly capable—”

  “I’ll take you. Where are you going?”

  “First to an attorney’s office, then to jail.”

  * * *

  Mitchell Kaplan was going to be a godsend for Jeff Wilcox. Olivia had taken time the night before to look up some of his cases and was impressed. Kaplan’s adversaries called him a barracuda, and that was exactly what Jeff needed.

  His nickname certainly didn’t fit his appearance. Kaplan reminded her of a teddy bear. He was short, a bit round in the middle, and wore thick wire-rimmed glasses. He was also soft-spoken and reserved. Although Olivia and Grayson spent only a short time with the attorney, they both liked him.

  “Where are they holding Wilcox?” Grayson asked.

  “Mr. Wilcox has been held close to his home in Fairhaven. It’s a decent facility, but I had my assistant check this morning before I sent you there to talk to him, and I learned that last night he was moved to Beaumont.”

  “That’s ninety miles from here. Wilcox won’t last long there.”

  Kaplan nodded.

  “Why did they move him?” Olivia asked, and then before Grayson or Kaplan could explain, she asked, “Why won’t he last long?”

  “Fairhaven is to a country club what Beaumont is to Attica,” Grayson explained.

  “My assistant was told he was moved because of overcrowding. It’s a game they’re playing, trying to force Mr. Wilcox to take the deal he’s been offered. There are serious charges, and I’m sure the federal prosecutor would like to save the taxpayer the expense of a trial.”

  Kaplan went over the documents he was sending with Olivia and then said, “Please tell Mr. Wilcox I’ll get the ball rolling right away to get him released, but I can’t do anything until he signs the paper retaining my services. I’ll plan on being at the jail to see him later today. By now I imagine Mr. Wilcox is feeling beat down.”

  “Then you’ll be able to get him out of there today?” she asked.

  Kaplan nodded. “He’ll be under house arrest, but he’ll be home.”

  Olivia handed him an envelope containing the retainer check and pulled the other envelope from her purse. “Would you see that he gets this, as well?” she asked. When Kaplan gave her a questioning look, she continued, “It will help his family get through the next couple of months,” she explained.

  Smiling, Kaplan took the envelope. “Of course.”

  Olivia thanked him and was walking out the door with Grayson at her side when Kaplan said, “Mr. Wilcox’s useless attorney is meeting with him late this afternoon. I’d try to get there before he does.”

  Once they were out in the hallway, Olivia whispered to Grayson, “This is going to sound really paranoid. The deal that’s being pushed on Wilcox—I’ve got a feeling my father has something to do with it.”

  He nodded. “It does sound paranoid, but I’m not dismissing the possibility.”

  “What if Wilcox’s inept attorney has made a deal of his own to pressure Wilcox to cooperate.”

  “Who would make the deal? Your father?”

  “Simmons,” she suggested. “He’s one of my father’s attorneys. I wouldn’t put anything past him, and he and my father would have good reasons not to want this to go to trial. Kaplan woul

d bring them into it, and there goes my father’s low profile.”

  As soon as she clipped her seat belt in place, she said, “I’m nervous about meeting him.”

  “Wilcox?”

  “Yes, Wilcox,” she said. “I don’t know if he’ll remember me, but as soon as he hears my last name, he’ll probably spit in my face.”

  “I won’t let that happen. Start with ‘I’m going to get you out of here,’ and I guarantee he’ll listen.”

  “You can’t stop him from—”

  “If he does anything to you, I’ll coldcock him.”

  As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she was glad he was so protective. “Can you take the time to go with me?”

  “You’re not going without me.”

  “What about Henry?”

  “Basketball camp all day with Patrick. As long as I’m back by eight tonight, I’m good.”

  “Why eight?”

  “I’ve got a date.”

  Her reaction was instantaneous. She felt as though he’d just coldcocked her and immediately recognized that she was being illogical. She wanted him to move on, so shouldn’t she be happy that he had a date?

  “That’s nice.” She tried to sound pleased, but her voice betrayed her, coming out raspy, as though she’d just gargled vinegar.

  Grayson pulled onto the highway. “Traffic isn’t bad. It shouldn’t take us all that long to get there.”

  “Did you just meet this woman, or is she someone you’ve known for a while?” she asked. “I’m just curious,” she rushed on. “Making conversation.”

  “What woman?”

  “You said you had a date tonight.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I see.”

  “Aren’t you going to say ‘That’s nice’ again?”

  “I was just . . .”