Fast Track (Buchanan-Renard #12)

Fast Track (Buchanan-Renard #12) Page 20

Maybe Aiden was responsible. He was messing with her head. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. Where was he now? What was he doing? She had to move on, she told herself. It wasn’t quite so easy, though, especially after the sex-filled nights she’d spent with him. She couldn’t think about that without feeling the heat.

The remodel in Boston was moving at a snail’s pace. The rooms still hadn’t been painted, and the floors hadn’t been refinished. Nick left a message for her that there was an issue with the roof and he was going to pay for a new one. Unfortunately, the roofers couldn’t start for another two weeks.

Boston was key to her plan for moving on, but for now she was stuck in Chicago. She vowed to stay away from the Hamilton Hotel so she wouldn’t see him. She didn’t expect him to call her . . . but would he? Was he thinking about her at all? Oh God, she was acting like a teenager.

         • • •

Regan and Sophie were anxious to see Cordie but were letting her get some rest. They gave her a couple of days to recover, and then Regan invited her to dinner. She and Alec were renting a tiny house on the edge of Cordie’s neighborhood and were trying to make time to look for a house to buy. Since Cordie lived on the way to the Buchanans’ house, Jack and Sophie picked her up. Fortunately, Jack was behind the wheel, which meant Cordie didn’t have to grip her seat and frantically pray that Sophie wouldn’t get them killed.

Dinner was ready when they walked in, and after a quick greeting, they squeezed around a table meant for three. Regan was turning into a great cook. She served lasagna and a salad, and tiramisu for dessert. During dinner they talked about Sydney and how much Cordie loved it. She went into great detail about the Garvan and meeting some of the brilliant researchers.

“I thought you wanted to explore a little bit of Australia,” Jack said. “You mentioned wanting to see Melbourne and Perth. What happened?”

“I met Simone,” Cordie answered.

“Okay, she brought it up,” Sophie pointed out. “Now we can talk about what happened with those people.” Turning to Cordie she explained, “Regan made us promise not to grill you until dinner was over.”

“What was she like?” Regan asked.

“Vile.”

“Start at the beginning,” Jack suggested. Alec nodded in agreement, but other than that he seemed content to sit back and observe and listen.

Without mentioning what had happened between Aiden and her, she told them everything. It took a long while because they all kept interrupting to ask more questions. Alec laughed when Cordie told them about Liam and how charming he was.

“Is he with the police over there?” Sophie asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t think he knows either,” she said.

The only time she mentioned Aiden was when she told them how furious he’d been when he’d learned about the two men who’d accompanied Simone to the hotel.

“One of them grabbed you?” Sophie was astounded. “In the lobby? That takes nerve.”

“You can understand why I wanted to come home.” She went on to tell them about the anonymous phone calls.

“Do you think it was one of the men with Simone who called you?” Sophie asked.

“That’s my guess.”

“He threatened to kill you if you told anyone Simone was your mother?” Regan shook her head. “That’s pretty extreme, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s extreme,” Cordie replied. “I think they’re all crazy. Liam said the family’s reputation is on the line. He thinks they’ll do anything to keep it pristine.”

“‘They’?” Jack asked.

“Simone; her husband, Craig; and Simone’s father, Julian. He runs that family with a tight fist.”

“It’s a big enough scandal to ruin them, I suppose,” Regan said.

“Maybe,” Cordie replied. “They’re pillars of society right now. You should have seen the way they were fawned over at the ball. It was nauseating.”

“And getting that kind of attention and adulation can become addictive for some people,” Jack remarked. “Alec and I have seen it.”

“People have killed for less,” Alec interjected.

“I can’t imagine killing to keep a secret,” Cordie said.

“That’s because you don’t think like Simone. Your values are different. The fact is, you’re a threat to the family’s little dynasty.”

“I’ll bet she didn’t believe you when you said you didn’t want money,” Sophie said.

“Aren’t you worried?” Regan asked. “You’re so calm about it all. Why aren’t you freaking out?”

“Of the three of us, Cordie’s always been the calm one,” Sophie commented.

“The man was just trying to scare me,” she said. “As long as I don’t put it out there and ruin Simone’s perfect lie of a life, I’ll be okay. Besides, you’re forgetting, I don’t want anyone to know I’m related to those freaks. I wouldn’t put it out there no matter what. I thought I made that clear to Simone, but apparently not, if she was asking, ‘How can I trust you?’”

“And what did you say?” Alec asked.

“I told her she shouldn’t.”

“That might be the reason he called to threaten you,” Jack surmised.

Sophie carried her plate to the sink, then turned around and said, “Cordie, do you realize you just told two FBI agents that someone threatened you? They’ll probably want to investigate.”

Jack laughed. “Probably?”

“Liam will run it,” Alec said.

“Run what?” Cordie asked.

“The investigation.”

“What investigation? There is no investigation,” Cordie said.

Ignoring her protest, Alec took out his phone and began to text. “There is now.”

Cordie closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Could we please talk about something else? I’ve thought enough about Simone and her family in the last week to fill a lifetime.” She turned to Regan. “How’s Walker doing?”

“Settling in,” Regan answered. “He told Spencer he’s going to start getting involved in the company business. Aiden won’t like hearing that. He’s in Miami now.”

“I don’t know how he does it. I’m still jet-lagged.”

“How was Aiden in Sydney?” Alec asked.

Cordie wasn’t sure what to say. Alec was so good at reading her. “Busy. He was busy.”

“He’s always busy,” Regan said. “I wish he would slow down and enjoy life.”

Cordie couldn’t understand why she was suddenly feeling so nervous. “He went with me to the Garvan,” she blurted. “He asked me to send my résumé.”

They all looked confused.

“Why would Aiden want you to send him your résumé?” Sophie asked.

Cordie could feel her face turning red. “Not Aiden. One of the directors asked me to send my résumé.”

“Would you work there?”

“Not as long as the Borgias live there,” she said with a shudder. She got up to clear the dishes and bumped her hip on the edge of the counter. Cordie thought living in such a tiny space—even if it was temporary—must be driving Regan and Alec crazy. Her kitchen was at least five times the size of theirs.

Sophie, Jack, and Regan went in the living room, and Alec stayed behind to help.

“How’s the hunt for a house going?” she asked.

“I found one I really like,” Alec said. “Regan loves it, but she doesn’t want to buy it.”

Cordie put the Parmesan in the refrigerator. “That doesn’t make sense. Why doesn’t she want to buy it?”

“Because she doesn’t want you to move.”

Her eyes widened and then she laughed. “You want to buy my house?”

“Yes,” he answered. He straddled a chair and motioned for her to sit. “It’s perfect for us.”

“This is crazy. I bought your brother’s house, and now you’re buying mine.”

They talked about the house for several more minutes, and then Alec asked, “Are you absolutely certain you want to move to Boston?”

“I’d better be,” she said. “I own your brother’s town house.”

Frowning now, he reminded her, “You love your house here, and you love this city.”

“I also love the house I just purchased, and I love Boston.”

“Didn’t you like teaching at St. Matthew’s?”

“Yes, I did, but I’m ready for a change.”

“Maybe you should take some more time to think about it.”

She wanted Alec to stop pressing. Did he know the real reason she was leaving? She thought maybe he did. Regan and Sophie believed Cordie had gotten over her silly infatuation with Aiden a long time ago, but Alec was far more observant and not so easily fooled. She told herself it didn’t matter. If he did know the truth, he would never tell anyone. Her secrets were safe with him.

“If you’re serious about buying my brownstone, it’s yours.”

And the question of her moving was finally put to rest. Alec started talking about the changes he would make, and he became ridiculously enthusiastic when he described, in detail, how he would finish the basement and put in a wall-to-wall flat-screen 3-D television. He also had grand plans for the large backyard, quadrupling the size of the patio, for starters, to accommodate his new grill and smoker. Typical man, she thought. It was all about the barbecue. Hopefully, Regan would rein him in.

Reconnecting with her friends was comforting, and spilling her guts—as Sophie would say—about Simone was cathartic. She didn’t get home until midnight, and, because she’d been so absentminded these days, twice she checked to make sure her doors were locked before she went to bed.

The home appraisal and inspection were put on the schedule the next day, and aside from measuring for new drapes and choosing different paint colors for the walls, Regan and Alec weren’t in any hurry to close on the house, which saved Cordie from having to put her things in storage. The house in Boston wasn’t going to be ready for at least three weeks, maybe as many as four.

Since she didn’t have to stage her house to sell it, she decided to do what her father had done when he sold his home and get rid of some of her furniture. The pretty but uncomfortable chairs were the first to go. Watching them being hauled off gave her a new sense of freedom. She got a little carried away then and donated everything but her books, her bed, a small table, and a couple of chairs. The only painting she kept was an abstract Alec’s sister-in-law, Laurant, had painted for her. It was bold and empowering, and she loved it.

The following week was filled with meetings with bankers and attorneys to work out the financial details of her father’s estate and other less important appointments and errands she needed to get done before she left for Boston. Every day was a whirlwind of activity. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when she started getting a weird feeling that someone was watching her, but the feeling was there, and it was growing stronger.

The first time she acknowledged her suspicion was after her dentist appointment. As she was walking toward her car in the parking garage, she heard footsteps behind her, keeping pace with her; but when she turned around, there wasn’t anyone there. She didn’t hear the sound again as she ran to her car. Had she just imagined it?

The next incident happened at the art gallery. She had gone there to say good-bye to all her favorite paintings and was alone in a large area she called the blue room. All of a sudden she felt a chill on the back of her neck, an intuitive sense that someone was standing behind her, but when she turned around, all she saw was a shadow crossing the doorway to the next exhibit. Was it just her overactive imagination again?

She got the strongest feeling the day she made a visit to her father’s grave. When she drove into the cemetery, she noticed a dark sedan with tinted windows pull in behind her. It stayed several hundred feet away, and when she stopped her car and climbed the hill to the grave site, the car stopped, too. While she arranged the fresh flowers she’d brought, she glanced over her shoulder several times. No one emerged from the sedan, but she had an intense sensation that she was being watched. She quickly gathered up her things and rushed back to her car. As she drove away, she checked in her rearview mirror. The black car was still sitting there.

She had no idea if her fears were valid, and without any kind of proof, she wasn’t about to bother Alec or Jack. They were busy with their work, and she didn’t want to become a nuisance. She decided to do a little detective work on her own. Walking down Michigan Avenue she stopped to window-shop and watch people coming and going in the reflection of the glass. That didn’t get her anywhere, so she tried another trick. She pulled out her compact and applied blush to her cheeks, all the while looking in the mirror at the people behind her. She swiveled in a couple of directions to get a panoramic view. No one suspicious was ever there. After employing that method four or five times on her stroll, her cheeks were so red she was beginning to look like a clown.

On her way home, she decided she had been overreacting . . . or she was becoming paranoid. She couldn’t blame her craziness on jet lag now. At least she wasn’t obsessing about Aiden. That happened only at night when she was in bed and the memories of the way he had kissed her and caressed her made her melancholy. It was an awful way to go to sleep, but a ritual she kept repeating. The only bright thought she could muster was that everything would be better as soon as she was settled in her new home in Boston. Her imagination would stop running rampant, her instincts would get back to normal, and she could start a new life with a new house, new furniture, new everything.

SEVENTEEN

The phone calls between Sydney and Chicago were short and to the point.

He followed strict instructions. He was to call Sydney at precisely eleven o’clock in the evening, Sydney time, which translated to eight o’clock in the morning in Chicago. Unless of course there was an emergency. Then he was to call at any time, day or night.

He stood by the window of his hotel room, his cell phone gripped in his hand. He’d already entered the phone number but waited until exactly eight o’clock to make the call.

There was no greeting. “What have you found out?”

“She’s meeting with bankers and attorneys.” He heard the indrawn breath, then a blasphemy, and he rushed on. “I followed her to the cemetery the other day. She went to her father’s grave.”