Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard #10)

Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard #10) Page 31

He looked up at her with weary eyes. “Know what?”

“That it’s gone, George. You’re never going to get it back.”

TWENTY-THREE

Probable cause. The legal term would be a game changer.

Grayson contacted the New York office, which would continue the investigation. Since there was now probable cause, he anticipated it wouldn’t take long to get a signed order to stop Robert MacKenzie and Carl Simmons from clearing out any accounts.

Once Kline and Vogel had been removed from the apartment, George became more talkative. To Olivia, he seemed genuinely contrite, but neither Grayson nor Ronan were buying his remorse.

Olivia fixed George a cup of coffee, ignoring Grayson’s frowns, and sat with him while he talked about all the mistakes he had made. He was certain Natalie would divorce him, and before Olivia realized what was happening, she became his counselor, even suggesting ways he might discuss his problems with her sister.

“I should have told her about the loan, and he’s right,” George said, tilting his head toward Grayson. “I did borrow the money from a loan shark. I should get it all out in the open, shouldn’t I? How will Natalie ever forgive me if I keep secrets? Could I text Natalie?” he asked Ronan, who had taken his cell phone. “I’ll tell her now.”

“No,” Ronan answered.

“George, you can’t text that information or e-mail her. You have to sit down with her and explain.” Olivia couldn’t believe he thought it was okay to drop that bomb in a text. How would he phrase it? Oh, by the way, I owe around five hundred thousand to a man who will break my legs if I don’t pay up soon? “She might understand,” she told him. If she had a lobotomy first, she thought. “I’ll help you tell her if you want.”

“You would do that?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Grayson was about to drag Olivia into the living room and ask her what the hell she was doing when George whispered, “I can help you, too.”

She wanted to nudge Grayson and say, “Ah ha! See what happens when you’re patient?” She didn’t, though. She kept her attention on George and asked, “How can you help?”

“He keeps files.” His voice gained strength, now that he’d made up his mind to share the information. “Your father keeps files hidden.”

“Where?” Grayson demanded, his tone surly.

George immediately shut down. Olivia shook her head at Grayson. “Have you seen the files?” she asked softly.

“I shouldn’t . . . he’s my father-in-law, and every dollar Natalie and I have is tied up in investments he’s made for us.”

Grayson and Ronan looked as though they wanted to grab George by the throat. Olivia remained calm and refused to give up.

“It’s time for you to get a backbone, George.” She put her hand on his and with sincere compassion said, “Do the right thing.”

He rubbed his brow and kept silent for another minute. “They’re in the wall in his study.”

“The New York apartment study?” Ronan asked. “Or are they in San Francisco or Miami?”

“New York. I swear you’d never know the wall moved. There aren’t any panels. It looks just like . . . a wall. He doesn’t know I saw him, thank God. None of us are allowed to go into his study, even when he’s there, and he always keeps the door locked. I made a joke about it once. I think I called it Fort Knox or something, and he exploded. I was in shock. It’s the first time I’d ever seen him lose his temper like that. I saw that ugly side of him again tonight.”

“When did you see the files?” Olivia asked.

“About a month ago. Natalie and your mother were in the dining room, and I went down the hall to knock on the study door to tell him dinner was ready. The door was open a crack. I was surprised because that never happened. I almost didn’t look in, but . . . you know . . . curiosity.”

“And what did you see?” she asked.

“Your father had his back to me, and he was putting a file folder away. I swear the entire wall moved. I got away from the door as fast as I could because I knew he’d kill me if he saw me watching.”

Grayson took a call and left the room. Ronan leaned against the wall, going through George’s cell phone messages while Olivia and George continued to talk.

“Did my mother know men were coming here tonight?” Olivia asked.

“I don’t think so. She usually just repeats whatever your father says. She thinks she’s being a supportive wife.”

“What about Natalie? Did she know?”

“No. This was all Carl Simmons and your father. Start to finish.”

Ronan had just read one of many angry texts from Natalie demanding to know where George was when another text appeared. After he read it, he said, “The son of a bitch is going to try to shred those files.”

Grayson had just returned to the kitchen, and Ronan tossed him the phone. He quickly read it, cursed, and said, “Yes, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.”

“What happened?” Olivia asked.

“Natalie sent George a text. Your father has decided to fly back to New York right away. He’s on his way to the airport, and you, George, are an ingrate because you bailed on the party. I guess that’s still going on.”

“He’s going home now?” George asked. “He left his own party to go home? He’s got his own jet, so he can get back to his apartment in a couple of hours.”

“McGraw’s the lead on this in New York,” Grayson said. “He just called, and I told him about the files in the wall. He’s putting an agent on MacKenzie’s door just in case he slips past the others.”

“What about Simmons?” Ronan asked.

“He left the party right after Olivia’s father. We’ll find him.”

“Are you taking me in?” George asked. He looked frantic.

“Yes,” Ronan answered. “In fact, we’re leaving now.”

“Wait, please,” Olivia called. “I’d like to ask George another question.”

“Go ahead,” Ronan said.

She looked George in the eye and asked, “Do you think Simmons hired someone to shoot me?”

He hesitated several seconds and then nodded. “He’s capable of it. I wouldn’t have thought that a year ago, but now . . . yes. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to shoot you himself. I don’t have proof that he’s involved, though.”

Olivia nodded. “That’s okay.”

“Except . . .”

“Yes?”

“When Carl was talking to Kline in the lobby, I heard him say he wouldn’t be upset if something happened on the drive to Marydale tonight. I thought he was joking because he was smiling, but then he told Kline not to mess up again.”

“You left that part out before, didn’t you?” Ronan said.

George nodded but insisted it hadn’t been on purpose. “That could mean anything, couldn’t it?”

Grayson towered over him. “What do you think it meant?” he asked.

George seemed to shrink before their eyes. “I guess it could mean that Simmons had hired Kline to shoot Olivia, and he messed up because . . .”

“I didn’t die,” Olivia finished.

“Yes, but it could have meant something altogether different, and that’s why I didn’t mention it.” He put both hands up. “I know, I know. I should have told you everything.”

He looked at Olivia then. “That’s why I was going to ride all the way to the mental facility with you. I wanted to make sure Kline didn’t hurt you. I was going to protect you.”

“By hurt her you mean kill her,” Ronan stated.

“Yes.”

“If you were going to protect her, why did you run the second she opened the door?”

He bowed his head. “I got scared, but I was going to wait in the van. I didn’t want to watch them drug her. I didn’t want to be a part of that.”

“Yeah, right,” Ronan said.

“You are part of it,” Grayson said.

Olivia could see his anger building and sought to diffuse it before he punched George. She got up from the table and went to Grayson.

“Could I please be there when you question Simmons? I can’t wait to hear the spin he puts on this.”

Her smile calmed him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Grayson suddenly needed to be alone with her, to hold her, to love her. With that thought in mind, he vigorously helped George to his feet. Ronan then gripped his arm and shoved him toward the front door. A minute later, as Grayson was sliding the deadbolt into place behind them, he could hear George blubbering once again that his life sucked. Grayson had to agree.

He returned to Olivia. “I want to go to bed,” he said, reaching for her.

She pulled away. “No, Grayson. We can’t. You said yourself we have to stay away from each other.”

“I know what I said. But damn it, Olivia, staying away is killing me.”

She stepped back. “What about Henry?”

“He’s already in bed.”

“You should go home and be there when he wakes up.”

He put his hand on her neck and gently pulled her closer. “I ate dinner with him last night, and he almost fell asleep at the table. He and Patrick go back to basketball camp tomorrow. They’ll leave around seven thirty, so it doesn’t matter if I’m there or not. He’ll tell me all about it tomorrow night.”

“I don’t want you to ignore him,” she said, trying to catch her breath. His body was pressed against hers.

“I don’t ignore him.” His mouth was now hovering over hers, his warm breath tickling her lips. “It’s sweet the way you worry about Henry.”

“I don’t really worry about him,” she whispered. “He has you.”

He tilted her chin up so he could look into her eyes and said, “So do you, sweetheart. Like it or not, you’ve got me.”

He didn’t give her time to reason or to argue. He sealed his promise with a kiss that let her know how much he wanted her.

Backing her into the living room, he pulled her T-shirt over her head. His hands quickly went to work on the zipper to her jeans, as she struggled to unbutton his shirt and pull it off his shoulders.

She pushed away and gazed up at him for a second. His eyes were filled with such passion. She took his hand and led him toward her bedroom. “Just this once,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Just this once.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Sunday morning with Grayson was wonderful. And enlightening. He woke Olivia, caressing her as he nuzzled the side of her neck. He was making love to her.

“Shouldn’t I be awake for this?” she asked, her voice a sleepy whisper.

“It’s not necessary. You can go back to sleep.”

As if that were possible. His mouth and his hands were everywhere, and oh, did he know how to drive her out of her mind. She was soon writhing in his arms, demanding that he come to her.

She cl**axed twice before he did. He held her close for several minutes until his breathing calmed and his heart stopped racing. “Each time it’s more intense, isn’t it? More amazing.”

Olivia started to tremble. “Grayson, we need to talk. I . . .”

He wouldn’t let her say another word. He kissed her hard, then got out of bed. “We’ll talk later. I’m getting in the shower now, and then I’m making breakfast.”

“I don’t eat breakfast.”

He was heading into the bathroom when he said, “Sure you do.”

She’d already lost her train of thought because she’d watched him walk away, and all she could think about was how sexy he was. She knew for a fact that he was all muscle because she’d touched every inch of him. That thought led to another, and she was suddenly replaying the different ways they’d made love during the night. Had she really been that uninhibited, that wild?

With an audible sigh, she got out of bed and put on her robe. She should have been exhausted, but she wasn’t. Fact was, she’d slept better than she had in years. She’d felt so safe and protected in his arms.

As it turned out, she did eat breakfast, and Grayson didn’t even have to coax her. He made an omelet with peppers and chives and mushrooms. It was delicious.

She was sipping hot tea while she watched him clear the table and stack the dishes in the dishwasher.

“I’ll clean up,” she promised. “You cooked.”

“It’s done.”

She smiled. “I know. That’s why I offered.” She tapped her forehead. “Always thinking.”

She put her teacup in the sink and followed him into the living room. He took his laptop out of his bag and sat on the floor. Leaning against the sofa, he stretched out his legs, opened the computer, and pulled up The Washington Post.

“The newspapers are in the hall,” she told him. “I’ll get them.”

After she looked through the peephole, she opened the door, scooped up the papers, and locked the door again.

“I like reading the actual paper,” she explained. “I stare at a computer screen all week. It’s a nice change.”

Grayson took The Washington Post, and she started reading The New York Times.

She noticed he read the financial section first, then the sports section.

“Grayson, may I ask—”

“Not yet, sweetheart.” He moved the paper so that he could check the time. “We’re having a normal, leisurely Sunday morning. At noon you may ask questions.”

“But—”

“Noon.”

She understood, and she was happy to wait. The world and all the ugly problems could return at noon. Until then, Grayson wanted time for just the two of them.

And it was lovely. Curled up against his side, she read most of the Times. There was a particularly interesting article about a renowned Broadway producer she thoroughly enjoyed. She even read the entire editorial page and checked out the new fashions in the style section. At one point she glanced over at Grayson, who was immersed in a story about a new construction project, and she marveled at how comfortable they were in their silence.

At twelve o’clock, Grayson reluctantly let reality intrude. He stacked the papers on the table and tensed in anticipation of what he was pretty sure was coming. Olivia would ask him about the future. His future. She would tell him that he needed to move on, that there could never be a future with her. She’d hinted at it several times already. It didn’t matter how she phrased it. Whatever she told him would lead to a quarrel, and as stubborn as she was, it would be a long one. He was stubborn, too, and this was one argument he was determined to win. He wasn’t going anywhere, and he wondered how many times he would have to say those words before she believed him.