Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard #10)

Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard #10) Page 9

“Do you have any solid evidence yet?” Jane asked.

“No,” Olivia admitted. “But I know I’m right. My entire life I’ve seen how my father operates. He’s very charming. He has a way of getting people to believe he’s the most sincere and candid person they’ve ever met, and he looks very successful, so when he presents an investment opportunity, they trust him. Sometimes I think he actually believes what he tells them. It’s almost like a compulsion and he can’t help himself.”

Olivia wished she could look away and let things play out, but she couldn’t. She knew what was coming and she couldn’t just stand by as more and more people got sucked in. She’d seen it happen before. When she was young, she knew her father was different from other dads, but it wasn’t until she was older that she realized what he was and finally could see what he’d been doing.

One of his first ventures was in oil. He had convinced hundreds of people that geologists had discovered incredibly rich oil deposits off the coast of Texas. All he needed was enough money to invest in the drilling equipment to extract it. People gave him millions because he assured them that they were taking a small risk. He made them believe they were going to make a hundred times what they’d put in. People were greedy. No one knew how much drilling actually went on, but within a year he announced that the wells had come up dry; the geologists were mistaken. The investors walked away with a loss, but somehow Olivia’s father moved on to bigger and better.

He formed another company a couple of years later. This time he invested in technology. He managed to find enough people to believe that he had collected a group of engineers who were on the verge of developing a revolutionary battery, one that would solve all the country’s energy problems. That turned out to be a flop, too, but while the investors lost every dime and the company went under, her father’s lifestyle became more lavish.

Those were just a couple of his so-called business ventures. Now he’d gotten even bigger. With his new firm, he’d collected massive amounts of capital from investors, big and small, with promises of phenomenal returns. Somehow he’d convinced them that their money was safe, but there was no way he could maintain the big profits he’d been claiming.

“Is there any way he could be legitimate this time?” Jane wondered.

Olivia thought about Jeff Wilcox facing prison because of her father’s lies. How many more were there? She shook her head. “No, it just doesn’t make any sense. I try to warn people, but until I find proof, no one will pay any attention to me.” She took a breath. “Actually, that’s not quite true. My father’s law firm, Simmons, Simmons and Falcon—or as I like to call them, Slimeball, Slimeball and Slimeball—did get wind of what I’m trying to do, and they’re trying to stop me. They sent a nasty threatening letter. If I don’t desist with what they called my insane and inflammatory accusations, they’ll have me arrested.”

“On what charges?”

“They don’t have any. It’s all bogus. I haven’t done anything illegal. They’re just trying to scare me. If they were to try to sue me, they’d have to let me see my father’s financials, and trust me, Jane, they’d kill me before they’d let that happen.”

“Good God, Olivia. Don’t talk like that.”

“They should all be in prison.”

“Then go after them. Just don’t . . .”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t get killed.”

Olivia laughed. “That’s the plan.”

SEVEN

Olivia was ready by six thirty Saturday night and spent the next half hour catching up on e-mails. She wore a black floor-length gown. The silk hugged the curves of her body, but it wasn’t obscene, by any means. The scooped neck showed a little cleavage, nothing that would have men ogling, she thought. Her neck was bare, and her only jewelry was a pair of teardrop diamond earrings that her aunt Emma had given her for her birthday. Her hair was swept up in a cluster of curls. A few tendrils escaped at the base of her neck.

Grayson was five minutes early. She opened the door and stood there staring up at him, speechless. The man was even more sexy in a tux. James Bond, all right, she thought. No, she corrected. Better.

Neither of them moved for a few seconds, and then Grayson said, “You look nice.” He sounded hoarse.

“Thank you. So do you,” she said as she stepped back. “Please, come inside. I’ll just get my purse and wrap.”

He stepped into a small foyer and followed her into the living room. Olivia lived in an upscale neighborhood on the edge of Georgetown. The building was old, the third-floor apartment was spacious and comfortable. Tall arched windows and worn hardwood floors were the backdrop for her overstuffed sofa and two matching chairs. The walls had been painted a pale blue, the windows were trimmed in white, and the furniture was a soft yellow color. A black square coffee table sat in front of the sofa with a stack of books on one side and a white vase filled with fresh daisies in the center. Colorful rugs brightened the area.

He noticed a pair of worn tennis shoes under the coffee table and a pair of flats in the doorway of a small room off the living area that Olivia obviously used as an office. Her laptop sat on an old, dark cherrywood desk that had been beautifully restored. Bookcases flanked the desk, the shelves bowed from the heavy books.

Grayson was an armchair architect at heart and appreciated the unique features of these older buildings. He would have loved to see the rest of the apartment.

Olivia came back into the living room and noticed Grayson staring at her ceilings. He caught her watching and said, “I like the moldings.”

“I do, too. That’s one of the reasons I bought the apartment.”

“Ten-foot-high ceilings? That’s rare.”

“Yes.”

“Bet it gets cold in here in the winter, doesn’t it?” he asked when he noticed the old-fashioned radiators.

She pointed to the afghan draped over a chair. “I wrap up in that.”

He nodded. “How many bedrooms?”

“Two.”

“One large, one small?”

“No, both are quite spacious.”

“Has the kitchen been remodeled?”

Puzzled by his interest, she answered. “Yes, the whole building was remodeled a few years ago.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“A little over two years. Are you interested in the neighborhood? Thinking about moving?”

Grayson didn’t explain that he bought buildings, renovated them, and either sold them or rented them out. It was an expensive, yet profitable, hobby.

“Just curious. Are you ready?”

He took the key from her and locked the deadbolt on their way out. Neither said another word until they were in his car and on their way.

“Tell me what Jorguson is saying happened,” she began.

He glanced at her. “You attacked him.”

She was properly outraged. “That is absolutely not true.”

“Special Agent Huntsman has been after Jorguson for some time. He wants to know if you’ll testify should he take him to court.”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “But do you really think it will get that far?”

He grinned. “Those were the exact words my partner, Agent Conrad, said. Jorguson knew you worked for the IRS, so, in fact, he attacked a representative of the IRS, didn’t he? It’s my understanding the Internal Revenue Service doesn’t like it when one of their own is assaulted.”

She laughed. “No, they don’t.”

“Huntsman wants to push this.”

“I’ll help in any way that I can,” she promised.

“How much research did you do before your interview with Jorguson?”

“Very little,” she admitted. “I didn’t have the time. A big mistake on my part. I never should have gone to the interview.”

“Jorguson’s client list is filled with real bad . . .” He started to say “asses” but substituted “people” instead.

She laughed. “Bad people? You sound like one of my kids.”

“One of your kids?”

“The kids I represent. When we had lunch, I thought I mentioned I do some work on the side for Judge Bowen and Judge Thorpe.”

“Yes, you did mention it. It just jarred me to hear you call them your kids.”

“When they’re in trouble, they are my kids. In most cases, I’m all they have.” Her voice had turned serious, passionate.

“I’ve got a feeling it’s enough.”

“Tell me more about these bad people.”

“Jorguson Investments is legit as far as Huntsman can tell; however, some of his clients have brought in copious amounts of cash. One in particular, Gretta Keene, was very active. Her base was in Belgium but she operated in the United States for several years. The federal government took action a few months ago to have her deported. She disappeared before that happened.”

“Where’s all the money coming from? Drugs?”

“Among other endeavors, we suspect.”

“So let me go out on a limb here. If and when I talk to Agent Huntsman, he’s going to tell me Jorguson is money laundering for either the mob or perhaps one of the drug cartels.”

He smiled. “Maybe.”

She switched gears. “Did you talk to Jorguson about his threat to have me killed? ‘One phone call and you’re a dead woman.’ I believe those were his very words.”

“He denied threatening you. When I mentioned the number of people who heard him, he said they were all mistaken. While he was spewing his ridiculous lies, his two attorneys’ heads were nodding up and down like they were bobbing for apples. We happened to have a video from one of the waiters’ cell phones and played it for him.” He grinned as he added, “His expression was priceless.”

“Bet he changed his story then.”

Grayson nodded. “As a matter of fact, he did. The alleged incident was all a big misunderstanding, and he was bluffing when he pretended to threaten you.”

“He actually said he pretended to threaten me?”

“I can’t make this stuff up,” he said, laughing.

“What else did he say?”

“He’d love it if you would come work for him.”

“The thought of seeing that pervert every single day sends shivers down my spine.”

“Then that’s a ‘no’?”

They’d stopped at a red light, and Grayson glanced over at her with a warm smile. Olivia was suddenly tongue-tied, and her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t know what to make of her physical reaction to him. She was usually so professional and composed, and this was a business evening, wasn’t it?

“You’re blushing,” Grayson said. “How come?”

She didn’t answer his question.

The light turned green, but Grayson didn’t notice. When Olivia had turned in her seat to face him, the slit in her gown exposed part of her thigh. Her skin was golden, and he wondered if the rest of her was as flawless. The driver behind them honked, and Grayson’s gaze was pulled back to his driving.

“Have you ever been to the Hamilton?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t. It only just opened a couple of months ago. I’ve stayed at the one in Boston. It’s beautiful and quite elegant. Have you been to this one?”

“Yes, I have. Aiden Hamilton threw a party a couple of weeks before the grand opening. I’ve known Aiden and his family for some time now. My cousin, Sam, helped on a case for Aiden’s brother-in-law, Alec, and he introduced us. Sam and Alec are both FBI.”

“How was the party?”

“Good,” he said. “I ran into a lot of old friends I hadn’t seen in a while. I was ready to take my date home when Alec suggested we play a little poker. I got home at six the next morning.”

“And your date?”

“I took her home and came back for the game. She wasn’t happy about that.”

“Did you win any money?”

“Aiden decided to join us, so, no. When he plays, he wins. I lost the girlfriend and a lot of money. Had fun, though.”

“You don’t sound too broken up about the girlfriend.”

“The relationship wasn’t going anywhere,” he said. “And, hey, it was poker.”

“And she didn’t understand. I do,” she said. “I love poker.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? You really like to play?”

“I do.”

“Any good?”

“I think I am.”

He grinned. “We’ll have to see about that.”

They pulled into the circle drive in front of the hotel, ending the conversation. Two attendants rushed forward to open their doors. Grayson’s BMW was whisked away by the valet, and he took hold of Olivia’s arm and walked by her side up the wide steps to the entrance.

The Hamilton Hotel faced Pennsylvania, a busy and noisy street, but as soon as they walked through the doors, Olivia felt as though she’d entered another world. There was a perfect blend of old-world charm and sleek contemporary touches. Massive columns stretched to the ceiling of a soaring lobby, and grand curved staircases on either side led to a wide mezzanine overlooking the main reception area. The polished brass balusters on the steps were topped with a carved railing of rich mahogany. Every table and chest was adorned with fresh flowers. Beautiful marble floors were covered in rich Oriental rugs, and the luxuriously upholstered furniture was overstuffed, inviting guests to linger and relax in this elegant and quiet setting, forgetting the turmoil and demands of the outside world.

All seven Hamilton Hotels were known for unparalleled luxury, absolute discretion, and impeccable service. The hotels catered to discriminating clientele and were dedicated to protecting privacy. Because of the chain’s reputation for pampering guests and taking care of their every whim, dignitaries, politicians, lobbyists, and celebrities had already booked the four ballrooms in this hotel well into the future.

The Capitol League gala was being held in the largest ballroom, which was located on the first floor at the end of a long, wide corridor. Outside the large double doors leading into the ballroom was an open area with a magnificent fountain. Directly beyond were tall windows overlooking the serenity gardens.

Two Capitol League attendants stood side by side at the doors. Olivia pulled her invitation from her beaded clutch and handed it to one of them. Grayson noticed the man was so preoccupied staring at her, he barely glanced at the card.