No Way Out

  Stephen's fingers tightened on the receiver. "What do you mean, they didn't make the trade? They were about to sign."

  "Well, they didn't. He renegotiated his contract. He's staying."

  "Shit" Stephen punched end and stuffed the phone in his jacket pocket. There went ten thousand dollars down the toilet. How much worse could it get?

  There was a rap on his door.

  He swallowed, folded his hands tightly on his desk. Control. He had to get himself under control.

  "Mayor Stratford?" Celeste, his secretary, poked her head through the doorway. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but your nine-thirty appointment is here. So is Mr. Henderson. Shall I send him in first?"

  Automatically, Stephen's gaze darted to his calendar. Nine-thirty. Philip Walker, one of Leaf Brook's wealthiest real estate developers. He'd orchestrated the building of two-thirds of the city's strip malls, several of its office complexes, its main recreational center, and two of its movie theaters. He'd also invested big bucks in the super mall that had just been completed downtown and was scheduled to open in less than two weeks. Greg had mentioned something about Walker wanting to speak with them about a substantial business proposition that would greatly benefit the city.

  "Sir?" Celeste prompted.

  Stephen raised his head, giving his secretary a genuinely appreciative look. "Yes, send Cliff in first. And buzz Greg. Let him know Mr. Walker's here. He'll want to join us."

  "Very good, sir."

  "Oh, and Celeste? Tell Mr. Walker I'll be with him in five minutes. In the meantime, see if he wants some coffee."

  "Of course."

  "Thanks a lot." Stephen warmed her with his smile. "You're indispensable."

  She smiled back. "I try."

  An instant later, Cliff Henderson strode in, briefcase in hand. He was tall and lean, with sandy hair and affable brown eyes. Cliff's clean-cut appearance and easy manner added up to a boy-next-door charm. He used that ail-American appeal to his advantage, lulling his legal adversaries into a false sense of security by fooling them into believing he was just an average legal counsel in a conservative Brooks Brothers suit. The truth was, there was nothing average about him. He was an extraordinary attorney, with exceptional insight, fine-tuned instincts, and a mind like a steel trap.

  He set his briefcase on the desk, darting Stephen a quick look as he snapped open the case. "You okay?"

  "Yeah, fine. Why?"

  "You look a little tired." A corner of Cliff's mouth lifted. "Probably the stress of being the father of a game-winning, superstar pitcher. It was a pretty impressive game, followed by a pretty impressive celebration, from what Nancy said."

  Stephen relaxed, his expression softening. "Yeah, the game was great. As for the celebration, that's probably why I look a little off today. I ate an entire three-scoop banana split on my own. My thirty-six-year-old stomach isn't as resilient as it used to be."

  "Tell me about it The days of downing a whole pizza with everything on it are long over." Cliff pulled out a file, opening it as he sank into one of the cushioned chairs across from Stephen's desk. "I've got some preliminary numbers. They look good, even this early in the campaign. The voters like you. They like what you stand for. Braxton knows it, too. He's been campaigning hard, which is unusual this many months before the election. That means he's worried. He should be. Take a look." He slid a page across the desk.

  Stephen scanned the information. "It's not exactly a slam-dunk lead. Yeah, I'm ahead, but only by fifteen points. That's not enough to start planning the victory party. And let's not forget, Braxton's the incumbent. We've got our work cut out for us." And we need major dollars to back us, he added silently. Dollars I don't have because they 've been slipping away, along with my luck.

  "I spoke to your father this morning," Cliff continued. "He likes the way things are shaping up. He's optimistic about the outcome."

  "Glad to hear it." Stephen had to work to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Optimistic. That was his father's way of saying, not bad but not quite there. The usual, when it came to his opinion of Stephen. And that would deteriorate into outrage and disgust if the omnipotent Harrison Stratford knew what his son had done with the cash he'd provided to back this campaign.

  The thought made Stephen's insides twist

  He had to recoup that money—and fast.

  "Do you want to prep for this meeting with Walker?" Cliff was asking.

  "Do you know what it's about?"

  "Nothing specific. Other than that it concerns a new proposal, something that's not on the table yet."

  "Yeah, Greg mentioned that. But that's all he mentioned. So we can't do much prepping." Stephen leaned back in his chair. "I'm not too worried. Every one of Walker's ventures has been good for the city. I'm assuming this one will be, too."

  Cliff nodded. "I'm eager to hear what he has to say. And not only because he's been good for the city, but because he's been good for you." He slipped the senatorial campaign file back into his briefcase and took out a pad and pen. "He's a solid ally, Steve—affluent, well connected, a good source of new revenue for Leaf Brook, and an equally good source of potential campaign contributions."

  "Understood. Anything else before we get this meeting started?"

  Another searching look. "Nope. Except I suggest you go home early and get some sleep. And lay off the banana splits."

  "I'll try." Stephen punched the intercom button on his phone. "Celeste, you can show Mr. Walker and Mr. Matthews in now."

  "Right away," his secretary replied.

  A minute later, she gave the usual perfunctory knock, then opened the door and showed the two men in.

  Stephen rose, greeting Philip Walker, meeting the older man's firm handshake with one of his own. "Good to see you, Philip. Greg, thanks for joining us" He shifted his handshake to the city manager, a gesture that was more a matter of protocol than anything else. He and Greg Matthews had long since passed the formality stage. They'd worked together in this municipal building for five years. Besides interacting on the city's budget and policies, they shared an occasional lunch, a friendly rivalry over the Mets and the Yankees, and snatches of personal conversation in the parking lot. Greg was bright and ambitious, and Stephen felt confident knowing Leaf Brook's fiscal well-being was in his hands.

  He completed the social amenities with, "You both know Cliff Henderson," motioning toward Cliff.

  "Of course." Another round of handshakes.

  "Have a seat." Stephen indicated the cluster of chairs across from him. He waited until everyone was settled before opening with a reminder that was sure to set an upbeat tone for the meeting. "The mall's set to open on April 14th. The celebration we're planning should bring out the whole city."

  Philip Walker nodded, looking pleased—or at least as pleased as he ever looked. With his deep-set dark eyes and watchful expression, he appeared to be perpetually intense, almost grim, as if he were contemplating what was being discussed and evaluating it for loopholes. "Good," he replied. "That's what we're aiming for." He ran an impatient hand through his thick head of salt-and-pepper hair. "Actually, I'm here about another idea, one I think will be equally profitable. So, if it's okay with you, I'll get right down to business."

  No surprise. Walker was known for his shoot-from-the-hip delivery. And in this case, it was more than fine with Stephen. The way his head was throbbing, the last thing he felt like doing was shooting the breeze. What he really needed was some strong coffee and a plan. "Go ahead."

  "It occurred to me that Leaf Brook has grown a lot since you took office. It's now got office buildings, shops, and traffic congestion, especially in the heavily populated areas. Municipal lots have sprung up everywhere to accommodate people's parking needs."

  'True." Stephen frowned, wondering where this was going.

  Philip leaned forward, his forehead creased in concentration. "Walker Development has an affiliated real estate services company. We offer things like landscaping, snow removal, and security serv
ices to those who own or lease the facilities we built. We'd like to expand to a more public domain—namely, the city's municipal parking lots. We'd revamp the lots, tearing out the meters and putting up booths with attendants at all exits. We'd reorganize the way the lots are set up, making parking more accessible and expedient. And we'd implement round-the-clock security for safety purposes."

  He folded his hands. "Here's how I see it. Based on my estimates, Leaf Brook currently grosses just shy of a million a year off the lots, then pays tens of thousands to maintain them. If, instead, you teased those facilities to my company, we'd pay Leaf Brook the same million, plus five percent of the gross revenue we'd generate on top of that. The city would have safer and better parking facilities, lose the headache of maintaining them, and make a nice profit in the process."

  "So would you," Stephen commented, his mind rapidly processing everything Walker had said.

  "True." Philip's gaze remained steady. "Then again, that's what I'm in business for."

  Stephen picked up his pen, rolled it thoughtfully between his fingers. "It's an interesting idea. Certainly worth considering."

  "Considering. Does that mean you support it?"

  "Unofficially, my initial reaction would be to say yes. Of course, I'd have to run through the numbers with Greg, and then pass the proposal on to the city council. As you know, their authorization is necessary."

  "And I'm sure, as presiding officer, you'll get that authorization without a problem. After all, what I've suggested is a win-win situation—as I'm sure Mr. Matthews's numbers will confirm." Philip rose, smoothing the jacket of his expensive suit. "So, the next city council meeting is Thursday. Bring it up then. When you get their feedback, give me a call."

  "I will."

  "Oh." Philip paused, as if something had just occurred to him. "Speaking of win-win situations, congratulations on your candidacy for state senate. New York will be lucky to get you."

  "Thank you." Stephen came to his feet as well, although his instincts told him something more was coming.

  His instincts were right.

  Philip slipped Ms hand into his coat pocket, fishing out a checkbook and pen. "If I may, I'd like to make a contribution to your campaign. I'm sure you can put it to good use, even though you're probably swimming in contribution money. But I'd like to be part of your winning campaign." Without waiting for a reply, he wrote out a check, tearing it off and passing it across the desk. "There. With my best wishes."

  The number of zeroes struck Stephen squarely between the eyes. Five of them. Philip Walker had just handed him a check for a hundred thousand dollars.

  He raised his head, his features carefully schooled as he accepted the check and folded it in half. "That's very generous of you, Philip. I appreciate your support."

  "My pleasure." A hint of a smile curved his hard mouth. "I'll let you get back to your work." He gripped Stephen's hand in another firm handshake. "Thanks for taking the time to see me. Gentlemen," he said, acknowledging Cliff and Greg. "Nice seeing you."

  He crossed over and left the office.

  Greg unfolded his lanky frame from the chair, rising to stare after him. When the door was firmly shut, he turned and gave Stephen a measured look. "I thought this would be about breaking ground on another office development. I wasn't expecting this. Sorry if it blindsided you."

  "No problem." Stephen was fighting to keep his mind on the conversation. It was all he could do not to start jumping up and down. A hundred thousand dollars. It was just the spark he needed. "I wasn't expecting this, either. But the idea does have merit. Our municipal lots are decaying. And maintaining them has become a royal pain for the city. Not to mention the amount of taxpayer dollars we're spending. This could be a good deal for Leaf Brook all the way around."

  "I can't argue with that." Greg's sharp gray eyes assessed the mayor's reaction, interpreted it as positive. "I'll run through some numbers. If they come out as I expect, we'll raise the subject with the city council. I can't imagine they'd object."

  "I can't, either."

  Cliff said nothing, just scribbled some notes before setting down his pad and making a steeple with his fingers, resting his chin atop them.

  Greg cleared his throat. "I'll get back to my desk and get started. I'll check your schedule with Celeste and see when you're free to go over the results."

  "Sounds good," Stephen agreed. "Let's shoot for late this afternoon."

  "Fine."

  The room was silent until after Greg had left.

  "Interesting timing on Walker's part," Cliff offered when he and Stephen were alone. "How much did he give you?"

  Wordlessly, Stephen handed him the check.

  Cliff let out a low whistle. "A pretty serious contribution."

  "No argument mere." Stephen's conscience made him ask the obvious. "So tell me, was I just bribed?"

  A corner of Cliff's mouth lifted. "I think Philip Walker would call it an incentive. Whether or not that amounts to the same thing is a matter of interpretation He didn't threaten to pull the funds if you ultimately refused his business proposal. And since you could technically cash this now, long before the council makes any final decision, I don't think it constitutes a bribe. That doesn't mean he won't like you a whole lot better if you manage to pull this off for him."

  That was just the answer Stephen wanted to hear. His conscience was off the hook.

  "No question about that," he acknowledged, seeing a ray of hope that had been painfully absent a half hour ago. "But the truth is, his idea's a good one. Good for Walker, yeah, but good for Leaf Brook. Incentive or not."

  "Then you have your answer."

  "I guess I do. Now all that's left is getting Greg's corroboration and the council's authorization."

  "And one other thing. Deciding how to allocate your latest contribution."

  Oh, Stephen knew how to allocate it, all right. He'd make a few strategic bets that would increase the contribution and help him recoup his losses.

  Correction: his father's losses.

  He'd be off the hook. Everything would be okay.

  "Right," he murmured, his mind racing from one possibility to the next. "I expect Walker's contribution will go a long way."

  * * *

  5

  There was something magical about recess. It took problems and inhibitions and made them vanish with that first scoot down the slide or that first scramble up the monkey bars.

  Ah, to be seven again.

  Julia smiled, watching three of her students negotiating the two empty swings. Krissy, as usual, was bossing the other two girls around. But this time, her tactics were being met with resistance. Jenny, who was normally very shy, wanted the swing enough to stand her ground. And Lori's keen sense of competition was kicking in.

  This was going to be a dead heat.

  Realizing they'd reached an impasse, the three girls resorted to the only possible solution that wouldn't waste precious recess time arguing: they did "once twice three shoot" to decide who the two lucky takers would be. Nothing more equitable than that.

  A minute later, Krissy flounced off to try bossing the boys around.

  Julia's gaze shifted, automatically making its rounds to ensure the safety of all her eighteen pupils. All well.

  She frowned a little as she spotted Brian, standing off to the side and tossing a baseball in the air, catching it in his glove, then throwing it again. It wasn't like him to hang out alone. Or to be so quiet. Yet he'd done both all day. Even after Saturday's overwhelming victory.

  For the dozenth time, she wondered what had happened the rest of the weekend to alter his mood so dramatically. Whatever it was, it had begun with that bitchy reporter and her intrusive questions. Mayor Stratford had been out of sorts from that moment on. The celebration at the Big Scoop, while outwardly jovial, had been underscored with that same tension she'd sensed at the ball field. Both of Brian's parents had done their best to hide it, but Julia could feel their emotional strain. And Connor Strat
ford had been positively glacial during those infrequent moments when he wasn't interacting with Brian.

  She'd gotten out of there as soon as she could. But she'd felt distinctly uneasy all weekend, and she'd worried about Brian. With good cause, it seemed.

  "Hi." Robin Haley strolled over to Julia, shading her eyes from the sun. "I had a break. My next class isn't due in the computer lab for twenty minutes. So I thought I'd see how your date went."

  For a moment, Julia almost asked what date. Then she realized Robin meant her evening with Greg.

  "The show was excellent," she replied. "Afterward, we grabbed a late-night bite in midtown. Considering how exhausted I was, I had a lot of fun."

  Robin tucked a strand of honey-blond hair behind her ear. "And?"

  "And what?'

  Her friend sighed. "Julia, I've met Greg Matthews. He's an incredible-looking guy. He's also pursuing you like crazy. He calls, he sends flowers, he takes you to great places. So what's the problem?"

  Julia avoided meeting her friend's gaze by keeping her own watchful stare on her kids. She hated this conversation. Robin was a good friend, but she harped on Julia's social life—or lack thereof—far too much. If Julia didn't know she meant well, she'd tell her to butt out. But she did mean well. And to Robin, who was the proverbial party girl, a healthy social life meant dating lots of men and exploring each relationship to its fullest. Which was fine—for Robin. But it wouldn't work for Julia.

  "There is no problem," she stated flatly. "Yes, Greg's a nice guy. And yes, he's been very attentive. I enjoy his company. I don't know what you expect to hear. We've only gone out a handful of times."

  "Yeah, I know. And Greg doesn't strike me as the type who's used to waiting."

  That part was true. Greg was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. But he was also pretty astute. He'd picked up on the fact that Julia wasn't the type to separate physical and emotional commitment. At the beginning, he'd been very patient, tangibly restraining himself from pushing her. This time had been a little more difficult. When he'd taken her home Saturday night, he'd wanted to come in—and not for coffee. She'd put him off, explaining that she was tired. It was the truth.