“You’re early for the party. It’s not for three days.” Mrs. Manly sat perfectly still, watching her son as he paced around the room, examining the contracts.
“I thought I could help,” he said.
“We’ve got everything under control,” Mrs. Manly answered. “Don’t we, Hannah dear?”
“We do.” Hannah wished Mrs. Manly didn’t use her to poke at her son. “But I’m sure as the time gets closer, emergencies will occur, and we’ll be grateful for Carrick’s help.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Mrs. Manly said. “He’s not fond of work. But he is fond of luxury. As a matter of fact, I would venture to guess that’s why he’s here today. He ran out of money. Didn’t you, Carrick, my boy?”
He whirled toward his mother. “It’s nothing I can’t recover. It’s not like I’m going to ask you for capital. Not when you’re spending”—he picked up the decorating contract—“twenty-five thousand dollars on transforming this old rock pile into Sleeping Beauty’s castle.”
“It’s my money,” Mrs. Manly said.
“You don’t have any money, at least not enough to throw this party and support Balfour House over the next year.” He attacked like a man about to lose everything he valued. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I’m going to be living in prison next year,” Mrs. Manly said flatly, “and the fate of Balfour House will not be in my hands.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way.” He paced forward and knelt at her feet. “If you would just tell me where Father’s fortune is—”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Manly said.
“Why don’t I believe you?” His voice rose.
“I don’t know.” Mrs. Manly watched him without pity.
“I don’t believe you. You do know something.” He stood, abandoning his pleading, and towered over his mother, his hands clenching over and over.
Hannah couldn’t stand that. Enough was enough. She pushed him with a firm hand.
He swung on her, his fists half rising, the bruises on his face bright against the pale fury of his complexion.
He was a bully, and he scared her. She wanted to back off, run away. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave Mrs. Manly to him. So she lifted her chin and stepped between them.
For a long moment, Carrick stared at her, his face ugly, and she thought . . . she wondered if he would hit her. And if he did, if he would stop.
Then his face cleared, and he acted wounded. Wounded and impressively incredulous. “For God’s sake, Hannah, I have her best interests at heart. She’s my mother.”
Hannah took Mrs. Manly’s wrist. As she expected, her patient’s pulse was racing. “Carrick, excuse us. I need to take her to her room.”
“I would never hurt her,” he protested again.
As Hannah pushed her from the room, Mrs. Manly said over her shoulder, “Not until you have that information out of me.”
FOURTEEN
Gabriel stared at the monitor.
Not until you have that information out of me. What the hell did that mean?
Carrick stepped into the foyer and yelled after the two departing women, “What the hell does that mean, Mother?”
Mrs. Manly laughed. Cackled, really.
Carrick muttered a curse, went back into the study, and slammed the door.
He was younger than Gabriel, and he’d been spoiled by wealth, then given a hard knock with his father’s defection, but . . . grow up.
Hannah pushed Mrs. Manly to the elevator. As the doors shut, she asked, “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Practically tell him you have what he wants.”
Mrs. Manly laughed briefly. “He’s going to believe what he wants, and this way, he’s always on his toes.”
“Or on mine.” The elevator doors opened onto the second floor, and Hannah pushed Mrs. Manly down the corridor toward her room.
Gabriel had been listening in on their conversations for twelve days now, and except for the two calls to Hannah, he’d been bored out of his mind. Party planning was not his thing, and the two-hour discussion of which shade of pink to use on the climbing roses almost put him in a coma.
Now Susan had reassured them, told them no one was spying on them, and in ten minutes he’d been more entertained—and given more information—than in all of the preceding twelve days.
They entered the bedroom and went through the ritual to which Gabriel had become so accustomed. Mrs. Manly used the bathroom. Hannah took her blood sugar and gave her her medications. Mrs. Manly climbed wearily onto the bed. As Hannah straightened her covers, Mrs. Manly said, “Hannah, don’t falter now. There’s too much at stake here. A billion dollars. A thousand lives.”
Gabriel hitched his chair closer.
Did she say what he thought she’d said? Was Mrs. Manly insinuating she’d told Hannah Grey where the money was and how to access it? When? How? Before he’d arrived?
No. No, because if she had, Hannah would be gone.
Wouldn’t she?
That was the assumption he’d been working with, because once she had the information she’d come for, what reason would she have had to stay?
“If you don’t stop letting Carrick upset you so much, you’re going to have heart failure.”
“As long as it’s fatal, I don’t care.” Mrs. Manly took a deep breath. “Then I wouldn’t have to go to court.”
“Yes, but then Carrick has won,” Hannah teased. “And all this party planning will be for naught.”
“You, young lady, are too smart for your own good.” Grasping Hannah’s shoulders, Mrs. Manly pulled her close. She looked into her eyes so earnestly Gabriel was riveted. “Do you remember?”
“Every word.” Hannah was just as earnest. “I won’t forget.”
“Then I can rest.” Mrs. Manly released her.
The two women leaned back, took breaths as if they’d been riveted by an over-the-top movie spectacular—Titanic or the newest Batman.
Gabriel thought hard about what Mrs. Manly had actually said. She obviously despised poor Carrick, and from what Gabriel knew about her personality, she would taunt her son merely for the pleasure it would give her. As for what she’d said to Hannah . . . in a few days, Mrs. Manly faced the feds. She might be talking about the fortune without knowing anything about it.
Or . . . she might know, and be planning to confess all to the government.
If that was the case, the federal prosecutors would cut a deal, and that would take a load off Carrick’s mind. And apparently Carrick was starting to crack under the pressure, because he had been a thorough ass to his mother.
On the other hand, if she did know how to access the fortune, and she had given Hannah the details, and Hannah was still here . . . did that mean Hannah had been the victim of bad press from the Dresser family and from Carrick?
“Hannah, I want you to be careful. Very careful.”
“I will, Mrs. Manly,” Hannah said in a soothing voice.
“I know you think I’m a foolish old woman, but the rage in Carrick goes all the way to the bone.” Mrs. Manly closed her eyes as if tired and ashamed. “That’s a trait that runs in the family. If he thinks you have betrayed him . . .”
“I’ll be careful. I promise.”
Gabriel waited to see if they said any more, but Mrs. Manly relaxed, and in a minute a rattling snore shook the room.
Hannah smiled fondly, as if that noise comforted her.
Maybe it did. She waited for the moments when Mrs. Manly was asleep and she was free to sit and read, or watch TV, or do as she was doing right now, and stare, troubled, into space.
In Gabriel’s business, if something walked like a duck and quacked like a duck, it almost always was a duck. Worse, he knew very well how much his desire for Hannah made him want her to be as clean and pretty and honorable as she appeared.
It was possible. That was the other thing he’d learned in this business. Anything was possible.
&nbs
p; There was movement on the monitor that scanned the corridor outside his bedroom.
Carrick limped toward the door, irritation radiating from him.
Little brother really looked like his ass had been kicked. What had he done to deserve that?
Gabriel thought he knew. He’d seen the expensive suits, known about the Manhattan apartment, suspected the wild lifestyle. The kid was learning the hard way that a man had to work for what he got.
Turning down the sound, Gabriel faced the door.
Carrick slammed the door wide, stepped in, and slammed the door shut. “Have you found anything yet? Have you?”
“Nothing definitive.” Because he didn’t know anything definitive, and there was no point in raising Carrick’s hopes when he had a chance, with Susan’s intervention, to discover the truth.
“What is taking so damn long? Have you missed something?”
“It’s all being recorded.”
Carrick kept attacking. “Nelson says you’re the one who sits and listens. You never allow someone else to take over—”
“This is a delicate situation, and in this case, I don’t trust anyone else.”
“There’s been no progress.” Carrick paced up and down in front of Gabriel. “How long do you think I’m going to pay you for no progress?”
Gabriel had only so much patience, and Carrick had just reached the end of it. “You haven’t paid me at all,” he said precisely.
Carrick stopped and stood still, staring into space, his fists spasming. “Is that all anyone cares about?”
So Gabriel was right. The boy was living beyond his means, and someone had taken exception. Reining in his irritation, he said, “I am monitoring the situation. I can’t make them talk—”
Carrick leaped on that. “If I provoke Mother some more—”
“—although now I think we’ve got a chance.” Briefly, Gabriel filled him in on the changes Susan had wrought.
“Good.” Carrick limped to a chair and sat.
“Yes.” Mindful of Hannah’s worry, Gabriel continued. “But if you cause your mother a heart attack, we’re lost. Dr. Thalmann gave Miss Grey digoxin to administer in case of heart failure, and a tranquilizer to calm her in case of distress.”
“Really?” Carrick hitched his chair closer and stared. “A tranquilizer.”
Something about the way Carrick watched the monitor made Gabriel say, “You have to face the fact this might not turn out the way you want.”
Carrick glanced at Gabriel. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m saying that there’s nothing you can do, or I can do, if your mother doesn’t know where the fortune or your father is, and there’s really nothing we can do if she does know, and refuses to reveal the information.” Gabriel had never given older brother-type advice, but he was compelled to now. “Think, Carrick. You’ll never forgive yourself if you pressure your mother and something fatal occurs.”
From the cold stare Carrick turned on him, Gabriel realized the advice was not appreciated. “I’m not accountable to you. You’re simply the hired help.”
But Gabriel didn’t put up with that shit from anyone. “This hired help doesn’t have to work here, and if you’re planning violence—”
“Violence? Me?” Carrick’s head snapped back, and his eyes gleamed with fury. “You’ve been listening to her. You’ve been listening to Hannah. Has she seduced you, too? Have you lost your mind?”
Okay. It was time to calm things down. “Are you sure of your facts? I haven’t seen any evidence of Hannah’s guilt.”
“Facts?” Carrick scrambled to his feet. “Let me remind you that she lost her nursing certificate for sleeping with and possibly killing one of her patients. Now she’s working on my mother, trying to weasel information out of her so she can take the fortune and run, leaving my mother to take the fall. Have you even been listening in on their conversations? Should I hire someone else to take over?”
“No.” No, Gabriel would not allow another man to observe Hannah at work, while she slept . . . and while she bathed.
Had she seduced him? Yes, without even knowing he was there. And he . . . he had become the worst sort of pervert, watching and wanting her. Wanting a woman who didn’t know he existed.
Gabriel stared into Carrick’s eyes, enforcing his will on his despairing, desperate younger brother, calming him, bringing him back to normal. “I assure you, I’ve been listening and watching, and I’ll continue to listen and watch. If you’d like to review the video, I’d be glad to transmit it to your computer.” He paused and let Carrick digest how much time was involved in all these days of video. “In the meantime, consider this fact. The closer we get to the party, the closer we are to the court date, the more pressure your mother feels, and the more likely that she’ll break. You have to be patient.”
Gabriel’s efforts must have worked, for Carrick took a long breath. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” He placed his hand on Gabriel’s arm, and his fingers convulsed. “I just . . . if Mother goes to prison, I don’t know what will become of her.”
With a conviction formed from watching Melinda Manly day and night, Gabriel said, “She’s a sharp old bird. If she can help it, she won’t let it go that far.”
“She’s a stubborn old bird. She’ll push it as far as she can. To her death, if necessary.”
“No one ever takes it that far.”
“You don’t know my mother.”
FIFTEEN
The phone rang in Hannah’s bedroom, and she turned from her book and stared at the old-fashioned black corded princess phone.
It never rang. Who would call her?
Then she rushed to pick it up. Mrs. Manly must need something.
“Hannah. Hi, it’s Trent.”
“Trent?” She took the phone away from her ear and looked at it.
“Is this a bad time?” His rich voice with that distinctive accent stirred the hair at the base of her neck.
“No. Is there something wrong? With the security, I mean.” Because she was already in bed for the night, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t leap up and get dressed in a hurry. Nurses were like cops. They rose to the occasion.
“Everything’s fine.” He sounded soothing, gentle. “My job is not the only reason I call a beautiful woman.”
That stopped her headlong rush toward the closet.
“This is a bad time,” he said.
“No. No!” She sank back on the bed and thought . . . a beautiful woman. To the best of her knowledge, no one had ever described her as a beautiful woman. It made sense that the man who did had never seen her. “You don’t know what I look like.”
“I’m in security. I know your deepest secrets.” Now he sounded droll and self-deprecating.
“Right. I forgot about that.” She looked in the mirror over the old-fashioned chest of drawers and grimaced. She had washed her face clean of makeup, she wore her oldest, thinnest nightgown, and her hair looked like a bird had nested in it. Yet the call had put a warm glow in her cheeks.
“Besides, I can imagine what you look like, can’t I?” he asked.
Since she’d been imagining what he looked like every time they’d talked, she had to agree. “I suppose you can, but if you’ve come up with beautiful, you’re going to be sadly disappointed when you see me at the party.”
“I doubt that.” His voice deepened. “Do you know the fantasies I’ve had about nurses?”
“I can imagine, and they’re not true,” she said with severe finality.
“No. Please. Don’t crush my dreams.”
She laughed.
He seemed fine with that, waiting until she finished before asking, “What are you up to now?”
“I was . . .” She looked around. She sat in the canopy bed, surrounded by travel guides, while the TV rumbled along on the Weather Channel. She grabbed the remote and muted the sound. “I was trying to get a forecast for the party tomorrow night.”
“The local statio
n is calling for cold and crisp on Halloween. That’ll make my life easier, I can tell you. No umbrellas to fool with, and there’s nothing more miserable than standing outside, watching the cars arrive, while a cold rain drips down your neck.”
As he meant her to, she grinned. “Not exactly the glamorous life I’d imagined for a security agent.”
“Glamorous?” He snorted. “Would you call babysitting some rich girl as she rocks from one nightclub to another glamorous?”
“No, that sounds difficult.”
“Horrendous. Glamorous? Like spending hours tailing a cheating husband to get photos of his newest affair, knowing all the while he’s going to buy off his disgruntled wife with a jewel?”
Was that how it had been with her father? “Never did they make a jewel big enough to let me forgive that.”
“I don’t get it, either.” He seemed to remember something else. “Oh, and let’s not forget the glamorous times spent trying to break into a sealed account on a computer.”
She stiffened. Was that a random comment, or was he fishing for information? “Why would you do that?”
“You’d be surprised at the criminals who keep all their records on their computers. I’ve helped convict several embezzlers that way.” He sounded amused and not at all personal.
Sp this was her chance to discover his trade secrets. “How do you break into a sealed account?”
“First we try the usual passwords people use. You know, stuff like their names done in numbers or their birthdays typed in backward.”
Mrs. Manley’s code was much more complex, but still Hannah needed more details. “So I shouldn’t use my birthday typed in backward?”
“Definitely not. If it’s not a birthday typed backward, we have to use the descrambler on the computer.” He sounded smug. “That always gets us in.”
“But then you have to find the right files, right?” She chewed on her thumbnail as she waited for the answer.
“Half the time the files are right there on the desktop, cleverly named something like Accounts or Figures.” She could almost see him shaking his head in disbelief. Then he recalled himself. “Listen, you don’t want to hear about my boring job.”