Книга - Unexpected Outcome

Unexpected Outcome
Dawn Stewardson


A little secret…Dana Morancy adores her father, so it isn't surprising that she followed in his career footsteps and joined the New York Police Department. But after four years on the job, she is involved in a "suicide by cop." Uncertain whether she'll ever be able to fire a gun again, she becomes a private investigator.Noah Haine works at a Manhattan import shop that's being sabotaged. He and Dana join forces and find the villain–find, too, that they've fallen in love.Dana and Noah are ready for happily ever after.But they may have to wait a while. In fact, they may have to wait forever.Because Dana's father has a little secret….









“Oh, Lord,” Dana whispered


Suddenly her insides were hurting.

“That’s right. I’d give anything not to have to shock you like this, but…”

She wrapped her arms around her chest, still reeling from her father’s news.

“You see—”

She did her utmost to concentrate as he began speaking once more, but she could barely make out what he was saying because her ears were ringing.

It was something about the name Haine.

Listen, she ordered herself. Pay attention. Keep your emotions in check.

That last one was impossible, but she tried as hard as she could.

“That’s when I had to tell you,” her father was continuing. “Because the other day, the very first time I saw you and Noah together…the way you look at each other…”

“Is it that obvious?” she murmured.

“Uh-huh.”

But of course it was. Noah was the love of her life. Now, though…


Dear Reader,

One of the things I tell my students in the romance writing course I teach is not to make things easy for their characters. When it came to Dana Morancy, I took that advice seriously.

We all have emotional baggage, but I gave her some that most of us would never dream of. Then I introduced her to the man she’d been waiting for her entire adult life—but put such a sharp twist in the road that just when she thinks she’s looking straight at the “happy-ever-after,” she discovers that things haven’t been at all what they seemed.

As for Noah Haine, when the story begins the last thing he wants in his life is a woman. By the time it ends, it’s the only thing he wants. And the woman has to be Dana—despite the complications.

I hope you enjoy the twists and turns of Dana and Noah’s story.

Warmest wishes,

Dawn Stewardson

P.S. Please come and visit me at www.superauthors.com




Unexpected Outcome

Dawn Stewardson





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To John, always.

And to my editor, Beverley Sotolov,

who pushed me to write this particular book.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN




CHAPTER ONE


DANA WAITED WHILE Robert Haine settled himself in a visitors’ chair, absently wondering why he’d come to see her.

Usually, a prospective client told her a bit about his problem when he called to make an appointment, but Haine hadn’t given her the slightest clue.

He finally looked across the desk and said, “You were highly recommended, Ms. Morancy.”

She smiled. “That’s good to hear. Who should I thank?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say. I didn’t do the asking around myself. But I understand it was someone on the NYPD. An officer you used to work with.”

While she nodded acknowledgement of that, she did her best to ignore the familiar chill creeping through her.

An officer she’d worked with. Someone who knew she hadn’t been able to cut it on the job.

She stopped herself right there. Whoever had recommended her obviously thought she was a good private investigator. Despite her failings as a cop.

Forcing her full attention back to the moment, she said, “And what can I help you with, Mr. Haine?”

“Why don’t we drop the formality. Go with Robert and Dana.”

“Fine.”

As he took a few seconds to choose his next words, she eyed him surreptitiously. In his midfifties, he was roughly the same age as her father—but she suspected that might be the only thing the two had in common.

They were certainly on different pages when it came to clothes. Her dad always claimed he felt uncomfortable in a suit. Robert Haine, wearing a perfectly cut charcoal pinstripe, clearly didn’t.

“My business partner, Larry Benzer, and I have a company,” he said at last. “Four Corners Imports. Someone is trying to sabotage it.”

“I see,” she said slowly. “Sabotage it how?”

“Various ways. Arson in our warehouse. A couple of cargo containers that simply vanished—which left us scrambling to supply our clients. Invoices that were printed but somehow didn’t make it into the mail.

“Other things, too. Enough to affect both our bottom line and our reputation.”

“And you’re sure you haven’t just had a string of bad luck?”

He shook his head. “Our employees seem to figure that’s all it is. But only Larry and I are aware of everything that’s been going on. And seeing the complete picture, we’re convinced someone’s out to get us.

“So is my nephew, Noah Haine, who’s our director of finance.”

“I see,” she said again.

“The three of us have been spending half our time trying to figure out who it is. But the only thing we’re agreed on is that it has to be someone with access to inside information.”

“Someone on your staff, then.”

“That’s the obvious conclusion,” he said, his expression telling her how much that bothered him.

“Are you particularly suspicious of anyone?”

“There are a few people it could be. Theoretically speaking. But when it comes to hard evidence…”

He shrugged, indicating they had none, so she said, “What about a possible motive?”

“Again, only a couple of theories.”

“Theories are a good place to start. Why don’t you tell me what they are.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Well, you’ll need a little background information to understand the first one.

“A few years ago, Larry and I decided to expand into the West Coast market. That took money, so we went public to raise it.

“The shares did fine right from the initial offering, but in the past while they’ve dropped through the floor. Because, as I said, these problems have cost us money.

“But the point is, we figure someone could be accumulating shares on the cheap. And when he’s got enough the sabotage will miraculously stop. Then he’ll sell after the price recovers.”

Dana nodded, thinking nobody orchestrating a scheme like that would be dumb enough to purchase shares in his own name. Or her own, as the case might be. But there could easily be an accomplice with no apparent link to the company.

“Our other idea,” Robert was saying, “is that a competitor’s trying to drive us out of business. And has a Four Corners employee on its payroll.”

“Do you have many competitors?”

“Only two major ones. We’re a niche company—import collectibles and sell them almost exclusively to interior design firms.”

After another brief silence, he added, “Is this the sort of job you’d take on?”

“Yes. Definitely.” White-collar crime. No risk of shoot-’em-ups. Tailor-made for Dana Morancy.

“I’d just like to ask a few more questions,” she continued. “Exactly who knows you’re hiring a private investigator?”

“Right now, nobody except Larry and me. We’ll tell my nephew, of course, but he’s out of town until tomorrow.”

She thought for a moment, then said, “How would you feel about not telling him? About not telling anyone else who I really am?”

Robert didn’t seem to like the suggestion, so she said, “If one of your employees is involved, introducing me as a P.I. would warn him off. And if he goes to ground I’ll have a harder time learning who he is.”

“Yes, of course,” he said slowly. “That makes sense. But what does it have to do with not telling Noah?”

“When you’re trying to keep a secret, the fewer people in on it the better. All it takes is one slip…”

“Hmm…I see what you mean.”

She waited, letting him debate with himself. She never pushed clients very hard on issues like this. That way, the decisions didn’t come back to bite her.

“Okay,” he said at last. “Only Larry and I will know. But if we don’t say you’re a P.I., how do we explain you?”

“Well, I’ve established an identity for undercover work—Dana Mayfield, an organizational design consultant. It’s solidly backed up, so it checks out as authentic if anyone gets curious.”

“A consultant,” he repeated.

“Uh-huh. You’ve had this run of trouble, so you bring in a consultant. Your people would see that as a reasonable move, wouldn’t they?”

“I guess most of them would. Noah, though…one of the first things he’ll ask is whether we told you we think the problems are more than simple bad luck, that we’re convinced someone’s behind them. He’ll figure that otherwise we’re just wasting money.”

“But logically, you would have told me. I mean, you’d have at least raised it as a possibility, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, you’re right. So…how would this be? We say that we mentioned it, but didn’t tell you we’re pretty well certain—because we want you starting out with an open mind.”

“Good. That sounds believable.”

Robert nodded, then said, “Okay, that’s how we’ll handle it. And so that I don’t come off looking like an idiot, I guess the next thing we need to talk about is what an organizational design consultant does. I only have a vague idea.”

She gave him a smile. “You and just about everyone else. Which makes it a great cover. I can ask practically anything without raising suspicions.

“But, basically, a real OD person would look at the various structures in your company—reporting relationships, processes and systems, then recommend ways to improve them.

“So I’d be talking to your employees about their jobs. And the business in general. Asking for their input on how to make things work better.”

“And while you’re doing that you’re hoping someone says something…incriminating?”

“I’m not normally that lucky. But if I ask enough questions, sooner or later I usually get a lead.”

“Well…”

“Is there a problem?”

“Just a minor one. Something else with Noah.”

“Uh-huh?”

“You see, Larry and I don’t think much of consultants. We’ve heard about too many cases of them causing more problems than they’ve solved. And Noah’s aware of how we feel, so he’ll figure it’s awfully strange that we’d suddenly decide to…

“But there’s no reason for you to worry about that. Larry and I will come up with an explanation. Which gets us to the question of when you can start.”

“Let’s see,” she said, glancing at her appointment book. “This is Wednesday and I’m tied up tomorrow. But I could meet with you and your partner on Friday morning.”

“Sounds fine.”

“Good. Then I’ll need a small retainer now. And on Friday the two of you can fill me in on the details of these incidents.

“Plus, if you get together an organization chart, a list of your employees and copies of the latest annual reports, I’ll review them on the weekend. And starting Monday, I’ll be able to devote most of my time to you.”

Since Robert seemed surprised, she added, “A lot of my work is for trial lawyers. But half of them spend their summers in the Hamptons, which makes July and August slow.”

“Ah.”

When he said nothing more, she began to grow anxious.

He looked worried that she might have given him the “slow summers” explanation to avoid the truth. And worried the truth was that she didn’t have enough clients to earn a decent living.

However, since New Yorkers who concerned themselves about strangers were an endangered species, he was far more likely reconsidering the wisdom of hiring her—probably wondering if whoever had done the asking around for him had goofed, maybe suspecting she was actually readily available because she wasn’t a particularly good P.I.

Uneasily, she pictured the anemic balance in her bank account. Then, to her relief, Robert Haine reached inside his suit jacket and produced a checkbook.



FOUR YEARS OF LIFE in squad cars had left Dana with absolutely no desire to ever drive in Manhattan again.

Besides, she liked walking, found that immersing herself in the constant rush of the city energized her. And when walking wasn’t feasible she happily relied on cabs and public transit. She didn’t need either, though, to get to Four Corners Imports.

Its head office was on the northern fringe of the Village, not much more than an easy stroll from her Chelsea apartment. And a pleasant one on a sunny July morning, even if the air was a bit too muggy for comfort.

After turning off Ninth onto West Thirteenth, she stopped to take her black pumps out of her briefcase and change into them from her sneakers. Then she tucked those away and started walking again—mentally reviewing the homework she’d done on the company’s key players.

She’d learned, long ago, that checking out new clients often revealed interesting details they’d “forgotten” to mention. But in this instance she hadn’t learned anything even remotely strange or startling.

Robert had begun his working career in sales. Then he’d met Larry Benzer—recently back from fighting in Vietnam and with a little money saved—and the two of them had established their own business.

Noah Haine, the nephew who’d joined the company a few years back, had initially been brought on board to orchestrate the process of taking it public.

With an MBA from Columbia and experience working for an investment banker, he’d been up on what had to be done to make Four Corners comply with all of the Securities and Exchange people’s regulations.

As for the men’s personal lives, Robert was well into his second marriage, no children from either. Larry and his wife had been together for almost twenty-five years. They had two sons and a daughter. Noah was single.

While a few more facts were parading through Dana’s mind she reached her destination, which proved to be an old, but well-maintained, three-story brick office building.

Beyond the bar-protected glass of the front entrance she could see a wide, old-fashioned wooden staircase. To the right was a hallway, to the left a reception area.

It was accented with a variety of interesting-looking collectibles—undoubtedly examples of the sorts of things Four Corners imported. Between those and the numerous paintings on the walls, the space reminded her of a tiny gallery in a museum.

But when her gaze came to rest it wasn’t on any of the objets d’art. It was on the tall, dark-haired man talking to the woman behind the desk.

His back was to the door, so she couldn’t see his face. Given the set of his broad shoulders, though, combined with the relaxed way he was standing, she’d say he was the kind of man who felt comfortable in his own skin.

Hoping the humidity hadn’t done too bad a number on her hair, she combed her fingers through it. Then she pressed the buzzer.

The receptionist glanced over, scrutinized her, then released the lock. Apparently, the woman had been expecting her. The man turned to see who had arrived.

When he did, she felt a quick internal tug—a feeling she so rarely had that she almost didn’t recognize it for what it was. Instantaneous attraction. There was something about him…

She let herself study him for a moment, trying to determine exactly what it was, then finally decided it was a combination of things.

His eyes were the color of rich black coffee, his features strong and regular; his square jaw looked rock hard. All in all, it was hardly surprising that he’d started her pulse stuttering a little.

As she stepped inside he smiled at her—such a high-beam smile she couldn’t have stopped herself from smiling back if she’d tried. Then he glanced at her naked ring finger, and his apparent interest made her face grow warm.

Lord, how long had it been since she’d blushed? Certainly months. Possibly years.

“You must be Dana Mayfield,” he said.

“Yes. And you must be…?”

The receptionist’s phone began to ring.

“Noah Haine,” he told her as the woman picked up. “Robert’s nephew. I’ll take you to him.”

“Thanks.”

“Most of our office space is on this floor,” he said as she fell into step beside him. “Back there,” he added, gesturing toward the wall behind the staircase.

She nodded, just able to hear the muffled sounds of people at work.

“But Robert and Larry hide out upstairs. They like to keep clear of the line of fire.”

When he gave her a quick grin to say he was joking, she couldn’t help thinking it was positively criminal that she’d have to ignore the pull she felt toward him.

New York was not a primo city for meeting eligible men. Not eligible men who rang her chimes, at any rate.

At thirty-one years of age, she’d been in precisely three serious relationships, none of which had been serious enough to lead to marriage.

And these days, all the single men she came in contact with seemed to be either gay, work obsessed, or in critical need of therapy.

Given that, and adding in the fact she was…

She settled on selective, rejecting picky—a word her mother had been known to use. But semantics aside, the point was that Noah Haine was off-limits.

She firmly believed in never mixing pleasure with business. And even if that wasn’t true she’d be careful around Noah. At least until she felt sure she could rule him out as a suspect.

After all, he was the director of finance. And one of the “incidents” had involved a batch of invoices that never reached the customers.

Blood might be thicker than water, but that didn’t mean Noah-of-the-thousand-watt-smile couldn’t be playing games.

That thought front and center in her mind, she managed to keep her eyes off him until they reached the second floor.

At the top of the stairs was a small waiting area. Beyond it stood an empty conference room, its door open, and to their left was a short corridor.

“The corner offices,” Noah told her as they started toward them, “are my uncle’s and Larry’s.

“And this one in between belongs to Helen Rupert,” he added, stopping outside its door.

He introduced Dana to the woman sitting behind the desk, then said, “Officially, Helen is Robert and Larry’s executive assistant. In reality, she runs the company.”

Helen, a plump woman in her fifties, laughed.

“That’s only because I’ve been here forever,” she said. “And I know where all the skeletons are buried.”

Noah shot her a grin, then led Dana the rest of the way to Robert’s office—where both the partners were waiting for her.

In contrast to Robert’s refined appearance, Larry Benzer was a large man whom she’d have guessed would deal in sports equipment, or something of that sort, rather than collectibles.

He’d been a boxer in college, she recalled, thinking that even a brief check into someone’s personal life usually turned up interesting bits of trivia. And he’d obviously kept in shape.

As he shook her hand, almost making her wince in the process, Robert said to Noah, “There’s no reason you need to sit in on this. Larry and I are just going to give Dana an overview of the company.”

The look that flickered across Noah’s face said he suspected the older men were keeping something from him. And since his obvious guess would be that it was something to do with her, once he’d left she asked if he had thought it was strange that they’d hired a consultant.

“He was certainly surprised,” Robert admitted. “But we came up with a pretty good story—said that while he was out of town Larry’s wife began pushing the idea. Told him that she’d read an article about organizational designers and decided a good one could probably help pinpoint why we’ve been having problems.”

“Noah’s aware I haven’t filled her in on our saboteur theory,” Larry added. “If I did, she’d only be more concerned. So it would make sense to him that she’s just thinking in terms of problems.”

“I see,” Dana said. “And when you talked to Noah? Did you get the impression that he really believed all it took was her suggesting—”

“You’d have to know Martha to understand,” Larry interrupted. “Until a couple of years ago she worked with us. Actually, we hired her way back when, to help me with market development, and then I ended up marrying her.

“But that’s beside the point. Which is that she still feels she’s part of the company and…she’s kind of headstrong.”

Dana glanced at Robert in time to catch the hint of a weary smile. From that, she concluded Larry should have omitted the “kind of.”

“When my wife sets her mind to something and doesn’t get her way,” he added, “she can drive people crazy.”

“In other words,” Robert said, “Noah won’t be thinking it’s too unrealistic that we’d go along with her.”

Turning her gaze back to Larry, Dana said, “If she still feels she’s part of the company, does she ever stop by, or…”

“Oh, sure. We have a condo in SoHo, so it’s no distance. And every now and then she has a marketing idea that she just can’t wait to discuss.”

“I see,” Dana said again, suspecting Martha Benzer was probably bored—and possibly regretted having left the company.

“Or she might want to go out for lunch on a day her friends are all busy,” Larry was continuing. “And I’m better than staying home.”

“I’m sure you’re much better,” she said with a smile. “But I didn’t make the reason for my question clear. I was wondering what would happen if she was here and ran into Noah. If he said something about her suggesting you hire me.”

“Oh, that’s covered,” Larry said. “I told her we were blaming you on her—as far as Noah and Helen and anyone else who might ask is concerned and…

“But I didn’t mean blaming you. What I should have…well, the bottom line is, you don’t have to worry about Martha.”

Dana didn’t exactly understand what Martha knew and didn’t know, but before she had a chance to ask anything more Larry was saying, “So, getting back to Noah, we said that we weren’t hiring you only to make Martha happy. That we’d started thinking we might be too close to see clearly. And were hoping something might leap out at an outsider like you.”

“And what did Noah say?”

Robert shot Larry a look, then shrugged. “That it would have made more sense to hire a private eye.”




CHAPTER TWO


BACK IN HIS OWN OFFICE, Noah connected to the Internet and brought up his favorite search engine.

Seconds after he typed in Dana Mayfield a list of hits appeared. The third one took him by surprise. And sent him to Dana’s Web site—where he sat staring at her biography.

A degree in business with a major in organizational design, plus more than five years’ experience in the field. Quotes from satisfied clients followed the bio. And the photograph above the text was definitely a shot of the woman he’d left sitting in his uncle’s office.

She was for real, then. Academically qualified and all.

That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. In fact, he’d only decided to try her name on the off chance he’d learn who she actually was.

Because, since he’d looked her up in the phone book yesterday and found there was no listing, he’d been certain she was a fake.

After all, anyone who was self-employed wanted to make it easy for people to find them.

But now that he’d discovered this Web site…

He sat trying to figure out what reason she could have for not being in the book. Then it struck him that there wasn’t an office address on the screen, only a phone number, and a possible explanation came to him.

Phone books contained street addresses. If she worked out of her apartment she wouldn’t want to make it too easy for people to find her. Not to learn where she lived, at least.

Women in New York had to be careful about things like that. Especially, he imagined, women as good-looking as Dana Mayfield. And she was an exceptionally good-looking woman.

He let his gaze linger on her photograph.

Her eyes were as blue as a country sky and her dark hair was cut in a short, no-nonsense style—although the shaggy way it fell onto her forehead was decidedly sexy. As were her smooth, full lips and cute little nose.

He stared at the monitor for a few more seconds, thinking that picture looked so lifelike he could practically smell the tantalizing scent of her perfume.

Strange how you never knew when someone would suddenly walk into your life and…

Of course, in this instance there wouldn’t be any “and.” The last thing he needed was a distraction.

But if the timing wasn’t so bad, and if she wasn’t a potential problem, he just might be interested in her.

Just might?

He almost smiled, silently admitting there wasn’t much question about it. If he hadn’t figured she was trouble, he’d probably have asked her to lunch about three seconds after she’d walked into the building.

He leaned back in his chair, thinking didn’t this just beat all.

From the first moment he’d heard the name Dana Mayfield, he’d been almost positive that Robert and Larry were blowing smoke. That the woman they were telling him about was actually a P.I. Or that they’d taken their suspicions to the police, in which case she’d be an undercover cop.

And jeez he’d been angry, figuring they were lying to him.

Now, though, he realized it had been wasted emotion. He’d obviously jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Yet even with the proof of that right here in front of him, it was tough to believe. Because those two hiring a consultant was completely out of character.

Of course, if Martha Benzer had seriously gotten on their case about it…

But no. As big a pain as she could be, humoring her to this extent just didn’t sound like the Robert and Larry he knew. So if they were going to hire someone, why not a P.I.?

The idea that they’d convinced themselves an OD consultant might help them with a problem like theirs seemed so remote…

It simply didn’t add up.

He focused on Dana’s photograph again—and began hoping to hell she wouldn’t get in the way of what he was doing.



DANA HAD MOVED OUT of the house she’d grown up in and left Queens almost ten years ago. Yet every now and then, as she walked down the familiar street, she remembered how upset her parents had been at their “little girl’s” announcement that she’d found an apartment.

“Manhattan isn’t safe,” her mother had repeated at least a dozen times.

“For heaven’s sake, Mom,” she’d finally said. “I’m a cop.”

“I’m a cop, too, which is how we know it isn’t safe,” her father had muttered. “And you’re barely through the academy.”

“Dad, I’m twenty-two.”

In his eyes, though, she’d been his baby. She probably always would be. His only child. And they were so close that…

That half the reason she’d joined the police force had been to follow in his footsteps, to make him proud of her. And he had been, until…

She told herself not to go there. The past was past; that chapter in her life over and done with.

Yet she still wished, for his sake if for no other reason, that she hadn’t been forced to quit. Because even though he’d assured her a hundred times that he understood, she knew how badly she’d disappointed him.

She’d barely turned into the yard before he had the front door open and was heading down from the porch to greet her, saying, “Hey, my beautiful daughter’s here. It must be Sunday.”

“You think?” she said, stepping into his hug.

“Yeah, I think.”

“We’re in a rut, you know.”

“Yeah, but it’s a nice rut.”

He draped his arm over her shoulders as they started for the house, pretending he wasn’t even marginally interested in what she’d brought by way of groceries.

He was, though.

Jack Morancy liked his food, but he was not a handy man in the kitchen. So for the three years since her mother’s death, most Sundays that he wasn’t on duty he’d either come to Dana’s apartment for dinner or she’d make the trip to Queens and they’d eat there.

Oh, sometimes he insisted on taking her out, but she really didn’t mind doing the cooking.

Cops were notorious for eating badly, and even though she knew one healthy meal a week couldn’t compensate for all the greasy fast food he had during his shifts, it couldn’t hurt. Besides, they enjoyed the time together.

“Some of this should go in the fridge,” she said once they were inside.

“Sure.”

He followed her to the kitchen, and as she dug the meat and low-cal sour cream out of the bag, asked, “So what happened in your world this week?”

“Well, I’ve got a new client. Or maybe I should say two. Business partners. I met with them on Friday and got going on some of the preliminary stuff yesterday.”

“Good. Interesting case?”

“It definitely has the potential. They figure someone’s sabotaging their company.”

“Yeah? What sort of company?”

“They import collectibles. Art, small antiques. High-quality things.”

“Oh? What’s it called?”

“Four Corners Imports.”

“Four corners of the world, huh? Good name. Big business?”

“Mmm…head office in New York and a few sales-people in L.A. But they outsource as much of the work as they can, so staff-wise they aren’t all that large.

“At any rate, one of the partners, Robert Haine, takes care of acquiring most of the items. Spends half his life traveling, I gather. The other one, Larry Benzer, handles the majority of the marketing.”

She closed the fridge door and turned to discover that her father was staring at her with a very strange expression.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

There was a second’s hesitation—or was she only imagining that?—before he said, “Nothing. I just… So you’ve got one of them acquiring, the other one marketing. And while they’re busy doing that who’s running the show?”

“Basically, Robert’s nephew. He’s their director of finance.”

“Ah. A little nepotism.”

“Well, I imagine that helped get him hired, but my read is that he’s good. And his area of responsibility seems to be a lot broader than his title suggests. He’s really more a director of operations.”

Her father nodded, then said, “So tell me about the sabotage.”

“You want to hear the details?”

“Sure.”

“Well…” She started to briefly fill him in on what Robert and Larry had told her, vaguely aware of feeling a touch uneasy.

Not that she was worried about confiding in him. Whenever she hit a snag she used him as a sounding board. And she knew anything she said would stay strictly between the two of them. But she’d suddenly gotten the sense he was a little too interested in this particular case.

She considered that for a moment, then decided the problem was more likely that she’d become overly suspicious. It routinely happened to cops and P.I.s.

Still, whether it was common or not, suspecting her own father wasn’t simply curious about her work… Lord, that had to be really paranoid.

Forcing away her concern, she continued her summary of what had been happening at Four Corners.

Jack listened in silence—until she got to the part about the two shipping containers that had gone astray. When she said that their contents had been worth half a million dollars, he gave a low whistle.

It made her smile. “I told you they deal in quality stuff. At any rate, I have a call in to the police detective who caught the case. But I haven’t heard back from him yet.”

She returned to the details, finishing up by saying, “Larry Benzer’s money is on one or more of the warehouse people. Because between the arson and those containers disappearing they’re such obvious possibilities.”

“The arson was definitely an inside job?”

“That’s what the fire marshal decided. According to his report there was no sign of forced entry. So someone apparently had a key.”

“Then you’re probably looking at either a current or ex-employee.”

“Exactly. And since all three of the full-time warehouse staff have been there for years, there’s no disgruntled ex running around. So current would be the likely bet. But Robert Haine isn’t convinced it was any of the warehouse guys.”

“Oh? What does he think?”

“That their theory about a plot to drive down the share price is right. And he says none of the warehouse fellows is sophisticated enough to mastermind anything like that.”

“Have they both ruled out the idea that a competitor might be behind things?”

“I don’t think so. At least not entirely. Someone could be paying off one of their employees. Or more than one. Or maybe both their theories are all wet.”

Her father nodded. “Sounds like a case that might take a while to get a good feel for.”

“That’s for sure. By the time they finished discussing everyone they thought the perp could be… Well, I was left thinking it might be almost anyone. I haven’t even ruled out Robert’s nephew.”

“The director of finance.”

She nodded.

“He a typical accountant type?”

When she couldn’t help smiling, her father said, “What’s that about?”

“Nothing, really. Just that he’s not exactly a typical accountant.”

Resisting the temptation to add that he wouldn’t be even if someone forced him to wear wire-rimmed glasses and a pocket protector, she merely waited—fully expecting another question about Noah Haine.

Her mother would certainly have asked one. Her father, however, got straight back to business, saying “What about those invoices that went missing? Any possibility of tying them to someone from the warehouse?”

“Surprisingly, yes. The best guess is that someone lifted them while they were waiting to go out in the mail. And on paydays, one or another of the warehouse fellows stops by to pick up their checks.

“So it’s conceivable one of them could have been responsible. Not likely, but conceivable.”

Jack Morancy was silent for a minute, then said, “You didn’t mention how these Four Corners people heard about you.”

“You mean you don’t think everyone’s heard I’m the best P.I. in New York?”

He grinned. “Of course. Dumb of me to ask.”

“Actually, someone on the force recommended me. But since Robert didn’t do the checking around himself, he didn’t know who.”

That seemed to bring the conversation to an end, so she opened the fridge again and took out a pitcher of lemonade, saying, “Want to sit on the porch for a while?”

“Sure,” her father told her. Then he smiled, but it wasn’t his normal smile.

“Dad…is something bothering you?”

“Bothering me? No. Why?”

“I just thought…” She shrugged. “I guess I just thought wrong.”

She hadn’t, though. She was deep-down certain she hadn’t.



DANA AND JACK MORANCY weren’t quite finished dinner when her cell phone rang. Ted Tanaka, the NYPD detective investigating the container theft, was finally getting back to her.

As it turned out, the investigation had stalled and he couldn’t add much to what she already knew. But since she’d only given her father the bare bones of that—and since he sat watching her expectantly after she clicked off—she figured she’d better recap the conversation.

“He basically just repeated what Robert and Larry told me,” she began. “What I was telling you earlier.

“Four Corners had six containers coming in on a cargo ship. It was Friday, the ship was late arriving and Stu Refkin, the warehouse manager, had plans for right after work. So he took off before the crew unloaded the shipment and left his two men to deal with it.”

“By deal with it you mean…?”

“Move the containers from the pier into the warehouse.”

“That only takes two people?”

“Two people and a lift truck. Anyway, they did that, then locked up and went home. But according to them, there were just four containers.”

“Why wouldn’t they know there were supposed to be six?”

She shrugged. “Stu says he thinks he mentioned the number—that he meant to but isn’t entirely sure he did. They claim that, if so, they didn’t hear him. And the one who signed the ship’s delivery form barely looked at it. Didn’t check how many it specified.”

“Pretty sloppy.”

“Yes, but I guess it’s the sort of thing that becomes so routine…”

“Honey, nothing should ever be routine when you’re talking half a million bucks. I’m surprised that guy still has his job.”

“Well, the insurance company will pick up most of the loss. And I gather it was the first time anything like that ever happened.

“But I’m getting off track,” she continued. “The important thing is that the company’s men say there were only four containers while the ship’s captain swears his crew unloaded six.”

“So either he’s lying or the warehouse guys are,” her father said.

“Uh-huh. And the ship has a foreign registry and is long gone by now, which means Tanaka probably has all he’s going to get from that end.”

“This happened on a Friday,” Jack said slowly.

“Yes. Then, come Monday, Stu Refkin arrived at work and discovered…Well, he got on the phone to Larry Benzer and Larry called the police.”

Her father nodded. “In the meantime, if you assume all six containers were unloaded, the two warehouse guys would have had the entire weekend to dispose of them. And even a fence would have paid…

“But did this Tanaka tell you what he figures happened?”

“He thinks only four of them made it off the ship. A security guard patrols the piers, and moving containers out of the warehouse on a weekend would be unusual. So if he saw it happening he’d probably have questioned it. At the very least, he’d have made a note in his log.

“All in all, disposing of them would have been risky. So Tanaka’s best guess is that the ship’s captain intentionally shorted the delivery. But he also thinks the captain was in cahoots with someone at Four Corners.”

“Someone like…?”

“Take your pick. Stu Refkin checked out and left the others in charge. And he’d probably know if they don’t normally pay much attention when they sign receiving forms.”

“Yeah, so the ship could have been intentionally late, letting this Refkin remove himself from the picture and…”

“But he’s not our only contender. Tony Zicco, the guy who signed the delivery slip, hasn’t always been Mr. Straight-and-Narrow.

“He ran with a bad crowd as a kid and eventually did a stretch for a B and E. It was his parole officer who got him the job at Four Corners.”

“Now, that’s an interesting wrinkle.”

She nodded. “According to Robert, they’ve never had a single problem with Tony. But Larry figures… Well, I already told you what he thinks.”

“That there’s a rotten apple in the warehouse,” Jack said.

“At least one. Maybe two or three.”

“Yeah, they could all have been in on it. But, you know, something isn’t sitting right with me.”

“What?”

“It’s just too obvious. I mean both the arson and this pointing toward the same people seems like overkill.”

She nodded again, glad to hear her father’s line of reasoning coincided with hers. “And there’s another thing. They all offered to take lie detector tests.”

That made him grin. “Sounds as if they watch too many cop shows.”

“Maybe. But Tanaka arranged for it. And according to the tests, none of them had anything to do with either the arson or the theft of the containers.”

“’Course…those things can be beaten.”

“Uh-huh. So if it was only one of them involved, and he managed to do that…”

Jack nodded, then said, “I think you were right. This really could be an interesting case.”




CHAPTER THREE


FIRST THING Monday morning Dana was at Four Corners once more, ready to step into her role as Dana Mayfield.

After she’d spent a few minutes asking Robert last-minute questions, he said he’d show her to the office she’d be using. Surprisingly, he led her over to the short hallway near the top of the stairs.

When she told him she hadn’t expected to be on the “executive floor,” he smiled.

“You’ll have more privacy here,” he said.

She knew that had to be true. Tucked away and out of sight would perfectly describe the location.

“As you’ll see when you get the grand tour,” he continued, “our office area downstairs is basically open concept.”

“You’re saying it’s not quite ideal for someone doing undercover work.”

He smiled again. “Exactly. I didn’t think you’d want people looking over your shoulder.

“And these two offices are just sitting empty. Both Noah and our director of logistics, Chris Vidal, prefer to be on the main floor. They interact a lot with the rest of the staff, so being up here wouldn’t work as well.

“That, by the way,” he added, pointing toward a narrow back staircase, “will take you down to a hall that runs from the alley door to the main office area.”

The stairs, she saw, also led to the top floor. When she asked what was up there, Robert said, “It’s mostly dead storage. Filing cabinets full of old records and all sorts of other ghosts from the past thirty years.”

She resisted the impulse to say that, considering costs in Manhattan, it was an incredibly expensive storage area.

Then she had the disconcerting sense Robert had ESP as he said, “We’ve got more room than we really need.

“Initially, we figured we’d use that space for additional employees as the business grew. But modern technology exploded, the work world changed and we didn’t grow, people-wise, the way we’d anticipated.”

Opening the office door, he ushered her inside. “Helen put some supplies in the desk and had that computer moved in. If there’s anything else you need, just tell her.”

“Thanks, I will.”

She eyed the computer for a second, hoping it was loaded with software she knew, then turned her attention back to Robert.

He’d taken a couple of keys from his pocket and was saying, “These are for the door and the desk. And I should show you this.” He produced a sheet of paper and gave it to her along with the keys.

“After you left on Friday, I drafted a memo about you—made you sound as nonthreatening as I could.”

She began skimming it. Addressed to “All Staff,” it said that, in light of recent problems, he and Larry had hired an organizational design expert to look at the company’s operations with fresh eyes.

It went on to say that while her findings might result in a few modifications to current practices, no changes would be made without the direct involvement of any employees affected.

“That was a good idea,” she said once she’d finished reading. “People do tend to feel threatened by a stranger coming in and poking around.”

He nodded. “I’d like to know how much anxiety you think there actually is. As well as have you keep me up-to-date on your progress. So let’s set a regular time to touch base each day.”

“Sure.”

“Maybe late afternoon? Four-thirty or so? My office?”

“Fine.”

She’d assumed from the beginning that this was more his project than Larry’s, and by now she knew she was right. Which was perfectly okay.

She got positive vibes from him, but she couldn’t say the same about his partner.

In fact, on a couple of occasions during their meeting last week, she’d had the impression that Larry had only agreed to hire an investigator because Robert was pushing the idea.

“Is there anything else we should discuss before you get started?” he said.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then I’ll ask Helen to have Noah come up.”

“Noah?”

“Uh-huh. Since we haven’t told him you’re really a P.I., there’s no risk of his blowing your cover. Whereas both Larry and I have been known to say things without thinking.

“Besides, the obvious person to introduce you around is the one in charge of day-to-day operations.”

“Ah. Good point.”

There was no arguing with Robert’s logic. But more than once over the weekend, a distracting image of Noah Haine had tiptoed through her mind. And she had a horrible suspicion that having the real thing at her side would prove a much bigger distraction than any image.

To stop herself from worrying about that, she sat down at the desk and jiggled the mouse, bringing the computer to life. Fortunately, it was loaded with Office—which was what she was used to.

She was just resisting the temptation to check whether Free Cell had been deleted when she heard footsteps in the hall. Her pulse began a funny little dance.

Firmly, she reminded herself she was an adult, not a teenager at the mercy of raging hormones. Despite that, all it took was Noah reaching her doorway and gracing her with one of his warm smiles to make her feel a distinct…

But it wasn’t a feeling that had anything to do with raging hormones. It was merely a fresh flicker of awareness that he was an attractive man. And she had no difficulty ignoring flickers.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same about those darned smiles. She’d have to work at developing an immunity to them. Starting now.

When he closed her door and lowered himself into a chair, an unsettling sense that he’d just assumed control seized her—despite the fact that she was the one on the business side of the desk.

Then he smiled again and said, “Before we get going, how about filling me in on how you’ll be approaching things. My uncle was pretty vague.”

“Well, that’s probably because I was pretty vague with him. OD isn’t an exact science—as I’m sure you know. But generally speaking, I’ll just start by getting people to talk about the company and their role in it. Then, depending on where that leads…”

Noah said nothing, simply sat watching her. She began to feel unsettled again.

He had a master’s degree in business. A genuine one, as opposed to the one that existed on her trumped-up credentials. And that meant he could easily be far more knowledgeable about OD than she was.

If she inadvertently said anything dumb, would he pick up on it? She certainly hoped not.

“In this instance,” she continued, telling herself she was doing fine thus far, “with Robert’s memo referring to the fact that there’ve been specific problems, people will be expecting me to ask about them. So I will.

“Actually, since two of the major ones happened at the warehouse, I’d like to begin by talking with the staff there.”

“You’re going to make them nervous,” he said quietly.

“I’ll do my best not to.”



THE FOUR CORNERS WAREHOUSE was only a few blocks from its head office, on one of the multitude of piers reaching out into the Hudson River.

Noah opened the door and ushered Dana inside, thinking—not for the first time—that the work crew the insurance company had sent in had done wonders.

“Seeing this place now,” he said, “you wouldn’t believe what a charred disaster it was after the fire. Just about everything being stored had suffered either smoke or water damage. And the air was so acrid you could feel it searing your lungs.”

She nodded. “I’ve been in burned-out buildings.”

“Oh?”

Wondering why she would have been, he waited for her to elaborate.

She didn’t, merely glanced around, then said, “How soon after they had the fire out were you in here?”

“Well, it was out by about two in the morning. The fire marshal didn’t let me have a look until after dawn, though. And even then it barely qualified as a look because they had it taped off as a crime scene.”

“But you’re saying you were here most of the night?”

He nodded. “I came as soon as I heard we had trouble. One of the administrators is always on call, either Robert, Larry or me. And it was me that night.”

“Is that unusual? Having an admin person on call in this type of business?”

He shrugged. “Every so often a problem comes up after hours. Five o’clock here is only two in L.A.

“Fortunately, though, our problems usually have to do with a missed delivery or that sort of thing. Not a fire.”

When she smiled, his heart gave a little thud against his ribs.

He warned himself to watch out.

Nothing had changed over the weekend. This still wasn’t a good time for him to get interested in a woman. Particularly not this woman.

“Who discovered the fire?” she was saying. “Not that it has anything to do with my job here, but you’ve got me curious.”

“Well, a security company patrols this pier and the ones closest to it.”

Her nod showed she’d already known that, making him think Robert and Larry must have done a thorough job of filling her in.

“Their guard called 911,” he continued. “Then, once the fire trucks were on their way, he contacted our answering service. And they phoned me.

“I got here not long after the firefighters. I just live over in Murray Hill.”

She started to ask another question, stopping as Stu Refkin appeared from behind a crate in the back.

He eyed them for a moment, then raked his fingers through his graying hair and started across the floor.

“This is our warehouse manager,” Noah said as he reached them. “Stu Refkin, Dana Mayfield.”

The man extended his hand, looking far from happy.

“We got the boss’s memo about you,” he said. “But I didn’t expect to see you so soon.

“No offense,” he quickly added.

She smiled. “None taken.”

“Good. Then let me go get my men. I know they’ll want to meet you.”

Noah didn’t buy that for a second. As he’d warned Dana earlier, she was going to make all three of these fellows nervous.

A couple of minutes passed before Stu arrived back with Tony Zicco and Paul Coulter in tow.

Tony had dark hair, Paul’s was a sandy color, but there were more similarities than differences in their appearances. Both were early forties, a shade under six feet tall, with muscular builds that indicated they did physically demanding work.

After going through introductions a second time, Noah made a bit of small talk. Then his cellular rang, giving him an excuse to leave the four of them on their own.

It was Helen calling, with a question that only took a minute to answer. But when he clicked off, rather than rejoining the others, he wandered over to the window beside the door and stood, ostensibly staring out at the murky water of the Hudson.

In reality, he was watching the little group’s reflection in the glass, absently adding up how many years—in total—the three men had worked at Four Corners.

Stu had been with the company since start-up, for the first ten years as one of the warehouse grunt men, for the past twenty as manager.

Tony and Paul hadn’t been around forever but both were long-term employees.

He’d had a careful look through their files after the container incident, so he knew Paul had been around for close to eighteen years. And Tony had come on board about three years later—almost straight out of prison.

But he’d always been a good employee. Surely he wouldn’t go bad again after so much time had passed.

Or would he?

Maybe he’d needed big money for some reason and…

Telling himself speculation about that sort of thing was a waste of time, Noah focused on the reflection once more.

All three men looked worried, but they’d be a lot more so if they’d overheard some of the discussions he’d had with Robert and Larry. If they knew Larry kept harping on the point that lie detector tests weren’t foolproof, and insisting at least one of the warehouse people had to be part of what he’d taken to calling “the conspiracy”…

However, surely anyone who gave his conclusion much thought would question it. Because none of these three seemed like the sort who’d get involved in a master plan to cause the company grief.

So wouldn’t most people figure Larry was probably wrong? That someone else had tried to burn the place down?

And even though Tony had made a major-league slipup when he’d signed for those containers, that was a far cry from conspiring with the ship’s captain to steal a couple of them.

Noah let his gaze drift to Dana’s reflection, wondering what impression she was forming of these guys. Did she think one of them could be…

Of course, Robert had said he’d underplayed the sabotage angle with her. That he’d merely mentioned they thought it was possible someone was intentionally causing their problems.

Still, it would have occurred to her that the arsonist might be an employee.

He watched her for a few more seconds. And even though looking at her told him nothing about what was going on in her head, it was plain to see that those smiles she kept flashing weren’t getting her anywhere. She was still making the men uneasy.

Not only that…

Studying her image in the glass, he silently admitted she was making him uneasy, as well. Because something about her didn’t ring true.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he had that feeling, although the fact they were here in the warehouse accounted for part of it.

Based on what he knew about the way consultants worked, she should have had him introduce her to the office staff first. Made her way over here sometime after that.

So even though she’d given him a plausible reason for where she wanted to begin, the fact remained that she wasn’t behaving like a typical consultant.

And then there was her response when he’d asked her how she’d be proceeding.

She’d start by talking to people and see where it led. That was the extent of what she’d said—and it had set off a minor alarm in his brain.

People who specialized in organizational design, the ones he’d known in university, at least, were always more than eager to talk about the guiding principles they followed.

As Dana herself had said, OD wasn’t an exact science. Which seemed to make its practitioners feel they should work at convincing everyone they met that it deserved respect.

Not Dana, though.

He had the distinct feeling that the less she discussed the finer points of her profession the happier she’d be. Which had him thinking…

Regardless of her Web site, he was back to suspecting his uncle and Larry had lied to him, that she was either a cop or a P.I.

Maybe it wasn’t much more than a hunch, but he’d learned not to ignore his hunches. And if he was right about her, why were those two keeping him in the dark?

Only one obvious answer came to mind and he really didn’t like it.

Larry might keep talking about how he suspected the warehouse guys. But when he was alone with Robert he had to be suggesting Noah could be behind things.

The thought his uncle would even consider that was… Yet what other explanation made sense?

Hell, that was probably the real reason Robert had him playing tour guide for Dana. It would give her time with him. Time to figure out if he was the guilty one.

Gazing at her reflection again, he decided he had to establish whether she was a phony or not—and fast.

As the old saying went, forewarned was forearmed, and it had occurred to him, right off the bat, that she might get in the way of what he was doing.

Now he was thinking that, unless his hunch was wrong, there was little doubt she would.

Casually, he turned from the window and started toward the others.

When Dana noticed him coming, he said, “You’re going to be here for a while, so I’ll head back. Do some work until you need me again.”

“Well…fine.”

“My office is to the right of the front door. Just down the hall.”

“Fine,” she said again.

After nodding to the three men, he strode out of the warehouse and up the pier to West Street.

Ten minutes later he was at his computer, reading through those quotes from “clients” on Dana’s Web site and thinking it was strange that she wouldn’t have included the names of the client companies.

Or maybe it wasn’t strange. If they weren’t for real, they didn’t have names.

He reached for his phone and dialed the number on the screen, then listened to her voice telling him he’d reached the office of Dana Mayfield, organizational design consultant, and asking him to leave a message.

He hung up, not even marginally convinced his hunch was wrong, then went into a database that gave him the options of searching the city by either address, zip or phone number.

When he typed in her number, there was no hit. Yet it was obviously assigned, which meant she’d intentionally had it blocked.

A blocked business number? That made him even more suspicious. But how was he going to find out for sure if his suspicions were right? Follow her home?

No, that didn’t strike him as much of a plan. He’d be smarter to try charm. Befriend her. Get her talking about herself. Then catch her off guard.

Uh-huh, that was a far better idea.

Except that he was kind of rusty in the charm department. He’d been so busy around here lately that his social life was nothing but a faded memory.

Glancing at Dana’s photo once more, he told himself not to worry about the rust. Being charming to a woman who looked like her wouldn’t be tough. No matter how high the likelihood that she was a phony.

On the other hand, he’d never been a good actor. So if she was a detective…

Well, he’d just have to be careful. And hope for the best.



IT WAS QUARTER TO TWELVE before Dana got back from the warehouse, and she headed straight down the hall next to the front entrance.

The door of the first office along it was closed, but its nameplate told her it belonged to Chris Vidal, director of logistics.

Noah’s was the one farther along—the corner one—and he was at his desk. Seeing her, he shot her another of his devastating smiles.

It reminded her she’d decided to work on developing immunity to them. Although she might not work too hard.

After all, she didn’t have a rule about mixing pleasure with ex-business. So once her job here was through…

Telling herself to leave contemplating that until she was a lot closer to its being through—not to mention until she was absolutely certain Noah was one of the good guys—she said, “I just wanted to check that you’ll still be available later.”

“Sure. How did it go at the warehouse?”

“Not badly.”

“Good. Hey, it’s almost noon,” he added, glancing at his watch. “There’s a deli on Gansevoort that isn’t bad. Want to try it?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got to write myself some notes about this morning. And if I don’t do it now I’ll forget half of what I heard.”

“I can wait a bit,” he said casually.

“Well…actually, I’m going to skip lunch.”

“Ah.” He hesitated, then said, “Dana, if I just gave you the impression that… I was only talking about lunch.

“No, wait, I think that came out wrong. I didn’t mean to sound as if I might not be interested in…”

He shook his head and grinned. “I should probably stop before I get in even deeper. But what I was trying to say is that I didn’t have a hidden agenda. I just figured you might like someone to eat with.”

“Well, I appreciate that. And you didn’t give me the wrong impression. I’d decided to skip lunch before you said a word. I ended up spending a lot more time with Stu Refkin than I’d expected.”

“Ah,” he said a second time. “Okay, then. I’ll be back by one, so whatever works after that…”

“Fine. See you later.”

Starting for the stairs, she felt as if a little candle were glowing inside her. When a man stumbled all over his words talking to a woman…

Of course, she’d already been pretty sure the attraction was mutual, but “certain” was better than “pretty sure.” Much better.




CHAPTER FOUR


THE SECOND FLOOR SEEMED deserted when Dana reached it, which was just as well. She had a feeling that Helen Rupert was a chatty woman—nice, but chatty. And she really did have to get those notes written.

Whenever feasible, she avoided using tape recorders. They often made people reluctant to speak freely. But the downside to relying on her memory was how quickly things began slipping from her mind.

She reached her own office and opened the door, thinking she should tell someone that the lock wasn’t working. Then she stepped inside and her brain shifted gears.

On the surface of her desk, to the left of the computer, lay a white, letter-size envelope.

Two disposable latex gloves were precisely positioned next to it, one on either side.

Untouched by human hands? No fingerprints? Was that their message?

Odds were, she decided. And odds also were that whoever had left this for her was a tad on the weird side.

She picked up the envelope, opened its unsealed flap—absently thinking no fingerprints or traces of saliva—and removed the single sheet of paper. She silently read the computer-printed message.

I know who you really are. And I know who set the warehouse fire. It was Noah Haine.

Her mouth a little dry and her heartbeat a little fast, she sat down.

What the hell was this? A joke?

If so, it wasn’t a funny one.

And who had left it here, anyway?

She had no way of knowing, of course. Using the back stairs, anyone could have come up without being seen.

Or maybe one of those ghosts Robert had mentioned had snuck down from the third floor.

But where had that thought come from? Was her subconscious trying to creep her out?

Reminding herself she didn’t believe in ghosts, she gazed at the words again.

I know who you really are.

Okay. That could mean exactly what it said, or could merely mean that someone suspected she wasn’t an OD consultant.

And I know who set the warehouse fire.

Possibly. But if true, why hadn’t this person told the fire marshal? And why tell her?

It was Noah Haine. Noah Haine, the first Four Corners person on the scene after the fire.

But what about before it?

She exhaled slowly. If she was going to figure out any answers to her questions, she had to think calmly and logically.

The arson had been an inside job, the arsonist someone with a key to the warehouse.

Or someone with a master key, her internal voice of reason pointed out.

She’d asked Robert about master keys, so she knew a single one opened both this building’s doors and the warehouse’s. And the three people with masters were Robert, Larry and Noah.

Robert and Larry, who had hired a P.I. Noah, who’d had no part in the decision—who didn’t even know she was an investigator. But it was a huge leap from that to the possibility he was the arsonist.

The question of the moment was how huge?

He’d said he’d been home when the service called him. That, however, left some vital information missing.

How long between when the fire was started and when the security guard discovered it? How long after that before he called the service? Then before it called Noah?

More than enough time for him to get from the warehouse to Murray Hill, she’d bet.

Lord, when she’d told herself those missing invoices meant she couldn’t rule him out too fast she’d only been about three percent serious. Now, though…

Yet what did she really have?

She stared at the note again, aware it was most likely the work of…

Never mind someone a tad on the weird side, it could be the work of a total nutcase. Could have absolutely no basis in reality. Probably had absolutely no basis in reality.

But what if it did?

Doing her best to ignore the dull buzz that had started in her head, she began cobbling together some of the pieces that might be relevant.

If she assumed that the theory Robert favored was right, that the problems were all part of a plan to drive down the company’s share price, then whoever was behind it would have to be both smart and circumspect. Stock manipulation was illegal.

So who would know how to pull off that sort of thing with minimum risk of ending up in jail?

There was an only too obvious answer. The man who’d been brought into Four Corners specifically to help take it public—because he knew all the ins and outs of the Securities and Exchange Commission.



FIFTEEN MINUTES BEFORE Dana’s first scheduled “touching base” meeting with Robert Haine, she hit the print key on her computer.

While the notes she’d just finished were turning into hard copy, she dug her cellular from her briefcase and used it to check her Dana Morancy, P.I., voice mail.

Getting that note was going to make her even more careful than usual. And careful included not using a Four Corners phone to call her real self.

For all she knew, her note writer had a quick and easy way of checking the company’s phone records.

There were a few messages for her, all business related except for a friend suggesting they get tickets to a new off-Broadway show. None was from anyone in urgent need of an investigator.

That, however, was just as well.

She’d never been desperate for clients, not even in the beginning. But she was rarely awash with them. So she didn’t like having to turn any away. And if today was a good indicator, this job could take a while.

After making the one return call she couldn’t leave for later, she stuck the freshly printed notes, along with the ones she’d put together at lunchtime, into a file folder—thinking she’d better try to get Robert more interested in hearing about her morning than her afternoon. It was basically a blur.

As promised, Noah had introduced her to some of the head office employees. But she’d done a poor job of concentrating on what they’d said to her. Her attention had been constantly wandering.

Every few seconds she’d caught herself watching Noah out of the corner of her eye, as if she’d actually believed she might see something that would tell her whether or not he was the arsonist.

What had she figured? That he’d set a desk on fire?

Hardly a realistic scenario.

Shaking her head, she silently admitted her behavior this afternoon had not been rational. Especially not considering that by the time…

Well, the arson note had really gotten her mind spinning, and at first she’d been seriously wondering if Noah was the one.

But by the time he’d taken her around, she’d had long enough to have given the situation a lot more thought. And she’d reached the conclusion that, despite the things that seemingly pointed in the direction of his guilt, he really wasn’t a very likely suspect.

She absently tapped her finger against the folder, still convinced she’d ultimately arrived at the right conclusion.

After all, nobody with half a brain would give much credence to an anonymous note accompanied by a pair of latex gloves. So she’d be awfully naive to believe Noah was the arsonist just because the writer said so.

In addition, Noah was far from the only person in New York who could be working a stock manipulation scheme. For that matter, there might not even be one. Until someone proved it true, a theory was nothing more than a theory.

Then there was the fact that Noah was Robert’s nephew. Plus, he had a terrific job here and…

But what if he wanted more than that? What if he wanted to make a truckload of easy money? Retire to some tropical island by the time he hit forty.

No. She sincerely didn’t think that was the case. She was a good judge of character and she simply couldn’t see…Of course, she barely knew him. And her judgment wasn’t infallible.

She mentally shook her head, aware she’d feel far better if she was certain he couldn’t have started that fire.

Conceivably, though, he could have. “Home alone” wasn’t much of an alibi.

Of course, maybe he hadn’t been alone. There might have been someone with him.

A woman.

As those words whispered in her mind she felt a twinge of… She wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but if anyone had been with him that would be good. Then she could be certain he was innocent. So it was too bad that just coming straight out and asking him wasn’t an option.

But he’d know that real OD consultants didn’t try to identify arsonists on the side, and she didn’t want to blow her cover—the way she’d almost done this morning.

After she’d said she’d been in burned-out buildings he’d clearly been curious about the circumstances. And if she hadn’t caught herself before saying it was back when she’d been on the job…

Well, actually, avoiding telling people she was an ex-cop was more a habit than a question of catching herself.

Oh, she routinely told prospective clients. She figured it gave her more credibility. But when it came to other people she tended to keep quiet.

Too often, if she didn’t, it led to questions about why she’d left the force. And in this case, it would really have led to questions.

Noah would have thought that cop to OD consultant was a very strange career path.

Telling herself to stop thinking about Noah Haine, she rose and picked up the file folder. Then she double-checked that the desk drawers were locked.

Until she decided what, if anything, to do about the arson note, she didn’t want anyone seeing it. And nobody would with it hidden at the bottom of her briefcase and locked up tight.



WHEN DANA PAUSED in Robert’s office doorway, he rose from his desk and motioned her toward the conversation area in the corner, saying, “How did your day go?”

She manufactured a smile. “If you mean have I figured out who your saboteur is, the answer’s no.”

He laughed. “But you have narrowed it down to just a couple of suspects, right? So by this time tomorrow…”

“Don’t I wish. I haven’t even met half your staff yet. I basically spent the morning at the warehouse. And this afternoon Noah introduced me to some of the people here, but I reached the limit of what I could absorb pretty fast.”

“Let’s hear about the morning, then.”

Good. They were where she wanted to be, topic-wise.

“Well,” she began, “I talked with all three men for a bit, and made a point of mentioning that I’ll be chatting with every employee in the company. So they know they’re not being singled out. Then I sat down with Stu Refkin and suggested he tell me about a typical day.

“Rather than do that, though, he cut straight to the chase and said he assumed I knew about the arson and the lost containers. Then we went from there.”

“I’m not surprised,” Robert told her. “Stu’s always direct.”

She smiled again—more genuinely this time. Robert had a knack for putting people at ease.

“He couldn’t have been more direct,” she said. “He began by saying that neither he nor his men have a clue who set the fire. As for the containers, he admitted there’s no excuse for what happened. Said Tony should have checked the number unloaded against the delivery form. Period.

“I don’t mean Stu was trying to distance himself from the blame,” she continued. “Actually, it was quite the opposite.

“He said there’d have been no problem if he’d waited around until the ship arrived. And that he would have if he hadn’t had plans.”

“Right. He’s been saying that from the beginning. In fact, none of them has changed his story in the slightest. Whether they’ve been talking to me, the police, the insurance adjuster…”

“I should ask about something,” Dana said when he paused.

He waited.

“You said ‘whether they’ve been talking to you.’”

“Uh-huh?”

“Did they talk to Larry and Noah, too?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I was the one who went over what happened with them.”

“But why would it have been you rather than Noah? I mean, if he’s in charge of the day-to-day operations…”

“You know something?”

“What?”

“For a fake OD consultant you’re pretty good. The administrative lines here are more blurry than they should be.”

“I was wondering about that.”

“Yeah, well, until we hired Noah, Larry and I basically ran things by the seat of our pants. I don’t remember if I mentioned this before, but the financial side of the business was always a mess—because neither of us is good with balance sheets and whatever.

“When it came to other things, whoever heard about a problem first would take care of it.

“And as they say, old habits die hard. So you have that, plus the fact the staff—especially the oldtimers—have always come to Larry or me, and…

“Well, they sometimes still do, and then we tend to jump on things we should leave to Noah.”

She nodded. She didn’t need to be a real expert to know people didn’t change their behavior patterns easily.

“But getting back to what I said about how consistent the fellows’ stories have been,” Robert continued, “is it common for people to slip up and contradict themselves? If one of them did have something to do with either incident…”

“It happens. More often in the movies than in real life, though.”

“Stu’s worked here for thirty years,” Robert said quietly.

“I know.”

“And he’s a good manager. I can’t recall the last time we had a serious problem in the warehouse—before all this stuff started happening.”

Fleetingly, she recalled her father saying he was surprised the warehouse people hadn’t been fired. They probably would have been in most companies.

But thirty years and no problems obviously counted for something with Robert—which made her like him even more than she already did.

Glancing at her notes, she checked to see what else she should mention, then said, “Stu made sure I knew all three of them had taken lie detector tests. And that I’d been told they’d asked to take them.”

There were a few seconds of silence then, before Robert said, “Do you figure there’s any chance Stu was in on what happened? That he knew ahead of time the delivery was going to be short? That he and the captain…”

“I don’t think there’s much chance. Although one thing bothered me.”

“Oh?”

“The plans he had. The reason he didn’t wait for the ship to arrive.”

“He’d promised to meet his wife. She wanted to look at some furniture.”

Dana nodded. “I already knew that’s what he told Detective Tanaka. But when he told me I had a feeling he was lying.”

“Oh?” Robert said again, more slowly this time. “Did Tanaka get that impression, too?”

“If he did, he didn’t mention it. But I’m good at knowing when people aren’t telling the truth. My father’s a cop. He taught me what to look for when I was just a kid, so I’ve had years of practice. And I don’t think Stu was meeting his wife.”

“Then what do you think?”

“That if anyone asked her she’d back him up. The names of the stores they went to would probably be on the tip of her tongue. But it wouldn’t prove anything.”

Robert gazed at her, looking decidedly unhappy. Finally, he said, “So, assuming you’re right, he just doesn’t want anyone to know what he was really doing that evening.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m not entirely ready to write him off as innocent.

“On the other hand, I give a lot of weight to the results of those lie detector tests. It isn’t easy to beat them.”

“Only Larry seems to figure it is,” Robert said.



NOAH WAS NOT A MAN WHO lurked. Yet he knew that was the only word to describe what he was doing at the moment.

Virtually everyone else had left for home by now, but here he was, standing partway between his office and the front door, lurking.

Glancing at his watch, he wondered how much longer that woman would be spending with his uncle.

It didn’t matter, though. However long it was he’d still be here. He wanted the answers to some questions and he intended to get them.

He paced to his office door, then back down the hall again, almost banging into Chris Vidal, their director of logistics, who was coming out of the main office area.

“On your way home?” Chris asked.

“Shortly. I’m just waiting to catch Robert,” he added when the other man obviously expected more.

“Oh, well, if you’ve got a minute, tell me what you think of these new rates Intercoastal Vans has in mind.”

Chris dug a couple of sheets from the folder he was carrying. “They’ve changed the formula for their weight, volume and distance calculations, and I don’t think it’ll be to our benefit. But the explanation’s so damned convoluted…”

Noah skimmed the pages, hoping Dana didn’t make good her escape while Chris had him captured.

“Yeah,” he said when he was done. “I’d say you’re right. We’d really get nailed on some of those overweight charges.”

“I’ll give them a call in the morning, then,” Chris said, sticking the papers back into his folder. “Talk to them about a guaranteed max.”

“Good idea.”

Noah watched Chris disappear into his office, then went back to thinking about Dana—and assuring himself he wasn’t paranoid. There was no way he’d merely imagined that she’d been covertly watching him this afternoon.

Oh, she’d been very subtle about it. If he hadn’t found himself gazing at her so frequently, he’d never have realized what she was doing.

But he’d introduce her to someone, and a few minutes later he’d see that she was less interested in the conversation than in keeping track of him.

And it sure wasn’t because she found him wildly attractive. She hadn’t been looking at him with stars in her eyes. What he’d seen in them was suspicion.

Man, oh, man, she was not what she was pretending to be. He had no lingering doubts on that score, was entirely back to being convinced she was either a cop or a P.I.

And he had a horrible feeling his worst fear about why she’d actually been hired was bang on.

Larry had convinced Robert that his own nephew could be behind the sabotage. So they had Ms. Whoever-she-really-was in here to check him out.

Looking at his watch again, he reminded himself that all he had to do was learn where she lived. Once he knew that, getting her real identity should be easy.

A doorman might be persuaded to talk, if there was one. Failing that, he’d go back to his NYC database.

She might have avoided any link between her Dana Mayfield, OD consultant, phone number and other information, but he’d be able to get a list of the occupants in her building. Then, by process of elimination…

Of course, if it was a large place, that could present quite a challenge. But he’d do whatever he had to, and after he knew for sure…

He put the brakes on his thoughts. He was going to take this one step at a time and he didn’t have much hard information yet.

At this point, the only thing he was certain of was that she lived somewhere in Manhattan. And that it couldn’t be too far from here, because she’d mentioned that she’d walked to the office this morning.

So, first, he’d offer her a ride home. That had to be worth a try, even though he expected she’d turn him down.

If she wasn’t who she claimed to be, she wouldn’t want him knowing a thing about the real her. And that, of course, included where she lived.

But if she didn’t say no… Would that mean he was totally wrong about this?

Uh-uh. He simply couldn’t believe he was.

He heard the faint noise of footsteps on the stairs and waited, not breathing, until the sounds reached the bottom. Then he strode to the end of the hall and did his best to look surprised when he saw her.

“Working late your first day?” he said.

She smiled. “Trying to impress people.”

Opening the door, he ushered her ahead of him, saying, “Which way do you go?”

“North.”

“Ah, me, too.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not on my way home,” he quickly added, remembering he’d told her where he lived. And Murray Hill was more east than north.

“But why don’t I give you a ride. My car’s parked just behind the building.”

“Well, thanks, but I’d rather walk.” She pointed to the sneakers she’d changed into. “I’m all set.”

He nodded. “You’re sure I can’t tempt you, though? It’s still awfully hot.”

“Even so, walking’s the only exercise I get.”

“Ah. Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I guess.” She gave him another smile before heading down the street, leaving him muttering.

Now what did he do? Follow her?

He wasn’t a man who did that, either. And when the idea had occurred to him, earlier, he’d rejected it. But how else was he going to find out what he wanted to know?

He took a few steps toward the narrow passage that led back to the alley—then stopped.

It was rush hour. She’d be walking faster than the traffic was moving.

On the other hand, his car had air, he was wearing a suit and the temperature had to be in the nineties.

But the bottom line was that he didn’t want to lose her. So he removed his jacket, slung it over his shoulder and started off after her on foot.




CHAPTER FIVE


THE FRIEND DANA HAD SUBLET her apartment from always used to describe the building as old but well maintained.

It was a phrase she recalled every time she was standing on the front steps, unable to get the door unlocked on the first try. Or the second.

Not that this was a bad building. Its Chelsea location allowed her to walk just about everywhere. And with only three stories, it was small enough that her neighbors weren’t just anonymous faces. Most of them were even pleasant.

But no matter how many times the super “worked his magic,” as he liked to put it, this lock began acting up again after only a week or two.

If a mugger ever came along while she was struggling with it…

The thought prompted her to carefully scan the street.

The cars that were parked nose-to-bumper along the curb all seemed empty. There were a couple of men carrying briefcases, on their way home from work, a woman walking an oversize dog, and the resident dealer slouched against the building two down from hers, talking on a cell phone while he waited for his next customer.

Nothing at all out of the ordinary, which meant her intuition must be playing tricks.

Twice, on the way home, it had warned her to look back the way she’d come. But when she had, she hadn’t spotted anyone following her.

So what had given her the creepy feeling that someone was?

She’d probably never know, and there wasn’t much use in worrying about it when she had a more pressing concern.

She eased the key into its slot once more, thinking how ironic it was that she now had both a door at Four Corners she couldn’t lock and one at home she couldn’t unlock.

She gave the key a little jiggle before turning it this time, and voilà! Her effort was rewarded with a solid click.

Once in the foyer, she carefully closed the door behind her. Then she passed by the elevator, which was too unreliable to be trusted, and climbed the stairs to her third-floor apartment.

Inside, Dr. Watson greeted her with his customary enthusiasm, meowing loudly while trying to wrap his body entirely around her ankles.

“Hi, Doc,” she said, sliding the dead bolts before setting down her briefcase and picking him up for a cuddle.

The cat, and his name, had come courtesy of her father. One winter night, he and his partner had been checking out a possible break-in on Delancey. They’d returned to the squad car to find Dr. Watson huddled near it, a half-starved kitten that would have lost his ears to frostbite if they hadn’t taken him straight to a twenty-four-hour veterinary clinic.

That had been only a few weeks after she’d gotten her P.I. license, and her father had brought Doc straight from the clinic to her, saying that since she’d decided she wanted to be Sherlock Holmes she’d better have a Dr. Watson.

“We’ll do dinner in a while,” she assured him, putting him back down. “It’s early yet.

“Fish Delight. Worth waiting for,” she promised as he impatiently twitched his tail.

When she headed into the bedroom, both answering machine lights were blinking. She looked at the caller ID display on the Dana Mayfield, OD consultant, line first.

One call, and it had come from Four Corners. Someone there had been checking up on her.

Feeling a little unsettled, she pressed the play button. There was no message, just a hang up. But somebody was clearly suspicious—at the very least. And the obvious suspect was her note writer.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/dawn-stewardson/unexpected-outcome/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.