A Match Made in Mystery (7 page)

“Because I need to see him.”

Brady forced himself to keep his tone calm. “He’s not what he seems.”

“He’s not?”

“No.”

“So he’s not a lawyer?” Confusion crept into her voice, making her sound vulnerable.

“He’s a lawyer,” Brady admitted grudgingly, keeping to himself his belief that Eric Willen was the kind of attorney people made jokes about.

“Then he’s the one I have to see.”

As a general rule, Brady hated the way Eric treated women. He wanted to protect Amy from the kind of heartache his co-worker dispensed, not because Mildred had told him to help her, but because he hated the idea of Amy being hurt.

“Look,” he began, glad the darkness hid the fact he’d balled his hands into fists, “I know he’s handsome and charming and has probably promised you the world, or a date, or a job, or an introduction to someone, but I’m telling you, you don’t want anything to do with Willen. He’s a player. Nothing more.”

Her stunned silence echoed in the darkness.

He swallowed hard, realizing he’d said too much.  “That didn’t come out right.”

She remained silent.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“How old is Mr. Willen?” she asked quietly.

“Thirty, thirty-one,” Brady snapped impatiently, displeased that despite his warning, she was intent on falling for Eric’s act.

“There’s an older Mr. Willen, isn’t there?”

“Eric’s father.”

“That’s who I’m here to see,” Amy said quietly. “Unless, of course, he’s a player too.”

Brady was so relieved to hear that she wasn’t there to see Eric that it took him an extra beat or two to realize what she was saying.  “You’re here to see his father?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because he died two weeks ago.”

The news that the man she was supposed to see was dead, hit Amy like a sucker punch. Jerking back as though it was a physical blow, she banged her head against the elevator
’
s wall. “Ow!”

“Are you okay?”

Brady’s concern wafted across the space that separated them.

“I hit my head.”

“I guessed that. Why did you have to see Milton Willen?”

“I don’t know.” Her fingers gingerly explored the tender spot at the back of her head, wondering if the blow would leave a lump.

“You don’t know why you have to see him, but you came all the way over here in the pouring rain to do so?”

The incredulity in Brady’s voice made her wince. “When you put it like that I sound like an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” he soothed. “You’re just not making any sense.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel
a lot
better.” The last word came out as an unexpected sob. She clapped her hands over her mouth, wondering where it had come from.  Sure, she was tired and stressed, but she made it a point to never cry in front of strangers… in front of anyone.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, quickly maneuvering himself in the dark so that he was sitting beside her, pressing the side of his arm against hers. “I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean it.”

Not trusting herself to speak for fear that the tears clogging her throat would escape, she nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see her.

The warmth of his body seeped into hers, chasing away the chill the sweater had failed to fend off.  The dark and their physical proximity made her keenly aware of the clean scents of fresh-smelling soap and woodsy cologne.

“It’s going to be okay,” he reassured her, draping an arm over her shoulders and pulling her close. “We’ll get this all sorted out and everything will be okay.”

Taking a deep breath, she wiped away a pair of errant tears that managed to ooze out of the corners of her eyes. “Because Mildred said so?”

He didn’t respond, just tightened his grip on her shoulders, offering her support.

“Maybe if I explain from the beginning,” she said hopefully, “you’ll be able to make some sense out of it.”

“I’ll try.”

She quickly told him about the process server, the letter, and that her friend had urged her to see Mr. Willen right away. “So that’s why I was in front of the building,” she concluded.

“As soon as we get out of here, you’ll show me the letter?”

She twisted her hands in her lap. “I can’t afford to pay you much.”

“We’ll work something out,” he assured her.

“I don’t know.” She hated owing anyone anything.

“If you don’t let me help you, Mildred will never forgive me.”

“And her opinion is important to you?” Amy asked, unable to contain her curiosity. Forgetting about the darkness that enveloped them, she tilted her head back to get a better look at him. Her forehead scraping against his chin set off fireworks through her entire body.

“Probably more than it should be,” he admitted, his breath tickling her cheek.

She shivered involuntarily at the sensation.

The arm wrapped tighter around her, pulled her even closer. “Are you sure you don’t want my shirt?”

“I’m not cold,” she murmured softly.

She heard him audibly gulp and reveled in the knowledge that she was affecting him as much as he did her.

He cleared his throat to ask, “How did you know what a purple people eater is?”

A wave of sadness swept over her. “Bea, the owner of Busy Bea’s, loved them.” Not wanting to deal with her feelings about Bea’s death, she quickly asked, “Why did you order one?”

“A psychic matchmaker told me to.”

“A psychic matchmaker?” she scoffed. “Do you really believe in that stuff?”

“I don’t
not
believe,” he replied carefully. “And she seems to have a pretty good track record.”

“You know it’s a scam, right?”

“Tell that to my friend Tom and his new bride.”

“Anyone can get lucky once.”

“But what about the fact that I’m sitting here holding the beautiful woman that knew what a purple people eater is?” he teased lightly. “Is that luck?”

She shrugged as a delighted thrill shot through her.  He’d said she was beautiful. Then she remembered she resembled a drowned rat and instantly felt deflated.

“Is it lucky that the woman smells like strawberries, my favorite fruit?” he whispered seductively, his breath stroking the sensitive skin of her ear.

“It’s just my shampoo,” she countered weakly, wondering if the breathy voice coming out of her mouth was even her own.

He nuzzled against her hair and her limbs went weak. She knew she’d agree with whatever he asked next.

Then his cell phone buzzed.

The interruption startled them both and they jumped apart.

Amy rested a hand over her racing heart, willing herself to calm down as he took the call.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Okay.”

She heard frustration in his tone.

He ended the call and let out a long, slow breath. “Generator’s going to kick on any second. They’re getting us out of here.”

Moving quickly, he crossed to the other side of the elevator so he was sitting opposite her. When the doors opened, they would appear to be the picture of propriety. She should have been grateful for his reaction, but she wasn’t.

She missed his nearness.

With a jolt and a groan, the elevator bucked and was then illuminated.

The doors slid open and she scrambled out on all fours, almost knocking over the uniformed maintenance man who’d freed her.  Not exactly a dignified escape, but it got the job done. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Brady step out behind her, carrying her purse.

His expression as he looked down at her was an unreadable mask. All traces of the intimate moments they shared left behind in the steel box. “Let’s take a look at that letter.”

Swiveling in his chair, Brady stared out the window of his office at the city skyline, watching the rainfall, struggling to restrain himself. He wasn
’
t in the habit of losing control, but having Amy Winn sitting on the other side of his desk meant that his heart was racing, his mind was going in a million directions, and his body was betraying him.

Once they’d emerged from the elevator, he’d curtly assured Mildred that he was going to help Amy, dismissed Gerald’s offer to help, and ignored Lara’s pointed stares.

Now, as he waited for Amy to fish out the letter she’d described from the bottom of her bag, all he wanted to do was to see if she tasted as good as she smelled. But that wouldn’t have been professional and wouldn’t help her, so he observed the skyline, trying to get himself under control.

“Here it is.” Her voice held a tremulous, uncertain note, as though she sensed the storm of emotion brewing within him and wasn’t sure that confiding in him had been the best of ideas.

He turned back to face her and bestowed what he hoped was a reassuring smile at her.  Wordlessly, he took the envelope she offered, removed the letter, and quickly scanned it.

“Does it mean anything to you?” She fiddled with the collar of the shirt she wore, his shirt, twisting the fabric relentlessly.

He shook his head.

“Oh.” As though she realized she’d revealed too much in that single syllable of disappointment, she flashed him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It was worth a try. Thanks for your help.” She practically leapt from her seat. Grabbing her bag, she headed for the door.

“Wait!” he yelled, more loudly than he’d attended, but he panicked at the idea of her walking out of his office and out of his life.

Pausing at the door, her hand on the knob, she looked back at him and he saw that her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“I said that it doesn’t mean anything to
me
, but there might be someone who understands it.” He reached for his phone, dialed Lara, and said, “Can you come in here a sec?”

Amy hesitated at the door.

“Sit down,” Brady urged. “If you don’t, Lara may bowl you over when she comes in.”

Slowly Amy turned around.

Lara burst in behind her, almost as Brady had predicted, knocking her over.

“Whoops.” Lara laughed, sidestepping Amy at the last possible moment.  “Sorry about that. My grandfather always I said I was a little dynamo, which was a nice way of saying I ran around, getting myself into trouble.”

Amy offered her a weak smile as a response.

Lara tossed an accusing glare in Brady’s direction, making it clear she blamed him for Amy’s unhappiness. “What’s up?”

“I need you to tell me if you can make sense of something written twenty years ago.” He picked up the letter, then glanced past his secretary to Amy. “With your permission, of course.”

Amy nodded as she sank back into the seat she’d previously occupied, placing her bag beside her on the floor.

Intrigued, Lara snatched the paper from Brady and read it quickly.

“Well?” Brady asked.

Lara held up a finger to silence him, tilted her head, and chewed the inside of her cheek as she continued reading. When she was done, she perched her butt on the corner of Brady’s desk and considered Amy solemnly. “How did you get this?”

“A process server delivered it.”

“Did he tell you his name?”

“What does it matter what his name is?” Brady interjected.

“Leeves,” Amy told Lara.

“Rex Leeves?”

Amy nodded.

“Interesting,” Lara murmured, looking back down at the paper. She rubbed the side of her head as though whatever thinking she was doing was causing her pain.

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” Brady asked.

Lara pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I think Milton Willen wrote this.”

Brady crossed his arms over his chest. “And he hired someone to deliver it twenty years later?”

Lara nodded. “He and Rex Leeves were friends and he gave him a lot of work.”

Brady shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe not,” Lara agreed, handing the sheet of paper back to him. “You asked what I thought and that’s it.”

Amy cleared her throat nervously, reminding them both that the recipient of the mysterious letter was in the room. “Why do you think he wrote it?”

Lara smiled kindly at her. “It
sounds
like him. Doesn’t it, Brady?”

“It does,” he agreed.

“Maybe his son could make sense of it,” Amy suggested.

“No,” Lara and Brady replied simultaneously.

“Trust me, you don’t want Eric involved in this,” Lara said quickly.

“Because he’s a player?” Amy asked.

Lara glanced at Brady. “Is that anyway to talk about a named partner of the firm?”

He shrugged, looking away guiltily.

Leaning toward Amy, Lara whispered, “He’s way worse than a player.”

“You don’t know that,” Brady said quickly.

She shrugged. “You’ll have to go talk to Phyllis. If anyone will be able to make sense of what the old coot was up to, it’s her. I’m guessing the numbers on the bottom are a code she can decipher for you.”

“A code?”

Lara nodded. “Yeah. A secret code. She told me once it was the secret of their working relationship and that all secretaries should have one.”

“Do
we
have a secret code?” Brady asked incredulously.

“Yes, Brady.” Lara leaned toward him, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s so secret that you don’t even know it.”

He shot her a dirty look.

Throwing her head back, she laughed loudly. Launching herself off the desk, she moved over to Amy, bent and gave her a quick hug. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.”

“Thank you,” Amy whispered, hugging her back.

“I’ll call and arrange it with Phyllis,” Lara said as she marched toward the door. Glancing back, she asked, “Tomorrow okay?”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Brady reminded her.

Lara glared at him, tilting her head in the direction of Amy.

“So that will be perfect,” he added hurriedly.

Nodding her approval, Lara walked out, closing the door behind her.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Amy picked up her bag from the floor.