Caress (10 page)

“Rinaldo Mandolesi is
the
crime lord of the Caribbean. What makes them think he’s involved in something so small? I mean, it’s awful what happened, but it’s small potatoes in comparison to what this guy is capable of.”

“For one, he runs the drug trade in that part of the world. The majority of the kids that found themselves arrested were brought up on drug charges—”

“Which we already knew.”

“Right, but what Derrick found out is that three of the four that died were executed in front of loved ones. The hooded executioner then gave them five thousand dollars apiece to bury the kids.”

“The Mandolesi M.O. What happened to the other kid?”

“Carved up and tossed into the ocean like chum. Washed up on shore four weeks ago.”

“That is horrible.”

“Yeah.”

“If they can link Mandolesi to it, it will be
huge
.”

“Yeah.”

“And insanely dangerous,” she said meaningfully. “That guy has been untouchable for more than a decade. Michael, listen to me carefully, brother. I know what you’re thinking. I’m all for breaking this story wide open, but only after the Feds have something on Mandolesi and are ready to move on him. I won’t let you put yourself in danger by printing a story while he’s still out there.”

“I understand.”

“I mean it, Mike. And if you get something good, I want you to promise to go directly to Derrick and hand it over.”

“So you
want
me to continue bonding with my ex-brother-in-law?” He smirked.

His sister did not let up. “Michael, I’m serious. This is not your editor talking. This is your sister, and I love you.”

Michael promised her that he would be careful and give any evidence he managed to turn up to the FBI.

h

“He’s coming,” Michael heard Lysette whisper into the phone as he entered the lobby. She smiled slyly at him, and he was almost positive that Nya Seymour was on the other end.

“Hello, Lysette.” He sweetened his greeting by flashing a dazzling smile at the energetic little woman.

“Hello, Mr. Harrison.”

“Michael, please,” he said. She nodded her head and repeated his name. “Is Ms. Seymour ready for me now?”

“She’s got someone with her at the moment, but you’re certainly welcome to wait.” She motioned to the leather loveseat across from her desk. Michael sat while Lysette continued a lengthy scrutiny of him.

“What is it?” he demanded with brows pulled into a crease. Since he’d met her, Lysette acted as if she knew something he didn’t but ought to.

“Oh, nothing,” she said in a sing-song voice as she studied him. Lysette smiled like the cat that ate the canary.

Michael shifted in his seat and checked his watch. He glanced around nervously, wondering just what was in store for him.

“So you’re not actually a receptionist or an assistant?”

“Correct.”

“What do you normally do that allows you to fill in like this?”

“I’m married to an NBA player who plays for an out-of-state team. I run around the country with him a lot.”

Not even the tiniest bit of self-consciousness about that, either, he noted. He was sure Nya Seymour would have been self-conscious about that. Hell, he was sure she wouldn’t do it as much as she thrived on working for Hatsheput. “I see. So what was your vocation prior to becoming Mrs. Jamie Hendricks?”

The phone buzzed, momentarily eclipsing her answer. “Yes?” She listened for a moment and her brow knit. “But he’s out here waiting right now,” she said. “You’re supposed to—” She was apparently cut off. “Yes, that’s fine, I’ll tell him.” She hung up the phone and took a deep breath. “She’ll see you now. You remember where her office is, right? Well, just go on down there and she’ll see you.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. He knew for certain that Nya had definitely not said that she would see him. But as he walked down the hall, he told himself over and over again that this time would be different from the first time he’d showed up at her door. He was going to be amicable, and he was going to maintain his composure no matter if Nya Seymour baited him as she had when they first met.

h

“Daddy, I’ll handle it,” Nya said into the phone. “The retraction was printed in Tuesday’s issue.” She rubbed her temples, pondering a useless question. Hadn’t she proven herself by now? “Right now I’m reviewing the reports from the Norfolk office. There was some unusual shipping activity up there and I think it might help the investigation if I go tomorrow to see if I can get some answers. I want to see what’s going on before the next stockholders report. I don’t see why it’d be necessary for you to go up there, too. Yes, Daddy, everything’s under control.” She didn’t know how much longer she could hear the relentless battery of questions her father was hurling at her.

“Listen, Daddy,” she interrupted him. Her almost imperceptible accent had thickened. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got to let Elphonse know that Harrison’s on his way to the gallery… Well, he’s on his way here right now, and I figured that it would save some time for El to give him a tour of the gallery rather than me.”

She rolled her eyes as her father attempted to explain the importance of having this spread done properly, which entailed showing Michael Harrison the best Hatsheput had to offer. He followed by telling her that if she didn’t have time to devote to the proper handling of the article, then she should consider letting someone with more time take over.

“Daddy, you’re acting like the man is doing us a favor. Remember, he’s the one who started all this in the first place. I am not going to have someone else handle this article. I’ll work with Harrison all the way. I’m on top of everything, okay?”

Nya sighed loudly and began tapping her pencil on the desk. Her father could be the most infuriating and frustrating man she knew. She didn’t know if he acted this way because she was a woman, because of her paintings, or because he didn’t want to see anyone run the company as well as he did. After all, he had worked passionately all of his life to get Hatsheput where it was. She just wished he had a little faith. “No, Daddy, I don’t need Elphonse’s help, I’m fine.” She heard a knock at her door. “Daddy, I’ve got to go, I have an appointment. Bye.” She closed the Norfolk file lying open on her desk, took a deep breath, and sipped her coffee. After setting the mug down again on the desk, she said softly, “Come in.”

When the door opened she nearly toppled the mug on her desk. “What are you doing here?”

“We have an appointment, correct?” Michael Harrison asked with a suspiciously stoic expression.

Nya bit down on her lower lip, furious and hoping he couldn’t tell. “Have a seat, Mr. Harrison,” she rasped, glancing down at the calendar on her desk. “I seem to have gotten our appointment mixed up,” she explained while swearing silently she was going to fire, no, murder Lysette the first chance she got. That woman couldn’t take an order if she was a waitress. But Nya had more immediate things to think of at the moment. She sighed wearily and figured that she might as well get it over with. “Where would you like to start?”

Michael smiled big at her. Something about his demeanor read a little too sunny. Nya tilted her head to the side. “Did Lysette tell you I was tied up?”

“Nope.” He grinned wider. “She told me to come right on in. But I
did
overhear—through no fault of my own—that you were trying to pawn me off on someone else this afternoon.”

She cleared her throat.
Caught.
“Well… I… you see…” She put a hand over her eyes. “Yes, I was.” She took her hand down, recovering quickly. “There were a few things I wanted to get done this afternoon.”

He seemed to take pity on her. “I understand. If you want to postpone, that’s fine. I really would like you to take me on the tour, though, since the site was your brainchild.”

She didn’t know why he’d softened, but it had an effect on her
.
“No, that’s all right. I made this commitment first, so… where would you like to start?”

“Not where you would,” he quipped.

Nya frowned warily. “What do you mean?”

“Actually, I’d like to start with what I caught of your conversation with your father. No, no, I didn’t hear much, but it
did
sound like he was giving you the business.”

“My father is always, as you say, giving me the business, but that’s not something I’m going to talk about with you.”

“Fair enough.”

They fell into silence and Nya thought he might be waiting for her to change her mind.
That
wasn’t going to happen. “Maybe we should head on over to the galleries. We can talk about the company on the way over there.”

“Works for me.”

Nya pushed back from her desk, but hesitated. “Michael?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I do have one restriction to place on this article.”

“You’ll pardon me if I say you’ve put more than enough restrictions on it already. Between you, your father, your lawyers, and the FBI, I feel a little like a ghostwriter.”

Nya winced. She could see his point. “What if I say it’s a request, a favor, almost?”

“You’re asking
me
for a favor? Man, I know this is going to be good.”

Nya took a deep, long breath.

“Sorry,” he said, though his eyes still held amusement.

“Listen, Harrison, if at all possible I don’t want to be in the article.”

“You don’t want to be in the article?” he asked incredulously.

“No,” she stated firmly, placing a hand at the base of her neck. It was the spot that always ached when she felt on the verge of crisis, and this was certainly shaping up to be a crisis. She knew she couldn’t be the focus of this article. Nyron would think it manipulative of her, that she was trying to show off. Furthermore, every other executive would think she was trying to edge them out of the running for the presidency after Nyron was gone.

“We’ll discuss it,” Michael said flatly, although there was not even the slightest hint in his voice that he intended to discuss anything.

“I really don’t see how there’s anything to discuss. You don’t need me in this article.” She stared levelly at him. “Any personal information concerning me that you think you might need,” she paused, “you don’t.”

“That may be how you view it, but this isn’t customer service. I don’t need to be reminded of why I’m doing this feature. I do know how to do my job—”

Nya felt heat begin to spread across her face. “This
is
customer service and I
am
your customer so—”

“Actually, your father is my customer.”

A red haze descended over her vision and it took all she had not to open her mouth and let all of her pent-up aggression fly.

He must have seen it. He had to have seen it, because he put his hands up in the air, palms facing her, and said, “Truce. Truce, okay? Maybe if you help me understand a little about why you don’t want to be in the article we could come to some sort of agreement.”

“We
have
an agreement; you will keep me out of it.”

He changed his strategy and suddenly grew calm, his eyes curious. “Ms. Seymour, you are a top-tier executive at this company, your
family
company. From what I have learned, you are a great part of its success. Still, you want no part in the piece? I know you’ve been in lots of articles before. I saw a piece from a year or so ago that featured you and your father. I’m wondering what has changed.”

“Don’t wonder.”

“Are you hiding something, Ms. Seymour?”

“If I were, you’d be the last person to accurately uncover it.”

“Ouch. You know, I’ll take that one. This mistake is going to follow me for the rest of my life. I’ve apologized for it, and I’ll likely continue apologizing for a very long time, but…” His words trailed off and Nya found herself staring at his lips. “But I think this has a lot more to do with what I’m perceiving as acrimony between you and your father. Trouble in the succession plans?”

He had zeroed right in on exactly why she didn’t want to be in the article. Nya didn’t answer.

“I confess, the investigative reporter in me is mighty intrigued.”

“This is none of your business.”

“You tell me what the problem is. I promise your name never shows up in the feature.”

“That’s blackmail.”

Michael’s lips spread wide.

“And here I thought you and I were going to get along.”

“We will,” he assured her quickly. “But it may take awhile after you spill the beans.”

Nya rubbed harder at the back of her neck. He had gleaned something from what he had overheard, what he had seen. He had put those pieces together and found the vulnerable chink in her armor. Now he was going to use it to his advantage. “You know, I can physically see the delight in your beady, calculating eyes,” she said. “But I assure you the story isn’t that deep. Nothing sensational enough to increase your little paper’s circulation.” She leaned forward, pointing her pencil at him before he could object. “There are no juicy tidbits. I’m just working to prove myself ready to take the helm when the time comes. I don’t want anyone thinking I resorted to underhanded tactics to do it.”