Risking Trust (4 page)

“She wants Toby off. Personality conflict.”

“Who gives a shit? He has to keep her alive, not like her. Tell her everyone else is assigned.”

Vic held up a hand. “I talked to Toby. Miss Crazy got hammered one night and wanted our boy to slip her the hot salami. He told her no can do. She got pissed and called me with this personality conflict crap. I had to beat it out of Toby. He’s all business and scared shitless of her now. Thinks she’s gonna attack him after she belts back a few.”

Michael shook his head. People. Someone always screwed up. After years of busting his ass to build his business from one guy doing personal security to a multi-faceted company, he was still a well-paid babysitter. He shifted to his computer and pulled up his personnel roster. And then reality sucker punched him. He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the desk before he ruined his best friend’s day. This would suck.

“Listen, if things go bad for me, are you gonna be able to take over here?”

Vic snorted. “Don’t be stupid. You’re not going anywhere.”

Vic hated being confined to an office for any length of time. Michael understood this because he preferred the action in the office versus anything he’d find in a war torn country. That’s what worked about their partnership. Vic handled the government contracts that sent their employees overseas to guard diplomats or other high ranking officials, and Michael handled the private security. Perfect partnership.

“We need to be prepared,” Michael said. “If you don’t want to do it, I need to find someone else. Who that would be, not a fucking clue.”

Vic huffed out a breath. “Yeah, I’ll do it, but it’s not going to be a problem. Let’s move on.”

He didn’t want to discuss it. Fair enough. They’d established he’d take over if Michael went to prison and that’s all Michael needed to know. They could get to the particulars later.

“One more thing—”

“Ah, Christ, Mike, give it a rest.”

Michael held up his hands. “My sister will need help. Not financially. I wouldn’t put that on you. The kids though. Sometimes she needs a man to straighten things out. Mostly Matt. The other two are easy. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah, but I’m telling you, it won’t be an issue. Can we get back to my problem with Tiffany-the-hot-salami-slut?”

Michael busted out a laugh and clicked through his personnel spreadsheet. “Steve’s in L.A. Put him on her. He’s so big and ugly, she won’t look twice.”

“Gotta love these high maintenance clients.”

Michael picked up an invoice his
assistant
had placed on his desk and perused it. “At least she’s moved on from me.”

“Huh?”

“Why do you think I moved her to
your
client roster?” Michael said.

Vic’s mouth dropped open. “Am I the only one she doesn’t want to get it on with? Did you thrash her?”

Michael curled his lip. “Please. She’s a client and nothing screws up a business arrangement more than sex. Remember that.”

He made a mental note to remember his own decree when it came to his dealings with Roxann.

Good luck there, pal.

Stood-up.

Michael scanned the crowded bar of Cassatta’s.
Nope. Not here.
Multiple sets of eyes from around the room glared at him—accusers—and he drew air through his nose and slowly let it out his mouth before meeting the stares. The inquisitive patrons flicked their glances away, probably not wanting to enrage the murderer.

Where the hell was Roxann? Of course, it would have been easy to miss her because the place had been renovated in the years since he’d been here and a wall, probably to cut down on the noise for those wanting a quiet meal, now separated the bar from the dining room. The dark walls had been replaced with a lighter shade of gray and swirly hanging light fixtures offered enough light to accommodate a romantic dinner or a business meeting.

Michael had brought Roxann here early on in their relationship using borrowed money because his measly construction salary barely bought them a meal at the diner, never mind Cassatta’s.

After they’d broken up, he’d never come back.

Alicia had begged him for a meal at Cassatta’s, but he had refused. He suddenly wondered if it had been fair. He thought about it, and decided he’d made the right decision. This was Roxann’s territory and, out of respect for her, he’d stayed clear. Too many memories and regrets. Why torture himself wondering what could have been? Particularly when trying to concentrate on his wife and making their marriage work.

There was also the fact that Roxann’s best friend’s family owned Cassatta’s and he never wanted to risk running into Janie. He wasn’t afraid of many things, but Janie gave him the willies. That woman, with her acerbic tongue, could make the toughest of men bawl.

Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t a mystery why Roxann picked this restaurant for dinner. She’d be acquainted with everyone in the place and would feel comfortable.

Safe.

That frosted him, but he couldn’t hold it against her. Half the city thought he was a murderer—some of those people were in this room with him. The other half of the city hadn’t seen the news or were members of his family. Either way, he was grateful for that half.

What if he were found guilty?

Jesus.

His intestines were shredding. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life in jail. His family depended on him. And what about someday having kids of his own? If he were locked in a cell, he’d never get the chance to teach his son how to swing a bat or take his daughter to a father-daughter dance. Yep, horrific territory.

Having a successful business had served him well, but family was what mattered. Too bad it took the death of his brother-in-law to make him realize his marriage was a disaster.

Rather than ruin his evening, Michael put away thoughts of prison and traitors and turned toward the entrance to see Roxann chatting with the hostess. She smiled the smile he saw in his dreams and he held his breath for a second, absorbing the pleasure.

Would wanting to see that smile on a regular basis be selfish? Did he deserve it? Were they even compatible anymore? Maybe not, but if he got out of this mess, he’d damn sure try to find out.

Roxann greeted a few regulars as she crossed the bar toward Michael. He wore navy dress slacks and a gray sport coat that hugged his shoulders and indicated there’d be nothing soft underneath. Relaxed elegance at its best. Michael never was one to wear a tie unless the occasion, without question, demanded it.

“Sorry I’m late.” She hated being late and still wondered how she had gotten so behind. She’d arrived home in plenty of time, but after showering couldn’t decide on what to wear and spent thirty minutes rifling through suits and dresses, finally opting for the black sheath.

Even her hair, typically a no-brainer, caused strife. She’d done a French twist. Too fancy. She settled on her normal low ponytail with a side part, adding a rhinestone clip to hold it in place. This was so typical. Michael Taylor, Mr. Chaos. A simple business meeting with him had already disrupted her routine.

Michael did a slow, thorough visual exploration of her and her stomach pitched with an unusual bout of insecurity. The snap of a memory flashed to the first time they’d made love and she walked out of her bathroom wearing sheer lace. He’d worn that same look back then. In it she’d seen physical hunger, but also a raw vulnerability that made her stomach quiver the same way it did now. At the time, her as yet unexpressed love for him blew her soul open and she imagined a life with kids, maybe a dog or two and soccer games where parents became too competitive.

Back
then
, when he looked at her this way, her excitement over the future had surged. Now, it left her with only regrets. They could have had it all and he’d married someone else.

She shooed the thought away. “I’ve suddenly turned into a disorganized fashion victim.”

Michael smiled. “That’s okay. You’re stunning.”

Her cheeks grew hot from the compliment and she gave herself a mental head-slap.
Twit.
“Thank you. Our table is ready.” Making small talk could lead to something personal and she needed this meeting to be all business.

Ignoring the distant stares and hushed voices as they were led to their table turned out to be a challenge Roxann hadn’t anticipated. Being alone with him was out of the question, for a variety of reasons, but maybe meeting in such a public place hadn’t been a stellar idea either. They should have met in her office. During business hours.

What were all these gawkers thinking? Yes, he was a suspected murderer, she the publisher of a large newspaper and they were having dinner together.

She had to be insane. She didn’t know this man at all anymore. He could have murdered his wife. And yet, somehow, she didn’t want to believe it. When had she become so foolish? Battling her doubts, she glanced at Michael who appeared unaffected. Impossible.

The hostess led them to a corner table away from prying eyes and ears—
thank you
—and Michael held a chair for her. After seating them, the hostess went on her way.

Frank Sinatra crooned from an overhead speaker while Roxann waited for Michael to say something. Maybe
she
should say something. She smoothed an invisible crease on the spotless white table cloth and he smiled. She stopped smoothing. He’d always thought that little nervous habit was cute.

He held up his menu. “Let’s decide on dinner and get to work.”

A waiter, wearing a white jacket and bow tie, appeared and Michael ordered a bottle of wine.

“Opus,” she said. “Are we celebrating something?”

“You need to celebrate something to enjoy good wine?”

“Apparently not.” Roxann went back to pretending to read her menu. She ate the same meal every time. Right down to the wine. Except for tonight. Tonight they were having
Opus
.

“How are you holding up?” he asked after the waiter finished with them.

She assumed he was curious about the status of the newspaper. He wouldn’t want to partner with a failing company. She went with her best make-the-board-members-happy speech.

“I won’t make any immediate changes. We have a good senior staff so there’s no need for anything drastic.”

“I wasn’t talking about the
Banner
.”

“Oh, well.” His fingertips were suddenly resting on her hand and she snatched it back because, after all, they were in a crowded restaurant and he was suspected of killing his wife. Again she wondered where her good sense had disappeared to when she agreed to this dinner.

Dammit.
Why did he have to touch her? Let her feel the warmth of that big hand on her skin? She bit her lip to distract herself from the pounding in her ears and focused on his question. She could lie and tell him she was fine. Or she could be honest and say she was miserable. Every inch of her slowly being torn away, piece by piece.

She settled on a compromise because laying it out there would be too much for her, and dismissing it would be a travesty.

“It’s overwhelming. I can’t get used to him not being down the hall.”

Michael’s gaze met hers, and knowing her father wouldn’t approve caused the emotions she’d been containing since walking into the restaurant to collide and batter her head.
Don’t think about it
.
Rebuild. Start at the toes.

The past couple of weeks had taught her that grief was unmerciful. It would snag her by the throat until her lungs wanted to burst. It had forced her to her knees more than once, and she had no desire to fall apart in front of Michael.

She reached for her water glass and sipped.
Okay. Feels good.
Ice cold water.
One, two, three…deep breath…you can do this
. Her heartbeat slowed. Good. Back to work. She pulled her micro tape recorder from her purse and discreetly held it out. “Do you mind? Taking notes distracts me.”

Michael shrugged and she pushed the record button before setting the gadget behind the small table vase. “What do you think happened to your wife?”

“Alicia,” he corrected.

Roxann hesitated. What could have broken down his marriage to the point where he refused to acknowledge the woman he had chosen as his wife? “Alicia. Got it.”

“I don’t know who killed her. She was no angel though.” He sat forward so he wouldn’t be overheard. “She had no problem screwing married men.”

“Do you know who?”

He made a
pfft
noise. “With the war we were in? Of course I know. I had someone on her for almost three years. She and the boyfriend weren’t too discreet. He’d go in the front door for Christ sakes.”

Michael waved a hand in frustration. Was his anger based on someone he loved betraying him or the recklessness of the act?

“Who was he?” she asked, getting back to Alicia’s lover.

Michael stared at her for a moment. Stalling? No way. “We agreed you’d tell me everything. Spill it or this deal is off.”

“Carl Biehl.”

Before she could stop herself, Roxann groaned. She now understood Michael’s hesitation, but when the waiter approached with their food, she held her response and smiled.

Outside of work, Roxann didn’t know much about Carl Biehl, but hadn’t he and his wife attended her father’s funeral holding hands? Marriage was a screwy thing. Now she knew why she’d never been married. She couldn’t deal with all the complications.

The waiter disappeared and Roxann leaned forward. “You
cannot
be serious? The mayor’s top aide was openly having an affair?”

“You own a newspaper and didn’t know about it.”

She should jab the fork into his eye for that comment.
Deep breath.
“Did you come to me because you thought my uncle, who also happens to work for the mayor, told me about the affair? Assuming he even knows.” She kept her voice low, the tension within her escalating until it became a taught wire about to snap.

“I came to you because the
Chronicle
pissed me off and I knew you’d do a good job of reporting the facts. Your uncle working for the mayor is a side benefit. You know as well as I do, if there is anything to this story it’ll work for both of us.”

She shot him a castigating look and he sat back. “That look might bring most men to heel, but not me, babe. My life is on the line.”

Roxann held out a hand for him to continue. “Go on, but please don’t tell me you think he did it.”

Michael shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“You said you had someone following her? Did he see anyone go into the house the night Alicia was killed?”

“He didn’t see anything. Whoever killed her must have gone in the back. The few times Billy saw Carl go in, he used the front door.”

She thought back a few nights. “Carl was at the policemen’s ball. I saw him.”

“Are you sure it was that night?”

“I’m positive. It was only three nights ago and I heard about the murder in an editorial meeting the morning after.”

And you can bet I remember that.

“I don’t know that Biehl is even involved, but it’s too convenient to dismiss.” He hesitated and lowered his voice. “Hell, it could have been his wife.”

Forgetting her good breeding, Roxann propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “She was at the fundraiser with Carl. Maybe she hired someone?”

“Maybe Carl hired someone. Alicia could have been putting pressure on him by threatening to tell his wife. She’d do that if it got her what she wanted.”

Roxann closed her eyes. “I can’t believe this.”

“Rox, if you want out, say it now, but this story is happening. If the cops continue with their witch hunt, you’ll be running my mug shot on your front page. I’m not going down for this. I didn’t do it.”

Michael was a puzzle with missing pieces. He seemed relaxed, yet his words hit her like a furnace blast. “I’m not backing out. It’s a lot to take in, that’s all.”

“No kidding.”
Damn right it’s a lot to take in,
he thought. Did she think this was fun? A nice dinner, a good bottle of wine and talking about his ex-wife’s murder.

Fun would have been talking about what Roxann had been doing for the last twelve years and whether or not she’d let him spend an extended period of time in her bed.

Now
that
would be fun.

Unlikely, but a guy could dream.

And here he was, ignoring his own rule about mixing sex and business. Did it really count if he only
thought
about mixing sex and business?

Semantics.

Semantics sucked.

Michael knew he wanted to sleep with her. Fighting it was the challenge. He’d never lost that itch, but he’d kept it locked inside for so long he’d learned to ignore it. By his way of thinking, good husbands didn’t fantasize about old girlfriends. Early in his marriage, he’d tried hard to be overly attentive, generous to a fault and understanding when Alicia had her first affair. He chalked her betrayal up to a one-time thing and forgave her.

Now, long after his marriage had fallen apart, despite Alicia’s death, Roxann captured too much of his attention for him to feel guilt. And why the hell did she wear her hair back all the time? She used to wear it up only when she ran. He remembered it falling over her shoulders, remembered running his hands through those long blond strands. Now she had ice queen hair and he hated it. Maybe he’d reach across, pop the clip open and watch all that hair go free.