Thigh High (17 page)

At eight thirty a.m., Stephanie Decker walked up the stairs to her bank. She tapped on the glass, and that little weasel, Eric, strolled toward the door—until he saw who it was, and then he hustled.

He was deathly afraid of her, and she smiled at the look of panic on his face. He got the key in the lock and the door opened so fast…what a beautiful moment.

She sashayed through the front door, dressed in her new Escada animal-print shirtdress with the black Armani jacket. Okay, they were knock-offs, but expensive knock-offs, and she'd spent the money because she knew she needed to look good for the cameras when the local stations interviewed her later…. afterward.

The tellers stopped chatting as she walked through the lobby. They stared at her wide-eyed.

As she headed for the vault, she gave them a cheerful little wave. “I'm going to get your cash drawers right now!” This was going to be so much fun.

She tapped in her code—she used the master code last night, so no one could tell it was her, and the digital video would only show her “checking” the timer—and the lock on the vault door popped open. As she stepped inside, she squealed, “Oh, my God!”

“What is it?” one of the tellers yelled.

She didn't know which one. They were pretty much interchangeable.

But she didn't see anybody. She bent her head. She stepped inside.

They had to be here. They
had
to be. She'd shut them in…. They weren't here.

How could they not be here?

“Miss Decker, what is it?” One of the tellers was yelling from the door, but she didn't come inside.

Of course not. Everyone was afraid of old Mr. Vycor's ghost.

But Stephanie wasn't afraid of ghosts. She was afraid of people who were here last night, then disappeared without a trace.

“Miss Decker?” Oh, for God's sake, it was that queer teller, Jeffrey.

“What?” She shrieked. She darted her gaze over the table, the shelves, the floor. The shelves…what was
that?

She hurried over, leaned down, and plucked at the wisp of white that was stuck between the oak of the shelves and the plaster wall. It was a cotton material with a hint of lace. She gave it a jerk.

The shelves shivered.

“Miss Decker?” Jeffrey yelled again.

She straightened up and as loud as she could, she shouted, “I'm getting your cash drawers. Go back to your station. I'll be there in a minute!”

“Okay!” He sounded disgruntled.

She didn't care. She gave the material another jerk, and this time, the shelves
moved.

Another yank, and she held most of a pair of torn panties in her hands.

Her mouth hung open.

Panties. A woman's panties.
Nessa's
panties.

She'd been in here. She'd been screwing around in here with Mr. MacNaught's boy, Jeremiah.

Stephanie stared at the shelves. And they'd somehow gotten out without anyone knowing. As Stephanie stared at the shelves, a slow smile curved her lips.

She had Nessa now. For the first time since they had been working together, Stephanie knew that nothing that Nessa could do, no string Nessa could pull, could get her out of this corner.

Stephanie had been waiting for this all her life.

 

Nessa hovered by her desk, watching without appearing to as Stephanie stepped out of the vault, cash drawers in hand.

She looked positively benign.

Nessa looked at Jeremiah.

Arms crossed, he observed Stephanie. Then without a glance at Nessa, he disappeared toward his office.

Stephanie carried the drawers to the tellers, waited while they confirmed the amounts inside, and strolled toward her office.

Hastily, before Stephanie saw her staring, Nessa leaned down and pretended to lock her purse in her desk.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Stephanie should have been staggered to discover Nessa and Jeremiah weren't locked inside the vault.

What had they forgotten?

“Ionessa.”

Nessa jumped at the sound of that smooth, pleasant voice behind her.

The voice of the Stephabeast.

Stephanie continued, “When you get your things put away, come to my office.”

Like a deer caught in the headlights, Nessa looked up into Stephanie's face.

Stephanie was smiling. Smiling big enough to be the shark out of
Jaws
.

Nessa took a long, shaky breath. She pocketed her desk key and followed.

Stephanie went to her desk, sat down, and folded her hands on the blotter. “Shut the door behind you, Nessa.”

The way she rolled Nessa's name off her tongue made Nessa ever more nervous. Nessa had committed so many sins lately, but only one stood in the forefront of her mind…. The time she'd spent in the bank vault with Jeremiah.

“This morning, I got an e-mail from Premier Central's headquarters in Philadelphia.” Stephanie pulled a paper out of the printer beside her desk. “From Mr. MacNaught himself.”

Mr. MacNaught, the head of the bank, the man who looked like Danny DeVito. “Yes?”

“He has requested I remove you from work on the case with Mr. Mac and return you to your previous position as assistant manager.”

Nessa hadn't expected that. “Why?”

Stephanie looked up from the sheet in her hand. “Excuse me?”

“Does he say why?”

“Mr. MacNaught has his ways of keeping track of what's happening in his banks.”

Nessa looked Stephanie right in the eyes. “Yes, some people can be depended on to act as spies for the pure spiteful pleasure of it.”

Stephanie flushed an ugly color of red, but her smile never wavered. “If there was nothing to report, no report would be made.”

This time Nessa flushed. Last night, there had been plenty to report. She'd hardly slept for remembering what had gone on between her and Jeremiah: where, how often, and how deep.

But when she'd come in this morning, Jeremiah showed her the new digital security evidence. It showed them going into the vault, and in less than a minute, it showed them coming out of the vault. There was nothing to incriminate them—or at least, as Jeremiah said, nothing incriminating could have happened with anyone slower than Superman.

So Nessa was safe.

Wasn't she?

“Mr. MacNaught told me to tell you something else. He said that you seemed to be under the impression that someday you could advance in his bank. Apparently, you discussed it with Mr. Mac.” Stephanie smiled again, a horrific smile. “He wants me to assure you that's not possible.”

A sick feeling began in the pit of Nessa's stomach. “What do you mean?”

“Mr. MacNaught remembers very well the incident wherein you allowed an employee to waltz out of this bank with his cash. Mr. MacNaught wants me to remind you that he takes being robbed very poorly.” Stephanie glowed with satisfaction and malice.

“I didn't rob anybody. I merely made a mistake.” Nessa's voice rose. “
You
did this.”

Stephanie's smile disappeared. “I assure you, I did not. Mr. MacNaught made the decision to allow you to keep your job, but not advance, at the time of the incident.” She relaxed back in her chair. “I simply made the decision not to tell you.”

“Because I was too useful working my rear off for an advancement that could never come.” Nessa stood up and leaned across the desk. “That's it. I am not working for that bastard MacNaught, and I am not working for you. I quit.”

Stephanie came to her feet so hard her chair rolled backward and slammed against the wall. She leaned forward so she was nose to nose with Nessa. “You can't quit.”

“Watch me.”

“I know what you did in the vault.”

Nessa froze.

Stephanie opened her desk drawer and pulled out Nessa's torn panties. She waved them in Nessa's face. “You see these? I found them inside the vault. And you know what that means?”

Nessa had a pretty good idea, but she wasn't going to admit to anything.

“That means you and Mr. I-Gotta-Score-with-Nessa were not only hiding in there, on bank property, humping like bunnies, but somehow you manipulated the security evidence so that it appeared you had left the vault when, in fact, you hadn't. Do you know what Mr. MacNaught will do when I tell him
that
?”

“He'll want to know how we got shut in there before it was time for the vault to close.”

Stephanie ignored that and continued her low-voiced tirade. “I don't know how you managed to get that vault open again so you could leave, but falsifying those tapes is a federal offense. So don't think you're going to leave me in the lurch here,
Ionessa.
You're going to work here at this branch of Premier Security until you rot.”

Nessa felt the blood drain from her face. “There's no reason for Mr. MacNaught to believe you on the evidence of a pair of panties.”

“If a specialist in security examined that tape, you know it would show the signs of manipulation. You know it would. Shall I send him that tape now, or shall I hold it…. For the rest of my life?”

Nessa felt sick. Betrayed. All these years of work and for nothing. Stephanie had locked them in the vault, an onerous offense, but Nessa had been an accomplice to a federal crime. And now she was trapped.

Desperately, she cast around in her mind for a way out.

Nothing. She could think of nothing. The only image that filled her mind was the picture of her, working too hard, watching Stephanie get the awards and rake in the bonuses, until she withered and died.

Stephanie saw the defeat in Nessa's face, and this time she didn't bother to waste a smile. Pulling her chair forward, she sat and pretended to busy herself with the papers on her desk. “By the way, you don't need to bother stopping by Jeremiah's office to inform him of your change in status. Mr. MacNaught has already done that. Now—you may go.”

Nessa stumbled backward, caught her balance, pivoted on her heel, and marched stiffly out of Stephanie's office. As swiftly as she could, and without glancing in, she walked past Jeremiah's office. She didn't want to see him. She didn't want to explain what had just happened. Like any sensible woman, she merely wanted to go to the ladies' room, lock herself in a stall, and sob.

But when she rounded the corner, there he was, standing by her desk.

Tall. Broad shouldered. Rugged. Not model-boy attractive, but dynamic. He commanded the eye—every woman in the lobby was staring at him. And he was focused on Nessa.

As soon as she got close, he asked, “What's the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Right.” He took her arm in a firm grip and started toward his office.

She tried to twist it away.

He stopped. “I am prepared to make a scene right here in the bank with everyone watching. Are you?”

Of course she wasn't. If he made a fuss, she would have the kind of hysterics that would embarrass everyone in the bank except Nessa.

Nessa would be
mortified.

So she let him guide her into his office and shut the door. He seated her in his desk chair, perched his hip on the desk, and said, “Talk.”

She took a long, quivering breath. “Mr. MacNaught won't allow me to advance. Ever.”

“Why not?”

“Because of that stupid mistake I made years ago.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I hate him. I hate Mr. MacNaught. I hope he gets genital warts.”

“I think he's safe from that.”

“Genital warts? I suppose. Who's going to sleep with
him
?”

Jeremiah rubbed his palms on his knees. “In this case, I'm going to have to agree with MacNaught.”

She lifted her gaze to his and shot red thunderbolts from her eyes. At least she thought she did. She hoped she did.

Unfortunately, he appeared to be unblasted.

“I beg your pardon?” she said frigidly.

“You let a teller of dubious character walk out of this bank without checking her drawer because she appealed to your better nature. I do believe you when you say it was only a mistake.”

She rose to her feet. “That's damned generous of you.”

He plowed on, getting stupider by the word. “And yes, you've worked faithfully and not made another one. But you're soft. You're kind. Out of pure generosity, someday you're going to make another mistake, and if you're in a higher position, the mistake will be bigger, possibly even something prosecutable.”

She stared at Jeremiah and realized—this was what he really believed. This was why he had distracted her in the vault rather than discuss the issue. Not because he was so swept away by passion he couldn't think, but because he knew she was going to be furious about what passed for good sense in his mind.

He scrutinized her as if he expected her to buy the whole load of manure. “Mr. MacNaught is looking out for himself and you.”

“By golly, you're right. Mr. MacNaught has managed to get seven years of slave labor out of me while looking out for my interests. What a great guy!” She almost choked on her bile.

Speaking in a soothing voice, he said, “Look. I'll talk to him.”

“Don't do me any favors.”

“I'll explain you need a position that utilizes your gentler skills.”

“No. Really. Don't do me any favors.” He was making her feel cheap, as if she'd slept with him in the hopes of advancing her position.

He charged on. “Maybe in HR.”

She had only one good nerve left, and he had just snapped it. “Human resources? What am I going to do in human resources? I'm good at finance, damned good at it. I understand the numbers. I know how to manipulate them. How do you think this bank has attracted so many investors? I take their profiles, help with their investments, and make them a fortune!” She flung up an arm. “I don't want to get stuck in human-freaking-resources!”

He looked taken aback, as if it had never occurred to him that a mere woman would want anything but a warm, fuzzy, people-related job.

“I want to
quit.
” She paced across the room. “I can't believe I've worked extra hours, kept MacNaught's bank running at peak performance in the hopes that he'd notice, and all the time it was for nothing. I couldn't do anything that was good enough to wipe out the past.” She stopped, stared at the wall, and took a quavering breath. “I have been such a sucker.”

“So you're going to find another job.”

“No, I…because…no. Just…no.” She couldn't tell him about the panties. They'd fallen out of her pocket, but only a minute ago he'd proved he was the kind of guy who took responsibility for everything. He might try and make amends, and that would make matters worse. The last thing she needed was a guy with the conversational skills of a rock talking to Mr. MacNaught about what happened in that vault.

She shoved her hair off her forehead. She hurt all over. She felt as if she had the flu. She suffered from frustration and embarrassment—
sucker, such a sucker!—
and abruptly, she realized she couldn't stay here anymore. It didn't matter what Stephabeast did; Nessa had to get out. “I'm going.” She walked toward the door, ready to throw a fit if he tried to stop her.

“Okay.” He stood aside, and he had the funniest look on his face, half-knowing, half-angry.

She didn't know what it meant, but she didn't care. Right now, she only cared about Ionessa Dahl, sucker extraordinaire.

Going to her desk, she grabbed her purse and headed out the door, ignoring the startled tellers, the customers, Eric's stunned expression. Stepping out on the street, she looked around.

She didn't know where to go. She couldn't go home and face the aunts, and explain that her own gullibility had made it necessary that they continue working their boarding house until the day they died.

So where…?

She pulled out her cell phone. She dialed a number. And when Georgia picked up, Nessa heard the roar of Bourbon Street in the background. “Can you meet me somewhere?” she shouted.

Georgia, bless her, didn't question Nessa at all. “Sure. Do you need me to come and get you?”

“No, just tell me where.”

“I should have had a break about six hours ago. Can you get to that bakery? Deaux?”

“I'm on my way.”

“Nessa…? Do you need me to come and get you?”

But Nessa hung up. She stepped into the street, and the first cab she flagged down stopped for her.

If God was giving her a cab as compensation for all the crap she'd put up with all these years, God was going to have to do better than that.

She climbed in, and said, “Deaux Bakery.”

The friendly-looking cabby took one glance at her face and took off like a rocket, scattering pedestrians and shooting through red lights. He got to Deaux in record time, and she gave him a magnificent tip.

Why not? She'd never be able to save enough money to spare her aunts from working for the rest of their lives. She might as well spend it like she had it.

She walked into the bakery and café, and Georgia waved her toward the tiny round table. Like any good cop, Georgia had her back to the wall and she faced the door.

Nessa must have looked like hell, because as she approached, Georgia came to her feet and caught Nessa in a bear hug. As Nessa clutched at her, Georgia whispered, “It's okay, Nessa. Whatever it is, we can fix it.”

“No, you can't. No one can fix this. I've managed to get my tit into such a wringer—”

“Hey!” Georgia yelled at the waitress. “We need coffee over here, strong and black, and a plate of pastries and some pralines if you have them.” She glanced at Nessa's face again. “And chocolate. Lots of chocolate.” She shoved Nessa into a chair. Took the chair opposite. Leaned toward Nessa. “Now, tell me everything. Is it that man? Because if it is, I can take him out.”

Nessa wanted to laugh. She really did. She just felt as if she'd lost the knack of it. “It's not him. It's me. That's what's killing me. I did this to myself.” Slowly, then with increasing speed, Nessa told the whole ugly story.

At first, when she told Georgia about working for a promotion and being told it would never come, Georgia nodded as if she expected nothing different. And when Nessa told her about getting locked in the vault and gave her an abbreviated version of the events inside, her brown eyes twinkled. The story of the hidden entrance to the vault made her sit up straight, and the news that Stephanie Decker had found the panties made her groan in distress.

But when Nessa told her that Stephanie intended that she stay and work for her forever, Georgia made a vulgar sound. “Honey, that's blackmail, and blackmail is a crime. Haven't you heard that crime doesn't pay?”

“She's got me by the short hairs.”

“All I have to do—and I'm more than glad to do it to that bitch—is suggest to the guys on patrol that Miss Stephanie Decker is a person of suspicion, and by the time they get done with her, she'll sneak out of New Orleans through the swamps at night and thank God she made it out alive.”

Nessa leaned back in her chair. “You're trying to make me giggle.”

“Is it working?”

Nessa thought. “Will there be a water moccasin in the swamp?”

“A six-footer and her babies.”

Nessa nodded. “Then, yes, it is working.”

Georgia's cell phone sounded, and she grinned as she looked down at it. As soon as she saw the message, the smile was wiped from her face.

“What's wrong?” Nessa grabbed Georgia's hand.

“There a robbery in progress at Premier Central Bank on Iberville, a block and a half from here.” She started away, then as Nessa rose, she said, “Stay here.” She ran out of the restaurant.

Nessa stared after her, then she ran, too.

Georgia wore a uniform and flat cop shoes and dodged through the crowd.

Nessa wore a business suit and pumps, and she used her two-inch heels ruthlessly to move people out of her way.

She lost sight of Georgia, then saw her twenty yards ahead as she drew her weapon and ran through the door at the bank.

Thirty seconds later, Nessa arrived, out-of-breath anxious for her friends inside. She charged through the door and into the lobby filled with frantic, milling customers and high-pitched female shrieks.

“A mouse!”

“There's another one!”

A small, gray, long-tailed creature scampered across Nessa's foot. She jumped. She looked down. Mice were everywhere, scurrying, dodging, panicked by the shrieks and the trampling feet.

No wonder people were screaming and running.

Then the crowd parted and she caught sight of Georgia standing, arms extended, weapon steadily pointed at the two tall, elegantly costumed, masked—and armed—robbers.

In a deep, husky voice, one of the robbers said, “Honey, you don't want to do that.”

That voice. That familiar voice.

For the first time, Nessa heard, and saw, what the video had hidden from her.

Georgia shouted, “Put down your weapons slowly and raise your hands.”

Nessa did the only thing she could do. She screamed, “A mouse!” and leaped toward her friend.

Georgia half turned.

Nessa knocked her off her feet.

Stupid. Clumsy. Awkward and a cliché. But it was the only way Nessa could think to stop her friend from shooting her great-aunts.

Her great-aunts…the Beaded Bandits.