Thigh High (26 page)

The next day, Gabriel took Mac through the changes they were making at the Chartres Street branch of Premier Central bank. “We'll work this weekend and next putting in new security cameras and upgrading the alarms. All the surveillance will be controlled remotely from a central point in the city. The only thing we can't control, of course—”

“Is the people. I know.” Gabriel had reiterated that often enough. The human factor was always the unknown, and no matter how much security they installed, someone with enough intelligence, guts, or desperation could break through and take what they wanted. Lowering his voice, Mac asked, “What about the vault?”

“Let's talk in there.” Gabriel waited while Mac punched his code into the electronic keyboard and led the way inside. The two men looked around at the tiny room, with the shelves hiding the secret passage, and in unison shook their heads. “This Vycor must have been as crazy as they come,” Gabriel said. “No friends. No family. It's sort of pathetic, you know?”

“I know.”
Mr. Vycor the Second.
Nessa's mocking voice echoed in Mac's mind. He was
not
Mr. Vycor the Second. He had friends.

He looked sideways at Gabriel. Maybe it was pushing it to call Gabriel his friend, but they'd been staying together in the Garden Suite. They didn't talk much, but then, they didn't have to. They understood each other, never got in each other's way, ate the same stuff, watched the same games…. It was almost spooky how much they had in common.

And Mac would have a family, too. A family with Nessa. Her great-aunts would be his…

He'd be related to thieves—but then, he was used to that. His father was Nathan Manly.

Nessa was coming in on Monday, or at least she was if she knew what was good for her. She'd want to know what discrepancies were on the books. He'd have to cook something up, because he'd lied; they balanced perfectly.

“Is there anything I can help you gentlemen with?” Stephanie called from the doorway of the vault.

The two guys glanced at each other.

“No,” Mac said.

“Oh. Okay. Call me if you need anything.”

They listened to Stephanie's footsteps retreat.

“That woman is really annoying,” Gabriel said.

“That woman made some nasty mistakes and she's trying to keep her job. In fact, she's probably willing to fling herself across the tracks for me.” Mac's mouth set in satisfaction. He would use Stephanie as the scapegoat for the books. She might not like it, but she would do it.

One problem solved.

Gabriel tapped the shelves. “Next Wednesday, I'm bringing in my top men to plug the hole. It'll be done overnight, and no one will ever know it was there.”

“You can't do it sooner?” Knowing there was access to the vault gave Mac an itchy feeling up his spine.

“Not with Mardi Gras going on, not and keep it a secret. But next Wednesday is Ash Wednesday. Then the party's over. Everyone will be sleeping off a hangover. It's the best time to get this thing done.”

The two men stepped out into the lobby.

Stephanie lurked in the background, trying to look interested and as if she were in charge.

The tellers and customers watched him from the corners of their eyes, hostility gleaming.

Gabriel shuddered. “Man. No one has forgotten what you said yesterday at the courthouse about the Dahl girls.”

“I know.”

“I'm surprised these people aren't getting a rope for a lynching.”

“One more wrong move on my part, and I won't be able to buy myself a kind word.”

“I told you I should have played the part of the insurance investigator.” Gabriel contemplated Mac's hard face. “Do you have any more wrong moves to make?”

“I'm going to get what I want.” He believed, with what he said to Nessa yesterday, that she'd come to him to make a deal. Every time the door opened, he expected to see her dressed in one of those dark suits that couldn't hide her curves and her red heels. And when he saw her, he'd know, and she'd know, he still held the power in the relationship.

He might be in love, but he was not a wimp to be controlled by a mere woman. They needed to establish that right away.

“Warn me before you piss anybody else off so I can step away,” Gabriel said.

“You'll be the first to know.”

“We'll be done with all the installations in three weeks.” Gabriel glanced around the classically beautiful interior of the bank. “Unless, of course, we run into old wiring or a leaky pipe or termites.”

“Which you will.” Mac broke off the conversation.

Miss Maddy had entered the bank. She walked slowly, hunched over a cane. Her bones thrust at her fragile skin, and she shook with a visible tremor. For the first time, the tiny black woman looked her age. She glanced around as if bewildered by the size and bustle of the bank. Then she caught sight of him. Her black eyes widened, then narrowed. She started toward him, each step an effort that seemed her last.

Sadness clung to her like a cloak, and he realized that instead of coming herself, Nessa had sent their ancient cook to plead for her aunts.

The little coward.

At least
he
had some manners. With a long stride, he hurried toward Miss Maddy.

When she realized he was coming for her, she stopped in the middle of the lobby.

Damn Nessa. The old lady shouldn't be walking at all.

He stopped before her, gently took her hand. “Welcome to Premier Central Bank, Miss Maddy. What can I do for you?”

She said something, but her voice was so low and shook so hard, he couldn't understand.

“Come and sit in my office,” he said. “I'll get you some water and you can tell me what you need.”

She shook her head and tugged at his sleeve.

He leaned down.

She tugged again.

He bent almost double, putting his ear close to her face so she could speak right into it.

And she grabbed his ear in her bony fist and twisted.

The pain brought him right to his knees.

Her voice was just fine when she bellowed, “What in the
hell
do you think you're doing, talking about prosecuting two fine ladies like Miss Calista and Miss Hestia? You think two old women like them should be in jail with
tourists
and
drunks
and
Yankees
?”

He tried to shake her off, but she knew what she was doing. Her grip on his ear couldn't be broken, and it
hurt.
Hurt like a son of a bitch.

Of course, Miss Maddy was old, fragile, and small. He could have grabbed her arm. He could have knocked her down.

But he couldn't. He couldn't because the people in the bank hated him enough to plug him and sweep his body under the table, and picking on Miss Maddy would give them the excuse they needed.

Besides, he just…couldn't.

“You got no respect for your betters, boy?” Maddy yelled. “Your mama didn't learn you any different when you were growing up?”

“Those Dahl women are…thieves.” Mac winced and squirmed.

“I've known those women since they were in diapers, and I tell you, they never stole a thing for themselves.” Maddy dropped her cane, leaned on his shoulder, and shook his ear.

The agony almost made him black out.

“If you had a brain in your head, you'd know it. Now, are you going to call your fancy-ass lawyers and tell them they are to leave Miss Calista and Miss Hestia alone, or are we going to stay here all day while you whimper?”

The whole bank was laughing, and he could hear Gabriel above the rest.

The security guard hovered nearby, clearly knowing he should do something, but not knowing what.

Welcome to the club.

So Mac muttered, “I'll do it.”

“What?” she shouted.

“I'll do it!” he shouted back.

She stopped shaking him. “You'll do that now?”

“Yes.”

Maddy let go. “All right. I had hopes for you, boy, and I'm gravely disappointed.
Gravely
disappointed. I don't know if it's possible for you to get back in my good graces. I don't know at all.”

Slowly he rose off the cold marble floor. His ear was ringing. His pride was dented.

The customers, tellers, and Gabriel were gasping in hilarity.

The security guard was only grinning.

And Stephanie Decker looked like she'd swallowed a whole lemon.

With her fists on her hips, Maddy looked him up and down. “Do you have anything you want to say to me?”

He'd just been disciplined by a hundred-year-old woman. And there wasn't much he could say, except “I'm sorry, Miss Maddy. I won't use Miss Calista and Miss Hestia again in the battle between me and Nessa.”

“That's good.” Maddy nodded in approval. “Hand me my cane.”

He picked it up. “But I'll use any other means to get her and keep her.”

“Oh. Well.” Maddy hooked her cane over her arm. “That's between you and her, boy. You and her.”

As he watched Maddy make her way out of the bank, he realized—Maddy had just given her approval.

He had all the soldiers on his side. This was a battle he was going to win.

At 8:30 a.m. on Monday morning, Nessa walked into the bank and looked around.

Everything was as it had been twelve days ago. The Mardi Gras decorations still adorned the lobby. Eric still stood guard at the door. Five tellers still stood behind their stations. She locked her purse in the same desk.

Only one thing was different.

Mac MacNaught stood waiting for her.

He didn't do anything. He didn't say anything. He simply noted that she was there, glanced at the clock to confirm the time, and returned to his office. And projected death rays of disapproval while she got the tellers set up, met the steady stream of customers coming through the door, and worked up a first mortgage for a young couple from Metairie.

Stephanie was there, too, trying nervously to be pleasant and failing.

But Nessa hardly noticed, and certainly never felt a single twinge of anything but annoyance at Stephanie's skulking around. How could she, with Mr. MacNaught glowering in that office, which she knew he was doing even though she couldn't see him? The morning dragged, each tick of the clock scraping like glass across her nerves.

In fact, Mr. MacNaught was making the whole damned cadre of tellers nervous, and Nessa had half a mind to explain to him that he was ruining the formerly agreeable atmosphere in her bank.

She was so busy mentally composing scathing remarks that she jumped when, at eleven thirty, he appeared at her elbow and said, “I have to go to the Iberville Street bank. My security man wants to discuss upgrades to that system, too. If you need anything, give me a call.”

“Uh, sure.” She watched him walk away, and cursed herself.

The best scathing remark she could think of was
Uh, sure?

How about,
What could I possibly need that you could give me?

Or
Don't hold your breath until I call.

Or
I'd rather die than take anything from you.

That last was a little melodramatic, but it was better than
Uh, sure.

“You okay, Miss Dahl?” Eric asked.

Nessa lifted her head from her hands. “Why?”

“You look a little…um, nothing. You look good.” He backed away. “Real good.”

Except for the fact that she kept remembering what her aunts had said to her—
Talk to him, listen to him
—she felt real good, too.

She did. Really.

She glanced around at the tellers. They were all working furiously, not glancing in her direction, not chatting to the customers. Her regulars weren't talking, either, but standing stoically in line and getting out of the lobby as quickly as they could. A hush permeated the bank, the kind of silence one normally associated with a funeral home.

Something had changed, something that erased the friendly attitude.

She could blame MacNaught, but he wasn't here now.

She could blame Stephanie, but having the Stephabeast in the bank was like standing downwind from an outhouse, anyway.

No, Nessa was the one casting a pall over the bank, and she had to stop right now. She might still nurse a deep, dark, writhing, angry ball of resentment at Mr. MacNaught, but that was no reason to take it out on the tellers and the customers.

After all, tomorrow was Fat Tuesday. Outside, on the streets,
le bon temps
reached a frenzied climax composed of strong liquor, good food, and a fair amount of illicit sex. At the Dahl House, the aunts were preparing a special dinner from every rich, luscious ingredient that would be forbidden during Lent.

So she, Nessa, would put a smile on her face and stop grumping around—and while she was at it, she would watch Stephanie and see if she could catch her slipping a little cash into her pocket. If she was the reason Mr. MacNaught had forced Nessa to remain with the bank, Nessa would personally pull every dark root out of Stephanie's blond head.

The thought made her smile with genuine mirth, and at once the noise level in the bank picked up. The noon rush became animated as tourists hustled in and regulars came from their jobs. Nessa kept smiling. The tellers kept smiling. Stephanie slipped into her office and shut the door, which made the place positively jovial, and for the first time in days, Nessa felt…normal. In control of her life and her emotions.

She'd moved into an apartment this weekend, her first very own place, and this morning she'd gone out for breakfast.

She didn't have to tell anybody where she was going. She didn't have to explain that her pots and pans were still packed. She simply got dressed, went into the Quarter, ate, and came to work, and during the whole hour, she hardly spoke a word to anyone.

It was blissful.

She loved her aunts, but the constant chaos they loved had been chafing on her, and it wasn't as if she wouldn't still see them every night.

Moreover, she didn't have to work here forever. She had the job with Pootie who, only last night, had grunted, “Good,” when Nessa made a buy.

The panties Stephanie held…well, the truth about Mac MacNaught had pulled the teeth on that little threat. In fact, if Stephanie wanted to keep her job, she'd probably better keep her mouth shut about MacNaught's sex life.

Furthermore, when MacNaught came back, Nessa would take matters in her own hands. She would force him to sit down and show her the discrepancies in the books, and
Nessa
would figure out the problem…. The bustle had died down, so Nessa headed for her desk.

The metal detector went off.

Something hit the floor.

Someone had dropped something. Or fallen down. And the marble floor was hard.

Nessa held her breath as she turned, expecting to hear some child's scream of pain, ready to run for the first aid kit—and instead saw Eric flat on his back, his eyes closed, blood gushing from a gash on his forehead.

A grubby, scowling Ryan Wright stood over him, gripping a semiautomatic pistol—and it was pointed at her.

Above the screech of the alarm, a horrible, awkward silence gripped the bank, and Nessa's first thought was,
Where's Mac MacNaught when I need him?

Carol screamed, a good loud one.

Lisa yelled, “Everybody down!”

Everyone obeyed, tellers and customers, leaving only Nessa and Ryan standing.

In slow motion, she lifted her hands. “Ryan, what are you doing here? I thought you got out of town days ago.”

“I did,” he said between gritted teeth. “But my picture was everywhere. I couldn't catch a ride, I couldn't even get a sandwich. So I hid in the swamps.” His voice rose. “Do you know what it's like in the swamps?”

Nessa inspected him. He looked considerably worse for wear. A scraggly beard covered his chin and neck. His clothes didn't fit and mud and stains covered them. Red blotches speckled his forehead and arms—mosquito bites. He looked like one of the homeless of New Orleans. No wonder no one had glanced at him twice. “I've heard there are water moccasins in the swamp. And their babies.”

“I saw them.” He scrubbed at one ankle with his other foot—chigger bites.

“You're a mess,” Nessa informed him.

He scowled. “And it's his fault.”

“Whose fault?”

“That bastard Mac MacNaught.”

Briefly a memory surfaced; Skeeter saying, “Ryan's got a real case of the ass for the bank owner, I don't know why.”

“Okay, I'm going to turn off the alarm for the metal detector.” Nessa walked slowly toward the control panel. “We already know what set it off.”

Ryan held the pistol in both hands and tracked her as she moved.

He was making her nervous.

He was pissing her off.

But she kept her voice calm and pleasant. “Robbing this bank doesn't seem like a good idea. I can guarantee at least one of the tellers has already set off the silent alarm. The cops are on their way. Why don't you put down the gun…?”

“I'm not robbing the bank,” Ryan said.

“Okay. What are you doing?” She shut down the metal detector and, except for the sobbing of one trembling teenager, blessed silence fell.

“I'm waiting for MacNaught to show up and try to rescue his sweetheart.” Ryan's satisfaction permeated his tone.

Nessa found herself the center of every eye. She sighed. After this, the gossip would never stop. “That's why you're aiming the gun at me?”

“Smart girl,” he approved.

“So it's a hostage situation.”

“More points for Nessa!”

She had hated this guy from the moment she met him. Now she found herself loathing him. “Since it's me you want as a hostage, can we release the customers and the tellers?”

“I don't kill innocent people,” Ryan said. “That's for the likes of Mac MacNaught and his father.”

Using the voice she used to calm an irate customer, she said, “So everyone should very slowly stand up and file out the door.”

“Everyone but you.” Ryan smiled. “You need to go stand in the middle of the lobby so when MacNaught gets here, he'll see you right away.”

“Can we let the people get out of the way first?” Nessa didn't wait for his answer. “Customers nearest the door go first, and please take your time. We don't want to startle Mr. Wright. Donna, as you go out, would you help the young lady? She seems to be hysterical. Jeffrey, Eric is stirring. You need to encourage him to leave if he can. You're all doing very well. That's right. Stay calm.” Briefly, Nessa sent a thought to Stephanie in her office. But if Stephanie was too chicken to come out, then she could huddle under her desk until she rotted.

When the last customer and teller were out the door, he indicated the middle of the floor again. “Sit down and let's wait for your boyfriend.”