Wayward Dreams (29 page)

“AJ is a good guy and he's your friend. I don't want to come between that.”

“My faith is in you, Bianca. And if AJ and Dench can't understand that, then the hell with them, and anybody else who tries to cross that line.”

She looked away. “I don't want you to lose your friends over me. You'll hate me for that someday, and I couldn't bear having you hate me.”

“I'll never hate you, Bianca.” His hand slid along her arm, entreating. “If AJ and Dench are the men I think they are, we'll all get over this. If they're not, well, our life will still go on.”

Pushing at the hair falling into her eyes, Bianca stood in the near dark and looked into Harry's face. Etched in sepia and shadow, painted in the light of the little silk-shaded brass lamp, she saw more power in him than any man had ever trusted her with. When his arms opened, she moved into him, drawn like iron to a magnet. Her hands flattened against his back, and she felt his breath echo through her. “I didn't mean for this to happen, Harry.”

“It was bound to happen sooner or later. I don't know why it didn't happen before this.”

“You know before it's all over, we're going to run into other people who…”

“Only have a place in the past. Everyone has a past.”

“Do you have any more of a past? A spare wife and kids? Someone other than Karen Dodge?” With her head on his shoulder, Bianca suddenly felt so content she was almost ready to purr. “What's in your past?”

His fingers slipped through her hair, played along her shoulder. “I'm thinking that nothing and no one in my past could be as interesting as
who
is in my future.”

“Who is in your future?”

His lips on hers answered the question, and Bianca slid deeper into love with him.

CHAPTER 18

Monday mornings in Atlanta were always interesting for Harry, especially because his Tokyo staff and contractors were always a day ahead of him. If he didn't stay on top of it, the time difference could run him into the ground, strain or break his credibility and competitive edge. He had no intention of letting that happen. But this morning, Harry couldn't keep his mind on the Roppongi project or any of the other pending business.

Sitting in the glass enclosed Neo-Tech conference room, the teleconference drifted around him. When he realized he was doodling on a scratch pad, he hoped his assistants were on their game, because he knew his thoughts were at Kin Kura International, following a beautiful woman who was probably as much out of it as he was.

They hadn't gotten to bed until late last night, and neither of them had gotten much sleep. Vive la Reine's reopening had been every bit as successful as Bianca had hoped it would be.
Good for both of us
, Harry thought. Or, at least it had been good until that florist's box arrived just before the last customer pulled out her platinum card.

Drumming his fingers, Harry's eyes were tightly focused on a window that he barely saw. Watching the live feed in Tokyo, Takashi Saito saw the distraction in Harry's face and in his idly sketching hand. Glancing at his watch, he wondered if his boss had taken to early-morning drinking. It had to be that—or a woman. Maybe Haru simply had a late night out. In the five years of their acquaintance, Haru Jordan had never been so removed from the task at hand.

In Atlanta, Harry stirred and leaned into the video screen. “Please fax the information for my review. I will forward my recommendation by the end of the week.”

The screen went dark and the call disconnected so abruptly that Saito sat blinking.
A woman
, he thought.
Definitely a woman.

In Atlanta, Harry suddenly stood and muttered something about Deb being in charge. Grabbing the pad he'd been doodling on, he left the glass-walled conference room and strode into his office. Closing the door, he didn't care what Deb or any of the rest of his staff thought. His complete focus was on the card that had been attached to that box of flowers…

Last night, flushed with the success of her reception and pleased to have him by her side, Bianca had looked happy when the boxed flowers arrived. Stunning in midnight-blue crepe and suspecting Harry of overindulgence, she'd kissed his cheek before accepting them. Akemi and Julia had both looked surprised at the arrival of yet another floral tribute. How many roses was one man supposed to provide for one woman?

“You've already got this place smelling like a garden,” his brother joked, looking over the showroom Harry had filled with lavender roses. Their delicate color and scent worked well with Vive la Reine's décor, but enough was enough. “What do lavender roses mean, anyway?”

“Enchantment, love at first sight.” Julia had smiled, twirling the stem of her champagne glass. “Right, Harry?”

“Right.” Too suspicious to share her smile, Harry's eyes followed Bianca and the florist box. “They're not from me.”

“Who, then?” she asked. Kemi shook his head when she looked at him. Concern sketching her face, Julia followed her sister to the kitchen, with Harry hard on her heels.

The box rested on the tiled countertop and Bianca, trembling and speechless, held the handwritten card that read, ‘Be glad. While you can'. There was no signature, but one look at her face and Harry had known who sent the flowers. He moved quickly, but Julia was faster. She reached past her sister and grabbed the box. Holding it against her body, she ripped the box open and gasped, dropping the box, and spilling a dozen dead roses at their feet.

Shocked, the sisters stared down at the withered, blackened flowers.

Bending quickly, Akemi collected the box and closed the lid over the dead flowers and their moldering scent. Without speaking, he headed for the back door and the nearest dumpster. Returning, annoyed that a prank had killed the day's excitement, Kemi couldn't stop frowning. Julia wanted to call the police and couldn't understand why Bianca refused.

“What good will it do? He's gotten himself into something I can't get him out of.”

At his desk, Harry bit down on his anger.
What is it about Bianca being happy with me? Whenever things look like they're going to work out for us, BANG! More drama.

Last night, he'd watched her try to play it off, but the dead roses had shaken her; she'd barely slept. Beside him, she tossed and turned, and he could almost hear her thinking:
I know what dead roses stand for…

Well, so did Harry, and he'd had enough of the threats. In his office, Harry pulled the card out of his pocket and looked at it again. Payne hadn't signed the card, but he didn't have to. The words and their intent made the identity of the sender crystal clear.

Coward
. Harry considered all the things that should happen to a coward, and decided that maybe the worst would be denying him his victim and his profit. He pulled the laptop across his desk and turned it on. Waiting for the program to open, he organized his thoughts—something Bianca had said still bothered him.

“What good will it do? He's gotten himself into something I can't get him out of.”

Harry removed his tie, opened the top buttons on his shirt and clipped a small microphone to his collar.
Time to see what you've gotten yourself into, Kelvin.

The man was no competition, he didn't even have the good sense to want from her the best things she had to offer. Instead, he'd looked to exploit her weaknesses, letting her sign on for enough rope to hang herself and then getting mad when she didn't. Bianca was no angel, and she had a past riddled with mistakes—even she admitted that. So what, exactly, had Payne expected her to hang herself with?

One-handed, Harry took advantage of his nearly inexhaustible supply of state-of-the-art software and keyed in voice control.

“Search, Kelvin Michael Payne,” he finally said. “Family, business, legal, contacts.”

The computer screen blinked response, then flashed a page of familiar information pulled from the file he'd begun on his earlier search. While he waited, the computer steadily pulled more available information from the Internet and Harry forgot about Roppongi. An online article from YUSH.com led him to information about KPayne's music.

Payne's company, DaggerIn, had a few acts, and had dropped a few anemic CDs. But it takes money to produce even bad music. Harry pulled up DaggerIn's records of incorporation. Payne was sole owner, meaning that he took all the credit, and paid for all of the risk.
Just how much risk is he taking?

“Fulton county assessor's office. Tax records. Current year.” Obedient to his voice, the computer screen flashed and changed, retrieving the assessment records.

Why would a man with money allow the place that housed his business to be bound with back taxes?
Suspicions aroused, Harry checked records for the Peachtree Street condo and wasn't surprised by what he found.
Worth knowing
. Harry considered pulling up Payne's trust records. Not difficult with the right resources, and maybe there would be an obvious reason for dead roses.

“Search…”

Aldrich Christian's name appeared on several property transfers, but another name, Mitchell Black, appeared on others. And every one of the Mitchell Black transfers seemed circuitous in nature—the kind of stuff that would crumble under scrutiny, the kind of stuff no legitimate attorney would touch with a ten-foot pole. Harry found another consistent oddity. Every one of the Mitchell Black transactions made transfers through DaggerIn, and was witnessed by Alin Mann.

Mann? Why is that name so familiar?

“Search Alin Mann, Atlanta, Georgia…full Internet search…”

Several interesting things came into view, including a list of families sharing the same last name, and Mann's name on every existing DaggerIn document. DaggerIn seemed to be bottomless, a black hole, swallowing money without return, leaving Payne with heavy financial obligations, and Alin Mann was close enough to Payne to be his shadow.

Harry examined Mann's driver's license. His next of kin was a brother, Beauregard Lindon Mann.
Another familiar name…
Propping his elbow on the desk, Harry squinted at the screen. Something about that name made his gut clench, and he knew he was on the right track.

“Search…”

* * *

Looking up from the figurine display, Akemi waved a hand and shook his head. “You have no talent for the language.”

“Please, Kemi,” Bianca begged prettily. “Harry's been so patient with all the time I've been spending at Vive la Reine. And after last night, I want to be able to tell him how I feel.”

“You could…” He almost said,
send him some flowers
, but when he thought about those dead roses, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. This was the woman his brother was changing his language for, never calling her girlfriend, but prefacing words like woman with the word ‘mine'. He released his breath on a sigh. “Okay, Bianca.”

She swung an arm around his neck, drawing him close enough to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Kemi. Now say it slowly.”

Trying not to feel put upon, he brushed his hair back and sighed. “Okay, Bianca. You're going to say, ‘
Anata-nashi-ja ikirare-nai
,' and my brother is going to smile like a fool.”

She danced on her toes and clapped her hands. “Okay, and that means…”

“I can't live without you.”

“Perfect.” She took Kemi's face between her hands and kissed each cheek in turn. “
Anata-nashi-ja ikirare-nai
,” she repeated softly, getting the words and the accent perfectly.

“Should I write it down? Will you remember?”

“I'll never forget.”

Reluctant as he was to admit it, Kemi liked seeing her this way, and Julia would get a kick out of it.

“
Anata-nashi-ja ikirare-nai
,” Bianca repeated with certainty.

“Yeah, yeah, you've got it. So, are you going to be using that phrase this afternoon? Seeing as how you're taking off and…”

“You need to stay out of grown folks' business.”

“Oh, now you're grown?”

Bianca felt his eyes on her back as she walked across the room, but she didn't care. The simple phrase echoed in her thoughts and she shaped her lips around the words. She paused long enough to grab her purse and straighten her jacket. Her wave was a mere twinkling of her fingertips as she pushed through Kin Kura, International's doors and out into the hallway.

I can't live without you.
Well, that was pretty much the way things were shaping up, now wasn't it?

Stepping on the elevator, she looked at the floor display and ignored the tall dark man who got on two floors after her.

“Do you work in the building?” he asked.

“Yes.” She kept her eyes lifted to the display and willed the car to descend faster.

“Are you headed to lunch?”

“No.”

Halfway down, he moved closer. “You don't have to make this hard,” he said as the elevator slowed for the lobby.

“It's not hard. I've got a man.” Bianca smiled sweetly and stepped wordlessly past him.

Walking out of the building and onto Peachtree Street, she headed for her car. Her time with the Winston sisters would be brief, and then she could get back to planning her afternoon and evening.
Maybe make a quick stop at Victoria's Secret.

Maybe I'll cook.
That almost made her laugh, not that her cooking was a joke; it just didn't hold a candle to his.
Maybe I'll just wear the lingerie while he cooks…

She was still planning their evening when she reached the Jaguar. Unlocking the door, she dropped into the driver's seat. Slamming her door, she locked it and keyed the ignition. Pulling out of her parking slot, she promised herself that it was going to be a good night.

She never saw the Expedition tailing her.

* * *

KPayne had a lot on his mind, and Alin wouldn't shut up. “What is she up to in there?”

“She must have found a buyer for some of those glad rags she hooks up,” Alin suggested, scrolling through phone messages.

“I already told you that,” KPayne growled, sliding low in his seat. He took a deep breath and scrubbed his hands over his face. Part of him felt distracted and twisted, like he'd just fallen down the rabbit hole in Alice In Wonderland. The other part of him was scared half to death, and with good reason. Spending part of his afternoon with Buoy Mann, hearing the gravel in the big man's voice, seeing that relentless glint in his small eyes, was real scary.

The late morning call from one of Mann's men woke him up and demanded his presence at the The Café .

Kelvin sat straight up in bed and had the temerity to ask, “Which café, where?”

“The Ritz Carlton, Buckhead. One-thirty. Don't be late.”

The disconnecting click in his ear snapped him wide awake and Payne had the good sense to look at the clock instead of lying back down. It was twelve-twenty, and, jumping out of bed, he had run for the shower.

Not bothering to look for Alin, he'd climbed into his truck. Thinking he could use the travel time to his advantage, he made a few phone calls. He was still talking when he climbed out of the truck and handed the keys to the valet. Thinking all was well in his world, he'd walked through the Ritz Carlton's elegant lobby, making plans, checking traps and talkin' smack.

He took the stairs to the Café, and walked through the restaurant door with the phone still glued to his ear, trying to feel safe and in charge as he planned the release party for Donova. She was one of Alin's discoveries, and she could actually sing, so Payne wanted to do this right. Doing it right meant spending money to impress the right people the right way.