Her Secret Alibi. Debra Webb
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then smiled when he looked up and asked, “What’s the problem?” Nothing got past Simon. As a former member of the FBI, he’d had intensive training for just this sort of case. He would know that no matter how neat and tidy things looked on the surface, a great deal of trouble could lie just beneath. His Ivy League education and refined manner were perfect.
“Mr. Hodges has a great many important friends, including a contact or two in the Atlanta division of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. One of his contacts has given him a heads-up that his bank is on the list to be investigated for possible money laundering.”
His expression thoughtful, Simon commented, “Raymond Brasco comes to mind.”
Victoria nodded. As she suspected, Simon had maintained his awareness of the top mob bosses affiliated with business in his former jurisdiction. When he’d worked for the Bureau, the Southeast had been a part of his territory. He was definitely the right man for this job.
“Mr. Hodges would like to determine if there is a problem, and if so, clear it up before it becomes a federal investigation. He has hired an outside auditing team. While the team evaluates the bank’s accounting practices, you’ll evaluate the employees. Being a member of this team will serve as your cover.”
Simon closed the folder and considered her words for a time. “Does Hodges suspect anyone?”
“Not really.” Victoria shrugged. “At least he didn’t admit to suspecting anyone in particular. He feels, however, that the most likely source for any such illegal activities would be in the international department, which is where he’d like you to start. The head of the department is a young woman named Jolie Randolph.” Victoria nodded to the folder. “There’s a photograph of her with some other employees at a Christmas party last year. Third from the left in the front row.”
Simon pulled out the photograph and located the woman mentioned. “She’s younger than I would have thought for a department head.”
“In my opinion,” Victoria offered, “her youth would certainly make her vulnerable. I believe…” Before she could stop it, the idea that if her son was alive he would be about that age zoomed into her mind. She blinked, then with effort pushed the thought away. “I believe she would be a good starting point.”
Simon’s dark, analyzing gaze collided with Victoria’s. “I agree,” he stated, as if he was fully focused on the conversation. But she felt his close scrutiny. He’d picked up on her distraction.
Annoyance flared, firming her resolve. She had to get her emotions under control. “Good.”
“I’ll get started right away,” he added as he pushed himself to his feet. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”
For a brief moment Victoria thought she noted a tightening in Simon’s expression. Perhaps she’d misread the subtle shift. She resisted the urge to massage the ache that had started at her temples. This wasn’t like her.
“That’s all,” she said quickly when she realized Simon was still waiting for her response.
After a succinct nod he left her office, closing the door behind him.
Victoria pounded her fist against her desk in frustration. She didn’t have time for this. She had an agency to run. She didn’t have time for the past.
The media had focused of late on several child abduction cases that hit entirely too close to home. That had to be the source of her problem. She had to find a way to keep her perspective. The past was gone; she couldn’t change it.
And no force on earth could bring her son back.
Chapter One
Awareness came slowly. Jolie’s head felt heavy and all fuzzy inside. Instinct warned that if she moved or opened her eyes pain would follow. But she had to wake up, had to move. She should be somewhere, doing something besides sleeping. If she could only wake up!
Gradually, her lids drifted open and she blinked rapidly against the brightness of the room. Focus came in unsteady stages until she could fully absorb her surroundings. The sun rising above the Atlanta skyline poured through the wall of windows facing her, spreading its light and warmth. Jolie frowned as her brain scrambled to place the images she saw. She was in bed. The sheets felt cool and smooth against her skin. What time was it? she wondered vaguely.
With her leaden body fighting her every inch of the way, she sat up, cleared her throat and pushed the hair from her eyes. Pain roared inside her skull. She moaned and held her head in her hands until the throbbing eased a bit. Another deeply entrenched instinct niggled at her, urging a response to some threat she couldn’t yet comprehend. She licked her dry lips and grimaced. The taste in her mouth was oddly bitter. She needed a drink of water desperately.
With monumental effort she threw off the sheet covering her and dropped her feet to the lushly carpeted floor. Jolie immediately regretted the move. The room spun wildly for a couple of seconds. God, she had a hangover! She stilled. But she didn’t remember getting drunk.
What day was it? She scowled and surveyed the enormous room and its lavish furnishings. From the elegant fringed and corded draperies drawn back to reveal the expansive windows, to the exquisite, dark wood furniture artfully placed about the room, the place reeked of wealth, but gave her no clue as to where in the world she was or how she had gotten there. Alarm trickled through her, but her fuzzy brain couldn’t yet work up an appropriate reaction.
She stood on wobbly legs and groaned as she rubbed at the steady pounding behind her eyes. She shivered uncontrollably, then froze. Slowly, denial screaming in time with the throb inside her head, Jolie stared down at herself.
Naked.
Outright panic shot through her veins. She was naked. She surveyed the room again. Where was she?
Her chest constricted with fear as she spun around, desperately seeking anything—just one thing—that would provide some shred of evidence as to where she was.
Nothing.
The rich burgundy of the walls and carpet set off the dark mahogany of the heavy furnishings. The generous windows were all that saved the room from being unpleasantly dark. A pair of upholstered chairs occupied one corner like sentries at designated posts. Exquisite paintings graced the walls. But none of it looked familiar. This had to be a friend’s place, Jolie reasoned with mushrooming dread. The alternative was unthinkable. She trembled at the conclusion forming in her lethargic mind.
Oh God. She swallowed convulsively. She wasn’t at a friend’s house. She didn’t have time for many friends. She worked too many hours at the bank. Jolie had only one real friend, Erica, and this was definitely not her apartment.
Jolie’s heart beat harder and faster, the blood thudding in her ears. The urge to flee was so strong now that her breath caught. Where was she? How did she get here? She felt confused and lost…
And frightened.
The sound of spraying water captured her attention, and bewildered, she turned toward the sound. An open door led to what appeared to be an en suite bathroom. Her feet had already taken her halfway across the room before the decision to move penetrated the dense cotton surrounding her brain. She stood stock-still in the doorway to the luxurious bathroom. An enticing, undeniably male fragrance scented the steamy air in the room. Stained glass window, huge sunken tub, gold fixtures and Italian tile all registered briefly, but it was the glass shower cubicle beyond all that to which Jolie’s attention was drawn. Her eyes widened in confused disbelief. A man stood beneath the spray, steam rising above him like a billowing cloud. Dark hair, broad, broad shoulders, muscular back. She jerked back a step when her gaze traced the tight, well-formed buttocks and long muscular legs. She pivoted and took a couple of shaky steps, reality crashing down around her.
Jolie shook her head in denial. Her stomach roiled and the breath evaporated in her throat. She had never gone home with a stranger.
Never. Never. Never.
Clothes. She