Ms. Taken. Jo Leigh
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see. But then, Charles didn’t see, either.
“Uh, gentlemen, I think it would be best if we rescheduled.”
Podesky nodded, then bent over to get his file. Riverside just kept looking at him. Charles wanted them out, gone. He needed to calm down. To think this through. He needed to talk to David.
An electronic buzz made him jump, which wasn’t nearly as bad as what happened to Podesky. He not only dropped the file again, but the back of his head banged viciously against the bottom of the table when he reached for it.
Charles pressed the intercom. “Yes?”
“Uh, Mr. Warren?” the secretary said, her voice tentative and so soft he barely made out the words.
“Yes?”
“Uh, I think you’d better come out here.”
He let go of the button. The interruption had cleared his head a bit, and it had also managed to take care of his other problem, at least most of the way. He stood, pulled his cuffs down, straightened his tie, then faced Bob Riverside. “Pardon me.”
“Oh, sure,” Riverside said, although he still sounded dazed.
Charles left, trusting the men would see themselves out. But he didn’t head toward the outer office. Instead he took advantage of the empty hallway and regrouped. He couldn’t be rash. In today’s climate, it wasn’t safe to make a move without attorneys and human resources. If he fired her on the spot, there might be repercussions. On the other hand, she was a loon.
After a steadying breath, he entered the outer office. Ms. Dobson wasn’t there. The woman who was today’s replacement for Delia Robinson—he’d completely forgotten her name—seemed dazed. Her chair had been pushed back from the desk to make room for the open top drawer.
“I tried to stop her,” she said.
“Stop her from what?”
The woman blinked rapidly behind bottle-thick glasses, then tried to smile. “She said it was all right. That you wouldn’t mind.”
He headed toward the desk, struggling to keep his composure. Ayres. That was her name. “Ms. Ayres, what, precisely, happened?”
“She took the credit card. And some keys. I didn’t even know they were there. I swear. I never opened that part of the desk.”
“My credit card?”
Ms. Ayres nodded. She was young, almost as young as Ms. Dobson. He thought she might cry.
“Please find the number for David Levinson. Call him and put it through to my office.”
“Yes, Mr. Warren,” she said, her voice a little wobbly.
“And after that, please bring me three aspirin and a glass of water.”
“Yes, Mr. Warren,” she repeated, this time with a definite tremor.
“And Ms. Ayres?”
“Yes, Mr. Warren?”
“It’s all right. I don’t hold you responsible.”
“Thank you, Mr. Warren.”
He headed for his office, wondering what in hell he was supposed to do now. Call the credit card company, of course, and then…?
After closing the door behind him, he paused. Something was bothering him, aside from the obvious. She’d called herself Holly Baskin. Today was the day the ad was supposed to come out in that damn magazine. Had she gone to pick up a copy and been hit by a car? Had she been mugged? Or was it possible that this was just some horrible prank?
His phone rang and that got him moving. He answered as he sank into his chair. “Warren.”
“What’s up?”
“David, I’ve got a situation.”
“Shoot.”
“Don’t say that. Please.”
“Okay.” David’s voice had changed. It was subtle, but Charles knew him so well that he noticed the nuance. David was now sitting up straight at his desk. He had stopped fiddling with his paper clips. He was focused, and no one was smarter than David when he was focused.
“You know my assistant.”
“Delia?”
“The other one.”
“Jane?”
“I thought her name was Joan.”
“It’s Jane.”
“Oh. Well. Jane, then. She wasn’t in this morning.”
“Oh?”
“I had to use someone from the secretarial pool. She made god-awful coffee.”
“I assume this story is leading somewhere?”
“Right. I was in the middle of a meeting with Riverside and his attorney, and this girl, this Jane, barged in. Just walked into the conference room like she owned the place.”
“Really?”
“She had a big bandage on her forehead. She looked as though she’d been in an accident. Or perhaps she’d been mugged. I’m not sure.”
“Did you call a doctor?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she—”
“Yes?”
“She kissed me.”
“Pardon?”
“She kissed me. On the lips. In the conference room. She said she was Holly Baskin. That we were going to be married.”
Silence. No, not quite. Was that a muffled laugh? A slight tap on his door heralded Ms. Ayres and his aspirin, and Charles had swallowed the pills before David spoke again.
“This is a little tricky,” he said, finally.
“I know that. What I need to know is what to do. The woman took my credit card. God knows what she’s charging. I have to call the—”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t call the police or anyone else. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because we need more facts before we do anything.”
“Facts? I’ll give you a fact. A crazy woman is out in the city with my credit card.”
“Did she say anything?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“She said she had to pick up a few things and that…Oh, God.”
“What?”
“She said she’d meet me at my place. She took my keys, too.”
“Okay. So that’s where we’ll start.”
Charles heard papers shuffling. He wondered if he’d explained the seriousness of the situation adequately. The woman was nuts, and she had his credit card and the key to his home. And yet David didn’t seem unduly alarmed. In fact, his voice sounded utterly blasé when he said, “I’ll cancel my three. You clear the deck on your end. I’ll be at your place in half an hour.”
“Fine. Good.”
“And Charles?”
“Yes?”
“Order lunch, will you? I’m starving.”
Before Charles had a chance to tell David his request was completely inappropriate, David hung up.
Charles