The Highest Bidder. Maureen Child
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brown suit, bad black wig and ridiculously oversize glasses. Vance focused the binoculars on his new target and wished to hell he could read lips when the man started talking to Charlie.
Twenty minutes later, she was sitting across a table from Vance recounting what had happened.
“Everything went wrong,” Charlie complained over a latte and a doughnut.
“Not everything,” Vance argued with a frown. “You met him. Up close and personal.”
“And didn’t recognize him,” she pointed out. Taking a sip of her latte, she held the cup between both palms to ease the chill she still felt. He even had a weird voice. Like he was disguising it, too.
It had been scary, meeting the man who had been threatening her for weeks. But she also felt good about at last doing something proactive instead of simply hiding beneath her desk hoping it would all go away. Plus, knowing that Vance was just across the street with a pair of binoculars had helped a little. Now that the disastrous meeting was over, she and Vance were sitting in the Coffee Spot, comparing notes.
“Tell me again what he said.”
She shook her head and broke off a piece of her glazed doughnut. Rather than eating it, though, she crumbled it until it was doughnut dust on her plate. All around them, people talked or laughed, the espresso machine hissed and steamed and the clatter of plates and cups played background noise.
“He was furious that I wanted to meet,” Charlie said, remembering the man’s deep, scratchy voice and the rage that had driven him. “Really angry. I think I’ve stalled him as long as I can. He said he was through fooling around and that if I didn’t hand over the files by this weekend, he would go to Social Services and file a complaint about me.”
Grimly, Vance clenched his jaw tight enough to grind his teeth into powder. “I was sure one of us would recognize the bastard.” He took a drink of his coffee. “I can’t believe he wore that stupid disguise.”
“It was creepy. And not so stupid,” she added, “since it worked and kept both of us from knowing who he was.” Frowning, she admitted, “He did seem familiar, though. Something about him …”
“With that outfit he was wearing, it was no wonder neither of us recognized him,” Vance grumbled. “The glasses alone made his eyes almost impossible to see.”
True. The ultramagnified lenses had blurred and distorted the guy’s green eyes completely, and you could usually tell a lot about someone from his eyes. The only really distinctive thing about him was the bright red scar that ran from his forehead down to the left side of his jaw. The whole time they’d talked, Charlie’s gaze had fixed on that scar to the point of ignoring everything else.
“The scar—”
“Fake,” Vance muttered.
“What? Why?” she asked. “Why a scar?”
“To keep you from noticing anything else,” he explained. “And it worked. On me, too. I was too far away to be sure, but for a minute or two, I could have sworn I’d seen the guy before.” Disgusted, he blew out a breath. “The way he moved, stood. There was something there, as you said, familiar. Then he turned and all I saw was that scar. Smart, really, to use that to distract us. Plus, he disappeared into the lunch crowd so fast, our security guy missed him completely.”
Disappointment welled inside her and tangled up with the anxiety that seemed to be such a part of her these days. “So we’re no closer to knowing who he is.”
“Not yet.”
“So Jake is still at risk.” Now fear rose up and swamped her disappointment.
His gaze snapped to hers. “My gut tells me this isn’t really about you. Remember, all this started the day the newspaper article was published. I think this is about Waverly’s.”
“But they’re using Jake as leverage.”
“I told you, I won’t let anything happen to your son.”
Charlie nodded, but couldn’t keep the ache in her chest from showing in her eyes. Vance would do all he could—she believed that. But the truth was, she’d hoped that this would be over today. Instead, they were right back where they started.
The next few days were hectic at Waverly’s.
There were provenances to clear, appraisals to collect and a presale exhibition to arrange. With another, although smaller, less celebrated auction to take place in two weeks, Waverly’s would put the items to be included on public display after the weekend.
Open to everyone, the presale exhibition usually garnered a lot of good press and, right now, Waverly’s could use all it could get. Of course, most people only wanted to talk about the Gold Heart statue.
The papers were full of speculation. Every day someone was coming out with a new theory on where the Gold Heart had been all these years and how Waverly’s had managed to get hold of it.
“I don’t have an answer for them,” Ann said as she paced the interior of Vance’s office. “Roark didn’t have time to explain how he came to lay claim to the statue on our behalf. At first, the media was just frenzied about the statue. Now, they’re looking for details and I’ve got nothing.”
“Just leave it alone, Ann,” Vance suggested. “The press is good for the house and when we auction off the statue, it’s going to solidify our reputation and quiet any more rumors.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said wryly.
“I’m always right,” he quipped, thinking that he had said just that to Charlie a few days ago, after their unsuccessful attempt to stop her blackmailer.
“You haven’t heard anything else?” Ann walked to his desk and leaned over, planting both hands on the edge. “No more rumors about a possible hostile takeover by Dalton?”
“Nothing. You?”
“No, everything’s gotten quiet and that worries me,” she admitted. Pushing up from the desk, she folded her arms over her chest and added, “I’ve got Kendra looking into it, trying to feel people out, see if anything pops, but so far, nothing.” She frowned slightly. “Plus, have you noticed, there’s been no response from Rothschild’s about our acquiring the Gold Heart. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Waverly.”
A voice spoke up from the open doorway and Vance winced. Hell, his mind had been so scattered lately, he hadn’t even shut the door when Ann showed up to talk. Anyone could have been listening to their conversation. But with Charlie out at lunch with her friend Katie, he’d left the door open purposely to be able to keep an eye on the outer office.
Vance looked at the mailroom kid. Teddy. That was his name. Couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, with bright red hair, green eyes and so many freckles he looked as if he’d been spattered with brown paint.
“Come on in, Teddy.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but your assistant’s not at her desk and I’ve got the mail here and—” He stopped nervously. “Ms. Richardson,” he said and just barely resisted bowing.
Ann was gracious, as always. She gave the kid a smile and said, “It’s okay, Teddy. We’ve all got our jobs to do, don’t we?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, leaving his pushcart at the door and carrying a stack of mail to Vance. Once he’d handed it over, Teddy hurried out again.
When he was gone, Ann turned back to Vance and repeated, “Dalton being so quiet about our good fortune. Doesn’t it worry you?”
“It does,” he said, glancing briefly at the stack of mail and the one oversize manila envelope beneath all the others. Then he stood up to walk around to the front of his desk. Leaning back onto it, he continued, “It’s not like Dalton to be so circumspect. I fully expected him to at