A Fashionable Affair (17 page)

Over their first cocktail she brought up the sub
ject that had been puzzling her all day. “I under
stand about the shopping center, Michael. Fred
simply passed my money along to his friends in the
guise of buying me shares. What I don’t under
stand is the sportswear. I got paid for endorsing
that sportswear. I got paid quite a lot—almost a mil
lion and a half last year, if I remember correctly.”

He took a long sip of Scotch. “You remember
correctly.”

“But why pay me for something that doesn’t
exist?” She stared at him in utter bewilderment. “It
doesn’t make sense to give me money and then to
rob me of it. I just can’t figure it out.”

He regarded her over the rim of his glass. “I
think they were using you to launder illegal money,
Red.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s say that you have a lucrative but illegal
enterprise going—you’re selling drugs, for
instance. You’re making a lot of money and you
want to be able to spend it. You want nice cars, a big
house, furs for your wife, et cetera. But you can’t
account for the money legally.”

“So?” Patsy asked. “The Cadillac salesman
doesn’t care where your money came from,
Michael.”

He put his glass down. “No. But the IRS does.”
Patsy’s eyes widened. He smiled a little at her
expression. “If someone who has no known source
of income suddenly starts spending big bucks on
consumer items, the IRS will want to know where
that money came from.”

“The light begins to dawn,” Patsy said softly.

“Garfield is connected with drug traffic—there
isn’t much doubt of that. I think they set you up
with that phony sportswear contract as a way of
getting the drug money legally into Garfield’s
pocket. They created this fashion company and
produced a limited line of clothes which they made
advertising circulars for. You did the advertising
and Fred showed the circulars to the IRS. He also
showed the IRS that you cleared a profit of one and
a half million on the clothes. The books are all in
order. The paperwork for Redman Fashions and
for the shopping center is brilliant. There are full
records on everything. No one would be likely to
suspect anything—unless, of course, one actually
went out to look for the imaginary products.”

“As we just did.”

“As we just did,” he agreed.

“So this Garfield was on both ends of the money,
then,” Patsy said thoughtfully.

“That’s right. He funneled the money in through the fashion deal, then—as owner of the Crossmal Shopping Center—he collected it at the other end.
Only now the money was legal and accounted for.”
Michael signaled the waiter and ordered another
round of drinks. “I wonder who else Fred was
working for?” he asked after the waiter had gone.

“Do you think he was doing the same thing to his
other clients?”

“I’d bet on it.”

Patsy was frowning at her empty Scotch sour.
“But, Michael, if it’s as you just said, then I wasn’t robbed at all. I mean, the money wasn’t really mine
to begin with.”

“Did you get paid for the hours you put in to do
the fashion advertising?”

“No. That was included in the deal.”

“You’re out a chunk of your time, then—and
very expensive time it is, too, sweetheart. Also you
haven’t pursued other contracts because you
thought you were making good money from this one. And,” he concluded gently, “we haven’t even
mentioned Fred’s little account in the Cayman
Islands.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that. Fred didn’t have a clever scam to make
that money legal, so he just put it away where the
IRS wouldn’t find it. On the other hand, it’s still
there, and I have the bankbook. We should be able to recover that for you anyway, Patsy.”

“I’ll probably have to pay taxes on it,” Patsy said
resignedly, and he grinned.

“You will, sweetheart. You most certainly will.”

* * * *

They returned the car to the airport rental
agency and boarded the plane to New York.
Michael was preoccupied for most of the trip,
frowning slightly and making notes in a small black
leather book. Patsy pulled a novel out of her purse
and read. When the Fasten Your Seatbelt sign came
on, she put her book away and turned to look at
Michael’s face, her eyes lingering lovingly on his
brow line and cheekbone. He glanced at her, and
she smiled.

His preoccupied look lifted. “Sorry to be such
lousy company,” he murmured.

“I don’t mind.” Her smile was ineffably lovely.
“You don’t have to entertain me, Michael.”

His eyes glinted and slowly began to change from
green to gold. Patsy gazed at him in fascination. “I
can’t believe we only met again two weeks ago,” she
said softly.

“Mmm.” He put his notebook away and took her
wrist in his hand. “An awful lot has happened in
two weeks.” He moved his thumb caressingly along
her palm.

“Michael ...” She made no attempt to hide what
she was feeling. She had never had any practice in
the art of deception. Besides, he must feel the pulse
hammering in her wrist.

“We’ll be home soon,” he said in a low voice.

Wordlessly, she nodded.

“Who with heart in breast could deny you love?” was the refrain that went through Patsy’s brain the
following morning when she awoke in his arms.
Then he began to kiss her throat, her shoulders,
and all thought was suspended for quite some time.

The refrain came back, however, while she made
him breakfast and kissed him good-bye as he went
off to the office. It was in her mind as she straight
ened the bedroom and cleared away the breakfast
dishes. Just to wash his coffee cup made her so
damn happy. She shook her head ruefully at her
own emotion, but her heart was full of tenderness
all the same.

The rain that had soaked the area the previous
night had lifted, and the sun looked as if it might be
going to burn through the haze. Deciding to go for
a run in the park, Patsy went into her bedroom to
put on running clothes. She looked mournfully at
her name, emblazoned so confidently on the deep-
purple sweatshirt, then tied a scarf around her
forehead to keep the hair off her face. She
hummed all the way down in the elevator. Michael
might not love her as she did him, but he wanted
her. Of that she was quite certain. It was something
to build on, she thought.

“Good morning, Miss Clark.”

It was Tom, the day doorman, and she smiled at
him, gave him a sunny greeting, and went out onto Central Park West. She was standing at the corner, waiting for the light, when a gray car with tinted windows pulled up in front of her and stopped. At
the same moment a voice said in her ear, “All right,
baby, don’t make a sound and get into the car.”
There was the distinctly unpleasant feeling of
something poking into her back.

The car door opened and the man behind her
gave a shove. Before Patsy quite understood what was happening, she found herself in the back seat.
The door slammed and the car took off at high
speed.

“How are you, beautiful?” asked a voice beside
her, and she turned, only to look into the darkly
handsome face of Frank Carbone.

Her hands went icy cold “Fr-Frank,” she said
breathlessly. “What’s this all about?”

“It’s about you and Michael Melville, Miss Clark,”
a voice from the front seat said, and Patsy looked up at the heavy-jowled face of Jack Garfield. The
cold spread from her hands to her heart.

For a long minute there was silence in the car.
The man from the sidewalk had gotten into the
back seat after her, and Patsy was securely jammed
between his burly body and Frank. She wasn’t
going to be able to get out.

The car stopped for a light and Patsy looked out
the window and saw a policeman. Without pausing to reflect on the wisdom of her action, she filled her
lungs with air and opened her mouth to scream.

A brutal hand clamped down over her mouth.
Patsy struggled and finally succeeded in biting the
palm that was pressing her lips against her teeth so
mercilessly. She must have hurt him, for she heard
him swear, and then he grabbed her head and jammed it hard into his chest. The car began to
move forward again.

“Let’s get the hell out of the city,” Frank said breathlessly. The pressure of his hand on the back
of Patsy’s head was extremely painful. Her nose
and mouth were crushed against him and his jacket
button was gouging her cheek. She struggled more,
but he only held her tighter. She was having a hard
time breathing. Finally, she went limp.

“That’s better,” Frank said. The pressure on the back of her head eased very slightly, making it easier for her to breathe.

“Keep her like that.” It was Jack Garfield’s voice
from the front seat. “We don’t want to have to
knock her out. We need her to get Melville for us.”

“Sure,” Frank said. “It’s a pleasure. Just be quiet,
beautiful,” he said to Patsy, “and you won’t get
hurt.”

Patsy was still as stone. What did they mean, they
needed her to get Michael for them? Dear God,
dear God, dear God. What were they going to do?

Frank’s hand, which had been gripping her shoulder, moved down her back. “I’ve thought about having you like this,” he said. “Thought
about it a lot.” His hand moved again and fondled
her breast. Patsy went rigid.

“Not now, Frank,” ordered the voice from the front seat.

There was a pause, then the hand gave her breast a cruel squeeze and withdrew. “All right.” The grip
on her head tightened, and the button ground into
her cheek. “I’ll wait.”

Patsy had not thought it possible to be this fright
ened. Her face pressed painfully against Frank’s
chest, she tried frantically to think of a way out of
this.

The ride seemed interminable. She decided that
the best time to make a move was when they were
taking her out of the car. She’d try to scream then,
she thought. Even if they shot her, she had to try
something. She couldn’t just let Michael walk into
the middle of a trap.

They went through a toll, but Garfield raised the
tinted glass partition that separated the front and
back seats, and Patsy remained undiscovered.
Finally, after what seemed to her an eternity, the
car came to a halt and the engine was switched off.

“All right,” Garfield said, “Frank and I will take
her into the house. Herbie, drive the car down the
street and wait there. We don’t want Melville to sus
pect anything. Joe, you come with us.”

The door next to Frank opened. “All right, beautiful,” Frank said, “no tricks now.” His hold on her
head relaxed, and Patsy cautiously lifted her face,
blinking in the sunshine. Her neck ached. She
looked around and realized, with deep surprise,
that they were at Michael’s house. She wet her lips
and tried to keep her face expressionless. There
was no one in sight, but surely someone was home,
someone would hear her.

The man behind her wrenched her arm so that it
was almost all the way up her back. The pain was
excruciating. “All right now, baby,” his voice said in
her ear. “We’re going to walk into the house. Qui
etly, or I’ll break your arm for you.”

Frank got out of the car and Patsy followed, dou
bled over with agony in her arm. The two men hov
ered over her solicitously, or so it would appear to
any disinterested observer. Patsy felt sweat break
out all over her body. She was incapable of uttering
a sound.