Once Upon a Dream (2 page)

She didn’t have more color, except for a pink bra and panty set she’d bought on impulse. For some reason, she’d never worn it. She pressed the down button. “Black is a power color for lawyers.”

Her friend made a face. “If you say so.”

The elevator doors opened. As Summer started to go in, a man came out and almost ran into her.

She looked up right as Ryan Huber smiled at her. “Pardon me,” he said.

Summer opened her mouth but nothing came out.

Em poked her back. “Say something.”

She couldn’t. She smiled back at Ryan, hoping it looked winning and not nauseated. Belatedly, she edged aside to let him pass.

Shaking her head, Em followed her into the elevator. The car was crowded and, thankfully, Em didn’t say anything about Ryan with the strangers pressed all around them.

“You’re never going to get him if you can’t even say hello to him,” Em said the second they got out.

Summer wove her arm through Em’s as they walked through the lobby. “This is just a trial, Em.”

“And you’re going to be found guilty.”

“Not that sort of trial. The fairy princess always goes through tests, to prove that she’s worthy of the prince. This is just a quest I have to go through on my way toward happily ever after.”

“So you’ll wave your wand and make his girlfriend go away?” her friend asked skeptically.

“My fairy godmother would be the one to do that. I’m going to take the initiative. I’m going to convince him to marry me.”

Em groaned. “How are you going to do that?”

“I don’t know.” She hadn’t even been able to speak to him yet. “I only know one thing.”

“That you’re mad?” Em asked as they reached the building’s front doors.

“I’m going to marry Ryan Huber.” Nodding at the man who held the door open for them, she squeezed her friend’s arm as they stepped outside. “And we’re going to live happily ever after.”

Chapter Two

“I’m going to marry Ryan Huber. And we’re going to live happy ever after.”

Jon Smith stilled, hand holding the door open, gaze sharp on the blonde. She was his height. Average weight, black skirt with a black sweater and black shoes. High quality though not designer. Nice ass. A sensible package that didn’t draw attention to itself.

Except for the scarf. The bright gypsy scarf didn’t belong on someone that sensible. It made him wonder which part of her was the lie.

Everyone wore a disguise—he knew that better than anyone. There were clues to what lay beneath—like the scarf. A person just had to pay attention.

Jon watched her walk down the street, her arm through the other woman’s. He was definitely paying attention. He memorized the details, one in particular: that she was Huber’s fiancée.

Huber was the reason Jon was here.

Jon strode to the elevator. As he waited for it to arrive and unload, he surveyed the surroundings, taking in the exits and possible escape routes. Habit. No telling when he’d need them.

Which was exactly why he was getting out of the business. He’d had enough. There was only so long a person could do what he did. He’d already begun the process of closing his business and destroying his files.

Until Bradley had called, wanting to hire him. Anyone else and Jon would have turned him down. He couldn’t turn Edward Bradley down. He owed the man his life.

Squeezing into the elevator, he pressed the button for the proper floor.

Getting out of the elevator, he strode down the hall. The bronze plaque on the door at the end read
Peregrine Investments
, scrolled in lettering that matched the high-dollar rent the office likely commanded.

Jon let himself in. “I’m here to see Edward Bradley,” he said brusquely to the receptionist, downplaying his Australian accent to make himself indistinct and unmemorable.

The receptionist nodded, professional and cool. “Your name, sir?”

“Smith.”

“If you have a seat, Mr. Smith, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

A moment later, she stood and gestured politely. “This way, please.”

He followed her down a maze of cubicles. Opening a door, she stepped aside to let him in. Without a word to her, he closed the door and turned to face the man who’d saved his life years ago.

Edward Bradley sat behind a solid wood desk that was both simple and powerful all at once. He wore a banker’s suit—his own version of a disguise, Jon knew from many late night conversations over whiskey. Bradley knew image conveyed more than an impressive portfolio. It wasn’t a fluke that he managed money for the wealthiest Europeans. Even in his downtime, Bradley looked capable and put together in the way only British men could.

Today, though, he looked haggard and grayed at the edges, as though the weight of the world rested on him. Bradley had been vague on the phone, but if Huber was the cause of his distress, Jon would bring him down, debt or no debt.

Masking his anger, he shook Bradley’s hand. “I never thought you’d avail yourself of my services.”

“I don’t even really know what your services are.”

Despite the years of friendship, Jon had never explicitly described what he did for a living. The only person who knew was Trudy, his handler and office manager. Most people wouldn’t be able to handle the scope of his CV.

Not that extracting people was illegal, but sometimes he had to go to extremes to get the desired results. For that reason, he didn’t advertise. His clients found him, generally through word of mouth.

“One thing I do know, however, is that I can trust your discretion and that you always get your man.” Bradley pointed to the chair across his desk. “Please sit.”

“I have to admit you’ve piqued my curiosity,” he said taking a seat. He folded his hands and waited.

“You understand I don’t want this to get out.”

He nodded. “You of all people should know I don’t discuss my cases. Ever.”

Nodding, Bradley pressed fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I had a client come to me and say that his accounts seemed off. It appeared that there was a discrepancy in the difference between what was in there and what he thought should be in there.”

“And your records?”

“The low amount, matching the actual balance.” He pulled out a stack of papers from his desk and handed them over. “Usually it’s the client. It’s not the first time someone thought they should have more money than they did.”

“I assume that’s not the case here,” Jon said as he quickly scanned through the pages. He set them aside to look over more carefully later.

Bradley shook his head. “It was a small amount, and that’s relative, and there shouldn’t have been any discrepancy. We pride ourselves on our accuracy. It’s why people come to us. We don’t make mistakes. I looked into it myself and I noticed some strange transactions. I checked other clients’ records, and the only oddness I found came from one associate’s accounts.”

“Ryan Huber’s.”

“Yes.” Leaning forward, Bradley said, “My reputation and the reputation of my firm is everything. If it’s compromised, I’m not sure I’d recover. We deal in trust. A theft would be the end of what I’ve built.”

Jon nodded. “You need someone to deal with this quickly and quietly.”

“Which is why I called you.”

“You want him silenced?” he asked, oddly disappointed in the one good man he knew. That was never the answer.

Bradley blanched. “Of course not.”

Of course he wouldn’t, and it was a testament to Jon’s whacked-out life that he assumed this job would be typical. “Then why would you call me?”

“Because I want you to pose as a client, get friendly with Huber, and find evidence to incriminate him.”

“There’s just one problem,” Jon said, leaning back. “I’m not a detective.”

“Yes.” Bradley smiled wryly. “I gleaned that the night we met in Bangkok, but if I had any doubts, I’d be over them by this point in our conversation.”

Bangkok. That night had been a debacle—an assignment gone bad. Jon had been stabbed and bleeding, chased by men intent on erasing his existence. He’d broken into an empty house to hide.

Unfortunately, Bradley and his wife had returned not long after. Bradley had been the one to discover him. To this day, Jon had no idea what made the man decide to patch him up and hide him, even from his wife.

“I owe you my life,” Jon said quietly, knowing Bradley was remembering that night, too.

“And I’m calling in the debt.” Bradley leaned forward. “Huber to be locked away and buried so deep in the system that no one hears a word of this. Is that possible?”

Jon shrugged. “Anything is possible. That’s not normally the way I silence people though.”

“Make an exception for me. I don’t want that on yours or my conscience.”

He nodded, his face blank even though inside he felt great relief.

“Our debt will be cancelled if you do this for me,” Bradley said. “You can move to your sanctuary in Thailand without anything hanging over your head.”

To be scot-free … Once Jon cleared the lingering debt, he wouldn’t have to return to London ever again. He could practically taste retirement. It tasted of coconut and spicy basil, the salt of the ocean in the air, and old books.

“Tell me what you need,” Jon said, looking his friend in the eye.

Bradley visibly relaxed, rolling his shoulders as though an enormous weight was lifted. “Huber is crafty. I’ve gone through his office but haven’t found anything myself. I need you to find enough to incriminate him, but I need it done discreetly.”

Jon nodded. That went without saying.

“He must keep his records at his country manor,” his friend continued. “It’s where he keeps all his trophies.”

“So I need to invite myself to his country house.”

“He’s having a house party in a couple weeks. If he thinks you’re enough of a player, he’ll likely invite you.”

“Are you invited?”

Bradley lifted his brow. “I thought it better to stay in town that weekend.”

Jon nodded, planning. “I’ll need to become a client of his right away then, and I need to be someone who engages his greed.”

“Can you do that?”

“Of course.” He already had a persona in mind. His line of work depended on disguising himself. It was the way he kept himself safe: No one could come after him because he remained untraceable.

“I can’t express how important it is to handle this discreetly,” Bradley said again. “I’ve worked hard building this firm. I’ve sacrificed hours with my family. The firm rides on its reputation. Without it, I have nothing.”

Nodding, Jon stood. “I’ll catch him.”

“I know you will.” Bradley got up and accompanied him to the door. “When you do, we’ll be square. You won’t owe me a thing.”

Jon thought of Koh Phangan, the island in Thailand where he was going to retire. He’d already bought a house, remote and secluded, only accessible by boat. After he caught Huber with his hand in the cookie jar, he’d be free to go there. It was all he wanted, to get away from humanity. “You’ll make an appointment for me with Huber?”

“Done.”

“Excellent.” He put his hand out.

Bradley clasped it in his. “I knew I could count on you.”

There were few people in the world a man could trust, and those people were sacred. For Jon, Edward Bradley was at the top of the list. “It’s as good as done.”

Chapter Three

One snip.

Jacqueline dropped the cutting into the wastebasket, thinking of her manuscript. She’d never imagined being a writer, but she’d read
Fifty Shades of Grey
and knew she could write something as compelling: a story about an older woman coming into her sexual prime.

She told herself she wanted to create something that resonated with people, leaving an enduring work behind that had her imprint on it.

That wasn’t true.

Not entirely, in any case. Secretly, she was writing it out of fear—fear that after all these years of neglect she’d forgotten how to be sensual. How to be desirable. How to be a woman.

She’d started writing that day. It took her several months, but she had most of it done. She just needed an ending.

If only she had an idea of what that was. She’d written herself into a corner and couldn’t figure out where to go from there.

Now what?

Excellent question, and it was past time to figure that out—for her character as well as herself.

Another snip.

She threw the leaves in the trash, annoyed at herself. She’d wasted so much time; she had no desire to waste more. One never knew when it would all end. Reginald had certainly thought that he’d live forever and look how that turned out.

She cut another bunch of leaves. She refused to let Reginald take her to the grave with him and his mistress.

She’d known about Tabitha, but not from the beginning of the affair. She had no idea when it’d started, precisely. Jacqueline had been in denial, harboring foolish hopes that she’d find love with Reginald. In the beginning, she thought he’d grow to love her as he got to know her. Then she thought he’d grow to appreciate her as soon as she gave him an heir.

But during her pregnancy with Imogen, she’d found out about Tabitha and Summer—it wasn’t until she followed her husband and watched him with his other family that she knew she’d been a fool.

She held up the sheers, turning them in the light. How many times had she been tempted to stab Reginald in the heart?

“Grandmother?”

She glanced up as Chloe shuffled into the orangery. As always, Jacqueline’s heart softened when she saw her granddaughter. She’d never fathomed why women were so eager to have grandchildren, but then Chloe had been born and she’d understood: It was a second chance for unconditional love.

“Hello, darling.” She smiled at the teenager. Last year Chloe had pierced her nose and begun wearing a lot of black. Jacqueline knew it was a phase, a plea for attention from her parents who were embroiled in their own drama. Frankly, Jacqueline loved Chloe’s rebellion. If only she had the nerve to express herself in such a bold, unapologetic way.

Her granddaughter stopped, her nose wrinkling. “What are you doing?”

“I’m considering taking up tree sculpting.”