Sweet Talk (7 page)

SIX

G
rayson wanted to meet with Olivia to discuss the Jorguson investigation, at her convenience, he insisted, as long as it was Saturday at five o’clock. It was the only time he had available, he explained, and he wanted to get this all tied up before Monday.

“There are some discrepancies I’d like to go over as soon as possible regarding the incident with Jorguson.”

“Discrepancies? How could there be any discrepancies? There were at least twenty people watching,” she said. “Some of those people were recording with their phones. And just for the record, Agent Kincaid, it wasn’t an incident. It was an attack.”

“I know,” he said, placating her. “Jorguson’s attorneys are calling it the alleged incident, and Jorguson’s version of what happened is quite different from yours.”

“You’re joking.”

“Sorry, no.” He heard her sigh. “Olivia?” he said after a long minute of silence.

“I’m thinking, Grayson.”

He liked the way she said his name. She dragged it out so he’d hear her frustration. He smiled in reaction. “Five o’clock. I can either come to you, or we could meet somewhere.”

“You want to meet Saturday night?” she questioned. Didn’t the agent have a life outside of the office?

“Early Saturday night,” he corrected.

Ah, so he did have plans, probably a late date, she speculated as she took another sip of the orange juice the nurse had given her.

Jane was checking messages on her phone and wasn’t paying any attention to the conversation.

“Three o’clock works better for me,” she told him.

“No, that won’t work for me. I’m tied up until four thirty.”

“Then it will have to wait until Monday.”

“No.”

“No? Can’t you be a little flexible? I have plans, and I can’t change them.”

“What plans?”

He sounded suspicious. Was he simply curious, or didn’t he believe her? Olivia pictured Grayson tackling that horrible bodyguard, saving her from certain harm, and she decided the least she could do in return was cooperate.

“I’m going to a formal affair,” she said. “I have to get ready and be at the Hamilton Hotel by seven thirty. If clearing up discrepancies will only take ten or fifteen minutes, then fine, we’ll meet at five.”

“It could take longer than that. What’s the formal affair?”

“The Capitol League Benefit.”

“That’s Saturday night? I thought it was next weekend.” Grayson had received an invitation and had respectfully declined, but he had also made a substantial donation to the charity because he believed it was a good cause.

“Then you’re planning to attend?”

He thought about it for a second or two, then said, “Yes.”

She felt a little burst of pleasure that took her by surprise.

“Then perhaps we could meet at the hotel. It shouldn’t take all that long to discuss Jorguson’s blatant lies, should it? Unless you have plans . . . or if you have a date and it would be rude to leave her while you discussed . . .”

“Jorguson’s lies?”

She could hear the amusement in his voice. “Yes. Do you have a date?”

“No.”

“Really?”

He laughed. “Really. I’m working, remember? The Jorguson investigation.”

“That’s right.”

“What about you? Do you have a date?”

“No,” she said. “I sound boring, don’t I?”

“Olivia, there isn’t anything boring about you,” he said, and before she could respond to the compliment, he asked, “Were you planning to go alone?”

“Yes. My aunt is being honored at the event, and I promised her I’d attend. I was planning to meet her there. Unlike us, she has a date.”

“Who is your aunt?”

“Emma Monroe.”

“Why don’t I drive you to the hotel? We can talk on the way there.”

“Yes, all right.”

“Listen . . . I might as well . . .”

“Yes?” she asked when he hesitated.

“I might as well take you home after . . .”

“That would be lovely.”

“What time?”

“Seven.”

“I’ll see you then.”

He ended the call, turned back to his desk, and noticed Ronan standing in the doorway. He didn’t ask him if he had listened to the awkward conversation. The look on his face told Grayson he had.

“Man, that was painful,” Ronan said. “What happened to you?”

Grayson shrugged. “Damned if I know.”

* * *

Olivia told Jane about her conversation with Grayson while she wheeled her friend back up to her hospital room.

Always the artist, Jane asked, “Give me a visual. What does he look like?”

“He’s tall, well over six feet, and he has dark hair, a really great mouth, and a firm jaw. Good bone structure . . . you know, patrician,” she explained. “His eyes are intriguing. Now that I think about it, he’s very sexy and quite handsome.”

“You sound surprised. Didn’t you think he was handsome when you met him?”

The elevator doors opened, and she backed the wheelchair in, then waited for Jane to push the eighth-floor button. “Yes, I did think he was nice-looking, but . . . you know . . . he’s FBI . . .”

“Would I want to paint him?”

“Oh yes, you would. He wouldn’t let you, though. From the little I know about him, I think he’d be mortified if you even suggested it. He’s an agent, very straitlaced and professional. So, of course, a relationship is out of the question. He’s interesting, though. Very sophisticated. No rough edges. Aunt Emma would like him.”

“And you’re going out with him tomorrow night.”

“No, I’m going to the Capitol League Benefit. He’s going to drive me there and drive me back home.”

“Will he go inside with you?”

Olivia laughed. “Of course he will.”

“Then you’ve got yourself a date.”

“It isn’t a date,” she argued. “It’s work related. We’ll be discussing the Jorguson investigation.”

“How romantic.”

Olivia pushed the wheelchair into Jane’s room and parked it in the corner while Jane got back into bed. There were two thick books on her bedside table, a biography and a book about addiction recovery. On top of the volumes was an AA pamphlet. Jane was obviously taking her brother’s new sobriety seriously, and Olivia knew that her friend would do anything she could to help Logan stay on the right path.

Olivia didn’t want her to be disappointed again. She decided not to mention the reading material or bring up the fact that Logan’s addiction wasn’t just alcohol but also cocaine. Maybe AA would work for that recovery, too. For Jane’s sake, she hoped it would.

Olivia stood at the foot of the bed and waited for Jane to get settled. Her arms folded across her chest, she was frowning at her friend as her thoughts went back to their conversation about Grayson Kincaid.

“What?” Jane asked when she noticed how serious Olivia looked.

“I don’t want tomorrow night to be romantic. How crazy would it be for me to get involved with him? Even assuming he would be interested . . .”

“Of course he would be interested. How could he not? You’re fairly intelligent, somewhat sweet when you aren’t being bitchy, and beautiful.”

“Bitchy? Fairly intelligent?”

Jane laughed. “Only
you
would focus on the negatives. I did say beautiful.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, because as soon as my father is arrested . . . if I ever find the evidence to get him arrested . . . I’ll become a leper. No one in this city will want to be seen with a MacKenzie. My family will call me a traitor, and, in fact, that’s what I am. They can’t be surprised by what’s coming, though. I’ve pleaded with Natalie and her mule-headed husband, George, and my mother—who, by the way, is a completely lost cause—to get their money out of my father’s investment firm, but no one will listen to me. I don’t want to hurt them, but I don’t know what else to do. If he continues, he’ll not only ruin them, he’ll destroy the lives of hundreds of other innocent people.”

“Do you have any solid evidence yet?” Jane asked.

“No,” Olivia admitted. “But I know I’m right. My entire life I’ve seen how my father operates. He’s very charming. He has a way of getting people to believe he’s the most sincere and candid person they’ve ever met, and he looks very successful, so when he presents an investment opportunity, they trust him. Sometimes I think he actually believes what he tells them. It’s almost like a compulsion and he can’t help himself.”

Olivia wished she could look away and let things play out, but she couldn’t. She knew what was coming and she couldn’t just stand by as more and more people got sucked in. She’d seen it happen before. When she was young, she knew her father was different from other dads, but it wasn’t until she was older that she realized what he was and finally could see what he’d been doing.

One of his first ventures was in oil. He had convinced hundreds of people that geologists had discovered incredibly rich oil deposits off the coast of Texas. All he needed was enough money to invest in the drilling equipment to extract it. People gave him millions because he assured them that they were taking a small risk. He made them believe they were going to make a hundred times what they’d put in. People were greedy. No one knew how much drilling actually went on, but within a year he announced that the wells had come up dry; the geologists were mistaken. The investors walked away with a loss, but somehow Olivia’s father moved on to bigger and better.

He formed another company a couple of years later. This time he invested in technology. He managed to find enough people to believe that he had collected a group of engineers who were on the verge of developing a revolutionary battery, one that would solve all the country’s energy problems. That turned out to be a flop, too, but while the investors lost every dime and the company went under, her father’s lifestyle became more lavish.

Those were just a couple of his so-called business ventures. Now he’d gotten even bigger. With his new firm, he’d collected massive amounts of capital from investors, big and small, with promises of phenomenal returns. Somehow he’d convinced them that their money was safe, but there was no way he could maintain the big profits he’d been claiming.

“Is there any way he could be legitimate this time?” Jane wondered.

Olivia thought about Jeff Wilcox facing prison because of her father’s lies. How many more were there? She shook her head. “No, it just doesn’t make any sense. I try to warn people, but until I find proof, no one will pay any attention to me.” She took a breath. “Actually, that’s not quite true. My father’s law firm, Simmons, Simmons and Falcon—or as I like to call them, Slimeball, Slimeball and Slimeball—did get wind of what I’m trying to do, and they’re trying to stop me. They sent a nasty threatening letter. If I don’t desist with what they called my insane and inflammatory accusations, they’ll have me arrested.”

“On what charges?”

“They don’t have any. It’s all bogus. I haven’t done anything illegal. They’re just trying to scare me. If they were to try to sue me, they’d have to let me see my father’s financials, and trust me, Jane, they’d kill me before they’d let that happen.”

“Good God, Olivia. Don’t talk like that.”

“They should all be in prison.”

“Then go after them. Just don’t . . .”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t get killed.”

Olivia laughed. “That’s the plan.”

SEVEN

O
livia was ready by six thirty Saturday night and spent the next half hour catching up on e-mails. She wore a black floor-length gown. The silk hugged the curves of her body, but it wasn’t obscene, by any means. The scooped neck showed a little cleavage, nothing that would have men ogling, she thought. Her neck was bare, and her only jewelry was a pair of teardrop diamond earrings that her aunt Emma had given her for her birthday. Her hair was swept up in a cluster of curls. A few tendrils escaped at the base of her neck.

Grayson was five minutes early. She opened the door and stood there staring up at him, speechless. The man was even more sexy in a tux. James Bond, all right, she thought. No, she corrected. Better.

Neither of them moved for a few seconds, and then Grayson said, “You look nice.” He sounded hoarse.

“Thank you. So do you,” she said as she stepped back. “Please, come inside. I’ll just get my purse and wrap.”

He stepped into a small foyer and followed her into the living room. Olivia lived in an upscale neighborhood on the edge of Georgetown. The building was old, the third-floor apartment was spacious and comfortable. Tall arched windows and worn hardwood floors were the backdrop for her overstuffed sofa and two matching chairs. The walls had been painted a pale blue, the windows were trimmed in white, and the furniture was a soft yellow color. A black square coffee table sat in front of the sofa with a stack of books on one side and a white vase filled with fresh daisies in the center. Colorful rugs brightened the area.

He noticed a pair of worn tennis shoes under the coffee table and a pair of flats in the doorway of a small room off the living area that Olivia obviously used as an office. Her laptop sat on an old, dark cherrywood desk that had been beautifully restored. Bookcases flanked the desk, the shelves bowed from the heavy books.

Grayson was an armchair architect at heart and appreciated the unique features of these older buildings. He would have loved to see the rest of the apartment.

Olivia came back into the living room and noticed Grayson staring at her ceilings. He caught her watching and said, “I like the moldings.”

“I do, too. That’s one of the reasons I bought the apartment.”

“Ten-foot-high ceilings? That’s rare.”

“Yes.”

“Bet it gets cold in here in the winter, doesn’t it?” he asked when he noticed the old-fashioned radiators.

She pointed to the afghan draped over a chair. “I wrap up in that.”

He nodded. “How many bedrooms?”

“Two.”

“One large, one small?”

“No, both are quite spacious.”

“Has the kitchen been remodeled?”

Puzzled by his interest, she answered. “Yes, the whole building was remodeled a few years ago.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“A little over two years. Are you interested in the neighborhood? Thinking about moving?”

Grayson didn’t explain that he bought buildings, renovated them, and either sold them or rented them out. It was an expensive, yet profitable, hobby.

“Just curious. Are you ready?”

He took the key from her and locked the deadbolt on their way out. Neither said another word until they were in his car and on their way.

“Tell me what Jorguson is saying happened,” she began.

He glanced at her. “You attacked him.”

She was properly outraged. “That is absolutely not true.”

“Special Agent Huntsman has been after Jorguson for some time. He wants to know if you’ll testify should he take him to court.”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “But do you really think it will get that far?”

He grinned. “Those were the exact words my partner, Agent Conrad, said. Jorguson knew you worked for the IRS, so, in fact, he attacked a representative of the IRS, didn’t he? It’s my understanding the Internal Revenue Service doesn’t like it when one of their own is assaulted.”

She laughed. “No, they don’t.”

“Huntsman wants to push this.”

“I’ll help in any way that I can,” she promised.

“How much research did you do before your interview with Jorguson?”

“Very little,” she admitted. “I didn’t have the time. A big mistake on my part. I never should have gone to the interview.”

“Jorguson’s client list is filled with real bad . . .” He started to say “asses” but substituted “people” instead.

She laughed. “Bad people? You sound like one of my kids.”

“One of your kids?”

“The kids I represent. When we had lunch, I thought I mentioned I do some work on the side for Judge Bowen and Judge Thorpe.”

“Yes, you did mention it. It just jarred me to hear you call them your kids.”

“When they’re in trouble, they are my kids. In most cases, I’m all they have.” Her voice had turned serious, passionate.

“I’ve got a feeling it’s enough.”

“Tell me more about these bad people.”

“Jorguson Investments is legit as far as Huntsman can tell; however, some of his clients have brought in copious amounts of cash. One in particular, Gretta Keene, was very active. Her base was in Belgium but she operated in the United States for several years. The federal government took action a few months ago to have her deported. She disappeared before that happened.”

“Where’s all the money coming from? Drugs?”

“Among other endeavors, we suspect.”

“So let me go out on a limb here. If and when I talk to Agent Huntsman, he’s going to tell me Jorguson is money laundering for either the mob or perhaps one of the drug cartels.”

He smiled. “Maybe.”

She switched gears. “Did you talk to Jorguson about his threat to have me killed? ‘One phone call and you’re a dead woman.’ I believe those were his very words.”

“He denied threatening you. When I mentioned the number of people who heard him, he said they were all mistaken. While he was spewing his ridiculous lies, his two attorneys’ heads were nodding up and down like they were bobbing for apples. We happened to have a video from one of the waiters’ cell phones and played it for him.” He grinned as he added, “His expression was priceless.”

“Bet he changed his story then.”

Grayson nodded. “As a matter of fact, he did. The alleged incident was all a big misunderstanding, and he was bluffing when he pretended to threaten you.”

“He actually said he pretended to threaten me?”

“I can’t make this stuff up,” he said, laughing.

“What else did he say?”

“He’d love it if you would come work for him.”

“The thought of seeing that pervert every single day sends shivers down my spine.”

“Then that’s a ‘no’?”

They’d stopped at a red light, and Grayson glanced over at her with a warm smile. Olivia was suddenly tongue-tied, and her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t know what to make of her physical reaction to him. She was usually so professional and composed, and this was a business evening, wasn’t it?

“You’re blushing,” Grayson said. “How come?”

She didn’t answer his question.

The light turned green, but Grayson didn’t notice. When Olivia had turned in her seat to face him, the slit in her gown exposed part of her thigh. Her skin was golden, and he wondered if the rest of her was as flawless. The driver behind them honked, and Grayson’s gaze was pulled back to his driving.

“Have you ever been to the Hamilton?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t. It only just opened a couple of months ago. I’ve stayed at the one in Boston. It’s beautiful and quite elegant. Have you been to this one?”

“Yes, I have. Aiden Hamilton threw a party a couple of weeks before the grand opening. I’ve known Aiden and his family for some time now. My cousin, Sam, helped on a case for Aiden’s brother-in-law, Alec, and he introduced us. Sam and Alec are both FBI.”

“How was the party?”

“Good,” he said. “I ran into a lot of old friends I hadn’t seen in a while. I was ready to take my date home when Alec suggested we play a little poker. I got home at six the next morning.”

“And your date?”

“I took her home and came back for the game. She wasn’t happy about that.”

“Did you win any money?”

“Aiden decided to join us, so, no. When he plays, he wins. I lost the girlfriend and a lot of money. Had fun, though.”

“You don’t sound too broken up about the girlfriend.”

“The relationship wasn’t going anywhere,” he said. “And, hey, it was poker.”

“And she didn’t understand. I do,” she said. “I love poker.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? You really like to play?”

“I do.”

“Any good?”

“I think I am.”

He grinned. “We’ll have to see about that.”

They pulled into the circle drive in front of the hotel, ending the conversation. Two attendants rushed forward to open their doors. Grayson’s BMW was whisked away by the valet, and he took hold of Olivia’s arm and walked by her side up the wide steps to the entrance.

The Hamilton Hotel faced Pennsylvania, a busy and noisy street, but as soon as they walked through the doors, Olivia felt as though she’d entered another world. There was a perfect blend of old-world charm and sleek contemporary touches. Massive columns stretched to the ceiling of a soaring lobby, and grand curved staircases on either side led to a wide mezzanine overlooking the main reception area. The polished brass balusters on the steps were topped with a carved railing of rich mahogany. Every table and chest was adorned with fresh flowers. Beautiful marble floors were covered in rich Oriental rugs, and the luxuriously upholstered furniture was overstuffed, inviting guests to linger and relax in this elegant and quiet setting, forgetting the turmoil and demands of the outside world.

All seven Hamilton Hotels were known for unparalleled luxury, absolute discretion, and impeccable service. The hotels catered to discriminating clientele and were dedicated to protecting privacy. Because of the chain’s reputation for pampering guests and taking care of their every whim, dignitaries, politicians, lobbyists, and celebrities had already booked the four ballrooms in this hotel well into the future.

The Capitol League gala was being held in the largest ballroom, which was located on the first floor at the end of a long, wide corridor. Outside the large double doors leading into the ballroom was an open area with a magnificent fountain. Directly beyond were tall windows overlooking the serenity gardens.

Two Capitol League attendants stood side by side at the doors. Olivia pulled her invitation from her beaded clutch and handed it to one of them. Grayson noticed the man was so preoccupied staring at her, he barely glanced at the card.

There was already a crowd gathered inside, but the flow was good, and it was surprisingly easy to get from one side of the ballroom to the other.

Olivia hadn’t attended many of these events. When she could afford it, she donated to causes that were close to her heart, most having to do with children in need, yet she rarely went to the parties, and for that reason she knew very few people attending the celebration.

Grayson, on the other hand, was the man of the hour. He seemed to know everyone, or rather, most of the guests seemed to know him. He was immediately surrounded by friends and donors. A senator on the finance committee stopped to talk about his reelection campaign and to ask what Grayson thought about a certain stock. Olivia wasn’t sure what to do. This wasn’t exactly a date, so she didn’t think she should stay and listen to his conversations with friends. Or should she? Feeling a bit awkward, she decided to find her aunt Emma, but when she tried to step away, Grayson took hold of her hand and pulled her into his side. He wasn’t at all subtle. She gave him a disapproving frown. He responded by winking at her.

Olivia decided to be accommodating and humor him, and as it turned out, she was very happy she did. She soon lost count of the number of powerful men and women he introduced her to. She patiently stayed beside him for a good twenty minutes, smiling until her face felt frozen, and chatting amicably with the CEO of a cereal conglomerate, a Nobel Prize winner for physics, a real estate tycoon, an Internet software whiz, two art gallery owners, a couple of ambassadors, and a congresswoman. She even had a brief, though surreal, conversation with a senior adviser to the president of the United States. The topic was yoga, of all things.

The second there was a lull, Grayson suggested they go find her aunt. Then James Crowell stopped Grayson to say hello. Olivia recognized him from the cover of
Time
.

Crowell was Person of the Year and she believed it was a well-deserved honor. He was a genius and a self-made billionaire and, like Bill Gates and Warren Buffett, had donated most of his fortune to charity. Olivia was starstruck. Crowell was one of her heroes because of all of his humanitarian efforts. How did Grayson know him? It was obvious that Crowell liked Grayson, and from their conversation and their ease with each other, she concluded they had been friends for some time.

Just who was Agent Grayson Kincaid? The real Bruce Wayne?

Grayson watched Olivia as Crowell shook her hand and walked away.

“Your face is flushed,” he remarked.

“I admire Mr. Crowell. He’s done a lot for the poor in this country.” She turned to Grayson and said, “May I ask you a question?”

“If it will get you to quit frowning, sure.”

“I’m not frowning. This is my puzzled expression.”

“Yeah? Good to know. What’s the question?”

“You are with the FBI, aren’t you? It isn’t just a hobby, is it?”

He laughed. “Yes, I’m with the FBI, and no, it isn’t a hobby.”

“So if I were to look in your garage, I wouldn’t find a Batmobile?”

He looked at her as though he thought she was crazy. Shaking his head and looking very serious, he said, “Of course not.”

She felt foolish for making the comparison and for asking such a silly question.

Grayson put his arm around her waist and pulled her close so that an elderly couple could get past. Then he leaned down and whispered into her ear.

“I keep it in my cave.”