Caress Part Three (Arcadia Book 3) (4 page)

I sagged back in my desk chair and groaned. The usual round
of Monday morning staff meetings was over--finally. It had even gone off
without a snag, no thanks to me.

As nearly as I could figure, ninety percent of my brain was
taken up with thoughts of Emma. The rest was entirely focused on pumping blood
straight to my cock.

My hard-on got so bad that I considered taking advantage of
a few unscheduled minutes to pop into my private washroom and give myself some
relief. Only stubborn pride kept me from doing so.

Not. Pussy. Whipped.

Nope, not me.

I was just living proof that you can’t keep a good dick
down.

The fact that I laughed at my own pitiful joke was the
clearest possible evidence of how far gone I was.

My assistant popped his head into the office just then to
ask if I wanted lunch. I allowed as to how that would be good while thinking
that what I really wanted was a nooner.

Too bad that wasn’t in the cards. Emma was having lunch with
my sister and sister-in-law. She’d been nervous about going, which I thought
was adorable. Caroline and Imogene both obviously liked her. I knew they’d put
her at ease but I also wouldn’t put it past them to pump her for information
about our relationship.

Maybe not Imogene so much but Caro sure as hell would. I
made a mental note to touch base with my sister later and find out if she’d
gotten more out of Emma than I could.

She still hadn’t told me what happened to make her look like
she’d seen a ghost. I’d been tempted to press her on it a dozen times and more
all through course of the previous day and into the night. But after our
session in the kitchen, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

She’d seemed too fragile, somehow, although that wasn’t a word
I’d normally associate with Emma. She was easily one of the bravest and most
resilient people I’d ever encountered. But now I had the sense of her drawing a
protective shell around herself and curling up inside it.

As much as I resented that, the last thing I wanted to do
was cause her more pain. Especially not when the other option was to stay deep
inside her, thrusting hard, savoring her throaty little moans and the way her
pussy clenched around me when--

Damn, this had to stop! I was a grown man, not a kid. I
needed to get my head back in the game.

If some jerk ass with a grudge against her father had
approached her, I needed to know about it. It would be a simple enough matter
to put security on her, enough to discourage anyone who was inclined to mouth
off or worse. Simple, that was, if she agreed. And only a little trickier if
she didn’t.

But one other possibility had occurred to me. Emma had
mentioned that the Feds still touched base with her from time to time, letting
her know she remained on their radar. Had one of them decided that she was due
for another reminder?

Before I could think better of it, I picked up my phone,
scrolled through the list of private contacts, and hit the number for Sean
Feeney at the F.B.I. He answered seconds later.

“You must be psychic,” Feeney said. “I’ve got a note in my
email to check in with you.”

“Oh, yeah? Why would you want to do that?” I thought that I
knew but I asked any way.

Feeney sighed. “Because as much as you and John Whittaker’s
daughter make a lovely couple, the two of you popping up together has raised eyebrows.”

I’d seen the photos taken at the gala. They didn’t bother me
in the least; I wanted the world to know that we were together. Feeney and his
pals could make whatever they wanted of that.

“She’s the reason I’m calling,” I said.

“I’m listening,” Feeney replied.

I pictured him leaning back in his chair, short-cropped dark
blond hair, more tats than I’d expect on a Fed, and a rangy but powerful build like
the ace downhill skier that he was. Feeney had silvered in the Olympics a few
years back, more power to him.

“I know you’re still keeping tabs on her,” I said. “Did you
or any of your colleagues happen to speak to her yesterday?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because something spooked her. If I can take the F.B.I. off
the list, I’ll be that much closer to figuring out who did do it.”

I could practically hear him smirking. “I’m no relationship
expert but have you thought of just asking her?”

Smart ass.

“It’s not that simple,” I said. “When I say she was spooked,
I mean it. She doesn’t want to talk about it but she looked as though she’d
seen a--”

I stopped abruptly as the full significance of what I’d been
about to say hit me.

As much as I’d pushed Emma about the possibility that her father
could still be alive, I’d seen the video of his suicide. It was graphic,
horrible, and seemingly irrefutable. Even without a body, John Whittaker’s
death should have been a foregone conclusion.

That it wasn’t could be credited solely to the F.B.I.’s
refusal to stop searching for him. Everyone, including myself, figured that
they had to have reasons that they weren’t willing to talk about. At least not
without sufficient persuasion.

“A ghost?” Feeney asked, picking up where I’d left off. “Is
that what you were going to say?”

I got the impression he wasn’t so relaxed any more. On the
contrary, he sounded razor sharp.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “But before you jump on that, I want to
be clear about something. Is it the F.B.I.’s position that Whittaker is still
alive?”

“We’ve never said so…officially.”

“But you’re still putting resources into the search for him?”

Official announcements meant nothing. It was money that
mattered. If the Feds were still funding the search for Whittaker, they had to
believe that he was out there somewhere.

“Yeah, we are,” Feeney said grudgingly.

“Why?” I asked.

“You know why. It’s never been any secret.”

I stayed mute, letting him remind me, which he did finally.

“Within an hour of Whittaker going into the river, we
brought in experts--guys who know the currents and tides along the Hudson like
they know the back of their hands. They took their measurements, did whatever
it is they do with them, and swore that his remains would come ashore within
twenty-four hours. They even told us where to find him, near Battery Park in
lower Manhattan.”

“But he failed to turn up,” I said.

“That’s right, despite one of the most extensive recovery
efforts for a single body that has ever been undertaken. Ever. We searched for
two friggin’ weeks, not just near Battery Park but throughout the entire range
of New York Harbor and beyond. We never found a trace of Whittaker. He just
disappeared.”

I’d sailed enough to know that currents and tides could be
unpredictable. Given a strong enough wind, all predictions were off. But
nothing like that had happened in the period of time that Feeney was talking
about.

Still, there had to be an explanation.

“What about sharks?” I said. “Could they have gotten to
him?”

“You don’t find a lot of those in the Hudson River,” Feeney
reminded me dryly. “Out in the harbor maybe. But he should have hit Battery
Park long before Jaws could get anywhere near him.”

“What about since then?” I asked. “Have you had any
sightings of him, any reports of him showing up someplace?”

“We’ve had thousands of leads. Maybe tens of thousands. I’ve
lost count.”

“Any of them pan out?” I asked.

“You’d know if they had. That asshole would be sitting on a
life sentence.”

“So that’s it?” I said. “You think he’s still alive simply
because you never found a body?”

Silence on the other end of the phone, echoing all the way
from my desk to the muck and mire of Washington, which fittingly enough had
been built on a swamp.

I liked Feeney and I respected him. In a fight, I’d want him
to have my back. I sure as hell didn’t relish the idea of going up against him.
But that didn’t mean that I wouldn’t if push came to shove.

“Here’s what we want.” The steel edge in Feeney’s voice said
that he was done farting around. “Keep your eyes open. Any hint that the lovely
Miss Whittaker is in contact with her father, give me a call.”

He paused a moment, then added, “There’s still a sizable
reward out for him. Big enough that not even you would think it’s chump
change.”

My hand tightened on the phone. I only just managed to keep
my voice calm.

“You want me to inform on her?”

“It sounds so harsh when you put it like that but…yeah.”
Quickly, he added, “If it makes you feel any better, it’s for her own good. And
hell, you can just donate the reward to charity.”

I thought fast. If Whittaker was alive and had crawled out
from under his rock, Emma could be at risk. He was her father, after all. Out
of a misguided sense of loyalty, she might do something that landed her in
prison or worse.

I’d go to any lengths to prevent that. But Feeney didn’t
have to know it.

“Here’s what I want,” I countered. “You tell me the real
reason why you think Whittaker is alive and I’ll do everything I can to help
you get him.”

Silence again until finally Feeney said, “And if I won’t
take that deal?”

“Then it’s been nice knowing you. Emma’s my priority. I’ll
keep her safe, including from you. If Whittaker goes anywhere near her, you’ll
never know.”

His sigh echoed all way from the J. Edgar Hoover building to
my ear.

“This is where I’m supposed to say something about obstruction
of justice, yada, yada. But we both know that you’re lawyered up the wazoo.”

“We do both know that,” I confirmed.

“This goes no further?”

“No way. I’m going to talk with Emma about this.”

He weighed that, then said, “Okay, but no one else. And keep
in mind that she may already know.”

Before I could tell him that he was wrong about that, Feeney
went on. “Six months before he supposedly offed himself, Whittaker made a trip
to Vegas. He met there with a guy who’s called ‘the magician’s magician’, Hiram
Walker. Walker actually designs tricks, illusions, whatever you want to go call
them for other magicians. He’s a legend in that world.”

“What did Whittaker want to talk with him about?” I asked.

“It took some persuading to get Walker to give that up but
in the end we pointed out that his fondness for peyote made it smart for him to
be nice to us. Whittaker paid him handsomely to design a way to make it look
like a person had shot himself in the head. I mean as in blown his brains out.
He wanted plenty of blood and gore that would really stand out on video.”

I cursed under my breath. Whittaker had planned to fake his
death months in advance, even going so far as to arrange to do it in public where
he knew it would be captured for all time. When I thought about what that had
done to Emma, I wanted to kill him myself.

Barely keeping my temper in check, I asked, “That only gets
him as far as the water. What happened then?”

“It’s likely that he had divers waiting for him just below
the surface with oxygen and a water sled. There’s a marina less than
half-a-mile north of where he went into the water. We think he had a boat
waiting for him there but we were never able to identify it, much less figure
out where the bastard went.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, as in smell the. I’ll remind you that a load of money
that Whittaker stole is still missing. We figure a hundred million, maybe more.
And we think the lovely Miss Whittaker knows where it is.”

This time, I didn’t hesitate. The words were out of my mouth
before he finished speaking. “She doesn’t.”

“Yeah, well, it’s nice that you think so. But there’s a
reason why she stood up for her father the way she did after he was arrested. We’ve
put together a collection of photos of them going back to when she was a
toddler. The look on her face in every one of them makes it clear that she
loved and trusted him without reserve. As for him, he called her his star and
that’s how he treated her. It all adds up to her being the one person he could
count on to safeguard the money.”

My throat thickened as I thought of the child Emma had been.
If I ever had a daughter, I’d make damn sure I did a better job protecting her.

Gruffly, I said, “I’m telling you that you’re wrong.”

“And I hear you but I’ve got to go with the facts. What’s
more, we think that Whittaker is running low on whatever funds he managed to
take with him. If he’s ever going to surface, now’s the time.”

“Let’s say that you’re right. Why would he come to New York?
If Emma really is in league with him, why wouldn’t she just go to wherever he is?”

“We keep close enough tabs on her that if she were to make a
move in that direction, we’d know,” Feeney said. “Besides, Whittaker may have
another reason for coming here himself.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“He isn’t the kind of guy to accept responsibility for the
consequences of his own actions. On the contrary, he’s much more likely to look
around for somebody else to blame. What do you want to bet that you’re it?”

Carefully, I said, “All I did was fight to save my own
company.”

“We both know there was more to it than that,” Feeney said,
not unkindly. I got the impression that he privately approved of what I’d done.
But he still wasn’t about to ignore the implications of it.

“You were determined to destroy the men who threatened what
your father had built,” he said. “Who threatened you. You stopped at nothing in
order to drive them into the ground. Whittaker has to know this. Maybe before
he rides off into the sunset with his daughter and his millions, he wants his
pound of flesh.”

My chest tightened. All I’d told Emma was that I’d protected
my father’s legacy. I’d kept to myself the lengths that I’d gone to in order to
prove that I was tougher, smarter, stronger than him
and
the men who
threatened what he’d built. If she discovered what I’d really done--