Soft Focus (12 page)

“Forget it,” Jack growled into the phone. “It's a little too late for that. Did Durand say anything else about Kendle?”

There was another short pause.

“Huh.” Jack walked to the window and stood looking out at the mountains. “Interesting. No, it's nothing important. Just . . . interesting. What about the Vanguard of Tomorrow thing?”

There was another tense silence while he listened.

“Nothing at all in the media? Sounds like we lucked out. Nice work, Milo. Yeah, you said all the right things to Veltran's people. Good work. . . . Yeah, we're getting close. We'll find it, Milo. Call if anything else develops.”

Elizabeth almost smiled at the cool, calm, wholly unwarranted assurance in Jack's voice. The man in charge, she thought. Make everyone think you know what you're doing and they'll follow you anywhere.

Jack ended the call and pocketed the phone. He looked across the room and saw her watching him. “Remember that group that trashed the Excalibur lab?”

“Vanguard of Tomorrow?” She took a seat at the table. “What about it?”

“They haven't come forward to take the credit or responsibility or whatever it is that kind does take when it smashes private property.” Jack sat down across from her. “Apparently they didn't contact the press or go on their Web site to brag. I find that sort of curious, don't you?”

A deep sense of foreboding went through her. “I hope you're not going to tell me that you think the trashing of the lab had something to do with the theft.”

“I don't know. I suppose Page could have gone back to the
lab the night after he stole the crystal in an effort to conceal the loss for a while. Give himself time to get safely out of town.”

“But you discovered that Soft Focus was missing a few hours before the lab got trashed. You went to see Page and found that he was already packed and gone.”

“True. But it was just random chance that I checked up on the crystal when I did Tuesday night.” Jack reached for a sandwich. “Page couldn't have had any way of knowing that I'd find out so quickly that it was gone. It would have been reasonable for him to assume that it wouldn't be missed until the following day or even later. For him, the biggest danger at that point was that I might call in the cops.”

Elizabeth thought about it. “If you had done that, they would have been strongly inclined to blame the theft on the Vanguard of Tomorrow nuts.”

“Right.” Jack took a bite and chewed reflectively. “The vandalism would have sent the authorities off in the wrong direction. A nice distraction, if it had been needed. Not a bad backup strategy. There's something else.”

Elizabeth's sense of premonition grew stronger. “What is it?”

“Milo said that the reason we couldn't dig up a next-of-kin on Ryan Kendle is because his résumé was fake. Phony ID, phony addresses, the works. The police are trying to find out who he really was.”

Very slowly she put down her sandwich. “It happens. People often lie on résumés.”

“Uh-huh.” Jack took a swallow of the bottled water. “Sometimes they lie because they've got a criminal record.”

“Maybe he did. You mentioned that the cops said he was involved in the drug scene. They said he was killed in a drug deal gone bad.”

Jack looked at her across the table. “The homicide detective working on the case told Milo something else.”

“What?”

“They scrounged up a witness. A drunk transient sleeping in a doorway. He didn't actually see the shooting, but he said he thinks he heard Kendle talking to someone just before the shots were fired.”

“Someone?”

Jack hesitated briefly. “A woman.”

A woman. Elizabeth thought about what Christy Barns had said about a female character named Angel Face.
The femme fatale who ends up destroying everyone around her.
She flexed her fingers to try to rid herself of the prickling sensation. “You're not thinking that Kendle was somehow connected to the theft, are you?”

“As of right now I'm leaving all options open—including the possibility that there is a woman involved.”

“But, Jack, this is white-collar crime, remember? People don't get killed in white-collar crime.”

“There are exceptions to every rule.”

Elizabeth steeled herself against the trickle of unease. She looked at Jack and said nothing.

He frowned. “What are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking that a man like Tyler Page probably wouldn't encounter too many femme fatales in his line of work.”

“Trust me, there are no femme fatales employed at Excalibur. Company policy.” Jack paused, suddenly very thoughtful. “Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“There is one woman connected with Excalibur who has been trying to force the company to shift its course,” he said deliberately. “Angela Ingersoll Burrows.”

Elizabeth turned that over a few times in her mind. “I don't think so. I've talked to her a lot during the past few months. I admit that, given the right circumstances, she could qualify as a femme fatale. She's attractive enough for the part, and she's certainly obsessed with protecting her son's future, so she's got motive, but—”

“If she thinks that sabotaging the Soft Focus project might assure a sale or merger of the company—”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No. Not if we're talking violence or, God help us, murder. Besides, I can't see her setting out to seduce Tyler Page. However . . .”

“Yeah?”

She took a deep breath. “I can think of one place where Page might have met a real live femme fatale.”

Jack watched her very intently. “Where?”

“On the set of
Fast Company
.”

Jack was silent for a moment. “Are you talking about Victoria Bellamy?”

“The thought crossed my mind, that's all.” Elizabeth shivered. “But it doesn't make sense. I mean, she's an actress, not an industrial spy. What would she know about an exotic, high-tech material, much less how to make a profit on it?”

“Probably not a lot,” Jack conceded. “But Dawson Holland might. We'll know more about him when Larry finishes checking him out.”

“Probably a waste of time.”

“Not like we've got a lot else to do.”

“I've got something else to do.” Elizabeth helped herself to another sandwich. “I've got a real, live film script to read.”

SHORTLY AFTER MIDNIGHT
she heard him go softly down the stairs. She had finished the script for
Fast
Company
a few minutes earlier and turned out her light to go to sleep.

When she heard the hushed footsteps, her first thought was that Jack was heading for the hot tub. Then she heard the front door open and close quietly.

“Oh, damn.” She sat bolt upright and shoved aside the bedding. He wouldn't dare. Not without telling her.

But outside she heard the sound of one of the car engines turning over. Jack was leaving.

She knew, with a terrible certainty, exactly where he was headed. Panic shot through her. She scrambled out of bed and grabbed her jeans.

HE SAT IN THE DARKNESS NEAR THE WINDOW
and waited. The cold moonlight slanted through the blinds, layering shadows on the hotel-room carpet. He studied the icy grid pattern and thought about the past.

After a while he opened the small bottle he had taken from the minibar. He rarely drank scotch, generally only when he was facing a brick wall.

The scotch was appropriate tonight. Not just because of the brick wall he was about to confront, but because his father had favored scotch. And this was all about his father.

The door opened. A wedge of harsh corridor light angled across the floor. Hayden stood silhouetted in the doorway.

“We need to talk,” Jack said from the shadows near the window. “Come in and close the door. This won't take long.”

“What the hell are you doing here? How did you get into my room?”

“Swiped a master key from housekeeping.”

“Shit. You haven't changed, have you?” Hayden closed the door. He did not turn on the light. “A real chip off the old block.”

“I didn't come here to talk about the past.”

“No? Then why are you here?” Hayden crossed the room to the minibar. Opened it. Reached inside. Small bottles clinked. “Are you really that worried that I might get Elizabeth into bed?”

“Leave Elizabeth out of this.”

“No can do.” Hayden closed the minibar door, straightened, and walked to the chair opposite the one Jack occupied. He flung himself down into it. The grid of moonlight shafted across his face. He lifted his own small bottle of scotch in a mocking toast. “She's a part of it now. That's your fault, not mine.”

“She's got nothing to do with what happened. Leave her alone.”

Hayden looked amused. “What is it with you and Elizabeth, anyway? Can't quite figure it out.”

“You don't have to figure it out. It's none of your business.”

“You know, when I told her that you were the guy behind the Galloway deal, I thought sure she'd yank your funding. Didn't realize you already had her name on the contract.” Hayden took a swallow from the bottle. “Your timing, as always, was damn near magical.”

“I told you to leave Elizabeth out of this.”

“It was too late to screw up your funding, but it wasn't all for naught, was it? Your little fling together ended kind of fast. A real blaze-of-glory thing.” Hayden chuckled. “The scene at the Pacific Rim Club is legend in certain segments of the Seattle business community.”

“That's enough, Hayden.”

“Do you think that you maybe went a little over the top when you called her the Ice Princess, though? Not very gentlemanly to kiss and tell.”

Jack was mildly amazed that the little bottle of scotch did not fracture in his hand. “Shut up.”

“You might as well have written her name on the men's room wall at the club: ‘For a good time you definitely do not want to call Elizabeth the Ice Princess.' ”

“I said,
shut up
.”

“Word must have gotten around that she's no fun in bed. She hasn't dated much in the past six months. Tell me, just out of curiosity, is she really a frigid fuck?”

The bars of silver light on the floor were suddenly too bright. They blazed with the intensity of magnesium flares. The lines of shadows between them were as dark as the far side of the moon. Nothing in the room looked quite right.

Jack came up out of the chair, impelled by an adrenaline rush. He hurled the half-empty bottle aside, grabbed Hayden by the lapels of his jacket, and hauled him up out of the chair.

“You've pushed your luck as far as you can tonight,” Jack said very softly. “One more word about Elizabeth and I will take you apart.”

“Cool. I can see the headlines now. ‘Excalibur Exec Jailed for Assault.' That kind of PR will certainly make future clients think twice about hiring you.”

Jack shoved him up against the wall. “Do you really believe that I give a damn about the publicity?”

There was a short, brittle pause. Hayden stopped smiling.

“You're a little out of control here, Jack. Not your style.”

“Yeah, but you know something? It feels sort of good.”

Hayden narrowed his eyes. “If you didn't come here to talk about Elizabeth, why the hell are you here?”

The room stopped looking like a scene from a noir film. The shadows became normal again. Jack forced himself to relax his grip on Hayden's jacket. He dropped his hands and stepped back.

“The Vanguard of Tomorrow crowd,” Jack said.

Hayden frowned as he removed his jacket. “The radical group that trashes high-tech facilities? What about it?”

Jack walked to the window. He looked down into the shadows that concealed the river that tumbled out of a nearby mountain canyon. “It tore up one of the Excalibur labs late Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning. But it hasn't come forward to claim the incident.”

There was the smallest of hesitations before Hayden said, “So?”

“So I can't help but wonder if maybe VT had nothing to do with it, after all. But maybe you did.”

There was a short silence behind him.

“Prove it,” Hayden said.

“I don't have to prove it. If I decide you did it, that will be enough for me.”

“What the hell do you think you can you do to me even if you do manage to jump to that totally false conclusion?” Hayden asked. He sounded mildly curious.

“You don't want to find out.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Think of it as a promise.” Jack turned to look at him. “Excalibur is my client. The Ingersolls are good people. I won't allow you to hurt them just to get at me.”

“I had nothing to do with the trashing of the lab.” Hayden's voice sharpened. “I didn't even know about it until now. You can't pin that on me. If you're thinking of going to the cops, forget it.”

“I'm not going to the cops.” Jack walked toward the door. “Not yet. But if I find out that you've let your desire for revenge push you into hurting a lot of innocent people, I won't protect you.”

“I don't need your goddamned protection. I've never needed it.”

“One other thing.” Jack twisted the doorknob. “I realize that you're in Mirror Springs because you think you can get your hands on Soft Focus. I'm not sure yet just what role you're playing in this little film script we seem to be acting out here. But I'll tell you this much: You better make damn sure that you don't try to use Elizabeth to get what you want.”

Hayden gave a short, sharp, edgy laugh. “Why do I have to follow that rule? You sure as hell didn't follow it, did you?”

Jack said nothing. He opened the door and stepped out into the hall. He closed the door, went down the corridor to the elevators, and leaned wearily on the call button. While he waited for the cab to arrive, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror that decorated the opposite wall. His father's eyes looked back at him.

“It hasn't been easy cleaning up the mess you left behind, you son of a bitch,” he said to the image in the mirror.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss. He got into the cab, descended to the lobby, and walked out into the cold, moonlit night.

He crossed the parking lot to where he had left the car. He did not see Elizabeth bundled up in her long, black, down-filled coat until he was almost on top of her.

“I've had enough of your games, Fairfax.” Her eyes glittered furiously in the shadows. “I want some answers. You owe me that much.”

He looked at her and thought about what Hayden had said.
You might as well have written her name on the men's room wall at the club.

“Yes.” He ran his hand over his face once and then let it fall to his side. “I owe you that much.”

SHE REPLACED THE
bottle of cognac in the kitchen cupboard, picked up the two glasses she had poured, and carried
them out into the firelit room. She paused near the low, square coffee table and looked at Jack.

He stood in front of the hearth, one hand braced against the mantel, and stared into the flames.

Silently, she handed him one of the glasses. He scowled at it, as if he had to concentrate hard to pull his attention back from the fire. After a moment he took the glass from her fingers.

“You went to the hotel to confront Hayden, didn't you?” she said quietly.

He shrugged and took a swallow from the glass.

“Why?” She studied his face. “What did you hope to accomplish?”

“I don't know.” He slowly lowered the glass. “It's a long story.”

“We've got all night.”

He met her eyes. She realized that, for the first time since she had met him six months ago, he was allowing her to catch more than a fleeting glimpse of what lay beneath the surface. What she saw was daunting.

“My father was Sawyer J. Fairfax. He was a brilliant corporate strategist. Made a fortune in mergers and acquisitions during the last boom. His specialty was the hostile takeover of small, closely held companies. In his time, he destroyed countless little family businesses simply because he knew how to make a lot of money doing it.”

“Go on.”

“He was good at making profits and he was also very good at living a lie. He died while on a business trip to Europe. I was twenty-four at the time. Swear to God, until the day of the funeral, I assumed that I was his only son. So did my mother.”

Elizabeth frowned. “You didn't know about Larry?”

“No.” Jack looked at the cognac in his glass. “Turns out Larry and his mother didn't know about me, either. They lived in Boston. They were aware that my father was married and that he did a lot of traveling on business.”

“That accounted for all the absences.”

“Right. But none of us had a clue that there was a third son. Not until he showed up for the reading of the will.”

Elizabeth drew a sharp breath. “Not—?”

“Yeah. Hayden.”

“Good grief. Talk about a shock.”

“Hayden didn't come to the funeral. His anger at Dad runs so deep that he blames Sawyer's lies for his mother's suicide. Unfortunately, Dad died before Hayden could get his revenge.” Jack paused. “But that still leaves me.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes. “I see.”

“I was named executor in Dad's will. I got the job of untangling his legal, financial, and personal affairs. There were several pending lawsuits. Some incredibly arcane business deals that had to be closed out. And then there were all those people he had hurt along the way. All the small businesses he had crushed. All the families he had ruined.”

Some answers clicked neatly into place. Elizabeth opened her eyes. “That's why you've committed yourself to protecting small, family businesses. You're trying to compensate for all the damage your father did.”

He sipped his drink. “Don't get the wrong impression here. I'm not the altruistic type. I've carved out a market niche for myself, and it just happens to be very profitable.”

She let that go. “Tell me the rest of the story.”

“Like I said, unraveling my father's business affairs wasn't easy. But that wasn't the hard part.”

“What was?”

“The family stuff.”

“Of course.” She watched him for a long moment. “The family stuff is always the hardest part.”

“I will say one thing for Dad. He treated us all equally in his will. Larry is the youngest of his sons.” Jack's mouth curved briefly. “We have almost nothing in common, but we get along fine.”

“But you and Hayden are very much alike, aren't you? You've both got smart, savvy instincts when it comes to business. You've both got an amazing ability to focus on a goal or a problem. Good grief, now that I think about it, you've both got the same taste in clothes and food.”

Jack's expression hardened. “We're not exactly twins, separated at birth.”

“No,” she agreed readily. “You certainly don't look anything alike.”

Jack gave her a laconic look. “If that's a polite way of implying that Hayden is better looking—”

“He's not better looking,” she said brusquely. “Just different looking.”

“Very diplomatic.” Jack shrugged. “I can't help it if I take after my father. As I was saying, Larry's mother is one of those sweet, nurturing types. I don't think she was all that surprised to learn that I existed. But Hayden's mother wasn't so understanding. She knew that Sawyer was married, but she had always believed that he would one day divorce his wife and marry her. She didn't know about me.”

“Hard enough to discover that the man you loved had not only died before he got the divorce he had promised, but that he also had a son he had forgotten to mention.”