The Exhibition (An Executive Decision Trilogy) (17 page)

Later, much later, he asked her, ‘Why won’t you tell me what’s going on with you and Jamison?’

She pushed away from him and sat up. The sky above was now iron grey with the coming of dawn.

‘Was he your lover?’ Harris asked, moving to sit next to her, taking her into his arms when he realized she was shivering.

‘No. No, he wasn’t a lover. He was never a lover.’ There was no disguising the venom in her voice, nor did she try. There were times when the amount of hatred she felt for the man couldn’t be disguised. ‘I need a shower, Harris. The workers will be here in a little while. I’ve got another appointment with Martin and the security guys, and Carla’s coming over to show me the videos of the interviews.’ This time she didn’t invite him to join her. 

Chapter Twenty

The dreams were mostly disconnected images, like flashes on a movie screen, only there for a second and then gone. Images of being gnawed on by something with sharp teeth, something she could never quite see; images of sculpting a piece of white marble while Terrance Jamison told her which bits to chip away next. She wasn’t sure it was the images or the sound of voices that woke her. Clearly Mr. Jamison wasn’t alone in the suite. It was a male voice she could hear. She wondered what someone was doing there in the middle of the night, but a squint toward the window told her it was after dawn. Still a strange time for a visit.

The conversation was muffled at first, but as she rose from the bed and went to the bathroom to pee, she could hear more clearly. At the mention of Stacie Emerson, she froze in her tracks and held her breath, listening. Could this be another exciting plan Mr. Jamison was hatching to further her career? If it was, certainly Stacie Emerson was the person who could do it. She still felt bad about blowing off the dinner after the art auction in New York – especially since she was the person of honor. It was really rude now that she’d had time to think about it, and surely it wouldn’t have hurt Mr. Jamison to wait until the next day to wine her and dine her. But, at the time, none of that mattered. At the time, all that really mattered was that her work had sold for a million dollars and she had caught the attention of someone with the funds and the connections to push her career into high gear.

‘I told you not to come here,’ Mr. Jamison was saying. His voice was clipped and impatient. ‘You’ve been tailing Stacie Emerson ever since she settled in Portland, and you’re just now getting back to me. This had better be good, Baker.’

Tailing Stacie Emerson? Ingrid held her breath and inched her way closer on tiptoes. Why was this man tailing Stacie?

‘Oh, I think you’ll find it worth your while,’ the man responded smugly, which made Ingrid cringe. Jeez! She’d been with Mr. Jamison long enough to know being smug in his presence was never a good idea. The thought made her stomach knot and her palms sweat. Baker continued, ‘She’s been hanging out with Harris Walker, you know, the –’

‘I know who he is,’ Jamison interrupted.

‘Of course. Anyway, she wants Walker to do an exhibition for the opening of her gallery.’

‘I know that too, Baker. Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘Well, I’ll let the pictures do the talking.’ Ingrid could hear the rattling of paper. ‘These were taken a week and a half ago at Walker’s home on his lake. It’s clear they’re … intimate. I suspected as much when I tailed them at the Boiling Point, but there was a raid and I lost them in the crowd. These – well, these were taken after the woman had been wandering around on the Bald Hill clear-cut. Walker, it seems, came to her rescue.’

The silence prickled along Ingrid’s spine, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck. What in the world was going on, and what difference did it make if Stacie Emerson was boinking someone? She was an adult. She could do what she wanted. Ingrid recalled a mention of Harris Walker in some of the Portland research she’d done. He was a wildlife photographer and apparently a brilliant one. She hadn’t paid much attention. It had nothing to do with her.

At last Jamison spoke. ‘Is there any indication this is more than a one-off?’

‘I’ve just come from her gallery where he spent the night,’ Baker said. ‘I suppose they could have been working, but he showed up late with a pizza and left this morning a couple of hours before the work crews got there.’

There was another charged silence, ending in an explosion that sounded like shattered glass. Ingrid jumped and felt every nerve in her body go tense as she clasped a hand tightly over her mouth to keep from yelping in surprise.

‘She knows better than this,’ Jamison was saying. ‘The bitch knows better than this. It’ll cost her, and it’ll cost him. Why can’t she just behave herself? Why does she have to be such a little whore?’

Ingrid felt as if she had been slapped. How could he even say such things about Stacie Emerson,
the
Stacie Emerson? The woman was a goddess in her field. Everyone admired and adored her. She had a high enough profile that if she were sleeping around the gossip rags would have picked up on it, and even if she were, that was her business and her right. It had nothing to do with Jamison. Nothing!

Suddenly it was all she could do to stand on her trembling legs. Quickly, she returned to the bed. She hadn’t turned on the light and, for a long moment, she sat there, holding her breath, trying to gauge just what was going on and how long she might have. Mr. Jamison never actually slept with her, once they’d had sex. She wasn’t sure where he went or what he did after, but he’d probably leave her on her own until morning. If she kept her head down, he’d never know that she’d overheard. If she just pretended she was asleep, then tomorrow … tomorrow what? She found herself desperate to be safely back on the farm with her father, working in the old barn he’d cleared for her. Her stomach lurched so hard that she feared she’d vomit, and it wasn’t the alcohol. If Jamison was going to make this Harris Walker pay for sleeping with Stacie Emerson, then would going home put her father at risk? Dear God, how had she gotten herself into this mess?

From the nightstand next to her bed she grabbed her iPhone, doing her best to be quiet. She emailed Stacie Emerson.

Ms. Emerson, I’m in town with Terrance Jamison. I’d love to see you as soon as possible. I was just wondering, are you all right? Is Mr. Walker all right?

‘What are you doing up?’ Jamison’s voice broke into the silence. She jumped as though she had been shot. But she somehow had the presence of mind to press “send” before he took the phone from her hand.

She offered him a weak smile and a little sob. ‘I was having bad dreams. I woke up and decided to email my father. I miss him. I know that sounds strange, but we’re close.’

He settled onto the bed next to her, still holding her phone in his hand, and she tried not to stiffen when he touched her to stroke her cheek and push her mussed hair away from her face. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your dreams, darling. I was actually afraid I’d woken you. I had some business to attend to and my colleague knocked a vase off the table.’ His smile was solicitous, but his eyes were unreadable.

‘I … I suppose that might have been what woke me from the dream. I don’t know, what with the busy day and the alcohol. Normally I don’t drink much. That sort of muddles my brain, you know?’

With no more effort than the caress he’d just been indulging in, his large hand moved down to press hard against either side of her trachea. ‘Don’t lie to me, Ingrid. Don’t ever, ever lie to me. You’re not very good at it, and I make my living detecting when people are lying.’ Then he leaned in and kissed her ever so gently, all the while his hand threatened to cut off her breath. ‘I get very angry when someone lies to me, so don’t ever do that. Do you understand?’

She nodded carefully, trying not to increase the pressure of his hand at her throat, trying desperately not to cry. At this point, crying would definitely not help.

‘Good girl,’ he purred, releasing his grip as though it had been nothing. ‘I’m glad we understand each other so that it won’t happen again.’ Carefully, he laid the iPhone back on her nightstand.

She was so relieved that he hadn’t looked at her message, so relieved to have his hand off her throat that she didn’t see the first blow coming.

Chapter Twenty-one

It was like déjà vu. Harris found himself wondering how a night that was so hot and so full of promise ended with him fucking it up. Again! The connection between Stacie and Terrance Jamison had all sorts of alarm bells going off in his head loud and clear. He didn’t like it, hadn’t liked it from the beginning. And, frankly, he was really scared for Stacie. He liked that even less.

He’d left the gallery with little more than a terse thanks for the pizza and “don’t let the door hit you in the butt on the way out” in the way of a goodbye. Back home, he’d grabbed a quick shower and now sat in front of the computer with his third cup of coffee. Once more he went over all the details Cal had sent him about the Bald Hill clear-cut and Jamison’s connection. He followed as many of the leads back from that direction as he could – all of them dead-ending nowhere close to Stacie Emerson. If Bald Hill was her only reason for hating the man, well, she’d have to take a number.

Thanks to quality time spent with Pneuma Inc.’s tech genius, Wade Crittenden, Harris’ computer system was way more than state of the art, and he could access things that were only slightly less than illegal. The Crittenden upgrades had come in very handy in research and work he had done for the
Vanguard
, but it was a far cry from Wade’s system.

By the time the sun rose properly over the lake, Harris was researching New World Gallery in New York. Even if there’d been no connection to Jamison, Zoe Hanson’s suicide and the fact that Stacie was the one who found her, the one who had to carry on with the gallery after her death, was enough to really mess anyone up. But it was the implication that Jamison had been her lover that had closed Stacie down. Her response had chilled Harris’ blood.

Stacie had paid off the tremendous debt single-handedly with the exhibition from the Hermitage, featuring objects that had never been exhibited abroad before. Harris checked through as many write-ups about the big event in as many papers as he could. Accompanying the
New York Times
write-up was a photo of Stacie standing with the Saint Petersburg representatives and several of the major contributors in the States. He recognized Al Marston flanking her and … he squinted hard, then magnified the photo as much as he could on his system. Sure enough, in the background, not looking particularly happy, was Terrance Jamison. Harris felt the skin on the back of his neck crawl. Even with the bad image resolution, it was clear Jamison’s unpleasant look was reserved for Stacie.

No matter how hard Harris searched, though, he couldn’t find out who the gallery was in debt to. No matter how good his system might be, it just couldn’t do what Wade’s could. Another cup of coffee, more mounting frustration, and he called Wade.

‘What?’ came the usual terse answer.

‘Can I use the Dungeon’s computer for a little while? I need to do some techie research.’ That sounded better than questionable research, research that, no doubt, would have made Stacie furious if she knew, and was probably illegal as well.

‘Let yourself in,’ came the distracted reply. ‘Bring lunch. I’m starving.’

Harris looked down at his watch. It would be an early lunch, he thought, but then Wade dined when he felt like it, labeling whatever meal he ate randomly. ‘Anything in particular?’ Harris asked.

‘Don’t care. Gotta go. Busy.’ The line went dead.

An hour later, he arrived at the Dungeon, as Wade’s domain in the Pneuma Building was affectionately known, with burritos and nachos from the only restaurant he could find en route that was serving lunch so early. Wade was definitely not a foodie and could probably digest old tires if it meant he didn’t have to leave his research to eat, so Harris figured he was safe enough in his choice. Wade met him at the door, took the offered brown bag, and nodded to the driver’s seat in his boudoir.

Another hour and two Cokes later, Harris realized Wade was looking over his shoulder. ‘Why are you trying to access New World Gallery’s finances?’ he asked.

‘It’s something that’s bothering me about Stacie Emerson,’ Harris replied.

Wade folded his arms across his chest and offered him the evil eye. ‘Are you stalking her?’ Before he had time to answer, Wade reached over his shoulder and, with a few quick key strokes, pulled up the files and then some.

‘Jesus, Wade,’ Harris managed around a tightness of nerves in his chest. ‘You scare me sometimes.’

‘I know,’ came the matter of fact reply. Then he pulled up a chair next to Harris and rubbed his hands together. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘There’s no debt,’ Harris said. ‘There’s never even a mention of any debt until Stacie’s big media show of paying it off after the opening of the Hermitage exhibition. And look here, even the bank records you pulled up – and I don’t want to know how you did that – show that everything was meticulously paid off. Always. There was no debt.’

‘Why the sudden interested in Stacie’s finances, Walker?’ Wade asked.

‘I’m not interested in her finances. I’m interested in her connection with Jamison.’

‘Probably her connection with Ellis,’ Wade said.

‘Possibly, but if Jamison were interested in hurting Ellis through the people he loves, it’d be Dee he’d be turning his attention to, don’t you think?’

‘Hold it.’ Wade’s evil eye was back in spades. ‘You never said anything about Jamison turning his attention to Stacie. What the hell is going on?’

‘First she nearly gets herself killed on the Bald Hill clear-cut, out there alone. And every time Jamison’s mentioned, the drawbridge comes up and she turns into a fortress and … Whoa, wait a minute! Look at this.’ He squinted at the monitor. ‘There are colossal expenses here. Major damage to the facility. The basement flooding twice? What are the chances of that? Damage to art, complete electrical overhaul due to unsafe wiring. Three repairs due to vandalism … What the hell’s going on here, Wade? This sounds like major sabotage. And every time it happens there’s a big influx of cash from … Omega Trust. Who the hell is Omega Trust?’

It took another hour and a half of searching before the roots of Omega Trust were uncovered, exactly where Harris had feared. It seemed Omega Trust was really Omega Holdings, which became the Omega Group and was swallowed up by Core Invest. ‘Fuck!’ The two men said at exactly the same time. It was Jamison who had first Zoe Hanson, then Stacie by the short hairs.

All at once Harris felt nauseated. ‘But why? Why any of this?’ He nodded to the series of expensive repairs that, when pieced together in the puzzle, clearly had to be the result of deliberate damage.

Wade scrolled through the financial record again. ‘We were running Pneuma Inc. out of a shoebox at the ass end of Gresham then. Nothing there to interest Jamison. Far as I know, Ellis had no contact with Stacie then, and neither did Garrett.’

‘Did it have something to do with Zoe Hanson?’ Harris asked.

Wade pulled up what he could find about Zoe, by which time Harris had nearly forgotten how illegal what they were doing was. ‘Zoe Hanson. Born to a family of moderate wealth. Only child. Inherited the gallery. Nothing I can see that would draw Jamison’s attention. Unless …’ Wade pulled up a photo of Zoe two years before her suicide. ‘Unless Jamison’s a collector of more than just fine art.’

Harris let out a low whistle at the picture of a porcelain-skinned redhead who looked as though she could have come straight out of a Pre-Raphaelite painting. ‘You really think it was just that? The way she looked?’

‘I’m not a psychologist,’ Wade said. ‘But rich people have expensive hobbies, and how legal those hobbies are doesn’t matter if there’s enough money.’ He brought up details on Zoe Hanson from who knew where? ‘Educated at Harvard, spoke French, German and Italian fluently. Travelled extensively before her father’s death from a heart attack forced her to take over the gallery. She was a formidable yachtswoman, which she gave up when she took over the gallery.’ Seeing Harris’ questioning look, Wade nodded to the monitor. ‘There are records here for the sale of a yacht about the time she took on New World Gallery, but no purchase records of another one. She sounds like an interesting diversion for Jamison.’

Harris thought about what he knew of Stacie’s background. If Zoe had been an interesting diversion, then Stacie must have been completely enthralling. But that was just a theory, he reminded himself.

Into the tense silence, Wade’s BlackBerry buzzed. He cursed and picked it up. ‘What? I’m bus … We’ll be right up.’ He shoved the device back into its holster and tugged at his grey hoodie. ‘That was Ellis. There’s been a coup in Valderia. All our properties have been nationalized.’

When Wade and Harris arrived at Ellis’ office, the meeting had begun. Dee, Ellis, and Alan Marston, who was in town for talks, all sat at the conference table with files spread and laptops open. Lynn, Ellis’ secretary, took notes fast and furiously.

Dee gave Harris a tight hug and nodded him to a seat next to Ellis just as Martin Flannery gave a soft knock on the door and let himself in. Harris knew the man was way more than head of security for Pneuma Inc. Flannery was ex-special forces with connections that even God didn’t have.

Flannery nodded his greeting, then turned his attention to Ellis. ‘We’ve got most of our people out of Valderia except for the few in the deep interior. They aren’t going to be easy.’

‘I don’t care what you have to do,’ Ellis said, ‘and I don’t care what resources you have to use, Martin. Just get them to safety. That’s our number one priority. I want no loss of life. None.’

‘Understood.’ The man pulled out his BlackBerry and typed furiously for only a few seconds, then put it away. ‘I’m pulling in all the favors I can muster.’

‘I know you are.’ The muscles tightened along Ellis’ jaw as he held Flannery’s gaze. ‘It’s Jamison, isn’t it?’

Flannery nodded. ‘He’s made no attempt to cover it up. Says he’s protecting Valderian interests.’

‘Read into that his interests,’ Marston said. ‘The fucker has deep pockets.’

‘My sources tell me he’s already taking bids on the Valderian forest,’ Flannery said.

Harris always felt slightly giddy when he recalled the photo shoot he’d done for Ellis in their whirlwind trip to Valderia. They had trekked through the most pristine forest he’d ever seen at what could have only been described as a forced march. As they struggled to assess the situation, Ellis and his team negotiated to buy up all the properties that would allow Jamison access to clear-cut and remove timber from the forest, in essence making it impossible for the man to get to or export the timber he’d purchased. The cost to Pneuma Inc. must have been colossal, yet Ellis never flinched about doing the right thing. It had been a well-coordinated work of total genius between Ellis, Wade and Dee. As proud as Harris was of his own involvement, he still couldn’t think about the efforts of his best friend without a sense of extreme pride. Dee had proven her worth a thousand times over during that very tense time. How could Ellis not have fallen head over heels for her? They had all worked hard, way above peak performance, to keep Jamison from selling the virgin forest for clear-cutting. Surely all that work couldn’t have been for nothing. And Harris knew, as very few did, that with the team of people around this table, if there was a way they’d find it. If there wasn’t, they’d invent one. Yet the very thought of the possible loss still made him feel sick inside.

‘Fortunately, my uncle was out of the country when the coup happened,’ Dee said. Another surprise, that. Who knew Dee had an uncle in the Valderian government? Well, not a blood uncle, but someone close to her, someone who loved her and respected her enough to willingly pull strings from the inside. ‘Most of those in President Vasquez’s cabinet have been imprisoned for interrogation, or worse. Uncle Gustavo’s working from Paris to call in favors and see what can be done. No one knows at the moment if President Vasquez is alive or dead.’

‘Can Jamison really finance an entire coup?’ asked Harris.

‘He doesn’t have to,’ Wade chimed in. ‘All he has to do is unload his forest to someone sympathetic to the regime change, then he can withdraw whenever it suits him.’

‘He’s given Alberto Rojas a taste of power,’ said Flannery, ‘and convinced him it’s his for the taking – with Jamison’s help, of course. From here on out, the man’s putty in Jamison’s hands. And Jamison’s only interested in getting his money’s worth. That, and getting even with Ellis.’

‘Fucker’s just a glorified drug lord,’ Marston said.

‘And if he gets too full of himself –’ Flannery added ‘– Jamison can always have him assassinated.’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Marston looked like he could bite nails. ‘So what the hell are we gonna do about it?’

‘We can try to circumvent the sale,’ Ellis replied. ‘Do we know who the prospective buyer is?’

‘Not yet, but we’ll find out.’ Flannery shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

‘What is it, Martin? If you’ve got something we can use,’ Ellis said, ‘then spit it out.’

‘I don’t know whether this has anything to do with anything, or even if you knew already, but Stacie Emerson and Jamison have talked.’

‘What?’ came the nearly unison response.

Flannery tugged at his collar as though it were too tight. ‘Keep in mind I’m working for the woman, and if this is considered a breach of confidence, which it damned well could be, then I deserve to be fired on the spot, but it wasn’t a good feeling I got.’

‘Tell us,’ Ellis said. ‘If Stacie’s in trouble, we need to know.’

It was all Harris could do to stay in his seat.

Flannery leaned forward and placed his hands on the table. He took a deep breath and began. ‘She tried to keep it from me, but I overheard the phone call. She didn’t look happy about it. One minute she was laughing and joking with me, and we were looking over the plans for her security system, and the next minute, I thought the woman was gonna pass out on me. She looked scared. Almost sick, in fact. Oh, when she hung up, she tried to make light of it. And when he sent the limo, she tried to convince me that it was just business.’

‘Jesus,’ Harris burst out. ‘Stacie went to see him? Why the hell didn’t you stop her? She knows what he’s like. After what he did to her in New York, why would she go to him?’