Volcano (32 page)

What the hell was she thinking? Penelope closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wanted to express affection for this man who had turned her life upside down and inside out? Was she mad? She could be unemployed shortly if she had to turn in a time sheet with no billable hours. Charlie's grand gesture only delayed the inevitable.

She opened her eyes again, and a tiny rainbow danced across her desk blotter.

“Penelope.” Charlie's voice was almost apologetic as he hung up the phone. “I have to leave. I've got to pay my employees somehow and I'm not making any progress from here.”

Steeling herself as best as she could, she looked up and met Charlie's eyes. She saw regret there, and she didn't like it. She didn't want him thinking she was ungrateful for the flowers, and she owed him a favor in return.

She pointed at the chair from which he was rising. “Sit. Give me your bank account numbers and your lawyer's name.”

A wrinkle appeared between his eyes as he reluctantly withdrew account cards from his wallet and handed them over. “There's a lien on them. You can't take anything out. What are you going to do?”

“Give your employees a Valentine's present,” she announced sweetly, reaching for the phone.

She jerked it from his hand as he tried to grab it back and continued hitting buttons. As the person on the other end answered, she turned away from Charlie. “Hi, Celia, put me through to Marshall, would you?”

She sensed Charlie warily sitting back in the chair. She couldn't very well admit she was doing this for him. She didn't want to admit he was getting to her. She couldn't afford any kind of relationship right now, and certainly not one with a man like Charlie. But she wanted to do this anyway. Idly, she stroked a fragile yellow petal as she waited for someone to pick up the phone on the other end.

“Hi, Marshall, how's Gloria? How did you place in the tournament?” She hated these little social games, but they worked. Besides, she liked Marshall and Gloria, even if they were golf nuts. She grimaced at the news that they'd placed out of the running, offered sympathetic noises, then finally launched into her reason for calling.

“I have a client who's run into a little problem with bank liens, and his attorney is out of town. If we don't get it untangled today, his employees won't be paid. We could probably do a personal loan and open a new account, but the IRS gets a little antsy when we play around like that. If I fax the info over to you, could you take care of it for me?”

She smiled as she hung up. Charlie still eyed her suspiciously, but he waited instead of commenting.

“Have your secretary fax the lien documents to this number.” She pushed the card from her Rolodex across the desk. “Marshall is a pricey attorney who knows all the nooks and crannies at the courthouse. He'll shove those spurious liens down someone's throat before the day's over.”

Charlie reached for the phone with a smile of admiration. “You play this game well, don't you? Golf?” This last he asked with a quirk at the corner of his lips.

Penelope shrugged. “If that's what it takes.”

“How good are you?” Catching Sherry on the first ring, he gave her the fax number and repeated Penelope's orders.

Penelope waited until he hung up to reply. “Not bad. It's a silly game, but I have a good eye.”

“Football's more fun,” he said hopefully.

“Football's cold.” She didn't have any intention of elaborating, but before Charlie could argue, the phone rang and she grabbed for it. The voice asking for Charlie sounded panicky.

Charlie took the receiver when she handed it over, frowned at what he heard, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell him I'm on-site and you left a message. Send him to the hotel project if he persists.”

Penelope waited as he hung up. With a grimace, he threw back his shoulders and glared out the window. “That was Sherry again. Emile just arrived at my office.”

“He could just be looking for Tammy,” Penelope reminded him.

“
That's
supposed to make me feel better?”

There was a knock on the door, and Rachel stuck her head in.

She smiled dreamily at Charlie as she handed Penelope a parcel. “This just came by special messenger. Could I bring you more coffee, Mr. Smith?”

“This is fine, thanks.” He nodded at the cup he'd scarcely touched since Rachel brought it in earlier.

“You didn't play with the Dolphins at any time, did you?”

“
Rachel
,” Penelope cut in, lifting her eyebrow pointedly.

“Sorry.” With an unapologetic smile, she retreated.

She shouldn't be so irritated with the receptionist's blatant admiration of Charlie. Rachel flirted with all the good-looking men who passed her desk. Penelope had always laughed at her before. She wasn't laughing now as she tore into the package.

Charlie got up and stalked the room. His restlessness was beginning to rub off on her. She could hope Beth and the kids were safe, but she didn't
know
it. For all she knew, Jacobsen had located the suite Charlie's company used in Orlando, and he was waiting for them. Or Emile could have brought his hired thugs with him and could be even now tracking them down. Men who murdered to get what they wanted could have more contacts than she knew. What the devil did she know about murderers anyway?

The brown paper finally fell away and Penelope gasped in surprise at the familiar gold box inside. “Godivas! Who on earth would send me Godivas?” A box this large would require a bank loan to buy and a detox center to recover from.

“There should be a card,” Charlie muttered. “It's not as imaginative as getting the liens off my account, but it's the best I could do at short notice.”

Penelope flipped open the gold card.
Don't eat them all in one place. Love, Charlie.
Love, Charlie. It was just a cliché he'd thought necessary for a Valentine gift, but she was still amazed that he'd remembered the day at all, especially with the pressure he was under. His generosity and thoughtfulness overwhelmed her.

“It's the spirit of competition, isn't it?” she asked consideringly, lifting the lid and selecting her favorite truffle. It melted in lush rivers of raspberry and dark chocolate on her tongue as Charlie turned and glared at her.

“What's the spirit of competition?” he demanded.

“If I do something for you, you've got to do something better. That's what we have in common.”

He opened his mouth to reply, shut it again as he watched her savor the chocolate, then reluctantly grinned. “Okay, maybe. Now can we get out of here?”

“Out of here? Where to? And why?” She offered him the chocolates, trying to behave as if this were a normal business conference. But Charlie's restlessness was rasping against her already ragged nerves.

“My stepfather knows who you are. Jacobsen must know you work here. Sooner or later, one of them will show up, and I don't want you around when they do.” He tore the wrapping off a plain chocolate.

Penelope figured he didn't have an answer to the “where to?” or the “how?” that was forming on the tip of her tongue, so she didn't waste her breath. “You don't really think they're inclined to come in here and mow us down with machine guns, do you?”

“I believe the term is semiautomatic weapons, and no, I don't see that scenario. I can, however, see Jacobsen calling Poindexter with some fraudulent charge and demanding your instant removal. We can worry about the semiautomatics as we're tossed out on the street.”

This still didn't feel real to her. She hadn't seen Michel's body or the skeleton in Raul's hut. She hadn't seen the ransacked cottage. She'd been in an auto accident before. They happened without rhyme or reason. She had no way of knowing if that ravine was intended for them. For all she knew, Charlie was as paranoid as Raul. The paper trail to the possible Russian Mafia worried her though. Still, that didn't mean—

Charlie slapped both hands on the desk in front of her and leaned over until they were practically eye to eye. “Did you find any new companies in Jacobsen's file?” he demanded.

The harshness of his gaze froze her. She almost wished for his mirrored sunglasses back. “He just incorporated a new construction firm under the name of St. Lucia Productions. The Russians are on the stated board of directors. So is Emile.”

He muttered a foul expletive, straightened, and plowed his fingers through his hair. “The last time I looked, Jacobsen's corporate office was closed and up for sale. I don't suppose you can give me the address of the new company?”

“He's incorporating in Delaware and lists a Delaware attorney as his agent of record. But the mailing address is St. Lucia.” Penelope held her breath and waited for the explosion.

His shoulders hunched. He turned his back toward her, so she couldn't see his expression, but she could see his fingers form fists. He didn't know what to do with her, she realized. He wanted to find Jacobsen, but he didn't dare leave her alone. She didn't know how she felt about that. Glancing at the rainbow of roses in the crystal vase, she decided it was best not to ponder too deeply on how she felt about anything.

Emotions only confused matters. Logic and concentration, on the other hand, could put together pretty clear pictures.

“The company uses a rental car agency down the street. They'll deliver a car to the parking garage attendant. I can tell Rachel we're heading out for an early lunch and then to your office for the afternoon. She'll accept that. I can't set up a system without examining your books.” She bounced her pencil on the desk and eyed the Godivas longingly. She really
needed
chocolate right now. “If you think there's any danger, you may want to tell your office staff to clear out.”

He seemed to take a deep breath but didn't turn. “I think, at this point,” he replied slowly, as if thinking aloud, “they're after us and your computer. There wouldn't be a lot of point in drawing attention to themselves by terrorizing anyone else, unless they figure my staff has access to the information.”

“Why don't we just let the FBI handle this?” she asked softly. “Tammy and Raul are safe. Your employees will get paid. We can just hide away somewhere until this is over.”

Charlie turned, and the heated look in his eyes almost blew her away. He acknowledged her reaction with a wry grin that didn't reduce the smolder. “Someplace with hot springs and big beds?” he suggested. “I might take you up on that offer.”

Oh my. Oh double my. Just like the Wicked Witch of the West, she melted into a puddle at his feet. She should have been wearing her ruby slippers. Even with her limited imagination Penelope could see them both naked in some bubbling jungle spring. To hell with the real world. She wanted the promise she read in Charlie's eyes.

She called the rental car company. They'd arrived by taxi, leaving the Escort and her car at the apartment to confuse anyone following them. A rental car in the company name should be equally untraceable.

Charlie nodded approvingly, then returned to pacing. He spoke as soon as she hung up. “If they possess a parcel of brains between them, they'll know about my plane by now. We can't use that. I'll call a 'copter company and have them deliver you to Orlando. You can have a good time with the kids.”

You?
He was sending
her
to Orlando? The morning's tension hit an outlet and erupted. Penelope heaved the box of chocolates at him. Silver and gold foil, white and dark chocolates exploded across the room as the shiny box bounced off Charlie's huge shoulders. She could scarcely miss a target as broad as any barn.

“You bastard!” She would have shouted, but that would only bring the curiosity seekers running. She seethed too much to desire an audience. He'd conned her with warm looks and pretty flowers, made her think he was actually listening to her excellent advice, and then he dumped her on family. She would kill him for building her hopes so high.

Charlie stood amid the sea of expensive chocolates and glared at her. “That's a nasty right arm you've got there. Throw the roses too, if it'll make you feel better. It won't change my mind. You're home and you're safe and I want it to stay that way. You can help your brother-in-law look after Tammy and Raul.”

“Ex-brother-in-law,” she reminded him. “And just what do you think you'll be doing? Taking Emile out to dinner and explaining all the reasons why he can't marry his daughter off to Russian Mafia or European nobility or whatever? Or maybe you thought you'd single-handedly take on Jacobsen and his thugs and blow them off the map? What the
hell
do you think you can do that the FBI can't?”

He shrugged his big shoulders. “I don't know, but I'll do it a lot easier knowing you're safe.”

Men! More exasperated than outraged now, Penelope returned to bouncing her pencil on the desk. “I haven't given you Jacobsen's address yet,” she pointed out. “You can't just attack him without any evidence.”

He hadn't really thought about it. Watching the glossy knot of Penelope's black hair in the sunshine from the window, Charlie couldn't think of much at all except keeping that slender neck out of trouble. She kept stroking the rose petals and moving the crystal to catch the sun when she thought he wasn't looking. A woman like Penelope, one who acknowledged she'd once been a fashion model, must have received hundreds of roses in her lifetime, but he thought maybe she fancied his offering a little. He wanted her safe until he could come back and take her out properly. Maybe he'd even escort her to the symphony or something, so he could prove he wasn't a complete hick.