“Williams is going to be calling you,” the expensively suited man said as he settled casually into the seat. Before Elliott could ask why, his cell rang and Williams’s name popped up.
“You got Connelly there with you?” The man, whom Elliott had first visited during his initial investigation of Liam on behalf of Barbara Bustamante, didn’t introduce himself.
“Yes.”
“Has he told you about the reporters?”
“No.” He didn’t look at his charge.
Pulling out of the darkened garage into bright sunshine, Elliott turned left, making another quick left to head toward the building that housed the public law offices where Gabrielle worked.
“He sent me an email while I was out. While he assured me he was going to be lunching in, after which I kept the business lunch I’d scheduled, he instead skipped out to a corner deli apparently to meet with his editor to go over last-minute edits to the May installment of the series he’s writing on his father’s life...”
The words earned Liam Connelly a sharp look from Elliott, but the financier didn’t seem to notice.
Elliott knew better. Liam Connelly was a smart man. He knew he’d made a mistake. He’d emailed Williams.
And warned Elliott.
Liam was an honest man. He also was his own man. He did what he thought was right. To the point of stupidity, in Elliott’s opinion. Not that he blamed the guy. Liam’s adamant independence was a product of growing up under the abusively domineering hand of a father who’d been determined to control him at all costs.
“Let me talk to him,” Elliott said now, breaking into whatever Williams had been about to tell him. “I’ll get back with you.”
He didn’t work for Jeb Williams. Didn’t really even know the guy. Other than to know that his initial association with Williams had inadvertently allowed him to walk into the perfect cover for the job he’d been on. And while Liam Connelly was paying him—a nonnegotiable term on Liam’s part, one that Elliott had fought—even Liam was unaware that he’d come to them initially through Barbara Bustamante. And was still on her payroll, as well.
“I screwed up,” Liam said as soon as Elliott slid his smartphone back into its holster.
“How bad is it?”
“That jerk reporter, Tarnished Truth...”
Elliott recognized the name. The sleazy reporter who sold his work to sensationalistic independent internet news sources had gone after Liam and Gabrielle back in February, lying in wait and then infusing slimy innuendo into the stories he reported.
“He must have followed me,” Liam said. “I can’t believe it was the coincidence he claimed that he happened to be there. He said that he thought he owed it to me, because of his unbecoming behavior earlier in the year, to let me know that there’s been some talk at a bar he hangs out at—some reporter hangout, according to him. Word is I’ve now taken over my father’s business.”
“You’ve taken on a more active role,” Elliott said.
“He claims that the rumor is that this whole scheme was prearranged, like Agent Menard and the FBI originally thought. That my father and I had some big plan to frame George so I could take over if the Ponzi scheme ever came to light.”
“They have reams of proof that George Costas was behind the fraudulent investments.” Elliott tackled the obvious while his mind worked furiously on the real piece of news.
The press—at least certain members of it—were still out to hang Liam. Probably because he was young, good-looking and recently married, making him of keener interest to their readers. He was good for drama to those who cared more about such things than about newsworthy facts. And a source of jealousy to a lot of people.
“You and I know all about the evidence against George. Doesn’t mean the press knows.”
“My understanding was that Costas could be close to a plea deal.” He’d heard that straight from Liam.
“That’s what Gwen Menard told me when I spoke with her last week.” The FBI agent who’d originally questioned Liam.
Talk of a plea deal was worth nothing until it actually happened. Could change in the space of a heartbeat—or a conversation. And until it was done, Liam and his father were going to be under attack.
Even after it was done the suspicious-minded would probably still doubt them. Still wonder. Still tell the stories conjured up by their conspiracy-theory mind-sets.
“I’m assuming you set him straight,” Elliott said, making the last turn that would allow him to pull up at the curb right outside Gabrielle’s building.
“Of course I did. And he thanked me for allowing him to know the truth firsthand.”
“He’s up to no good,” Elliott said aloud.
“That’s a strong possibility.”
He couldn’t stop a reporter from reporting—even when the news was false. The guy would just claim that he believed his story to be the truth. Liam could always sue for defamation of character, but not until after the damage was done.
“So I’ll call and get some extra security for the front of the coffee shop just in case. And we stay on high alert,” Elliott said, sliding the vehicle into the curb as Gabrielle, in a navy pantsuit and with briefcase in hand, came outside.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Liam grumbled.
But he didn’t argue.
* * *
MARIE WAS ALREADY UPSTAIRS, having left Eva and Nancy—another college student, a weekend employee who’d asked to pick up some extra hours—to close up the shop for the night, when Gabrielle got home. Gabi called her to invite her to share Chinese takeout in their apartment.
Chinese takeout that had already been ordered and that would be delivered momentarily. Which meant one thing to Marie. Trouble was brewing.
She hoped to God it wasn’t between Liam and Gabi.
Anything but that.
Putting the tuna she’d been mixing in a container and shoving it in the mostly empty fridge, she changed into a clean pair of jeans, a black tailored blouse and sandals before heading out. In the olden days, during most of the past thirteen years that Gabi had been living with her, Marie would have shown up to the table for Chinese takeout in the sweats she’d had on. But in the olden days, they’d never gone to Liam’s world. He’d always come to theirs.
As soon as she stepped into the apartment, she was glad she’d changed. Elliott Tanner was there, his big body looming over the small cardboard cartons from his seat at the table. Liam was in the kitchen getting drinks. But it was clear from the table setting that she’d been left to sit next to the bodyguard.
She wanted to be upset about that.
Or at least unmoved.
It would be their first dinner together.
She pulled out her seat with such force it almost toppled. “How’d you know I’d be free for dinner?” was the first question she asked.
And then, with a glance at Elliott, she answered her own questions. “Because you have my schedule.”
He nodded. Offered her the honey walnut shrimp. “Gabrielle says this is for you.”
They had more for her, too, she found out as they started to eat. With apology written all over his face, Liam confessed his actions of early in the day.
Marie