“This way. Daphne and I talked about your project this morning. She’s very interested in working with you. How old did you say you were?”
“Thirty-five.” I hold the door open that she unlocks with her card access. “My girlfriend says I’m getting old.”
“You don’t look old. Maybe you need a younger girlfriend.”
So much for my attempt to deter this young lady’s flirtations. I give up and silently follow her down a long hallway until we get to a corner office. She knocks on the door. “Daphne, Mr. Vinton is here.”
“Come in!” she calls.
Katie opens the door and positions herself so I have to brush by her in order to get into the office. Kids these days. Daphne rounds her desk and comes forward, holding both hands out in front of her to take mine. “Mr. Vinton, how nice of you to approach me. Come in and sit down. Can Katie get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, water?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” I move into the office, but I don’t sit. Daphne has quite the view of Midtown from her corner office. Windows cover two of the four walls.
“Of course. You may go, Katie,” she orders. Katie pauses and then reluctantly closes the door.
“Please sit.” Daphne gestures. She, like Katie, is tall and slender. She’s dressed in a black dress and thin stiletto heels that look like they could kill someone. I much prefer my penguin-pajama-wearing Natalie to this sleek machine.
“I think I’ll stand.”
“Oh?” She takes her seat behind the desk. “Because of your leg? Tell me more about your story. Will you write it or will you want a ghostwriter?” Her pen is poised to take notes.
“None of the above. I’m Jake Tanner of Tanner Securities. Oliver Graham hired me four weeks ago to discover who’d been stalking and harassing his cousin, Natalie.”
The blood drains from Daphne’s face as she makes the connection. I walk around her office, noting that Natalie’s books are placed in a prominent position, but that those aren’t the only books Daphne edits. “Do you terrorize all your authors or is Natalie a special case?”
“I terrorize them all. It’s how I get the work out of them I do. If authors were left to their own devices, they would dawdle over one sentence a day. They need constant encouragement and motivation. I provide both.” There’s not an ounce of repentance or regret in her voice. It makes my job easier.
“The dog thing was inspired, but you couldn’t secure the silence of the restaurant. Did you really think you were going to get away with it?”
“It was a minor miscalculation.” The fingers around the pencil tighten. “There was every indication our transaction would be kept private.”
“You should have slept with the owner instead of threatening him with exposure to the health department. Love makes you do things that fear won’t or can’t. Take Natalie, for example; she cared for you and worked tirelessly to finish her book because of that love. But you shit on that love and now you’re not going to see a single word.”
She snorts. “You’ve known her for how long? Please. Natalie will deliver that book to me. If not today then next week. She’ll forgive me in the end because she knows I did this for her. Out of love.”
“No, you’re going to announce your retirement today, and your project will be passed on to another editor, one of Natalie’s choosing. After you announce your retirement, you will go home and pack, and then you will get on a plane and fly to Columbia, Missouri, where your parents still live. If you make any attempt to contact Natalie, you will be brought up on embezzlement charges.”
“What? What are you talking about? I’m not an embezzler! I don’t even have access to financial accounts here!” she cries.
I look bemusedly at her. “Really? Because I’m fairly certain your bank account has at least four suspicious deposits from your employer. You should go and try to straighten that out before the information is turned over to the police.”
“Did you plant this on me? Did you?” She screeches. She jumps to her feet and starts shoving things in a bag.
“Let’s just say that building security in New York leaves a lot to be desired. If you were staying, I’d recommend that you look into a security firm to assess the safety and security of your building. And if you’d hired someone like me, I’d tell you that a person would be able to pass by the front-desk security under the guise of delivering flowers and that the two locks on your doors can be bypassed with a bump key and opened in under twenty seconds. Both locks. I’d also tell you that leaving your passwords taped to your desk under your keyboard is practically an invitation for hacking. I’d think it would be hard to get another job in this town with that kind of black mark on your record.”
“Get out,” she snarls as she runs by me.
“Don’t forget,” I call after her. “No contact, or the next person that walks through your door will be wearing a blue uniform.”
She wrenches the door open and runs out. I follow at a sedate pace. Katie is standing beside her office cubicle with a confused look on her face.
“She forgot she left her iron on at home.” I shrug. “Another time.”
“Oh, okay. Do you want me to reschedule?”
“No, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think a memoir is in the cards for me.”
I call Mike to let him know that Daphne has twenty-four hours to quit her job and get out of New York before we leak the information planted in her bank account. I climb into my car and drive to Tribeca. I flash my lights at the car parked across the street from Natalie’s building and Rondell pulls out, leaving me the empty parking space. I park, push back the seat, and pull out my laptop. For as long as it takes, this car will be my office.
Around four, Oliver exits the building and walks across the street toward the car. I get out, needing to stretch anyway.
“You planning on sitting here all day?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“She got an email that Daphne quit her job. You have something to do with that?”
“Yes.”
He nods with approval. “I’d been thinking of contacting her publisher and saying that I’d write a memoir for them if they’d fire her. What was your take?”
“Her bank records reveal several large financial transfers from her publisher into her private account. If she steps out of line, that information will be provided to the police.”
He whistles. “That’s better than my idea.”
“It appears to be working. Although I don’t mind if she sticks around, because her ass belongs in prison. I tried to make it easy on her for Natalie’s sake.” I tilt my head up to look at her third-story balcony.
“She’s doing okay,” Oliver says, answering my unspoken question. “She’s hurting, but I think if you give her time . . .” He trails off.
“I’ll wait for her as long as it takes.”
He looks surprised, but pleased. “I don’t know what that feels like.”
“What?”
“To care about a person outside my family that strongly. Is it a good feeling?”
I rub a hand across my chest where the ache set in and hasn’t left. Then I remember the short time we were together. The pleasure we had in bed and the time we spent out of it, just talking. “It’s worth the pain,” I finally say.
“Kind of like the game.”
I nod in agreement and we stand in silence for a few minutes watching the balcony. He breaks the silence. “This is some kind of Romeo and Juliet shit, isn’t it?”
“I hope not, since they ended up dead.”
“Yeah, but Natalie’s safe now. She’ll come around.” He doesn’t say it with confidence, though. I don’t care. I have enough confidence for the two of us. I have enough belief for everyone.