Season Of Strangers Part 23

Julie sat at Alex Donovan's bedside, holding the old man's once-paralyzed hand. He was sitting propped up in bed, smiling, his cheeks robust instead of hollow, looking more fit than he had in years.

"It's a miracle," Alex said. "I ought to be lying out there next to Martha, six feet under, but for some d.a.m.nable reason, G.o.d saw fit to keep me alive."

"It is a miracle, Alex. And no one is more grateful for it than I am."

"How does Patrick feel? He hasn't come around all that much since the stroke. At times it's hard to know what that son of mine is thinking."

"Patrick barely left your side the whole time you were sick. He loves you, Alex. He always has. Surely you don't believe he feels anything less."

Alex pointed toward a small rubber ball lying on a tray beside his bed and Julie handed it over. "There is the matter of his inheritance." He began to squeeze it with his still weak left hand, determinedly working the muscles and tendons. "Before his heart attack, there were times he seemed to need money very badly."

"He was trying to get Brookhaven built, and having terrible financial problems. But he never considered involving you, Alex, or asking you to help in any way. He knew you couldn't really afford that kind of investment. Besides, I think one of the reasons he wanted to build those condos was to prove himself to you. He wanted to make you proud of him."

Alex grunted something unintelligible. "It was difficult to be proud of a son whose sole purpose in life was to immerse himself in excess...or perhaps find ways to destroy himself."

"He's different now."

"Is he? I'm extremely proud of the man he's become since his heart attack. But I'm terrified the change is only temporary." He reached a thin hand out to touch her cheek. "I'm worried for you, Julie. I'm afraid you're going to be hurt."

Julie felt the sharp burn of unexpected tears. "Patrick's changed," she insisted. "He never touches alcohol or drugs. He keeps himself in shape. He's stronger now than he ever has been, more confident, more self-a.s.sured." She swallowed past the lump that rose in her throat. "I love him, Alex. I tried not to, but I do."

Alex sighed. "I know you do. I can see it in your eyes whenever you look at him. And you're right, he is different, more of a man than I ever believed he could be. Donovan Real Estate has actually begun to make money again, thanks to my son. And you, Julie. For years you wouldn't give him the time of day. Now you tell me you're in love with him. Under different circ.u.mstances, I couldn't be more thrilled. But is it really possible for a man to change so much?"

Julie tried to smile but it came out a little wobbly. "I hope so, Alex. I pray every day that the man I love is real and not just an illusion."

"I'm praying for it, too, Julie. For my son...and for you."

Business was in full swing by the time Val arrived at the office the following day. Without looking up from the call she was taking, Shirl thrust a handful of messages into his hand and pointed down the hall. She pressed a palm over the receiver. "There are a couple of guys in your office. I tried to get them to wait for you out here but they insisted. I thought it was better if I just let them in."

Val glanced toward the closed door and knew in an instant which men were waiting. "You did the right thing, Shirl. I'll take care of it."

She nodded and frantically started taking messages again. It was amazing how much busier the place had gotten over the past few weeks. It was a shame Patrick hadn't taken the time to manage his staff as Val had been doing in his place. It wasn't that difficult and Patrick had been good at it. It bothered Val to think what would happen to the business once he was gone.

He reached the door to his office, paused for a moment outside, then stepped in and pulled it closed. The same two men waited, one lean and well-dressed, leaning back in the chair behind his desk, the other stout and sandy-haired sprawled over the arm of the sofa. This time he knew their names.

Val flashed a mocking half smile. "Ah, Mr. Ceccarelli. So good of you to drop in. You, too, of course, Naworski."

The tall, gray-haired Italian eyed him with a look of surprise mixed with respect. The Italian was dressed as impeccably as before, in the standard double-breasted blue pinstripe suit. An old memory surfaced and Val smiled to think the man must have watched too many G.o.dfather movies, some of Patrick's favorite boyhood films.

"You've been doing your homework," said the man behind his desk. "Good for you, Donovan. I'm impressed."

It hadn't been all that hard to discover who they were. Ralph Ceccarelli and Jake Naworski were fairly well known around L.A, if you knew where to look for them. Val had simply paid a man who knew the right sort of places to look.

"I don't like faces without names," Val said simply.

Naworski came up from the sofa. "Yeah, and we don't like the runaround you been givin' those folks from the Teachers' Pension Fund." Where Ceccarelli looked slick, Jake look rumpled, his khaki slacks bagging in the knees, his yellow pullover grease-spotted over the belly and slightly wrinkled.

"I'm a busy man, Jake," Val said. "Surely you can't fault a man for trying to earn a living."

Both men moved toward him, stopping just a few feet away, trapping him between them. "The most important business you've got right now is getting that money you owe paid back to Sandini and McPherson. The pension fund is all set to buy that phony trust deed paper. They just need a little push from you and the deal is as good as done."

Ceccarelli smiled wolfishly. "Sarah Bonham will be calling again the end of the week. She and her people want a tour of the project and you're gonna give it to them. While you're at it, you're gonna tell them what a great company Westwind Corporation is and what a fantastic deal they're making."

"That's right," Naworski put in. "You're gonna tell 'em those condos are selling like nightgowns at a Macy's Mother's Day sale."

Val said nothing for a moment, then he smiled. "I don't have a problem with that. If that's what you want then that's what you'll get. As I said, a man's gotta earn a living. I'm still in for a share of the profits, over and above the debt, and I could sure as h.e.l.l use the money."

Ceccarelli clapped him on the shoulder. "Now that's more like it. In a matter of weeks, the deal will be over, the money you owe repaid, maybe a little in your pocket, and all of this behind us."

"You may have to take a little heat," Jake added, "once them teachers find out those notes they bought ain't no good, but Mr. Sandini'll make sure you don't do time." His round face broke into a smile. "He's always loyal to his friends."

The two men left a few minutes later, shaking his hand as they walked out the door. Val closed it firmly behind them. He wondered how much longer he could stall Sarah Bonham.

And what Sandini and McPherson would do when they discovered he had advised the pension fund to pa.s.s on buying Westwind's worthless paper.

On legs that felt weak and unsteady, Julie reached the refuge of her office, closed the door, and sagged back down in the chair behind her desk. Her hands were shaking, her heart trying to club its way out through her throat. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Patrick's conversation. She had only just seen him walk in a few minutes earlier, only intended to say a quick h.e.l.lo and get his opinion on a deal she was trying to make.

Or perhaps she just wanted to see him.

But the door wasn't tightly closed and something in the tone of the men's voices caught her attention. She lingered when she should have walked away, paused just long enough to overhear them talking about the Westwind Corporation's phony trust deed scam.

And Patrick was obviously involved.

Julie shook her head, trying to clear the haze of fear from her mind, to make the pieces fit together. She thought of the Brookhaven condo she had tried to sell the Harveys. Patrick had warned her against it, been adamant she find them something else when he desperately needed every sale.

Now she knew why.

She had known he was desperate for money. The old Patrick's involvement would not have surprised her. He was used to living high and he would do anything to continue that lifestyle, but this man, the Patrick she had fallen in love with- Julie couldn't stand to think she could have been that wrong.

Her shoulders sagged. If Patrick was a crook, a man willing to cheat innocent people out of their life savings-out of their homes-what else might he do? Would he lie about his feelings, convince her he cared when all he wanted was to amuse himself in bed?

Her afternoon appointment could wait. As soon as Patrick left the office, Julie was going to go through his files. If he was acting illegally, perhaps there was a way she could stop him before he got caught, convince him to do what was right. If he wouldn't, if he hadn't really changed at all-if he had lied to her, used her, duped her into caring for him-dear G.o.d, she would...she would...She didn't know what she would do but she would never want to see him again.

Two hours pa.s.sed. Julie paced the floor of her office, unable to concentrate, worried, then angry, then worried again.

At noon, Patrick stuck his head through the door. "How about lunch? Can you get away?"

She barely glanced up from the files on her desk. "Sorry, I'm busy. You go ahead. I'll see you when you get back."

He frowned, picking up on her crisp tone of voice. "Is everything okay?"

She forced a smile. "Yes, of course. Just busy. I've got an appointment at two and I'm not prepared."

He smiled, a small dent, not quite a dimple, creasing his cheek. G.o.d, he was handsome. Her heart hurt just to think what they had shared might be a lie.

"I won't be long," he said. "Want me to bring something back?"

She shook her head. "No thanks, I'm not hungry." That was the truth. Her stomach was churning, gnawing at her insides. The thought of food made her slightly sick. She waved as he headed out the back door, then jumped up from her desk and hurried toward his office. A quick glance to see if anyone was watching, then she opened his door and slipped in.

It was immaculate as always. The file drawers were closed, each file carefully coded and put away, his desktop Spartan, only a silver-framed photo of his mother and father when they were young, and a black leather desk blotter with matching onyx pen and pencil set, a gift from one of his girlfriends. He had always been organized. Since his brush with death he was even more so.

Julie hurried toward the file cabinets that were locked at the end of the day but during working hours were usually left open. Rifling through the Pendaflex hanging files and a sea of manila folders, she searched for the name Brookhaven, found it, pulled the file and scanned the contents, then found Westwind Corporation and scanned that, too.

On the surface, there was nothing in any of what she read that didn't look legitimate. But studying the way the sales were constructed, she began to have a pretty good idea how the setup might work. She had overheard enough to know there was fraud involved and Patrick was right in the middle of it.

If what she suspected was correct, most of the sales of the Brookhaven condos had never taken place, which meant the high-interest loans Westwind was supposedly carrying back were fake. The buyer of those loans-the Teachers' Pension Fund if she had heard correctly-would be purchasing worthless paper.

For a while, the money could be manipulated and the truth covered up, but sooner or later, the fraud would be discovered. Westwind would undoubtedly be dissolved by then, its "employees" scattered with the wind-just like their name. But Patrick's a.s.sociation with the company was bound to come out.

Dear G.o.d, he could go to jail! At the very least his business would be ruined, the Donovan name dragged through the mud.

It horrified her to think what would happen, but mostly it frightened her to think that Patrick hadn't really changed. If anything, he had gotten worse.

She was back at her desk when the intercom buzzed. Julie ignored it, just sat in her chair staring through her office window, trembling and wondering what to do. She tried to think how she might come up with proof, confront Patrick with something he couldn't refute, but her mind seemed unable to function.

The intercom buzzed again. "Ms. Ferris? It's your sister. She's on line one. You usually like me to put her through."

Julie leaned over and pressed the b.u.t.ton. "Thank you, Shirl." She lifted the receiver. "Laura? Hi, honey, how are you?"

"Pretty good, sis. I hate to bother you...I know how busy you are...but Brian and I are going out of town for the weekend, heading up to Lake Arrowhead. Brian thinks it'll be good for me to get away for a while and I had the weekend off. I just didn't want you to worry if you tried to call."

"I would have. I'm glad you phoned." Julie hesitated. She had thought more than once of mentioning the UFO sighting she had discovered in the newspaper. Would Laura be heartened that a bit of evidence in her favor had been unearthed-or more paranoid than ever that the "Visitors" might be coming back for her? "I take it you and Brian are getting along okay."

"He's great, Julie. A little too bossy at times, but he's sweet and caring. And he's, well...very s.e.xy, too. I'm lucky to have him."

Compared to Jimmy Osborn, the man was a prince, but Julie didn't say so. Laura felt bad enough about that incident as it was. "Call me on my cell when you get there and leave a number where I can reach you."

"I will."

"Have a good time, Laura."

"Thanks, sis."

Laura rang off and Julie sank back against her chair. Between Laura and Patrick, she was turning into a nervous wreck. The latter stuck his head through the door.

"Are we still on for dinner?" He was smiling, looking for all the world as if he didn't have a care. Julie wanted to strangle him.

"I'm afraid not, Patrick. Owen called. He's decided to buy some of the property adjacent to his house and he wants me to handle the deal. We're getting together tonight to go over the terms of the offer." She hadn't agreed to Owen's dinner invitation when he had called, but she meant to call him and accept it now. Anything to avoid being with Patrick. She needed time to think.

Patrick frowned. "The man's going to wind up owning half of Malibu just so he'll have an excuse to see you."

Her chin hiked into the air. "Owen doesn't need an excuse to see me. We've been friends for years."

"I told you before, he isn't interested in being just a friend."

Julie glared and Patrick's frown deepened.

"Or maybe you like the fact he's so interested. Maybe all that money makes him interesting to you."

She didn't miss the note of jealousy. Patrick looked astounded by it, but at the moment she didn't care. "Money isn't everything, Patrick. But you don't believe that, do you? You've always thought money was an end in itself and you'll do just about anything to get it-won't you?"

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about? All I did was ask you to dinner."

Julie grabbed her bag off the sofa, her BlackBerry off her desk, and several files she needed to work on at home. She stuffed them into her briefcase and headed for the door. "Have a good evening, Patrick. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait a minute. I thought we were-"

But she only waved and kept on walking. She and Patrick had been together nearly every night for the past few weeks. Not tonight. She wasn't ready to confront him and she wasn't about to pretend that nothing was wrong.

d.a.m.n you, Patrick Donovan. Evidence or not, tomorrow she intended to have it out with him.

She wondered if he would tell her the truth.

Owen Mallory stood by as the stately, silver-haired maitre d' pulled out Julie's chair. Owen waited for her to be seated, then sat down himself. They were dining at a little French restaurant in Palos Verdes called La Rive Gauche. With its simple French provencal decor and excellent cuisine, it was a favorite of his, and not too far a drive from Oceanside, his Malibu estate. Especially not far in the back of his new white Mercedes limo.

His gaze traveled back to Julie, ran over the short black sheath dress that tastefully accented her curves. She wore small pearl earrings, and a single strand of pearls that drew his gaze to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She had a very nice bosom, he thought, having dreamed on several occasions of how those lovely white mounds might feel in his hands.

"Would you like a c.o.c.ktail before dinner?" he asked, thinking she had a pair of great legs, too. Solidly muscled yet shapely, lightly tanned, just enough to make them s.e.xy.

"I'll have a Stoli martini straight up," she said, and Owen arched a brow. Julie was a white wine drinker. Rarely anything stronger. "It's been a long day," she explained. "Obviously, not one of my best."

"Obviously." He turned to the waiter. "I'll have the same."

They drank their drinks, discussing the offer he wished to make on the property next to his, then ordered dinner, a salad of seasonal greens and raspberry vinaigrette, rack of lamb for two, garlic mashed potatoes, and French cut string beans with slivered almonds.

When they finished their martinis, he ordered an expensive bottle of Bordeaux, which the wine steward opened so that it could breathe. Still, it wasn't until halfway through the meal-and the bottle-that Julie began to relax.

He studied her over the top of his winegla.s.s. "Why don't you tell me what's bothering you, my dear? You've been nervous as a kitten all evening. It's obvious that something is wrong."

He took a sip of his wine, watched the legs of the wine forming against the bowl of the gla.s.s. "Trouble, perhaps, between you and your...boss?" He knew she had been seeing Patrick Donovan and no longer simply in a professional vein. It galled him she would become involved with a man like that, no matter how handsome he was. He had always believed Julie had better sense.

"No trouble," she said. "At least not exactly." She hesitated a moment. "There is Laura, of course. I'm terribly worried about her. She seems a little better lately, but I'm not sure how long it will last."

"She still believes all that rubbish about flying saucers?"

"I'm afraid she does. Who knows, maybe it's the truth. It's possible, I suppose. It doesn't really matter. The important thing is for Laura to put it behind her. To find some sort of stability in her life that will make her happy."

"I realize your sister has problems. The fact is you've been worried about your sister since the day we first met. But I don't think that's what's wrong. I have to believe this is something else."

Julie leaned toward him over the table, and the candle in the center flickered with the movement. Even softened by the glow, her pretty face looked tense. "You're right, Owen. And now that you've brought it up, I could use your help."

He leaned back in his chair. "Go on."

"There are some men I need to find out about. A friend...one of my clients...is involved with them. Do you think you might be able to help me?"

"I imagine I could do that." For a price, he wanted to add. Getting rid of Patrick Donovan and looking at me with half the interest you do him. "What are their names?"