A MURDEROUS GAME Copyright Š 2014, 2017 Patricia Paris
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Windswept an imprint of BHC Press Library of Congress Control Number: 2017941241 ISBN-13: 978-1-946848-25-3 ISBN-10: 1-946848-25-5 Visit the author at: www.authorpatriciaparis.com & www.bhcpress.com Also available in eBook Edited by S.M. Ray Book design by Blue Harvest Creative www.blueharvestcreative.com
also by patricia paris Run Rachael Run THE GLEBE POINT SERIES This Time Forever
Letters to Gabriella Return to Glebe Point The Cottage THE BONAVERAS Lucia Caterina
chapter one
A
bby Carpenter was positive not one of her six coworkers, gathered around the conference room table for their weekly staff meeting, would believe she’d just committed the perfect murder. The corners of her mouth lifted in wicked satisfaction. How many times had she done it? Too many to count, and really, did she even want to know? Her initial weapon of choice had been poison. She read somewhere women preferred it, less messy she supposed. Dick just fell asleep and never woke up. One could argue it lacked creativity, but in all fairness she had been a novice. This morning’s kill had been her best. The stunned surprise in Dick’s eyes when he woke up to find his hands tied to the bed posts with the black silk stockings she’d found under the back seat of his precious Mercedes had been priceless. Oh, he had tried to bully her into releasing him. Dick was a master among bullies. But she shut him up quite nicely with the leopard bikini panties the clerk at the dry cleaner had found in Dick’s suit coat pocket and mistakenly thought belonged to Abby.
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Yesterday she murdered the cheat in the Super G while she waited in line for the checker to get a price on an organic eggplant. She dispatched him one day last week when she had been stuck in a three mile backup on the Schuylkill Expressway. Of course driving the Schuylkill, or Sure-kill as some locals un-lovingly referred to it, could spur anyone to acts of violence. At least she never flipped anyone the bird like so many other rude drivers. She had her limits. No doubt some therapist would tell her dreaming up ways to knock off her soon-to-be ex was the result of an entangled neurosis involving latent antagonism over Dick’s inability to keep his pants zipped. Whatever! She didn’t need a therapist’s spin. Some people worked their frustration off with exercise. She imagined killing Dick. She got the idea from her best friend, Rachael Gooding, who had majored in psychology until halfway through sophomore year at Temple, before she found her true calling and switched to Communications and Media. When Dick makes you so angry you feel like you could kill him, Rachael had said, just imagine doing it and get it out of your system. Exorcising your demons she’d called it, insisting it was actually healthy. Abby wasn’t sure about that, and her little game did make her feel juvenile sometimes…but it beat marking him as an adulterer by spray painting the hood of his car with a fluorescent green A…or tie-dying the pristine white Egyptian cotton shirts he paid a small fortune for. Imaginary killings aside, she didn’t really wish Dick ill will. She just wanted him to stop delaying their divorce so she could get on with her life. She wouldn’t hold her breath, but after nearly a year of drawn out proceedings, it appeared till death do us part would soon be replaced with a property settlement. The speaker phone next to her boss, Roger Norwell, buzzed loudly. Abby jumped. Norwell scowled and jabbed the intercom button.
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“What?” he barked with blatant annoyance. Bully Bulldog, she thought. She’d given him the nickname shortly after being hired four years ago. With his flaccid jowls and stocky physique the moniker fit. She’d accepted the job with no misconceptions. No, she’d done her homework. She’d known the guy was a bastard, but he was a brilliant bastard, and while time served with The Norwell Group was difficult at times, she considered it time well spent. She planned to stick it out a couple of more years, learn everything she could, and then go out on her own and start her own marketing firm. “I’m sorry, Mr. Norwell.” Madeline didn’t sound sorry, not to Abby, but Madeline was one who seemed immune to his brusque manner. “Mrs. Carpenter has a visitor.” Norwell turned the full force of his squinty gaze on Abby. She gave a negative shake of her head. “I don’t have anything scheduled until this afternoon.” Norwell pressed the speak button, his accusing glare still on her face. “Carpenter isn’t expecting anyone. Tell whoever it is they need to call later and schedule an appointment.” “They’re insistent,” Madeline came back. “I don’t care. Carpenter’s tied up. She’ll need to get back to them.” “I only need ten minutes of my wife’s time, Roger.” The voice Abby had silenced during her morning shower snaked over the intercom. “I promise not to keep her long.” “Dick,” Norwell’s tone took a 360. “Madeline should have said it was you. Abigail will be right out.” Abby frowned. Her boss was no different from anyone else. Dick had powerful connections, garnered during his father’s two terms in the senate, and most people were afraid to cross him. The moment she entered the lobby, she saw Dick laughing with Tammy, the new receptionist, an oversexed flirt all
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the men in the office drooled over and the women wanted to throw up on. Tammy bent forward, showing off more cleavage than a billboard for Hooters. Dick leered as if he’d never seen breasts before. Bastard. Abby crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her gaze to Tammy. Skank. Damn. Why did she let it bother her? She glanced at Madeline. The sympathy in the other woman’s eyes only pricked Abby’s anger. Dick could do whatever he wanted elsewhere, but he had no right to humiliate her in front of the people she worked with. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way across the lobby. She kept her gaze steady and her head high. She was going to kill him…again.
TWO HOURS LATER, with frustration over Dick’s latest demand fueling a headache, Abby popped open the aspirin bottle she kept in her top desk drawer. She shook out two pills and washed them down with the cold remains of her morning coffee. “Carpenter!” Norwell’s trademark bark broke the silence, and her head snapped up with a mental groan. “I want to see you and Billings in my office in five minutes.” She glanced at her watch then back to the man filling the doorway. “I’ve got a luncheon appointment in twenty minutes. Would it be—” “Reschedule it. This is more important.” He left her staring at an empty hallway with her mouth open—matter settled. Abby blew out a resigned sigh and reached for the phone. “Hey, Rach, lunch is off. Norwell pulled rank on you.” “No problem. It’s been crazy here all morning anyway. I’ll see you tonight at dinner. I’ve got something important to tell you.” Rachael hesitated. “You might not like it, but I think you’d want to know.”
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Abby hung up the phone. Rach probably wanted to give her a heads-up about another one of Dick’s affairs before it made the next edition of The Daily Dish. It didn’t matter, Abby told herself; she wouldn’t let it bother her the way she had in the past. She stopped by Madeline’s desk on the way to the meeting and hitched her head toward Norwell’s office. “You know what’s brewing?” “Same old, same old.” The secretary pursed her lips in an amazing likeness of their boss. “Some big new account we better get or heads will roll.” Abby grinned. “You’ve really got that perfected.” She made a quick stop in the ladies’ room in case the meeting turned into a long one. If the firm stood to get a big account, she wanted it. It would give her resume some necessary oomph. Product didn’t matter. It could be edible chocolate jock straps for all she cared. Her biggest challenge would be convincing Norwell to assign her and not Billings. If they were about to get a major account, Billings would fight for it. She planned to do the same. Unfortunately, she knew from experience he’d fight dirty.
WHEN ABBY GOT to Norwell’s office Billings hadn’t arrived yet. She stepped through the doorway and cleared her throat. No sooner had she opened her mouth for a shot at first dibs than Billings came up behind her. He sauntered past and made an insulting clicking noise too low for Norwell’s ears. Pond scum, she thought. No wonder you and Dick are such good friends. “We’ve got a chance to get the new riverfront development account.” Norwell sat forward, wasting no time. “After working through some kinks with the Planning Commission, the developer’s getting ready to break ground.” Abby was vaguely familiar with the proposed development. Dick bid on the job before they’d separated. When it was
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awarded to an out of state bidder, he’d been so outraged she’d half expected him to start punching things, her included. That was over a year ago. Why hadn’t Norwell asked one of them to research the project before this? “Somehow Fitch and Lerner found out a company named GFI got the bid a week before it went public and stole the damn project out from under everyone’s feet. I wouldn’t be surprised if the bastards bribed someone at City Hall.” Well, Abby thought, that explained why they hadn’t gone after the account before now. “Serves them right,” Norwell said with a harrumph. “Idiots screwed something up and GFI gave them the boot. I called their CEO as soon as I got wind of it. He’s agreed to meet with us on Monday.” He narrowed his eyes until they were mere slits through which his gaze shifted back and forth from her to Billings. “I’m putting you both on this for now. Dig up everything you can find on the company and their CEO, Gage Faraday.” Abby caught her breath on a sharp intake. It couldn’t be the same Gage Faraday she’d known as a teenager. She slowly let her breath back out. It couldn’t be, because that Gage Faraday she had humiliated herself over by acting like a complete dweeb. That Gage Faraday her father had falsely accused of statutory rape. It couldn’t be, because if it was that Gage Faraday, she was in big trouble. Norwell stood up. “I’ll check in with each of you during the week. Carpenter, I want you to put together a Power Point presentation. If we do our homework, there’s no reason we can’t get this contract—so you damn well better not screw up or heads will roll.” Several minutes later, Abby’s head was still spinning as she sat at her desk trying to absorb the shock. How would she ever be able to face Gage? She could tell Norwell her plate was full and hope he considered her for the next big account. Bill-
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ings would probably get the assignment anyway. And Norwell didn’t know it, but there was a reason they might not get the account—her. Maybe she should bow out before her past could humiliate her again. Wimp. She squeezed her eyes shut. She’d be handing the account to Billings. And the creep would think she didn’t have the confidence to go after it. Forget that! She’d find some way to deal with Gage Faraday.
THAT EVENING, ABBY gazed out the window of the Westville Café where she met Rachael for dinner every Tuesday. Absently, she reached for the lead crystal goblet that held her favorite cabernet, and sighed. “What if he refuses to work with me?” They’d known each other since kindergarten. If anyone understood her angst, it would be Rach. “You’re overreacting,” Rachael told her. “How can you say that?” Abby set the wine back down. “You know what happened between us. Gage will probably take one look at me and storm out of the meeting.” “So you had a crush on the guy, big deal. Every female between twelve and forty thought Faraday was the hottest thing to hit the shore that summer. You just had it worse than the rest of us.” “Right.” Abby smirked. “Fourteen years ago you called it stalking. You told me if I didn’t stop following him around he’d get a restraining order.” Rachael waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Yeah, well, I lacked subtlety back then, and I was jealous you spent all your time trying to get his attention instead of focusing on moi.” “I really want this project, Rach. But with our history, I’m worried he won’t view me objectively.”
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“What history? Honey, he barely noticed you. And he’s probably forgotten all about the diary debacle. Besides, you’ve changed so much I doubt he’d recognize you now. If he even remembers Abby Sheridan, it would be as a skinny, weird looking kid with a mouthful of braces and a pair of glasses that were always halfway down her nose.” “Gee thanks, my self-image grows by leaps and bounds.” “Get over it, Ab. You were fifteen. He was a college heartthrob and galaxies out of your league.” Rachael forked the olives out of her linguini and put them on her salad plate. “And that was the same summer Carly Simmons decided she wanted to go to beauty school. You let her give you that awful haircut that made you look like a hotwired punk rocker.” Abby smoothed back a stray lock. “It wasn’t that bad.” “Oh, it was bad. Chain saw chic didn’t become you. Stalling out in that gangly Olive Oil phase didn’t help get guys like Gage Faraday’s notice either.” Rachael twirled the diamond stud in her ear and frowned. “What was it Denny Peterson used to call you?” “Chicken girl,” Abby mumbled, hating Denny Peterson all over again. “Right, that was it.” Yeah. Abby’s chest rose and fell on a sigh. Thanks for the memories. At least she’d finally filled out, such as it was. Better late than never, as everyone said, even though she hated to admit she’d spent a lot of shallow years worrying that never would be her fate, positive that boobs were the be-all and end-all. “If Peterson could see you now, he’d be spitting feathers trying to deny it.” Rachael wagged her finger the way she always did when she wanted to make a point. “You’re proof late bloomers often unfurl into the most stunning blossoms.” Despite her deteriorating mood, Abby smiled. With her sassy attitude, most people would never peg Rachael for a romantic, but few people knew her as well as Abby did.
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“You’ve been reading too much Byron lately.” “Probably,” Rachael agreed, “but it’s the truth. Or don’t you notice how all the men preen when you enter a room?” “I suppose that’s why Dick started having affairs within weeks of marrying me?” “Dick’s an ass.” Rachael’s eyes sparked indignation. “I doubt he ever stopped seeing other women.” Abby looked down at her hands. “Sorry, Ab, but it’s the truth. And don’t you dare think his philandering is your fault. He’s the one with the problem.” Abby cleared her throat and looked across the table at Rachael. “He came by the office this morning to say he wanted the Florida property.” “What! That was part of your inheritance.” “I know. The weird thing is Dick never even liked the place. I swear he’s just dragging things out to be spiteful.” Laughter drifted from a nearby table, and Abby glanced over at the young couple sitting there. They seemed oblivious to everyone but each other. Lovers. It was in their eyes, and their smiles, and their fingers twined together in the center of the table as if they couldn’t bear not to touch. She swallowed and looked away. “I’m going to let him have it. I don’t even care why he wants it. I just want out.” “Aw, honey, I know you do. But if you keep making concessions, all you’ll end up with is the townhouse.” “It’s not a tough choice if it buys me my freedom.” Abby pushed her dinner plate aside, her meal barely touched. She was so sick of arguing over property and payouts and who got what she didn’t care about any of it anymore. It wasn’t as if she needed the money—not really. She made a decent salary. In less than six months when she turned thirty, she’d receive the trust Gram left her. She’d be a wealthy woman by some people’s standards.
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She’d been so upset by all the delays these last few months she’d begun to lose focus. Now Gage Faraday could drop back into her life and further complicate her well laid plans. “I can’t believe it.” Abby shook her head, the irony still hard to grasp. “I had to make a fool of myself over the one guy who became CEO of the largest account to land on Norwell’s doorstep since I’ve been there.” Rachael smirked. “It’ll be fine.” “Says you.” Abby tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Why couldn’t I have stalked someone who wanted to be an insurance salesman, or who aspired to go off to Tajikistan and become a hermit?” “He’d have to know how to get there first.” Abby ignored the quip. “I never thought I’d have to face Gage again. Now I’ve got to convince him to hire me.” “I have several articles on Gage and his company that I can send you,” Rachael offered. Abby looked across the table, surprised. “You did a piece on him and didn’t tell me? You know I would have wanted—” Rachael raised a hand. “The station covered a press conference Gage held with the mayor last week. Since I was out of town, I didn’t know until I saw the release this morning. That was the news I said I had when you called about lunch, but when ‘Gage Faraday’s in town’ were the first words out of your mouth tonight, it was obvious you knew.” “Oh. Sorry, I’ll take whatever you’ve got.” Rachael tapped a perfectly manicured nail against the side of her wine glass. “Just don’t believe everything you read about him. A man in Faraday’s position makes for sexy headlines. I can assure you half of what’s written is speculation and the rest is probably hype.” Abby sniffed. “I like your new nail polish. Are you telling me he’s a womanizer?”
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“Thanks, it’s called cha-cha cherry. And all I’m saying is he makes for good press. He’s wealthy, he’s handsome, and he’s private as hell, a paparazzi wet dream.” “It doesn’t matter.” Abby fingered the edge of the tablecloth and found a loose thread. “I have no interest in Gage Faraday’s love life, fact or fiction.” “Umm hmm,” Rachael murmured, taking a sip of her drink. “Don’t give me that umm hmm stuff,” Abby said firmly. “I know how your mind works, so just delete whatever matchmaking schemes you’ve got spinning around up there.” “Why? You’ve got to start dating again sometime, or have you decided to become a nun? I hate to disappoint you, but I think you have to be Catholic.” “You forget,” Abby said, as she picked at the thread, “I’m still married.” “Huh!” Rachael snorted. “Considering Dickhead’s on his fourth or fifth affair this year, I’d say you had a green light ages ago.” “I’m not ready,” Abby insisted softly. “And if what you read is true, I can do without another man who thinks of women as disposables.” “All I’m saying is keep an open mind. You might discover whatever made you fall for him once is still there. The boy may not have noticed you, honey, but I’m betting the man will.” “I wouldn’t care. I just don’t want to lose the account. And I’m serious, Rach, anything I felt for Gage died years ago.” Abby wrapped the loose thread around her finger. “Believe that if you want, but remember, I know you better than anyone. And if you don’t stop pulling the hem out of the tablecloth the restaurant’s going to add a replacement charge to our bill.” Abby batted the cloth from her lap. “Look, subject closed. I don’t want to talk about Gage Faraday anymore.”
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Rachael leaned back and gave Abby an assessing look. “Okay, subject closed. We can always talk about something fun, like ways to kill the cheating bastard you married.” Abby glanced up and grinned. “I came up with the perfect way to murder Dick this morning, much more creative than just poisoning him.” Their server chose that moment to reappear with the check. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said, sliding a furtive glance toward Abby before walking away. “Did you see James’s expression? I hope he didn’t think we were serious.” Abby frowned. “Maybe we shouldn’t joke about murdering Dick in public, even if it is just a game.” “Right, because criminals typically hatch their felonious deeds in crowded restaurants where they’re sure to be overheard.” Rachael rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “If Dick turns up dead with a thong stuffed in his mouth, then we’ll start worrying.” “It wasn’t a thong,” Abby corrected, reaching into her purse for her wallet. “It was a leopard bikini.” She slapped two twenties on the table. She didn’t want to admit just how deeply the news about Gage had affected her. She was sure it was only because he’d been her first love. First times always seemed so much more than they really were, more poignant, more painful. “I’ll send you the station’s video of the press conference if you want. You can use my password to access it.” Rachael handed Abby a fifty dollar bill. “I haven’t seen it, but it might help you prepare for your meeting.” “Thanks, that’d be great.” Abby would take what she could get, but she didn’t know if anything could fully prepare her for facing Gage again.
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ABBY SAT DOWN in one of the two club chairs that anchored the old wooden trunk she’d picked up at an antique store on Pine Street. She set the pasta salad she’d made for dinner on the trunk and picked up her laptop. Balancing it on her knees, she clicked on the link to access the video of Gage’s press conference that Rachael had streamed from the station’s network, and keyed in the password. In a few days she’d come face to face with the man again. She’d been so young the summer she’d met him, and so in love. But the unattainable object of her desire had returned her feelings only in her imagination and on the pages of her diary. She’d been the architect of her own shame by recording her passionate fantasies in the little red book. But she never would have imagined her father would stoop so low as to cut the strap on her diary and read her most private musings. Abby took a bite of pasta, barely tasting it, as she thought back to that horrible night. She had convinced Rachael to go to the end of summer fireworks on the boardwalk with her. Gage had been with Kelly Samuels, an older girl who, for reasons Abby never understood, always made fun of Abby and her friends. She shook her head, amazed she could still remember how Kelly had taunted them about being allowed out without a sitter. Unfortunately, Kelly had only been the opening act. Abby’s father had been the real horror show, storming onto the beach, waving her diary and accusing Gage of statutory rape. She’d had to admit in front of everyone that she’d made everything up. It was the only way she could stop her father’s accusations and threats of prosecution. To this day a part of her had never forgiven him. He’d thrown the diary at her feet and stormed off, but not before ordering her home like a child, and warning he’d better never find her hanging out with street trash like that Faraday boy again.
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Before Abby could get it, Kelly Samuels had snatched up the diary and read a passage Abby had penned of a steamy kiss from Gage. Her mortification complete, she’d fled like a coward, unable to bear Kelly’s laughing taunts or Gage’s angry reaction. Abby closed her eyes a moment before clicking the video play option. The mayor opened the news conference, highlighting some of the changes taking place on the riverfront. Abby resisted the urge to scan forward. Finally the mayor introduced Gage. The screen shifted to a small group near a makeshift stage that had been set up in front of the Marabella, a grand old ship that was on loan to the city. It shared a berth along the thick stone bulkhead with another, even larger historical ship, the legendary Moshulu, where she and Dick had held their engagement party. A tall man in a dark blue suit broke away from the group and mounted the platform. After shaking the mayor’s hand, he turned to face the crowd and smiled. Abby caught her bottom lip between her teeth and drew in a slow, shaky breath. It was Gage. Older, more filled out, and more devastatingly handsome than ever. An old longing stabbed her—warm, sweet, impossible. She sank further into the overstuffed chair. She’d convinced herself she wouldn’t feel anything when she saw him again—nothing like this. The day after the diary disaster came back to her as if it were only yesterday. She’d hidden in the shadows of the rose arbor across the street from his uncle’s. She’d just wanted to see Gage one last time…maybe explain. Too much a coward, she’d remained in hiding, consumed by yearning as he loaded his duffle bag into the trunk of his old blue Mustang, hugged his aunt goodbye, and drove out of Abby’s life forever, until careening back into it this week without any warning.
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“We estimate a need for roughly three hundred contract employees over the next two years,” Gage was saying. “Once the development is complete, ongoing staffing needs to operate the various restaurants and shops, as well as a high-rise luxury hotel, are upward of twenty-four hundred new jobs.” There was a round of applause. Gage slipped his hands into his pockets, assuming a casual stance while he waited for the clapping to stop. “In addition to providing jobs, River Place One has been designed as a living community. That means an infusion of new residents for the city, which in turn means increased revenue for local businesses.” “You paint a pretty picture, but how does it help Philadelphia when your contracts will go to out-of-state labor? And why should we believe some Chicago based company cares about the long-term impact on our city?” Abby jerked to attention when she heard the all too familiar voice. Locating the face in the crowd, she stared in disbelief. What the hell was Dick doing at the press conference? “Those are legitimate concerns.” Gage looked unfazed by the taunts. “Mayor Phillips can verify GFI signed an agreement to award ninety percent of the work to laborers from the Delaware Valley. And although GFI is headquartered in Chicago, I was born and raised in South Philly. I still have family living there. So not only do I understand the city and some of its needs, but since I’ve always considered Philly home, I share your commitment to the area. In fact, GFI plans to maintain ownership of River Place One after construction and manage the property through a subsidiary leasing company.” He turned away from Dick’s challenging expression. “We’ve invested heavily in this development. Its profitability will have a direct impact on GFI’s revenue, and most likely my future bonuses.” Gage paused and smiled broadly to the crowd. “So I can assure you I care about its long-term success.”
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Several people laughed. Gage nodded to a short, balding man for another question, effectively cutting Dick off. To her dismay, Abby could still see him on screen, and his narrowed stare sent a chill down her spine. What was he up to? As the press conference continued, Gage seemed to win over the majority of people in attendance with his charm and wit. Memories flooded her as she watched him play to the crowd. His hair was still black as night, only shorter. She recalled how her knees went weak every time she walked into his uncle’s taffy shop and he’d be standing behind the counter. She remembered the way her heart raced and seemed to trip over its own beats whenever he smiled, just like now. Someone must have made a funny comment and Gage laughed. The camera zoomed in for a close-up. His eyes hadn’t changed, still the deep smoky grey rimmed by black she’d always thought were so mysterious and romantic. “We have time for one more question,” the mayor said, signaling the press conference was almost over. Abby watched with apprehension as Dick elbowed his way to stand in front of the platform. Gage pointed to a woman reporter who had been waiving her notepad in the air. Before she could speak up Dick called out, “What about allegations GFI gave kickbacks on contracts last year?” Abby gasped in horror. “What the hell are you doing?” she shouted to the monitor and jerked her gaze back to Gage to see his reaction. She would have been furious, but to her amazement he didn’t look the slightest bit ruffled. She replayed the scene, listening to Dick’s words but keeping her eyes trained on Gage. She scanned back again. He’d flinched. It was an almost imperceptible tightening of his shoulders. He recovered so fast Abby doubted anyone without the advantage of instant replay would have caught it, especially since the crowd’s focus had shifted to Dick in that moment.
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Gage shook his head and chuckled. “Sorry, I can’t give you the juicy headline you’re looking for. I can tell you GFI has never given kickbacks. I believe it’s against the law,” he joked, and then addressed the assemblage. “My associate just signaled me we’re out of time. Thank you all for coming. I look forward to talking to you again as we move forward.” As he turned from the microphone he waved, gave another heart-stopping smile, and headed toward the side of the makeshift stage. “What about the probe by the State’s Attorney General’s Office? Do you deny they’re investigating you for illegal business practices?” Abby’s mouth dropped as Dick continued spouting allegations. Gage kept walking, as if he hadn’t heard the question. When he stepped off the platform, a tall blond man and an attractive woman in a black pantsuit flanked his sides. He leaned toward the man’s ear. The guy glanced toward Dick and nodded. A minute later Mayor Phillips joined them and patted Gage on the back. He turned, spoke to the mayor, and then the two of them strolled away, out of view of the camera which faded to a scene of a lone jogger running along Penn’s Landing. Nothing good could come of Dick’s presence there. He’d never been able to accept defeat graciously, and Abby had a horrible premonition he’d try to stir up more trouble. Maybe she should warn Gage. Yeah, right! Wouldn’t that play out great! She’d just call out of the blue. Hi Gage, you probably don’t remember me. Abby Sheridan, the gangly kid with the spiky hair? You don’t remember? You know—the stalker. So listen, about the guy who kept harassing you at the press conference. That was my husband. She dropped her head into her hands and groaned. Maybe she was blowing things out of proportion. But how likely would Gage be to trust positioning his company to the spouse of someone who had accused him of corporate fraud?
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It wouldn’t matter that they were separated. She already had one strike against her with her past. If Gage knew Dick was her husband, it would kill any chance she had of getting GFI’s account. She’d be wise to keep that damaging tidbit a secret.
GAGE LEANED AGAINST the corner bar in his office nursing a glass of Balvenie. He looked out the large bank of windows that formed the back wall and framed incredible views. In the distance, a tug boat chugged up the Delaware River as the lights of the city began to flicker on and evening descended in shades of pink and gray. He turned at the sound of a knock and hiked a brow when he saw Grace, his long-time secretary, standing in the doorway. “I thought you left already.” “I wanted to finish those proposals you gave me this afternoon, but I’m leaving now. Need anything before I go?” “No. Go home before Sam wonders if we’re having an affair.” Grace laughed, her blue eyes twinkling. “Sam knows he doesn’t have to worry about that, even with a charmer like you.” Gage pushed away from the bar and walked over to sit on the edge of his desk. “Thirty years with the same woman.” He blew out a low whistle. “I’m not sure whether to be jealous or send Sam a sympathy card.” Grace put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. He grinned. “You’ve known me how long, and you’re still not sure when I’m teasing? Go.” He waved her away. “And tell the lucky bastard I said hello.” “I will.” Partway out the door she turned back. “Why don’t you call it a night, too? You look tired, and you’ve still got two weeks worth of work scheduled into the rest of this one.” “Yeah.” He reached up and pushed a hand through his hair, knowing she was right and feeling it to his bones. He never could have gotten this office up and running without her.
A MURDEROUS GAME
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Not and stay on top of everything until Brett could be brought up from Boca Raton to handle things in Chicago during the interim. Once things settled down he’d see about sending Grace and Sam on an all expense paid vacation. Maybe a week in Hawaii, she always said she wanted to go before one of them died or they were too old to enjoy it. He could use some time off himself. How could he slow down now though? With Riv One, as they referred to the Philadelphia project internally, about to take off, and rumors of fraud surfacing out of nowhere. The demands on his time were getting worse, not better. He swirled his glass to mix in the ice that had begun to melt. If only he knew who was behind the rumors. Time would vindicate him, he knew. But one thing he didn’t have was excess time. Damn. Whenever he thought about that reporter spouting off about illegalities it pissed him off. How the hell had the bastard known about the inquiry when Legal had only notified him they might have a problem two weeks ago? Positioning Riv One would be more important than ever now. He intended it to be a showcase to secure other waterfront deals. If successful, future earnings potential could be in the billions. Hopefully, the firm he’d be meeting with Monday wouldn’t be another disappointment. He’d been scenting trouble for days. It made him uncomfortable, probably because his gut rarely steered him wrong. Picking up the phone, he dialed Matt Silver, his Chief of Security, and got a recording. “Matt, it’s Gage. We need to cut out a chunk of time to review site security next week. Give Grace a call and get on my calendar. I know your people are swamped, but have one of them put together a report on that guy from the press conference. You can fill me in when we get together. If he’s going to be a problem, I want to know before he can cause any real damage.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR Patricia Paris lives in the Chesapeake Bay area of Maryland with her husband John; a lazy, but lovable cat named Shiloh; and James Brown, aka JB, the baddest, but also, most lovable dog in town. When not writing, you’re likely to find the author exploring the Bay area’s small towns and waterways, which provide endless inspiration for her writing; battling the weeds that insist on invading her gardens; or, being an avid foodie, experimenting with a new recipe in her kitchen. Patricia admits to being an unapologetic romantic, and she loves to give her readers that happily ever after, every time.