Rating: NC-17 - This story contains graphic violence and consensual graphic sex between a man and a woman. If this offends you, is illegal where you live or you are under 18, go somewhere else.
Disclaimer: The characters of John Lawless and Dave Bruford belong to South Pacific Pictures. The use of those characters in this story is not intended as copyright infringement.
Author's Note: While this story is not a direct sequel to Danger Zone, it does contain characters from and references to that story. While it is not necessary to have read it to follow this, it might add to the reader's enjoyment if it's read first.
Prologue
She didn't know how she was going to survive this. First, there had been the nightmare of the arrest and then the embarrassing stories leaked by someone to the tabloids. Soon after that, the alleged facts of the situation appeared in the legitimate press. Suddenly the telephone had stopped ringing, her calls were not returned, people she thought were her friends had turned their back on her. As the trial date grew closer, even strangers seemed to turn their back on her. Now this.
Ben was dead; she still couldn't believe it, although she had just finished burying him. She could still feel the grayness of the cemetery. Still hear the hollow sound of the wind as it whipped across the low-lying graveyard. Still see the silent headstones endlessly lined up like sentinels of the dead. Still smell the fresh damp earth that reminded her of the farm she and Ben had always talked about retiring to. Still taste her heart in her throat throbbing to the rhythm of the clods of earth as they struck her dead husband's coffin one by one.
There had been a small turnout at the funeral. Her sister had stood at her side; Gail could always be counted on for a family emergency, if not for much else. Only one of Ben's friends and employees had come, the rest were no-shows. She was sure they were afraid they would be tarred with that same brush, traitor.
The word reverberated, echoed, screamed in her mind. Traitor. It was like some horrible cruel joke, except it wasn't funny. And there wasn't a punchline. Still she felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. How was she ever going to survive this?
Six months later
When he looked up from the papers on his desk, she was there. He hadn't heard the door open. He hadn't heard her come in. It was as if she had appeared out of thin air and materialized in front of him. The first thing he noticed about her was her size. She was tiny. She was dressed in a simple black suit that he knew had to be expensive. The glossy material hung off her frame making her look gaunt almost emaciated, but with an earthy kind of beauty too. Brown hair framed her face in the kind of blunt cut that also spoke of money. She stood looking at him expectantly. As if he would know exactly why she was there and what she wanted. Her face was beautifully made-up, she had clearly made every attempt to hide the strain she was under, but her gray eyes appeared haunted.
"May I help you?" John Lawless inquired.
The woman continued to stare at him. Then finally, in a small soft voice, she asked, "May I sit down?"
John gestured to the chair across from his desk. The tiny woman with the huge gray eyes slowly sat in the chair. She daintily crossed her legs at the ankles and primly pulled the slim black skirt down over her knees. "May I help you?" he repeated.
She nodded. "I need to know who killed my husband. I want you to find the person responsible for his death."
"Your husband's dead?" he repeated, feeling more than a little stupid. He noticed she wore a thick gold wedding band and as she spoke she twisted and turned it on her finger.
"Yes," she declared softly. "Six months now." She swallowed and added in a stronger voice, "I want the bastard who did this found."
"The police are better at that sort of thing than I am," John asserted. "What do they say?"
She laughed. It was a surprising sound coming from her and it held no mirth. It was brittle and bitter and seemed to hurt her from the way her mouth twisted into a grimace. "They think I'm crazy. They don't believe me."
"Why don't you start at the beginning?" John suggested gently. "What's your name?"
"My name?" She rolled the question back at him as if she expected him to know. "My name," she stated slowly and evenly, "is Miranda Franklin. My friends, when I used to have them, called me Randa. My husband was Ben Franklin. His parents had quite the sense of humor, didn't they?"
John said nothing for a moment, wondering why she thought the name would be familiar. Then he got it. "Benjamin Franklin? The financier? He died in an auto accident about six months ago."
She nodded. "But it wasn't an accident. I KNOW it. Someone killed him and I want to know who."
John studied the woman's face. Her eyes and expression were deadly serious. He bent forward and explained. "Mrs. Franklin, I'm very sorry for your loss, but I'm not sure what it is you expect me to do. The police investigated that accident, I'm sure of it. And if there had been anything to find, they would have found it."
She shook her head in disagreement. She gripped the purse in her lap tightly, the knuckles turning white from the strain. "They didn't look carefully enough. Mr. Lawless, I've had six long months to think about this. To try to make sense of it. And I KNOW he was murdered. Know it as sure as I'm sitting here in this office. The police did their best, but they didn't care. And from their perspective, I'm sure they didn't feel the need to spend much time on it. After all, Ben was a traitor, right? He was about to go on trial for treason. So it made sense to them that he would drink too much and run his car off the road. Everyone always liked Ben, no matter what he did to them. He charmed everyone he ever met. He thought of himself as a financial warrior and what's that old saying? 'A warrior would rather fall on his sword than face disgrace?' I'm sure the police simply thought that was what Ben had done. But he WOULDN'T. He was innocent of the charges and he would never leave me like that. Never. Ben loved me."
Her last words were spoken softly and sadly. John saw a dignity and hopelessness in her posture that was touching. She was a woman on the thin edge of control, poised any second to fall. He watched as she tried to hold back her tears, but she was unsuccessful. She opened the small black handbag and took out a handkerchief. Not tissues, but a monogrammed handkerchief trimmed in lace. She dabbed at her eyes and continued to cry. John waited and watched as she strove to get her emotions under control.
After a few minutes he got up from the desk and went to the table where he kept the tea things. As the woman cried he heated some water and made a cup of tea. When it was ready, he went over to her side of the desk. He placed the mug where she could reach it and leaned against the desk.
John's tall large body loomed over her. He had dressed casually that day; he hadn't expected any clients. His long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, the touch of gray in his sideburns set off the gold hoop in his left ear. His black jeans were stretched tight across his thighs as he leaned against the edge of the desk. He crossed his arms over his chest, pulling the black T-shirt tight across his muscles. His handsome face exhibited concern in the set of his sensual mouth and the depth of emotion in his deep brown eyes. He was, by anyone's definition, an attractive man, and yet, the woman sitting in the chair saw none of this. All she saw was the private investigator whose help she needed
"Why did you come here?" John asked softly.
Randa looked at him, her beautiful gray eyes now red-rimmed, and her mascara a black stain beneath them. "I got your name from the only police officer who seemed to give a damn. He thought maybe you might be able to help me."
He only knew one officer who would give out his name. "Dave? Dave Bruford?"
She nodded. "He was kind. He didn't treat me like an idiot. He seemed to care, but there wasn't anything he could do. So when I asked him where I could go for help, he gave me your name. He said you used to be a police officer and that you were very good at your job."
John studied her sympathetically. "Mrs. Franklin, it's been six months. I'm not sure what you think I can do."
She took a deep breath and announced with calm insistence. "You can look at things with a fresh eye. I have to know what happened. I know Ben wouldn't have gotten drunk and killed himself. Trial or no trial. The night it happened he told me he'd found something to help clear him. I KNOW someone killed him. Oh why won't anyone believe me?" That last statement brought a fresh spate of tears.
John felt a strong urge to take the woman in his arms and comfort her. Crying women always affected him that way. Instead he rose from the desk and went to sit down behind it. "Mrs. Franklin, forgive me for asking this, but how can you be so sure?"
She dabbed at her eyes again and then said evenly, "We were going to have a child, Mr. Lawless. The night Ben died, we discovered I was pregnant. Ben wanted a child even more than he wanted to be free of the treason charges. He would never have killed himself under those circumstances. And, as I said, he believed he'd found proof that someone had framed him on the treason charges. I believe that person, the person who actually committed the treason, killed him. When he left the house that night he wouldn't tell me where he was going or who he was going to see. I wish I had insisted, wish I had gone with him, but he wouldn't let me. It would have been just like Ben to give someone a second or third chance. Because it had to be someone who worked for him, someone he trusted. No one else could have gotten that close. No one else could have done it."
John sucked in his breath. She couldn't have had the child and yet, "What happened to . . ."
She knew what he was asking. She swallowed and admitted, "I lost the baby. The stress of Ben's death, the continual harassing by the government and the press . . . So you see, they not only killed Ben, they killed our baby too."
The anger in her voice startled him with its intensity. He stared at her. There was something about her eyes. He knew if he refused her, he would be haunted by them. He didn't usually like to take cases like this, especially ones that had already been through police hands. Still, he knew if he refused her he would regret it. "Mrs. Franklin, I can't give you much hope. But if you really want me to try, I will."
"Thank you, Mr. Lawless," she acknowledged gratefully. "What are your fees?"
"My fees?" Somehow, the thought of money had never entered his mind. "We can talk about that later."
"No," she argued, shaking her head. "If I learned one thing from Ben in our years together, it was always to find out the cost up front."
John smiled. "Very well. I charge two hundred and fifty dollars per day plus expenses. With a cap of five thousand if I don't find anything."
She nodded. "That sounds reasonable. Would you like a check for five thousand now?"
John's mouth dropped open in amazement. Most of his private clients paid for things piecemeal. Only his corporate clients paid up front like that. His surprise must have been apparent. The woman gave him a wry grin and said, "I'm very well fixed. As you yourself mentioned, Ben was a financier. And well, I wasn't born poor." She proceeded to pull a checkbook and pen out of her purse. "How would you like the check made out?"
"John Lawless Investigations," he informed her.
She signed her name to the check with a flourish and passed it across the desk. He looked down at the small piece of paper and studied her handwriting. It looked sure and strong. "When can you start?" she prompted.
He raised his eyes to study her. Now that he had agreed to accept the job, she seemed to have visibly relaxed. "I have a few things I need to finish up. How does tomorrow sound?"
"Perfect," she replied softly. "Where will you start?"
"Let me ask you something," John queried. "It occurs to me that your husband must have had other investigators working for him. Why didn't you go to them?"
"How could I?" she refuted softly. "One of them could be responsible for this. All I know for sure, is that someone framed Ben for treason and then killed him. If you'll come to my house tomorrow morning, I'll give you all the files. I have a list of the people who were close enough to Ben to do it. There are two private investigators on it."
John nodded. "How does nine o'clock sound?"
"Fine." She pushed a little white square of paper toward him. "Here's the address. Do you need directions?"
John looked at the paper. It was business card sized, but looked more like what he imagined a Victorian visiting card would look like. The address was in the most expensive part of Auckland, but he'd been there before on business. "I can find it."
She laughed softly, this time there was amusement in her laugh. "You can't miss the house. Or rather, the gates to the house. Ben had as good a sense of humor as his parents'." Her voice broke on the last words.
"You miss him," John recognized softly.
She raised her face to his. "More than I ever thought possible."
John nodded sympathetically. "Very well, I'll come by your house at nine."
"Thank you, Mr. Lawless. You'll never know how much this means to me." She rose from her chair and put out her hand.
John rose and came around the desk. "I make no guarantees about what I might be able to find. But I'll do my best."
She smiled at him and this time the smile brightened her entire face. "I think your best will be just fine."
John reached out his hand and took hers. Her handshake was firm and strong. At her first touch, he felt a shock of electricity and knew that this case might turn out to be very dangerous indeed.
John stared across the table at Caroline. Caro was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Her long thick black hair fell in tight spiral curls and framed a golden exotic face. He never got tired of looking at her full sensual lips, tiny pert nose and her incredible eyes, almond-shaped with thick black eyelashes. Her irises were an odd shade, almost gold, and were the centerpiece of the most expressive eyes he'd ever seen.
Their relationship was still a wonder and a revelation to him. They’d been together for a while now, but were still, in her words, dating. Despite the intimacy of their relationship, despite all they had been through together, neither of them seemed to feel they were a couple.
Caro had helped heal his soul, but some essential part of him still resisted making any commitment. Not that she seemed to want that either. So they’d settled into a kind of dating ritual. One night during the week and Saturday night as well, they would have dinner. On Saturday and Saturday only, they would spend the night together and then Sunday afternoon they’d split apart. Their lives were in separate places and rarely intermingled.
Willy, Caro’s brother, seemed to take the relationship in stride. John knew that if he hurt Caro, Willy would kill him. Or at least try to. Still, until John had met Randa Franklin, there had never seemed to be any risk of that. Randa, the name resonated in his mind. Her large gray eyes, so expressive, so haunted, now haunted him.
He’d been working on the case for ten days, using up half the money he’d taken from her. He didn’t feel he was making any headway, but she seemed happy with his progress. Still, he felt like he was covering the same ground that everyone else had. Their relationship had been strictly professional, carefully formal, until today.
That afternoon, they had had the closest they had come to a personal conversation. She had invited him to join her for tea in the living room. It had been a chilly damp gray day and the scar on his side had been aching from sitting in the same position too long. He was grateful for the respite.
He had followed her out of the office to the living room. The French doors let in what little light there was, but he was happy to see a fire roaring in the stone grate.
She had gestured for him to sit on the couch and then she had joined him. She was dressed, as always in expensive clothes. She wore them with a casual air, as if their cost was secondary to how they made her feel. Her silk blouse was lavender and it set off her ivory skin. The blouse was open at the throat revealing a creamy expanse of skin and the slightest shimmer of her cleavage. She sat, then tucked her legs underneath her, but not before John noticed, she was incongruously barefoot.
She caught his glance. She grinned ruefully. "I hate shoes. There's something incredibly sensual about thick carpet on bare skin, don't you think?"
He had avoided answering by the simple expedient of nodding. He glanced at the glass-topped table in front of him. It was cluttered with tea things. There was a large silver teapot, delicate bone china cups, several plates of dainty little sandwiches and more plates with cakes, pastries and biscuits. High tea indeed, if you were royalty or the very rich.
His shifted his gaze and studied the large portrait of her husband that hung above the fireplace. He could hear her pouring the tea as he looked at the painting. Benjamin Franklin had been a tall, handsome, obviously dynamic man. The artist had tried to capture the essence of him, but John thought he had failed. There had been an energy about Ben that the painter couldn't get on the canvas. An energy that John had seen in the photographs in the album that Randa had given him to study. There were pictures of Randa in that album too. Lovely, happy pictures that hinted at a capacity for joy that was now buried in grief and anger. Pictures that hinted at a woman, who was not as prim and proper as her behavior, at least until today, had always suggested. Her sensual side was revealed in the way she was always touching Ben and in the look on her face when it was Ben behind the camera. A look that said so clearly, here was a man who made her happy in all ways.
He turned from the portrait and looked at the woman sitting next to him. Her eyes were far away and sad. He wished he knew a way to comfort her. "Tell me about Ben," he asked finally.
"About Ben?" she repeated. She glanced at the portrait and then at John's face. "I've told you about him. Everything I know about the business anyway."
John shook his head. He looked down at the delicate white cup trimmed with gold that she proffered. Could he take it without breaking it? He accepted it cautiously, although in his large hand, it looked more like a doll's cup. "No," he said as he took a sip of the dark strong tea and then gingerly put the cup down in the saucer. "I mean Ben as a person. About you and Ben," he amplified.
She didn't question his request, but answered as if grateful to have the opportunity to reminisce. "Ben was not an easy man to love. He was dynamic, mercurial, and brilliant. He was loyal, faithful, and strong. He had high standards and high expectations. He was ethical and honorable." She paused and laughed. "I've made him sound like a Boy Scout or a dog, haven't I?"
As she tried to get her thoughts in order, she offered John a plate of cucumber sandwiches. John picked one up. It was tiny and had the crusts cut off. He didn't quite know what to do with it, so he just popped it into his mouth and chewed.
She put the plate down with a rueful grin. "Not your usual tea, is it? Sorry. I'm so used to feeding only me that I didn't think. I can get you something else, something more . . . man-sized. Would you like a real sandwich, some pretzels?"
"I'm not hungry," he said softly. "Finish telling me about Ben."
Her eyes glowed for a moment and then the light died. John realized then, just how lonely she was. "Sometimes, when I wake up, before I come fully awake, I forget he's gone. I reach over in the bed to touch him and that's when I know, really know, with my heart and my body he's gone." She choked back tears and sipped some tea.
John studied the table giving her time to get her emotions under control. He didn't look back until he heard her voice.
Her tone was steady when she began speaking again. "I could sit here and list all of Ben's wonderful qualities, but I don't think that's what you really want. I guess Ben was most like the seasons. Not that there were four of him, you understand, but in his actions and behavior. In business, he could be like winter, ruthless, cold and unrelenting. With casual acquaintances he was more like the spring, gentle, calm, testing, until they proved they could either be trusted or not. With me, he was like the fall and the summer. With people, in public, he was unfailingly proper, his every action correct, sometimes he could even appear to be chilly or standoffish. But in private, it was another matter altogether. Ben was the summer then, hot, humid, sultry, our love wrapped around us like a steamy summer night."
"Sex," John muttered under his breath. He didn't know why he was surprised. He'd seen hints of it in the pictures. Had vaguely sensed the sexuality in her, concealed in her grief.
She had heard him. "Yes, sex," she admitted. "Ben treated me like a china doll in public. Prim and proper, as if I was made of porcelain and I would break if he touched me. But at home, when we were alone, our relationship was much earthier. Much more physical. We had a good marriage, Mr. Lawless. We loved and trusted each other, in and out of bed. We were lucky and we both knew it. Which is why I KNOW he wouldn't have killed himself."
With a start, he realized that Caro was speaking to him. He pulled his thoughts back to the present. Randa's face receded as Caro's swam back into focus and a guilty expression crossed his face. "Sorry, what was that?" he asked.
Caro laughed softly. "You’re awfully distracted tonight. What’s going on?"
John shrugged. "Sorry. It’s this case I’m working on. It’s really got me stumped."
She leaned forward in her chair; her face alight with interest. "Can you tell me about it?"
John thought for a moment. "Sort of. It’s very complicated."
"As complicated as mine was?" she asked reminding him of how they’d met.
He grinned ruefully. "Different. No mistaken identities here. A man was accused of a crime. He claimed he was innocent. His wife, my client, believed him. They were about to go to trial when he died in an auto accident. The police investigated and found that it was either accident or suicide. She believes it was murder. She wants me to prove it and find the person responsible. I’ve been working on it for ten days and not a glimmer."
Caro looked thoughtful. "Maybe there’s nothing to find. Maybe she’s wrong."
John shook his head. "She’s not wrong. I’ve been through the police files, the government files, talked to some of his friends and employees. There was no real motive for him to do what he was accused of. I believe her."
"Poor woman," Caro said sympathetically. "What are you going to do?’
John shrugged again. "I don’t know. I’ve got to find something though. She’s counting on me."
Caro smiled at him. She reached across the table and put her hand over his. "And you try to never let anyone down. It’s one of your nicest qualities."
John’s eyes widened and then an embarrassed grin spread over on his face. "Anyways," he uttered softly, "Let’s forget the job okay? Now what were you saying before I drifted off?"
Caro gazed at the man in front of her. She didn’t think she had ever known a more physically attractive man. John was tall and good-looking. His deep brown eyes were truly the mirror to his soul and they showed every emotion he ever experienced. His body, which she knew nearly as well as her own, was perfection. From his muscular arms to his firm pectorals and tight flat abdomen, his physique was just spectacular. He still kept his hair long, but instead of sporting that furry Fu-Manchu type mustache he’d had when she’d first known him, he now wore a goatee. A wave of lust danced over her skin. "John," she murmured softly, "let’s go home."
"Home?" he repeated.
Caro batted her eyes flirtatiously at him as she admitted, "I want to spend the night with you."
His eyes crinkled with laugh lines and two dimples appeared as he grinned at her. "Best offer I’ve had all week." John quickly paid the bill and drove home. Caro followed in her own car. They entered the small house together.
John flicked on the switch and the combination living/dining room was flooded with light. He was glad that he had decided to move his office out of the house. It was more professional than seeing clients here. And with Caro's help, he had started, finally, to turn this house into a home.
"Want a drink?" he asked.
"No," Caro whispered as she moved into his arms. "Just you."
He smiled, wrapped his arms around her, and bent his head to kiss her. Their lips connected in a familiar comforting way. He pulled her tightly against him, the warmth of her body an antidote to the bleakness in his soul.
The kissed for a long time, like teenagers standing on a street corner, feeling the passion build. Their mouths probed and played, pressed and shifted, while their hands explored each other in an endless dance. Caro's ran her nails up and down John's spine. His hands roamed over her arms and back, sliding up along her waist and the curves of her body, brushing the outside of her breasts. Soon they were panting with pent-up desire.
They moved towards the bedroom when suddenly Caro stopped. With a wild look in her eye, she lay back on the dining table. John's eyes lit up with desire. She began to undo the buttons of her blouse while staring at him, her tongue licking her lips. He needed no more encouragement. He pushed her hands away and finished the job himself. His hands slid over her bare skin, his mouth sucked an erect nipple through the silk of her bra.
She reached for his shirt, pulled it out of his pants and traced the scar on his side. Soon their clothes were gone and they became a tangle of hands and mouths. Fingers probed, lips caressed, bodies touched, slick with sweat.
Caro pulled John down on her and kissed him hard, her hands reaching for his erection.
"Slow down," he murmured. "We have all night."
"I don't want to slow down," she breathed. "I want you now."
He complied, parting her nether lips with his fingers and guiding his manhood inside her. She arched into him, raising her legs up to his waist, as he glided all the way inside her. She gripped his back tightly as he began to move rhythmically. Her body met every thrust with a matching passion and intensity.
Soon he began to pump faster and she moved with him. The room was loud with the sound of flesh meeting flesh and the moans of sex.
John bent his head to capture her mouth and with a final groan, slammed into an orgasm. She moaned beneath him and pressed her groin to his. He reached down between them to find her bud. He rubbed it gently and then her own orgasm overtook her.
The force of her spasms forced his now flaccid organ out of her.
He collapsed against her, his head between her breasts. She stroked his hair and then kissed his forehead. He raised his head and smiled at her. "We never did that before," he said with amusement.
"Sorry," she said with a rueful grin. "I just couldn't wait."
He grinned broadly and stroked a curl of hair off her face. "I think the bed is softer," he muttered.
She grinned back at him. "I guess we'll just have to test that theory next, won't we?"
The next morning, bright and early, John knocked on the door of Randa’s house. He always smiled as he pressed in the code that allowed him to open the gates. Randa had been right; they were impossible to miss. Ben had obviously inherited his parent’s sense of humor; the gates were shaped like a kite.
The house, mansion really, was massive. Still the rooms he’d visited so far, living room, den, office and kitchen were all cozy. No pretentious furniture or decorations graced those rooms. Everything was comfortable and lived in. Houses told a lot about people and he was pretty good at reading them. He got just as much of a feel for who Ben had been from how he lived, as he did from the people who knew him.
Randa answered the door dressed in some kind of silky white pantsuit. She smiled as she invited him in, but it was not a happy smile. She led him, not to the office, but to the kitchen.
John liked her kitchen, though he wasn’t sure why. It was bright and open and full of the newest shiniest appliances he’d ever seen. There were splashes of color everywhere, a bowl of red apples, a basket of oranges, and a bunch of bananas heaped on the counter. It looked like a magazine spread and yet, for all that, he got the sense that it was a room that was constantly used.
Randa gestured to a chair and without even asking, handed him a steaming mug of black coffee. He sat down at the pine table and blew across the top of the white mug. "Thanks."
She picked up another mug for herself and sat across from him. Then she lit a cigarette. John’s eyes widened. She smiled ruefully. "I’d quit. For several years actually. Especially once we began trying to have a baby. Now, well, it seems silly to deprive myself of something I enjoy. Especially since there just isn’t that much left."
John studied her face. The emotional pain was apparent. She looked haggard this morning and not just haunted, but also disturbed. "Something happened last night, didn’t it?" he asked.
She nodded. She took a drag of her smoke and then exhaled. "I got a call. John," she said using his given name for the first time, "I know you think you aren’t getting anywhere, but you must be. You’ve stirred something up."
John took a sip of his coffee, thinking how much he liked the way she said his name. "Tell me."
She nodded and exhaled more smoke. "At midnight the phone rang. I was still up; I don’t sleep much anymore. I didn’t recognize the voice, I’m pretty sure it was disguised. Anyway, the call wasn’t long. The voice said to call off my dog or what happened to Ben could happen to me."
John’s face grew excited. "Randa," he said, now using her given name for the first time, "did you tape it?"
She nodded. She reached into the pocket of her slacks and pulled out a small tape and handed it to him. "All calls into the house are taped. Ben set it up that way and I never changed it. John, this means you’re making someone nervous, right?"
John nodded. He accepted the tape and looked down at her open out-stretched hand. He was overtaken with an urge to bring that hand to his lips and kiss the fingers and palm. He pulled his eyes away with an effort and felt his face begin to redden.
Randa pulled her hand back and stubbed out her cigarette. She didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. "What will you do next?" she asked.
John looked down at his coffee cup. "I need to keep digging. We don’t know who made that call, only that someone isn’t happy you hired me. Still, it’s a step forward. Someone has something to hide and it’s probably someone I’ve talked to."
She looked at him, concern on her face. "Can you be sure of that? I mean, what if it’s someone else, somehow who knows you’re working for me."
John shook his head. "We need a place to start. Let’s go over that list of people I’ve seen and see if anything jumps out at you."
Randa nodded and lit another cigarette.
John consulted his notes and then confirmed, "So far I’ve seen Roger Kamaka, Ted Williams, Brad Matori, Larry Clausen and Tony Wakaki. I’ve left multiple messages for Waddy Leftel and Joe Kelly, the other PI's on Ben’s payroll, but I haven’t reached them. Of the five I’ve talked to, who would be in the best position to do this?"
Randa sipped some coffee before she answered. Her voice contained dismay as she acknowledged, "Any of them. I used to think all of them would do anything for Ben, but now . . . Ted stood by us completely during the arrest and aftermath, but Roger backed off. Brad, Larry and Tony kept working for the company, but once Ben was gone, they treated me like a pariah. Only Ted came to the funeral."
"Who’s running the company?" he asked.
Randa laughed. "Roger, at the behest of the government. The government is in charge. They confiscated the company saying that the profit was made because of the treason."
John looked at her. "What about the house? Personal finances?"
Again she laughed. "I was a rich girl when I married Ben. Ben deeded the house to me on our marriage, so it's my property. The government can’t touch it. I don’t need the money. If I ever get the company back, I’ll probably sell it."
John sipped more coffee. He asked tentatively, "How was Ben fixed when he married you?"
Randa stubbed out her cigarette and gave him a knowing look. "Well, he wasn’t quite as well off as me, but he wasn’t starving either. Besides, we’d been married for five years when this happened. The government’s case was ridiculous. Ben was great at what he did. He didn’t need to resort to treason to make money. He could sniff out opportunities like nobody's business."
John thought for a moment. "Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way. Maybe the idea wasn’t to frame Ben, but to get him out of the way for a while, while something else happened."
"What do you mean?" she inquired.
"Instead of looking at what happened, let’s look at the result," he said excitedly. "Who benefited from Ben’s forced inactivity? In other words, where did those five start from and where are they now?"
"You’re thinking that maybe this whole situation wasn’t meant to end up with Ben in prison or dead. That it sort of accidentally ended that way?"
John nodded. He could almost see her mind working as she turned the idea over in her head.
She looked thoughtful as she admitted, "You think the real intent was to get him out of commission for a while. So someone could do something and then it was going to get cleared up? And Ben, not being able to let it go, got himself killed."
John nodded again. "Yes. I’ve been through the government files on the treason charge. It’s pretty thin. I’m not sure they could have convicted him. And you said he’d found something on the day of his death. So maybe he arrived at the same conclusion. I think we need to follow the money."
"Follow the money," she repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, that’s exactly how Ben would have gone about it. He understood money better than anyone I’ve ever met." She paused and gave John a real smile. It lit up her entire face. "Can you do it?"
John shook his head. "I’m not a financial expert. We need to find one we can trust."
"You have one," she said with a laugh. "I’m pretty good with money myself. Where do we start?"
Three days later, on Saturday, John looked up from the list he was making to see Randa staring at him in surprise. Her eyes were wide, but for the first time since he’d met her, they didn’t look haunted. In fact, if he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn she was looking at him for the first time. It was as if she’d never seen him before and was just now noticing him. He caught her staring and grinned. Her eyes opened even wider and then she quickly turned away as her face flushed. She dropped her gaze back to the papers in front of her and let her hair fall forward to cover her face.
He studied the curve of her cheek and the way her brown hair softly lay against her skin. Her hair was so shiny, so glossy; brown didn’t seem a good enough word. He was not a fanciful man, but her hair was such a rich color with what seemed like hundreds of shades running through it, brown wouldn't do. Chestnut, he decided, like a thoroughbred horse's coat. She was like one of those expensive animals too. Like a good show horse she was always perfectly turned out, yet not in a fussy pretentious way. She took good care of herself, as if she really liked herself and wanted to put her best foot forward.
He continued to study her profile, the slope of her face, the line of her cheek, the mouth he found himself thinking about kissing. He knew he shouldn't let himself imagine what it would be like to be with her, but he couldn't help it.
It wasn’t just that Randa was beautiful, although she was. Caro was far more beautiful and exotic. It was something else. Something he couldn’t define and was loath to try that made him want her so badly. And want her he did with an ache at times that was painful in its intensity. He didn’t think she’d noticed. He’d been careful to hide his desire. Still, watching her work, watching the way her pink tongue flicked out and how she bit her lip when she was thinking sent waves of desire though him.
Suddenly she looked up, straight at him. She brushed the hair off her face and smiled. It was like the sun coming out on a gray day. "Are you hungry?" she asked.
"Hungry?" he repeated.
She seemed amused. "Yes. We’ve been working for hours. I think we missed lunch. It must be close to six o’clock."
"That late?" he muttered. Then he looked as if he’d been hit by a thunderbolt. "I’ve got to go. I’m late."
"Late?" she repeated.
"Yes. I was supposed to . . . that is . . . " He didn’t quite know how to finish the sentence.
"You have a date," Randa realized with surprise. "I’m sorry. Funny, I guess I just don’t think of you with a personal life."
John grinned ruefully. "You mean who would want to go out with an ugly bloke like me?"
Randa grinned back. "You are not ugly. Not even close," she added firmly and with more than a little surprise. It was as if she had just noticed exactly what he looked like. "I’m sorry though. Would you like to use the phone to call your friend? You can blame it on your slave driver of a client. Especially since it happens to be true."
John laughed. "Thanks."
Randa rose and remarked, "I’ll give you some privacy then, shall I? Same time tomorrow?"
"Um, well . . ." John looked embarrassed.
Randa gazed evenly at him. "Monday then. You can let yourself out." Then she turned and left the room.
John stared thoughtfully at her back as she vanished from sight and then picked up the telephone.
Caro paced impatiently as she waited for John. He had sounded guilty and distracted when he called. She knew how obsessive he could become during a case; she’d seen it. But this was something else.
Now he was late, something he NEVER was. The knock came sooner rather than later. Caro ran to the door and pulled it open. John, looking rueful and very attractive, stood on her doorstep with a bouquet of flowers. "Sorry," he murmured as he handed her the carnations.
Caro’s golden eyes lit up with joy. She leaned forward and planted a light kiss on John’s lips. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. Caro leaned into him, luxuriating in the hardness of his body and the warmth of his touch. She felt his hand stroke her hair, then slide down to stroke the back of her neck. She kissed John harder; her arms encircled his neck, the flowers fell to the floor as she tangled her fingers in his thick dark hair.
The kiss deepened, their bodies melting together in a classical dance. Caro pulled back first. "Want to skip dinner?" she breathed into his ear.
John laughed. Then he picked her up in his powerful arms and carried her into the bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed and moved next to her. He studied her face for a moment; her eyes were open and honest. She looked at him, always, with such affection and trust. He felt like a heel for even thinking about another woman.
He bent his head and kissed her, intent on proving his fidelity to her with his body. His lips softly caressed hers while his large hands gently traveled over her body. Her mouth parted under his and her tongue slipped into his mouth. Her hands roamed his body, tracing the muscles in his arms and chest. Her caress could always arouse him. Her touch was confident and ardent, a part of him and yet not.
This time he didn't allow urgency to overtake them. Slowly and leisurely, he undressed her and only then did he strip himself. Caro lay naked on the bed waiting for him. He paused for a moment just to look at her. "You are so beautiful," he murmured reverently. Her body was glorious; her breasts perfect round mounds with lovely pink nipples. He bent his head and kissed first one and then the other. Then he began to nuzzle at her breast, teasing and tasting; using a gentle suction that he knew aroused her.
Her body moved beneath him, her breath sweet and quick on his ear. He could feel her fingers tangling in his hair, lightly stroking the skin at the back of his neck.
He kissed and caressed her breasts for a long time, until the lovely nubs were high and peaked on her chest. Until her body writhed beneath him and her hands were searching for him. Until he could hear the need in her voice when she whispered his name. "John," she breathed, her voice a low passionate moan.
He looked up at her face. Her lips were parted and her eyes were closed. There was a light sheen of perspiration above her lips. He touched her face with awe.
He kissed his way down her body, over the softness of her belly to the sweet mystery of her womanhood.
He parted her legs gently and rubbed his goatee along her thighs, planting soft sweet kisses over every inch of them. He moved between her legs, pulling her mound closer.
Gently, so gently, he traced her nether lips with his tongue, sampling the sweet liquid that was already dripping from her. He inhaled her fragrance as if it was the sweetest perfume, exotic and spicy. Slowly he flicked his tongue inside her, feeling the arousal of her body, hearing her moan with pleasure.
His tongue became an extension of his need for her, searching, probing, sliding in and out, and then lapping up her juices as if he was dying of thirst and this was the only elixir he needed to survive. Her pelvis was moving, her sexual hunger, her arousal, feeding his. He found her bud and licked it slowly, delicately, prolonging her pleasure. She was moaning his name, almost begging for release. He took her bud completely into his mouth and began to apply a gentle suction. She moaned his name louder and her body exploded into orgasm around him. Hot wet liquid spurted all over his face; her groin pushed itself hard against him. As the spasms overtook her he pulled back and lifted his face. He glanced at her, her chest was heaving, her eyes were glazed, and her face looked blissful. He grinned and then kissed his way back up her body again, until finally he was positioned to enter her.
He guided himself inside her, losing himself in the hot wetness that was Caro. He closed his eyes as he felt her body surround him, all of his nerve endings on fire with passion. He felt her arms pull him tight, her legs grip him around the waist and her hot breath on his neck.
He began to move within her, slowly at first, because nothing in the world mattered but the extraordinary feel of her body around him. The warmth of her, the tightness, the friction of their bodies as they moved together, one unit now, one being.
Soon, he began to increase his speed, gliding in and out faster, harder, her body arching into him. Her nails began to dig into his back as she urged him on. Now her hands reached lower, gripping his buttocks, trying to pull him deeper inside.
He buried himself in her, plunging in hard and fast, his thrusts less rhythmical, more erratic. He felt that tightening in his balls that signaled release and with one more powerful thrust, he spilt his seed inside her.
He groaned as he came, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He felt Caro's orgasm spurred on by his own. Her fingers dug trenches in his back as her body spasmed around him. For a moment, he felt as if he had truly become a part of her. With an effort, he raised his head and smiled.
She stroked his hair, a look of complete and utter contentment on her face. "That was . . . " she murmured.
He pulled out of her, rolled on to his side and gathered her into his arms. He held her tightly, trying to hang on to the closeness he'd felt while making love. "It was," he repeated.
She leaned against him. His body was like a furnace now, every inch of him hot. She could feel his heart beating fast against her back, his warm breath on her ear.
He pulled her tighter. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," he whispered. "I hope I don't fuck this up."
She could hear the guilt in his voice. Still, she knew that if he HAD been with another woman he'd have told her. "What's wrong?" she asked nervously.
"Nothing," he muttered. He was such a dickhead sometimes. He had this wonderful woman, who for reasons he would never understand wanted him with as much passion and intensity as he wanted her. He still couldn't quite believe that he'd found her. How could he even think of Randa at a time like this?
She squirmed out of his arms and sat up. "Tell me, John. Whatever it is, whatever you've done or are thinking of doing, just tell me."
He looked at her. Was honesty really the best policy? Finally, seeing the look on her face, the concern and fear in her eyes, he confessed, "She's in my head. I can't seem . . . that is . . ."
"Your client? You're attracted to your client?" Caro asked softly.
He nodded mutely, guilt all over his handsome face. "I don't understand it."
"She needs you," Caro affirmed flatly. Then added sadly, "And you think I don't."
"What?" he asked, puzzlement causing him to frown.
"John, you have the tenderest heart of anyone I know. When you see someone in need, you just melt. The woman needs you and apparently, she's attractive. So in your earnest desire to help her, you're also attracted. But you haven't . . . " she let the words trail off, almost afraid of the answer.
"No, I haven't and I won't," he avowed firmly. He pulled her back into his arms. "I couldn't do that to you. I won't do it."
"I need you too," she whispered urgently. "I love you, John."
He studied her face. They'd never said the words before, never even acted as if that word was between them. She looked at him expectantly, her eyes shining with the truth of her emotions. He caressed her face reverently and declared, knowing that it was true and had been for a while, "I love you too."
Her expression changed, her eyes seemed to glow at his words and then her smile brightened and he thought if he could harness it, the power of it could light an entire city. Instead, it simply filled his heart. Her next words completed his joy.
"Oh John," she confessed, "I've waited so long to hear you say that."
"You should have said it sooner then," he replied with a self-deprecatory laugh. "I'm a guy. I was never going to say it first."
She laughed then and snuggled into his arms. It was going to be all right. Whatever else happened, she knew it was going to be all right between them.
Randa didn’t answer the door when John arrived on Monday. Instead, a woman he had never seen before, but one who looked like an older, less sophisticated version of her opened the door for him. "I’m Randa’s sister, Gail," the woman explained.
"Where is she?" John asked as he entered the house.
Gail looked him up and down as if he was an interesting specimen. Then as if he had somehow passed her inspection she smiled. "Working out. She’s running late this morning. She asked me to take you to the gym."
Gail led John through a maze of corridors until they reached the back of the mansion. She pushed open a door, indicated for John to go in and then left.
John stepped into a room that did indeed bear a remarkable resemblance to a professional gym. There was a treadmill, a stationary bike, a Stairmaster, a rowing machine and several workout machines.
Randa was doing leg curls. She didn’t do more than acknowledge him with a nod as she continued her exercise. John watched with fascination as her chest rose and fell with the exertion. She wore a gray workout bra and shorts. Her full breasts were straining against the fabric as she pulled her legs slowly up. The powerful muscles in her thighs were stretched taut. Her face was concentrated, focused, and looked somehow much younger and more beautiful.
John, much to his dismay felt himself drowning in a sea of desire. His body began to ache in that familiar way and he was glad that this morning he had eschewed his favorite jeans for a pair of loose fitting khaki pants.
He looked away from Randa and walked over to examine the weight rack. Suddenly she was next to him. He could smell the sharp sexy tang of her sweat and another sweeter smell that he knew was her own personal fragrance.
"Ben was into power lifting," she declared.
John swallowed hard. After the weekend with Caro, how could he still want Randa? The woman was his client, not a potential lover.
"John," she asked softly, touching his arm. "Are you all right?"
He willed himself into control. With an effort, he finally turned to her and said, "I’m fine."
She was looking at him with a quizzically serious expression in her eyes. "I’m sorry I dragged you down here, but I didn’t want to wait. I found something."
He shook off her arm and took a step back from her as he asked, "What?"
She looked surprised at his action, but answered calmly enough. "I was going over the time line and the company bank records. Large amounts of money were being drained right before the arrest. It was very subtle. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I wouldn’t have found it."
John studied her face. There was a light sheen of perspiration on her forehead. Her cheeks were flushed. Right above her lips was several beads of sweat. Tiny droplets of water were flowing down into her cleavage. With only a minimal effort he could reach down and pick up those glistening drops of water on a finger. Then he could trace that lovely hollow over and over until he . . . He swallowed again and forced himself to concentrate on the case. "Who took it?" he asked in a voice that sounded wrong, even to him.
She didn’t seem to notice. "I’m not sure. But John, don’t you see?" she insisted excitedly. "You were right. Someone wanted Ben out of the way while they robbed the company. You were right."
"Why don’t you shower and get dressed," he directed slowly. "I’ll go in the office and get my notes together."
Suddenly Randa’s face fell. All the excitement vanished. "You don’t think it’s important."
How could he explain? What would she do if he told her that he wanted her so badly it was driving him crazy? Wanted her although he was in love with another woman and committed to her. What would she do if he grabbed her and kissed her right here and now? He really didn't want to find out. "No Randa. It’s very important. It’s probably the answer. You did good."
A smile lit her face. "Really?" Again she laid her hand on his arm.
He could feel the warmth of her touch on his skin. The slight tingle as her fingers lay on the hairs of his arm. They burned like fire. He shook her arm off and headed for the door. "I’ll be in the office." He left without looking back.
If he had turned, he would have seen Randa staring at his departing back, her mouth wide open in confusion and astonishment. Then, her eyes widened as if she suddenly understood and a small smile played across her lips.
"What do you think?" Randa asked. She stood in the doorway to the office. She was dressed now in a silky teal blouse open at the throat and black slacks. She held a tray in her hand, which contained a green carafe, some mugs and a selection of pastries.
She entered the room and set the tray on the far corner of the desk. "Coffee?"
John nodded. He watched her hands as she poured the coffee. She had delicate hands with long slender fingers and short manicured nails. They looked as if they should be playing a piano or a flute, not wielding a calculator. For all that her appearance screamed money she wore little jewelry, only the thick gold wedding band, a thin gold watch and small gold hoops in her ears. Her beauty didn’t need precious jewels to set it off; she was like a jewel herself.
He took the coffee gratefully. Anxious to get back on firm footing, he said, "You’re right. I’m not much of a financial expert, but I can see what you found. Randa, I think we need to talk to the five again."
"I had an idea," she said as she came around the desk and slid into a chair next to him. "I want to go with you when you talk to them."
"Why?" he asked.
She studied his face as she answered. "You said yourself, you’re no financial expert. You won’t know if they’re lying. I know these men. I might be able to tell."
He knew she needed closure. That, more than anything else, was what this was about. He nodded. "Fair enough. Let me call and make appointments."
"You don’t have to," she said. "They’re all in the office today. I um, that is, um . . ."
"You were pretty sure I’d agree, weren’t you?"
She smiled at him. "It makes sense doesn’t it?"
John took a sip of his coffee. "Yes, it does."
As they drove to Auckland’s financial district, John thought about what he knew of the five men they were to see. Roger Kamaka was President of the company. He was tall and of Maori descent. He’d been recruited by Ben two years before from a competitor. Lamaka’s reputation was spotless. He’d been married for ten years to a childhood sweetheart and had two children. No hint of anything in his life to lead to suspicion. Still, now with Ben gone, he was completely in charge. Had he wanted that job bad enough to kill for it?
Ted Williams, Ben’s best friend since childhood, was the Vice President in charge of advertising. Everyone agreed that Ted was likeable, charming and a complete screw-up. Ben was loyal and so he kept Ted on, despite repeated efforts by Kamaka to replace him. Ted would have no reason to want Ben gone, just the opposite in fact.
Brad Matori had been Ben’s personal assistant for three years. He was tall, good-looking and single. A prime candidate for fraud, except Ben paid him generously, he had no debts and had seemed to be genuinely upset over the whole thing. Randa didn’t think he could get access to the money either. He was a very dark horse, unless he had been working with one of the other men.
Larry Clausen was the CFO, Chief Financial Officer. He should have been the first to notice anything amiss with the financial status of the company. He was a true fussbudget of a man. Looking every inch the certified public accountant, he still lived with his mother. According to Randa his only vice was exotic parrots.
And finally, Tony Wakai, the Treasurer. He was just an average guy with a family. He’d been with Ben since the beginning and had an equity stake in the company. Again, there seemed to be no motive here. Yet, he could easily have accessed the money. Did he have a secret?
Five very different men and as far as John could see any one of them alone or with another could have done it. The question, as it had been since the beginning was which one and why.
Roger Kamaka met them at the door of Ben’s office. His office now, Randa had to remind herself. As she entered, Randa glanced quickly around the room. It looked exactly the same as Ben had left it, except the picture of her had been replaced by one of Roger's family. She was surprised. She thought he would have wanted to put his own stamp on the place. Roger led them in and offered them chairs across from the desk and then coffee.
They refused the coffee and then Randa acknowledged, "Roger, thank you for seeing us. I really appreciate it."
He nodded, his thick eyebrows knitting over dark eyes. "You’re welcome, Miranda. But I still don’t understand what it is you want."
John studied the man for a moment. Kamaka seemed relaxed, at his ease. Ever the genial businessman. "As you know, Mrs. Franklin hired me to look into the case against her husband." This was their cover story, that Randa wanted the treason stain cleared. "Well," he added, "we’ve come up with something interesting."
Roger leaned forward in his chair. His eyes widened and his lips pursed. "What did you find?"
"Financial irregularities, before the alleged treason took place and then after it. Money transfers that seemed wrong," Randa amplified.
Kamaka’s eyes narrowed. "What kind of irregularities?"
Randa explained. "Large amounts of cash were being systematically moved out of clients’ accounts. The money vanished for a week and then mysteriously reappeared. To an untrained eye it would look like a regular stock transaction, but if you knew what to look for, you could spot it."
"And you knew what to look for?" Roger asked.
A mulish expression crossed Randa’s face. "I was married to Ben for five years, Roger. He talked about his work a lot. He trained me about money so I could handle things if anything happened to him. So yes, I knew how and where to look. What concerns me is why no one else found it."
Roger’s eyes grew wary. "Well you can set your mind at rest there. We DID find it. And Miranda, I’m sorry to say, it looks like Ben was responsible for that as well."
"That’s not possible," she said angrily. "Ben would NEVER do something like that. He would never betray his clients."
Roger shook his head. "I know you believe that. I know you believe he was innocent. But honestly Miranda, Ben betrayed his country and his clients. I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth."
"You’re lying," she spat. "You’re just trying to save yourself. Ben would never . . ." Suddenly she collapsed back into the chair and began to cry.
Roger looked at the detective, and John said, "Do you have any proof of this, Mr. Kamaka?"
Roger nodded and pulled a thick file from his desk. "I had hoped that I would never have to show this to her. But I found this file when I moved into this office. It was in the safe. Only one person ever had the combination to that safe. We had to have the manufacturer open it. All the handwritten notes are in Ben’s handwriting. I had it verified." Roger came out from behind the desk.
He went to Randa and took her hand in his. "I’m so sorry. I know you loved him. But Ben wasn’t perfect and obviously there was something more going on here. Something he didn’t tell you about."
Randa shook off his hand. "I don’t believe it, Roger. It’s another frame like everything else."
Roger shrugged. John asked, "May we see the file?"
"I had a copy made for you this morning when Miranda called for the appointment. I suspected it might come to this." Roger handed the file folder to John. "I’m sorry."
John rose and helped Randa to her feet. She stumbled against him and then, with dignity, righted herself. Together the private investigator and the widow left the office. Roger Kamaka leaned on the edge of his desk as he watched them leave. His face was a study in calculation.
John led Randa to a small conference room near Roger's office. She slumped down in the chair, her face cradled in her hands. "I'll be right back," John announced.
When he returned, Randa hadn't moved a muscle. She was as still as a statue. The thick manila folder lay on the shiny wood table still unopened.
John handed Randa a steaming mug of tea sweetened with sugar. "Drink this," he directed.
She shook her head in mute silence. "Drink it," John repeated. "You've had a shock. This will help."
"Nothing can help." She raised her face; the haunted look in her eyes had returned. "I don't understand," she mumbled. "I was so sure."
"Randa," John reiterated softly, "I'd back your judgement over Kamaka's any day. We haven't even looked at the file. For all you know it could be more lies. We haven't seen the others yet either. Maybe they have another story to tell."
"Do you really think so?" she asked. She took a sip of tea and grimaced. "Too much sugar."
John smiled. "You need it. You've had a shock. Let's go through the file, eh?"
Randa nodded and flipped open the file, her face full of hope. By the time she was done, the tea was gone and so was her hope. It was an ugly picture. According to the telephone logs, computer logs and bank records, Ben HAD moved client's money around. He had collected interest for a week, then put the money back. It was very clever, he earned enormous amounts of interest while his clients didn’t, but since those kinds of transfers were commonplace in the brokerage business, it wasn't noticeable. The scam had netted him several million dollars in a separate account. There was also a complete record of the money laundering done for several foreign countries and the profits made. The basis of the treason charges. It was all there, in black and white. All of it. Guilty as charged. She wondered why a man as smart as Ben would have done it.
She raised her eyes and found John studying her intently. His brown eyes were alight with concern. She gazed back at him, searching for a sign of pity. She couldn't find it there and was glad. She couldn't have handled that. "It's all here," she said finally. "All of it. A complete paper trail. I can't believe Ben did this. It was so unlike him."
"Maybe he didn't," John said softly. "You say there's a complete paper trail?" She nodded. "Maybe too complete? Randa, your husband was brilliant. Much too brilliant to leave such a blatant trail. I think maybe you're right. And it is still a frame. I think we should talk to the rest of them. See what they say."
She shook her head. "John, these were HIS records. Even if he wanted everything untraceable, he'd still need a way for him to find the money. And no matter how careful you are, money always leaves a trail."
"Still," John insisted, "let's see the others. We're here and we may never get another chance. Can you do it?"
Randa rose from the table. She seemed to find some inner strength for she squared her shoulders and said, "Yes. Brad's next."
Brad was very good-looking; Randa noticed that whenever she saw him. For some reason, the Carly Simon song, "You're So Vain," always popped into her head at his appearance. He dressed in expensive suits that he wore with a nonchalant elegance that irritated her. It was almost as if he was saying, "Admire me." Brad strolled into the conference room with arrogance seeping from every pore of his body. He nodded to John and said," Hello, Mrs. Franklin."
John found it interesting that when in conversation Brad referred to her as Randa, but on seeing her, it was more formal.
Randa acknowledged him with a nod, her tone formal as well. "Hello, Brad. Thank you for seeing us. I really appreciate it."
Brad sat in a chair, his legs thrust out, and his body posture totally at ease. "I'd have done anything for Ben," he admitted. "And by extension, for you."
John could see Randa didn't like the man and he wondered why. He'd found Brad very personable and charming.
Randa studied her husband's former assistant as if he was a bug under glass. "Brad, you know I've hired Mr. Lawless to look into the charges against Ben. We found something."
Brad nodded. "Roger told me. I can't tell you how sorry I am about this. We all hoped you'd never find out."
"We all?" she repeated thoughtfully. "Just who else knows about this?"
Brad's face grew wary. "Roger, Tony, Larry, Ted and I. That's all, I swear. And the government. We had to show them the financial records. Otherwise, well, they would have shut us down."
"And you would have been out of a job?" John asked softly.
Brad looked appalled. "Not for long. I get a job offer a week. My services are quite valuable."
"Not to mention all the confidential information you have in your head," Randa retorted nastily.
John could see Brad wanted to take offense but instead his face turned carefully neutral. "Mrs. Franklin, I know you're still in mourning. So I'll forgive that. I'm sorry that you had to find out about Ben this way. Truly sorry. Now if there's nothing else?"
"Why didn't you have the combination to Ben's safe?" John asked.
The question clearly surprised Brad. "It was his personal safe. Not the company safe."
"His personal safe?" Randa repeated. "Ben didn't have a personal safe here at the office. I'd have known if he had."
"Forgive me Mrs. Franklin, but I'm afraid he did. Apparently," Brad added maliciously, "Ben did many things you didn't know about." Then he turned and left.
After he was gone and the door had shut behind him, John commented, "You don't like him."
Randa grimaced. She tapped her fingers on the file folder, as she said, "No, I don't. I never did. But Ben did. Ben trusted him too, so . . ."
"Why?" Randa shook her head and said nothing. John studied her, "He made a pass at you, didn't he?"
Randa laughed. "Two years ago, at the holiday party. He was drunk so I let it go. How did you know?"
"Just a guess." John paused, looked for a moment as if he would say more and then asked, "Are you ready for Tony Wakai?"
Randa nodded.
Tony Wakai entered the conference room with a jaunty step and a bright smile. Randa attempted to smile at him, but didn't quite succeed. He said all the right things and then settled down in a chair to wait for the detective to begin.
When John looked at him, he saw the quintessential kiwi bloke. Tony was typical, medium height, average weight, fair hair and undistinguished facial features. He wore off the rack suits and shoes. There was nothing special or unique about him. Yet John knew that Ben had trusted him completely.
When Randa asked Tony about the missing money his story was the same as Roger's. He was sorry, but it was clear from the evidence that Ben was guilty.
The only interesting moment came near the end when John asked, "Why didn't you spot it before? Surely disbursements that large had to be countersigned."
Tony's eyes narrowed at that. He looked wary and alarmed. "Usually true, but Ben was Ben. And Larry always countersigned on anything over a million anyway. He's the CFO."
When Tony was gone, John looked to Randa for her opinion. "I don't think he's smart enough. He was just a CPA when he came to work for Ben. As Treasurer, he handles the corporate finances. I'm not sure he'd know enough to finagle client's money."
John nodded and went to get Larry Clausen.
The Chief Financial Officer entered the room with short carefully measured steps. His body seemed to shimmer with nervous energy. He nodded to Randa and sat down. His black suit was pressed, creased, and shiny, as if it had been worn past the point of no return. His white shirt was crisp and his tie was solid blue. He was totally colorless and nondescript in his appearance. It was as if all of his brightness was bound up in his collection of exotic birds.
When questioned, the answers he gave depressed Randa deeply. If there was one thing she knew, it was that Larry crossed every T and dotted every I. He was obsessive about it, which was why Ben had hired him. Ben wanted the company to always be above reproach and Larry was the perfect person to make sure of that. Which was another reason why she was so sure that Ben wouldn't have done this.
When Randa asked Larry how he could have missed the money transfers, she got a shock.
He clicked his tongue in disapproval and shook his head. His tone of voice was prickly with censure as he answered. "I didn't miss them. I went to Ben at the time. I asked why they were done and what was happening. Why I hadn't been asked to countersign. Why in fact, no one had countersigned. He laughed it off. Told me I was worrying about nothing, he had it all under control and I should go buy a bird. Typical Ben. He made you feel like your concerns were just so much manure." He paused and then added, "Miranda, I had no idea that things were this serious. If I had known, I swear, I would have tried to stop him. I'm very sorry."
She believed him. Larry's words carried the ring of truth. When he finally left, she knew all the men she had seen so far believed Ben guilty. She was beginning to believe it herself.
"Are you okay?" John asked with concern after seeing Larry out.
She nodded. "Yes. Funny, out of all the people we've seen Larry's the only one who said he would have tried to help. I never thought he liked Ben much. People can really surprise you, can't they?"
John nodded. "Too true. Still, you said Ted did stand by you. Maybe . . . "
She laughed bitterly. "Ted? He's a charming man, but as I'm sure you know, not the brightest bulb in the firmament. A landmine could be right under his nose and he'd miss it."
John's eyes were locked on hers as he reiterated, "All the same, you said he stood by you and Ben. And he was the only one of them to attend the funeral."
"Yes," she replied softly, "Ted's been a good friend. To Ben and to me."
"Well," John said encouragingly, "let's see what he has to say."
Ted Williams entered the conference room slowly. John thought of him as one of those "hearty fellow, well met," kind of guys. Ted was dressed casually in a sports coat, polo shirt and slacks. He went immediately to Randa, pulled her out of the chair and wrapped her in a big hug. He was the only one of the men to actually seem happy to see her. "Randa, honey," he said as he released her, "it's been too long. How are you holding up?"
She smiled at him. Ted often acted like a buffoon, but she was very fond of him. She stared into his blue eyes and told him the truth. "I've been better. Oh Ted, tell me you don't believe it."
Ted stepped back from her, his eyes dropping to the floor nervously. He went to John, pumped his hand robustly and then sat down. He said, "I don't want to believe it, but Randa, I'm afraid it's true."
Randa slumped back down in the chair. If Ted believed . . . "Why, Ted? Why would he have done such a thing?"
Ted shook his head. He pursed his lips in dismay and asked, "Can't you just accept it and move on?" You still have your whole life ahead of you. I know you loved Ben. It can't be easy to find out that he wasn't the man you thought he was, but . . ."
Randa shook her head. Her voice sounded strangled as she said, "I don't understand, Ted. I can't let it go. Not until I DO understand. Ben and I didn't need the money. Why would he do this? The company was thriving. It wasn't necessary."
Ted leaned forward in his chair, his voice and his posture beseeching her. "Randa, Randa, please. You know Ben was my oldest friend. I loved him too. But he wasn't perfect. He made a mistake."
"No," she shouted. "He didn't make mistakes. At least not that kind."
Ted clicked his tongue and an infinitely sad expression passed over his feature. He shook his head and said nothing.
John filled the silence by asking, "Mr. Williams, you were his closest friend. Why do you think he did it?"
Ted seemed disinclined to answer, but sentence by sentence, John pulled the whole sordid story out of him. With many starts and stops, continual apologies to Randa and a host of other delaying tactics, Ted explained the last things that Randa ever wanted to hear. According to Ted, Ben had met another woman. He was in thrall to her. He wanted to leave Randa to be with her, but wasn't sure he could come out of a divorce with enough cash to live well. The woman would never accept anything less. The money he stole was his future, his and the woman's. By the time John had gotten the whole story out of him, Randa was sobbing.
Ted tried to comfort her, but she pushed him away. She huddled into the chair and herself, wanting no one near her. Finally, John made him leave the room. When John came back, Randa was still crying, her small body shaking with emotion. He didn't think a cup of tea would fix it this time.
After Randa had finally stopped crying, John led her out of the conference room and into his car. "I'll take you home, shall I?"
"No," she mumbled. The pain was evident in her voice and the set of her mouth. "I can't . . . I don't want . . . I . . ."
John nodded. She didn't want to go there just yet. Too many memories. He understood that.
John began to drive. He drove in circles around Auckland's financial district for a time and then into the restaurant district. He pulled into the parking lot of a small restaurant he knew. "How about some dinner?" he asked softly.
Randa nodded. She waited for him to come around to her side of the car. He helped her out, but released her hand as soon as he could.
She stood for a moment in the twilight looking at him. The expression on her face was odd. Again, he had that sense that she was seeing him for the very first time.
They entered the restaurant and the host treated John like an old friend, which he was. They took their seats and John looked across the table at Randa. She was looking around the crowded room as if she had never seen anything like it before. She turned back to John and said, "This is nice."
"You sound surprised," he muttered.
She smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid Ben and I didn't go to small restaurants. I mean, that is . . . "
"You mean money was never an issue for you," he said flatly. He kept forgetting that the rich really WERE different.
She gazed at him thoughtfully. "You think I have no concept of what lack of money means, don't you? You think I'm just some rich woman who can buy anything she wants."
"You couldn't be more wrong," John said firmly. "I don't think you think you're slumming. I meant exactly what I said. You just never worried about money to pay for things."
"You don't like me," she replied softly. She shook her head at him.
John's eyes widened. "Why would you think that?"
She dropped her eyes as if embarrassed. "Whenever I get physically close to you, you move away from me. When I touch you, even accidentally, you act as if it hurts. And you, I don't know, seem to keep your distance from me completely. I'm not an expert on body language, but it sure feels like you don't like me."
John's face colored and he shrugged his shoulders. "Randa, I like you just fine. But you're my client. Personal feelings don't enter into it."
"And you have a girlfriend," she added coyly. Then seeing the shocked look on his face, she added, "Or did I assume? You aren't gay, are you?"
John shook his head. Why did women keep asking him that? "Her name is Caroline."
"Tell me about her."
John toyed with his water glass as he answered. "Randa, I don't think . . ."
She gazed at him seriously. Her voice was desperate as she pleaded with him. "Please, John. I need to be distracted right now. Everything I thought I knew about Ben, about me, about our marriage has turned out to be a lie. Everything. Maybe I could have lived with finding out he'd been unfaithful to his business ethics, but to discover that he had been unfaithful to me? That all the while I thought he loved me, thought he was happy about the baby, he was just trying to find a way to leave me and be with another woman. I need to know that someone, somewhere is happy and in love."
He studied her face. Her eyes were wide and staring at him, the pupils dilated from all her crying. He saw the pain, the betrayal and now self-loathing at having been a fool, eating away at her as if it was acid on her skin. As she ordered a bottle of wine and he ordered dinner for them, he began to talk.
She ate very little, merely pushing the food around on her plate to make it seem as if she had. She did drink most of the first bottle of wine. As he told her about Caro and Willy, she ordered a second bottle. She was a good listener and despite her growing intoxication, she asked intelligent questions.
She drank half of the second bottle of wine while managing to extract the rest of his life story. She was truly appalled at the behavior of his ex-wife and the police. She shrugged her shoulders eloquently at the unfairness of life and upset her wineglass. John moved the glass and the bottle out of her reach and called for the check.
They had a small tussle over who would pay the bill and she finally stopped arguing after he said he would put it on his expense sheet. That made her giggle. He knew she was at that giddy stage of intoxication. She would have quite the headache the next day.
She bobbed and weaved her way out of the restaurant and then stumbled against him. He tentatively put an arm around her waist to steady her. She leaned into him, her body just brushing his and he heard her murmur softly and with more than a little surprise, "You're a nice man." She hiccuped softly and then added, "Not too many of them left in the world."
"What about Ben?" he asked without thinking. He could have kicked himself at the look on her face when he said the name.
She laughed bitterly and pulled away from him. "I loved Ben, but nice wasn't a word I would have used to describe him. Even before today."
"I'm sorry," he apologized, "I should have thought before I spoke."
"It's all right. " She put her hand on his arm and looked up at him. Her eyes were misty. "Thank you John. For everything."
"No worries." He shook her hand off and unlocked the car door. After she got in, he walked around to the driver's side and seated himself. He asked, "Where to?"
"I don't know," she replied slowly. "I don't think I can face that house. Not with all the reminders."
"What about your sister? A friend?"
She shook her head. She studied his profile briefly and said in a soft voice, "Take me home with you."
"What?" his head jerked back and then he looked at her.
She stared straight at him, her gray eyes bored into his. "I don't want to be alone. Please take me home with you."
He shook his head. "Randa, you've had too much to drink. You don't mean that."
"John," she whispered, "I've thought sometimes that you, well, that you fancied me. I think you're a nice man. I think you're very attractive. Take me home and make love to me."
"Sweet Jesus," he mumbled. "Of all things . . ."
She shifted over in the seat and took his face into her hands. She bent her head and kissed him. Her lips attached themselves to his like a lifeline pressing down hard.
He wanted to return her kiss, but could taste the wine in her mouth and knew it was wrong. He pulled away from her and said, "You don't want me. You just want the pain to go away."
"John," she breathed, "don't make me beg."
"Randa, this is wrong and you know it."
"I don't care," she said. "I want you." She pulled his face back into her hands and kissed him again. There was a passion and ferocity in her kiss that John was finding increasingly difficult to resist.
As her hands moved into his hair to pull his head closer, he gave in and relaxed. It was better than he had even imagined. Her lips were soft and firm; her mouth was hungry and demanding.
His arms went around her pulling her close. The kiss deepened, their tongues began to dance, and when her hand left his head to trace his body, he couldn't hold back a moan.
Randa pulled back suddenly and gazed at him, her eyes full of desire. "Take me home with you, John. Please."
He caressed the side of her face once and then nodded.
Randa released him and moved over to the passenger side to belt herself in as John started the car.
The watcher in the shadows moved to his own car, disappointment on his features. He followed Lawless' car and then parked around the corner from the detective. He would have to do something about this. He settled down to wait for his chance.
John slowly unlocked the door of his house, Randa at his side. Now that they were there, he was even more convinced this was the wrong thing to do. Still . . . he couldn't just abandon her. Not in the shape she was in, obviously drunk and emotionally overwrought.
He pushed open the door and entered. Randa followed impatiently not even waiting for him to flick on the light switch.
He paused and shut the door behind her. The room glowed with light. Randa stood in the center of the living room looking around curiously. Her eyes passed over the tan couch, the wood coffee table and the desk. "I like that," she said pointing at the Bob Marley poster.
"Caro gave it to me," he said softly. Oh god, he couldn't do this. Not again, not to Caro.
"Randa," he said. Before he almost finished speaking her name, she was at him with the unbending resolution of the inebriated. Pulling his head down and kissing him again. She was such a tiny handful of need in his arms. She barely came up to the middle of his chest.
Her mouth was on fire; she put all her energy and all her emotion into the kiss. He could taste her need, her pain, and her urgency. She pressed her body against him, rubbing her breasts and groin into him. Her arms moved around his back, down to his waist, pulling him against her as if she could pull him inside her.
He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her passionately, feeling his body respond. They kissed for a long time, until, finally, Randa pulled back and whispered, "Where's the bedroom?"
John released her then and shook his head. With an effort he moved away from her and went to sit down on the couch. "Randa, we can't."
She stood staring at him, her chest heaving, her breath coming in pants. "What do you mean, we can't? I know you want me."
"Doesn't matter," he said with another shake of his head. "Wanting, needing, it's not enough. And you don't want me. You just want the pain to go away."
"I want YOU," she stated. She walked over to the couch and sat on his lap.
John squirmed as her bottom connected with his erection. "You're not making this easy," he muttered as she leaned over and began to kiss his neck.
She looked up at him, desire all over her face and said mischievously, "I intended to make it hard."
He laughed. "Too late." He pulled her face from his neck and into his hands. "Randa, you are a very attractive woman. I know you know that. And yes, I do find you attractive. But you don't want me. You just want to forget."
"I do want you," she insisted. "I do."
"Why?" he asked.
She looked dumbfounded. "What do you mean, why? That's a stupid question."
He released her face. His eyes clouded over as he said, "Is it? Tell me why you want to have sex with me."
"You're a beautiful man," she said finally, with the kind of seriousness only the very drunk can have.
"And?"
Her expression was even more perplexed. "What do you mean, and? Isn't that enough?"
"No," he said softly. "It's not. It's not enough for me and I don't believe it's enough for you. You are not the kind of woman to indulge in meaningless sex."
"How do you know what kind of woman I am?" she sputtered. "You don't know me. Not really."
He tried to get her to focus her eyes on his face. She couldn't quite manage it. "Randa, could you please get off me and sit on the couch so we can discuss this? I'm not made of stone you know."
"Part of you feels hard as a rock," she said with a giggle. John's face turned bright red. "Sorry," she added as she moved off him and sat primly on the edge of the couch. After she settled herself, she asked, "Better?"
John shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I've known you for almost two weeks now. I know how you felt about Ben. You're hurt and unhappy. You feel betrayed. Between the alcohol and this emotional roller coaster you're on, all you want to do is exchange all of it for something to make you feel better. You think sex will do that. Well, I can tell you, it won't work. Sex is not the answer."
A mulish expression crossed her face. "And just how do you know that?"
John grinned ruefully. "I've been there and tried it. It doesn't work."
"John, I do want you," she insisted. She reached over and began to stroke his thigh. "You're a very nice man and good-looking too."
John gently lifted her hand off his leg and set it back in her lap. "Maybe, but even so, it can't happen. I can't do that to Caro."
"Oh, your girlfriend. I forgot. I'm sorry. Oh god, I'm just like Ben. I shouldn't have . . . " Randa began to cry then, the curse of Ben's betrayal upon her, the intoxication moving from giddy to depressed.
John let her cry for a few minutes then got up from the couch and went to the kitchen. He came back with a big glass of water. Randa was still crying.
He settled back on the couch. He touched her shoulder gently and tried to hand her the drink. She shook her head, the sobs now tearing from her body. Gently he took her into his arms and held her. "Go ahead and cry," he murmured into her hair. "Let it out."
Randa sobbed mumbling Ben's name. She cried and cried and finally seemed to have exhausted herself. John's shoulder was damp with her tears. She raised her eyes and said, "Thank you."
"No worries," he replied. He handed her some tissues and laughed when she blew her nose.
"I must look a sight," she mumbled. "I should go home, only . . . I'm sorry I've been such a burden."
John studied her face. The crying jag seemed to have sobered her up. "You're not a burden," he remarked. "It's late. You can sleep in the bedroom and I'll take you home in the morning."
"I don't want to take your bed," she asserted. "That's not fair. Besides, this couch is way too short for you. I'll sleep here."
"You're my guest," he insisted. "I'll take the couch."
"I'm not your guest," she retorted wryly. "I'm a pest who forced you to bring her here and then tried to take advantage of you. Please John, I feel bad enough about this as it is. Don't make it worse."
"Randa . . ."
She put her fingers over his lips. "John, if you don't agree, I'll kiss you again. I know how much you hated that."
"Randa," this time he said her name as a warning.
"Don't worry," she commented with a bitter laugh, "I've had enough rejection for one night."
"I was not rejecting you," he answered seriously. "I was rejecting the situation and the timing. You have to know . . . "
She smiled. "I do. I'm sorry John. I'm just a bit fragile at the moment. I promise though, no more attempts at seduction."
His eyes crinkled and his dimples flared as he grinned at her. "Thanks. I'm not sure just how much longer I could resist you."
"You have amazing self-control," she marveled. "Most men wouldn't have been able . . ." She reached over and caressed his cheek lightly. "You really are gorgeous," she said with wonder. "No woman would EVER need more than that to be with you."
He could feel his face redden. "Maybe, but it's not enough for me. And there is Caro to consider. As long as I'm with her, I owe her fidelity."
Randa nodded. "Fair enough. So what do I have to do to get a pillow and blanket? I'm exhausted."
The screaming woke him. A woman's scream. He came out of sleep slowly, sure that the screaming was in his dream, but it wasn't.
He rushed into the living room to find Randa screaming in her sleep. He went to her and gently touched her shoulder. She sat up abruptly, her eyes wide and frightened.
"Where am I? What?" she muttered. "Oh God, it was awful!"
John sat on the edge of the couch. "Tell me."
Randa gulped and rubbed her eyes. "I was in the car with Ben. I was watching him die. Oh John, it was just awful."
John stroked her hair as he would a child's. "It's okay, Randa. It was just a nightmare."
Randa looked at him. He was wearing only sweatpants leaving his chest bare. His hair was loose and framed his face. Her eyes traveled over his chest, the firm pectorals, and the lovely line of thick dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of his sweats. She had never seen such a beautiful chest. She closed her mouth and swallowed hard. She felt a wave of desire wash over her, desire that had nothing to do with pain, alcohol or Ben. She reached out a tentative hand to touch him. "John," she whispered.
He grabbed her hand and held it. He looked into her eyes and felt himself being drawn into their gray depths. He licked his lips nervously. "I should go back to bed," he mumbled. "You need your sleep."
"I need you," she murmured. She pulled her hand from his and lightly traced the hair at the base of his throat. Then her fingers began a journey through the hair on his chest. She licked her own lips and moved closer to him. She bent her head and began to kiss his neck.
"Randa," he whispered her name.
Her breath was a soft whisper against his skin. "No more fighting it John. Please. I want you. You. And it's not about anything else. Just about me and you and desire."
He lifted her face from his neck. His eyes bored into hers trying to judge the truth of her words. He could still sense the alcohol in her, she hadn't really sobered, just become less drunk, despite the tears and the interrupted sleep. Even so, the way she looked at him, he couldn't help responding in some way, even if it wasn't the way she wanted. "I want you," he whispered, "but not like this. It's still wrong."
"I can't believe you still think . . ." She went to kiss him again, but he pulled away and stood up.
He took a few steps away from the couch and said, "Go back to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
She shook her head in wonder. "You are the most stubborn man," she said bluntly.
He grinned. "Yeah, I am. Incredibly stupid to turn you down too. Believe me, it ain't easy."
Well, as long as it's hard," she murmured mischievously.
"Good night Randa," he said with another grin.
John was making coffee when Randa came into his kitchen. She looked embarrassed and much the worse for wear. She had slept in her clothes and the silk was wrinkled and bunched. There were dark lines around her eyes where she had rubbed in her mascara and apparently, she hadn't tried to wash it off. She was rubbing her temples as if she was in pain.
He gestured for her to sit at the table and then placed a large glass of ice water, two aspirin and a mug of strong black coffee in front of her.
She nodded gratefully and then touched her forehead as if the movement hurt. She drank the water greedily and then swallowed the painkillers. She picked up the mug of coffee, sniffed it and then took a sip.
John had turned back to get his own coffee and she looked at his back. He was dressed in blue jeans and a blue T-shirt. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail and the sunlight from the kitchen window seemed to halo him with light. As he turned to look at her, the sun hit his earring, causing her to wince.
"The coffee that bad?" he asked as he sat down across from her.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry seems inadequate," she began. She shrugged which made her wince again. The silence between them lengthened uncomfortably. There was little conversation as she drank her coffee and what there was of it was stilted and awkward.
He knew she felt embarrassed about her behavior and he felt little better about his own. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.
Eventually she finished her coffee. "I'll take you home then, shall I?" he asked.
She nodded. She found her purse and then paused in the doorway of the house, before following him out. She took one last glance inside and then touched his arm. "I don't know what . . . I'm not . . . I'm sorry," she finished lamely. She shrugged again as if she had given up trying to express herself. Whatever it was she wanted to say, she couldn't seem to find the words.
"Randa," he whispered her name. What was there to say, after all?
They drove to her house in silence. When he parked by the front door, Randa didn't invite him in nor did she say goodbye. She opened the car door quickly and raced into the house.
John, watching her go, felt as if he'd lost something precious, with no idea how to find it again. Slowly, he turned the car around and drove away.
Randa took a long hot shower, swallowed two more aspirin, and then prowled her home restlessly. The hangover was receding, leaving the emotional pain very much in the forefront. What was she going to do? Ben was dead. Ben had not been the man she thought he was. Ben was a thief who betrayed his country. Ben was an adulterer who had betrayed her. Ben was in love with another woman when he died! It was all too much.
Just as she thought she would go mad, the intercom buzzed. It was Ted. Grateful for the company she opened the gates and let him in.
Ted bounded into the house looking around wildly. "Where is he?"
"Where's who?" Randa asked. Then noticing Ted's disheveled state and distress, she added, "What's wrong?'
Ted's head swiveled around, looking frantically. "Where's your lover? That detective fella."
"John?" she asked. "He's not here and he's not my lover."
"No?" Ted said. His eyes clearly disbelieved her. "You spent the night with him."
Randa's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "What? Ted, what are you talking about? What's wrong with you this morning?"
"I know you spent the night with him. Where is he?" He gripped her arms and began to shake her.
"Ted, you're hurting me. Let go."
He pulled her to a chair and pushed her down. He loomed over her, his eyes wild. He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. "Why did you choose him? Why not me?" he shouted.
Randa looked at the man as if she'd never seen him before. Maybe she never had. "Ted, I don't know what you're talking about. John is NOT my lover. I don't have a lover."
"Stop it," Ted shouted. He raised a hand as if to slap her. "I know you spent the night with him. I SAW you. I thought with Ben gone . . . "
His words finally filtered through. "You saw me?" she murmured. "You were following me?"
Ted nodded. "Yes, I was worried about you. You were so upset and that damn detective fellow kept hovering over you. I thought you might need me. But instead you went home with HIM. Why didn't you call me? I would have taken care of you. I was Ben's best friend. I was sure that once you knew who Ben was, you'd want me instead. Sure that with him gone, you'd turn to me."
"You thought I'd . . ." sudden comprehension dawned. "You killed Ben," she stated softly.
He didn't seem at all surprised by her unexpected knowledge. "I didn't mean to. It was an accident. Randa, darling, sweet, beautiful, Randa, Ben didn't deserve you. You were always too good for him."
Randa swallowed hard. It took her a moment to find her voice, but when she did, she asked painfully, "Oh God, Ted, why did you do it? Why?"
Ted began to pace back and forth in front of her as he explained. "He wasn't good enough for you. He could never love you the way I do. He didn't deserve you. He thought he was so smart and I was such a fuck-up. Yes, I know what everyone thinks of me. Poor dumb Ted, always messing up. But it isn't true you know. I was the one who got Ben through school. I was the one who figured out how to run that interest scam. Poor Ben. He was so surprised when Larry came to him about it. He knew immediately I had done it. Ben was always so sure he could fix everything. He was such a loyal friend. Such a fool. He thought he needed to protect me. Then when he found out about the money laundering he was really pissed. He was going to turn me in. Can you imagine that? His best friend. I couldn't let that happen. I needed to be free to take care of you. To protect you."
"To protect me?" she repeated. "Protect me from what?"
"It's a big bad world out there, Randa." Ted dropped to his knees in front of her. He took her hands in his. "I love you, Randa. I always have. Why did you have to go home with that detective fella?"
Randa shrank back in the chair. He didn't seem to notice. Her voice shook as she repeated, "Ted, I didn't sleep with him. I just stayed the night in his house. On his couch. I swear it. I couldn't face coming back here."
"Why didn't you call me?" he asked. "Why don't you let me love you? I did everything for you."
"You killed Ben for me?" she asked.
"I told you," he said angrily. "He wasn't worthy of you."
Randa tried to hide the revulsion as his words seeped into her soul. She could see how out of control he was. Once she'd have thought Ted incapable of violence. But now? Clearly, he was crazy. What could have possibly turned him into this? Unconsciously her eyes strayed to the nearby telephone.
Ted noticed her glance and pulled her to her feet. "Going to call your lover?"
"He is NOT my lover, Ted." She tried to hide her fear from him. She made herself smile. "Ted, you really pulled off that money scam all by yourself? I'm impressed."
"I've always been smart, Randa," he said proudly. "But Ben made me hide my light under a bushel. Only room for one genius in the company he used to say. Couldn't have two brilliant front men. It would confuse the other investors. I know just as much about money as he did."
She placed her hands on his chest and in a breathless voice said, "I never knew that. Ted, I'm so sorry that Ben hurt you like that. It was wrong of him."
He stroked her hair, releasing his grip on her arms. "Yes it was. I told him we could make even more money by working with the Chinese. But he refused. Mr. High and Mighty. But I did it anyway. I made so much money," he added gleefully.
"Wow," she breathed. "How did you make it look like Ben did it?"
"Oh, that was easy," he confirmed arrogantly. "I've been forging Ben's handwriting for years. I fixed up the file and put it in the safe."
"But," she said with puzzlement, "that was Ben's safe."
Ted shook his head. "No it wasn't. I bought it forging his signature and kept it in my office. When he was forced out, I just stuck the safe in his office, before Roger moved in. It was hidden away, so it looked like it had always been there. Pretty clever, eh?"
"Brilliant," she whispered. Oh God, poor Ben. He would have been baffled by the betrayal. He wouldn't have understood it at all. But he would have tried to give Ted a chance to explain. "Ted, that story you told me yesterday. There wasn't any other woman, was there?"
"Of course not," he muttered. "Ben never even looked. I just wanted you to stop this. To realize how unworthy he was of your love and devotion."
The last of Randa's despair melted away to be replaced by a white-hot anger. This man who claimed to love her had taken everything away from her. She pushed hard on his chest, pushing him away and began to run down the hallway.
Ted came after her. He gripped her by her hair and yanked her to a stop. Then he turned her around to face him.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked in puzzlement. "I thought you understood. You're going to be with me now. You're mine."
She couldn't help it. All the revulsion and anger bubbled to the surface. She lashed out. "I wouldn't be with you if you were the last man on earth." Then she tried to slap him with all the force she could muster.
He jerked back before her hand could reach his face. He grabbed her wrist with a grip of iron. His eyes grew even wilder. It was then that Randa realized that he was in the grip of some drug as well as craziness.
"You're mine," he said fiercely. Then he crushed her to his chest, pinning her arms, and began to kiss her. She tried to fight him, but he was too strong for her. He brutalized her mouth as she kicked against him and bit him.
She was sure he would have raped her, when she heard the unmistakable sound of a knock at the front door and then John's voice. "Randa? Randa, where are you?" he called.
Ted loosened his grip on her. "I'll kill him," he hissed. He pulled a gun from his pocket. "Tell him to go."
She nodded mutely. Ted gripped one of her arms behind her back and made her walk to the door. "Open it and send him away. Now," Ted whispered urgently.
Again, she nodded. She opened the door a crack. John, looking very embarrassed, stood on the front doorstep. "Look, about last night," he started.
"Go away John," she interrupted. "Last night was a mistake. Forget it. Forget me. I'm not interested, okay? Just because I went home with you doesn't mean you own me. I want to be alone, okay?"
John's eyes narrowed. He knew she wasn't alone. There was a car parked in the drive. He studied her face, her eyes were afraid. He knew she was trying to tell him something, but he couldn't tell what. "Randa," he tried again. "Let me in. Let's talk about this."
She shook her head. "Just go, John. I want to be alone. Alone with my memories of Ben. I want to remember the good times, not this horrible ending." Then she shut the door in his face.
"Good, very good," Ted whispered in her ear. She flinched from his warm breath. He caressed the side of her face with the barrel of the gun. She shrank back in revulsion.
"You don't need to be afraid of me," he murmured. "I won't hurt you. I just want to love you."
"Ted, you ARE hurting me. Please let go of my arm."
"Promise me you won't run away again."
"I promise," she said. She hoped she sounded sincere.
He must have believed her, maybe because he wanted to so badly. He released his grip on her arm, but his body still kept her pinned to the front door. He also blocked her view of the hallway and the living room, but had she just heard the French doors open? Better to keep him talking.
"Tell me about Ben," she murmured. "Tell me again about how clever you were. That really turns me on."
Ted's face brightened at her words. "Ben couldn't believe what I had done. He didn't think I was smart enough to do it alone. He thought I had help. But I didn't. I figured it all out on my own. Tony and Larry were easy to fool. Roger was a little tougher, but even he bought it in the end. And Ben, so loyal to his dying breath. He came to see me that night. Asking me to confess. He didn't want to turn me in. Can you believe it? He had scruples though, our Ben did. Said he couldn't allow me to continue. That he was obligated to go to the authorities. Obligated! Can you believe it? What about his obligation to me? He owed me. I was the one who made him. He never should have told me you were pregnant. I might have let him live if not for that. But I knew. I KNEW that once you had that child you'd never leave him. So I fed him some alcohol laced with chloral hydrate and sent him on his merry way."
"Oh, my," she breathed. Her entire body began to shiver. "Ted, please. I don't feel well. Can I sit down?"
Again, he caressed her face with the side of the gun. "Let's go to bed, Randa. I'll make you feel better."
"Ted, please. I'm not . . . This is all such a shock." She HAD heard something, soft footfalls, she was sure of it. "Tell me some more about how you framed Ben."
His mood shifted again. Now he was angry. "No. You're just trying to distract me. What's . . ." He never finished his thought as a vase came down on his head. He didn't fall though, just rocked back on the balls of his feet. However, his body moved enough for Randa to slide away from him.
"He's got a gun," she shouted.
"So do I," John said grimly. He was pointing it at Ted's chest. "Put your gun down, Williams. It's over."
"I'll kill you. I'll kill you both," Ted hissed.
"No!" Randa shouted. She jumped in front of Ted. "No more killing, Ted. No more. Do you hear me? No more!"
"Randa, move out of the way," John asserted.
Randa locked her eyes with Ted’s. "You say you love me, Ted. Do you?" He nodded. "Then give me the gun. Nobody else has to be hurt. Okay?"
Ted looked at her sadly. "You don't love me, do you?" He didn't wait for her answer. Instead, he put the gun in his mouth and before she could stop him, pulled the trigger.
Randa jumped back as the sound of the gun exploded in her ears. John grabbed her and turned her away, but not before she'd seen Ted's blood and brains splattered all over her door. She collapsed in John's arms sobbing.
Epilogue
Once they knew where to look, the government and police found all the evidence they needed to clear Ben Franklin's name. Randa insisted on and received a public apology, which she graciously accepted. She sold the company to Roger Kamaka immediately. She put the house where she and Ben had lived and his killer had died up for sale. Finally, she went to see John Lawless one last time.
When he looked up, she was standing there. This time the expensive suit was sky blue and she no longer looked gaunt or haunted. Still, there were dark circles around her beautiful gray eyes as if she still didn't sleep well.
"May I sit down?" she asked a little breathlessly.
"Sure," he replied. "I tried to reach you, but the phone was disconnected."
She fidgeted in the chair, clearly uncomfortable. "I know. I'm sorry. I went to a hotel. I didn't want . . . I was afraid . . . Oh hell, John, I don't know what to say."
He smiled sadly. "It's all right, Randa. Really."
She shook her head. "No, it's not. But it will be. I learned something about myself, something I guess I really didn't want to know. Anyway, I'm terribly sorry about everything. I hope . . . that is . . . well," she shrugged helplessly, unable to say what she wanted to.
He knew what she was asking. "Caro's fine, we're fine. No damage done."
"Well, thank God for that anyway," she muttered. She opened her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. She reached across the desk and laid it down in front of John, then retook her seat.
John looked down. It was a check for twenty-five thousand dollars. "What's this then?" he asked with astonishment.
"A thank you."
He pushed the check back toward her side of the desk. "You paid me already. This is NOT necessary."
"I'm not trying to buy you off, if that's what you think," she stated firmly. "I had offered a reward for any information on Ben's death. I thought, since you solved the case, you should have it."
"I don't want it," he said.
"You earned it," she reiterated seriously. "You MORE than earned it. Please take it, John. I would feel better about everything if you did."
He stood up and came around the desk. He stood in front of her looking down. "I don't want your money, Randa. I never did."
"I know," she admitted helplessly. "But I have nothing else to give you."
He searched her face. She still bore the marks of pain and loss that he had seen when she first came to him for help. Only now, there was a new emotion added to the mix. Not peace, but the kind of acceptance that comes right before it. She was making a desperate attempt to move on with her life. And that move would not, could not include him. They both knew that. He still wanted her, but he knew, somehow, that he would never see her again. He had missed his chance and it saddened him. Yet, he knew there could never have been more between them than what there was now. She was his client. He paid her back in the only currency he knew she could accept.
He picked up the check, folded it in half and slipped it into his pocket. "Thank you, Mrs. Franklin," he said softly.
Her eyes were grateful. She rose from the chair. "Thank YOU, Mr. Lawless." She reached for his hand, shook it firmly and then with her dignity intact, strode out of his office.
After she was gone, John pulled the check out of his pocket. He studied it for a long moment and then tore it into little pieces. He gathered up all the pieces, put them in an ashtray and burned them, his own private funeral for what might have been.
The End