Wanted Page 12

  "Kevin?" I said, working hard to keep my voice light. "What are you doing here?"

  He set the paper aside, then slowly turned his attention to me. His expression resembled a disapproving parent, and I had to force myself not to fidget in my seat as I thought of my detour last night. "I came by a few hours ago. I wanted to see how you were."

  "Oh." I took a sip of Diet Coke. "You could have just called."

  "I did. Twice, actually. Considering your state of mind last night, I was concerned when you didn't answer."

  "Twice?" For the first time it occurred to me to look at my phone, and I fished it out of my purse. The Do Not Disturb feature I'd turned on last night only allows calls from my parents and work to ring through, and I'd forgotten to turn off the app.

  I checked the screen and saw three missed calls. Two from Kevin and one from Kat.

  There was nothing from Evan.

  "I was at the Art Institute this morning," I told Kevin. "With Flynn. Then I met my parents at The Drake for tea." I shrugged as if this were no big deal. Then again, it was no big deal. We weren't married. We weren't engaged. We weren't even dating exclusively. And I'd made him no promises when I'd left last night.

  Not that those justifications quelled the guilty discomfort that was twisting like a serpent in my gut.

  Kevin regarded me silently for a moment. "I see," he finally said, and despite that ridiculous roiling guilt, my temper flared.

  "What exactly do you see? Did I commit some horrible transgression at the Art Institute? Or maybe by dining at The Drake?"

  "Is there something I should know about?" he asked, his tone of complete calm grating on my nerves like sandpaper. "Something between you and Flynn, maybe?"

  "Of course not," I said automatically, and it was only when the words were out of my mouth that it occurred to me that I should have lied. If I wanted to break up with Kevin, faking a relationship between Flynn and me would be the perfect way to do it.

  Mentally, I rolled my eyes, disgusted with myself. What was I, in junior high?

  "Then maybe it's something between you and Evan Black," he continued. The transition was smooth, but I heard the sharpness in his voice. And when I looked at his face, I saw both anger and hurt.

  "What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, but the righteous indignation I'd wanted to infuse into my voice didn't quite make it past the guilt.

  "Dammit, Angie. If you'd really wanted to go out, I would have taken you. But the Poodle Dog Lounge?"

  "Wait. You followed me?" Anger had me leaping to my feet.

  "If you want someone to lie to a federal agent, you need to pay them more than forty bucks."

  "You son of a bitch." I started pacing, a blur of fury and motion. "You goddamned son of a bitch!"

  My rage didn't even faze him. "I was worried about you. Apparently I had reason to be." He picked up his wineglass and swallowed what was left, the only sign that he wasn't as icy calm as he looked. "Evan Black is not someone you can trust, Angie. I thought I made that clear last night. A guy like that is interested only in himself."

  I'd been pacing the small area between the tiny kitchenette and the coffee table. Now I came to a halt in front of him. "Really?" I said, lacing my voice with as much sarcasm as I could manage. "Because last night I needed to cut loose a little, and Evan was there for me. Funny that I didn't see you there at all."

  He leaned forward, putting his head in his hands, then dragging his fingers through his short hair. "Dammit, Angie," he said. He lifted his face to look at me, and my anger faded under the genuine hurt I saw there. "How do you think it makes me feel when you leave me to get what you need?"

  I sank back into my chair, suddenly exhausted. My anger had fizzled, but now I just felt hollow, all the more so because even though we were talking about what I'd needed last night, all he could focus on was himself. About me making him feel better for not being the person who'd been there to assuage my grief. "I don't want to do this now."

  "We're so right in so many ways," he continued, deaf to my protest. "Jesus, Angie. I just want you to talk to me. I just want you to tell me what you need."

  "I thought I did."

  He drew in a slow breath, then let it out carefully. "Okay. Fair enough." He stood up and walked around the table to stand behind my chair, his hands on my shoulders. "I should have listened. I should have taken you out. I'll do better, I'll try harder." He bent and kissed the top of my head. "I want us to work."

  He was barely pressing on my shoulders, and yet it felt as if he was trying to shove me into a tube that didn't quite fit, and suddenly I knew that if I didn't do something he'd eventually wear me down. I'd slide through that tube and what came out the other end would look like me, but it wouldn't really be me at all anymore.

  "Kevin," I said softly. "We need to talk."

  "Okay." He moved around the chair to face me.

  "You should sit."

  His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't argue, and as he seated himself on the couch again, I drew in a breath for courage.

  What I should have done was tell him that it was over. That he wanted this to work, but I didn't. Instead, I took the coward's way out. I did what all princesses do and ran straight into daddy's arms.

  "I'm leaving," I said. "I'm moving to Washington."

  "Washington," he repeated.

  "I've got a job as a legislative aide," I explained. "And that's not going to leave any time to think about a relationship. I'm sorry, Kevin," I said as I stood up to punctuate the point. "I'm sorry, but this just isn't going to work."

  ten

  Alan Parker had been my uncle's attorney for as long as I could remember. He was an ancient man with a corner office in a prestigious law firm that also handled all the corporate business for HJH&A.

  I arrived at the office harried, sticky with sweat, and a full ten minutes late because I'd broken the heel on my shoe, and the elevator ride back up to the penthouse and then down again had taken far longer than I'd expected. I probably should have taken a taxi, but I'd wanted the walk and had assumed that I could make up the time.

  I'd assumed wrong, and when the receptionist led me through the halls toward the conference room, I felt positively gross. My blouse was sticking to my back beneath my summer sweater and I was certain my thick hair had frizzed out.

  I took solace in the fact that I would be only one among what would surely be dozens of beneficiaries, and that in the crowded conference room no one would pay me any attention at all.

  But when I arrived, there was only one other person in the room. Evan.

  He stood as I entered, looking as cool and polished as I looked rumpled and miserable. Then he nodded politely and sat down again. I saw no hint of the man on the dance floor. For that matter, I saw no hint of the man who'd made me cocoa and held me close. I didn't even see the man who had walked away.

  I didn't know this Evan, and I told myself I was glad. My announcement to Kevin that I was moving to Washington may have been a knee-jerk reaction, but apparently it had been the right one. And I was struck with the urge to announce to Evan that I was leaving and that I was damn happy about it, thank you very much.

  Before I had the chance, Alan came in, flanked by two younger attorneys whose faces, hair, and posture were at least as polished as their suits.

  I took a seat opposite Evan as Alan and his associates settled in at the head of the table. I kept my eyes on the attorneys, determined not to glance Evan's way. "Are we still waiting on the rest?"

  "No," he said. "All the beneficiaries are present."

  "Oh."

  The female associate scribbled a note, then smiled at me with unnaturally white teeth. "A great deal of your uncle's property was in trust and passes outside of probate."

  I nodded as if I understood what that meant.

  Alan cleared his throat. "As you both know, Howard Jahn amassed an extensive collection of art and artifacts in addition to his cash, securities, and real property holdings."
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  Considering I lived in the condo--which was practically a museum--I knew it well.

  "Not long before his death, Mr. Jahn did a major overhaul regarding his estate. He added extensively to the trust for the benefit of the Jahn Foundation. Everything from cash down to the smallest coin in his collection. So extensively, in fact, that only three bequests remain to be distributed through his will. We are here today to address those items." He cleared his throat, opened the folder in front of him, and began reading.

  "To my good friend Evan Black, I leave my six-shot, nickel-plated, dual-action Colt revolver, which once belonged to Al Capone himself, in the hopes that he will remember to always watch his back and to take nothing for granted."

  I bit back an ironic grin. I knew that Evan had always admired the gun, which Jahn had kept mounted in a shadow box in his study. But if Kevin was right about Evan's extracurricular activities, then that made the bequest all the more appropriate.

  Evan looked amused as well, but sobered when Alan added that Uncle Jahn also left him a letter. "He presented it to me the day he revised his will, and asked that I give it to you contemporaneously with the bequest."

  "Am I the only one to receive a letter?" Evan asked, and though he didn't say, I was certain that he was wondering about Cole and Tyler, both of whom were conspicuous by their absence.

  Alan shook his head. "No. I was entrusted with several. Shall we move on?"

  Evan nodded.

  "To my beloved niece--"

  "Wait."

  We both looked at Evan.

  "Shouldn't you finish the bequests to me?"

  Alan pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I have, Mr. Black. As I explained, Mr. Jahn significantly overhauled his trust, his will, and his bequests just a few weeks ago."

  "I see," Evan said, though it was clear that he didn't. Alan regarded him for a moment, then nodded as if in satisfaction, and turned back to me.

  "To my beloved niece, Angelina Raine, sometimes referred to as Angie or Lina, I leave my penthouse condo--including the adjacent servant's quarters--as well as all furnishings and property remaining in my estate." Alan looked up at me. "You should understand that most items of value within the condo are included in the trust. What is referred to here are the more simple household items such as furniture, pots, pans, bath towels. He also created a trust to cover Peterson's salary--as well as a one-time bonus--along with the annual property taxes and monthly maintenance fees. I'll be administering that trust for you, but the condo will be in your name. If you choose to rent it or sell it, you are fully empowered to do so, though if you do part with the property, the maintenance trust will be folded into the foundation, less a severance package for Peterson."

  "Oh." My head was swimming. "Okay."

  "In addition to the property and contents thereof, your uncle left you one specific bequest of personal property. Though it is located in the condo and not part of the trust, he was very clear that he wanted there to be no dispute as to his wish that this item go to you." He rattled the papers again, then cleared his throat. "Also to my beloved Lina, I leave my facsimile copy of Leonardo da Vinci's Creature Notebook, as I have come to realize that she will undoubtedly understand and appreciate the true value of this item and my bequest."

  "Lina?" I murmured. Why the hell had he referred to me as Lina?

  But no one heard my soft query, as it was buried under Evan's very loud outburst.

  "Are you fucking kidding me?" He was on his feet, more animated than I'd seen him all morning. "He left the Da Vinci notebook to Angie?"

  "What the hell is your problem?" I snapped. "He knew I loved that piece. Why shouldn't he leave it to me?"

  Evan ignored me entirely, his full attention focused on Alan, his expression so intense that I half wondered why the attorney didn't toss down the folder and run for his life.

  "When?" Evan growled.

  "I--I'm sorry?"

  I watched as Evan took three deep breaths, gathering himself with obvious effort. "When did Howard revise his will?"

  With a start, I realized that I was five steps behind everyone else. Evan wasn't upset because I was getting the notebook. He was upset because until Jahn changed the will, he'd been getting the notebook.

  Alan glanced at his associates, both of whom started rapidly flipping through documents. "About a month ago," the guy finally said. "On April third."

  "I see," Evan said, though from the curious way he eyed me--the first time he'd looked directly at me all day--I could tell that he didn't see at all.

  I, however, thought that I did, and I drew in a sharp breath. That was the day Jahn bailed me out of jail. The day I'd told him the truth about Gracie.

  Which begged the question of why my confession had prompted him to leave me such a strange--albeit wonderful--bequest. Was it his way of telling me he trusted me? That no matter what I'd done he didn't think of me as an irresponsible twit? Or maybe--

  "Ms. Raine!"

  I jerked my head up, realizing that Alan had been trying to get my attention. "Sorry," I said. "I was just thinking."

  Alan nodded and continued, but Evan's eyes stayed on me, his brow furrowed as he openly studied me. I wished that I had the balls to boldly return his stare, but I didn't. Instead, I dipped my head and doodled on the pad of paper that the firm had thoughtfully placed at every seat in the conference room.

  The rest of the meeting was about signing documents and transferring titles, and I moved through it like a zombie. Or, more accurately, like a celebrity, signing my name blindly where I was told to sign and then turning to the next piece of paper that someone shoved in front of me.

  Finally, we were done and allowed to leave. I hurried ahead, wanting to catch the elevator by myself, and not wanting to walk next to Evan in the circle of conspicuous silence.

  It didn't work. He was at my side by the time the elevator car arrived, and when I got on, so did he. The silence was thick and uncomfortable, but I thought I'd be able to tough it out. I mean, how long could a ride down to the lobby take, anyway? Besides, he was standing all the way on the other side of the car, his hands on the bar, his head slightly down. He looked like a man deep in thought, and I assumed he'd stay that way until the doors opened and I could bolt.

  I assumed wrong.

  We'd barely started the descent when he pushed away from the bar and came over to where I was standing by the control panel. He wore a business suit, and the way he moved exuded power and confidence, and even though I just wanted to escape I couldn't deny that my knees felt a little wobbly and my pulse had started skittering.

  He leaned in, and an electric jolt shot through me, sparked by his proximity. I clenched my jaw, angry with my body for reacting to this man when I was mentally giving him the finger.

  I thought he was going to touch me, but instead he reached over my shoulder and pushed the button to stop the elevator.

  We jerked to a halt, and I stumbled, thrusting my hand out to steady myself. My palm landed flat on his chest, and the shock of our contact ricocheted through me. I jerked my hand back, but it was too late. I'd felt it. That awareness. That need. That zing. Oh, dear god, I was in so much trouble.

  I forced myself to stand up straight. "What the hell do you think--"

  He silenced me with a finger to my lips and a shake of his head. He took a step toward me, and I swear I heard Klaxons. He was so close we were practically touching, and the air between us was hot and thick. My hands were behind me on the handrail, and I gripped it tighter, afraid that if I let go I would reach out and touch him again. That I'd close this distance and demand that he kiss me. That he finish what we'd started.

  For one brief, shining, magical moment, I thought that was what he had in mind. His head dipped toward mine, his lips coming close to my ear. "Why?" he said. "Why the hell did Jahn leave it to you?"

  "What?" I jerked back, embarrassed and confused. And, at the same time, I realized that he hadn't leaned close to me to flirt, but to be heard. The Klaxons w
ere real--he'd triggered the alarm when he'd stopped the elevator.

  A tinny voice suddenly filled the car. "Sir? Ma'am? What's the problem?"

  Evan tilted his head up toward the ceiling vent where, presumably, a security camera was recording our little drama. "Turn off the damn alarm," he said.

  "I need to know if there's a problem. Ma'am, is this man threatening you?"

  I realized what it must look like from the security guard's perspective. "No," I said. "I'm okay."

  For a moment, there was just the sound of the alarm. Then the guard's voice came back on, tight and authoritative. "Sir, you need to put the elevator in motion."

  "In a damn minute," Evan said. "Turn off the fucking alarm."

  "Sir--" But Evan just reached over and flipped the switch that controlled the intercom.

  A moment later, the alarm quit howling. Then the elevator started moving again, and I wasn't sure if I should be relieved or amused.

  I settled on amused. "Guess they have an override button," I said, unable to help my grin.

  "Fuck it," Evan said, and although I couldn't be certain, I thought he was biting back a grin, too.

  The display showed that we were passing the thirty-second floor. Evan reached over and pressed the button for thirty. A moment later, the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. I didn't have a clue what he was doing, at least not until he took my arm and tugged me out of the car with him.

  The elevator bank was empty, bordered on the left by the glass doors of a law firm and on the right by solid wooden doors with tiny gold letters. Presumably a small business. Neither place looked busy today.

  "We're going to talk," Evan said. "Without building security listening in, and without sound effects."

  "Yeah," I said. "I figured that out on my own." I crossed my arms over my chest. "So talk."

  "I want to know why he left it to you."

  "I don't know."

  "Bullshit. I saw your face."

  Since I couldn't argue with that, I shifted course. "Why do you care, anyway?"

  "I have my reasons."

  "Yeah? Well, I'm sure Jahn had his, too." I dragged a hand through my hair, which was a mistake, as it reminded me of how grungy I felt. Which was not a happy thought considering Evan was standing right there looking, as always, as sexy as sin.