Hero For Hire Page 6

  But…Sara had done everything she was supposed to; she’d turned him down flat. Thanks but no thanks. She’d even refused him with a classy sense of style and grace.

  But why did he still feel uneasy?

  He shouldn’t, Will told himself. Bergeron was ecstatic and probably had spent the weekend with the lovely Miss Hardaway, shopping for wedding rings. And, Will supposed, what she didn’t know, really wouldn’t hurt—

  The intercom buzzed. “Call on line one. It’s about the Bergeron case.”

  “Got it, Mimi.” Will picked up the phone. “Thanks for returning my call, Mr. Bergeron. We’re working on the final bill and I wanted to ask you—”

  “I’m not Mr. Bergeron.”

  Uh-oh… It was a familiar voice. A familiar female voice.

  “This is Sara Hardaway—”

  Here’s the windup. The pitch. It’s aiming for the fan….

  “Mr. Bergeron’s former fiancee,” she continued.

  Direct hit! The Good Ship Matrimony has sustained major damage. Will cleared his throat, deciding to sidestep the personal ramifications of the words “former fiancée.” Business. Always business. “What can I do for you, Miss Hardaway?”

  “It was ‘Sara’ at the bar the other night.”

  He swallowed hard. No more Ms. Nice Guy; this was the voice of the Ice Maiden incarnate. It froze out every warm thought he’d had during the past hour or so. “You’re right. It was Sara. What can I do for you?”

  “I want you to explain the system to me.”

  “The system? What system?” he repeated, stalling for time.

  “The investigating procedure. Explain to me your role in this little…charade.” She paused for a moment, then spoke with an air of forced detachment “Were you supposed to try to get me in bed?”

  Will closed his eyes, momentarily distracted by the very scene she so coldly described. Under the influence of his overactive imagination, he could picture bed activities with her being damned near volcanic. Something clogged his voice. “Er…not at all, Miss Hardaway.”

  “Wasn’t that the whole purpose of the act? To entice me into some compromising position so you could rush back and report on my disloyalty? Were you eventually going to try to pressure me to go with you to some sleazy hotel or perhaps your apartment? Some suitable place where someone would take photographs of us to prove to Raymond I’m unfaithful?”

  “Nothing like that at all.”

  “Then what?” Her voice sank to almost a whisper. “What were you supposed to do? What was I supposed to do? Decide to sleep with you out of spite just because Raymond had stood me up—again?”

  Will drew a deep breath. He could try to lie his way out of the mess, but there was something unacceptable about lying to Sara Hardaway. Maybe it was because he truly liked her. Maybe it was because he felt like a complete louse for trying to catch a woman at a crime she seemed incapable of committing. The moment after her lips had chastely brushed his cheek he’d known just how wrong Bergeron had been about his fiancee.

  Will cleared his throat. “All I was supposed to do was set up a situation where you would meet someone you’d likely be attracted to and simply see what happened. I never offered to drag you to a hotel. I never mentioned sex at all. Hell, I didn’t even get your phone number!” He blurted the last fact a bit louder than he intended.

  A sudden revelation slammed him between the eyes. Was he more disappointed by his own failure than he was hers? He’d done his best and she hadn’t even given him a second look. Was his life so shallow? Was he so wrapped up in the fictional macho-stud-P.I. mentality that he based his personal self-worth as a man on whether he’d wormed Sara’s phone number out of her or not?

  “I wonder,” she continued, oblivious to his confusion, “if you had gotten my number, would you have gone to the next level?”

  Will swallowed hard, hearing his own thoughts reflected in her words.

  “Maybe make a date with me?” she continued. “Hope for a little innocent necking at first base, all for the sake of appeasing Raymond’s irrational fears? Or would you have tried to go directly to home plate just to prove to him he’d chosen a…a gold digger as a fiancee?”

  Her voice broke and with it went Will’s control.

  “Please…Sara…I never intended to go to bed with you. And I can guarantee your fiancé certainly never said anything of the sort when we discussed the case. Our standard operating procedure is not meant to force or lure someone into committing an indiscretion. I only provided a basic opportunity. The decision was up to you. And we substantiated the fact that you couldn’t be seduced into an…indiscreet act with someone to whom you couldn’t help but be attracted.”

  She sniffed, regaining some of the composure in her voice. “To whom I couldn’t help but be attracted?” she mimicked. “You think very highly of yourself, Mr. Riggs. What did you and Raymond do? Sit down and discuss my tastes?” She picked up momentum with each question. “Figure out who I might likely be attracted to? What qualities? What looks?”

  The conversation echoed in Will’s head. Bergeron had stiffly pointed out that Will had the basic qualifications when it came to looks, manner, personality type.

  “And quite frankly—” the lawyer had leaned forward across the table and lowered his voice “—I don’t trust this case to just anybody. I don’t want you to turn this over to one of your sleazy operators. They’re sufficient for my clients’ needs but not for mine. I don’t trust them with her. I want you to do it.”

  “Me?” Will had stared at the man. “But I never handle these types of cases myself. I have operatives with acting experience who—”

  “Actors?” Raymond had dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “They’re the worst. They’re oversexed men with no morals at all. Like I said, I want you to do it. I trust you. And considering how much business I throw your way…”

  Will dragged his thoughts back to the present conversation. As much as he hated justifying the actions of a man like Bergeron, the lawyer deserved some defense in this case. He cut into her tirade.

  “Miss Hardaway—”

  “—you might believe you’re God’s gift to women but I really am upset about the stunt with the car. It could have been dangerous—”

  “Miss Hardaway!”

  “I can’t believe anyone would stoop that low as to—”

  “Sara!”

  Silence.

  His hand tightened on the receiver. “First, I had nothing to do with that car. I don’t believe in adding an unnecessary ingredient like danger, real or perceived, into a case like this. Secondly, your fiancé is a divorce lawyer; he can’t help but see the seamier side of marriage and divorce. Is it any surprise that he might be more cautious than the average person? Maybe even overly cautious? But you have to understand his perspective even if it might be a bit skewed.”

  “You don’t have to tell me about the skewed perspectives of a man surrounded every day by disintegrating marriages and couples locked in mortal combat.” She sounded tired, almost resigned; and if Will wasn’t mistaken, he could hear the first note of begrudging acceptance in her voice.

  He closed his eyes against the harsh sun pouring through his window. “Have you spoken to Mr. Bergeron about this?”

  “Yes.” She released a long sigh. “I spoke. Well—” she paused for a moment “—maybe I yelled. And he never listens when I yell. He probably thinks our engagement is still on.”

  “Then why don’t you take advantage of the situation and let yourself cool down before you talk to him again? In the end, all I did was confirm his suspicions—that you’re a beautiful, trustworthy woman who’s proved she’s faithful to her fiancé. Okay?”

  There was a long moment of silence on the phone. “Maybe.” There was another period of silence before she spoke again. “May I ask you a question, Mr. Riggs?”

  “Please…it’s Will.”

  “How long have you been a private investigator?”

  “Eight years.�
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  “In light of your eight years of experience in your business, do you really think the ends justify the means?”

  “Sometimes.” He opened his eyes, wincing at the strength of the afternoon sun. “Most of the time.”

  At least, I thought so up till now.

  “But what if the ends don’t justify the means, Mr. Riggs?”

  Blood rushed in his ears, making them buzz.

  Her quiet voice repeated the words above the roar. “What if they don’t?”

  Monday evening, rush hour

  FOUR HOURS AND A HALF-bottle of antacid later, the phone rang again. Having already dismissed his secretary, Mimi, Will had opted to hang around his office. He pretended to examine case files and read notes on ongoing cases, but in all honesty, he was trying to regain some of his business composure. Sara Hardaway had asked an all-important question, which he was still trying to answer to himself.

  Do the ends justify the means?

  Had he needed to go through the whole—what did she call it—charade? Had it been necessary to orchestrate a situation in hopes of catching her in mid-discretion? He’d investigated her past and found nothing that would indicate she had left cuckolded lovers, broken hearts or empty wallets. Why had he let Raymond Bergeron bully him into a full-blown loyalty test? Will only used that as a last resort to get the goods on someone who already had a history of using and abusing their lovers’ trusts.

  Sara Hardaway simply wasn’t that type of woman.

  He dropped into his chair, tired of finding busywork to assuage his ego, his libido and his pride. He glanced out his window at the setting sun. No use leaving now. He would just get tangled in the traffic. He stepped out of his office and into the reception area where the window faced south. He glanced out at the traffic and sighed.

  I-95 was a vast parking lot of vehicles. Red brake lights flashed in uneven rhythm as trucks and cars played musical lanes. It was the same tune every day, “Going Nowhere Fast in the Key of D.C.-Sharp.”

  It made no sense to join the unhappy throng of rush-hour drivers when he could sit in his nice quiet office, grab a beer and try to forget all about divorce lawyers, warehouse thieves and other unsavory people.

  The phone rang as he pawed through Mimi’s yogurt containers and retrieved a beer. He reached for the phone, then withdrew his hand.

  That’s why God made answering machines.

  The machine clicked and he listened to Mimi’s dulcet tones:

  “You’ve reached the offices of Riggs Investigations. Our hours are 9:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. Monday through Saturday. We are closed on Sundays. If you have an emergency, please call 555-4212. If not, you may leave a message at the beep.”

  The machine hiccuped and beeped.

  “Uh…this message is for Mr. Riggs.”

  Will recognized the voice.

  “This is Sara Hardaway and I’d like to apologize, er, speak with him…at his convenience. My…my number is—”

  Will snatched up the phone. “Sara? It’s me. Just a minute.” He fumbled with the answerer, turning it off. “There. Sorry, it was after hours and I was letting the machine catch the calls.”

  She spoke in a quiet, unemotional voice. “I want to apologize.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “Yes, I do. You were doing your job. Raymond made great efforts to explain that to me.”

  “You spoke with him?”

  “Yes. We…discussed the situation.”

  “And?”

  “He told his side of it. I can understand…to a point…why he felt as if he needed further reassurances. I disagree with his method but I understand why he acted the way he did. I just wanted to apologize to you. All in all, you were very professional about the whole thing and I appreciate that”

  He swung his feet up to the coffee table, adopting a more comfortable position. “I am a professional, Sara. That’s why Mr. Bergeron uses my services.” Will contemplated the beer bottle for a moment. At least, I hope to God he still wants to, after this debacle. He twisted off the beer’s cap.

  “That’s another reason why I called. I wanted to assure you that this case won’t affect your working relationship with Raymond. Despite the rather emotional outcome of this case, he still intends to use your company’s services in future proceedings.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.” Will lifted his beer in salute. Bergeron might be a pain in the ass, but he was a well-paying pain in the ass. “He brings me a good deal of business. I’d hate to lose his steady paycheck.”

  She made a noise that didn’t sound much like an agreement He drummed his fingers against his knee. Why had she called him? Sure, she’d apologized, but that was no reason to call back so soon. Somehow, he didn’t think she’d meekly accepted Bergeron’s philosophy of using the same means to validate his own relationship as he did his clients’. Will lifted his beer bottle and almost took a healthy swig before stopping himself. He didn’t want to have a convenient excuse like alcohol, on which to blame his next actions.

  He drew a deep breath. “He’s not my only client, you know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have individual clients as well who want to verify their partners’ loyalty before getting married.”

  There was an uncomfortably long silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, she spoke. “Am I that transparent?”

  “No.” He allowed himself one small sip of beer. “I just thought I’d make the offer. After all, you’re entitled to know if your fiancé can live up to the same standards he sets for you.”

  “What’s good for the goose…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Could really piss off the gander,” he supplied.

  “Then let’s do it, Mr. Riggs.” A new tone edged her voice. “Let’s take our chances on pissing off the gander. Maybe if I could make him understand why I’m upset, why I feel so…so betrayed, then maybe we can start over again.” She released a sigh. “Let’s do it. The sooner the better.”

  “Not so fast” He swung his legs back off the coffee table. “These things can’t be rushed.”

  “Which means?”

  “Which means you have to be ready to accept whatever I find out about him. Good, bad or otherwise.”

  “You won’t find out anything about him I don’t already know.”

  “But can you be sure?”

  She hesitated for one telltale moment. “I’ve known Raymond for six years. We’ve been together for three. I know his family. His cousin is even my business partner. But…I suppose you know all that”

  Will contemplated his beer bottle. “Uh…yeah. But that’s not what I’m talking about. What do you do if I find something? What then? What if he takes the bait? Can you handle the truth?”

  “What I can’t handle is a lie, Mr. Riggs. You do what you need to do, hire whomever you need in order to give him a dose of the same medicine. I’ll cover all the expenses.”

  Will pushed away his worst doubts, which hinted that he would soon be losing Raymond Bergeron’s account. He left the beer bottle on the table and crossed to the front of the desk where he found Sara Hardaway’s case file in the To Be Filed basket. “What about the cost?”

  “I expect you to charge me the same rates you charge Raymond. If you need a retainer, I’m willing to write you a check right now.”

  He flipped open the file, immediately riveted by a picture of her clipped inside the folder. “No. Uh…no retainer is necessary. We’ll just let this be covered by Mr. Bergeron’s retainer. I’ll send you the paperwork and a questionnaire to fill out concerning your fiance.” He glanced at a similar paper Bergeron had filled out on her. How would the two compare? A perfect match?

  “Do I need to come by your office to pick it up?”

  “No…I can have it delivered to you. I have—” he glanced at the information sheet “—your address.”

  “Yes…” There was an awkward moment of silence. “I suppose you do know everything about me, don’t you?
”

  The dial tone’s mocking sound buzzed into Will’s brain for several moments before he remembered to hang up. As he stared across the room, a small smile started inside him and slowly battled its way out

  The tables had turned.

  He snatched his beer from the table and carried it to his desk. He sat down at his computer and pulled up a blank initial case-description form and began to type.

  Client: Sara Hardaway

  Target: Raymond Bergeron.

  Concerning: Loyalty test.

  Possible operatives:

  Will tapped his fingers against his keyboard for a moment. Then he allowed himself a full-fledged smile.

  Celia Strauss aka The Black Widow

  Will laughed and pushed away from the desk.

  Wednesday morning

  “NOT BAD. NOT BAD at all.” Celia’s scarlet fingernail left a neat half-moon indentation in the corner of the picture. She allowed the paper to slip from her fingers and flutter toward the desk.

  Will caught the photograph before it landed. “This isn’t just any case, Celia.”

  She shot him a stunning smile. “They never are.”

  In any other circumstance, with any other woman. Will’s heart would have made an involuntary leap. To the casual observer, Celia was a classically beautiful woman: dark-haired, peaches-and-cream complexion, violet eyes.

  However, Will knew better than to be fooled by the packaging. She was an expert in her particular field, a master of seduction, a virtuoso of implied virginity. She knew instinctively when to make eye contact and when to look away, when to speak and when to listen and, most important of all, how to find that one spark of libidinous desire within a man and how to fan it until it burned away his self-control.

  She was, with all intents and purposes, Will’s secret weapon. But he always paid a price for her expertise; when Celia walked into a room, you never knew what you were going to get: a siren on the make, a shy coed, a frustrated housewife looking for fun, a young urban professional trying to forget the pressures of the job. She didn’t simply play the roles; she became these people with an almost-psychotic immersion into character. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure whether she was a consummate actress or a borderline schizophrenic.