The Doll Brokers Read online

  And he couldn’t have been moving corporate money around if he was with her in Toronto.

  Not Jonathan, then. Patrick.

  She’d fought for weeks to get this doll project on reasonable footing so she could give Felicia some halfway decent news. And now … this.

  Someone had stolen from the company, at the worst possible time.

  Bingham’s face had gone pale as milk. Sweat had broken out on his forehead.

  “You’re fine,” she told him. “You did the right thing, coming to me.”

  She tried to stand. Her legs didn’t want to hold her. Patrick, she thought again. In so deep, with the liquor and who knew what else? Obviously into something he couldn’t go to his mother about. So he’d just taken it instead.

  “Mr. Morhardt told you not to worry?” She had to be sure.

  “Actually, he told me he’d meet with me later in the week, that his schedule was tied up for now. But not to … uh, sweat it.”

  That would give him time to cover the second transaction, Ann thought.

  “Maybe this is why you have no furniture,” said a voice from the door. “Why bother? You live here.”

  Her gaze flew up. Jonathan. She had the single, almost giddy thought that she’d known he would show up tonight. It took her another moment to realize that he looked as bad as she felt.

  He cocked his head in the direction of Bingham. Ann opened her mouth to ask him to leave, but Bingham was already hurrying to gather up his papers. He fled the room, muttering apologies for the intrusion.

  “What is it?” Ann asked when he was gone.

  “I need you to come with me. And bring the company checkbook. We’ve got problems.”

  “The company checkbook is a little shaky at the moment.”

  His eyes went thin but he didn’t ask why. And that, she thought, was unlike him. “It’s Pat,” he said. “He’s been arrested.”

  Ann gripped the edge of her desk, pictured her life exploding into tiny shards, raining through the cosmos. “For what?”

  “DUI.”

  That didn’t surprise her. “Okay. Is Irene digging her heels in about coughing up the bucks? I’m sure I have enough in my own account to bail him out.”

  “Irene says she doesn’t have the money. And Mom doesn’t know about this yet.”

  “So?” Ann said.

  “God!” He paused. His face was haggard, she thought. His eyes were stricken. “They’re also holding him for possession of cocaine … and conspiracy to commit fraud.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Vincent waited in the dark shadows, far from the reach of the streetlight, watching the entrance of the precinct where Patrick had been taken. He felt a cold thrill at the thought of Ann arriving here, and couldn’t wait to catch a glimpse of her face.

  It was a risk, the type of risk that fed a kind of sexual excitement into his blood. She’d come here, he knew. She’d rush to try to save Patrick, even though she despised him. She’d do it for the old woman, and because of her own galling self-righteousness. But soon he would delight in her denigration, the slow but meticulous tearing apart of everything she believed in and held dear to her heart.

  Ann’s upbringing should have twisted her. Would have turned most women rabid. But Ann had become staunch. Perhaps her survival could be attributed to some misshapen gene at odds with the others. Or maybe to the debt she thought she owed to the hand that had pulled her out of the quicksand. Regardless, Ann Lesage had matured into a canny but moralistic force of nature, and he hated her for that alone. She would soon find out that honesty and a rigid work ethic meant nothing in the world today, and it would give her no protection from her past.

  Patrick Morhardt and his petty weakness had ruined everything for her. He hoped that something vicious would squirm its way into her heart so she would finally learn to hate.

  Vincent smiled into the night, savoring all the moves he had made. Discovering the source of Patrick’s financing had presented even greater complications than just having the loan called due. He’d put pressure on the loan officer at Atlantic who had in turn given him Richard Salsberg. He’d convinced the attorney that it was in his best interest to demand another fifty thousand dollars from Hart Toy. Let’s see her fight back now, Vincent thought.

  Her vice president of finance was about to be indicted on the basis of the evidence slipped into his briefcase. The cocaine only added a diversionary complication. No matter the outcome, Ann would lose her precious baby doll … and a great deal more.

  Then she would be his, and he would make sure she understood that she could never escape her past.

  Vincent stepped further into the shadows as a cab pulled in front of the precinct. Ann Lesage stepped out, as sure of herself as always and—as he had hoped—very angry. The color of her cheeks gave her away. That, and the fury in her eyes.

  Then Jonathan Morhardt emerged after her.

  Vincent frowned. He’d never entirely gotten a handle on that man. The younger Morhardt brother tended to be unreadable. His sudden collusion with Ann Lesage was not something Vincent had foreseen. He’d initially dismissed it. Now it caused him some concern. But in the end, the odd hitch was always to be expected. And he was confident that, in time, he would turn it to his advantage. For now, he would allow himself the luxury of savoring this desired change in Ann, seeing her unnerved, shaken to the core and about to unravel.

  CHAPTER 29

  Panic rushed through her veins. Patrick had really done it this time; it was doubtful whether she, or anyone else, could save him. Just the thought of arraignments and bail hearings was enough to drive her to distraction.

  “Want some coffee?” Jonathan asked.

  She jerked around and stared at him. An hour ago, maybe two, one of her biggest concerns had been the things this man was suddenly making her want. Now—irrationally, perhaps—she saw him as the enemy.

  “I guess not,” Jonathan said. He didn’t need a direct response; he could read her expression.

  Ann scrubbed her palms against her cheeks, trying to create friction that would bring some warmth back to her skin. “Did you honestly think we would be able to spring him free? From this, Jonathan? He’s gone over the edge.”

  He turned away from the coffeemaker to face her fully. They were waiting in a twelve-by-twelve precinct room overlooking the detective’s bullpen on the other side of the drawn blinds. The air smelled of sweat and smoke.

  Jonathan moved to a cork board, yellow pages with curled edges affixed to it. “Pat didn’t commit any of these offences,” he said finally.

  Ann gave a shrill laugh. “Sure. Go tell that to Detective Whetever-the-hell-his-name-is. I’m sure he’ll take your word for it and let Pat go.”

  “We’ll straighten this out.”

  “You came to get me instead of calling a lawyer! What were you thinking?”

  “My first impulse was to try to contain the situation. If it can be contained.”

  “We’re talking trafficking in cocaine here, Jonathan!” She heard her voice screech and she pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.

  “Calm down,” he said. “Emeril will be here soon.” Emeril Lacey. Their lawyer. They’d called him from the cab on her cell phone. But he was their corporate counsel, not a lawyer capable of dealing with a situation like this.

  “You’re blind where Pat is concerned.” She didn’t want to fight with him, didn’t have anything in her to fuel a fight, but the words spun out anyway.

  Jonathan turned back to the cork board. “You always want to paint him black, but he’s just a weak shade of gray.”

  “This isn’t some damn canvas we’re dealing with here!” she shouted. More fighting words, unstoppable. She was helpless to change the course of them. “I need you to wake up and see the facts.”

  “The facts,” he repeated. He rubbed his jaw. “Okay, how’s this? There’s not a doubt in my mind that he was drunk to the gills when he got stopped. He has a drinking problem.”

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  “I might even be inclined to bite on the possession charge.”

  “What’s another addiction or two?”

  “You’re pissing me off, Ann.”

  “I’m trying to get through to you!”

  “I know my brother. There’s no way that man is capable of fraud and extortion.”

  Ann waved a fist at him. “He stole a hundred thousand dollars from the company! Would you have thought he was capable of that?”

  Emotion played over his face like a film on fast-forward. A mottling anger. And that same distrust that had marked most of their early days together. “You’re out of your mind,” he said finally.

  “I’m not.” She began to pace. “I found out just before you sailed into my office. That’s what Bingham was doing there.”

  “And you can prove this.” His tone was flat.

  Ann shoved her hands into her hair hard enough that the clip holding it tore free. “I will.”

  Jonathan gave a bark of ugly laughter. “A hundred grand is missing so you’re going to find a way to pin it on him?”

  “In light of all this, don’t you think he invites just a little suspicion?”

  “In light of all this, I think he deserves a little compassion!”

  “People need to earn compassion!”

  “Did you, Ann? Did you earn it when my mother dragged you off that church floor?”

  His words stunned her. Cold rolled through her, chased by something unbearably hot. Ann dropped her hands and stared at him. “You bastard.” She was shaking.

  “Were your wilted flowers a fair trade for a cushy job and years under our roof?” he persisted. “You took all that, then you killed a piece of her. She never recovered, was never the same. Now you think you can just take the rest?”

  As soon as the words left him, he wanted them back. Her face went the color of ice. She didn’t know what had happened that night on the boat. Only three people had ever known, and one of them was dead. The only sure way to keep the truth from Felicia had been to hide it from everyone, even Ann. And it had been the only way to keep Patrick out of jail all those years ago.

  “What…” Ann trailed off to swallow convulsively. “What do you mean?”

  Jonathan turned back to the notices on the wall without answering. He hated the gripping feeling in his gut.

  “You meant something,” she said. “That comment had intent.”

  “Jesus, Ann, I just get tired of you lambasting Pat all the time. What do you think that does to Mom?”

  “I never say it to her.”

  He knew that. At least he had never heard her. Things inside him twisted harder. “Whatever.”

  “No. Not whatever. I want to—”

  A sharp knock on the door interrupted her. Emeril Lacey came into the room.

  Ann moved automatically to meet him. She glanced at Jonathan as she passed him, trying to tell him with her eyes that they’d finish their own business later.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said to the lawyer.

  The man shook her hand, then strolled a little further into the room, stopping at the table. He was broad and tall. Ann had never seen him in anything but a charcoal-gray suit, but tonight he was in jeans and a sweatshirt.

  “It’s what you pay me for,” he replied. “Though, under the circumstances, I’ve brought someone a little better versed in this sort of thing.”

  She felt her knees go soft with relief. He had brought a criminal lawyer. “Who is it? And where is he?”

  “His name is Frank Ketch and he’s with Detective Rondgrun now. I went to law school with him. He’s one of the best in his field.” Lacey pulled out a chair and sat. “I’ve got to tell you that Patrick is going to need him on this.” His gaze moved to include Jonathan as well. “It looks like the D.A. has managed to put together some substantial evidence already.”

  It occurred to Ann then that she didn’t know most of the details. She sat, lowering her head into her hands. “Tell us.”

  “Starting with the least serious of the charges, his blood-alcohol level was 2.2 when they picked him up. He should have been comatose. He says he was at Amoroso’s on Fifth. He left there late this afternoon and was headed out of the city.”

  “He doesn’t drive in the city,” Jonathan interjected.

  “The authorities have impounded a pearl-gray Volvo wagon, registered in his name.”

  Jonathan sat. He did it hard. “Yeah, that’s his.”

  “He was going out to the warehouse late today.” Ann pushed a few strands of hair away from her face. “He’d want the car for that.”

  “Well, he never made it,” Lacey said. “He got maybe ten blocks before they pulled him over. Someone called in to say that Patrick was driving under the influence. The call was traced to a pay phone in the bar. A patron obviously watched him stagger out of there.”

  Ann hadn’t meant to glance at Jonathan again. Maybe it was the sound he made. A grunt that broke off too fast.

  “Go on,” he said to Lacey. “I want to hear the rest.”

  “A patrol unit stopped him and he was reportedly belligerent. He tried to run, to take off on foot. The ensuing fight gave them cause for search-and-seizure. They found cocaine in his briefcase—in the car—a quantity that puts him in the area of intent-to-distribute. And they found a warrant issued in Hong Kong for his arrest.”

  “Huh?” Ann looked at the lawyer and waited.

  “What does it say?” Jonathan asked.

  Lacey turned back to him. “Apparently your brother finagled the rights to some doll that he had no business negotiating for.”

  Ann felt the room reel.

  The lawyer shuffled some papers aside. “I have the name of the doll,” he said. “Oh, yes. Here it is. Baby Talk N Glow.”

  CHAPTER 30

  By the time they accompanied Lacey out of the room and were told they could see Patrick, the tension between Ann and Jonathan had reached the saturation point. It was after midnight and Ann was exhausted and on edge. Filled with hurt and confusion, she grappled with the idea that Patrick might have been trying to sabotage Baby Talk N Glow.

  “Right down there,” the policeman said, pointing at a narrow hallway leading off the bullpen.

  Patrick was being held in a room with a cage. There were four green plastic chairs, a single, barred, grime-streaked window. The walls were shades of old concrete, mottled gray and brown. As soon as Ann stepped over the threshold, the reek of him hit her—the sour sweat of fear and vomit laced with cognac. He’d taken off his suit jacket; it was hanging on the back of a chair. His white shirt was torn at one elbow, while a streak of something black cut a diagonal line across his chin.

  With seventeen years of pent-up anger, Ann moved close and slapped him. “What the hell have you done?” she demanded.

  Jonathan came up behind and gripped her shoulders, pulling her back.

  “Don’t touch me,” she warned, twisting from his grasp.

  To her disgust, Patrick began to cry. His face contorted and he dropped his head so his chin hit his chest.

  “Maybe we should all calm down,” said the other man in the room, someone Ann had barely noticed.

  Now she looked at him. He was scarecrow thin and very tall. His clothing seemed to both balloon and bag on him. He had wispy, straw-colored hair, and he wore heavy, dark-rimmed glasses. His eyes blinked myopically behind the lenses, but his gaze was steady.

  “You’re Frank Ketch,” she said.

  He nodded. “I think I can help, if you’ll let me. Patrick tells me he doesn’t have the funds himself to retain me.”

  Ann’s gaze jumped to Pat again. “What did you do with the hundred thousand?”

  His head snapped up but his gaze cut away guiltily. “Ah, Jesus,” he said. “Jesus Christ.”

  She heard Jonathan’s intake of breath behind her. Patrick had taken the money. But why?

  Ann couldn’t stand the smell of him, but she went down on her haunches beside his chair. She had to see
his eyes. “Look at me,” she said. “Where is it? Damn it, what did you do with it?”

  “That’s not the issue here, Ann.” Jonathan’s voice was raw.

  “It is,” Pat said hoarsely. “I mean, it could be. I think someone is trying to … ruin me.”

  Ann felt woozy, as if she could keel over at any moment. “What are you saying? That someone is blackmailing you? Who?”

  “Richard Salsberg. He’s a lawyer I went to for help in arranging the bank loan. I gave him the first fifty. It should have been done. He called today and wanted more.” He was still drunk. He was slurring his words and rambling.

  “What kind of a bank would—” Ann broke off, the words gathering like thorns in her throat. “Oh, dear God.” She spun away. She couldn’t look at him.

  A whining tone came to Pat’s voice. “Every other bank turned us down. I had to do something drastic.”

  Ann jerked back to him. She hadn’t known it was possible to be this angry. “No, everyone else did not turn you down! You never even went to Margin! You had an appointment with them that you didn’t keep!”

  “Fuck you, Ann,” he spat suddenly. His gaze went feral and shot to Jonathan. “Or is that your job?”

  She didn’t actually see Jonathan move. There was a blur in a corner of her vision. Then Patrick was out of his chair, hoisted in the air by his shirtfront. Jonathan shook him viciously, then thrust him back down.

  Ketch took a step as though to move between them, then apparently thought better of it.

  “Pat.” Jonathan’s voice was a low, dangerous vibration. “You’re not exactly in a position to be alienating someone who might be willing to help you.”

  Patrick looked in Ann’s direction. “If she had just backed off on the doll, none of this would have happened! It’s you, Ann. It’s always about you, from the day you walked into our lives!”

  “Knock it off!” Jonathan warned.