Chasing the Wind (34 page)

"I've done just that." She pushed the stack of purchase agreements aside.

Behind them, the conference room door opened. Murdoch walked in, followed by Tom, Robert, and Rebecca. Tom and Rebecca were laughing together. She leaned toward him as they walked, her hair swinging forward and half covering her face.

Amalise felt her face flush. Rebecca didn't deserve Jude's love.

That's not your call, the observer whispered in that irritating way. Envy clouds judgment and smothers friendship like a kudzu vine if you let it.

Still. She smoothed her dress. Amalise had worn her favorite red dress for this all-hands meeting, and she knew she looked good, too. Not as glamorous as Rebecca perhaps, but she wouldn't fade into the shadows.

When everyone had taken their seats around the table, she glanced up to see Murdoch gazing at her. Their eyes met and held an instant too long, and then Murdoch looked away. Beside him, Robert leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and stared at her, expressionless as usual.

Something was wrong.

She picked up her pencil and pulled her legal pad forward. Rebecca whispered something that she couldn't hear for the roaring, rushing sound in her ears, but Rebecca didn't seem to expect an answer. Was it her imagination, or did Murdoch and Robert know what she'd done?

She just stopped herself from shaking her head. Even if they were suspicious of her for some reason, real estate transfers took a while to record. Records wouldn't be publicly available yet.

"Amalise." Raymond's voice. She turned to him, conscious of Robert's eyes still boring through her. "Are we set with the Cayman bank on the language of the letter of credit?"

She nodded, locking her eyes on him, avoiding the stares of Robert and Bingham Murdoch. "We have a call scheduled tomorrow morning with the issuer."

But a covert glance down the table a few moments later seemed to confirm her worst fears: Somehow, some way, they had found out what she'd done.

She'd finally escaped from the conference room midafternoon and now, in her office, she forced herself to focus on the purchase agreements, struggling against the rising fear as she recalled the fury she'd seen in Murdoch's eyes. And Robert Black's reptilian stare. Was it really possible they knew?

Sitting at her desk with the door closed, she tried to ignore the laughter in the hallway, the sounds of busy people hurrying past. She'd asked Ashley Elizabeth to hold her phone calls for the rest of the day, and not only because Raymond was pressing her to finish. If Doug walked through that door to end her career, she wanted to be alone when it happened.

Oh, Abba. Have I done the right thing?
She thought again of Luke sitting beside her on the porch swing, his finger inching toward hers, reaching for her. For an instant she dropped her face into her hands. Then she picked up a purchase agreement and got back to work.

At the end of the day when she could no longer sit still and wait for whatever was to come, in those fleeting minutes between twilight and darkness, she took the elevator down to the lobby and hurried into the street, craving fresh air and movement. Anything but sitting alone at that desk right now.

Outside the rush hour crowds were already dwindling. Streetlights were lit. Mist and wind off the river whipped down Common Street, curling around her, the damp and cold penetrating the red dress. She'd forgotten her coat. Shivering, she began to run. Away from Mangen & Morris. Away from Robert and Bingham. Away from the phone call she dreaded would come. Running. Until she reached the corner of Canal and Baronne and suddenly stopped and looked back down the street at the familiar scene that had become such an important part of her life. She felt she belonged here. Would she lose this too?

Ignoring the cold now, she began walking back. Lights blazed from the Roosevelt across the street. Through the hotel windows she could see men and women sitting at tables, eating and gesturing while they talked, smiling at each other, tipping back their heads, laughing. They seemed content with their lives.

She dropped her eyes. If she'd read Murdoch and Robert correctly, this part of her life would be cut off now, surgically removed when he told the firm what she had done, that she'd interfered with the project plans. There'd be no patience for explanations, no willingness to hear excuses after a powerful client complained about an associate. Pain and misery gripped her, and in that moment the reasons for her actions gave no comfort. All she could think of was what she had to lose.

She folded her arms, shivering and telling herself what a fool she'd been. Acting on impulse. Forgetting priorities. Amalise Catoir would be shunned by the entire legal community in this city.

And then there was Jude. She'd already lost Jude.

Stopping and turning to her left, she looked at the church doors while deliberately calling up images of little Luke. Curling in her lap, falling asleep at the kitchen table. Clinging to her when they'd seen the birds in Washington Square Park. The faceless picture he had drawn for Caroline.

She let out a long breath. Yes. That's why she'd done it. And she'd do it again, she knew. Abba had said what you do for the children, you do for me.

She pushed through the heavy wooden doors of the church. She walked past the statues of Peter and the angels and toward the rows of empty pews.

In the past she'd always demanded answers in her prayers, solutions to every problem. She'd wanted roadmaps to mark the path, guidance to strengthen her will. But as she walked through the church this evening, a strange lightness of being lifted her spirit—a peaceful light that seemed to surround and fill her, warming her throughout, embracing every part of her, melting her heart.

She stepped into a pew and sank to her knees, dropping her head into her hands and letting go. This time she would leave the problem in Abba's hands.

It had been a long day. Bingham had watched Amalise Catoir carefully during the day's meetings, mulling over the situation, but he had come to no conclusion. Clearly she'd interfered, gone to great trouble to purchase the house he'd seen on Kerlerec, then transferring it to those renters. That was a fact. But things got murky after that.

Sitting at the long bar in the Sazerac, he signaled the bartender. The guy walked over and bent, cupping his ear to hear. It was Saturday night, and the place was packed. A trio played in the far corner. They weren't bad, but for some reason, tonight the noise irritated him.

"Ramos gin fizz," he said. The bartender nodded.

What was she after? Despite the confidence he'd expressed to Robert, he was worried. Had she told the new owners about Black Diamond, about saving souls and trees? That's all he needed, neighborhood protests. But there'd been no sign of an insurrection so far. He'd checked the local news sources today.

It was too late to stop the project now. If she'd breached confidence, what was her motive?

The bartender set the drink down before him. He nodded and lifted the glass, thinking about Robert Black. Robert was the wild card in the deck. This deal was Robert's big opportunity, and there was too much money involved for him to ignore Miss Catoir's activities. He'd have to keep a close eye on the boy. He suspected that if just one sign of trouble arose in the Marigny before money changed hands on Wednesday, Robert would gladly dump the girl's body in the garbage fill east of the city.

Money was one thing. A life was quite another.

Bingham sighed. He'd tamped down Robert's flame as best he could. But even if nothing unexpected happened, Robert wouldn't let this go, he knew. Robert wasn't the type to render mercy, and he didn't like the girl. She didn't fit his pattern of reasoning.

Robert was a thug, he thought not for the first time. But he was useful. Bingham reached for a glass bowl filled with Brazil nuts, large and salty, and ate one. Chewing, he glanced down at his watch and over his shoulder toward the lobby entrance. Eight o'clock and his stomach growled. Dinner was waiting, and Robert was late.

He popped another Brazil nut watching the two bartenders spin from the bar to the rows of sparkling bottles and spigots and glasses behind them, snapping their fingers, moving with the music as they slid the drinks down the long bar to customers with flair and high fives. Christmas greenery already framed the mirrors behind them, crowding the seasons earlier every year.

Robert slid onto the empty stool beside him. Bingham turned his head and scanned his casual attire. The necessary jacket and tie for dining were missing. "I thought you were joining me for dinner."

"Nope." Robert's voice was curt, his eyes narrowed and dark, his expression flat. "I'm going back to the conference room."

"You'll eat cold pizza there."

Robert shrugged. Bingham turned to the mirror, watching as, beside him, Robert ran his hand over the gleaming bar. "Unusual wood," he said.

Bingham glanced over his shoulder at the room encased in the same seamless swirl of wood as the bar. "It's all from one tree, did you know that?" He lifted his drink. "The trees grow two hundred feet or more. They grow in Brazil, in the Amazon rain forest." He studied Robert's reflection. "Down there, they're called monkey pot trees."

Robert gave him a sideways look. "Did you say monkey pot?"

Bingham nodded and picked up a handful of nuts. "Their nuts are similar to Brazil nuts. The trees produce pods the size of a large coconut, and the nuts are inside. The whole thing weighs about five pounds." He opened his hand, as if weighing the nuts.

Robert tapped his fingers on the bar in time with the music. "So why do they call them monkey pots?"

Bingham half turned toward Robert, leaning one arm on the bar. "The name comes from an old proverb: 'A wise old monkey doesn't stick his hand in a pot.' When the pods of these trees ripen, they split open, spilling their seeds across the forest floor. Supposedly a young monkey encountering a not quite ripe pod is tempted to reach its paws into the narrow opening to get at the nuts. Guess what happens then?"

Robert gave an irritable shrug. "I'm listening."

"The young monkey grabs a handful of nuts, but finds his hand stuck because he can't pull his hand
and
the nuts back through the hole. Yet the monkey won't let go." Bingham nibbled a nut and watched Robert's reaction in the mirror. "He's trapped by his own greed."

"Huh."

"Unless, of course, the monkey drops the nuts. Or he's smart enough to take them one at a time." Bingham nibbled on a Brazil nut while eyeing Robert. "An older, wiser monkey knows it's better to be patient and wait till the pod ripens and opens and gives up the treasure."

Robert rose and patted Bingham's shoulder. "You worry about philosophy. Right now, I've got my own nuts to worry about over at Mangen & Morris."

"Too bad you can't stay."

"You wanna close Wednesday?"

Robert left, and Bingham hunkered down over his drink. He had some decisions to make, he supposed. But he was finding his judgment impaired because, he realized, he'd broken a rule he'd held fast for the last few years: Avoid personal relationships. He'd come to like Amalise Catoir. She had heart as well as brains.

Not that any of that mattered. It was
timing
that concerned him. The next four days would decide the future. Nerves were strung out in Tom's investor group back in New York. The investors were already plumped with greed like those primates down in the Amazon. Worse, he was worried about Robert—there was no telling what he would do if pushed.

He finished the drink, left some bills on the bar, and headed for the dining room. The maître d' spotted him and picked up a menu. Bingham lifted his hand, smiling, and walked with light steps into the restaurant. Today was Saturday. Next Wednesday he'd be free of all this, and appropriately, the next day was Thanksgiving.

He, for one, would be thankful indeed. Life was good.

Well, it was 10 p.m. on
Sunday, and Doug hadn't shown up to tell her she was fired. Yet.

Raymond had stopped by on his way out to say Doug and Preston needed the revised wire transfer agreement for final review in the morning, before distribution to the whole group. Apparently Doug had already left for the night.