CHAPTER 19

“This is just so like, embarrassing,” said Ami Sue when Clay walked into his office in the middle of the afternoon.

“What?” He couldn’t help being irritated. He’d been in a foul mood since Alyssa had turned him down again last night. Who in hell did Alyssa think she was?

“Everyone’s been calling. The newspapers. Television. Radio stations. I’m your secretary. I’m supposed to know where you are. I so, like, didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t get you on your cell phone. It was sooo embarrassing.”

He’d deliberately turned off his cell phone. Threesomes in the sack were getting to be fun, a way to keep his mind off Alyssa. Why would he want to be disturbed?

“The battery is out on my cell phone.” He stopped at the starry-eyed blonde’s desk and picked up a stack of messages. He tried to remember why he’d hired Ami Sue. She was nearly thirty but talked like a teenager who hung out at the mall. Oh, yes, he recalled as he glanced at boobs fit for a porn queen. He was saving her for a rainy day.

“What’s all the fuss about?”

Didn’t she read the papers or watch the news? “Someone tried to take a baby from Mercy General last night.”

“Oh, that’s, like, so … terrible.”

“Don’t tell anyone I’m in,” he said, opening the door to his private office. He planned to let the media dangle. The more they wanted you and had to fight for you, the longer your interview.

“Not even Mr. Williams? He’s called three times.”

“Jake?” he asked, and she bobbed her head. “I’ll call him.”

Clay expected Jake to ask why he’d been at the hospital last night, the same question the media was salivating to know. He intended to avoid the media, but Jake was different.

He’d concocted a “special” story to tell Jake, one sure to drive a wedged between Alyssa and Jake. Alyssa had called him would be his explanation, of course. She’d begged him to come. He’d gone to the hospital reluctantly, still believing she hadn’t been involved in the kidnapping of his own son. Naturally, he’d been too trusting. She must have been the one involved in this latest babynapping.

He’d known Jake was going to be at Emeril’s, having a business dinner last night. It had all played out quite nicely—especially the disappearance of another baby while Alyssa had been at the hospital. He’d say he took Alyssa to Checkpoint Charlie’s because she was so stressed over her aunt. Going to the club had been her idea. Of course, he hadn’t suspected she really wanted to spend time with him.

After all, not only was he drop-dead handsome, he was a nice guy. A woman like Alyssa Rossi could take advantage of him. Jake would buy the story and it would serve her right. If she wasn’t under arrest right now, she was cloistered with some criminal attorney trying to figure out how she’d gotten into this mess.

She’d probably call him and ask for help. He could hardly wait to spell out his terms. Alyssa Rossi wouldn’t have any choice. She would be forced to give him another chance.

He thumbed through the stack of messages, but none of them were from Alyssa. One was from Mitchell Petersen, the lawyer Phoebe had hired. He decided to call him back and see what was going on.

Phoebe had been ominously quiet. He’d phoned the house today, and the maid told him she’d gone away. Knowing Phoebe, she had run home to Mommy and Daddy. It took a few minutes, but he finally got through to the lawyer.

“I thought I’d put you on notice, as a fellow krewe member,” Mitchell said, and Clay almost laughed. The lawyer was a member of the Orion krewe, but he hardly participated. Still this was a small town where the Duvall family packed a lot of clout. No doubt, Petersen respected this. “I’ve filed divorce papers on behalf of your wife. You need an attorney. We need to settle the spousal support question ASAP.”

Shit! That bitch planned to make him pay royally for bringing Alyssa home. Worse, he didn’t have anything to show for it. Alyssa seemed to mean what she said. She didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Phoebe was going to drag him through the muck.

“You’re right,” he replied, injecting a note of humor into his voice. “I need an attorney. Could you recommend someone?”

By the time Clay hung up, he had a name, and he was fried. At Phoebe. At Alyssa. Women were nothing but trouble.

He was in a spiteful mood, and he decided to go up and talk to Jake in person. He wanted to see the look on his face when Clay told him how Alyssa had called and begged him to come to the hospital.

His attitude didn’t improve when the fag Jake had hired instead of a looker like Ami Sue kept him waiting for fifteen minutes.

He plastered a smile on his face and sauntered into Jake’s office as if he had the world by the tail, which he did. Dante and Maree had a plan that would make them all rich. Technically, Clay was already wealthy, but why limit himself? On the other hand, what Dante proposed was risky. He needed to consider the proposition carefully.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Clay stood in front of the massive oak desk that had once belonged to Max Williams. Why didn’t Jake get his own furniture?

“Yes. I need to—”

The phone rang and cut him off. Clay glanced down at the terminal and saw it was the interoffice line. The fag had deliberately interrupted them, he decided.

“Ask them to wait just a few minutes.” Jake hung up and looked at Clay.

He waited, savoring the moment. Jake acted more and more like his father every day. He had an imperious attitude that made Clay want to tear him down. He was nothing more than the captain of a sport fishing fleet who’d gotten lucky because his father had been even luckier and somehow had managed to catapult a warehouse business into TriTech.

“I wanted to talk to you about Duvall Imports’ books.”

“Books?” Clay responded. Not Alyssa?

“Yes. Specifically the accounting.”

“What about it?” Clay recalled Wyatt’s warning. How much did Jake know?

“I’m going to have the accounting done here at TriTech, the way the rest of our companies are handled.”

Ah, ha! Jake didn’t know anything. This was a cost-cutting measure. “Wyatt LeCroix’s firm has always done our accounting. Importing isn’t like other businesses. It requires special techniques. TriTech has a great accounting department, but no one is familiar—”

“Rossi Designs also imports—”

“Not the way we do. We’re bringing in ship after ship with containers. Rossi Design’s orders wouldn’t fill a tenth of a container.” At least they were finally working their way around to Alyssa. Before Clay laid his story on Jake, he had to persuade him that switching the accounting was a terrible idea. Clay couldn’t afford to have anyone knowledgeable in the sophisticated area of importing inspect his books too closely.

“TriTech is acquiring another importing company, Pacific Rim Imports. You’ve heard of it?”

All Clay could do was nod. Pac Rim was the leader in Asian imports and made Duvall Importing look like a third tier company.

“I’m moving their accounting team here. They’ll take care of all the import accounts. They’ve done it for a long time and have a superior track record.”

“I’d rather keep Duvall’s accounts with Wyatt. He’s always handled us and understands our business.”

“I know Wyatt’s your brother-in-law and this is difficult. Just blame me. Tell him I didn’t like that IRS fine and insisted on the change.”

“What IRS fine?”

“For understating your earnings.”

“Understating?” He scrambled to think what Jake could mean. If anything, Duvall Imports overstated—everything—but Jake couldn’t know that.

“Two years ago you were fined for understating earnings.”

Jake sounded so sure of himself Clay couldn’t respond. He had absolutely no respect for a man who grew up on the Redneck Riviera and never graduated from college, taking night courses instead. But he had to admit Jake didn’t blow smoke. He had his facts down and kept numbers in his head like a computer chip despite his lack of a formal education.

“We’ve never—ever—been fined by the IRS.” Clay could feel the heat creeping up his neck and knew his face would be scarlet in a second. It rarely happened, but when he was really angry, he turned red and pinpricks of sweat appeared on his upper lip. “Before my father retired, we were in financial trouble, but that was straightened out. We’ve never had an IRS fine or any other problem with them.”

“You might check with Wyatt,” Jake said. “He probably forgot to tell you about the fine.”

Clay knew enough to keep his mouth shut.

Jake continuted, “Pac Rim won’t come onboard for another two months. That’ll give Wyatt time to prepare the books for transfer.”

Clay’s swallowed hard and resisted the urge to wipe away the film of moisture on his upper lip. He wanted to throw Alyssa in Jake’s smug face but couldn’t think of a way of doing it and still sound professional.

“On your way out,” Jake said, picking up the telephone, effectively dismissing him in a rude way, “there are two detectives from the NOPD. They want to talk to you about a missing baby.”

Flushed with humiliation and furious, Clay made himself a promise. Jake Williams was going to pay.

Bewildered, Jake watched Clay leave. The man seemed dead sure his company had never been fined by the IRS. Jake’s first reaction was to reread the forensic accountant’s brief report, then he changed his mind. He was over double-checking himself all the time. He’d made damn few mistakes and this wasn’t one of them.

Was Clay lying?

He didn’t trust him—not for one second. Clay had mastered the art of being convincing and charming, but this time he seemed really nervous. Clay’s face had become flushed and he’d been sweating. Live and learn.

Jake picked up the phone and punched Spencer’s line. His secretary answered immediately. “Are those detectives questioning Duvall?”

“They’ve taken him to the station.”

Jake detected an undercurrent of glee in Spencer’s voice. Who could blame him? Clay Duvall was about as homophobic as they came. He put down Spencer to Jake every chance he had until Jake told him to mind his own business. A pinup for silicone implants might be what Clay needed in his office, but Jake wanted someone a hellava lot smarter working for him.

“Really? They’re interrogating Duvall?”

Jake suspected his voice betrayed some inner sense of satisfaction as well. He told himself it wasn’t Clay’s fault Alyssa still loved him, but it didn’t quite ring true. He could still feel the suffocating sensation of his throat tightening, the way it had last night when he’d seen Clay’s arm around Alyssa.

“Yes. They took him away.”

Jake couldn’t help smiling. He hoped the police had something to go on besides coincidence. Two babies abducted. Clay on the scene both times. Somehow he doubted any man as slick as Clay would be caught this easily, assuming, of course, he’d done it.

“Is Troy around? I need to talk to him.”

“Hold on. Let me check with Thelma and Louise.”

Jake almost smiled—for the first time today. Thelma and Louise were the nicknames Spencer had given Abigail and Alexis, two middle-aged lesbians who worked as Spencer’s assistants. They did all of Jake and Troy’s work that wasn’t important enough to demand Spencer’s personal attention.

Spencer came back on the line. “He’s still at lunch.”

“Again? It’s almost four.”

Spencer was strangely silent. “I guess.”

“Okay.”

Jake hung up. Spencer never guessed. He knew. That’s why Jake had hired him. He’d known from the moment he’d met Spencer that he was the epitome of efficiency and intelligence. Nothing got past Spencer Farenholt. Nothing.

Jake walked out to Spencer’s desk. “What’s going on?”

Spencer looked him in the eye, and Jake realized he was right. There was something Spencer wasn’t telling him, and it concerned Troy.

“Tell me. I won’t say a thing.” Jake knew Spencer had divided loyalties since he reported to both Jake and Troy. “I promise.”

“Something … is wrong.” The words came out slowly as Spencer looked up at Jake. “Troy isn’t himself. He’s gone most afternoons. He keeps calling Paris.”

“Paris?” Troy was returning home to run one of his father’s businesses. It shouldn’t surprise him. Troy had done nothing to explore New Orleans even though it offered a rich selection of arts and music and women. Troy’s heart belonged to Paris.

Jake didn’t get it, but then, you either loved Paris or you were intimidated by the Parisians. He had to admit he didn’t get it. Maybe a youth spent in Mobile, Alabama, ruined your ability to go bananas over a bunch of frogs who spent hours eating and the rest of their time talking about wine and art. Oh, well.

“He’s also contacted a travel agent. I think he’s planning to leave … with someone.”

Two beats of silence while Jake tried to imagine being on his own without Troy. He’d realized it would happen eventually. Face it. You’re on your own.

Jake expected to feel a second of unease, but he didn’t. He’d known this day was coming from the moment he’d persuaded Troy to stay on with TriTech. Jake figured he might not be totally ready, but hey, would he ever be one hundred percent confident? Now was as good a time as any. He needed to get his mind off Alyssa. What better way to do it than to be forced to concentrate on TriTech’s business?

“Spencer, don’t mention any of this to Troy,” said Jake. “I’ll take care of everything.”

His mind was on Alyssa. How was she doing? he wondered. This had to be an ordeal for her. Even if he blamed her for being involved with Clay, he still didn’t believe she had anything to do with either baby’s disappearance.

He picked up the telephone and instructed Spencer to connect him with Overton and Overton. The forensic accountants assigned to analyze Duvall Imports were in Chicago. He explained who he was, and they transferred him to Simon Overton.

“I’ve read your investigation of Duvall Imports’ books,” he said. “I’m curious about the IRS fine.”

“What fine?” Simon asked. “I prepared the report. There wasn’t any IRS fine.”

“A-a-a-h, perhaps I was mistaken—”

“It was an interesting scam. If you don’t straighten it out, you are going to have big-time trouble with the IRS.”

Son of a bitch, Jake cursed under his breath. “How long was your report?”

“Don’t you have a copy of it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It was about two hundred and fifty pages.”

“No wonder it took so long.”

“Long? I analyzed that company in less than a week.”

“Of course, sorry. So much is going on around here.” Where in hell had that report been? “Could you have your secretary fax me another copy?”

“We sent four copies. Can’t you find any of them?”

Jake didn’t give a damn if he sounded incompetent. “No. Have her fax me another copy at this number.” He gave Overton his home fax number.

Jake thanked him and hung up. He rocked back in his chair and studied the ceiling. It took some time before his mind adjusted to what could only be a cover-up on Troy’s part. Why? What did the report say that he would want to cover up? It was possible, more than possible considering the way Clay had acted today, that he’d paid Troy to keep quiet.

Someone had altered the report. It would be easy enough with the computer scanners to scan Overton and Overton’s letterhead. Writing the report, using forensic accounting lingo, would be more difficult. That’s why the report was much shorter than the original.

Then it dawned on him. Max was responsible for this, not Clay. Troy wouldn’t have risked his professional reputation for someone on a lower level. Even though Max had retired, there were a lot of people who thought of him as the owner of TriTech.

Assuming his analysis was correct, why would Max want a company like Duvall Imports? The answer had to be in the report itself. His split-second decision to send it to his home was dead-on. He didn’t want anyone to know he suspected a thing until he knew exactly what was happening.