A Twist Of Fate. Lisa JacksonЧитать онлайн книгу.
printouts that had seemed so dull yesterday had taken on a new luster and significance today. The desk chair groaned as he settled into it and pulled out the neatly typed report marked O’TOOLE, ERIN. He reread the information on its pages, slowly turning the facts over in his mind.
One piece of information leaped out at him. It seemed that Miss O’Toole had for a while been Mrs. Lee Sinclair before reassuming her maiden name after her divorce. Kane frowned deeply and inexplicably to himself. Erin had been employed by the bank for over ten years. In the past eight, with the aid of Mitchell Cameron, she had been rapidly promoted until she had reached her present position as second in command of the legal department. Quite an accomplishment for a thirty-two-year-old woman.
Kane rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he continued to study the file on Erin. It seemed that she had purchased a building a couple of years ago—with the help of an employee loan granted, of course, by Cameron. And just recently she had again applied for more funds, to renovate the building.
Several items didn’t add up in Kane’s mind. Erin seemed forever in need of money, but she had loaned her ex-husband a tidy sum about a year ago. A copy of the canceled check made payable to Lee Sinclair had been included in her file; Jim Haney had done his research well. The fact that she seemed always in debt was a bad sign. Also, for such a young woman, she had been promoted rapidly—too rapidly. Bad sign number two. And, from Cameron’s comments on her personnel evaluation reports, Mitchell Cameron had trusted her completely. Bad sign number three.
And what about today? She had called out Mitch’s name when Kane had entered her office. Was she expecting him, or had she merely been sent by Cameron to continue his dirty work? She had obviously spoken to Cameron last night; she admitted it herself. Just how deep was she in with Cameron and how much did she know? The suspicious questions rattled around in Kane’s head until he scowled to himself and threw the report on the desk.
It was difficult to imagine Erin O’Toole Sinclair as an embezzler. Although the evidence was stacking up against her, he couldn’t forget her delicate features and surprisingly innocent eyes.
Thoughtfully he rubbed the weariness from the back of his neck. Somehow the satisfaction that he had expected to feel while tracking Cameron’s accomplice was missing. He chided himself and accused himself of being a fool. He was beginning to soften where Erin was concerned, and he couldn’t let that happen, especially since she was probably robbing him blind at this very moment.
He slanted another severe glance at the file. The name that seemed to leap from the page at him was Sinclair. His lips drew into a thin, hard line. It was ludicrous, but the piece of information that bothered him the most wasn’t the incriminating evidence against Erin, but rather the fact that she had been married at one time. It was infuriating for him to imagine another man making love to the dark-haired woman with the wide eyes and provocatively defiant tilt to her chin, even if it had been years ago. He chuckled to himself humorlessly. What did he expect, anyway? That any woman that attracted him be a virgin?
It was the word that his own mind had used that jarred him back to reality. He was attracted to Erin, and he couldn’t allow himself that luxury. He couldn’t let her get under his skin, especially if she was indeed what he suspected her to be.
With a disgruntled shove Kane pushed the file back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Then, after shaking himself mentally, he locked his desk, somehow wishing he could throw away the key.
Three
It was late afternoon by the time Erin arrived home. She had spent the day window-shopping and walking through the heart of the city, mindlessly watching the crowds of shoppers and breathing the salty air from the Sound. She had avoided going home, content to wander among the tourists as she attempted to sort out her confused feelings. She didn’t want to deal with anything or anyone until she had set her uneven emotions back in balance. But try as she would, she was unable to push Kane Webster out of her thoughts.
Erin was angry and resentful of the way Kane had so high-handedly dismissed Mitch. She was offended by his insinuations that she had compromised her morals for career advancement by sleeping with Mitch. And, perhaps more than anything else, she was afraid of and uncertain about the feelings that he could stir in her with only a look or a touch of his fingertips. It was as if he were attracting her and repelling her at the same time. What was it about him that caused such warring emotions to battle in her weary mind? Something about him excited her, fascinated her, and she felt helpless as a moth compelled to an irresistible flame. It was a flame that would surely burn her with a molten passion until she was consumed by heat and fire.
Even the old Victorian apartment house didn’t seem as comforting as usual. As Erin was about to mount the stairs to the loft, Mrs. Cavenaugh, oldest of the tenants, opened the door of her apartment and called to Erin before she could escape.
“Erin, honey,” Mrs. Cavenaugh cajoled sweetly while leaning heavily on her cane. “It’s already getting dreadfully cold in here. I thought you were going to do something about that insulation. The floor is just like ice, and it’s starting to bother my arthritis again.” The kindly, bespectacled old woman smiled at Erin.
“Yes, Mrs. Cavenaugh, I know,” Erin sighed as she paused on the lowest step. “And I promise that I’ll get some bids on the insulation this week. There…uh, have been a few changes at the office. I’ve been pretty busy and I guess I’ve been neglecting my duties around here. But that’s no excuse. I’ll take care of it.”
Wise, faded blue eyes scanned Erin’s face, and Mrs. Cavenaugh shook a slightly crooked finger at the younger woman. “I could tell that something was bothering you from the moment you dragged yourself through the door. It’s not that ex-husband of yours again, is it?”
“Oh, no! This has nothing to do with Lee…”
“Humph! Always said that boy would come to no good.”
Erin began to protest again, but Mrs. Cavenaugh would have none of it. “You know what you need, don’t you? A cup of my chamomile tea. A good strong one.” She gave Erin a knowing wink. “You’re in luck—I have a pot brewing this very minute.” A crafty look came over the wrinkled face, and she turned to lead Erin into her apartment.
“Oh, no, Mrs. Cavenaugh, I couldn’t…”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Cavenaugh sputtered. “Now, you come in here and tell me what’s really bothering you!”
Erin stopped protesting to smile and follow the bent figure into her apartment. The poor dear woman wasn’t really looking for Erin to complain about the cold floors at all, Erin realized. Mrs. Cavenaugh just wanted some company to brighten the long afternoon and evening. Erin decided the least she could do was enjoy a cup of tea with her elderly tenant, even if it was the foulest concoction ever to be poured from a silver teapot.
As Erin expected, the long, lace-covered coffee table was already set for two. A service of shining silver teapot and fragile porcelain cups adorned the table, and the air was scented with the strong aroma of chamomile.
Erin sat graciously in the floral side chair while, with slightly shaking hands, Mrs. Cavenaugh poured the pale ochre liquid into one of the cups. “Sugar?” she suggested, and without waiting for an answer, dropped two lumps into the light-colored brew.
Erin took the cup and sipped at the tea while Mrs. Cavenaugh settled herself into her favorite worn rocker. “So now, Erin, tell me about your problems at work.” Light blue eyes sparkled with interest as Erin briefly sketched out her morning at the bank. Erin glossed over a few of the details, carefully omitting any references to the bevy of emotions that her new boss had aroused in her. But Mrs. Cavenaugh’s knowing eyes saw more than Erin had hoped to divulge.
“So this new boss of yours…what’s-his-name…” Mrs. Cavenaugh began.
“Mr. Webster.” Erin supplied the missing words.
“Yes…what’s he like?” Eyes, crinkled at the corners, stared earnestly at Erin over the rim of the tiny cup.
“Oh,