it came to figures, which her superiors at the S.E.C. appreciated. She’d given them some details about the investigation, but not enough for them to start legal action. Yet. She wanted to be absolutely confident that was necessary, and while she had a strong suspicion it was, for her own peace of mind, she needed just a little more.
The older woman slumped back into the chair, almost shrinking before Elizabeth’s eyes. “I was afraid it wasn’t good, but millions….”
“I’m not finished yet, Linda. Don’t jump to any conclusions before the report is final.”
Linda looked up, her expression so bleak Elizabeth almost couldn’t bear to finish what she was going to say. “When I’m done, the total will be more accurate.”
She suddenly wished she’d skipped that extra cup of coffee. Her stomach felt as if it wanted to rebel.
“What’s he going to do?” Linda Tremont looked even more defenseless and uncertain without her glasses. “He’s my baby brother….”
Elizabeth had met Tony Masterson twice while gathering information. In his early thirties, he had the polished sophisticated look of a man you could trust. She could see how blue-haired ladies would have been happy to hand over their money to him. He’d assured Elizabeth that nothing was wrong, and if any irregularities were found, his underlings would know more about it than he would.
Linda had told Elizabeth a little about him, nervously, during one of their meetings. Almost apologetically she’d explained that he’d played tournament bridge all through college, and when he’d graduated with a business degree, he’d used the contacts of his bridge players and fraternity brothers to lead them and their elderly relatives straight into his family’s financial-planning company, Masterson Investments. Where he’d promptly begun to take advantage of them, Elizabeth had since realized.
“I need to set up another meeting with Tony to go over some points. Is he around?”
Linda’s lips tightened. “He’s in Europe this week, but he’ll be back on Friday. He’s speaking at a conference.” She paused. “Have you contacted the S.E.C.?”
“I haven’t given them a final report since I’m not done yet. Once I finish and send them everything, they’ll start an official investigation and assign one of their own attorneys to go over everything.”
Elizabeth didn’t generally offer advice, but the empathy she felt for Linda Tremont made her want to help. Putting her elbows on the desk, Elizabeth leaned closer. “If I were you, I’d get a good lawyer, Linda. Leo Stevens is excellent. He’s with Baker and Tornago.” The woman on the other side of the desk was so pale she looked as if she might faint. “Would you like me to call him for you?” Elizabeth asked softly. “I’d be happy to introduce you—”
“No!” Linda shook her head, almost violently, then seemed to realize what she was doing and stopped. “I…I’ll call him, myself. I…I appreciate the offer, but I have to take care of this on my own. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course.”
“When will you finish the report?”
“Within the next two weeks. I’ve been working on it mostly at home. I can concentrate better there.”
Linda rose painfully and walked to the door. Then she turned and asked, “Is there any way you could, well, finish it sooner? The longer it goes on, the worse it will be. For everyone.”
Elizabeth hesitated. With April’s disappearance, she couldn’t get her regular work done, much less hurry things up.
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t so important.”
“It’s not that,” Elizabeth answered finally. “I…I have some family problems of my own right now that I’m trying to deal with, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry. Nothing too serious, I hope.” Linda stood by the door expectantly, obviously waiting for more.
“My sister’s missing,” Elizabeth said bluntly. “We met for our birthday dinner Sunday, then the next morning she was gone. Along with my car. I haven’t seen her since.”
A disconcerting silence fell between the two women before Linda spoke awkwardly. “I’m so sorry. You don’t have any idea where she might be?”
“Not really. I’ve called the police and reported it. That’s all I can do.”
The expression on Linda’s face shifted. It held something Elizabeth couldn’t read, but whatever it was it contained more than a hint of disapproval. “You called the police?” she echoed.
“Yes, and I filed a missing person’s report. It’s all I can do.”
“Of course. But try not to worry. I’m sure she’ll turn up.” She paused. Then said, “Just let me know about the report as soon as you can.” With that Linda Tremont left, closing the door softly behind her.
Try not to worry? What kind of advice was that? How could you not worry if your sister had disappeared—even if she had done it before.
Elizabeth swung her chair around and looked out the office window, her mind going right back to the subject it’d been on before. John Mallory. Brown eyes, a strong jaw and a tough lean body that looked as though it could hold its own in any battle.
She’d seen him before. When April was visiting one day, she’d asked Elizabeth who the “cowboy” was in the unit at the end. Elizabeth had glanced out her window and recognized his white starched shirt, the snug jeans, the heeled boots. A lot of men in Texas dressed that way—it was almost a uniform—but on John, the clothes looked just right. For some perverse reason, Elizabeth had pretended not to know who April was asking about.
But Elizabeth had known all right, had surprisingly even found herself curious about the tall man in the polished boots. Usually she didn’t notice men. She’d had one serious relationship since she’d left college, but it hadn’t worked out. She’d dated another attorney, Jack Montgomery, for almost six months. He’d wanted a home with a wife who stayed in it, and Elizabeth couldn’t do that. She wasn’t wife and mother material. She’d told him so and he’d never called again.
That was part of the reason she’d turned down John’s help. Slipping up and pouring out her personal problems was one thing—a mistake, sure, but not unrecoverable. Any more contact might lead to something else, though, and she wasn’t interested in that. Not now.
IT WAS AFTER SIX when John pushed open the heavy glass door of the high rise that housed Benoit Consulting. He wasn’t really prepared for it to open, but it did, gliding soundlessly outward. He knew Elizabeth worked late most nights—at home her lights never came on before seven or sometimes eight—but he hadn’t really thought the whole building would be open at this hour. A dark-haired Hispanic woman looked up as he entered. To get past her, an electronic card reader on the wall had to first be satisfied. Apparently there were a lot of private consultants in the complex, sharing facilities.
“May I help you?” she asked pleasantly.
He skipped the badge routine and just smiled. “I’m a friend of Elizabeth Benoit’s, Benoit Consulting. Is she still around by any chance?”
“I’ll check.”
A
