Her Secret Alibi. Debra Webb

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home afterward? Then gone out again? Why couldn’t she remember? With no time to consider the puzzle further, Jolie had rushed into her apartment, showered and changed, then hurried to work. And still she was late for the weekly status meeting. She’d bet her father had never been late, not once. He’d retired as president of the bank almost six years ago, and he’d left large shoes for all others to fill—including Jolie.

      Put all of it out of your mind, she ordered. Forcing away the frightening memories as well as the self-deprecating thoughts, Jolie tossed her datafax onto her desk, put away her purse and buzzed Renae, her assistant, to pass along her requirements for the morning. Jolie dropped into her high-back leather chair and closed her eyes for just a minute. To her dismay, in that brief moment of total relaxation, this morning’s few vivid mental pictures played through her weary mind. All images of the man. She shuddered at the thought that a stranger had touched her. She swallowed hard. How could she have allowed that to happen? She had been at dinner and…

      Erica. She could call her friend. Erica would know what happened. But when her recorded voice came across the line, Jolie remembered that her friend had left early that morning for a business trip. She wouldn’t be back in Atlanta until late tomorrow afternoon.

      Heaving another disgusted sigh, Julie settled the receiver back into its cradle. The vision of the man—naked, with water streaming over his sculpted body—ricocheted through her still somewhat groggy mind. She shivered. How could she have gone home with that man—been with him—and not remember it?

      Fear gripped her, cutting off her breath, at the answer that echoed in her brain. She shook her head as if to deny the thought. She was not like her mother. No. That was not possible. She would never be like her. Her mother had been very ill. The last two years of her life had been a roller-coaster ride through the final stages of severe mental illness. Jolie swallowed hard. Living with her mother had been like living with two different people those last months. One had been the loving woman Jolie had known all her life, the other someone she barely recognized. But her mother had been too weak to fight the demons that had haunted her for far too many years to count. Jolie was strong. She was fine.

      “Fine,” Jolie repeated out loud.

      Renae rapped lightly on the door. Jolie sat up straighter and composed herself. She would not think about any of that right now. She had a job to do. A job she loved.

      She motioned for Renae to come in, then squared her shoulders and forced her attention to her work.

      “Miss Randolph…” Renae stepped into the office, a folder clutched to her chest. “We have a slight problem.”

      Jolie frowned, then brightened. Good. Work problems she could handle. “What’s up?” she asked, as her assistant moved around her desk to open the folder and spread the papers out before her.

      “There’s a fifty thousand dollar discrepancy in this account,” Renae said tentatively.

      Jolie scanned the number and then the name of the account holder. This was one of her accounts. “There must be a mistake,” she murmured promptly.

      “I felt certain you would be able to take care of it,” Renae suggested hesitantly.

      Jolie resisted the urge to frown at her assistant. Of course she would take care of it. Why was Renae behaving so nervously? Realization hit Jolie like a mallet between the eyes. The audit. Next month’s annual audit had everyone at the bank jumping through hoops.

      “It’s all right, Renae,” Jolie assured her. “I’ll handle it. I’m sure it’s nothing more than an input error.”

      Renae smiled weakly. “You’re right. I don’t know why I was so worried.” She shrugged. “This audit thing has us all out of sorts.”

      “It’ll be over soon.”

      “Oh, I almost forgot.” Renae looked thoughtful. “A man called for you this morning before you arrived, but he wouldn’t leave a message.”

      Panic pricked Jolie. “Did he leave a name?”

      Renae shook her head. “He just wanted to know if you made it to work all right.”

      Panic stabbed deeper. “He hasn’t called again?”

      “No.” Renae frowned. “It was all very odd.” She smiled wickedly then. “But he had a voice that would make a nun want to break her vows.”

      Jolie tamped down the anxiety climbing into her throat. She refused to consider that the call could have been from the man in whose bed she had awakened. She intended to put that episode out of her head. She would simply pretend it hadn’t happened. It was the only way to maintain her sanity.

      But how could she pretend last night hadn’t happened? Jolie’s stomach knotted. There could be serious consequences. Dear God, what had she done?

      “I’ll get to the bottom of this right away.” Jolie tapped the folder and attempted a confident smile.

      “Let me know if you need anything else,” Renae said as she skirted the desk and headed for the door.

      “Thanks,” Jolie replied vacantly. She watched through the glass wall that separated her office from the hall as Renae hurried away. She and Jolie had worked together for years. Renae was tall, slender and very attractive. She bragged about having a new boyfriend every week. Renae had always considered Jolie too uptight and straitlaced for her own good. What would dear old Renae think if she knew the man who had called this morning was probably the stranger Jolie had slept with last night?

      She shook off the troubling thoughts and dived headfirst into her work.

      BY NOON JOLIE KNEW she had a serious problem on her hands. She had exhausted every possibility, to no avail. The money had simply disappeared. She chewed her lower lip and allowed the one word that no banker ever wanted to consider to slip into conscious thought.

      Embezzlement.

      But how could that be? This was her account. Though Jolie could have turned over all her accounts to the other department head in foreign investments, she had kept several to oversee personally. These were special clients who preferred Jolie’s brand of financial strategizing. Mark, now the sole head of foreign investments, was not happy about it. He had all but accused Jolie of keeping the best clients to herself.

      But Jolie was the boss now, and Mark had known better than to push the issue. Besides, she didn’t take him for a guy who really went to the mat on an issue. He’d always seemed a little spineless to her. However, Mark was good at his job. Not once had a client complained about his work. He was dependable and charming, and enormously diplomatic with the bank’s clients. And smart, Jolie had to admit.

      She stared at the computer printouts before her. She had to be missing something. The money could not have disappeared into thin air. And she sure as hell hadn’t taken it. An uneasy feeling accompanied that thought, but she pushed it away. She did not take the money. And she never made mistakes like this.

      Jolie flattened her palms on her desk and stood. Enough. She needed a break. She would go out, have a nice quiet lunch and recharge her batteries. The episode this morning still had her shaken, and she hadn’t eaten all day. Lunch was just what she needed. Jolie grabbed her purse and headed for the door. There was a nice restaurant only a couple of blocks away. The place would be crowded at this hour, but knowing Jolie’s discomfort with crowds, Lebron, the owner, would find

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