me,” he reminded her crossly. “I didn’t invite you!”
“I was worried about you.”
“Well, don’t worry over me. I can take care of myself!” Mitch’s voice was bitter.
“Mitch, what in the world is going on?” she asked. Erin was stung by his acrid words, but compassion held back the sharp retort that had entered her mind as she watched Mitch order another drink. It was apparent that something was eating him, and because of the kindness he had shown her in the past, she held her tongue. She reached for his sleeve and in a quieter voice asked, “Won’t you please tell me what’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” The word ricocheted back at her followed by Mitch’s mirthless laugh. “What could possibly be wrong?” His blue eyes glittered like ice. “Unless, of course, you think that being fired from a bank that you’ve given twenty years of your life to is a problem.”
The meaning of his words struck her like an arctic blast. “Fired? Webster fired you? But why?”
“Like I said, ask him—if you’ve still got a job. Who knows, you could be next!”
“But he hasn’t even come up from California yet.”
“Oh, he’s here all right, and mark my words, all of the employees at First Puget—oh, excuse me—Consolidated First Bank better be ready!” he pointed out sarcastically.
Erin sat for a moment in numbed silence. The thought of Mitch being fired was absurd, ludicrous. Mitch had been prominent in building the legal department of First Puget to one of the most prestigious in the city. It was true that for the first time in over a decade the legal department had lost money, but certainly the new president wouldn’t hold Mitch solely responsible, would he? Nothing made any sense to her anymore. Mitch caught the look of confusion and pity in her eyes. His attitude softened momentarily.
“Look, Erin. Don’t waste your sympathy on me. And it’s really not a good idea for you to be seen with me. Believe me, it would be in your best interests to just leave me alone.”
“You look like you could use a friend,” Erin suggested.
“What I need now is a good attorney, not a friend.”
“But you are an attorney,” Erin replied, still completely perplexed.
Mitch looked her squarely in the eyes. “I’m a lawyer, yes, but I specialize in civil law. What I need now is a criminal lawyer.”
“I don’t understand….”
“You don’t have to,” Mitch answered abruptly and stood up. “I told you before, I don’t need your sympathy or any of your self-righteous friendship!” He turned his back on Erin, fumbled in his pocket for a moment and threw a wad of crumpled bills onto the bar. “See ya around,” he called over his shoulder, but Erin didn’t think he directed his words at her.
“Mitch…wait,” she began, but his long uneven strides carried him out of the door and into the night. As she watched him leave she was still recovering from the shock of his dismissal. Why would he have been fired? It was hard to believe that she wouldn’t see him on Monday morning, sitting behind his large oak desk, puffing on a slim cigar and perusing the Wall Street Journal.
“Looks like you’ve been stranded,” a smooth male voice suggested intimately. “How about a drink with me?”
Erin turned in the direction of the voice and murmured a firm “No, thanks” to the young man with the clipped mustache. He shrugged his shoulders at her denial, as if it was her loss, and manipulated his attention to a lanky blonde sitting near the dance floor.
Erin made her way back to the car. The drizzle had turned into a downpour and the late afternoon sky had blackened. The drive home was automatic, and as the windshield wipers slapped the rain off the glass, Erin thought about Mitch and what it would be like without his presence in the bank.
She had suspected for several months that Mitch was in the throes of some personal problem. At least it had appeared that way. He had seemed tired and worried—no, more than that—tense, tightly coiled. The closer the final date for the imminent bank sale had drawn, the more tightly wound Mitch had become. Erin had told herself at the time that it was only her imagination, that all of the employees of First Puget were bound to be a little anxious about the new management. But now, as she drove through the dark, slick side streets, she chided herself for not seeing and acknowledging what had been so transparent: Mitchell Cameron was in deep trouble. Its exact nature she couldn’t guess, but it was serious enough to have cost him his job.
Without thinking, she killed the motor of the car as she pulled up in front of the Victorian apartment house. Closing her eyes and rotating her head, Erin tried to relieve the tension in her neck and shoulders. She wondered about Kane Webster. What kind of a man was he? What did she really know about the man, other than the few neatly typed memos with the bold signature that had crossed her desk?
She hadn’t heard much about his personal life. Apparently he preferred his privacy. Occasionally Erin had seen his name in print—in the financial pages. If she had read anything about him in the social pages, it usually had to do with his ex-wife, a gorgeous model who had made an unsuccessful attempt at becoming an actress. But that was several years ago, before an accident that had killed Jana and left the daughter crippled, or so it was rumored.
Erin frowned to herself as she thought about her new employer. One thing was certain: Kane Webster had made his fortune on his own, spending the last decade purchasing failing financial institutions and transforming them from operating in the red to operating in the black. He had gained a reputation in financial circles for being something of a rogue because of his unorthodox methods of operation. But if results were the measure of success, Kane Webster was prosperous. It was as if King Midas had reached out and touched the ailing banks himself.
Wearily Erin got out of the car and locked the door. She started up the short shrub-lined walk to her home and smiled at the elegant old house. It was a lovely Victorian manor, perched on a hill overlooking the city. The front porch was comfortable and trimmed in ornate gingerbread. The turn-of-the-century home had been fashioned into apartments twenty years before, and the contractor had taken care to accentuate the nineteenth-century charm of the house. Erin had fallen in love with it the first time she had laid eyes on it. Ignoring opposing arguments from just about everyone she knew, she had used her small inheritance as a down payment and purchased the building two years ago. Or to be more precise, she and First Puget Bank had purchased it; there was still a sizeable mortgage against it.
Even in the drizzle of early twilight the old manor looked warm and inviting. The white three-story building with its gently sloping roof and deep gables had a picturesque aura that was distinctly “Old Seattle.” Upon close inspection it was obvious that the house was in sad need of many repairs, but tonight Erin overlooked the chipped paint and the rusty drainpipes. She had applied for an employee loan with the bank to make the needed improvements, but she knew as well as anyone that her loan would be a very low priority to Kane Webster. With a bank that was already losing money, how could he possibly make any low-interest employee loans?
Erin’s own apartment, located on the uppermost floor of the stately house, was an attic converted into a cozy loft with a bird’s-eye view of the city. She climbed the stairs slowly, sifting through the various pieces of junk mail and complaints from her tenants. Her mind was only half on the stack of mail in her hands, when she heard the telephone ringing. Racing up the final steps, she hurriedly unlocked the door, threw the mail on the table and grabbed the phone.
