Virginia Smith - A Deadly Game

“You have my number,” he answered. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.”

“Thank you.”

A touch of ice may have melted from her gaze, or it might merely have been a trick of the sunlight. In the next moment, she turned toward the house. Interesting woman. And not hard on the eyes, either. Jack watched until the front door closed behind her, then set to work hooking up the car trailer to his truck.

The headquarters of Townsend Steakhouses, Inc., were located in a glass-encased building on the southeast side of Lexington. After Jack dropped off the Corvette and trailer at his father’s house, he headed there. Not that his schedule held any pressing appointments requiring his presence today. Or any day, if the truth were told. His absence would probably pass without notice. Though the sign on his office door proclaimed him to be the Vice President of Supply, he held the title in name only. Every decision related to their suppliers was made exclusively by the company’s CEO, and everyone knew it.

He stepped off the elevator on the third floor, where the executive offices lined the windows overlooking an ice-covered pond with a fountain that, during the summer, sprayed blue-green water into the air. Instead of turning right toward his office he strode down the carpeted hallway to his left, toward the extralarge corner office from where his father dominated an important segment of the casual dining industry.

Alice Lester sat behind an immaculate desk, her fingers alive with near-silent activity as they danced over a keyboard. In the world of administrative assistants, Alice was considered among the best. Jack knew of multiple job offers she’d received from executives who had hoped to lure her away with high salaries and exclusive perks, but to everyone’s amazement she had refused them all. She bore the brunt of R.H.’s temper with an unruffled manner that was nothing short of amazing. Jack had no idea how much his father was paying Alice, but it must have been a lot. Why else would she put up with him for over fifteen years?

Jack couldn’t help comparing her to the other executive secretary he’d just left. Instead of Susanna’s blond twist, Alice hacked off her thick dark hair, which was veined liberally with steely gray, just below her ears. Her charcoal suit was no less stylish than Susanna’s, but it hung shapelessly from rounded shoulders that hunched slightly forward. Only a faint peachy blush on her lips betrayed any evidence of makeup.

And yet, Alice was one of the things that made the atmosphere on the executive floor of this building tolerable. Her unflappable composure played a consistent and dramatic counterpoint to R.H.’s hot temper.

She pulled her gaze away from the computer monitor at his approach. Concerned creases instantly appeared in her brow. “Jack, your father told me about Tom Ingram’s death. I’m so sorry you had to see that. It must have been terrible.”

Jack refused to allow the scene from last night to replay in his mind. “It was pretty awful. Even worse for his secretary, though.”

She shivered. “The poor girl. I can’t imagine.”

Jack nodded toward the closed office door behind her. “Is R.H. available? I need to talk to him a minute.”

“Richard is in there with him, but I don’t think they’re doing anything that can’t be interrupted.”

Richard Stratton was his father’s chief of staff, his henchman on virtually any project related to personnel. Everyone in the company had expected R.H. to appoint Jack to that role last year, when the previous chief of staff resigned to take a job with a competitor. The announcement that R.H. had hired an outsider over his son had been an obvious slight, and more embarrassing than Jack would have thought possible. Still, Richard seemed competent enough, and Jack didn’t hold his position against him.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Jack promised as he headed for the office. He rapped on the door twice, then pushed it open.

R.H. was seated behind his desk, a drawerless oval that would have been impressive if the thick glass top were kept clear. Instead, only the center was empty. Stacks of paper lined the outside edge, not messy but certainly not neat. Taller piles littered the carpet around the desk, and even one of the guest chairs contained a stack of past issues of Restaurant Magazine.

Richard stood beside R.H.’s chair, leaning forward to read from a sheet of paper in his boss’s hand. When Jack stepped into the room, he straightened with a faint smile of greeting.

R.H. slammed down the paper. “There you are. I looked for you earlier, but your office was dark.” He made a show of studying his watch. “How much am I paying you to work half days?”

Jack forced his facial muscles to remain relaxed. “I was here at seven this morning, but I had to run an errand. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Richard stepped out from behind the desk. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

“That’s not necessary,” Jack told him.

“It’s all right. I’ve got some things to do.” He paused as he passed Jack in the doorway, and looked back at R.H. “I’ll get back with you on that by lunchtime.”

R.H. dismissed him with a wave, then began straightening the stack of papers in front of him.

Jack stepped up to the front edge of the desk. “I got a call from Tom Ingram’s secretary this morning. Someone tried to break into the trailer in her driveway last night. She wanted to move the Corvette into storage, but I told her it would be safe at the house for a few days. I just ran over there and dropped it off.”

R.H. paused in the act of tapping the edge of the papers on the desk. “The Corvette is at my house?”

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.