RoxannesPirate Page 6

  Annelise Brown, the head of the estate department, was sympathetic. Roxanne left out the salacious details.

  “Let me get this straight, Rox,” Annelise said. “You picked up a guy and slept with him and afterward he copied your hard drive because he thought you might have information about his lawsuit? You must be the winner of this month’s dates-gone-way-wrong contest!”

  Roxanne’s meeting in Manhattan with Derek Macauley, the firm’s managing partner, and Bardon Collins was considerably more painful. Under Bardon’s cross-examination, Roxanne admitted that she’d seen papers about the lawsuit in Carlos’ hotel room.

  “I did not discuss the details of the case with him that first night or last night. He did not give me any information about the case and I did not have any information I could give him. I don’t think I saw any confidential papers about the case, but I can’t be sure.” The chart. She had seen the flow chart with the circled names. Was it a privileged communication between Carlos and his attorney? Did it even have any bearing on the case?

  “What were you doing last night while Delgado helped himself to your hard drive?” Bardon asked.

  “I’d rather not say,” Roxanne said. She kept her gaze fixed on the brass penholder on Macauley’s massive mahogany desk. Her face was on fire. Her armpits were drenched with sweat. “But he downloaded my laptop against my will.”

  “Is it safe to say you were all tied up?”

  She would not look at Bardon, but she could hear the grin in his voice.

  “We don’t need to go into the details, Bardon,” Derek Macauley said. “I understand that this is painful for you, Roxanne. We could consider asking for criminal charges or sanctions to be filed against Delgado. I think our course of action will depend on the information he might have acquired from your data.” He outlined the actions Roxanne had to take to minimize the potential harm to her clients, including reviewing all the files on her hard drive and notifying her clients that their information—social security numbers, employer identification numbers, bank account numbers—might have been compromised. He told her all she had to say was that her laptop had been stolen. There was no need to provide any other details.

  Bardon had his own ideas. “I’ll talk to Hector Rivera and see what he wants to do. We could play hardball, blow this thing up and let the court know what kind of a prick Delgado is. Of course we’ll need Roxanne’s affidavit. You’ll spin us a great story, won’t you, Rox? All about the bad boy who did you wrong?”

  Macauley’s desk phone beeped. He excused himself and picked it up.

  Roxanne heard Bardon walk to her side. He bent, his mouth close to her ear. “I want to know Delgado’s secret. How’d he get you to spread your legs? It’s a picture I can’t get out of my mind. I’d love to hear the details!” He chuckled.

  Roxanne clutched the arms of the chair. Macauley hung up his phone.

  “All right, Roxanne. You can leave now. You know what you have to do. Bardon, I want you to stay.”

  “Right, Chief,” Bardon said.

  Roxanne stood. Her knees were weak, but she did her best not to show it. Macauley stood too. He was a thin, bald man with a pale face and brown eyes behind steel gray eyeglass frames. He looked so slight beside Bardon’s football player frame, but he was the most powerful person in the firm. “I assure you, Roxanne, we will do our best to make sure news of this unfortunate incident does not travel outside this office. Right, Bardon?”

  “Absolutely, Chief,” Bardon said. “My lips are sealed.”

  Roxanne worked late, sending out emails and making phone calls to her clients. Annelise Brown helpfully reminded her to ensure the protection of her personal financial information.

  “Do you bank online?” Annelise asked. “Have access to your credit card accounts online?”’

  Roxanne groaned. Her financial information was password protected, but she kept a list of passwords in a folder in her desk. He’d looked through her desk. He had access to her passwords. He would have access to her emails—the harangues from her mother and brothers, the notes from her friends, the sorry saga of her breakup with Paul. Not to mention, if he had the inclination, he could discover the websites she visited, the groups she joined, her recent addiction to erotic romances.

  She banged her head on her desk. “You are an imbecile,” she told herself for the thousandth time.

  Exhausted as she was, she changed her sheets on her bed. She would not sleep on sheets he had touched.

  * * * * *

  Roxanne woke in the morning with an uneasy feeling. The dim light of a winter morning glowed under the window blinds in her bedroom. She looked at the clock on her night table. It was not quite seven in the morning. It was Saturday; she could sleep late. And then she remembered what had happened and what she had to do.

  “Oh shit.”

  She rose and made coffee. Her first priority was the laundry. After she did a load, she dressed in her workout clothes and trudged through the snow to the clubhouse. Normally she liked to listen to music and think about projects while she worked out, but this day, she did not want to think at all. She got on the elliptical machine and plugged in her earphones and watched a romantic comedy.

  Back in her condo, she showered and put on clean underwear, jeans, a thermal shirt and her favorite well-worn cardigan. She rubbed gel into her damp hair and sat down with a fresh cup of coffee to make a list of the things she needed to do. She needed to purchase a new BlackBerry. She needed to make a list of every internet site she was a member of and log on and change her passwords. She needed to buy pantyhose.

  The ringing phone startled her. She looked at the caller ID. The call was coming from her firm’s Manhattan office.

  “I hope you aren’t in the middle of something,” Bardon Collins said cheerfully. “Because you need to get your tight little ass into my office in thirty-five minutes. Our client Hector Rivera wants to meet you.”

  “I can’t…”

  “This is not a request, Roxanne.” Bardon’s jocular tone disappeared. His voice was now the one he used to make associates and paralegals quake. “Understand? Thirty-five minutes. Conference room six. Leave home now.”

  Roxanne grabbed her down jacket and sheepskin-lined boots. Outside, the wind had picked up. It whipped against her face and made her eyes water. Maybe her mother was right, maybe a move to Phoenix would be good for her.

  Even though it was a Saturday, there was still a buzz of activity in the office. Roxanne passed a group of paralegals and young associates sorting through piles of documents in the large conference room. There were times she was very glad she had walked away from litigation. She missed the courtroom drama, but most of the work of litigation took place like this, sifting through documents for crucial pieces of evidence or preparing witnesses for trial, trying slowly to amass enough facts to win a trial or force a settlement. All in all, she much preferred her estate planning work.

  Roxanne knocked on the door to the conference room where Bardon was meeting. He opened the door.

  “So glad you could join us this morning. Hector, this is Roxanne Cline, my beleaguered associate,” Bardon said.

  The slight man at the conference table was dressed in a gray suit and a lavender silk dress shirt. He had dark hair that was clipped close to his head and showed plenty of shiny skin on top. The prominent bags under his eyes in combination with his large ears made him look like a hound dog. He nodded across the table to Roxanne but did not rise or extend his hand to her. She had started to extend her hand across the table to him but let it fall back to her side.

  An amused feminine voice spoke from the other end of the conference room. “This is Carlos’ victim?”

  Roxanne looked up. Staring at her was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

  “Roxanne, this is Ines Da Silva, Mr. Rivera’s assistant.” Bardon uttered the words with marked delight.

  Roxanne could not blame him. Whoever was responsible for the racial and ethnic cocktail that had produ
ced Ines had done a superlative job.

  “Please call me Ines. Would you like a cup of coffee, Roxanne?” Her voice was musical. Any accent had been carefully sanded away.

  “Yes, thank you,” Roxanne said, momentarily struck with how awkward it was for this exquisite woman to be playing hostess in the conference room. Bardon sat back in his chair and grinned. Hector Rivera compulsively bent and straightened a corner of a piece of paper.

  Ines turned to fill a mug from a thermos on the credenza. She was tall and slender with an oval face and high cheekbones. Her eyes were almond-shaped, with lush black lashes and emerald green irises. Her eyebrows were perfect black swoops. Her skin was the color of butterscotch. The hair that fell past her shoulders was straight and jet-black. The fingers that grasped the mug were long and slender. A large emerald green stone glinted on one of her fingers. She was dressed in a soft tight cream-colored sweater that came to a low vee in front, showing off a bit of a lace bra that supported her abundant cleavage, and matching cream-colored wool trousers. On her feet, she wore matching high-heeled cream-colored leather boots.

  Roxanne was acutely aware of her faded jeans, her clunky boots, the fuzzy pills on her cardigan.

  “Milk? Sugar?” Ines asked.

  “Milk please,” Roxanne said.

  “Here you are.” Ines held the mug out to Roxanne but made no movement toward her.

  Roxanne moved to take the mug from Ines. An amused smile lifted the corners of Ines’ perfect lips. She held onto the mug as Roxanne tried to take it. Ines was clearly scrutinizing Roxanne. Roxanne felt her cheeks warm under Ines’ amused stare. She was conscious of every mark and blemish on her face, every lump and bulge in her clothes, every frizzy hair on her head. Ines’ skin was flawless, her nails perfectly manicured, she even smelled wonderful, a rich floral scent. Ines’ smile grew wider. It was clear she did not regard Roxanne as any competition.

  “Thank you,” Roxanne repeated. Bitch. The mug was finally released into her hand.

  “Can we begin?” Hector Rivera asked. He had a thick Hispanic accent.

  Bardon cleared his throat. “Absolutely. I’ve told Mr. Rivera what I know about your unfortunate encounter with Mr. Delgado. He would like to know the details so we can determine what our legal response should be.”

  Roxanne gave her recitation of the facts in a careful monotone, her gaze fixed on Rivera’s fingers as they bent the corner of his paper back and forth. “I spent the night with Mr. Delgado in his hotel room. I found papers on his desk from the suit you filed on Mr. Rivera’s behalf. I realized that my involvement with Mr. Delgado might cause problems. I had not told Mr. Delgado I was a lawyer. I left without speaking to him again. A day later, we ran into each other here in this office. We were both surprised to see each other. He came to my house that evening. He thought I had been deliberately sent to spy on him.”

  “Who did he think sent you?” Rivera asked. He leaned slightly across the table. “Did he mention any names?”

  “No. I assumed he thought I’d been sent by Mr. Collins or by you.”

  Rivera sat back in his chair. He rubbed the spot under his prominent nose and above his upper lip.

  What was Rivera thinking? “I told Mr. Delgado that no one had sent me, that our meeting was accidental. He seemed to believe me. We had sex. He tied me up and told me he was taking my laptop. He told me then that he did not believe my story and that he intended to uncover the truth.”

  “He tied you up after sex?” Ines asked. She laughed.

  “Did you see Mr. Rivera’s name on any papers in Mr. Delgado’s room?” Bardon asked. “Any papers besides the pleadings?”

  Roxanne took a breath. The flow chart loomed in her mind. Tell or not tell? Tell and be done with it. “Yes. There was a paper that fell to the floor. There were a series of circled names. One of the names was Mr. Rivera’s.”

  “Do you remember any other names on that paper?”

  Roxanne hesitated. “I’m not sure if it was a confidential memorandum.”

  “Just tell us, Rox. We’ll figure that out later.”

  “There were several names on the paper—Spencer Marshall, Hector Rivera, Investco Associates and John Murkley.”

  Lightning did not strike, but Hector Rivera flushed an ugly shade of maroon. Ines smiled. She seemed more amused than ever.

  “I see,” Bardon said. He did not seem fazed. Roxanne wondered if he had any idea who Murkley was. Rivera obviously did. “Any other questions for Roxanne, Hector?”

  “This flow chart,” Rivera said. “What did it look like?”

  “The names were circled and there were arrows running between them. The first name was Spencer Marshall then your name then the others. And there was a drawing of a hypodermic needle. It pointed from Murkley to Marshall.” Let them make of it what they would.

  There was a knock on the door. One of the paralegals apologized for the interruption but Bardon was needed. Bardon said he would be back as quickly as possible. He left the conference room door open.

  Hector Rivera turned to look at Ines. “He knows about Murkley,” he said. His maroon color had faded. Now he looked unhealthily pale.

  Ines shrugged. “What difference does that make?”

  “Murkley should be told.”

  So they were connected to Murkley!

  “I’ll tell him,” Ines said. She smiled at Rivera and tapped the fingers of her right hand on the table. The large emerald in her ring sparkled in the light.

  Rivera looked at the ring and widened his eyes as if he were seeing it for the first time. “I see.” He took out his handkerchief and patted his forehead. “I’ve been generous to you. I hope you’ll put in a good word for me.”

  “Of course, Hector.”

  Bardon strode back into the conference room.

  “Sorry about the interruption. Where were we?”

  “I need to go to the ladies’ room,” Ines said. She stood. “Roxanne, will you lead the way? I get hopelessly lost in unfamiliar places.”

  Roxanne jerked away from her thoughts. She’d been trying to understand the pieces of the puzzle that had been tossed in front of her. She nodded at Ines and led her out into the hallway and around the corner.

  “The ladies’ room is right there,” Roxanne gestured to an inside corridor.

  “I seem to have something in my eye,” Ines said. “Would you come in the ladies’ room and have a look? I’m sure the lighting is much better in there.”

  You’ve got to be kidding, Roxanne thought, but she followed Ines into the bathroom. What does the bitch want?

  “Which eye is it?”

  “The right, but it feels much better now. It was probably just an eyelash.”

  “Well then…”

  Ines moved slightly to block Roxanne from leaving. She tilted her head as if she were trying to decide something. “I must admit, at first I could not understand Carlos’ attraction to you, but now I see that you do have a certain sensuality. I know what Carlos finds appealing. We lived together for a while until Hector swept me away. I’m afraid he didn’t forgive Hector for that. It created all sorts of bad blood between them.”

  Roxanne pressed her lips together.

  “What puzzles me is why you are broadcasting the story? Why tell Bardon Collins how Carlos humiliated you?”

  “I told because it was the right thing to do.”

  “Are you that naïve?” Ines took a step closer to Roxanne. “Or maybe you’re covering something up—telling this story as a distraction or as part of a larger plan. Was Carlos right? Did someone send you to his bed?”

  Roxanne narrowed her eyes and glared. “No.”

  “I trust you enjoyed the experience. Carlos is very talented.”

  “He’s scum!” Roxanne trembled. Her hands balled into fists.

  “Was he too rough on you?” Her voice dropped. “Or not rough enough?”

  Ines’ tinkling laughter echoed off the tiled walls as Roxanne, burning with rage, stalked out of the bat
hroom.

  Bardon sat at the conference table searching a large file full of papers. Rivera stood staring out the window, his shoulders hunched as if he had just experienced a painful blow.

  “I’m leaving,” Roxanne said. “I’m sure you don’t need me anymore.”

  “Okay,” Bardon said. “I’ll call if we do.”

  She picked up her coat and fled the room before Ines came back.

  Her rage at Ines did not cool until she was on the New Jersey Turnpike driving home. “She’s a bitch and a half,” Roxanne said out loud. “But she’s not the one you should be angry at. It’s his fault all this is happening.”

  If only she could make him suffer.

  Her pirate hung by his arms from the ceiling of his cabin. He was naked. His chest and back bore red welts from the sting of her whip. His head was thrown back and he was moaning.

  “No more! Please no more!” he cried.

  “You disappoint me, Carlos.” She prowled around him, her high-heeled boots tapped the wooden planks. “I thought you were tougher than this.”

  She raised her whip and brought it down hard on his buttocks.

  He cried and writhed in agony.

  “Do you want me to make the pain stop? Beg me and I will.”

  “Please,” he begged.

  “You don’t sound sincere enough.” She raised the whip again. She would be merciless.

  The car in front of her slammed on its brakes. Roxanne stomped on her brakes to keep from hitting it. Her car skidded into the next lane. She turned her wheel and brought her car out of the skid. She heard car horns blast, but there was no sickening noises of crunching metal. She drove on, her heart rate slowly returning to normal.

  She would forget her revenge fantasy. She would call her doctor and take drastic measures to curb her libido. She would wipe the pirate and Carlos Delgado from her memory. She would do what her mother wanted and move to Phoenix. She would do anything to make her life less complicated.