Her Secret Alibi

A completely illogical anxiety needled him once more. He had to find a way to keep his objectivity on track here. He’d waited four long years for this opportunity. Whether Miss Randolph knew it or not, her nightmare had just begun.

“MISS RANDOLPH.”

Jolie cringed inwardly as she paused in her hasty retreat from the conference room and this morning’s status meeting. Despite her best efforts, she had been fifteen minutes late, and she hadn’t missed the concerned looks Mr. Knox, the bank’s president and her boss, had cast in her direction. She suppressed a weary sigh. There was nothing to do but pay the consequences. Producing her brightest smile, she turned and faced the older man.

“Yes, Mr. Knox?” She met his analyzing gaze head-on. “Was there something else you needed to speak with me about?”

Her boss drew in a decidedly long breath, crossed one arm over his chest and propped the elbow of the other on it so that he could stroke his chin. Jolie had the sudden, almost irresistible urge to tug at the collar of her blouse. She was still shaking inside from this morning’s episode. Three cups of strong black coffee hadn’t helped.

“Are you certain you’re feeling all right, Miss Randolph?” His bushy gray brows furrowed in concern. “Your new position isn’t proving more stressful than you anticipated?”

Jolie gritted her teeth behind her smile for about two seconds. She had received the long-anticipated promotion to vice president of investments just six months ago, and she loved it. Why did everyone, her own father included, have to be so worried about her ability to handle a little extra stress?

“Everything is fine, sir,” she said calmly. “Just running a little behind this morning.”

Mr. Knox tapped his cheek and studied her a moment longer. “You are the youngest vice president we’ve ever had here at First International,” he reminded her. “And a woman,” he added proudly. “Your well-being is of special interest to me, Miss Randolph.”

Jolie’s smile was genuine this time. She knew he meant well, however unnecessary his concern. “Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Knox smiled knowingly. “You earned this promotion, young lady, and I have complete confidence in you. Like father, like daughter.” With that, he turned and strode toward his own office at the far end of the hall.

Jolie released her pent-up breath when Mr. Knox was well out of hearing range. Only ten o’clock and the day had hit rock bottom already. With her own office just across the hall from the conference room, Jolie didn’t have far to go to find refuge. She closed the door and crossed to her desk. In spite of all that had happened, she stole a moment to admire her spectacular view. The entire back wall of her office was one big window.

Just like the bedroom she had slept in last night.

Dread pooled in Jolie’s stomach when she recalled the tense ride in the elevator to the first floor of the unfamiliar apartment building. Her heart had been pounding so hard by the time she’d reached the street and called a cab that she had been almost afraid she was going into cardiac arrest.

The entire episode was one big blur, and she barely remembered now what the building looked like. That was good, because she definitely wanted to forget the entire event. Oddly, she had found her car parked outside her own apartment building, though she specifically remembered driving it to dinner the night before to meet Erica. Had she gone 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 her a quiet table in the back.

She paused before taking the stairs down to the first floor, placing her hand on the ornate banister and surveying the crowded lobby. First International’s was the largest and most elegant gallery in Atlanta. Accustomed to seeing it every day, Jolie sometimes forgot just how lovely it really was, with its marble floors, intricately carved wood decor and leaded glass windows. She smiled. She loved this bank. Patrons lined up before the tellers’ windows, others hovered around tables, filling out deposit and withdrawal slips. Atlanta’s financially elite trusted this bank. Trusted Jolie.

She noticed Mr. Knox doing what he did best—mingling with the customers and promoting bank-client relations. He suddenly moved to one side, and the man with whom he was speaking came into full view. Jolie’s next breath caught in her throat. He was tall and breathtakingly handsome, with hair as dark as midnight worn in a short style that complimented his angular features. That bronzed complexion completed the heart-stopping picture.