Her Secret Alibi

She couldn’t recall ever having seen a man quite so handsome. His black suit fitted so well it had to have been tailored just for him. She frowned. Why simply staring at a good-looking man should make her heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings she couldn’t fathom. She gave her head a little shake and silently scolded herself for behaving so foolishly.

At precisely that moment the man’s eyes met hers. Time suddenly stood still. The customers, the sounds around them faded into insignificance. There was only Jolie and this stranger looking at her so intently, as if he knew her and they shared some secret. As if…he wanted her. Jolie had the oddest feeling that they had met before. She tried to think of where or when, but couldn’t perform the necessary cognitive function. She could only stare into those dark eyes. A restless sensation started deep in her belly and spread outward, making her too warm beneath the silk of her two-piece suit.

“Jolie, there’s an urgent overseas call for you.”

She whirled abruptly, almost relieved at the summons. Renae’s expression was as anxious as her own must certainly be flustered. Jolie’s cheeks burned with embarrassment when it dawned on her that she had blatantly stared at the man, would still be doing so if Renae hadn’t interrupted. She closed her eyes to banish the image that continued to linger there. She just couldn’t concentrate today.

“Hurry, Jolie, he says it’s imperative that he speak to you.” Renae thrust out a note.

“I’m coming,” she muttered, taking the piece of paper and starting toward her office. She had every intention of going straight there, but hesitated, glancing one last time at the place in the lobby where the stranger had stood.

He was gone. She dismissed the peculiar feeling of connection and hurried back to her office.

Taking a second to catch her breath, she inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. Once more and she was ready. Boy, she was a real mess this morning.

“Good afternoon, Mr.—” Jolie glanced at the note Renae had shoved into her hand “—Millard, this is Jolie Randolph. How may I help you?” She frowned at the words First Royal Cayman Bank scribbled beneath the caller’s name.

“Miss Randolph,” the man began in a thick, distinguished accent. “I was most concerned when I received your latest deposit transfer without the usual instructions.”

Deposit transfer? Jolie wrinkled her forehead in a frown. At a Cayman bank? That was impossible. “I’m sorry, Mr. Millard, are you referring to an account belonging to a client of this bank?” She considered crossly that it might be something new Mark was involved in. It would be just like him to leave her in the dark.

“No, no, mademoiselle, I’m referring to your personal account.”

Jolie almost laughed out loud. “My personal account? I’m sorry, there must be some mistake.”

“Mistake? There is no mistake. You make a transfer twice per month, and always with precise instructions as to your wishes.” He cleared his throat impatiently. “Now, may I have your instructions?”

Ice formed in Jolie’s stomach. This was wrong. It had to be a mistake. She didn’t have a foreign account. She never made personal transfers of an international nature—with or without instructions. Her heart slammed mercilessly against her rib cage.

“Miss Randolph?”

Jolie shook her head in denial of the question she was about to ask. But she had to know. “Would you give me a balance on the account, please, Mr. Millard?”

Jolie slumped back in her leather chair when he recited a number just shy of one and a half million dollars. The room shifted around her, and for one long moment Jolie thought she would faint. This was insane. It had to be some ridiculous mistake.

“You’ve made six deposit transfers since setting up the account in person just three months ago,” he added, obviously miffed that she had no recall of the transactions.

She couldn’t deal with this now. It couldn’t be happening. She had never been to the Cayman Islands, much less set up an account at their most prestigious bank. She had to end this call. She had to think. Jolie drew in a harsh, steadying breath and interrupted the man’s continued protests that he had her signature on file, and other personal data. “Mr. Millard,” she said stiffly, “I apologize for the misunderstanding. Please handle my latest transfer as you did the previous one.” She had no idea what that meant, but it seemed to appease the man. “Refresh my memory, if you would, regarding my other deposits.”

Ten minutes later, Jolie dropped the receiver back into its cradle. She felt numb. This was crazy. She couldn’t have taken a trip, set up a foreign bank account and transferred more than a million dollars into it without remembering….

Could she?

A memory surfaced with gut-wrenching swiftness. Of her mother swearing to her father that she hadn’t bought the clothes and jewelry he’d found hidden in her closet. She’d sworn she hadn’t made the unexplainable charges to credit cards amounting to thousands of dollars. Someone else had done it. Why wouldn’t anyone believe her?

Jolie wet her lips and shook her head. No. That wasn’t happening to her. She wasn’t like her mother. She closed her eyes to hold back the tears. She had loved her mother so, but she wasn’t like her. Jolie wasn’t ill. She was fine. Just fine.

She swiped the moisture from her eyes and took a deep, bolstering breath. She surveyed her office, taking solace in the numerous plaques and other accolades that adorned the two side walls. She was not her mother. This was some sort of mistake and Jolie would straighten it out. Then she would put this entire deplorable day behind her.

Lunch would just have to wait.

ONE POINT FOUR MILLION dollars. The amount deposited in the Cayman bank was exactly the amount missing from the client accounts Jolie personally maintained. Each discrepancy, date of withdrawal and amount matched a deposit transfer to the First Royal Cayman Bank.

Long after the bank had closed Jolie sat staring at the figures. She pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temples and closed her eyes. There was no explanation for it. The money was simply gone.

Oh God.

Another wave of near hysteria washed over her. The audit. She had to undo this damage before anyone noticed. She winced. Renae had already found one discrepancy. What if she discovered the rest before Jolie could fix everything? She would never be able to smile at her assistant and assure her that it was a simple input error.

Okay, she told herself, squashing the panic exploding inside her. She could take care of this. It was late now. She needed a clear head and a fresh start to undo this sort of damage. First thing tomorrow morning, Jolie would redeposit all the money back into her clients’ accounts. She would close the Cayman account and pretend it had never happened.

But it did happen, a little voice mocked.

She pushed herself out of her chair and grabbed her purse. She had to get out of here. Maybe she could reach Erica at her hotel in St. Louis. Jolie needed a plan. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she would work the problem out. This time next month, when the audit was over, this whole nightmare would be just a bad memory.

She hesitated at the door as a vague image flashed in her mind’s eye—the fleeting impression of a man. She stood very still for a time and attempted to recapture the fragment of memory, but couldn’t. God, she was tired.

She turned off her light and locked the door behind her. Everyone else had gone home already. A quiet dinner was just what she needed. But she didn’t really want to go home right now. Her place would be too empty, allowing too many questions to haunt her.

The night watchman let Jolie out the side entrance, the one closest to her car. In her haste this morning, she hadn’t bothered parking it in the garage. She’d never been to Lebron’s for anything other than lunch, but it was handy and familiar, so she decided to head there now. She glanced up at the September night sky and its winking stars, and forced herself to relax. Tomorrow would be better.

It couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Chapter Two

Jolie strolled the two blocks to Lebron’s Restaurant. Neon lights flickered and flashed, competing with the streetlamps and passing car lights. She felt better already just being away from her office. Later, when she got home, she would call her dad, just to hear his voice. Everything was going to be okay.

She was okay.

There had to be an explanation for all that had happened.

Lebron’s night manager showed Jolie to a table in the back, where it was quiet. She thanked him and ordered a glass of white wine from the waiter standing by. In an effort to quell the compulsion to fidget, she folded her hands in her lap and waited patiently for her drink.

She was fine, she assured that little voice that lingered in the back of her mind. The whole thing could be straightened out. Mistakes happened. This had to be a mistake. There simply was no other explanation.

Jolie shifted to a more comfortable position, then stretched her neck from side to side. Despite her efforts to relax a prickly sensation rushed over her skin. She knew the signs. Panic was bearing down on her. She inhaled a long, deep breath and then exhaled slowly. She was okay, she told herself again. She’d had panic attacks before…occasionally. All she had to do was focus on relaxing and she could stop it before it went any further.

In the beginning, her mother had taken medication for anxiety and panic attacks. Eventually even that hadn’t helped. Jolie shook her head. This wasn’t the same. She didn’t need medication. She wasn’t like her mother.

The memory of waking up in a strange man’s bed broadsided her, and she jerked helplessly. The strange call at the office Renae had mentioned, the numerous accounts with discrepancies… The trip she didn’t remember taking—hadn’t taken! The personal account at a Cayman Bank she couldn’t possibly have opened—all of it whirled inside her head. Jolie closed her eyes and resisted the urge to scream or cry or both. How could this be happening? She had worked so hard. She was just beginning to see the fruits of her labor. The promotion, the professional recognition—she was on her way. She was the youngest VP ever. All of which she had accomplished on her own, after her father had retired. Why did this have to happen now? Tears stung behind her closed lids.

The waiter arrived. Jolie snapped her eyes open and managed a strained thank-you as he set her wine before her. She reached for the delicate stemmed glass, but her hand shook so badly that she dropped it back onto her lap beneath the table. She blinked back the tears. She would not cry. She would not fall apart. She was stronger than that…stronger than her mother. She would fix this somehow.

“A beautiful lady should never dine alone.”

Jolie’s head shot up. Her gaze connected instantly with the dark, mesmerizing eyes of the man she had seen in the bank’s lobby earlier that day. For one second she wondered if her mind had somehow conjured him up. No…he was real and somehow familiar. Heat flowed through her, vanquishing the ice-cold dread and panic threatening to choke her.

“May I join you?” he asked in a deep, velvety voice that touched some chord deep inside her.