Ms. Taken

“I had to use someone from the secretarial pool. She made god-awful coffee.”

“I assume this story is leading somewhere?”

“Right. I was in the middle of a meeting with Riverside and his attorney, and this girl, this Jane, barged in. Just walked into the conference room like she owned the place.”

“Really?”

“She had a big bandage on her forehead. She looked as though she’d been in an accident. Or perhaps she’d been mugged. I’m not sure.”

“Did you call a doctor?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because she—”

“Yes?”

“She kissed me.”

“Pardon?”

“She kissed me. On the lips. In the conference room. She said she was Holly Baskin. That we were going to be married.”

Silence. No, not quite. Was that a muffled laugh? A slight tap on his door heralded Ms. Ayres and his aspirin, and Charles had swallowed the pills before David spoke again.

“This is a little tricky,” he said, finally.

“I know that. What I need to know is what to do. The woman took my credit card. God knows what she’s charging. I have to call the—”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t call the police or anyone else. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because we need more facts before we do anything.”

“Facts? I’ll give you a fact. A crazy woman is out in the city with my credit card.”

“Did she say anything?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“She said she had to pick up a few things and that…Oh, God.”

“What?”

“She said she’d meet me at my place. She took my keys, too.”

“Okay. So that’s where we’ll start.”

Charles heard papers shuffling. He wondered if he’d explained the seriousness of the situation adequately. The woman was nuts, and she had his credit card and the key to his home. And yet David didn’t seem unduly alarmed. In fact, his voice sounded utterly blasé when he said, “I’ll cancel my three. You clear the deck on your end. I’ll be at your place in half an hour.”

“Fine. Good.”

“And Charles?”

“Yes?”

“Order lunch, will you? I’m starving.”

Before Charles had a chance to tell David his request was completely inappropriate, David hung up.

Charles did the same. His gaze wandered to his bookshelves. The neat, orderly rows, the fine leather bindings. He liked the look of them, always had. He’d meant to go through them. Just last…last year he’d decided to go back to reading something other than the Wall Street Journal. He hadn’t, of course. The year had gone by in a blur of deals, of business lunches, of NASDAQ ups and downs. The company had grown, and the shareholders were going to see some healthy dividends. It was all as it was supposed to be. Only—

He shook himself out of his reverie and pressed the button for Ms. Ayres. He had to cancel his afternoon. All because of one little slip of a girl. He never should have hired her. Those curls of hers were a dead giveaway. She was trouble. Big trouble.

“I THINK WE SHOULD CALL the police.”

David shook his head. “It’s only four-thirty. Let’s give it till five.”

“By five, she could have wiped out Saks.”

“Charles, let me ask you something.” David leaned forward and pushed aside his beer so he could rest his hands on the dining room table. “Have you ever spoken to Jane?”

“Of course. She works for me.”

“I mean, have you spoken to her in a nonbusiness context?”

“No. Why would I?”

“Because you see her five days a week.”

“David, I don’t go in for that touchy-feely crap, and you know it.”

“I’m not asking if you’ve hugged her lately, just if you’ve talked. If you know anything about her.”

Charles massaged his temples, wondering what would happen if he took three more aspirin. Or maybe he should just have a drink. “I only know that up until today, she’d done an adequate job.”

“Have you ever heard of Pru Dobson?”

“The violinist?”