one more reason to head north as soon as possible.”
“That’s something I don’t understand at all,” Jim admitted. “Why you bought that miserable excuse of a bank—it’s been losing money for years—just so you can freeze your tail off in Seattle.”
“California lost its sparkle for me quite a while ago,” Kane muttered tersely, then softened his tone as he caught the wounded look in Jim’s eyes. “You know of course about Krista. The doctor thinks a change of climate would be good for her. As soon as I have a permanent residence, I’ll send for her.”
A personal question died on Jim’s lips as he noticed the sober tone of Kane’s final words. He hadn’t gotten to be vice president of Consolidated Finances by asking questions that were none of his business. He’d heard the rumors associated with Kane: a glamorous ex-wife, a sticky divorce and an unfortunate accident. But Jim had never pried. He was too interested in self-preservation to open doors that Kane preferred locked.
Kane pushed the manila envelope into his briefcase along with a small portrait of his daughter. He paused for a minute and looked at the eager young face before tucking the picture into a side pocket in the leather case. That accomplished, he snapped the briefcase closed.
“The moving company will take care of the rest of this litter,” Kane observed, looking around his office for one last time. “If you need to get in touch with me, Carla has the number of my hotel in Seattle.”
“Good luck,” Jim said, clasping Kane’s hand warmly.
“Let’s hope I don’t have to rely on luck!” With a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Kane walked out of his office for the last time.
* * *
The early-model Volkswagen Rabbit skidded to an abrupt halt, splashing dirty rainwater from the street up onto the sidewalk. The driver of the little yellow car was a slim, striking woman who pulled the emergency brake, slung her purse over her shoulder and slammed the car door shut without taking the time to lock it. She hastened through the damp September evening toward the cozy Irish bar.
There was a determined and slightly mysterious gleam in her large eyes as she hiked her raincoat up and clutched the collar tightly to her throat. Sidestepping a puddle of water as if it were second nature, she pushed her way through the stained-glass door of the restaurant.
The familiar interior was dark, but Erin’s eyes became quickly accustomed to the dim lighting and the air thick with cigarette smoke. Loud, tinny music was coming from a rather bedraggled-looking band reminiscent of the late fifties.
Unconsciously Erin wiped away a few drops of rain that still lingered on her cheeks, while she moved her gaze over the Friday night throng of customers that was heralding the beginning of what promised to be another rainy Seattle weekend.
Appreciative glances and admiring smiles followed her movements, but she ignored everyone other than the distinguished man of about fifty sitting before the polished bottles and the mirrored backdrop of the bar. Erin’s eyes met his in the reflection, and for a moment a dark, guarded look crossed over his distracted blue eyes. Finally he smiled tightly and motioned for her to take the vacant stool at his side.
“Mitch,” Erin sighed almost gratefully. “What on earth are you doing here?”
He hesitated, and in that instant, any warmth in his eyes faded. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Olivia Parsons thought you might be here,” Erin replied. Her smile disappeared at the thought of the leggy brunette.
“Oh, I see. Dear old Livvie,” Mitch mumbled sarcastically. “Your friend and mine! Here’s to friendship.” He waved his glass theatrically in the air and signaled to the bartender for another drink. “What can I get you, Erin?”
“Nothing,” Erin whispered, trying to keep the conversation as quiet as possible and yet be heard over the din of the band.
“Nothing?” he echoed, mimicking her. “Not going to join me for old times’ sake?”
“What are you talking about and why are you here?” she asked, confused by his cynical attitude. Where was the kind man with the soft voice and the dry sense of humor whom she had known for over eight years? Mitch didn’t bother to answer her questions. He seemed intent on evading the issue, but she persisted. “Mitch, what are you doing here?”
“What does it look like?”
“It looks suspiciously like you’re getting smashed,” she replied honestly.
“Very astute, young lady. I always did say that you were a smart girl,