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He gave me a wry look. “But you and your mother are somewhat special cases, and we both know it.”
We did. Only he didn’t know just how special. Mom had been created in a madman’s lab, and while I was the result of a more conventional mating, my father was about as far from conventional as you could get.>“You won’t see me,” he countered. “But I will be there.”
And with that he disappeared again. I grimaced and grabbed my purse, slinging it over my shoulder as I headed down to the lobby to catch a cab.
I arrived at Chrome a couple of minutes past seven. The place was packed even though it was Wednesday, the music pumping and the air rich with the warm scent of alcohol and humanity. I squeezed my way toward the long chrome bar that ran the length of the rough brick wall to the left of the door and found Jak perched on one of the red-cushioned stools down the far end.
He turned as I approached, but his quick smile of greeting faded abruptly. “You look like shit,” he said, catching my hand to steady me as I perched on the stool next to him. “Are you okay?”
“It’s nothing a gallon of beer won’t fix.” I ignored the reminiscent side of me that wanted to enjoy his touch and gently pulled my fingers from his.
“Already done,” he said, sliding a tankard my way. “What happened?”
“Fell off my bike.” I shrugged and took a drink.
He watched me, eyes slightly narrowed, obviously suspecting there was more to the story than what I was saying. “And the Ducati?”
“Alive but dented. What did you want to see me about?”
His wry smile made my insides twist. God, how I just wished that part of me would get over it. But that, it seemed, was not to be.
“Straight down to business, huh?”
“It’s the only reason I’m here, Jak.”
He snorted softly. “Well, I’m afraid there’s more bad news than good.”
Of course there was. Fate wasn’t likely to give me only good news now, was it? “So hit me with it.”
“As you are aware, John Nadler is an extremely elusive man. He has an office in Collins Street, but is rarely ever there, and while he owns a house in Brighton, none of his neighbors can tell me the last time they saw him.”
“Well, he’s not a ghost, because the heirs of both James Trilby and Gavin Appleby are suing the consortium for a bigger piece of the money pie, and a ghost generally can’t hire lawyers or appear in court.”
“Ah, but he hasn’t yet appeared in court—and won’t, because the case settled out of court yesterday.”
I frowned. “Even if the lawyer handled the settlement, surely Nadler has to appear to sign the papers.”
“He may have to sign the papers, but he didn’t actually have to appear at the meeting to do that. Apparently Frank Logan—the lawyer in question—was meeting Nadler at two today to do all the official stuff, but the meet wasn’t at the office.”
I raised my eyebrows. “And you know this how?”
“Because I talked to the secretary.”
And no doubt raided her mind in the process. It was the only way he’d get that sort of information. I couldn’t imagine someone who had Nadler as a client employing anyone who gave out confidential information, however minor.
“So we have nothing.”
“Not exactly nothing.” A waiter went past and filled up the nearby nut bowl. Jak snagged it and pushed it between us. “We still have the lawyer.”
I scooped up some peanuts. “You’ve made an appointment to talk to him?”
Jak snorted. “The man charges like a wounded bull. On my salary, I can’t even afford his first-appointment rates.”
“So you want me to go talk to him?”
“Well, yes and no—and this is where the good news comes in. He’s apparently going to be at the Financial Markets Foundation for Children gala tomorrow night. I want you to get us tickets.”
Go to a ball with Jak? I wasn’t sure that was a good idea—not when he looked so damn good in black tie. “Mom supported a lot of charities, but I can’t recall the foundation being one of them. And I doubt I could ring up at the last moment and get tickets.”
