Her Secret Alibi

“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.

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.

Who was this man? she wondered briefly, before she found her voice to answer. Why had he been in the bank today? What had he and Mr. Knox been discussing? And why was he here now? The other tangle of troubles flitted through her mind all over again, as well. Missing money…missing hours. Had last night’s disaster started with her talking to some stranger?

Probably.

Jolie firmed her resolve and stared defiantly at the sinfully handsome man. “I hate to injure your pride, sir, but if we’ve met before it proved unmemorable.” Damn it, she fumed. Did she look that easy? She never had before.

A slow smile slid across those firm, full lips, making the man even more handsome, if that was possible, but only adding to her growing frustration. If she had ever seen that smile before she would indeed remember it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “My name is Simon.” He held out his hand. “And you are?”

Jolie looked from those mesmerizing eyes to his hand and back. His charm proved far too potent to resist. She placed her hand, however hesitantly, in his. Long, tapered fingers closed around hers, and just like earlier today, something passed between them. Heat and something more. Something she couldn’t quite define.

“Jolie Randolph,” she heard herself say.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jolie Randolph.” Before she knew what he intended, he bent slightly and lifted her fingers to his lips. The kiss was nothing more than the faintest brush of his mouth, but the effect was devastating.

He smiled again, this time at her startled expression. It was as if he fully realized the effect he had on her. “As I said, you’re much too beautiful to be sitting here all alone.”

Jolie tugged her fingers free of his. Her skin was on fire where his lips had touched her. This was ridiculous. He was a stranger. The image of the man in the shower this morning flitted through her mind’s eye. The last thing she needed was another stranger in her life! “You should choose another pickup line, Mr….”

“Ruhl,” he told her, his gaze never leaving hers. “Simon Ruhl. And you haven’t answered my question, Miss Randolph.”

Jolie sipped her wine, taking a much-needed break from his intense gaze and pretending to consider his offer. Why was she encouraging him? Flirting, that’s what she was doing. She should simply ignore him so he would leave. “Actually, Mr. Ruhl, I only want a quiet dinner alone.” She allowed her gaze to meet his once more. Lord knew she already had enough trouble. And this man had trouble written all over his amazing face.

His eyes were too knowing and offered a most tempting escape. “You look like a lady who could use someone to talk to, Jolie.”

The way he said her name, the way the French intended, made her tremble. What was it about this man? “Mr. Ruhl—”

“Simon,” he insisted.

She focused on the pale amber liquid in her glass for a time. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good company.”

Simon sat down across from her. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” he said quietly, soothingly.

She should have been incensed that he took such liberty, but instead she looked into those dark eyes and for one moment wanted to believe that this man, this stranger, cared. What the hell? she decided. She had nothing better to do. The thought of going to prison for embezzlement, or worse, skittered through her mind. But not tonight, she decided suddenly. Definitely not tonight. She’d had enough stress for one day. Time to relax and just be. She needed to forget for a little while. Just for tonight.

Tonight she intended to put her troubles out of her head. She was going to chat with Simon. She had every intention of finding out who he was and what business he’d had in her bank today. She smiled at her companion. Why not? It certainly sounded better than sitting here beating herself up for what she couldn’t explain. His answering smile sent her heart into overdrive, immediately short-circuiting whatever her next thought should have been.

Simon gestured to the waiter and ordered a glass of wine for himself, and another for her. “So.” He turned that intense focus fully on her then. “What would make such a pretty lady look so sad?”

Boy, he didn’t beat around the bush. Sad, huh? Jolie supposed it would be impossible to conceal the life-altering events of her day. But she wasn’t about to tell him her personal business. Besides, she was supposed to be getting her mind off that subject.

“Bad day at the office,” she hedged as she fingered the stem of her glass. “Speaking of which…” her gaze moved back to his “…do you come to my bank often?”

“I never mix business with pleasure,” he answered, doing a little hedging of his own. Then he closed his hand around hers, effectively stilling her restless fingers and completely derailing her thoughts. “And I’m a good listener, Jolie.”

The words startled her for a moment, but the desperation twisting inside her made her weak. She wanted to believe the sincerity in those beautiful brown eyes more than she had ever wanted to believe anything in her entire life. What did that make her?

Reckless? Maybe. Definitely desperate.

“Tell me, Simon,” she said suddenly, not taking the time to analyze what she was going to say, “Do you think we become our parents?” Regret and fear rocketed inside her. She had loved her mother; how could she want to banish her memory? But she did. Jolie wanted to pretend it all away. To act as if it had never happened.

Something resembling concern flickered in his penetrating gaze. “No,” he said emphatically.

“No?” Jolie studied his handsome face for some hint of what he might be thinking. It was as if he knew what she wanted to hear, but how could he?

“Absolutely not,” he said resolutely. “We’re all unique. There’s no one else in the whole world like you, Jolie.” He tasted his wine. “No one,” he added softly. His thumb caressed her hand in a most distracting manner.

She stiffened her spine against the delightful shivers he inspired, and drew her hand away. “You don’t believe in the sins of the father—or mother—and all that jazz?”

He shook his head slowly. “We choose our own path. Nothing is preordained.”

Jolie lifted her glass to her lips, her hand feeling suddenly cold without his warm touch. She drank deeply, then smiled at the man watching her so very intently.

“I hope you’re right, Simon.” She licked her bottom lip, then chewed it thoughtfully for a second or two. “I really hope you’re right.”

“Tell me about you,” he insisted, the words laced with silky charm. “Why don’t you tell me everything about Jolie Randolph?”