Bait by Karen Robards Read Free Book Online Page A

well, then ...
    Right. Reliable R Us, Maddie thought, turning off the taps and drying her hands on a paper towel. The show must go on and all that. She had always been good at compartmentalizing, and she would compartmentalize this, tucking it away to be examined in depth later. Popping in another pain-deadening throat lozenge, she grimaced at the Listerine-like taste even as she gave herself one last critical once-over in the mirror. Her hair was brushed into a sleekerthan-usual business-friendly bob. The slight bruise on her cheek had been camouflaged into near invisibility by a crafty combination of coverstick and blush, and the rest of her makeup was flattering but minimal. Her cream linen suit with its slim, knee-length skirt was resolutely conservative. The white silk shell beneath was the epitome of tastefulness. The beige pumps and shoulder bag continued the ladylike theme. The only jarring note in her understated ensemble was the bright blue-and-yellow silk scarf, grabbed on the fly from the hotel gift shop, that she had twined around her neck to conceal the ugly purple bruise that marred the front of her throat.
    Last night someone tried to kill me.
    A shiver raced down her spine as Maddie did her best to thrust the wayward thought back into the “I’ll worry about that later” compartment. Jon had reported that Susan Allen’s dominant emotion on being informed of what had befallen Creative Partners’s owner and CEO during the night had been dismay.
    â€œYou know, Mrs. B. is not real big on getting involved in her associates’ personal dramas,” the assistant had said doubtfully.
    A personal drama. That was certainly a unique way to look at just managing to escape a would-be ruthless killer by the skin of her teeth, Maddie thought with some asperity. But the bottom line was, Mrs. Brehmer just didn’t want to know, which was fine with Maddie. She didn’t want to know, either. Unfortunately, though, she had no choice: At some point she was going to have to face the reality of what had happened and deal with it.
    But not now. She was not going to think about it now. The unavoidable residuals of the attack—terror, panic, questions, decisions—all were going to have to be put on hold until later. Just for this morning, she was going to think about nothing except how much the Brehmer account mattered to her, to her employees, to Creative Partners as a whole, and go out there and do her best to wow the old witch. Or, um, make that wow the demanding-but-rich business owner who could put Creative Partners on the map with one stroke of her pen.
    As she held on to that view of the situation with dogged determination, Maddie shook off the shivers, picked up her briefcase, and exited the bathroom.
    Jon was standing where she had left him, among a milling group of people in business dress waiting over by the bank of gleaming brass-doored elevators, looking his usual handsome self in a navy suit, white shirt, and red power tie. He smiled at her, and she headed toward him, her sensible two-inch heels clicking on the terrazzo floor. The Hepburn Building was a fifty-story skyscraper located in the middle of one of New Orleans’s busiest commercial blocks. It was sleekly modern, an anachronistic new addition to a city that owed its fame to a decaying antebellum charm. Today the brown marble lobby was crowded, and the line at the security desk, where visitors were required to sign in, was growing longer by the minute. Two men, somewhat scruffy for such an elegant environment, were leaning over the counter, apparently holding up the proceedings as they carried on an intense conversation with the uniformed guard behind the desk.
    Even as she noticed them, the guard looked around. For an instant his gaze combed the shifting ranks of people waiting for the elevators, walking to and from the restrooms, visiting the small flower kiosk opposite the elevators. Then she must have made some