Change of Heart Read online

  He knew he’d never seen anything more delicious-looking in his life.

  “Was that a call to Frank, your mom, Pilar, or Jeff?” she asked without looking up. “Or was it the prez?”

  “Dad. Jeff seems to have a girlfriend and the president is busy. Pilar is—”

  “Is sick of you.”

  “Is she?” Eli asked. “Is that why you weren’t jealous of her? By the way, Jeff fixed all that up,

  not me.”

  “Of course he did. You have the hot body but a lack of interest in the mating ritual, while Jeff is the opposite.”

  What she’d said was so ridiculous that Eli laughed. “You and Jeff would get along well. He wants to do a soul exchange and put himself in my body. But of course my body would deteriorate without consistent exercise—which he hates. Move over.”

  He sat down on the bed beside her and leaned over to look at the screen.

  “You should take a shower,” she said. “You smell like smoke.”

  “What artificial scent does your polo player use?”

  “I’m not telling. Look what I found.” She turned the screen around. There was a newspaper article about the suicide of Gilbert Ridgeway, one of the partners of Longacre Furniture.

  “Suicide?” Eli was frowning. He took the computer from her and began typing. In minutes he’d brought up an official coroner’s report on Gil Ridgeway.

  “You have access to files like this?”

  “Yes. He hanged himself and his wife, Grace, found him.” Eli set the computer back on Chelsea’s lap, put his arms behind his head, and leaned against the headboard.

  “Out with it,” she said. “I can see the wheels in your brain working. What did you and your dad talk about?”

  “Besides you? He’s going to have some people look into the finances of the two furniture stores.”

  “And the other businesses?”

  He looked at her.

  “You’re not the only one who can use a computer. Longacre Furniture is a subsidiary of a larger corporation. They own several businesses around Virginia. A car wash, a couple of motels that look pretty sleazy, six liquor stores, and a few other things. And poor Orin and his dying wife—you know, the babe in the blue blouse—own an apartment in New York on Central Park South and a house in the Caymans.

  As she spoke, Eli’s eyes grew wider. “You didn’t find this on Google.”

  Chelsea shrugged. “I have contacts too. So what are we going to do about this?”

  “Nothing. Dad will take care of it through legal channels. It’s not for you and me.”

  “Okay,” she said as she put the laptop on the bed, and started to get off it.

  Eli caught her arm but Chelsea didn’t look at him. “I thought maybe we might go back to Edilean and see if we could help Grace and Abby.”

  “By doing what?”

  “I don’t know, but maybe Robin and Marian could figure out how to get a dress for Abby. You have any idea what teenage girls wear to a prom?”

  Chelsea turned halfway toward him. “What about Grace?”

  “I bet we could find her a better job than whatever she has now.”

  “Maybe when Pilar quits, Grace could take over.”

  “That would take a year or more of security clearance. And if her husband committed suicide because he was involved in something illegal, and his business partner is a criminal, that’s going to take even longer.”

  Chelsea had turned all the way around and was glaring at him. “Do you have any romance in you at all? Or have you become some muscle-bound, soulless machine?”

  Eli didn’t reply to that, but slowly sat up straight, then reached out and pulled her down to the bed. Before she could reply, he put his lips on hers.

  He’d meant it to be a sort of demonstration kiss, but the moment his lips touched hers, he knew this was what he’d been waiting for. This woman was the reason he’d paid little attention to other women.

  Her mouth opened under his, her arms went around his neck and pulled him closer. Their tongues met. Years of longing, of understanding, of memories, flowed through them.

  It was Chelsea who broke away, turning her head to one side. “Go,” she whispered. “Leave me.”

  Eli rolled off the bed and got in the shower—a cold one.

  The next morning, by the time they’d had breakfast and packed—and Chelsea had taken a second shower and blow-dried her hair—it was late when they got to the furniture store. Frank had texted one word, RICHMOND, and that’s where they went.

  They had to park at the back of the big lot because the rest of it was full of vehicles with FBI and IRS painted on the side. Men and women in lettered jackets were carrying file boxes and computers out of the furniture store.

  “I think we should go,” Eli said. “We don’t want to get mixed up in this.”

  “Your dad certainly knows the right people. Do you think they arrested Orin?”

  “They can’t until they find some evidence against him.”

  She looked at Eli. “Did you tell your dad that we have proof of what he’s been doing? There’s the old house and the beat-up old car and how he took three hundred dollars from his former business partner’s wife.”

  “Not one of those is a criminal activity. A jury would see him as a sleaze but you can’t put a man in jail for that.”

  “So Grace is on her own?”

  “’Fraid so,” Eli said. “Let’s go back and see what we can do to help her. I bet Abby could use a makeover. You could put black stuff on her eyelids.”

  Chelsea glared at him. “Why are you trying to get me away from here?” Before he could answer, she hurried forward, making her way toward the storefront.

  Eli went after her, but he was hindered by half a dozen men who stopped to stare at Chelsea. But then, she was smiling her way through the crowd so that no one questioned her.

  A few feet from the front door, she stopped beside an IRS van and stood there watching.

  Just as Eli feared, Orin Peterson was there talking to two men wearing FBI jackets. He had on one of his hand-tailored suits and looked very different from the down-and-outer they’d seen in the diner.

  “He’s not being arrested,” Chelsea said when Eli got to her. “And he doesn’t look afraid at all.”

  “My guess is that if he has incriminating evidence, it’s hidden. Or maybe there is none. Maybe he only lies to his ex-partner’s wife. Maybe she turned him down and he wants to get her back.” Eli was standing behind Chelsea and put his hands on her shoulders. “We need to go.”

  “What are you—” She broke off because Orin looked up and saw the two of them. At first his face showed only appreciation for a pretty girl, but when he saw Eli, recognition came to him.

  For a split second, his dark eyes glowed with such hatred that it sent chills through both of them.

  “He’s guilty,” Chelsea said.

  Eli’s hands clamped down on her shoulders and led her away. At the end of the van, he took her hand firmly in his.

  “What a great poker player he must be,” Chelsea was saying even as Eli pulled her at a near run. “He did that act with poor Grace with such sincerity. His tears! Remember them?”

  Eli nearly pushed her into the passenger seat, got in the other side, and drove out of the parking lot.

  “Why do you think he went to such an elaborate scam with that old house and the story of his dying wife? What does he want from Grace? Or what is he afraid she’ll find out?”

  “I have no idea,” Eli said. “I think we need to stay out of this. You can get a dress for the girl and send it to her.”

  She looked at him. “So what’s spooked you?”

  “A gut feeling,” Eli said. “And the look in that man’s eyes when he recognized us. He knows we had something to do with this raid.”