Recluse (Wolfes of Manhattan 2)

“You don’t think it was James Jones, though?”

“No. That I definitely would have remembered. It just came to me while Rock and I were eating, and we had a documentary on TV.”

“Narrated by James Earl Jones?”

“No, someone with an English accent, actually. But you know how things just remind you of something and then pop into your mind, right? That’s what happened. I’d watched a documentary, I can’t even remember what it was about, the night before, and James Earl Jones’s voice was in my head, and I saw the name James on the page.”

“James,” Reid said. “James. Who did Dad know named James?”

“Probably about a million people,” Rock said. “But at least it’s a start.”

“Someone with whom he’d be entering into some kind of confidential settlement under the table,” Reid said. “That might narrow it down a little. I know most of his business contacts.”

“Any named James?” Lacey asked.

“Several that I can think of offhand, and I’m sure there are more. I guess I start making calls.”

“James,” Charlie said softly. “I always liked that name. It sounds so strong and regal.”

I smiled. She was sweet.

“Of course,” she went on, “we have the most regal name of all right here in this room. You know that Roy means king, don’t you?”

I nodded. “In French. Yeah.”

Rock and Reid both stared at me.

“What?” I finally said.

Rock cleared his throat. “Okay, so Reid’s going to search for contacts named James. You might want to add Jim, too.”

Jim.

I jerked my head.

Jim.

Father Jim.

And I knew who we were looking for.35CharlieRoy went white.

I stopped myself from showing my surprise.

No one else seemed to notice. Was it possible I already knew this man better than his own brothers did?

I itched to touch him, to soothe him, offer him comfort. Comfort for what?

Why had he tensed up? Gone pale?

Rock and Reid kept talking, Lacey adding bits and pieces as well, but I’d stopped listening. I focused on Roy, his needs, though I had no idea what those needs actually were.

My phone buzzed, and I nearly jumped out of my seat.

“Everything okay?” Lacey asked.

“Yeah, fine. It’s just…the pizza’s here. I’ll go down and get it.”

Roy stood then. “I’ll go with you.”

I nodded, and the two of us left the conference room.

When we stepped into the elevator, I flashed back to the first time Roy and I had gone downstairs to pick up food. Only days had passed, but it almost felt like a lifetime. So much had happened since then.

He didn’t talk. We just descended—

Right as we hit the first floor, he fell against the wall, grasping at the small railing inside the elevator.

“Roy! Are you okay?”

He nodded. “I was just thinking about…”

“About what?”

“About one time. In an elevator.”

I’d been in an elevator with him several times. Never had I seen a reaction like this one.

“You okay?” I asked. “You want to wait here, and I’ll get the pizza?”

He shook his head. “I’m okay.”

We walked together through the lobby and to the locked doorway. We grabbed the pizzas from the delivery guy and then locked back up.

“Still warm,” I said. “Good. I’m starving.”

“I’m sorry about our dinner,” Roy said.

“Why? It wasn’t your fault, and this is important. We need all the information we can get to figure out who’s responsible for your father’s murder.”

He nodded and then walked away from me…and toward the painting that had caught my eye my first morning here.

I followed him, standing a few feet behind him. “It’s so beautiful,” I said.

“The key,” he said softly.

“What?”

He turned to me, his dark eyes taking on an almost wild look.

“The key,” he said again. “I think I may have found it.”

“The key?” I wrinkled my brow. “Oh, right.”

I stared at the painting. The first time I’d seen it, I’d told him I sensed something hidden, and I was looking for a key. “You said there isn’t one.”

“But there is now,” he said, his voice taking on a faraway sound.

“Where? Where is the key, Roy?”

He pointed to his head. “In here.”

He said nothing more as he walked to the elevator. I followed him in silence. We ascended in silence.

When we returned to the conference room, I handed out the pizza on paper plates.

Roy didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting.I ended up at my own place that evening.

Roy hadn’t invited me to his place, and I hadn’t invited him to mine. I sensed that he needed to be alone. Could I have been wrong? Possibly, but not likely.

My tummy was sticking out from overindulgence in the pizza. It was so late, and I’d been so hungry that I’d gorged on four pieces. Now I had a night of indigestion ahead of me.

I rooted around for the Pepto-Bismol, Roy’s painting never leaving my mind.

The key.

The key was in his head.

I was right. Roy was hiding something. Maybe he hadn’t realized he was hiding it. Now he knew.