“Well, then. Think about it. But think hard. I don’t want to see you crying later because of principles and morals.” His blue eyes flashed with an undefined emotion. He picked up an envelope from her desk and opened it, ending the argument.
Chapter 12
The City of London Bank Headquarters.
Tuesday, February 23rd, 2010.
8.30 p.m.
The building was virtually empty. Heavy footsteps on the marble floors echoed on the walls.
The tall, burly man knocked on the door, observing the dimly lit room he was standing in. Conservative. So unlike the man who owned it. He laughed inwardly, darkly amused. If he liked to gossip, half of London would be doomed.
The door opened and Alistair invited the man into his office.
“Good evening, Baptist. You worked quickly, as always.” His certainty about the detective’s capacity or professionalism remained unspoken.
“Mr. MacCraig, you know that my reports are the best in Britain,” he boasted. “I informed you before that Sophia Santo didn’t exist. And that the woman you were looking for was another person, had another identity.” He handed over the file he was carrying. “But, if I may say, this was one of the most difficult jobs I ever had. Challenging. The woman is an eel.”
Alistair motioned for the man to sit down, opened the file, and quickly scanned the information inside. “Something about her family, Gabriel Leibowitz, and Leibowitz Oil. More about the Sophia Leibowitz Foundation for Women and Children. So on and so forth. Mmm,” he stroked his jaw with two fingers and perused the pages. “What about her private life?”
“Nothing that is relevant. She’s a very private person. So was her late husband. However, Mr. MacCraig,” said the man with his polite, but firm voice, “I could say the same about you. There is a lot of information available about you, but nothing vital.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Although much could be discovered through your late wife.”
Fuck. Alistair’s temper flared. He thinned his lips and he hooded his eyes to conceal his anger. Fine lines appeared around of his eyes. “Maybe. Nonetheless, Baptist, I’m not paying you to investigate me. I know all there is to know about myself and my late wife.”
He leafed through the photos provided, some new, some old and paused at one from Sofia’s wedding. She was a beautiful bride. So young, so happy. “It’s not possible that she hasn’t left any clue, any hint that you could follow,” he murmured, turning over through the few pages of the file.
“If I were to give my personal opinion based on my research, I would say she had an uneventful and happy life until her husband’s kidnapping. She is well travelled, as you can see. Her family is important and rich, though not as much as Mr. Leibowitz’s. They were originally from the state of Minas Gerais and have farms, country houses, and many properties. I couldn’t find any serious boyfriends from before her wedding. She married very, very young and quickly. Her family emancipated her for it.”
That’s not good. “Was she pregnant?”
“I cannot confirm, but I’d say she was not.”
“Facts, facts, Baptist,” he prompt.
“Well, based on the lack of the evidence,” the man rephrased, “I think she was not.”
“What about Gabriel Leibowitz?”
“Basically business information. The age different between them was great. Many previous girlfriends, but nothing serious before his marriage. No paid sex, so my contact in Brazil couldn’t retrieve much information about his sexual preferences. He traveled around the world frequently, and he either took along his partners or he kept to himself. An easy man, excellent employer, highly praised businessman.”
“I see.” Jealous and angry, Alistair snorted. “The perfect gentleman. A man of honor.”
“So it seems,” Baptist concurred. “The perfect couple. The perfect family.”
“What about his death?”
“One more kidnapping case poorly handled,” he informed. “Too many mistakes made by those conducting the negotiations and, at the end, by the police. They procrastinated too much to pay the ransom. A misfortune.”
“So, this is all you’ve achieved.” He looked again at the meager folder.
“Unfortunately,” the burly man nodded. “She’s been even more evasive in the last two years. But I’ll seek out more information. Everyone has secrets, Mr. MacCraig.” A dark smile appeared on the man’s face. “I’ll discover hers, don’t worry.”
“Thank you, Baptist,” Alistair rose from his chair, “I will transfer the funds as agreed.”
“Mr. MacCraig, it has been a pleasure doing business with you as usual.” They shook hands. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out more.”
Alistair closed the door to his office and moved to one of the sofas of his office, drumming his fingers restlessly against the polished wooden surface of the side table, intrigued as much by the elusiveness of the woman as by his strange reactions to her.
As a CEO and majority shareholder of one of the biggest banks in the UK, he wielded a great deal of power. He owed his position entirely to his exceptionally sharp and quick mind, dispassionate observation of strategy, and ability to crush his and others’ feelings during any business transaction. Very few things moved him beyond his family.
In his entire life, the only time he let his feelings control him and relinquished his heart, he’d been betrayed and had lost the most important person in his life.
He opened the file again and turned to the last page-”Mysterious Woman Captures Elusive Alistair Connor MacCraig’s Heart.”
His bitter laugh echoed in the room. I have no heart. Not anymore. It is buried six feet under with Nathalie.
The tip of his left index finger traced the contour of Sophia’s face in the photograph. She was so different from the women he was used to going out with.
First of all, a brunette. And too young, too intelligent, too gentle and too… innocent. He mused on his choice of words. He shook his head hard. This is pure lust. It’s her resistance that beguiles me. It’s her control. It defies me. It’s her lack of fear that challenges me.
At Nathalie’s grave, he had made a promise never to let his lack of control allow his lust command him again. A growl filled his chest as he let go his wrath. Never more. Never.
He picked up the phone and dialed her number. Let’s finish this, once and for all. He tapped his finger on the table impatiently as he waited.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Leibowitz, please,” he almost barked.
“Who is calling?”
“Alistair Connor MacCraig,” he answered and breathed deep, struggling with his emotions.
“Just a minute, please, Mr. MacCraig.”
Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake sounded on phone.
He smiled.
And he frowned. Fuck, Alistair Connor. She’s driving you to obsession.
“Hello?” Sophia tried to sound nonchalant but her heart beat faster and her voice was breathless and husky.
“Sophia, it’s Alistair Connor. How are you?”
“Alistair, what a surprise.” Surprise? Here you go again, acting like an idiot, Sophia.
He chuckled inside but just said, “Sophia, on Thursday I’m supposed to go to the royal première of Alice in Wonderland at Leicester Square. You could go with me.”
She creased her brow in wonder. Is this an invitation or an order? “Oh,” Oh? Sophia, you are finishing a PhD. Can’t you do better? She breathed deeply, “Yes, that would be delightful, Alistair. Thank you. What time?”