He touched her gently, protectively, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. His thumb slid over her lower lip, sending a rush of desire straight through her.

Jolie looked into her dark savior’s eyes. He really had rescued her tonight. He was beautiful…like an angel straight from heaven, except he was dark and alluring.

“None of this makes sense. It’s crazy. Why would you risk your life for me?” she asked, filled with desperation and defeat.

He stared at her lips as she spoke, fighting the urge to press his own there, to comfort her and make her forget. “It doesn’t matter why.” He dragged his gaze upward to look directly into those jade pools of pure fear. “All you need to know is that I will.”

Her Secret Alibi
Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at age nine. Eventually she met and married the man of her dreams, and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners and working in a factory, a day-care center, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mysteries and movies for inspiration. In 1998 her dream of writing for Harlequin came true. You can write to Debra with your comments at P.O. Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Simon Ruhl—One of the Colby Agency’s finest investigators. He will stop at nothing to bring down the man who murdered his former partner.

Jolie Randolph—Is she losing her mind? Falling victim to the illness that plagued her mother? As betrayal threatens her very life, who can she trust?

Mr. Knox—The bank’s president and Jolie’s boss. He is concerned that perhaps the stress of Jolie’s new position is more than she’d bargained for.

Franklin Randolph—Jolie’s father. He has a secret of his own. Will that secret destroy his daughter?

Mark Boyer—He has worked with Jolie for years. She received the promotion he wanted. How far will he go to prove they chose the wrong person for the job?

Erica Thornton—An advertising executive and Jolie’s best friend. She wants to help…but can she before it’s too late?

Renae Felder—Jolie’s assistant. She has access to Jolie’s calendar as well as her files. Is she as loyal as she’d like Jolie to think?

Special Agent Johnson—An old friend of Simon’s in the FBI’s Atlanta office. He is willing to help out a friend, but he can’t look the other way when murder is involved.

Raymond “Big Ray” Brasco—The top mob boss in Atlanta. He doesn’t take no for an answer.

Ray Brasco Jr.—The boss’s son. He loves to play games, especially with the innocent.

Pierce “Max” Maxwell—Another agent from the Colby Agency. Max will provide backup and support for Simon. A former DEA agent, Max is always prepared.

This book is dedicated to a very special group of folks who have always been there whenever I needed them. I would like to thank the ladies and gentlemen, past and present, of Huntland Bank for their years of dedicated service and continued friendship. You have always added a special human touch to the business of banking.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Victoria Colby stared out the window of her fourth floor office and tried not to think about the past. She’d had a difficult time pushing it aside lately. It wasn’t like her to dwell on what she couldn’t change. Unfortunately, it grew increasingly harder to do what she’d once been so very good at. Forgetting.

If she lived a thousand years she would never be able to forget the man she’d loved, James Colby. He had been her true soul mate. A man of honor…of courage. So few existed these days, it seemed. Her thoughts went immediately to Lucas Camp. Yes, there was another very much like her James had been. Lucas was the epitome of a good man.

A part of her longed to share the rest of her days on this earth with him, especially after coming so close to losing him only a few months ago. She shuddered as she thought of that island and those long hours when she hadn’t known if Lucas was alive or dead. But something always made her hold back when it came to commitment, made her second-guess what her heart said. She did love Lucas, there was no denying that fact. Still, there was one thing that had prevented her from moving on with her life all these years.

James Colby, Jr. Her son.

She blinked, ruing the tears that never failed to surface when she thought of the little boy she’d borne. What good would her tears do? He was lost to her. If he were alive he would be a grown man now. She wondered if he would still look so much like his father. If he would be even half as honorable and courageous. If he were happy. If his life had been pleasant.

But most of all she wondered if he was alive. She’d waited all these years, hoping he was, and that he hadn’t forgotten her or the happy home they had shared. Hoping that he would come back someday.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. Most likely she would never know anything, and he wouldn’t come back. But nothing would stop her from hoping.

“You wanted to see me, Victoria?”

The sound of Simon Ruhl’s voice startled Victoria back to the here and now. She took a breath and composed herself before facing him. She had the agency. And she had her Colby agents—the very best in the business of private investigation. She had taken the agency her husband had started and gone all the way to the top. That was something. She did not have time to feel sorry for herself.

That realization galvanized her and she banished her troubling thoughts. They had a new case. One that was perfect for Simon Ruhl.

Victoria returned his smile and charged into work mode. “Please, have a seat, Simon. We have a new assignment to discuss.”

When they had settled, she began. “Jason Hodges is the head of the board of directors of Atlanta’s First International Bank.” She passed a folder to Simon for his perusal. “As you’ll see in there, he has a stellar record, as does his bank.”

She paused for a moment as Simon reviewed the contents of the file, then smiled when he looked up and asked, “What’s the problem?” Nothing got past Simon. As a former member of the FBI, he’d had intensive training for just this sort of case. He would know that no matter how neat and tidy things looked on the surface, a great deal of trouble could lie just beneath. His Ivy League education and refined manner were perfect.

“Mr. Hodges has a great many important friends, including a contact or two in the Atlanta division of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. One of his contacts has given him a heads-up that his bank is on the list to be investigated for possible money laundering.”

His expression thoughtful, Simon commented, “Raymond Brasco comes to mind.”

Victoria nodded. As she suspected, Simon had maintained his awareness of the top mob bosses affiliated with business in his former jurisdiction. When he’d worked for the Bureau, the Southeast had been a part of his territory. He was definitely the right man for this job.

“Mr. Hodges would like to determine if there is a problem, and if so, clear it up before it becomes a federal investigation. He has hired an outside auditing team. While the team evaluates the bank’s accounting practices, you’ll evaluate the employees. Being a member of this team will serve as your cover.”

Simon closed the folder and considered her words for a time. “Does Hodges suspect anyone?”

“Not really.” Victoria shrugged. “At least he didn’t admit to suspecting anyone in particular. He feels, however, that the most likely source for any such illegal activities would be in the international department, which is where he’d like you to start. The head of the department is a young woman named Jolie Randolph.” Victoria nodded to the folder. “There’s a photograph of her with some other employees at a Christmas party last year. Third from the left in the front row.”

Simon pulled out the photograph and located the woman mentioned. “She’s younger than I would have thought for a department head.”

“In my opinion,” Victoria offered, “her youth would certainly make her vulnerable. I believe…” Before she could stop it, the idea that if her son was alive he would be about that age zoomed into her mind. She blinked, then with effort pushed the thought away. “I believe she would be a good starting point.”

Simon’s dark, analyzing gaze collided with Victoria’s. “I agree,” he stated, as if he was fully focused on the conversation. But she felt his close scrutiny. He’d picked up on her distraction.

Annoyance flared, firming her resolve. She had to get her emotions under control. “Good.”

“I’ll get started right away,” he added as he pushed himself to his feet. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”

For a brief moment Victoria thought she noted a tightening in Simon’s expression. Perhaps she’d misread the subtle shift. She resisted the urge to massage the ache that had started at her temples. This wasn’t like her.

“That’s all,” she said quickly when she realized Simon was still waiting for her response.

After a succinct nod he left her office, closing the door behind him.

Victoria pounded her fist against her desk in frustration. She didn’t have time for this. She had an agency to run. She didn’t have time for the past.

The media had focused of late on several child abduction cases that hit entirely too close to home. That had to be the source of her problem. She had to find a way to keep her perspective. The past was gone; she couldn’t change it.

And no force on earth could bring her son back.

Chapter One

Awareness came slowly. Jolie’s head felt heavy and all fuzzy inside. Instinct warned that if she moved or opened her eyes pain would follow. But she had to wake up, had to move. She should be somewhere, doing something besides sleeping. If she could only wake up!

Gradually, her lids drifted open and she blinked rapidly against the brightness of the room. Focus came in unsteady stages until she could fully absorb her surroundings. The sun rising above the Atlanta skyline poured through the wall of windows facing her, spreading its light and warmth. Jolie frowned as her brain scrambled to place the images she saw. She was in bed. The sheets felt cool and smooth against her skin. What time was it? she wondered vaguely.

With her leaden body fighting her every inch of the way, she sat up, cleared her throat and pushed the hair from her eyes. Pain roared inside her skull. She moaned and held her head in her hands until the throbbing eased a bit. Another deeply entrenched instinct niggled at her, urging a response to some threat she couldn’t yet comprehend. She licked her dry lips and grimaced. The taste in her mouth was oddly bitter. She needed a drink of water desperately.

With monumental effort she threw off the sheet covering her and dropped her feet to the lushly carpeted floor. Jolie immediately regretted the move. The room spun wildly for a couple of seconds. God, she had a hangover! She stilled. But she didn’t remember getting drunk.

What day was it? She scowled and surveyed the enormous room and its lavish furnishings. From the elegant fringed and corded draperies drawn back to reveal the expansive windows, to the exquisite, dark wood furniture artfully placed about the room, the place reeked of wealth, but gave her no clue as to where in the world she was or how she had gotten there. Alarm trickled through her, but her fuzzy brain couldn’t yet work up an appropriate reaction.

She stood on wobbly legs and groaned as she rubbed at the steady pounding behind her eyes. She shivered uncontrollably, then froze. Slowly, denial screaming in time with the throb inside her head, Jolie stared down at herself.

Naked.

Outright panic shot through her veins. She was naked. She surveyed the room again. Where was she?

Her chest constricted with fear as she spun around, desperately seeking anything—just one thing—that would provide some shred of evidence as to where she was.

Nothing.

The rich burgundy of the walls and carpet set off the dark mahogany of the heavy furnishings. The generous windows were all that saved the room from being unpleasantly dark. A pair of upholstered chairs occupied one corner like sentries at designated posts. Exquisite paintings graced the walls. But none of it looked familiar. This had to be a friend’s place, Jolie reasoned with mushrooming dread. The alternative was unthinkable. She trembled at the conclusion forming in her lethargic mind.

Oh God. She swallowed convulsively. She wasn’t at a friend’s house. She didn’t have time for many friends. She worked too many hours at the bank. Jolie had only one real friend, Erica, and this was definitely not her apartment.

Jolie’s heart beat harder and faster, the blood thudding in her ears. The urge to flee was so strong now that her breath caught. Where was she? How did she get here? She felt confused and lost…

And frightened.

The sound of spraying water captured her attention, and bewildered, she turned toward the sound. An open door led to what appeared to be an en suite bathroom. Her feet had already taken her halfway across the room before the decision to move penetrated the dense cotton surrounding her brain. She stood stock-still in the doorway to the luxurious bathroom. An enticing, undeniably male fragrance scented the steamy air in the room. Stained glass window, huge sunken tub, gold fixtures and Italian tile all registered briefly, but it was the glass shower cubicle beyond all that to which Jolie’s attention was drawn. Her eyes widened in confused disbelief. A man stood beneath the spray, steam rising above him like a billowing cloud. Dark hair, broad, broad shoulders, muscular back. She jerked back a step when her gaze traced the tight, well-formed buttocks and long muscular legs. She pivoted and took a couple of shaky steps, reality crashing down around her.

Jolie shook her head in denial. Her stomach roiled and the breath evaporated in her throat. She had never gone home with a stranger.

Never. Never. Never.

Clothes. She needed her clothes. Adrenaline burned a path through her veins. She had to find her clothes and get out of here. The man wouldn’t stay in the shower forever. She needed to hurry!

Searching frantically, Jolie found her clothes scattered across a chaise longue, her shoes and purse on the floor nearby. She jerked on her panties and then the dress she had worn out to dinner last night. Dinner. Her hands stilled on the zipper at the small of her back. Flashes of memory slammed into her, making her dizzy again. Dinner with Erica at Carlisle’s. Music. Laughing. People coming and going.

Jolie searched her memory, struggled to remember. What had happened after that? Why couldn’t she remember leaving the restaurant? A new thought caused anxiety to twist in her stomach. Dinner with Erica had happened on Sunday night. That would make this Monday morning. She looked down at her left wrist and the gold watch she always wore. Eight-twenty. Her heart sank. She had forty minutes to get to work. And she didn’t even know where she was or how she had gotten here…

Or with whom.

Silence snapped Jolie back to the present. The soft hiss of water had stopped. Fear such as she had never known before welled in her throat. She stepped into her shoes, grabbed her purse and, without looking back, ran from the bedroom.

SIMON WATCHED FROM behind the tinted windows of his SUV as Jolie Randolph hurried up the front steps leading to Atlanta’s First International Bank. The short green skirt of her business suit showed off her exquisitely shaped legs a little too well for comfort. The fit of the matching jacket emphasized her slender figure. All that blond hair flowed around her shoulders like gleaming silk, making him want to thread his fingers through it. His groin reacted immediately at the thought. A muscle flexed in his tense jaw. Once Jolie disappeared through the towering ornate doors, Simon dragged his attention back to his cell phone.

“She just went inside.” He listened to the annoyed voice of his client on the other end of the line. “No, it won’t jeopardize anything,” Simon argued impatiently, his foul mood steadily worsening. “Jolie is the weak link. I’m certain of that now.” He tugged at the black tie around his neck. “I have an appointment with the bank’s president at noon. I’ll start applying the pressure right away.”

He glanced up at the second floor of the four-story building, pinpointing Jolie Randolph’s office. “Don’t worry, I’ve got everything under control.” Simon ended the call, then started the car’s engine. He cast another assessing glance at the bank and his lips formed a grim line. If Jolie Randolph thought she had problems now, she should think again. Simon was relatively sure she was in deep. Though he still had a few doubts—doubts that bothered him—she was at the top of his suspect list. But she wasn’t alone on that list.

A completely illogical anxiety needled him once more. He had to find a way to keep his objectivity on track here. He’d waited four long years for this opportunity. Whether Miss Randolph knew it or not, her nightmare had just begun.

“MISS RANDOLPH.”

Jolie cringed inwardly as she paused in her hasty retreat from the conference room and this morning’s status meeting. Despite her best efforts, she had been fifteen minutes late, and she hadn’t missed the concerned looks Mr. Knox, the bank’s president and her boss, had cast in her direction. She suppressed a weary sigh. There was nothing to do but pay the consequences. Producing her brightest smile, she turned and faced the older man.

“Yes, Mr. Knox?” She met his analyzing gaze head-on. “Was there something else you needed to speak with me about?”

Her boss drew in a decidedly long breath, crossed one arm over his chest and propped the elbow of the other on it so that he could stroke his chin. Jolie had the sudden, almost irresistible urge to tug at the collar of her blouse. She was still shaking inside from this morning’s episode. Three cups of strong black coffee hadn’t helped.

“Are you certain you’re feeling all right, Miss Randolph?” His bushy gray brows furrowed in concern. “Your new position isn’t proving more stressful than you anticipated?”

Jolie gritted her teeth behind her smile for about two seconds. She had received the long-anticipated promotion to vice president of investments just six months ago, and she loved it. Why did everyone, her own father included, have to be so worried about her ability to handle a little extra stress?

“Everything is fine, sir,” she said calmly. “Just running a little behind this morning.”

Mr. Knox tapped his cheek and studied her a moment longer. “You are the youngest vice president we’ve ever had here at First International,” he reminded her. “And a woman,” he added proudly. “Your well-being is of special interest to me, Miss Randolph.”

Jolie’s smile was genuine this time. She knew he meant well, however unnecessary his concern. “Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Knox smiled knowingly. “You earned this promotion, young lady, and I have complete confidence in you. Like father, like daughter.” With that, he turned and strode toward his own office at the far end of the hall.

Jolie released her pent-up breath when Mr. Knox was well out of hearing range. Only ten o’clock and the day had hit rock bottom already. With her own office just across the hall from the conference room, Jolie didn’t have far to go to find refuge. She closed the door and crossed to her desk. In spite of all that had happened, she stole a moment to admire her spectacular view. The entire back wall of her office was one big window.

Just like the bedroom she had slept in last night.

Dread pooled in Jolie’s stomach when she recalled the tense ride in the elevator to the first floor of the unfamiliar apartment building. Her heart had been pounding so hard by the time she’d reached the street and called a cab that she had been almost afraid she was going into cardiac arrest.

The entire episode was one big blur, and she barely remembered now what the building looked like. That was good, because she definitely wanted to forget the entire event. Oddly, she had found her car parked outside her own apartment building, though she specifically remembered driving it to dinner the night before to meet Erica. Had she gone home afterward? Then gone out again? Why couldn’t she remember? With no time to consider the puzzle further, Jolie had rushed into her apartment, showered and changed, then hurried to work. And still she was late for the weekly status meeting. She’d bet her father had never been late, not once. He’d retired as president of the bank almost six years ago, and he’d left large shoes for all others to fill—including Jolie.

Put all of it out of your mind, she ordered. Forcing away the frightening memories as well as the self-deprecating thoughts, Jolie tossed her datafax onto her desk, put away her purse and buzzed Renae, her assistant, to pass along her requirements for the morning. Jolie dropped into her high-back leather chair and closed her eyes for just a minute. To her dismay, in that brief moment of total relaxation, this morning’s few vivid mental pictures played through her weary mind. All images of the man. She shuddered at the thought that a stranger had touched her. She swallowed hard. How could she have allowed that to happen? She had been at dinner and…

Erica. She could call her friend. Erica would know what happened. But when her recorded voice came across the line, Jolie remembered that her friend had left early that morning for a business trip. She wouldn’t be back in Atlanta until late tomorrow afternoon.

Heaving another disgusted sigh, Julie settled the receiver back into its cradle. The vision of the man—naked, with water streaming over his sculpted body—ricocheted through her still somewhat groggy mind. She shivered. How could she have gone home with that man—been with him—and not remember it?

Fear gripped her, cutting off her breath, at the answer that echoed in her brain. She shook her head as if to deny the thought. She was not like her mother. No. That was not possible. She would never be like her. Her mother had been very ill. The last two years of her life had been a roller-coaster ride through the final stages of severe mental illness. Jolie swallowed hard. Living with her mother had been like living with two different people those last months. One had been the loving woman Jolie had known all her life, the other someone she barely recognized. But her mother had been too weak to fight the demons that had haunted her for far too many years to count. Jolie was strong. She was fine.

“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.

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