Page 21 of The Forgotten
Emma looked at Quinn with an expression of pure innocence. “I’d like a cone, please.”
The kid was good, Quinn would give her that. “Now, darling, you’ve just had a good meal. Why don’t we leave dessert for later? I’m sure you’ll want a treat after the zoo,” Quinn suggested.
“No, I want it now. Mum always got me a cone after my meal.”
“Well, Mum’s not here.”
Emma’s eyes filled with tears, but she knew she was beaten. “All right. But I want ice cream at the zoo. They have animal-shaped ones. I like the one that looks like a monkey.”
“And you shall have it,” Gabe jumped in. Quinn gave him a filthy look, but it was too late. He’d already promised. Now Emma would want the ice cream as soon as she walked through the gates.
“You can have ice cream after we’re finished at the zoo. Shall we go then?” Quinn asked.
“I want ice cream first.” Emma fixed Gabe with a steely stare. “You promised,” she reminded him before pulling on her hat and gloves.
“All right. Ice cream first,” Gabe conceded.
Emma smiled coyly. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, she was so cool. Quinn couldn’t help admiring her negotiating skills. If she got her way so quickly at four, what would she be like at fourteen? Quinn wasn’t ready for the answer, and neither was Gabe.
Now, hours later, Quinn was tired and would have liked nothing better than a hot bath followed by an early night. She had no desire to get dressed up and go to a party where she didn’t know a soul, but this was her only chance to get close to Robert Chatham, and she couldn’t afford to pass it up. She sighed and reached for the shopping bag, pulling out the dress. The sight of it cheered her up marginally, although pajamas would have made her much happier, especially since Gabe was already lounging on the bed and scrolling through the movie selection in search of something that appealed. Quinn applied some make up, twisted her hair into a stylish chignon, and pulled out a few tendrils to frame her face. There, that would have to do.
“You look beautiful,” Gabe said from his position on the bed. He had firm plans to watch TV until she got back and had stockpiled a few snacks in case he got hungry in the process. “You never dress that way for me,” he added petulantly.
“No, but Iundressfor you, which is more important,” Quinn teased and leaned in to give him a kiss. “Don’t wait up.”
“Be careful.”
TWENTY
Quinn checked her coat at the cloak room, stole a quick peek at her appearance in the mirror, and walked into the room where the party was being held as if she had every right to be there. She felt relieved when no one challenged her and made her way to the open bar. It was always easier to circulate with a drink in hand. She ordered a glass of Pinot Noir and surveyed the room from her vantage point. The party had been underway for nearly two hours, and the guests were at the stage where they’d consumed a few drinks and were feeling friendly and less inhibited than they would normally be at a work function. Quinn spotted Robert Chatham right away; he was difficult to miss. Quinn had done some research on the man and his company, but seeing him in person still made her mouth go dry.
Chatham was a good-looking man. He was tall and broad, his ash-blond hair lightly silvered with gray, which only made him look more distinguished. Unlike many men of his age, his jowls hadn’t gone soft, nor had he grown stout about the middle. He looked trim and fit, and his face appeared very youthful for a man on the cusp of fifty. He was deep in conversation with several people, but even from a distance, Quinn could see that the conversation centered on him. The body language of the other guests made it evident that they deferred to Robert Chatham and valued his opinion, putting him at the center of the discussion.
Several people, mostly men, tried to engage Quinn in conversation, but she replied politely and moved on, her gaze fixed on Robert Chatham. She had no wish to interrupt his conversation, so had to bide her time until he was left on his own for a bit. Quinn wasn’t comfortable with what she was doing, since deceit nevercame easily to her, so she tried to pretend that she was at an institute do where everyone stood about awkwardly until the alcohol began to flow. A short time later, tongues suddenly loosened and sexual innuendo became the order of the day, not a pretty sight in a roomful of middle-aged archeologists. The day after the party was usually charged with uncomfortable silences and almost palpable regret, pertaining mostly to drunken hookups in empty offices. At least there’d be none of that tomorrow, since Quinn would leave as soon as she’d had a chance to speak with Robert Chatham and gather a sample of his DNA. Quinn smiled to herself. Monica Fielding, the only person she could think of whom she genuinely disliked, was the mistress of dissemblance and subterfuge. Tonight, she would be Monica: a woman comfortable with deception and fluid morals. Quinn finally saw her chance and moved toward her target.
“Mr. Chatham?” Quinn asked, a playful smile on her face.
“Yes.” The man was even more attractive up close, but had the air of a warrior surveying a battlefield and weighing the odds. On the outside, he appeared relaxed, but there was a watchfulness in him and a coiled energy that was off-putting.
“I wanted to congratulate you on your contract with Samsung. You must be very pleased,” Quinn said, giving him her most winning smile.
“Indeed, I am. It was a major coup for the company. Miss?” he looked at her, his eyes full of playful curiosity.
“Fielding. Monica Fielding.”
“Who do you work for, Monica?”
“The competition, of course,” Quinn replied coyly.
“Andwhatare you working on?” Robert Chatham asked, leaning in a little too close.
“I’m not at liberty to divulge trade secrets,” she whispered, making him laugh. “All I can say is that I’m on the administrative end of things, rather than technical. Number crunching, and such. Which is why I’m so impressed with your meteoric rise. You haven’t put a foot wrong in three years.”
“Sadly, my father passed away three years ago. He’d been at the helm of Chatham Electronics since the 1970s, when his own father retired. My father was a shrewd businessman, but like many men of his generation he found himself a little out of step with progress. Things did not move as quickly in his time, so he became fearful of taking risks. I, on the other hand, am all about risk.”
“Well, you must be psychic,” Quinn teased, “because every risk you take seems to pay off.” She watched Chatham carefully, desperate for a reaction. She wasn’t disappointed. He leaned forward again, his lips almost brushing her cheek.
“As it happens, I am psychic. I experience visions of the future all the time. Do you know what I’m seeing now?” he asked, casually brushing his hand against her hip.
