License to Lie Read online

  Bruno rose from his chair at a glass-topped patio table. He was a fireplug of a man, short and squatty, with arms that stuck out slightly to the sides, and stubby legs. My immediate reaction was that Sonny, with his roguish good looks and height, must be adopted. While Sonny had the bright white smile of a Hollywood leading man, Bruno’s reminded me more of the guy chosen to play the swarthy villain.

  I shook hands with Bruno. “Good afternoon, Mr. Panaman. I’m Roxy Tanner. Sonny’s told me a lot about you.” Okay, trite, but it was better than asking him to write a check on the spot.

  Bruno bowed at the waist. “Miss Tanner. I’ve heard about you, also. My son tells me you have quite an investment opportunity. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  While Bruno lacked a bit in the looks department, he’d gotten a full double scoop from the suave ice cream bucket. His handshake had been gentle, yet reassuring. His voice was melodic. And that little bow. Wow, hadn’t seen that one since I’d had the flu and spent three days watching old movie reruns. “You have a beautiful home.” I made an expansive gesture to take in our surroundings. “This back yard is stunning. And your view is spectacular. Your landscaper did a fantastic job.”

  “It has been a work in progress.” He pointed to a spot just off the patio about twenty feet away. “Next week, they install an outdoor kitchen. Can you believe it? When I was young, we thought we were rich when we bought a little hibachi. Now, everyone grills and we must have elaborate kitchens in our back yards.”

  Bruno and I laughed while Sonny stood to one side with lines of impatience etched on his face. What a difference in generations, I thought. Sonny just wanted instant gratification—hop in the sack and hump away. Bruno enjoyed the process—the flowers, the drinks, dinner and seduction. I gave Bruno my best winning smile. “My father has been talking about doing the same thing. You two could compare recipes.”

  Bruno smiled. “If he is as delightful as his daughter, it would be my pleasure. Perhaps two old dogs could teach each other new tricks.” He pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit. He glanced at Sonny, “Bring Miss Tanner—” He turned to me. “An iced tea?”

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

  Sonny wandered away, presumably to find the indoor kitchen, where he’d probably rummage through the fridge trying to differentiate between the iced tea and the apple juice.

  “So, Miss Tanner, tell me about this investment opportunity,” said Bruno.

  I set my briefcase on the table and extracted a set of brochures and financial statements. “Let me begin by saying that this isn’t one of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. You could certainly get returns of this nature elsewhere if you looked hard enough. And there’s an element of risk here that you won’t see with more traditional investments.” There, he’d gotten the disclaimer—you could get screwed by someone else just as easily, but if you’re a greedy bastard, you’ll go for this.

  I continued. “However, I must say that we are on the cutting edge with this technology. What I’ve done is to secure a small block of venture capital with a firm that will be moving their wave-to-energy technology to production. The principals of the firm intend to take the company public within two years. At that time, the investors will be repaid. The returns here could be quite handsome.”

  Sonny appeared bearing a bamboo tray containing three glasses of iced tea and an assortment of cheeses and crackers. He bent forward and extended the tray. I nodded and took a glass. Bruno followed suit, then Sonny took up a position at the table. He arranged the cheese and crackers so we could each easily reach the goodies.

  “Wow! I had no idea you were so domesticated,” I said.

  Sonny grabbed a piece of cheese with his fingers and slapped it on a cracker. He leaned back in his chair and puffed up his chest. “Yeah, I’m a man full of surprises.”

  I smiled, though what I really wanted to do was roll my eyes and say, “Who helped you?”

  Bruno’s voice remained soft, yet conveyed impatience. “We have smoothed out many aspects of Sonny’s behavior, however, we have not yet tackled humility.”

  Sonny snorted, then smiled. “Cheese? Cracker?”

  “Thank you.” I speared a piece of cheese with one of the toothpicks that Sonny had ignored and placed it on a cracker. I placed the cracker on a small plate that Sonny had also ignored and put that in front of me, then took a sip of my iced tea. “This is really good!”

  Bruno nodded. “It’s a sun tea. We brew it fresh each day once the weather turns nice. It’s a tradition we carry over from our less fortunate days.”

  I took another sip. “Excellent.” I handed my primary sales brochure to Bruno. “As you can see from this prospectus, the block of venture capital that we’re guaranteeing is just a small part of what the company needs. This is, in a sense, venture capital for the little guy.”

  He took the brochure from my hand. He pulled a pair of reading glasses from his breast pocket and slipped them on. Bruno smiled at me. “Can’t read a thing without them.” His eyes flicked over the page. “Why are you doing this?”

  The sun slipped below the arbor. Not long and we’d be baking in the direct rays. “I have several reasons. First, I’ve worked for a couple of different venture capital firms. I saw the returns their clients received and was taken aback. My last boss taught me everything about the business, so when a couple of my old college friends came to me looking for a way to get venture capital to bring their invention to market, I decided it was time to move off on my own. Are you familiar with the wave-to-energy technology concept?”

  Bruno continued to inspect the brochure. He shook his head absently. “No, what is it?”

  Excellent. We were already off into the technology. That was a good sign and meant he was interested. The sun’s rays were crawling up my legs, making my nylons feel like wet sandpaper. “You’re probably aware that the oceans cover more than seventy percent of the Earth’s surface. And, whenever you go to the beach, you see firsthand how powerful waves can be. Wave2E’s technology takes that energy and converts it to electric power.”

  “And how much money did you need? Sonny said something about $250,000.”

  “I’ve secured a minimum twenty-five percent stake in the company launch. My portfolio includes one last block of $250,000, but if you wanted to invest more, we have the ability to go up to thirty percent.” And if you’re that greedy, I’ll be happy to take your extra money.

  Bruno gazed at me over the brochure. “I’ve heard about this type of thing being done. This technology—this turning waves into electricity—it’s fascinating.”

  To the side, I saw Sonny’s eyes light up. He, too, could see where this was going. Bruno was hooked. I doubled back to the technology issue. “The concept of using wave energy is actually pretty simple. You use a device to capture the wave movement, that movement creates mechanical energy, which can then be used to turn a turbine. The turbines convert the mechanical power into electrical power. The obstacle has always been the unpredictability of the wave energy.”

  “Hurricanes?” said Bruno.

  I nodded. “That’s part of it. But think about this. On land, there are places where it seems that the wind blows constantly. Right over in the Coachella Valley, for instance, they have the windmill farms because the wind blows through the pass nearly all the time—or so it seems. Wave2E’s concept is to site their wave farms in similar locales in the ocean—where the waves are more consistent. For instance, one competitor has put tide-powered turbines in New York City’s East River. Portugal has a project that should supply more than 1,500 homes with electricity.”

  Bruno nodded. Sonny beamed. I took a breather and grabbed my glass of iced tea. Bring it on, Bruno. I’m ready for any questions you’ve got.

  He picked up the brochure again and opened it. “I’ve spoken to my banker. And to my investment manager. I certainly have the necessary cash.”

  I was in full sun now and was starting to feel as though I’d just gotten out of
the shower. Where the hell was the breeze? Screw it. Bruno was about to write me a check and I wasn’t about to break the mood just because my bra felt like a wet rubber band scraping against my skin.

  He went on. “If I wrote you a check today for, say $300,000, you’d get me into this fund?”

  Holy Mother of God! Payday. “You must feel pretty comfortable with this then? I guess Sonny did fill you in.” Speaking of which, the little urchin was practically drooling on himself.

  Bruno nodded. “I’m quite comfortable with my decision.”

  “Yes, I could get you in. Let me get the disclosure form.”

  He tossed the brochure onto the table. “Normally, Sonny has no head for business at all.”

  “Pop!” Sonny’s protest went unnoticed by the elder Panaman.

  “In this case, I’d say he’s outdone himself. This is the worst recommendation he’s ever made. Thank you, Miss Tanner, but you won’t be seeing any money from me.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Skip

  Skip dialed the Nordoff’s number. “Herman? I’m about to meet with Paul. You and Mariane should head on over here.”

  “We’re on our way.” The relief in Nordoff’s voice was obvious. “Thank you.”

  Skip watched Paul and his coach as they approached. The coach glanced in Skip’s direction, then over his shoulder. Skip examined him more closely. Stress lines furrowed his brow. Another glance in both directions. Skip didn’t recall the coach appearing so nervous in their previous conversation. Something’s wrong, he thought. To Nordoff, he said, “Don’t get your hopes up. Not yet, anyway.”

  Skip disconnected the call with a hurried good-bye. Paul and his coach were about twenty feet away and the man with the camera, the one who had arrived late, was taking photos of everyone. The guy reminded Skip of one of those amateur photographers who took thousands of photos and posted them on his web site for all his friends and family to view.

  The coach held Paul’s shoulder as he gestured at Skip. “Paul, I’d like you to meet Skip. He wanted to talk to you for a minute. I’ll leave you two alone. Paul, I’ll be right over there if you need me, okay?”

  The boy nodded. His facial muscles were tense. His eyes darted in different directions. The boy was obviously on high alert for trouble.

  “Paul, you played pretty good out there,” Skip said.

  The boy glanced at the ground. “Thanks. Who are you?”

  “My name is Skip Cosgrove. I’m a friend who likes soccer. The Galaxy’s my favorite team. Yours, too?”

  Paul squinted at Skip, obviously torn between trusting based on the coach’s introduction and fear of a stranger. Good for you, thought Skip, being leery of strangers will keep you safe for a while. “Let’s just sit down, okay?”

  Paul nodded and sat on the ground. He pulled his knees tight to his chest. Skip sat opposite him, cross-legged, purposefully maintaining distance between them. That couple of feet seemed to relax Paul, so Skip continued, “You must really like soccer. You’ve got some great moves. Have you thought of attending any camps?”

  Paul’s interest perked up for a second. “My mom said I couldn’t.”

  “Parents don’t always understand, do they?”

  “Yeah.” Paul rolled his eyes. “They made me miss last week’s practice ‘cause I got in a fight at school.”

  “What was the fight about?”

  “Some kid called me a retard.”

  “Why would he do that?” Skip leaned forward a few inches. When Paul didn’t back away, he knew their trust was building quickly.

  “I didn’t move out of the way when he tried to push me. He shot me in the face with a spit ball. So I hit him.”

  Skip noted that the boy had unconsciously relaxed his position and also sat with his legs crossed. He’d established rapport; could he cross the chasm to trust? “Sounds like you were provoked.” He only had a few minutes left. “Is that why you hit your mom, too? You were provoked?”

  Paul flinched and started to rise.

  “It’s okay,” Skip said. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

  In the distance, the man with the camera was lining up kids and parents for shots. He had a few pose with the ball. Skip’s pulse rate rose along with his suspicions. He couldn’t watch the boy and the photographer—and the coach—why was he watching the photographer so closely? Skip desperately wanted to ask Paul if he knew the guy with the camera, but didn’t dare lose the rapport. He turned his attention back to Paul.

  “I talked to your parents. They’re very sorry about how things turned out and want you to come home.”

  The boy swiped at his cheek before planting a hand down on the ground. His eyes were rimmed in red and it appeared as though he might run.

  Skip scooted forward so he could reach Paul if it became necessary. “You don’t want to run away again, do you? Wouldn’t you rather be home? This whole thing is just a misunderstanding. Your mom didn’t mean to hurt you by keeping you away from practice. She just didn’t understand how important it was to be here. I get it. So does she—now.”

  Paul’s tears flowed freely now. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just got so mad when she said I couldn’t come to practice.”

  Skip put a gentle hand on Paul’s arm. The boy recoiled at the touch. Skip used his most soothing voice. “She understands now.”

  Paul shook his head. “She’s so mad at me. I can’t ever go home. My dad would kill me.”

  “Do you really think that?”

  “Maybe.” He stared off into space. “I dunno. Guess not.”

  Skip shifted position so that he sat cross-legged facing Paul. “You need a translator.”

  “Huh?”

  Skip made little talking heads with his hands, speaking with one, then the other. “It’s like your parents speak German and you speak Spanish.”

  “That’s so totally true.” He smiled, then glanced up into Skip’s eyes. His voice trembled. “Are you, like, the translator?”

  Skip raised his right hand. “Guilty. I’m here to help you get back home safe and sound. And to stay that way once you get back.” For the first time, Skip realized that the photographer had been taking shots of him and Paul and was moving closer. To his left, he saw the Nordoffs approaching. The coach’s role and the reason for his nervousness suddenly made perfect sense. The photographer was from the press and the scene that was about to play out would be front page news if he didn’t do something to stop it. He couldn’t warn the Nordoffs away without alerting the photographer and he couldn’t leave Paul.

  He took hold of Paul’s arm. “Paul, something is about to happen I didn’t anticipate. There’s a man taking pictures. He’s from the press.” The last thing this kid needed was notoriety. He wouldn’t last a day in school with all the harassment he’d get from the other kids.

  Skip continued. “Things are going to get ugly here in just a minute. That photographer is going to want to take pictures of you and your folks. I had no idea this was going to happen. We’re going to need to do something to keep him away from you. I need you to be strong. Your parents want you home safe. You want to go home, right?”

  Paul nodded. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he watched his parents move closer. His eyes widened and he glanced over his shoulder toward the photographer.

  The man raised his camera to take a shot and Skip gripped Paul’s arm. Paul faced Skip again. “Ignore him. I’ll get rid of him. But I need you to get to your parents. Will you do that?”

  The boy glanced around as if searching for an escape route.

  He shook the boy’s arm. “It’s just a soccer play. I’m the decoy. You ready.”

  Paul nodded.

  “Run to them, Paul. Right now!”

  The boy was on his feet in a second and running full out to Mariane’s arms. As she embraced her son, Skip said to himself, “I’ll deal with the menace.”

  Skip strode toward the photographer, who was doing his best to nonchalantly close in on the r
eunion. Skip closed the distance and intercepted the photographer before he could get a clear shot. He surveyed the field. Most of the other parents and the kids were gone. There were just a few left. In the parking lot, Skip spotted the coach jogging toward his car. He was the only other one who had known. That son of a bitch. He remembered how the photographer had first arrived. His first contact had been the coach. Of course, the coach had a working relationship with the press.

  Skip clenched his fists as he inserted himself between the photographer and the Nordoffs. He ground out the words, “I know who tipped you off.”

  The photographer took a step backward. “This is, like, big news, man. C’mon, let me get my story.”

  Skip glared at the photographer. The last thing he intended to do was to let the Nordoff’s quiet reunion become today’s headline news.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Roxy

  Talk about having your day go to shit. I’d been rejected by Bruno Panaman. I’d gone from being inches away from my goal to starting the race all over in two heartbeats. Setbacks don’t usually bother me, but something about Bruno’s brush off seemed especially cruel. He’d known from the beginning he wasn’t going to do anything. At least, that’s what I suspected. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who’d been surprised. If anything, Sonny had been more shocked than me. In fact, Sonny had been downright angry. Had Bruno met with me, lured me on, and seduced me just to be cruel? Or had he been teaching Sonny a lesson?

  I suppose there was a certain perverse logic to Sonny being so upset, he’d been insulted and rejected. Me? I’d just had a bad first date and it pissed me off. The more I thought about it—and I did plenty of that—the more I realized where my anger was directed. Sonny. Again. He’d let me down. He’d wasted more of my time.

  After the meeting, I’d driven back to my parents’ house and found Mom making phone calls to all her friends. Eventually, after running out of phone numbers and friends to pester, we’d cried on each other’s shoulders for a bit, then ordered a pizza. It was now 6:43 p.m. and we were watching the “local” news, which, in our case, meant San Diego. We’d already been through half a bottle of wine, a story about the City Council’s latest faux pax, the weather, three commercials, and half the pizza.