The Wicked Wife (Murder in Marin Book 2) (21 page)

Taking a small blade from the center drawer on his desk, James sliced open the back of the binder and removed two memory cards, both of which were unlabeled.
 

He placed one inside the card reader on his laptop.

A high definition picture soon appeared on the screen. He was mesmerized at what he saw: eight minutes of high definition video, complete with sound that could clearly be identified as Willow in the throes of passion.
 

Just as Guilbert had suggested, the video’s quality was impeccable. If uploaded onto the Internet, on perhaps an offshore pirate server, it would cause an international sensation within hours.
 

Of course, that was not his preferred use for the video evidence of Willow’s unfaithfulness. Ideally, it would serve as the perfect pressure point to get what he wanted from Willow: not only the occasional sexual treats, but also anything else he might find beneficial.
 

For example, William had a nasty habit of keeping valuable investor information to himself. No one was in a better position than Willow to help him do a little insider surveillance of William’s home office.

James sat back for a few moments as he considered the possible paths for his next step. How was he to arrange a meeting with a woman who had stopped taking his calls over eight months ago? Thankfully, Willow had realized it would be awkward to drop William’s business partner as her attorney. Too many difficult questions would arise from such a decision.
 

Official channels were always the best course of action, James decided. As such, he picked up one of his office lines and buzzed his personal secretary.
 

“Please get Willow Adams on the phone.”

“Mr. Finch, I believe she’s in-flight returning from Paris at the moment.”

“Check on that, then ring me back. I have some papers to send over to her.”

Less than a minute later, his secretary buzzed him back.
 

“Our firm’s driver confirmed that he is planning on picking up Mrs. Adams at SFO’s international terminal at one o’clock today.”

“Good, I’ll have a package ready for him to take to the airport. Please see that he gets it, so that he can give it to Mrs. Adams when she gets into the car.”

“No problem, Mr. Finch.”

James took one of the two memory cards and locked it in his office wall safe. He took the duplicate card and placed it inside a small envelope. Across the front, he wrote, “Call my private cell number.”

He sealed the envelope, and taped it to a white presentation binder that contained one of the many “investment opportunity” pitch packages that he got on a daily basis.
 

This should get the bitch’s attention, he thought. He handed off the sealed package to his secretary, who placed it in the hands of Mike, the firm’s longtime driver, with instructions to be sure Mrs. Adams got it. It requires her immediate attention.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Willow glided confidently through the San Francisco International Terminal. The immigration and customs officer who scanned her passport gave her a knowing smile as he welcomed her home.
 

Less than thirty minutes after stepping off her flight, Willow texted her chauffeur that she was on her way out of the terminal. As she approached the curb, he glided the black Mercedes sedan up in front of her. Tipping his hat in welcome, he lifted her two bags and placed them carefully in the trunk.
 

“Did you have a good flight, Mrs. Adams?” Mike asked, as he slid back in behind the steering wheel.
 

“I did! The new first class recliners are so comfortable; it’s the only way to go.”

Mike smiled in the rear view mirror and thought, You should try flying coach on a long flight sometime and see how you feel.

“Oh, before I forget Mrs. Adams, Mr. Finch wanted me to be sure that you got this package. He said there are some important papers you need to look over.”

“Thank you, Mike,” Willow responded unenthusiastically.

For the first ten minutes of the ride north to San Francisco, Willow left the envelope unopened. She was quite convinced that it was one more desperate ploy by James to get her attention. She tried closing her eyes, determined not to look at whatever it was that James had sent her.

Twenty minutes later, as Mike drove onto the Golden Gate Bridge on his way out to Marin, she pulled out the envelope and removed the investment portfolio. Why would that idiot bother me with this investment opportunity trash? She thought.

Then she saw the small invitation envelope that was taped to the other side of the investor’s prospectus.
 

As expected, the message he wrote on the outside of the envelope was yet another plea to call his private cell phone. But what made her heart skip a beat were the next two lines, which read:
 

This is urgent. It involves your special night at the Georges Cinq. From what I can tell, you really enjoyed yourself.
 

Oh, my God, she thought, that prick knows something about my night with Viktor! How did that bastard pull that off?

With great hesitancy, Willow opened the envelope. Noting that it contained only one thing—a small SD memory card—she suspected the worst.

Thankfully, only Mrs. Jackson, the Adams’ housekeeper, was home. William was out of town at a tech conference until the weekend.
 

She slipped the memory card into the port of her laptop.
 

Within moments, her worst fears were confirmed.
 

Without a second thought, she called James’ private cell.
 

James was sitting alone in his office, wondering how his scheme was progressing, when Willow’s number came up on his display.
 

He barely stifled a laugh before answering it. “James Finch. How can I help you,” he began teasingly.

“Son of a bitch,” Willow said in a low scream.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“You know who this is, you little prick!”

“Wow! Madam, that is no way to talk to the man who introduced you to your sugar daddy.”

Willow imagined for a moment how sweet it would be to put a kitchen knife into his frozen heart.

She held her tongue in anger. Finally, she said, “Where, and when?”

“The W. I find it so convenient for an afternoon tryst. I’ll have a key waiting for you at the front desk. Let’s go with the name Boyle this time. Mr. and Mrs. James Boyle. But this time, let’s make it an evening rendezvous. Say, seven-tomorrow night? Wear something sexy. I’ve missed you.”

To show how thoroughly convinced he was that the ultimate power in their relationship now solely belonged to him, he clicked off the line before she had time to ask anything else.

With Mrs. Jackson downstairs, Willow wisely chose to muffle her scream. Collecting herself, she requested that Mrs. Jackson draw her a warm bath. I’m exhausted after that long flight.”

On one level, Willow was furious with James. On another, she reluctantly admired his ingenuity. Locating an operative in Paris and arranging to have her tryst with Viktor recorded in a hotel with the security of
Georges Cinq
must have cost him a pretty penny.

Soaking in a warm tub allowed the long miles she had just traveled to dissolve from memory and allowed her to focus on the most important subject at hand: handling James.
 

In this game of cat and mouse, it was her turn to make the next move. True to her penchant for intrigue, it wasn’t long before she had a plan.
 

Willow arrived nearly an hour early at the W, introducing herself as Mrs. James Boyle. She was handed a key and headed straight to their fourteenth floor room.
 

She had spent the day consulting with a security person on the use of a hidden camera to observe a possibly dishonest member of the household staff.

In truth, she wanted a camera to record her private romp with James. She considered it almost laughable: duplicating the stunt James had pulled on her just days before in Paris. And yet, she knew it was her only way out.

Obviously, she would be ruined with William if he were to see a video of her at play with either James or Viktor. But a second video of her with James would end his relationship with William and ruin both his marriage and his standing among San Francisco’s elite attorneys.
 

Certainly, it was a nuclear option. Still, what other choice did she have?
You launch your video, and I’ll launch mine.

As instructed hours before by the security consultant, Willow quickly learned the many ways that a modern day miniature video device can be discreetly hidden. It took her a minute to replace the digital clock on the room’s nightstand with the one she had just purchased. In moments, she was ready to catch the show.

At just a few minutes past seven, there was a soft rap on the door.
 

She was surprised James didn’t strut in and play lord of the manor. Why didn’t he use his own key?
 

Hesitantly she asked, “Who is it?”

“It’s your favorite pussy cat.”

What game is that idiot playing now? Willow thought, as she opened the door.
 

He stood in front of her, wearing one of his standard-issue gray suits, but holding the mask of a cat over his face.

“Is this some new game you’ve dreamed up?”

“No. This is just my being cautious. I told the front desk that our room smelled of cigarette smoke. They graciously changed our room to one on the sixteenth floor. Follow me, my little kitten.”

Willow did what she was told. She appreciated the obvious fact that James was not going to fall victim to the same trick that had ensnared her and Viktor.

As she stepped into their sixteenth floor suite, Finch moved in to enjoy his victory, whispering in her ear, “Don’t you think one video between us is enough for a week? I’m crazy about you, but I’m not an idiot.”
 

She would have to wait for another opportunity. Right now, he was holding the kill shot.
 

Willow now knew she needed to look harder for one of her own.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY

While Willow was imaging delicious ways of destroying James, the rest of her life was going according to plan.
 

Jacques delighted her with the design sketches he sent her two weeks after their Paris meeting. The two major pieces he recommended—one a bold bracelet that wrapped itself around her delicate lower arm, and the other a stunning piece to adorn her neck—were true to the style seen in many pieces that Bulgari had custom made for Elizabeth Taylor.
 

Allard’s price for the work was more than reasonable, but Willow sent an email back, offering to double his fee if he could cut the time of their completion in half. She took delight envisioning the moment that Pamela and Julia would see these stunning new pieces, especially after having recently discovered that their most valuable jewels had been stolen.
 

With her first anniversary soon arriving, and with it a second one hundred million dollar payment, three thousand dollars extra to assure that her new pieces arrived on time was insignificant.