An Engagement in Seattle - Debbie Macomber [70]
He’d seen her interviewed on a local television station the day Phoenix Paints hit the market. She’d looked pale and so beautiful he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the television screen. Long after her face vanished from view, he’d continued to stare at the television, not even seeing.
She’d answered the reporter’s questions, explained her father’s vision for the paint industry and how Alek had seen it to fruition. Alek had been surprised that she’d mentioned his name, credited him with the innovations. Paints that changed color, paints developed for easy removal, paints that were guaranteed to last into the next generation.
Alek thought long and hard about what she’d said, wondering if she was trying to tell him something. If she was, he’d missed it. He was worried about her; she looked drained, but jubilant. Jerry was with her and had responded to some of the questions.
Alek closed the book he was reading. He relied on Anna for information about Julia, but his sister had grown stubborn, refusing to give him the detailed answers he sought. She seemed to think that if he was so curious, he should talk to Julia himself.
Alek considered her suggestion. He’d left because he couldn’t tolerate her mistrust.
His gaze fell onto his swollen, bruised knuckles and he flexed his hand. Standing, he returned the book to the shelf and picked up his jacket. It was raining outside, a cold, persistent drizzle. His hair was drenched by the time he’d gone a single block.
It was while he was passing a large parked van that he glanced at the side mirror—and caught the reflection of a man in a beige raincoat behind him. He’d seen this same man in the library. Alek wondered. It would be foolish to believe he was being followed. Then again, he’d lived in a country where it wasn’t uncommon for citizens to disappear and never be heard from again.
He stepped into an alley and waited. The man casually strolled past and continued down the walkway. Alek expelled his breath, thinking he’d become fanciful. Then again, it wouldn’t be beneath Stanhope to hire someone to injure him.
No, he decided, Stanhope was just the type to have someone else do his dirty work for him.
Alek walked for several blocks until he reached the Seattle waterfront, which had become one of his favorite places. The fish and chips were excellent and there was a covered eating space along the pier. It was late afternoon, and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so he purchased a double order and carried it onto the farthest end of the dock. Here he could look out over the water; he enjoyed viewing the nautical activity on Puget Sound. He claimed a picnic table and sat down to enjoy his dinner.
He was lost in thought, apparently, because he didn’t notice the man in the raincoat until he was directly in front of him.
“I guess I’d better sit down and introduce myself,” the man said. He held out his hand. “Rich Peck.”
Alek stood and they exchanged handshakes. “Hello. Alek Berinski.”
“You figured out I was following you, didn’t you?” Un-invited, Peck sat down at the table, across from Alek.
Alek shrugged. “I had my suspicions.”
“Huh,” Peck muttered, “I must be getting sloppy.”
“There was a reason you’ve been tracking my movements?”
Peck grinned, that cocky grin Alek often saw in American men. “There generally is a reason. And it usually involves someone paying me. Rather handsomely, I might add.”
Alek looked at him, confused. “Are you saying Roger Stanhope paid you to follow me?”
“Stanhope? Don’t bet on it. The man hasn’t got two dimes to rub together. Oh, by the way, I heard about your little skirmish with him. Provoking him into taking the first swing was smart. I heard he tried to hit you from behind. The man’s a sleaze. Are you pressing assault charges against him?”
“No, I decided I’d punished him enough. I know one thing for sure. He’ll stay out of Julia’s life now. He knows what will happen to him if he doesn’t.”
“Listen, Stanhope’s got more problems than you know,” Peck went on to say. “He