Page 34 of Dangerous Temptation

He laughed, but the sound held no humour. ‘I don’t need anyone to protect me. They’ve already done their damnedest. What more could they do?’

She shivered, not wanting to think about that. Going up on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. ‘It’s not much, but I’ve got your back.’

His nose brushed against hers as he looked into her face. ‘That’s not “not much”, pretty siren. It’s everything.’

The press was waiting the next day, milling about on the Park Avenue sidewalk.

They knew what time the Wolfe Financial board meeting was, and they knew there was a good chance they’d finally see their target today.

Alex Wolfe had avoided them for too long, locked down in the Wolfe compound.

He’d travelled back to the city yesterday, though, and all indicators pointed to the meeting as the reason.

They couldn’t help but salivate.

It was a juicy story. They’d squeezed as much out of it as they could a year and a half ago, but it was spinning up again.

The heartthrob tech whiz convicted of white-collar crimes was returning to the city he’d once ruled.

Had prison changed the boy wonder? Was he more humble now?

Had the degradation beaten him down? Was he finally ready to admit to his wrongs?

Or had the time he’d spent on the inside made him even more dangerous? The sharp-dressed billionaire had always had an edge.

Would The Ax be out for revenge?

People wanted to know, and it was their job to dig up the facts.

A black limousine pulled up to the kerb, and the mob went on the alert.

Reporters checked their mics, and cameramen stooped to try to see through the darkened windows.

Was this it? A murmur went through the crowd when the driver stepped out.

He closed the door, tugged at his jacket sleeves and made sure they covered his shirt cuffs.

He tucked in his chin and pulled back his shoulders as he rounded the car. The guy was built like a Mack truck.

It was the Mr T Mohawk, though, that gave him away. This was the same driver who’d picked up Wolfe at the prison. The man took his place at the car’s passenger-side door and glared at them.

Excitement rose. Simultaneously, heads turned to the posh building’s front door. The doorman became twitchy. He stared over their heads, ignoring them, but tugged at the collar of his uniform as if it were too tight.

A reporter up front stood on tiptoe and saw movement inside. ‘He’s coming.’

The message passed swiftly through the crowd.

Alex Wolfe was about to make an appearance.

The group compacted, bodies bumping and arms tangling as they thrust their microphones forward.

Their time would be short. The distance from the door to the car was only about ten feet. They had to make this count.

‘Mr Wolfe,’ more than one person called as the door finally opened.

Instead of the good-looking tycoon, a mean-looking bodyguard stepped out. He was pumped and amped. His sunglass-covered gaze swung around from left to right, and more than one skinny cameraman took a step back. If anyone got out of line, this guy was ready to squash them like a bug.

The hungry group of reporters waited.

Their caution was thrown to the wind when two more bodyguards bulldozed through the door. The Ax was at the security team’s centre.

Questions started shooting through the air like darts.

‘Mr Wolfe! How does it feel to be back?’

‘What was it like on the inside?’

‘What do you plan to say to your investors?’

That one finally stuck. Their interview subject’s chin swung towards them, and it was set in stone. ‘They’re not my investors. I wasn’t a part of Wolfe Financial.’

‘Yet you’re going to their board meeting, right?’

The security team kept their client moving, and the group shuffled along after them. Hips bumped and elbows dug.

‘I’ll be speaking during the open public comment period,’ the man said flatly. ‘At the board’s behest.’

Another reporter jumped forward and the front bodyguard blocked him with a straight arm. The reporter kept coming, though, trying to crawl over the sentinel as he threw out his question. ‘Do you plan to apologise? Will you tell them where the money went?’

Wolfe slowed. As big as his men were, the crowd was impeding their progress.

‘I had no involvement in that unspeakable crime.’

‘How can you say that?’ the reporter pressed. ‘You just spent the last year in prison.’

That got a response. The Ax turned, his body clenched. ‘Get your facts right. I was convicted of insider trading, even though I had written orders instructing my traders to sell Wolfe Financial stock if it fell below one-twenty.’

‘Are you saying you were a scapegoat?’

Putting down his shoulder, the front bodyguard moved Jimmy Olsen about five feet back from where he’d started, but it was too late. The rest of the reporters picked up his line of questioning.

‘What about your grandfather?’ someone in the back yelled. ‘Have you heard from him? Is he in Belize?’

‘No comment,’ Wolfe snapped.

The driver wedged open the limo’s door and planted his massive form in front of it. The bodyguards became more aggressive and marched forward. The crowd had no option but to part and get out of their way.

One last reporter tried from his position, squashed up next to the kerb. ‘Are you back in New York to stay?’

The question was met with silence as Wolfe entered the vehicle and the door was closed behind him.

The all-black limousine offered no more answers and no more shots.

The opaque windows blocked their view of the elusive, enigmatic man.

Still, the news crews took what video they could as the driver pulled out from the kerb and drove away.

The moment the car blended into traffic, the cameras powered down and the crews rushed to their vans. Considering the dearth of communication they’d had with Alex Wolfe since his release, they’d just scored big.

More reporters awaited in FiDi, the financial district in the southernmost section of Manhattan.

They’d been put on alert by their colleagues up on Park Avenue, and they were on the hunt when the limousine pulled up.

Microphones were ready, earpieces were in place and cameras were rolling as the black limousine cruised to a stop in front of the building on Wall Street.

The driver eyed the crowd suspiciously as he rounded the car to open the back door. Moving with the synchronicity of a pit crew, bodyguards spilled out and took their positions. A tall, good-looking man rose in their midst, smoothly buttoning his suit jacket.

The press swarmed, hungrier now that they’d gotten a taste.

They jockeyed for position, trying to get the best shots.

The Ax had always gleamed under the spotlight.

His handsome features and playboy ways had made him a media darling.

With one snap of a camera, the reporters could sense the change.

This version of the man was different. Harder, leaner and more dangerous.

His sunglasses hid his reactions to their presence, but the line of his lips was flat and his steps were clipped.

Put him in a black suit and tie, and he would have blended in with the security detail perfectly.

‘Mr Wolfe, what were you doing at Wolfe Manor over the past month? Why the long retreat?’ A balding newspaperman stepped forward, his pen and notebook at the ready. ‘Were you contemplating your actions?’

Wolfe didn’t even blink.

An entertainment reporter held her microphone suggestively, stroking her thumb up and down its side. With her big hair and fake breasts, it was clear she was trying another tactic. ‘Barbara Tyson is in town filming a movie. Have you seen you seen her since your release, Ax?’

The bleached blonde was disappointed when the question bounced right off, but the crowd wasn’t ready to be deterred.

Another female reporter stepped right into the path of the lead bodyguard. She was just as beautiful, but with her short pixie cut and black-rimmed glasses she had ‘intrepid’ written all over her. ‘How about Elena Bardot?’

That got a response.

Alex Wolfe made an abrupt halt. Around him, his security detail closed ranks.

The sharp brunette’s eyes sparked. ‘Caroline Woodward, WABC News.’

She held up a crisp 8X10 black-and-white photograph of the billionaire entrepreneur leaving a helicopter with a dark-haired woman at his side.

‘We took this shot of you yesterday when you arrived in the city. Sources have identified your companion as Elena Bardot, daughter of Randolph Bardot, former CFO of Wolfe Financial.’

Wolfe snatched the photograph out of her hand and stared at it through his sunglasses. Other than maybe a slight tightening of his fingers, he gave no visible reaction. Yet the chill in the air dropped a good ten degrees.

‘What is your relationship with Ms Bardot?’ the reporter pressed. Like a hound on the scent, she bore forward. ‘Are you romantically involved or is this a continuation of the Wolfe–Bardot business relationship?’

A muscle in Wolfe’s jaw clenched. His head slowly tilted and he looked the reporter over from head to toe.

Hungry as she was for a scoop, everyone saw the woman inhale in surprise.

Her chest lifted and her hips gave a slight swivel.

Something sharp and sexy hung in the air.

It snapped and tumbled when, letting go finger by finger, he dropped the photograph like a piece of trash.

‘No comment.’

The picture seesawed through the air as it fell to the ground. A beat reporter bent down to pick it up, braving getting stepped on as the security team kicked back into gear.

Gritting her teeth, the reporter followed, her heels clicking against the sidewalk as she tried to keep up. ‘Was she involved in this all along? Did she know what her father was into?’

Her cameraman got too close and one of the security men pushed his hand into the lens. ‘Step back.’

‘Are you saying that’s not her?’ another reporter called.

The WABC reporter wasn’t about to be denied her scoop.

Her painted lips thinned and red splotches coloured her cheekbones.

Rushing ahead, she walked backwards and sent out rapid-fire questions.

‘Have you made restitution to Ms Bardot and her mother? Yvonne Bardot was reportedly an investor who lost her life savings in your Ponzi scheme.’

Wolfe kept on walking, but his neck stiffened.

‘Mr Wolfe. Would you like to make a statement?’

They were at the private building’s door, the final barrier that the press couldn’t cross. The Ax stopped on the threshold. Pulling down his sunglasses, he pinned the not-so-sweet Caroline with a slate-grey stare. ‘No. Comment.’