Free Masquerade by Janet Dailey

grow up in an area like Algiers," Gabe continued, "without coming away with some of its hardness, its ruthlessness."
    Frowning, she recalled her own impression that Cole possessed both traits to some degree, but she didn't consider either one to be something that should be held against him, as Gabe was implying. And this talk about different values and principles held criticism as well.
    "You don't trust him, do you?"
    He hesitated, then angled his shoulders toward her, briefly meeting her eyes. "No, I don't."
    "But he's the president of the company. If that's your opinion of him, then why—"
    "Look." Gabe turned from the window and raised his hand in a silencing gesture. "At the time, we thought he was the best man for the job. He had the experience, the qualifications—and a helluva reputation for turning troubled shipping lines around. As far as all the talk we heard that his methods were sometimes less than orthodox —nothing illegal, at least nothing that was ever proved—we chalked it up to disgruntled competitors. After all, every head-hunter we talked to mentioned Cole Buchanan as a solid candidate for the position. A man's name comes up that often, you hire him."
    "And now you suspect him of doing something wrong."
    He seemed startled by her comment, which was half guess and half supposition—startled and a little worried, as if he'd said more than he'd intended. "We're getting off the track here. We were talking about you, and why I didn't like the idea of your getting mixed up with a man whose name has been linked with some sharp—maybe even shady—dealings. As for the company, maybe it's the lawyer in me, but I don't like the employment contract he got. It ties the board's hands and puts too much power in his. In my opinion Buchanan's grabbing for power, and you were part of the grab."
    Had that been it? Logically she could see that it was more than possible. A man who had been raised in the squalor and poverty that marked so much of the violence-ridden Algiers section, and then risen from it to preside over a major shipping line, obviously had to be aggressive and ambitious. After sampling the heady taste of power, he could have decided he wanted more.
    "How could I represent power to him?" She lifted her curious, troubled glance to Gabe.
    "You own a substantial share in the company, and you sit on the board," he replied, studying her with affectionate patience. "And the family is not without some influence."
    Remy suspected that the latter was a gross understatement, but she didn't dwell on it, her thoughts turning instead to the other things Gabe had said. With no memory of her own, she found herself seizing on every scrap of information and trying to make it mean something—specifically, something that would explain this feeling of trouble she had.
    "You mentioned that Cole had a reputation for turning companies around. Does that mean the Crescent Line is in trouble financially?"
    He gave a light shrug. "The company has lost money the last couple of years—nothing dramatic, certainly nothing to be overly alarmed about. All businesses experience a slump now and then."
    "Then that wasn't the reason you hired him." Absently she ran a hand through her hair, which by now was nearly dry, trying to piece things together.
    "No. Dad wanted to retire. He'd already put thirty years into the company, and Marc had never been involved in the operations side of the business."
    "Marc—who's he?"
    "Dad's brother—our uncle." He frowned at her for an instant, then his forehead cleared. "I forgot. You probably can't remember him either."
    "No, I can't."
    "Marc's a couple of years younger than Dad— brown eyes, dark, curly hair with just a touch of gray sprinkled through it." Gabe paused, as if trying to think how else to tell her about him. "After Grand-père died, he and Dad took over running the company. It's almost too limiting to say that Marc handles the public-relations