The Doll Brokers by Hal Ross Page A

sense.”
    Lisette wailed as her mother wheeled around and left them.
    â€œEasy does it, chicklet.” Ann got down to the child’s level again. “Let’s talk.”
    You’re hot, baby
. Ann tensed, her smallest muscles reacting to the remembered voice inside her head. Her blood started humming. She hadn’t heard that voice since she was fourteen years old. But sometimes it still came to life. In her dreams, mainly. Or when little girls cried.
    Ann took a breath. “They’re outside you, Lisette. Your mom, Mr. Sullivan, all of them. They’re not here.” She touched a palm to her own chest. “Just pull back into that place inside yourself and everything will be fine. Do you get what I’m saying?”
    â€œI have a place like that,” the girl whispered.
    â€œI know you do. We all do. Go inside there and talk to the doll for yourself, okay? Do it for the girl in that special spot. No one will yell at you anymore, not while I’m here.”
    â€œAre you important?”
    I’m just another little blond girl, Ann thought. She stood and turned away to look for Gene Sullivan. She plowed straight into Jonathan’s chest. “Not a word,” she snapped, jumping back when they made contact.
    â€œI was just going to ask if everything is okay.”
    â€œRight as rain. Leave me alone.” She stepped past him and he let her go.
    She was halfway across the set, looking for the director, when she saw one of the guards making a lumbering beeline toward her. He was overweight and his face was florid from the rising warmth in the building. “Ms. Lesage?” he asked.
    â€œThat’s me.”
    â€œI have an urgent message for you to call Mr. Morhardt.”
    Involuntarily, her neck snapped around and her gaze went to Jonathan. He had Lisette on her feet now and was laughing with her. Patrick, Ann thought dazedly. The guard was referring to Patrick, not Jonathan.
    She had turned her cell phone off earlier so as not to disturb the filming. Ann headed for her briefcase.
    She removed her phone and tapped in the number of the office. Patrick took the call in record time. Generally he played games with her, pretending he was too important, too busy to jump when she tried to contact him.
    â€œWhat is it?” she demanded.
    â€œStop the shoot.”
    She was shocked into laughing aloud. “Have you lost your mind?”
    â€œI’m telling you to cut our losses, Ann. As soon as possible. Our bank turned us down and I can’t find another one.”

CHAPTER 9
    V erna Sallinger raised her hand and felt it hover an inch from Patrick’s closed office door. If anyone turned into the corridor, they would assume she was knocking. But it was late and she didn’t expect to see anyone. She turned her head to the side and leaned close, listening.
    He’d been at her desk when Ann had returned his call. He’d gone back to his own office to take it, moving like a kid who was hurrying to the bathroom. The fact that he wouldn’t talk to Ann in front of her, hurt Verna in a spot that was already raw from his other casual insults.
    Patrick opened the door suddenly. Verna took a quick step back to save herself from stumbling inside. “You startled me!”
    He scowled at her, then looked up and down the hall. “What are you doing out here?”
    Verna decided not to answer him. She slid one shoulder between him and the door jamb, moved past, then turned.
    The whites of his eyes were threaded with red. The skin beneath them was puffy.
    Verna took a breath. “What’s wrong, Pat? Talk to me.” This time, she thought, he would tell her. He would confide in her and let her into his life.
    Patrick laughed hoarsely. “Besides the obvious?”
    The only obvious thing she knew was that three banks had turned him down on a doll project he wasn’t keen on anyway. “Besides that.” Verna touched his midriff and