Wings Like Eagles

by Tracie Peterson

  “Oh God,” he murmured, “I’ve made such a mess of this. Please keep Christy safe and let this whole thing be done with so that I can go to her on an equal footing and be open and honest with her.” But even as Curt said the words, he knew approaching Christy with the truth would be difficult. She’d been used before, and now she’d just see this as a bad rerun of the past. She wouldn’t understand that he had only lied to stay in line with his job.

  Christy’s smokey blue eyes haunted him throughout the day, and even when Curt was at his desk looking over the infor- mation he had obtained about Christy’s shipments, he couldn’t help thinking about her.

  “You aren’t even here, are you?” Debbie stated, not expecting an answer. “I’ve never seen you like this before, Curt. You’ve really gotten in over your head this time.”

  “Stay out of it, Debbie,” he fairly growled. “I don’t need your advice.”

  Debbie’s eyes registered hurt, then anger. “You need someone’s ad-vice, that’s for sure. Maybe Frank can talk some sense into you.”

  “I don’t want to talk to Frank, either.”

  “Well, you don’t get a choice,” Frank said from the doorway. “I want you in here. Now.”

  Curt rolled his eyes, and Debbie backed away from the desk. “Thanks, partner,” he muttered under his breath before going into Frank’s office.

  Curt pulled up a chair, knowing that the big man would give him a good lecturing. He deserved it, too, but what he didn’t want to hear about was the way he’d jeopardized the investigation, because he didn’t believe he had. Not yet, anyway.

  Frank eyed Curt with cool, unemotional eyes for just a moment. His towering six-foot, six-inch frame seemed to take up the room. “We’ve been friends for a while now,” he began. “I like you, Curt, I really do. You’ve been a good friend to Deb and me, and you’ve made a good member of the team.”

  “But?” Curt threw in before Frank could continue.

  “But—and this is strictly between you and me, friend to friend—” Frank said, leaning down with both hands on his desk. “If you ever talk to Debbie that way again, I’ll see to it that you’re grounded to paperwork for the rest of your career.”

  Curt knew the threat was idle, but he also appreciated Frank’s protectiveness of the woman he loved. Didn’t he feel that same way about Christy? The thought startled him so much that he never even heard what Frank said next. He’d fallen in love with Christy Connors. Why did it seem so surprising?

  “You’re a million miles away from your job and that could mean your death or Debbie’s. I’m pulling you off the Connors’s investigation.”

  “No!” Curt jumped to his feet. “You can’t!”

  “Give me one good reason why I should keep you on.”

  “I have Christy’s trust, so to speak. I can’t explain it to you. There are some things going on that I’m curious about and without me on the inside, you’ll spend months just working to get someone that close again.”

  “What kind of things, Curt?”

  “I’m not sure, but there are problems with her shipping invoices. You know about the New York shipments and the fact that 90 percent of her deliveries come from out of the country. She imports a great deal of the material and accessories that she uses in her designer line.”

  “I know all of that. That doesn’t justify keeping you inside.” Frank stared hard at Curt, daring him to elaborate.

  “I saw some of the cargo papers, as well as other shipments that have come directly to Christy at her home. There are real problems. The weights vary from those listed on the invoices and those on the crates and bills of lading. What few I could match up were off sometimes as much as one hundred pounds.”

  “Why hasn’t she noticed this? One hundred pounds of material would be considerably higher in shipping charges. Doesn’t she ever com-pare the costs?”

  “That’s just it. She isn’t charged for it,” Curt said sternly.

  “The shipper is involved then?”

  “I’d stake my career on it. I’d also guess that the whole thing is networked from start to finish. Christy always uses the same shipper, same import brokers, same ports of entry. It’s my belief that whoever is in charge has choreographed this thing from beginning to end. I don’t have all the pieces, and I certainly don’t have the names of who’s responsible, but I’d bet my life that Christy Connors isn’t one of them.”

  “That’s the trouble with you, Curt. You’d bet your life in this situation, and it very well may cost you your life. Now you may be willing to risk that, but I’m not. Nor am I willing to risk your partner’s life. I love that woman, and I’ll protect her just the same way you’re protecting Christy.” Frank sat down and his face softened. “Look, I realize that you’re in love with this Connors woman, and that’s exactly why you can’t stay on the case.”

  “I have to, Frank. Christy’s life is at stake, and she’s got deep problems in her family life that I believe may well be related to the case. She’s not going to let anyone else get close to her.” Curt wondered silently if she’d even let him remain close. Knowing he had to gamble his all, Curt continued. “There’s something else—something I haven’t even told Debbie.”

  Frank eyed him suspiciously. “You’d better tell me, and don’t leave any details out.”

  Curt nodded. “The shipper Christy uses is a subsidiary of O&F Aviation.”

  Frank looked at him blankly for a moment. “Your company?”

  “None other.”

  “Do you know who’s running things?”

  “Not a clue, but I will. That’s why I have to stay in this thing. It’s personal, now more than ever,” Curt said determinedly.

  Frank stared at him for a moment. “All right. You can stay on it for now.”

  “Thanks, Frank; you won’t be sorry.”

  Curt pulled into the crowded driveway to his sister’s house. CJ and Brad were throwing a small get-together and had insisted that he join them. Reluctantly, Curt had agreed, but only because he wanted to speak with Brad.

  “Curt, you made it. Come on in,” Brad said, opening the door. He ushered Curt into the house and took his coat. “Looks like it might snow again,” he said, hanging the coat in the closet.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Curt answered, a bit preoccupied.

  “Something wrong?” Brad asked.

  “I don’t know. Can we talk privately?”

  “Sure, come on upstairs.”

  Brad led the way, managing to avoid the small gathering that mingled around his house. Curt followed, hands deep in his pockets, a frown on his face.

  Brad opened the door to his private study. “We won’t be disturbed in here.”

  Curt waited until the door was closed behind them before talking. “There may be a bigger threat to CJ than I’d originally thought. I can’t explain everything because the truth is, I don’t have the answers.”

  Brad crossed his arms, worry clearly etched in his expression. “What should I do?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t help but wonder if we shouldn’t get her out of here. I’m afraid of what I’m going to find, and when I find it, I’m afraid I won’t be able to protect those I love.” His words were intended for Christy as well as CJ.

  “We haven’t been back from the honeymoon all that long, but I could suggest a trip related to the hotel business. CJ knows I want to expand. We could go scouting for property to build on.”

  “That might be good. She wouldn’t be suspicious that way.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” Brad laughed. “CJ would be suspicious no matter what. That’s just your sister’s way. We’re already in trouble for being up here alone. I haven’t a clue what excuse I’ll give her for this one.”

  Curt smiled and nodded. “Some things never change.”

  “Come on,” Brad said. “We’ll think of something.”

  Curt never knew what excuse Brad used with CJ because the mo-ment they came downstairs, Curt’s eyes fell on the vivacious blo
nd who stood at the end of the staircase. Blond curls bobbed back and forth while the woman chattered nonstop to a group of three other people.

  Curt paused behind the woman for a moment, causing the man on her right to eye him intently. The group grew quiet, and the woman turned.

  “Curt?”

  “Hello, Cheryl,” Curt said with a smile. Cheryl Fairchild was even more beautiful now than when they’d been engaged over six years ago.

  “CJ didn’t say anything about you being here,” she said softly. Step-ping forward a single step, Cheryl’s expression grew thoughtful. “You look fantastic.”

  “You, too,” Curt grinned. He looked Cheryl over, appreciating the stylish red dress that showed off her figure. Cheryl had always dressed a bit on the flamboyant side.

  “I can’t believe you’re really here,” she whispered. “When did you come to town?”

  The man on Cheryl’s arm seemed to scowl, and Curt enjoyed his discomfort. Looking past her to the man, Curt’s smile broadened. Cheryl followed Curt’s gaze and realized she’d totally ignored everyone else.

  “Curt, this is my fiancé, Stratton McFarland.”

  Curt nodded to the dark-headed man and extended his hand. “So you’re the lucky man who ended up with this gorgeous lady.”

  McFarland shook Curt’s hand and then took hold of Cheryl in a possessive way. There was something about the man that caused Curt to wonder if they’d met before. As if reading his mind, Cheryl spoke. “Stratton works for O&F Aviation corporate offices.”

  “How nice,” Curt said, having passed the point of enjoying the man’s discomfort. “I guess that makes me your boss.” Curt immediately wished he’d not mentioned that little fact.

  Stratton’s eyes narrowed, and Cheryl giggled nervously. “Curt is CJ’s brother.”

  The other people moved away to mingle, leaving Cheryl and Stratton to chat with Curt. “Stratton, would you be a dear and get me a glass of mineral water?”

  Stratton seemed annoyed that Cheryl obviously wanted to talk alone with Curt, but he said nothing and left the couple, grumbling under his breath.

  “I don’t think he likes me,” Curt dryly observed.

  “No, I don’t imagine he does. Curt, I’ve missed you. CJ tells me you’re hard to get in touch with these days. What are you up to?”

  “Oh, little bits of this and that,” Curt said guardedly. “What does Stratton do for O&F?”

  “He’s Daddy’s right-hand man. Daddy always figured on you having that job, so maybe Stratton’s a bit intimidated to know that you’re around.”

  Just then Stratton returned. He thrust the drink into Cheryl’s hands and pulled her close. Curt smiled at the man, knowing it further irritated him.

  “It was good to visit with you, Cheryl. I’m glad you and CJ are still close. We’ll have to get together and discuss old times.” At this, Stratton frowned, just as Curt knew he would.

  On the way back to his apartment, Curt considered Cheryl’s words about her father and Stratton. Maybe it was time to make a visit to Ben Fairchild and feel him out for whatever information he might give. Maybe it was time to try on Doug O’Sullivan’s shoes and see if they fit yet.

  twelve

  Spurred on by the memory of rejecting Curt and thinking about her sister’s rising hospital bills, Christy threw herself into her wedding gown creations. She so thoroughly lost herself in work that before she realized it, she was nearly a month ahead of schedule on three different dresses.

  The ringing phone tempted her to get an answering service, but knowing it to be a lifeline to the hospital, Christy couldn’t bring herself to do it. Just when things seemed to calm a bit, however, she picked up a call and heard the one voice she hoped never to talk to again.

  “I understand you want custody of my baby,” Grant said without any other introduction.

  “Candy wants me to raise the baby, and I told her I would. You’d already made it quite clear to me that you wanted no part of the child’s life, so I didn’t figure you cared.”

  “I only care that I get my fair share out of the deal. After all, maybe fatherhood isn’t such a bad thing for me to consider.”

  “What do you want, Grant?”

  “Money, of course.”

  “I’m already paying all the bills,” she replied weakly. “What else did you have in mind?”

  “I need a great deal of money, and I intend for you to supply it.” Grant then named an outrageous figure that nearly made Christy drop the telephone. “And don’t tell me you can’t get it. I heard about the success of your spring line in Milan.”

  “All right,” Christy replied. “So I get you the money. How do I know that you’ll give me legal custody of the baby?”

  “When the money is in my hands, I’ll give you the signed papers. It’s that simple.”

  “It’ll take me a little time to get the money,” Christy admitted. “But I’ll get it. You just make certain you hold up your end of the deal.”

  “Don’t worry,” Grant replied before issuing her final instructions. “And, Christy, don’t mention this to Erik. The fewer people involved, the better.”

  The call from Grant had been so unnerving that Christy couldn’t function in a normal manner for days. She tried to figure out how she was going to arrange everything, but her mind wouldn’t cooperate. She really wanted to talk to Curt about it. She needed his advice, but knew she wasn’t entitled to it.

  Setting her mind to accomplish something more, Christy contemplated a room for the nursery. If things went as planned and she did bring the baby home to live with her, Christy wanted everything just right. She remembered little things Candy had said about planning her own nursery and jotted down notes to herself. She’d use as many of Candy’s ideas as possible and augment them with ideas of her own.

  Working at the nursery sketch, Christy was startled by the sound of the doorbell. What if it was Grant? What if it was Curt?

  The bell sounded again, and Christy felt her heart begin to pound. She both dreaded and hoped it would be Curt. Just please don’t be Grant, she prayed. Squeezing her eyes shut, Christy took a deep breath and pulled the door open. She flashed her eyes open quickly and prepared to do battle.

  “Can we talk?” It was Curt, looking as warm and wonderfully appealing as he always did.

  Christy drank in his tanned skin against the variegated brown wool cardigan he wore. Her eyes trailed down his jeans to his boots and back up to his face, where she met his amused grin.

  “Finished with the inspection?”

  Christy blushed crimson. “I just thought I recognized the sweater.” She hurried on to cover her obvious interest. “The designer, I mean.”

  Curt nodded. “Of course.” His eyes still held their bemused twinkle, and Christy fervently wished she hadn’t been so obvious.

  “So, may I come in?”

  “No,” Christy said with as much fortitude as she could muster. “I don’t think we have anything to say to each other.”

  “Well, that’s where we differ, Christy,” Curt said and took hold of her arm. “I think we have a great deal to say to one another.”

  “Very well,” Christy said, knowing she was defeated. Curt once said he was a man used to getting what he wanted. Why should this time be any different?

  “I was working in the den,” she said. “I have a pot of coffee back there. Do you want a cup?”

  “Sounds good.”

  He followed Christy into the fashionably stylish room. A home en-tertainment system lined one wall with the stereo softly playing Beetho-ven. Curt glanced down at the sketches on the drawing table that stood against the opposite wall.

  “Are you switching to interior designs?” he asked casually.

  Christy came to where he stood and held out a mug of coffee. “Just say what you came to say and then go.” She tried very hard to sound firm and unemotional.

  Curt appeared unaffected by her words. “I don’t want things to be like this between us. I want to b
e friends again. In fact, I’d like to be more than friends.”

  Christy moved back a step. “More than friends?” she whispered, knowing full well she shouldn’t continue the conversation.

  Curt eyed her warmly. “Yes.” He put the coffee on the drafting table and stepped toward Christy.

  Christy backed up again. “I don’t think so, Curt.” She hated herself for sounding almost breathless. Her heart pounded harder at each step he took toward her. “I think we need to just walk away from each other and not look back.” There, she thought, I said what needed to be said.

  Curt just kept coming at her with a slow, deliberate pace that re-minded Christy of a wild animal stalking its prey. She kept backing up, realizing that soon she’d be against the wall and there’d be no place to go.

  “I don’t want to walk away. I care about you, and I think we should give this a try. There’s no one else to stand in our way, so why not?”

  Christy was mesmerized, her eyes fixed on his. His voice was soothing—almost hypnotic in its baritone whisper.

  “I can’t. We can’t,” she barely mouthed the words. Her voice was shaky, and the color drained from her face as Curt backed her into the corner.

  “Why not?” he persisted.

  “I…I, uh,” she struggled to speak. Curt was just inches from her. “I just can’t.”

  Curt leaned forward, but still did not touch her. “Why not?”

  “I’m afraid,” she finally admitted.

  “I haven’t given you any reason to be afraid of me.”

  The scent of Curt’s cologne drifted up, and Christy lost herself in a moment of memories. Memories of Curt holding her. Memories of her smelling his coat in order to catch the sweet, musky scent. She shook her head and couldn’t speak.

  “Christy, what are you afraid of?” Curt questioned and gently reached out to brush back a stray curl from her shoulder.

  Christy began to tremble from her head to her toes, and her teeth chattered noticeably as she cowered in the corner.

  “What are you afraid of?” he repeated.