Trying to cool down, Conan studied her rearrangement of his shelves.
She’d color-coordinated his files. His business and government files were organized in black and green folders on the shelves by the stairs. He took down the orange and red folders on the other side of the room—missing children cases were mixed with his Malcolm files. How the devil had the woman known to sort them between family and business? She hadn’t even read them, just shoved papers and moved folders.
He wasn’t any less aroused, just more intrigued.
Chapter 13
Conan woke in his bed instead of his desk chair for a change. Stretching against the black silky sheets to which his laundry-folding bed pal had introduced him, he tried to remember going to bed but couldn’t. Instead, the image of lush curls and shell-shocked rose lips filled his head, and he remembered—he’d propositioned a client. Damn, he must have been mad.
Painfully aware that he had a female in the house, Conan yanked on clean jeans instead of jams. He couldn’t find a clean polo, so he dug out a turtleneck someone had given him, then pulled a denim work shirt over it. It was Sunday. He didn’t have to be fancy.
His doorbell rang before he could locate socks. He glanced out the window and identified Oz’s Porsche at the curb. Shit.
He didn’t want his family and Dorrie in the same damned room until he figured out what the Librarian’s messages meant.
But the last time his I-am-God brother had visited, Oz had simply let himself in, knocking over the surfboard and setting off the security alarm. At least he had a door now, thank the powers that be. And Dorrie.
Checking a clock, amazed at the lateness of the hour, Conan jogged down the stairs. He saw no sign of Dorrie as he crossed the family room, although he could hear Toto whining. He turned off the security alarm, opened the door, and stepped out on the crate he used for a step, pulling the door closed behind him. Donal was bouncing in the back seat of the Porsche, and Conan gave him a thumbs-up sign. The kid grinned and revealed a missing tooth.
Oz and Pippa were examining his upper story windows as if prepared to heave rocks through them if he hadn’t answered. At his appearance, they held out bags from his favorite bagel shop, and Conan’s stomach rumbled in anticipation.
“I hope you didn’t come all this way just for me. I’m working.” He helped himself to Pippa’s bag, knowing his big brother would hang on to his until he got what he wanted. Pippa was more generous.
“Aren’t you going to invite us in?” she asked in amusement.
His sister-in-law was a wicked witch with a voice like a choir of angels and the ability to bring a man to his knees with a song. Fortunately, Conan and Oz were immune to her siren call. They weren’t, however, immune to her female intuition.
“Nope,” Conan told her, helping himself to his favorite stuffed bagel and returning the bag. “Thanks for the help yesterday, but I’m on a case and I have to get back to work. I sent you all I know. The Librarian is still nuts.”
His slick TV producer brother was dressed in what was probably thousand-dollar linen slacks and shirt this morning, but he was eyeing Conan’s lower story as if he meant to punch in windows. Oz was the pretty boy of the family, but he had a mind like a steel trap and was capable of dismantling the entire house to get at what he wanted.
Apparently discarding the idea of punching glass, Oz turned his attention on the newly painted door. Conan leaned his shoulders against it, preventing access.
“We just want to meet her,” Pippa said, offering another bagel as bribe. Her wide mouth smiled with innocence.
“You’re wearing dress-to-impress clothes,” Conan said, taking the bag offered and talking through the last of his asiago bagel. “If you’d come wearing your usual overalls, I could have set you to moving furniture while I work. As it is, you’ll just have to find another party to entertain.”
“You, dopehead, wouldn’t have even bothered calling us yesterday if we hadn’t called first,” Oz admonished. “We’re trying to tell you we’re here to help you as you helped us. Now open the damned door.”
“When I need help, I’ll let you know, thanks. Sorry to disappoint, but today’s not that day.” Keeping the breakfast bag this time, Conan waved the remains of his bagel at Donal, who appeared ready to climb out of the car on his own. “Thanks for the food. You’d better keep the munchkin from scarpering.”
He wasn’t about to raise Oz’s hopes over some crazy notion that Magnus might still be alive. Oz had a family now and didn’t need more grief.
When Oz turned to catch his kid, Conan opened the door behind him, slipped through, and locked it before his brother could muscle in. He waited to see if they’d be crude enough to pound on the door after being dismissed. When he heard Pippa’s laugh carrying from the street, he sighed in relief and turned around….
To find Dorrie regarding him with curiosity. She wore a red silk robe concealing whatever she did or didn’t wear under it and had pulled her hair back in a wide knit band, but the exuberance of her curls still framed her face in a halo of black. She looked like a wicked fairy when she narrowed her eyes at his silence.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” he said in hasty explanation, offering the bagels as a peace offering.
She nodded, her expression carefully blank. “I have to visit my father this morning. I’ll need my car.”
She turned around and stalked back to her room, leaving Toto sniffing at the bag, tail wagging.
He might not know women well, but Conan figured he was in deep doo-doo for some reason. He found the dog’s leash and took himself for a walk.
***
Conan didn’t want her to meet his family. Dorrie tried not to blame him as she showered and straightened her hair, but it hurt.
He thought she was weird, and he’d gone out of his way to keep his family away from her. She got it. That particular rejection wasn’t unusual, and she’d certainly outdone herself yesterday. She’d be wary of her, too. But after the magical moment they’d shared yesterday, she’d thought he’d accepted her, flaws and all. Apparently, it had only been sex. At least she knew to keep her distance now.
For her regular Sunday visit to her father, she dressed in business casual of black slacks and blazer and ruffled midnight-blue silk blouse. Ryan Franklin liked to show off his “CEO” daughter, so she dressed to oblige, although she preferred ballet flats to heels.
She would hope her father could offer some insight into the missing funds, but his purpose had always been to intimidate his wealthy acquaintances into contributing. He didn’t know the clients or the employees.
For the millionth time, she longed for Bo’s wisdom.
Her cell rang before she could head upstairs for coffee. She glanced at caller ID and recognized Tillie’s number. Tillie was one of Dorrie’s new hires. A good friend since high school, Tillie positively exuded good vibrations, although Dorrie couldn’t tell grumpy Mr. Zimmer that. Explaining how she knew Tillie would be an excellent bookkeeper would add whole new dimensions to the Wicked Witch epithet.
Blond, plump, and perpetually cheerful, Tillie would return a dime to a cashier if she was overpaid. She could total a dinner check for twelve, divide, add the tip, and give everyone their portion with the accuracy of a human computer. Tillie had discovered the original missing funds.
“What’s up?” she asked, answering the call.
Dorrie watched from her bedroom door as Conan returned with Toto. Damn, but the man looked good in that turtleneck, with his long hair wind tousled.
“Zimmer just called to tell me I’m fired.” Cheerful Tillie sounded depressed. “I can’t afford to be fired. I was out of a job for three months last time before you offered me this position. What did I do wrong?”
“You did nothing wrong as far as I know.” Frowning, Dorrie followed Conan up the stairs. She needed coffee to survive the day ahead. “And Zimmer can’t fire you without going through me. The old fart has gone off his rocker.”
Except t
he old fart wasn’t that old and was a crony of her father’s and generally knew more than she did about the business. Had he realized it was Dorrie’s clients whose funds were being diverted?
“Then I’m not fired?” Tillie asked with relief. “I can come into work tomorrow?”
“As far as I’m concerned, you can. I’m visiting my father this morning. Maybe he can tell me what’s set Zimmer off this time. Then I’ll bring you a money tree for your career sector so you can quit worrying about your bills. Let me call you back later, okay? But for now, consider yourself employed.”
She hoped Zimmer hadn’t gone over her head to her father about Tillie. She might as well not go into work if she was being left out of the process. Unfortunately, she wasn’t qualified for any other job—except the one she didn’t dare create.
Memories of her mother’s bloodied body on the floor of her interior design firm prevented any pleasure in dreaming of that career. The anguish never went away.
Dorrie dropped the cell in her jacket pocket and emerged on the second floor to the smell of coffee cooking. She wasn’t ready to face Conan, but he was her best means of retrieving her car. She’d have to learn to live with the knowledge that she was attracted to a man who didn’t want to introduce her to his family. It happened.
As she entered the kitchen, Conan reached in the cabinet for a mug and silently filled it.
“I need to visit my father this morning. Would it help in your research if I took you with me?” she asked coolly, adding sugar to her caffeine and eyeing the bagel bag he’d left out.
There, put it in his face. She’d introduce him to her family on a personal basis. Maybe Conan would explain why he wouldn’t let her meet his.
“No, not this morning,” he said, showing no interest in chatting up her millionaire father. “I’m looking into some Air Force documents on the helicopter’s specs. I’ll take you up to your car first, just to make sure you leave the bluff this time.”
He said it nonchalantly, but she shot him a glare anyway. “You’re not my watchdog,” she reminded him.
“Nope, but I have a feeling if I want your help, I need to keep you alive. I heard you tell your friend that you’ll put a money tree in her career sector to help pay her bills. What was that about?”
He leaned against the granite counter and sipped his coffee, again regarding her as if she were a bug on his plate.
“Feng shui. I don’t expect you to understand. I’ve studied it all my life, and I can’t claim to understand why things work the way they do. Mostly, it’s positive thinking combined with organization, but there is definitely a shift in energy when your living space is properly arranged. Did you sleep well?” She helped herself to a bagel and ignored the way his eyes narrowed. She knew all about skepticism. His ought to cool off her hormones. Someday.
“Amazingly so,” he agreed. “Adrenaline rushes must do that.”
“Probably, but I tossed and turned all night.” That ought to remind her that they were totally unsuited. He could live like this. She couldn’t. “That wall really needs to come down from around your stairs. It’s blocking the flow of chi.”
“Can’t afford to finish that section,” he said noncommittally.
Dorrie knew he was watching her. She kind of liked the attention. But she chewed her bagel as if she didn’t notice. Swallowing, she gestured idly. “I can buy a money tree for your career sector, too. I think things will be looking up for you there soon. I just hope you won’t give up on Bo when they do.”
“I’ve already written the proposal for a government contract. Money doesn’t drop into my lap without preparation. But I’ll be talking to more of my team about our case today.” He hesitated as if debating to tell her more. Apparently, he decided against it because he continued, “We have zero leads, but maybe something will turn up.”
She nodded with equal detachment. “Thank you. I’ve called in auditors. The office is likely to be crawling with accountants tomorrow, so I don’t know how useful I will be.”
“The Foundation’s case is easier than a missing helicopter,” he said with casual confidence. “I’ve identified at least one bank account where diverted funds are being transferred. Let me know when you decide to call the police for a warrant to dig into that. You can handle the office while I keep working on your brother’s case.”
They were speaking from a distance, as if they were truly strangers or casual associates. Dorrie supposed that was for the better, but she couldn’t help the twist of hurt. This was how she and her father related—with businesslike courtesy.
“You’re certain it’s an inside job and not a hacker,” she asked, trying to remain noncommittal and not admire the broad shoulders that had felt so good to lean against yesterday.
“Nothing is ever one hundred percent certain, but that’s the way it looks to me. Can I get you anything else to eat besides that bagel?” he asked politely.
“No, this is excellent, thank you. Shall I go shopping for groceries before I return? I can’t keep eating off you and your…family.” She forced a polite smile.
“My family bought those bagels as a bribe to pry. Buy whatever you need to feed yourself.” He lounged against the counter, sipping his coffee as if they hadn’t had their tongues down each other’s throats last night.
Dorrie nodded, stupidly hoping that maybe he was protecting her from his nosy family. Experience said otherwise, but she should be open-minded. “I’ll start apartment hunting this afternoon, but thank you for giving me a place to stay. I’m sure the Foundation will offer a bonus for services above the call of duty once the matter is resolved.”
She finished her coffee and left him leaning against the counter in the role of polite stranger. She sighed in regret at sacrificing Conan’s strong arms for a damned office.
Chapter 14
After taking Dorrie up to the bluffs to retrieve her Prius and watching to be certain she drove away, Conan returned to his desk. Even though his guest hauled a shitload of junk in her tiny car, she didn’t return to the house with him. He almost missed having his own elf rearranging his shelves as he settled into his research, but he knew how to work alone.
He easily tracked the company that had built the experimental helicopter, Adams Engineering. He frowned at the name similar to the one that owned the servers the Librarian used to use. But it was a common name, and appeared to be a legitimate company specializing in government contracts, so he didn’t let the similarity distract him from his purpose.
Dorrie was the one distracting him. As he looked for some means of cracking into the Adams server, he kept reliving that scene of her flying over a cliff. Maybe he’d been so terrified, he’d just imagined that she’d been holding the cliff together with the force of her will. But Oz was the creative brother. Conan wasn’t much at imagining things.
She hadn’t been any too happy with him this morning. Keeping a distance was probably better for both of them, for now. He wasn’t denying that he wanted another chance at her bed. But he had the Librarian’s warnings mucking with his head. He’d look into Bo and Magnus first, then proceed from there. Priorities, he understood.
He gave his team the task of infiltrating Adams Engineering. He’d assign more people as soon as he had a better grip on what the company did and who was involved. He wasn’t a slacker. He knew his business and was damned good at it.
But he couldn’t help continuing to run searches on Dorrie’s family while his system was running password programs on the Adams server.
His curiosity about his own ancestors had been aroused when Pippa’s mother had explained that the Oswins had Malcolms way back on their family tree, and that Malcolms had an unusual number of creative/eccentric/gifted members. As in—they had exceptional abilities like Pippa’s siren voice and her mother’s empathic talent. And Malcolms often died young or simply disappeared—as Pippa and her mother had done after painful crises brought on by their extraordinary abilities.
Like Dorrie’s brother? A
nd Magnus?
He’d like to call his nose for trouble a psychic gift, but Conan figured it was more his natural instinct for anticipating problems and dodging obstacles. But Dorrie’s declaration that she felt energy patterns was weird. Could it be dangerous?
After locating all her family names, it didn’t take long to learn both Dorrie’s maternal grandparents had ancestors in Hong Kong. Decades of British occupation gave him access to English-language records that he might not have in another province, and someone had kept genealogy records updated. He had search engines running in four databases by the time his password program found the shortcut into the Adams Engineering computer.
With a limitless list of servers at his command, multitasking was his specialty. He had Dorrie’s family tree dated back a hundred years by the time his software located the engineering company’s personnel files. He began a password search to enter them as well, and returned to the family tree.
Digging further, he learned the murder of Mei Ling Franklin when Dorrie was twelve wasn’t the only early death or disappearance in the Ling family. Remembering the bones buried on her property, Conan scowled. He would have to stay with the currently missing family member and worry about the others later.
His password program dinged. Fighting his unease, he returned to hacking into the Adams computer, looking for personnel files on the people who’d worked on the helicopter.
An instant message popped up on his screen: Mojave Dst, Chinese!
Cursing, Conan chased after the Librarian’s cyber bunny trail and came up empty-handed, again.
The damned Mojave Desert encompassed most of southeastern California and spilled over to Nevada. No way could he pinpoint a location in that vast wasteland without specifics if that was the direction the Librarian was trying to give him.
***
Ryan Franklin had taken an entire suite at the pricey residential care home he’d moved into after his stroke. Dorrie was amazed he hadn’t taken two suites, but she supposed there hadn’t been two available.
Malcolm and Ives 02 - Trouble With Air and Magic Page 11