by Unknown
“Simon, I am not used to someone telling me what to do,” Chloe took a deep drink of water and finished off the sandwich. “And I do understand that you mean well, seriously, I do…” She held up one finger when his mouth opened, a tiny flutter inside her just from meeting his gaze. “You are an amazing person and I honestly enjoy spending time with you.”
“Then it can’t be so difficult to let me keep you from yourself,” Simon laughed at the pouting, full lips. “I promise, Chloe, no cage. But can you understand…how very hard it is for me to see someone I’m coming to care about…”
”I understand that you worry,” she interrupted, gulping her water with a small choke. “I do, Simon…and I would be exactly the same in your place. It would make me a wreck to worry someone was…was terrifying you by stalking you.”
Simon leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest and watching the weaving fingers as her own words began to sink in. Her palms went flat on the table, full lips pursed into a small frown.
“Somehow, that sounded better before it left my lips,” Chloe exhaled slowly, glaring across the table at him. “Don’t gloat. It’s not becoming.”
“You are a delightful child, Chloe Applegate,” Simon stood up and extended his palm. “Shall we explore a bit?”
Chapter Six
Saturday morning, Chloe sat perched in the large, comfortable desk chair, legs crossed beneath her as her fingers tapped and guided her way through the internet, various programs helping her on the way. Free hanging, lightly waving red hair tilted slightly, a frown making her lips purse tightly together.
“Now why is that not a surprise,” she murmured, jotting the address down and slowly unfolding the lanky, slender form with a high reaching stretch. She walked to the dressing table she had refinished, rummaging in the top drawer for a couple simple clips. Deft fingers twisted the hair at each side of her head, clipping it safely out of her way above each ear. A pair of sparkling opals and mid sized loops finished off her jewelry before she went in search of her sneakers.
Chloe stood beside the electronic admittance box by the gate, fingers tapping in the number and striding through, admiring the nicely landscaped and cobbled driveway. A three car garage sat separate from the house, off to the right, the snappy sports car resting by the front door. She lifted the knocker and dropped it several times, head tipped and listening to the sounds from the other side.
She could smell coffee and toast, the scent stronger when the door was flung open, stunned, wide brown eyes behind a set of glasses. She stared for a moment at the large man, shirt sleeves rolled up and head completely bald.
“Hello. I’m looking for Simon. Mind if I come in?” Chloe offered a bright smile, one hand wrapped around the strap of her backpack as she strode into the very large foyer.
“How the hell’d you get in here?” One hand gestured to the locked gate, his frown deepening.
“I got skills,” she told him with a wink. “Simon still sleeping?”
“I…uh…it’s only seven in the morning.”
“Oh, I think he’ll see me,” Chloe wandered toward the massive curving collection of windows, the Sound sparkling far out in the distance.
“Yeah, I think he will,” Griss ran a heavy hand over his head. “I’m Griss, by the way. I’ll be right back…make yourself at home,” disbelief oozed from each word, his head still shaking, his feet climbing the few steps to the second level. Part of his brain was still mumbling to himself as his hand came down on the familiar door.
“Go – away,” Simon pulled a pillow over his head.
Griss eased the door open, sliding inside and sighing heavily. “You got company, boss. And it’s a redhead.” He was impressed at the speed that had Simon Oliver flipped over and bolting upright in the kingsized bed.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Griss tipped his shiny head to the side, one eyebrow raised. “This is probably a dumb question…did you give her the access code?”
“She got past the gate?” He demanded incredulously.
“Knocked on the door. I asked how she got in – all I got was a wink and the line, I have skills.”
Simon swore softly tossed the blanket aside and climbed from the bed. Sleep shorts clung low on his hips and hands ran through his hair as he headed to the bathroom. “Tell her I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
William Griss heard the music coming from the computer speakers and was across the room in a couple long strides. His first eyes shot to the patio doors were now wide open, freshly chilled marine layer air filtering it’s way into the house. Then he glanced at the desktop of the computer, knowing that he had never used an on-line radio but he didn’t mind the soft rock music playing around them.
His head was shaking as he wandered off to finish some breakfast. Chloe appeared to be peacefully ensconced in the hammock on the wide decking. The sun wouldn’t be on the deck for hours yet, but she appeared quite comfortable. His gaze fell on the glass top of the table sitting between the kitchen and living area. He didn’t leave manila folders sitting around. And he knew from years of working for him, that it was not Simon’s.
He picked it up and began reading through the sheath of papers. For a very long minute, Griss was positive he had stopped breathing. He exhaled with a low whistle, set the folder back on the table and went into the kitchen.
Remnants of his shower sparkled on the dark hair, taking the three stairs between the two levels with a slight frown. One quizzically raised brow at the man seated at the table. His gaze followed the eye movement toward the folder and then to the patio.
Chloe wasn’t sure how she knew he was there. She’d given up questioning that ability where Simon was concerned, her feet swinging to the floor. She sighed deeply, one last gaze at the ocean before entering the living area.
“Gentlemen,” Chloe smiled from one to the other. “You have a gorgeous home here, Simon. Amazing view. Great tanning deck.”
“Good morning to you, too,” he struggled with the urge to stride to her with a proper greeting. Somehow, some instinct told him now wasn’t the time. “I’m sorry it took so long. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“And he hates mornings,” Griss added from behind a large cup of coffee. “Coffee, boss?”
“Thanks,” Simon lifted the offered cup from the table, working to ignore the folder. “How did you get inside the gates, Chloe?”
“Magic,” she watched the constant exchange between the two men, eye contact and slight nods and tips of the head. She tilted her gaze at Simon. “Please, I was cracking codes like that when I was ten years old. However…let’s not discuss my indiscretions yet. I’m sure they’ll come back to haunt me at some time in the future. It’s come to my attention that someone has been trying to assemble information regarding my existence.”
“Re…Chloe…”
“No speaking until I call for questions, please,” Chloe stared toward the patio glass. Her hands up, fingers operating like they would on a large touch screen of her computer. “You see…it’s odd…to say the least…for anyone to bother delving into my life. Not unusual, mind you, there is the government and people I contract with, that’s to be expected. But imagine my surprise when the IP address of the person or people setting off alarms all over my computer, led me to this very address,” Blue eyes left the imaginary computer screen, one pale brow arched expectantly, glancing from one to the other. “You work for him?” She directed the question at Griss.
“I do…and have for a good many years, yes,” Griss took a long swallow of his coffee. Something told him he’d be needing more before the morning is finished.
“Ahhh…and you were at lunch the other day…Tina rather fancied
you, by the way. I happen to know she’s single and thought you were interesting. Some chatter about motorcycles,” Chloe told him with an off-handed wave of her fingers.
“Chloe, I work with people. I am good with resources management and schedules and negotiations. All of which would help us if I could find a link to this guy shadowing you.”
“That’s why you were digging,” she acknowledged with a slight nod. “You’re also very good at logistics and reconstructing war torn countries, Captain and he was your right hand.”
Simon felt a tightness inside him, control drawn from deep down to keep his fingers from clenching on the cup in his hand. “Yes. I was.”
“Doesn’t have a good feeling, does it? People knowing things about you that you haven’t chosen to share with them…yet.” She said softly, palms up and sweeping the imaginary screen blank, long legs encased in a pair of khaki shorts with way too many pockets paced the hardwood floor. Her boots made a very solid sound in the silence around them. “Irregardless,” she waved a palm carelessly toward the folder. “That has everything you were searching for but it does not have the answer – because the question is why. I already know the who.”
“You…why didn’t you say something?” A low growl in his throat when one finger raised in his direction.
“I do, however, have another slight problem to deal with,” Chloe turned once more to the glass of the patio, her eyes darting as if she could see screens before her. “We’ve narrowed down the white van to being about me. And it is not work related, it is personal. At least, so far, I think it is,” she glanced around at the furniture and decided it wasn’t what she wanted. With feet crossed, she sunk to the floor, elbows on her knees and palms up to hold her chin. “Alright, gentlemen, it’s your turn.”
She burst out laughing at the expressions crossing their features.
“Speechless, I love it,” she bounced to her feet, gripped her backpack and headed to the front door. “When you think of something to say, let me know.”
Chloe was not prepared for the rich baritone that she was positive, echoed out onto the still water.
Chapter Seven
“Stop right there, lady.”
Simon let out the growling shout, shoving from the table and standing toe to toe when she turned slowly to face him. “Griss, please find another place to be.”
“Sure thing, boss. I’m off for the day and will be gone in a few minutes,” he gathered the coffee cups and disappeared behind the swinging kitchen door.
Simon blamed it on being awake before eight in the morning. His hands moved to her shoulders, his forehead down to rest against hers. At least she didn’t throw him to the ground or make a run for it.
“So this is the real Chloe,” he said after a few quiet seconds, he took her free hand and led her to the sofa, his fingers over hers on the strap of the backpack, taking it and setting it on the floor. “Stay and talk to me, please.”
“Maybe we should get you some more coffee and food,” Chloe met his gaze, her palm up to lightly stroke over the unshaven cheek. “I got the impression you don’t care for seven AM much.”
“Uh…no…not so much,” Simon admitted tiredly. “Especially since we were downtown until after one this morning.”
“I’m a bad influence on you,” she admitted, leading him through the swinging doors. Her fingers left his, palm up to wave expressively. Wide eyes drank in the very large stainless steel equipped room. “Simon, this is gorgeous,” came the breathless statement. “Your whole house is amazing. I noticed the small turbines and solar panels. Are you completely off the grid?”
“Not quite, but close. Each year is based on the whims of mother nature,” he admitted, a tingle of pride striking at his ego beneath her admiration.
“You designed all this, didn’t you?” She wandered around the room while he rummaged in the fridge and poured himself another large cup of coffee.
“I had three sets of plans that made it to the final pick,” he told her, sipping his coffee and smiling at the way she opened drawers and cabinets, delicate fingers stroking over the marble counters and simple wood carved doors. He bit into an apple and chewed thoughtfully in recollection. “I took what I wanted from each and put it all together about three years ago. A little at a time. I’m still working on the inside, as far as furniture is concerned.” One leg was angled out when he slid onto one of the high, padded stools around the center island.
“It’s beautiful,” Chloe told him, her feet resting on a lower rung of another of the high stools. She brought her elbows up to rest on the chilled marble, swirls of apricot and chocolate in the fine stone. One finger raised when she saw his palm move to rub the back of his neck. “I’m trying to figure out where to start.”
“How did you decide who might be responsible for the van?” He asked, hoping it would help her to talk.
“Part of me doesn’t want to tell you. Part of me wants you to believe I come from a normal family…then the other part of me is arguing that environment and choice make the person more than DNA ever could.” She exhaled slowly, shoving the fluttering anxiety aside.
Simon watched her draw in a long, shaky breath.
“I didn’t know at first. I don’t know…maybe I really did know all along but wanted to pretend it was you someone was interested in, not me. The night I took my final lesson, it seemed to gel, I think that’s what just made me so flat out angry that I’d want to kick the heck out of the idiot and his van.”
Chloe looked at the loaf of chunky bread with a tilt of her head. “Got peanut butter?”
Temporarily thrown off, Simon frowned slightly. “No…don’t think so. Don’t recall it something either of us eat much.”
“He really does work for you?” Chloe leaned back, turning slightly and bracing her elbows on the counter behind her. Blue eyes studied the man a foot away from her.
“He has since we left the military. Personal assistant, I guess you’d call him. Sometimes driver if I have work to pull together.”
“Huh…”
“Huh what?”
“Just…huh…”
“Is that good or bad? C'mon, cut me some slack here,” he drained the coffee and set it into the sink. “I have a cleaning person who comes in on Wednesdays; we do our own laundry and we use a dry cleaner near the office downtown.”
“Simon,” Chloe raised her hands expressively, fingers squaring off a section of nothing. “This is the Simon grid…this is the acceptable and this is the not so acceptable. If there was ever more in the not so acceptable portion, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. A ‘huh’ is just…more like…hmmm, I had no idea…who does the shopping?”
“Both of us…when the need strikes. I wander through grocery stores or jot things on the list,” he gestured to the paper on the fridge. “And Griss makes a run when he needs to.” He reached out and lifted her hand from the counter, tugging until she was standing before him, neatly trapped by a pair of jean clad knees. “So the acceptable bottle has more marbles than the not so acceptable bottle?”
Chloe felt the strength in his thighs where her hands rested on each leg, palms lifted and touching his face with a soft laugh. “I’m not sure discussing your marbles is a safe conversation, Simon.”
“Who is behind the photographer, Chloe?”
She tipped her head back and drew in a long, slow breath.
“Thanks to your brother, we already know the van belongs to a private investigator, Mike Guthrie. It’s not likely he’d tell us anything, but here goes the theory. When we took massive steps to make me far less than public, a little over four years ago, we laid out various and continually updating and misleading trails, just in case someone t
ried finding me.”
His palms itched and he wanted to know why, but kept his fingers tightly lopped in the belt at her waist, forcing himself to let her set the pace.
“There should be a condensed version,” Chloe stepped back, tugging until he reluctantly released her. She wandered around the kitchen, touching things with casually light fingertips. She stopped at the sliding glass doors, opening them and inhaling deeply. “There should be a beginning…but I’m not sure where, because when I tell you the who, I have to go backwards to explain.”
“I have a pretty good processor, Chloe,” Simon teased, using her own words, he crossed the room and opened the screen door, following her onto the large deck. He watched her sink onto the cushions of the wide lounger. She assumed her customary position, legs crossed beneath her and elbows on her knees, her chin in upturned palms. “So let’s start with the who.”