“Oh, I know exactly who I’ve been wooing. It’s you who’s confused. I know you’ve got a bitch streak a mile wide, and it needs some serious boundaries to contain it. I also know that you hide behind that streak when it suits you.”
Rachel’s chin went up as she tossed her long sleek hair over her shoulder and gave him a look that was pure disinterest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I have no interest in it either.”
“You show the world the bitch, so they won’t notice when you go out of your way to do something nice for the people you care about.”
“Do you actually need me here for this conversation? Or are you happy to carry on alone?”
“I know all about the ways you’ve smoothed the paths of the people around you. Take Isobel’s kids,” he said evenly. “She was having trouble getting them into a decent school. You stepped in, and suddenly they were getting offers from the best schools in London. Only, they didn’t know it was you because the schools told them they were picked up through the entrance exams they did for other schools.”
“That wasn’t me being nice.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I was sick of listening to Isobel whine about it, that was all.”
“Then there’s Harry’s literacy charity. Does he realize how many strings you pulled through your connections in government to get him access to the countries he wanted to work in?”
“Again, a purely selfish move on my part. I can’t stand his wife, Magenta, and he was talking about moving to London with her.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t allow that to happen.”
“Callum’s prosthetic legs,” he carried on. “There’s a waiting list a mile long at the clinic that produces them. Not only that, but he got the state-of-the-art prototypes that are barely out of testing, and I know for a fact he didn’t pay what they’re worth. Didn’t your brother go to school with the CEO of the company that developed those prosthetics? And I do believe you and Jonathan had dinner with him a couple of weeks before Callum got the call that he was on the shortlist. Right after you made a huge donation to their research fund.”
“Coincidence.” She looked bored. “As much as I enjoy our little chats—which is about as much as I enjoy having gynecological exams—I have an appointment with my wine cellar.” She lifted her phone, ready to call for a car.
Harvard swiped it from her. “I have a car, and I’m going back to your place with you.”
“Over my dead body.” She didn’t bother reaching for the phone, but he knew she was itching to retrieve it. There was the promise of payback in her eyes.
“Rachel, I won’t kill you, but I will tase your sexy ass and throw you in the back of my vehicle. And no one here would object. In fact, I’m betting I’d get a standing ovation.”
She glanced around at the employees lingering to watch them and to snigger over her car. No doubt they were waiting for her to lose her mind and eviscerate someone. He sighed. What was with everyone and their fear of Rachel’s reputation? Couldn’t they see she deliberately cultivated it just so she didn’t have to deal with them?
“Get in the car.” He pointed at his SUV.
Cold hazel eyes stared at him while she considered her options. “Fine. Have it your way.” And then she swept past him and into the car. The back of the car. As though he was her damned chauffeur instead of her supposed fiancé.
He glared at their amused audience before climbing behind the wheel. In the back seat, Rachel sat with her hands clasped on her lap and her feet crossed at the ankles as she gazed out of the window. It wouldn’t have surprised him in the least if she’d affected a royal wave for the TayFor staff.
“Couple more things,” he said as he pointed the car out of the parking lot. “Stop being a bitch to the people who care about you and apologize to Ryan.”
“Of course,” she said politely. “I’ll have my new PA schedule it for me. I do believe I have an hour free around about the twelfth of never. Now, would you be a dear and return my phone? I really must text everyone I’ve ever dealt with and tell them to keep their mouths shut about my business. Especially if an irritating ex-spy comes asking questions about whom I help, and why I do it.”
All Harvard could do was toss the phone back to her. If there were two things he’d learned in the CIA, they were to pick your battles and to exercise patience. The exact same skills he needed in dealing with Rachel.
The drive into London from Surrey took a little longer than expected, thanks to the rush hour traffic, and Rachel spent the time tapping away on her phone. Harvard dreaded to think what she was doing. If Rachel wanted to, she could start World War Three armed purely with an iPhone.
“I need your keycard,” he said, rolling down his window as they approached the garage under her apartment building.
Grudgingly, she handed it over and let out a little strangled sound filled with irritation when he pocketed it instead of handing it back. Ten minutes later—after Rachel had reluctantly added him to her list of approved visitors at the reception desk in the foyer—they were in her apartment. And it was just as spectacular as he’d envisioned.
Set in a part of Knightsbridge that overlooked Hyde Park, it allowed her to call Kensington Palace her neighbors. Rachel owned one of two split-level penthouses with uninterrupted views of the city, the park, and royalty.
The vast open-plan living area, with its polished dark wooden floors and thick white rugs, paled in comparison to the views framed by the floor to ceiling windows. And, even better, good sound insulation meant they couldn’t hear the endless London traffic far beneath them. It was an oasis of decadence right in the center of one of the world’s busiest cities.
She’d furnished the large living space with overstuffed sofas in shades of white and cream. But the different textures that made up the upholstery meant they didn’t seem spartan. The cream walls were decked with contemporary art; she seemed to have a thing for huge, bright abstract paintings.
By the window was a baby grand piano and an oversized armchair. A handknitted blanket in cream, of course, was thrown over it. A book lay on the seat. Rachel’s reading nook, maybe. Apart from that, no personal mementos or photos cluttered up the place. Rachel obviously liked clean lines and plenty of space.
“Have you finished psychoanalyzing me based on my home?” she asked as she strode into the room.
“Not quite. Got to see the rest of the place first before I come to any conclusions.” Harvard dropped his bag on the thick rug by the sofa and turned. He stopped dead. “A red kitchen?” Not just red. The cabinets were a lacquered red: the shade of blood. “Inviting,” he muttered, wondering if she cooked in it or just dissected things.
“You don’t need to stay here if you don’t like it.” Rachel strolled past him and into the kitchen from hell. “Wine?” She reached into the wine rack against the far wall and took out a bottle of red, then grabbed two glasses from the cabinet behind her.
“Red wine?” He looked around. “In this apartment? You like to live dangerously, don’t you?”
“No. I like to live alone.”
He stifled a chuckle as he peeked into the dining area off the kitchen. It held a large wooden table, stained black, and red upholstered chairs. “Do you eat in there, or just drink blood?”
“Vampire jokes? How very ordinary.” She sashayed toward him, handed him a glass of wine, then kept on walking. “Since there appears to be no getting rid of you, I’ll show you to your room.” She flashed a dark look over her shoulder. “We aren’t sharing.”
Yeah, he hadn’t thought they would be. Sipping the wine, which wasn’t half bad, but still wasn’t beer, he followed her along the hallway from the living room.
Rachel pointed at doors as they passed. “Study, lavatory, cloakroom, laundry room.” They turned a corner. “The pool is up those stairs.” She pointed to a short staircase in the corner. “You’ll find extra bathing suits in the closet.”
“Pool?” In London? Was it an ice rink six months of the year?
&nb
sp; “It’s indoors, heated, and on the small side. But it suffices.” She strode up the steps and opened the door, so he could look inside. And sure enough, there was a decent-sized pool with a small bar in one corner and several seats and loungers dotted around.
“I can only imagine how hard it is to have to make do.”
Her lips twitched, but instead of smiling, she sipped her wine.
“Is that a gnome?” He stepped into the room, grinning at the giant concrete gnome perched on the edge of the pool as though fishing in it. “Doesn’t exactly go with the rest of your décor.”
“My brother, Sebastian, gave it to me for my birthday. It was his idea of a joke. As soon as I get around to it, I’ll have it deposited at the bottom of the Thames, where it belongs.”
Harvard suspected she’d take years to get around to it and wondered how long it had been there already. He didn’t plan to ask though; there was no way Rachel would admit to being sentimental over a gift.
They left the pool room and Rachel led him to a set of stairs that headed downward, winding around until they stopped in a short hallway. There were four doors.
She pointed to the one farthest away. “That leads out to the fire escape stairway and service elevator. There’s a small entryway beyond that door that I never use. Both the interior door and the one leading into the rest of the building are locked and alarmed.” She cocked a thumb over her shoulder to the door behind her. “That’s my bedroom.” She stepped past him and threw open the door nearest Harvard. “This will be your room.”
Harvard entered to find that it was decorated in yet more shades of cream. There was a king-sized bed, which, thankfully, meant he wouldn’t be sleeping with his feet hanging off the end, a desk and chair, a dresser, and two armchairs positioned by the window but angled for a view of the TV facing the bed.
“Bathroom is through there.” She indicated one of the doors. “The other door is to the closet.”
“Thanks,” he said. “What’s on the other side of the last door on this floor?”
“Just another guest room that looks much like this one. I keep some exercise equipment in there, but I rarely use it. I prefer the pool.”
“Mind if I check it out?” He headed back into the hallway.
“Be my guest. Oh wait, I’d have to have invited you for that to apply.”
He grinned as he stuck his head inside the other bedroom. It was almost identical to his, but with a treadmill and elliptical trainer instead of armchairs. “You okay if I set up this room as command center? Whiteboards and computers, that sort of thing.”
“Do whatever you like. Just be invisible while you do it.” She turned toward her bedroom, clearly done with him for the day.
“Are you going to show me your room?” he couldn’t resist asking.
“Yes.” She opened her door. “I’ve penciled that in for right after I apologize to Ryan. I’ll see you in the morning, which thrills me no end.” And then she closed the door in his face.
Chapter Nine
Three days later, the team congregated around Rachel’s dining table to discuss their progress—which, to Harvard’s dismay, wasn’t a whole lot.
“Are any of you listening to me?” Ryan said, showing the irritation everyone else felt. “Or am I wasting my time giving my report?”
“I’m listening.” Harvard reached for his beer, which sat in front of him on the dining room table.
As had been the case for the past three days, Rachel sat as far away from Harvard as possible and pretended he was invisible. Oh, she was polite enough when they met in the hallway or drove to work together. And she was polite in front of her colleagues and workmates at TayFor. Yeah, she was very polite. What she wasn’t being was what everybody expected a fiancée to be, and that worried him.
“And?” Ryan demanded as he reached for the bag of chips and proceeded to demolish them. “What do you think?”
“About what?” Rachel asked as she studied her manicure. “Your update hasn’t exactly added anything to the investigation. It’s fabulous you’ve managed to bug all of the executive offices, but it hasn’t produced anything of use yet. And discovering that Cousin Marcus is having an affair with one of the sales reps isn’t exactly a shock. Everyone in the family knows his second marriage is already on the rocks.”
“Divorce costs money,” Ryan said around a mouthful of food.
“Yeah, but Marcus isn’t his father,” Rachel said, sounding bored. “He has a prenup. The divorce won’t affect his finances too much; Preston saw to that.”
“For a dude who’s supposed to be an expert in company law, that Preston guy seems to write a whole lot of prenups,” Ryan said. “As for Marcus, I still don’t like the guy; he drinks way too much. Who knows what stupid shit he’s done while drunk? My granddad always says a drunk man is an easy mark.” He tossed the empty bag onto the table and looked around for more food. There wasn’t any, because the pizza hadn’t arrived yet. “But then again, Granddad also spends his retirement hanging around my work and playing at war in the basement training room, so not sure how much stock we can put in his wisdom.”
Harvard grinned. Ryan’s granddad and granduncle treated the carpentry work they did for Benson Security as a hobby. Mainly they were there for the entertainment and gossip.
He turned his attention to Elle. “You got anything for us?”
“A whole lot of nothing.” She folded her arms over her pale blue T-shirt emblazoned with the words Trekkies do it on the starboard bow. Her hair, minus the red wig, was back to its usual pale blue. “The program Harry wrote to search for ghost activity on the TayFor computers has come up blank.”
“Have you managed to get it onto every machine?” Harvard took a sip of his beer as he glanced at Rachel. She was paying more attention to her iPhone than to the meeting.
“Pretty much,” Elle said. “There are a few laptops I still need to get my hands on, as they’re out on assignment, and our friendly head of security is slowing me down. Basically, he reckons he could find the thief faster if we just got out of his way. He’s even mentioned a few times that he could go to Jonathan and get us fired.”
“In his small-minded dreams,” Rachel said, her eyes still on that damn phone. She was like a teenager with it, and Harvard was getting to the stage where he was about to snap and confiscate the thing.
“The guy’s a dickhead.” Ryan wandered over to Rachel’s kitchen, looking for some more snacks to tide him over until the pizza got there.
“Don’t. Touch. Anything,” Rachel ordered, still not looking up. “You get so much as a fingerprint on my cabinets, and I will hurt you.”
“But there’s food in here now that Harvard’s moved in,” Ryan whined. “Real food. Not just yogurt, designer water, and wine. Harvard, my man, you bought the food, you should get a say in whether I can eat it or not.”
“Sit down,” Harvard said. “Pizza will be here soon. You can survive that long without chewing on something.”
“He can’t,” Rachel said. “He’s like a puppy. Always has to chew on something. Would you like one of Elle’s shoes?”
“Hey! Give him one of your own,” Elle snapped.
“These are Louboutins. You bought yours at the supermarket. Where no shoes should ever be sold.” She shuddered at the thought.
“Keep your shoes on,” Ryan said. “I’m not chewing on any of them.” But he didn’t sound too convinced.
“Focus, people,” Harvard said. “Terrance is only trying to do his job, and he sees our involvement as a threat to it.”
“It’s not that I don’t understand where he’s coming from,” Ryan said. “There’s always the suspicion that if he’d been more on the ball, the thefts wouldn’t have gone on this long. He feels he has to prove he didn’t screw up and let the thief slip past him. That doesn’t mean I don’t think he’s a dickhead though. He almost blew my cover today. I caught it in time, but it’s affected how the rest of security are dealing with me. They know he hates me,
and they don’t see the point in getting to know me because they figure I’ll be gone soon. Makes it hard talking to them.”
“I’ll deal with him tomorrow,” Harvard promised. No one messed with his missions. Ever.
“Meanwhile,” Elle said, tapping at her keyboard and making Harvard want to grab a basket, put it in the middle of the table, and force everyone to put their devices in it for the duration. This job was turning him into his mom. “Word came back on young Rupert’s trip to Paris. The upshot is, he wasn’t in France at all. He was playing the German casinos, and he lost a wad of cash. Far as I can tell, he hit his mum up for a loan when he got back, but she’s broke right now too because she fell off the wagon and snorted her money. Uncle Racist, or Charles as he likes to be known, doesn’t know about any of this.”
“What about Samantha?” Harvard asked. “Has anyone in her family asked her to finance their habits?”
“No idea.” Elle shrugged. “Samantha’s a hard nut to crack. Her finances are wrapped up tight, and her social media is full of fashion advice, hashtag blessed life photos, and hashtag hunk content. There’s a ton of banal stuff on there, and it’s taking me forever to wade through.”
“You think there’s any chance she’s the one stealing secrets?” Harvard asked. “Maybe to help out her brother and mom?”
“I honestly don’t think so,” Elle said. “But I wouldn’t put anything past her. As far as I can gather, if Samantha wants something, she’ll do anything to get it—including sending one of her boy toys to fetch it for her. I get the impression Samantha doesn’t like to get her hands dirty.”
“With the amount of money Samantha spends on her wardrobe, I doubt she has any left to help out her family anyway,” Rachel said to her phone.
That was it. Harvard stood and calmly walked around the table. He removed the phone from Rachel and the laptop from Elle before heading back to his seat.
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