by Nancy Warren
There’d been a gas leak, they told her. Something had sparked and caused the explosion. It could be accidental, they wouldn’t know for certain until the fire investigator’s report was complete. But the subtext was clear; given the suspicions of money laundering and the all-too-recent death of Phil Britten, nobody believed it was an accident.
Including Sophie. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop herself from imagining what would have happened had she been standing inside, instead of outside, her apartment when it blew.
As grateful as she was for Blake’s protection, she wished she didn’t need it. She wanted him walking beside her because he was crazy about her. She wanted to be able to stop in the middle of the sidewalk and exchange a light kiss, like the couple not far ahead of them.
With an internal groan she realized she didn’t want Blake to be a brief fling that should never have happened. She wanted him as her lover until they wore each other out.
She stopped dead. Right in the middle of the milling throng. Oh, Lord. She wasn’t feeling twitchy, or hemmed in, or wanting to bolt as she’d imagined she’d feel the minute she agreed to move in with Blake. Instead, she wanted him to act like a lover even after she’d specifically told him not to. How weird was that?
Blake had walked on three full steps before he noticed. His head jerked back and she saw alarm flash in his eyes until he spotted her. He was at her side in an instant. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” she said, handing him a carrier bag. The sooner they could solve her bank’s problems, the sooner they could both start acting like normal people.
OVER SEAFOOD FETTUCCINE and white wine, she said, “If we were seen going in to Mr. Forsyth’s office, then why aren’t you being targeted, too?”
“I don’t think the chairman’s office had anything to do with the attacks on you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Lines of tiredness spiderwebbed from the corners of his eyes. “Everything we’ve overheard has been benign.”
“Well, that could happen if we were seen, right? They wouldn’t want you to know you were on to them, so they’d act innocent.”
“Then why blow up your apartment? It can’t go both ways. If it’s Forsyth, and he knows he’s being watched, he’s incredibly stupid to make attempts on your life and try to make them look like accidents.”
She nodded. “And if it’s not Forsyth, then we’re back to who’s involved in the triad and why they’re trying to kill me.”
“Yeah. You’re the key. You’ve seen something, or have information you don’t know you have.”
“I hate this. Everything that happens at work, I wonder. Every conversation, every e-mail, I’m wondering. Is it them? Are they involved? I need to do something to make this go away. I’ve searched my memory for anything odd or out of the ordinary, but my life was fine until I overheard that conversation and everything’s been crazy since then.”
“Then the person being blackmailed, the person we have to assume is the same one working with the triad, must have seen you and thought you overheard the conversation.”
She felt sick going in to work, but she felt even more sick at the thought of running away. “Will you try really hard to keep me safe?”
“Yeah. If you insist on coming to work, your best defense is to act like you’re crazy about me.”
She choked. She’d been thinking she’d have to take a crash course in karate, carry an arsenal of secret gadgets, conduct cryptic conversations with possible murderers, and all she had to do was moon over a co-worker? “I have to tell you, I think that idea sucks.”
He touched her cheek with one finger. “Fake it. I hear you women are good at that.”
“Oh, you hear that, do you?”
He grinned at her and the awful band of combined fear and anger eased off her chest. “I certainly don’t have any recent experience. Nobody could fake what you do.”
She was half amused and half embarrassed. “Nobody’d want to.”
“Are you kidding? It’s sexy as hell.”
“So,” she said, determined to ignore the way he’d eased his body closer to hers while they spoke, until there wasn’t more than an inch between them. She felt his warmth, saw his chest rise and fall with his breathing. She knew it would be the easiest thing she’d ever undertaken to pretend to be gaga over him. “Apart from pretending I’ve lost my mind and find you irresistible, what else do I have to do?”
“Keep your eyes and ears open. Do nothing out of the ordinary. Everyone at work knows you and they talk to you. Maybe something will slip. And you’ll be crazy about me, coming to see me whenever you can in the day, we’ll have lunch together, leave together, giving you plenty of opportunities to pass on anything you hear.”
She knew he was determined to protect her 24/7, and she had to admit to being relieved. Still, she wanted to help, to speed up the investigation in some way. “That’s it?”
“If you and I are a hot and heavy couple, I’ll have more freedom to move around. I can go anywhere and tell people I think you’re lost and I’m looking for you.” He winked at her and she smiled perfunctorily.
“As a human resources manager I have to tell you this whole crazy-for-each-other business is extremely unprofessional and I would never normally act that way.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
“You’ll only bring suspicion to yourself if you’re seen with me.”
“I don’t think so. I’m the new guy with the gimpy leg. Nobody’s looked at me twice.”
She decided not to let him in on how many of the female staff she’d seen ogling him. Still, she had to admit, no one seemed suspicious of him. “Because you’ve been doing your job. Start acting strange and they’ll notice all right.”
“I’ll be in love. Love always makes people act strange.”
She smiled, but there was a pang in her heart at his words. Probably stress and fear were messing with her brain but she wondered what it would be like if they weren’t pretending.
“YOU DON’T NEED TO ESCORT me to my office,” Sophie insisted for the seventeenth time.
“I can’t stand to be away from you for as much as a minute,” Blake argued, holding the door open as they entered the bank building.
“You know, I never go out with guys like that,” she informed him, in case he ever truly decided to pursue her.
“Guys like what?” he asked as they trod the marble foyer together to the elevators. Of course, he’d chosen to arrive at the busiest time of the morning, so the maximum number of bank employees would see him with his arm around her shoulders, using his weak leg as an excuse to treat her as a human crutch.
His arm felt like a warm shackle. “Guys who cling,” she told him, trying without success to shove his arm off, “and don’t give a person any space.”
“That long-distance relationship must have been perfect for you. Lots of hot sex when you saw him, and the rest of the time your life was your own.”
He’d figured it out so exactly, she was stunned at his perception.
“Those messages on your machine last night weren’t all from your sister,” she reminded him.
Maybe it was in an effort to underscore that this relationship was pretend, but they’d spent Sunday evening talking about their previous lovers.
It was strange. It hadn’t been in the spirit of sharing, but more like, here are my warning signs. She’d flashed hers. Told him about her four-year long-distance relationship with the man in San Francisco. They’d been split up only a few months and she was appalled at how little she missed him. She missed the sex, but not the person.
Her warning placard was raised: I go for sex, not intimacy.
He’d retaliated by telling her about how his friends had stopped setting him up, letting her see the neon sign flashing: confirmed bachelor.
That had been over coffee after dinner. By the time she was yawning for bed, they’d been through a litany of all their friends who’d started out in love and were now divorced or split.
How they each had parents who’d been married forever. Too bad nobody was doing that anymore. Must be modern culture.
She told him the only thing she’d ever really stuck with was her job.
He told her his job stopped him from getting involved with women. Sometimes he disappeared for a while when he was on a case. There were things he couldn’t talk about.
Clearly, he wasn’t a monk, though, as the phone calls from different women proclaimed.
The third time she’d raised her brows as the bubbly voice of a flight attendant in town for a couple of nights chirped over La Traviata playing in the background.
He didn’t look a bit abashed. “A guy’s got to live,” he informed her. His gaze rested on her and she felt the heat even through her sweater and jeans. They were both trying so hard, she knew, to keep things light and casual, but there was nothing casual about the expression on his face. It was his come-to-bed look. Did he even realize he was wearing it? Probably not.
She was only human, and her body had woken from its sexual hibernation famished. Any man would probably make her feel this way, she tried to convince herself, even as she licked her lips and answered his hungry gaze with one of her own.
The heat that smouldered constantly between them flared to life and she moved toward him, wanting to touch him, needing his overwarm flesh rubbing naked against hers.
The phone rang.
“Leave it,” she ordered, leaning over him to run her tongue across his bottom lip.
She heard a husky female voice leaving a message, and Blake pulled away to answer the phone. Then, with a glance of apology, he took the portable phone with him into the bedroom and shut the door.
It was nothing to Sophie, of course, but she was irritated at his lack of manners. When he emerged a few minutes later and said, “I have to go out for a while,” she’d blurted what was in her mind, without stopping to think.
“I might not be looking for permanence, but at least I stick with one man at a time.”
He turned on her and she was surprised to see a spurt of anger disturb the glassy green surface of his eyes. “I don’t screw around indiscriminately, either. That was a…source. Whatever is going on with us, I’ll see it through.”
“Nothing’s going on with us,” she assured him, feeling somewhat light-headed.
“Bullshit.”
“Good night.” She rose.
“Does my language offend you?” he called after her.
She turned back. “No. Your attitude does.”
Since she’d gone to bed then and hadn’t heard him come in, they’d been polite but distant with each other this morning. Until they arrived at work and he turned into octopus-arms Brannigan. She tried once more to shake him, but he merely smiled and kissed her nose, leading her into the elevator.
The minute they were alone, she shook off his arm and moved a pace away. “If you ever kiss my nose in public again, you’ll be eligible for a boys’ choir.”
He sucked in a breath. “Ouch.”
“Do you have any idea how many people are talking about us right now?” she all but wailed as the elevator rose silently.
“The more the better.”
The indicator light for the fourth floor lit up and he closed the space between them, putting his arm around her waist this time. “It’s showtime.”
She could either leave her own arm flapping around in the air like an outdated fashion accessory or she could copy his pose and wrap her arm around his waist.
It galled her, but she didn’t have much choice. Just as the elevator doors opened she gave the flesh at his waist a good pinch.
“Ow,” he said in her ear. “What was that for?”
“Nose kissing.”
It didn’t matter that the low conversation between them was composed mainly of insults and promises of retribution, to anyone watching them with their heads together and arms wrapped around each other, the conclusion would be obvious.
Sophie, the most discreet employee the bank had ever hired, had embarked on a sloppy, public, childishly moronic affair with a colleague.
She might go along with playing kissy-face, but inside she was seething. On top of ruining her apartment and trying to kill her, her unseen enemies had forced her to compromise her own career.
Just when she thought Blake was about to leave, he grabbed the front of the white shirt he’d watched her iron not an hour ago at his place. While her mouth opened in outrage and her hand went up automatically to beat him away, he pulled her toward him in a gesture that was irritatingly Neanderthal and excitingly suggestive.
He brought his lips down to cover hers and her body forgot this was pretend as shock waves of excitement danced across her skin.
He took his time, seeming to savor the touch and taste of her.
The hand that had risen to bat his away, clutched at his fist instead. Holding it against her heart.
He raised his head at last and in that second before he released her, she saw emotion flit across his eyes. A mix of attraction, pure, physical want and an unsettling something that had her yearning for time together away from the distractions of their work.
He let go of her shirt slowly and she exhaled, a stuttery, fluttery breath.
“Whenever you have a minute, Sophie.” Ellsworth’s voice seemed to come from far away and she was surprised at how peevish he sounded until she came back to herself and realized he’d witnessed the unprofessional smooch that Blake had no doubt arranged for his benefit.
She hoped Ellsworth would mistake the flush of anger sweeping her cheeks for embarrassment. When this thing was over, she was going to insist that the chief of police write a letter to her company explaining that Sophie was acting on police orders when she started kissing a fellow employee in the workplace.
“Morning, Ellsworth,” Blake said cheerily.
“Blake.” The older man nodded curtly.
“I’ll come get you for lunch, Soph,” Blake said then turned and headed for the elevator.
Soph? Her jaw dropped. She turned to find Gwen’s mouth similarly gaping and Ellsworth looking green around the gills.
She’d put up with a lot, but Blake had crossed the line.
“You’ve got some messages, Soph,” Gwen informed her with a barely-straight face.
“It’s a new relationship,” she said. “He hasn’t totally figured out all the ground rules yet. Like my name is Sophie.”
“Well, whatever your name is, I don’t know what you’ve been up to, but you’ve got police, fire department and your insurance agent all trying to get hold of you.” Gwen spoke lightly, but with an edge of real concern.
Sophie tried for the upset tone of a woman whose home had blown up accidentally, rather than the flaming anger of a woman who knew it had been done deliberately.
“There was some kind of gas leak at my apartment Friday that caused a fire.”
“Oh, my gosh. Are you all right?” Gwen’s face paled and her eyes widened. Good acting or true shock? Someone was in on this and it could be anyone at the bank.
She glanced at Ellsworth and saw him flush bright red then pale to the color of chalk. “My God, you should take some time off. Go home…” He shot her a questioning look and she shook her head.
“I can’t go home. It’s a bit of a mess.” In fact it was a total disaster, but she didn’t want whoever was behind this knowing how close they’d come to getting rid of her.
“Have you got somewhere to stay?”
She nodded. “I’m staying with Blake temporarily.”
“Every cloud has a silver lining,” Gwen mumbled, handing Sophie her messages. “If it doesn’t work out with the hunk, you’re welcome to stay with me.”
“Thanks,” she said, touched that Gwen would offer. Of course, the woman who’d been her assistant for two years wasn’t a murderer. She’d better get her head together or she’d never find out anything useful.
“Those bastards!” Ellsworth said with feeling, and she glanced
at him sharply. How did he know there were bastards involved? Maybe his shock was feigned.
“What are you talking about?”
“Those bastards at the gas company. What are they thinking putting faulty lines in buildings? You could have been hurt. Maybe worse.”
Her heart rate slowed. She’d completely misunderstood Ellsworth. He couldn’t be a criminal any more than Gwen could. Why, the man was a top producer with a sterling reputation, had been for years, why would he get involved in dirty money? And she was wasting valuable time that would be better spent tracking down the real criminal. “Well, I wasn’t hurt. I lost some stuff, and my clothes smell like they belong to a chain smoker.” She made a face.
“I won’t bother you now, Sophie. You’d better sort out your apartment. But please, if there’s anything I can do. You know Lillian and I would love to have you stay with us.”
She thanked him, and didn’t encourage him to stay. He was right, she did have a lot of calls to make regarding her apartment explosion. After she’d returned all the calls, she closed her door and went to her computer. She pulled up loans and investments over half a million.
She and Blake had decided to concentrate on the obvious laundering practices first: venture capital, phony loans, large deposits. A few weeks ago, she’d never have believed anyone in her company would go against both ethics and the law by turning a blind eye to dirty money. Now, she had to admit, she was convinced. She and Blake were splitting the work of trying to track down any suspicious activity, but still, talk about your needle in a haystack.
15
“SOPH?” SHE YELLED THE minute the door to Blake’s apartment shut behind them, letting some of her frustration out after a day of unsuccessful snooping.
“Hey, I gave you the key to my place. Something I’ve never given a woman before, except my sister. Don’t I get some leeway?”
“Soph is beyond leeway, it’s right out there in the middle of the ocean. Unless you want me coming up with some adorable little nickname for you.”