by Jayne Castle
“Excellent idea. Talk. Eric first.”
Under that penetrating gaze Eric sighed and began his story from the beginning. Samantha felt a wave of sympathy for her brother as he bluntly told Gabriel the entire truth. Eric was humiliated and chagrined, and Gabriel didn’t make it any easier for him. But to give her half brother credit, he didn’t try to gloss over any of the facts. He told the tale in a straightforward manner, and when he had finished, Gabriel’s first question astounded Samantha.
“Why did you change your mind?”
“About selling Thorndyke secrets?” Eric shrugged. “Ask Samantha. She understands.”
When Gabriel’s probing eyes moved to her tense, still face, Samantha, too, lifted a shoulder in a resigned shrug. “It would have been like betraying Dad. As soon as Eric realized that, he couldn’t go through with it. No matter how nasty Vic Junior was to him.”
“Dad built that company from scratch,” Eric explained softly. “I’m his son. As soon as I’d gotten over my rage at Vic’s high-handed treatment, I realized I couldn’t go through with the deal with Kirby.”
“But by then it was too late,” Gabriel concluded flatly.
Samantha and Eric sat silent, The reality of that statement was eloquent enough. But Gabriel’s next words brought Samantha’s head up in shock.
“They’ll be back, you know,” he said almost conversationally. But the hard, unrelenting lines of his face were not casual at all.
“Those two bastards who broke in here tonight?” Eric clarified uneasily. “But if I can give Kirby something that looks like what he wants…”
Gabriel shook his head wearily. “You can’t give him something ‘close’ to what he wants. It’s got to be the real thing. Buying and selling this stuff is how he makes his living. If he starts selling unreliable information, he’ll be out of business just as fast as Samantha would if she started giving her clients false data.”
Samantha winced. “I hadn’t realized how similar my profession was to Mr. Kirby’s!”
Gabriel took another sip of the brandy. “Information, legal or illegal, is the name of the business game. It’s why even little one-man business operations are buying computers. It’s why conglomerates employ armies of people who do nothing but correlate financial and statistical data. Based on information of one kind or another, people like Drew Buchanan gamble millions of dollars in development projects. And it’s because of certain information you acquired that you’re going to try and take advantage of his move.”
Samantha frowned, shifting uneasily under Eric’s questioning look. “It’s business, Eric. I’ll explain later. I told you Gabriel and I were business associates, remember?”
Eric arched one brow. “Given the fact that he just saved both of us from God knows what at the hands of Tony and friend, I’d say he’s something more than a business associate.”
Before Samantha could reply to the obvious, Gabriel was interrupting coolly. “We got lucky tonight. I trust both of you realize that? We’re not likely to get that lucky again. Kirby’s people only expected to find you and Samantha here this evening. Next time they’ll be prepared.”
“I wish you’d stop talking about a next time!” Samantha stirred restlessly, aware of a gathering sensation of helplessness.
Gabriel’s temper snapped unexpectedly. “You think you can make ‘next time’ go away by pretending it won’t happen? Hasn’t it sunk in yet that Jackson Kirby plays hardball? He’ll make an example out of Eric if your brother doesn’t produce what he promised to produce! God knows what he’ll do to you just because you happen to be in the vicinity!”
“How do you know so much about Jackson Kirby?” she flung back, frightened.
“Word of his sort gets around. You don’t think Eric conjured him up out of thin air, do you? There are enough rumors and gossip about the man to lead people in your brother’s situation to him.”
“Well, what are we supposed to do now? Let Eric sell out? Is that the only way to call Kirby off?” she snapped furiously. Desperation was fueling her temper. My God, she thought. What if Gabriel hadn’t been here tonight? What will happen the next time?
“That’s one way,” Gabriel agreed evenly.
Eric looked stricken. “I can’t!”
“You should have thought of that before you contacted him!”
Samantha jumped in quickly. “What do you mean that’s ‘one’ way? Is there another? Can we buy him off?”
Gabriel’s mouth crooked briefly in acknowledgment of the idea. “That’s not a bad thought, really. Unfortunately, I don’t think it would work in this case. He knows he’s got Eric under his thumb now. Even if you bought Kirby off this time, he’s the kind who might very well decide to look Eric up again in the future. And next time he’d have a little blackmail to use against him in order to gain his cooperation. He would have proof, you see, that Eric had paid him off the first time.”
Samantha stared at him, her mouth going dry. “You seem to have a fairly good idea of how people like Kirby work.”
He met her eyes, the hazel gaze cold and unreflective. “I do.
She sat very still, clutching the lapels of her yellow robe, and knew she wasn’t going to ask just how Gabriel came to know so much about Jackson Kirby and his ilk. There were times, Samantha thought in a flash of realization, when Gabriel Sinclair could be a little frightening. Every time she thought she had this man under control and well in hand, he did something disturbing and unsettling.
A week ago she would have said that Gabriel Sinclair was the last man on earth capable of truly surprising her. How was it possible that such a predictable, organized, methodical person as Gabriel kept taking her unawares?
“All right, Gabe,” Eric interposed softly. “It’s obvious you’ve got some idea of how to handle this mess.
What do you suggest we do?”
“I can think of only one practical, foolproof approach,” Gabriel told him slowly, as if the idea in his head was not a pleasant one, even if it was workable. “I don’t have the power to call Jackson Kirby off. But I know someone who does.”
Samantha’s eyes went very wide. With sudden intuition she knew exactly who he meant. “Emil Fortune?” she breathed.
“Who’s Fortune?” Eric demanded.
The other two ignored him. Gabriel made a small, flat gesture with his left hand, leaning his head back again on the cushion as he stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. Samantha wished violently that she could read his mind. What was he thinking? Was he afraid of Fortune? Or afraid the friendship between them wasn’t strong enough to ask this kind of favor? What was wrong? She knew an impulse to comfort Gabriel and didn’t have the vaguest notion why she should feel that way. What was wrong in Gabriel’s mind about enlisting his friend’s assistance? It seemed like an eminently reasonable idea to her.
“Damn it, who’s Fortune?” Eric asked again.
“Someone who will know how to get Kirby off your back. He’s a friend of mine,” Gabriel concluded quietly.
“No kidding!” Eric looked intrigued. “You must know some interesting people!”
“A man doesn’t always have a choice in his friendships.” Gabriel set down the empty brandy glass and looked at Samantha. “Why don’t the two of you go back to bed?”
It wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order, and Samantha’s instinct was to protest it. “Gabriel, I’m not a child to be sent to my room while the grown-ups conduct business. You’re going to call Fortune tonight, aren’t you?”
“Go to bed, Samantha,” he repeated softly.
“Come on, Sam. I’m zonked and you must be, too.” Eric took charge, getting to his feet and reaching down to prod his sister to hers. “Let’s do as the man says, okay? He’s got a right to give a few orders after what he went through for us tonight.”
Samantha started to dig in her heels, but something about the unyielding expression in Gabriel’s eyes convinced her to allow Eric to lead her toward the staircase. But she knew in her bones she s
houldn’t be leaving her dark angel alone like this. She should be staying down here while he made the phone call. Samantha wasn’t certain why she should feel that way, but she did. And there was another aspect to the situation. Damned if she would let Gabriel relegate her to the role of useless female. He needed her, whether he was willing to admit it or not.
Beside her Eric suddenly stumbled over a small object on the carpet. “What the hell … ?” He bent down and scooped up the tiny paring knife. “It’s got blood on it! Where did this come from?”
“From the same place that frying pan came from,” Samantha muttered, indicating the cast-iron skillet which lay on the floor beside the stairs. “The kitchen. You’d be astonished, Eric, at how many useful things there are in a plain old kitchen!”
Behind her Gabriel growled, “You used that little knife on that man? Good God, woman! What did you think you were doing?” She heard the sharp disapproval in his words and tossed a deliberately goading glance back over her shoulder.
“Actually, I don’t think I did too badly for someone who’s not very good in the kitchen!”
Gabriel felt the unwilling gleam of amusement and admiration which threatened momentarily to light his eyes. “Samantha, honey, you may have more domestic talents than people give you credit for,” he drawled.
He watched her ascend the stairs, noting the proud tilt of her tousled head and the way the old bathrobe pulled pleasantly taut around her well-shaped rear. Part amazon, part businesswoman, part soft, clinging female. He realized he was beginning to feel precariously in possession of the soft female because of her response to him in bed. He also felt tentatively in control of the businesswoman because of the financial arrangement between them. But what chance did he have of controlling the amazon? That fierce loyalty and feminine strength which was so much a part of her was not going to be a simple matter to claim. He consoled himself once more with the memory of how she had run to him first instead of her brother after the battle that evening.
Then, with a sigh, he reached into the back pocket of his slacks and removed the wallet which had somehow stayed in place during the excitement. Somewhere, buried behind his credit cards was a little slip of paper with Emil Fortune’s phone number on it. It wasn’t a number he had called frequently enough to have memorized.
And he’d never called it with the intention of asking the man on the other end to repay a favor. Was this how his father had gotten in so deep? Was this how it all started? Friendships which led to favors which led to disaster?
Even as he dialed, Gabriel acknowledged the simple truth. Only for Samantha would he do this. The woman was well and truly in his blood now. Which left wide open the question of who was really controlling whom, he thought grimly.
There was silence from the top of the stairs as the phone started to ring on the other end of the line. Gabriel leaned back in the oversized chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, and tried to think how he would handle the coming conversation. Somehow, all he could really think about was his father…
It was a while before Emil Fortune came on the line. Patiently Gabriel explained to the sleepy voice which originally answered that it was important Emil be told who was calling. After several minutes of resistance, it must have become apparent to the other person that Gabriel was not going to give up and that the cool, polite request to speak to Emil Fortune would be repeated endlessly until it was satisfied.
“Gabe, my friend. What’s wrong?” Fortune’s soft query was straight to the point.
“I need a favor, Emil. A big one,” Gabriel said with a calm that surprised him.
There was a pause on the other end. And then, “You mean you need a favor repaid, Gabe. I am the one who owes you, remember? You have only to ask. Even if I did not feel in your debt, you are my friend, and the same condition would apply. You have only to ask.”
Gabriel massaged the bridge of his nose in a slow, tired gesture. “Emil, this is rather complicated.”
“I had the feeling it might be or there would be no need to call at this hour of the night, would there?” Emil Fortune said gently.
Gabriel drew a long breath. “There is a man. Jackson Kirby. Have you heard of him?”
“No, but don’t let that stop you. I can find out whatever I need to know about him within the hour.”
“Your sources are pretty good, aren’t they?” Gabriel realized he was shaking his head in silent, wry admiration. What had he been saying earlier about the importance of information to just about everyone in business? Any kind of business?
“They have to be good or I would not be as rich as I am, would I, Gabe?”
“Good point. Okay.” Gabriel sighed. “Here it is in a nutshell. Kirby is a broker of sorts. Deals in industrial espionage. Buying and selling. He’s very big but keeps a very low profile. He’s also very powerful. Sometimes resorts to rather crude business methods.”
“How crude?”
“Crude enough to send armed gunmen into a private home in the middle of the night and threaten a young man who was foolish enough to think he could deal with Kirby.”
“Ah. A young man. A friend of yours?”
“He’s Samantha Maitland’s half brother, Gabriel admitted stonily. There was no way to avoid bringing her name into this. “You met her on one occasion, I believe.
“At my sister’s spa. She was having a small problem checking out, as I recall.” There was a trace of humor in Emil’s voice as he recalled the incident. “I liked her, Gabe. So she did, indeed, manage to shake you out of your rut, hmm?”
“She’s a bundle of surprises,” Gabriel grated feelingly.
“Some pleasant, I trust.”
“The mess involving her brother is not one of the pleasant ones. He got furious with his older brother who runs the family firm and decided to sell a rather crucial spread-sheet to a competitor. Got cold feet within days after he realized exactly what he was doing. But by then Kirby had been contacted.”
“Ah, the reckless, hot-blooded ways of youth.” Emil sounded suspiciously reminiscent. “Young men are so volatile, aren’t they?”
“I wouldn’t know. I seemed to have missed that stage in my development,” Gabriel rapped.
“Don’t worry. It sounds as if you are getting another crack at it. Due to the charming Samantha.”
“Emil…”
“Please, Gabe. There is absolutely nothing to be concerned about. This Mr. Jackson Kirby will not be bothering your friends again. Believe me.”
“No further questions?” Gabriel’s knuckles whitened around the phone.
“You want him called off, correct? I will see to it that he gets the message.”
“Emil. Listen to me,” Gabriel said very carefully. “I don’t want anyone to suddenly turn up missing. Do you understand?”
“Relax, Gabe. Your Mr. Kirby strikes me as a businessman. As such he will, I am sure, prove eminently reasonable. There will be no embarrassing disappearances. Things are not done that way in the international community of financiers.”
“Uh huh. What about the international community of the Fortune family?” Gabriel retorted.
“Gabe, you must not form too harsh an opinion of my family simply because there are a few skeletons in the closet. All families have their black sheep, do they not?”
“Some families,” Gabriel noted dryly, “are made up almost exclusively of black sheep and skeletons.”
Emil must have detected the grim humor in the words because he laughed deeply on the other end of the line. “It makes for interesting reunions. Enough of that. Tell me. What happened when Mr. Kirby’s small army invaded Samantha’s home? That’s where you’re calling from now, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Gabriel didn’t bother to ask his friend how he had arrived at that conclusion. Emil Fortune was a highly logical man. “I got a little cut up. Samantha is going to have a black eye in the morning, and her brother is all right.”
“But you are all right?” There was a new, no-nonsense thr
ead of steel overlying the soft, gentle voice now.
“Yeah. Between us, Samantha and I managed to send them packing. The little witch used a paring knife on one,” he added, sardonically aware of the pride in his own voice. “She scares the hell out of me sometimes, Emil.”
“I told you she was good for you,” Emil responded in tones of great satisfaction. “And you? What was your approach to the subject of violence?”
“You know me. I’m good in the kitchen,” Gabriel grumbled. “I used a frying pan. The dashing man of action.”
“I would like to have been there.” Emil chuckled.
“You have a morbid sense of humor.”
“All international financiers have a morbid sense of humor. Goes with the territory. Good night, Gabe. Go and have Samantha bathe your manly wounds and tell her not to worry about Jackson Kirby. Neither she nor her brother will hear any more of him.”
“Emil,” Gabriel began urgently and then ran out of words. “Thanks.” It sounded lame.
“Why must I keep reminding you that I’m not doing you any favors? Only repaying one. Good night, friend.” Emil Fortune hung up the phone with a gentle, final-sounding click.
For a long moment Gabriel sat with the dead receiver in his hand, thinking once again of his father. Then he slowly replaced the instrument.
He saw the bit of yellow bathrobe out of the corner of his eye and turned his head completely to find Samantha standing at the foot of the stairs, her hand resting tensely on the banister. She was watching him with deep intensity, her eyes soft and luminous behind the lenses of her glasses. How long had she been standing there?
In that moment there was no trace of the amazon or the businesswoman or the soft, hot, clinging female he had held in his arms a few hours ago. This was the woman who had cradled his bruised and battered face between tender hands after the battle with the gunmen. Another side of Samantha, Gabriel thought in fleeting wonder. And one he wanted to have come forward and gather him close. He needed her.
His body still ached from the beating it had taken, and his mind was unsettled from the business he had just conducted with Emil Fortune. This wide-eyed, intensely feminine creature swathed in an old bathrobe was the cause of all his aberrant behavior. Did she realize that? Did she know just how much he wanted to be cradled and soothed and fussed over? Did she have any idea of how badly a man needed a woman’s comfort after the ravages of violence? Didn’t she see that he had a right to her comfort?