by Eileen Green
The two sat on the couch, and Gwen let her gaze take in the room. “This is very nice. You’ve done a lot to it in such a short time.”
“Yes. I wanted to be comfortable since I was going to be spending a lot of late hours here trying to get the warehouse up and running.” Brooke crossed her legs, feeling a bit conspicuous in her black yoga pants and diagonal striped black, red, and white shirt. It wasn’t business attire, but she was comfortable in it.
Brooke followed her friend’s gaze as she looked at all the flowers situated around the room. “Does this mean you have an admirer, or two?” Gwen asked, a smile touching her lips.
For the second time in about five minutes, Brooke felt the flush cover her face again. “You could say that.”
She didn’t want to discuss what she was feeling at the moment as it was all too soon since it was a long-distance relationship. The chance of jinxing it was too great, but so was the chance of it not working out, and then where would she be?
Gwen seemed to pick up on Brooke’s silence as her not wanting to talk about it, for she changed the subject. “When I heard that you had moved here, I was so excited, so I wanted to come and invite you to our house on Sunday afternoon. Andrew wants to barbecue and get everyone together.”
“I would like that a lot, but I have so work to do here.” There was a lot on her list of things to do before the trucks began to deliver machinery and supplies on Monday. They had staggered the deliveries so that the machinery would be first to arrive, and then another two weeks to get them set up, but there was so much coming in.
Then again, she should take at least an afternoon off before the really busy time began, for after that, she didn’t know when she would get some downtime. Before Gwen could protest, Brooke spoke up. “I could use some downtime. I’d love to come. Thank you.”
“Great. Now, how about lunch? Something quick?” Gwen suggested. “We could go to the Tipsy Tavern and have a burger or something, and then be back in an hour.
“I am pretty hungry. Let me grab my purse, and then we can go.” Brooke stood and went over to her desk, grabbed her purse out of the drawer, and then stopped. “Oh, do you mind if we take your car? I rode my bike in today.”
“I wondered whose Harley that was outside. That’s some paint job you have on that.”
“I love my bike, and after I was rescued, I hoped my bike was safe. My dad had made sure it was recovered from the truck stop and stored until we could get to it.”
Sadness shadowed Gwen’s face, and Brooke had to wonder if it was because she spoke of the kidnapping.
“I’m so sorry, Gwen. I didn’t mean to upset you by bringing up the kidnapping.”
“It’s not that,” Gwen said as she moved over to the desk. “My parents kicked me out when they found out I was pregnant at fifteen. When I hear people talk about their parents in such a loving way, sometimes I just get sad.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry.” Brooke gathered Gwen in her arms. She had no idea what it would be like to be without her father and couldn’t fathom having him be so mad at her that he would push her away. “Sometimes people just don’t know how blessed they are having family around. But from what I understand from Andrew, you are so loved by both men.”
Pulling out of the embrace, Gwen smiled. “Yes, I am. He said he talked to you about us and the other relationships in the area. I hope you find that love yourself.”
Brooke laughed as she led Gwen to the door. “Oh, those two men who keep sending me all the flowers are hoping for that to happen, too. With them running all over the world, it’ll be hard.”
The two women made their way down the road to the Tipsy Tavern where Brooke’s lunch hour turned in to three. She enjoyed Gwen’s company and knew they were going to be close friends.
* * * *
The heat in the security office was overwhelming as Bradley watched the surveillance monitors. He thought that some place such as a museum would have better ventilation for all the electronic equipment. He had lost his target in the Hungarian National Museum in Budapest, and now, he was trying to find them.
Fifteen million euros in diamonds were at stake as they had been stolen from a bank in Switzerland two months ago.
This was the mission that had taken him away from Brooke and the life he and Frank wanted to begin with her. The one-month job had turned into six, and he had hated every minute of the mission. He had to cozy up to a beautiful black-haired woman who had lifted the diamonds. She had to fence the loot and was meeting up with him in the museum. She was actually one of the best cat burglars in the world, and it turned his stomach when he had to be around her.
In Bradley’s eyes, a woman was a woman when she possessed certain qualities. Loyalty, truth, and honor were at the top of that list, and it didn’t matter how pretty she was. This woman just didn’t possess any of it. He knew that as soon as they arrested Alastair Smythe, the woman would be off trying to find the next rich man to take care of her. He couldn’t wait for this mission to end, and he thought that was going to happen by the end of the day, but then she slipped away from him.
A dark figure on one of the monitors caught Bradley’s attention, and he moved in closer to get a better look.
It was her!
“Where’s that?” he asked the security officer in Hungarian as he pointed at the monitor.
“The Modern and Contemporary History wing, second floor.” The guard obviously preferred to try to speak English, his accent very heavy.
Bradley was off and running, slamming the door as he left the room. Running down hallways, he pulled his Glock from the small holster in the back of his slacks attached to his belt. He had spent the night studying the map of the aged building, which had somehow managed to survive the Second World War with minimal damage. He knew there was a side door that the maintenance staff used down one hall, and he decided to use that to sneak into the room.
Opening the door carefully, he slipped in quietly, next to a statue of a long gone Hungarian leader. With a peek around the statue, he spotted his mark sitting on a bench that faced a Van Gogh painting, her back to him.
At the other end of the room, a well-dressed man entered and slowly moved from art piece to art piece. His dark hair was combed off his face, offering Bradley the view of a chiseled chin and fine Grecian nose. The man could be a model or actor, but Bradley knew he opted for greater fame. That of a thief and a fence. A high-classed thief at that.
Pressing his back against the door, Bradley only had a small view of his mark and Alastair. He had to hope that the latter didn’t come this far into the exhibit—otherwise he would lose his advantage.
Alastair’s shiny black dress shoes clicked with every footstep he made, causing the sound to echo in the large room. After about five minutes, Bradley could see Alastair look around carefully before making his way over to the woman on the bench.
With their backs to him, Bradley was able to move with stealth closer to the duo. Now partially hidden by another statue, he watched as Alastair slid an arm around the woman as if he was hugging her from behind.
Bradley could tell that she was wiggling a bit, and he had to wonder if Alastair was feeling her up. Then, the tall Brit stood and picked up the satchel the woman used as a purse before he began to walk toward the exit of the room where he had come in.
Stepping out from his hiding spot, Bradley brought his left arm up and leveled his gun that he held in his right hand on his left wrist. “Freeze, Alastair! You’re under arrest!”
Alastair Smythe froze for a split second before he turned toward Bradley. In that quick moment, he also reached beneath his coat and pulled out a gun of his own in his left hand. In a flash, Bradley pulled the trigger of his gun, the sound echoing through the room.
The woman screamed, adding to the sound right before Alastair dropped the satchel and grabbed his chest over his heart where blood was beginning to blossom. Before Alastair hit the floor with his knees, Bradley turned to point his gun at the woman.
She stood at the bench, her eyes filled with fear as she finally closed her mouth. Her brown eyes darted between Alastair and then Bradley and then back to Alastair. The slight bulge between her ample breasts told Bradley where the diamonds were.
“Stay right there, Giselle, you’re under arrest also.” Bradley knew Alastair wasn’t going anywhere, so he kept his attention on the woman he had to pretend to like. “Don’t make me mar that lovely creamy skin of yours.”
He hated to say the words, but he knew how the woman processed flattery, and he thought he could keep her calm by using it. She slid her gaze to his again as a sly smile began to appear on her ruby-red lips. She popped her right hip out a bit as if she thought it was sexy.
“Oh, Bradley,” she said, her French-accented voice sultry and low. “Now why would you want to point a gun at me? I know you love me.”
The words grated on his nerves, as his heart had been taken by someone else. A pretty blonde with light green eyes that seemed to look into his soul. Her lips were like honey when he had kissed her when they had to part over eleven months ago. He could never love anyone except her.
“Take the diamonds out of your dress, Giselle,” Bradley demanded.
Before she could move, the door behind him slammed open. Turning to see who was approaching, Bradley found a security guard that he hadn’t encountered yet had burst through the door, a gun drawn in his hand. He pointed it at Bradley.
“Put the gun down, sir!” the guard shouted, his English heavily accented with his Hungarian one.
As Bradley reached down to show his badge that he had attached to his belt, he saw Giselle bolt for the door at the opposite end of the room. Turning to take his shot at the escaping fugitive, a gunshot went off, and Bradley felt a searing burn rip through his left thigh.
White-hot pain flashed through his body, erupting from his thigh, and he knew he had been shot. Looking down, blood oozed out onto his gray slacks, but he also felt wetness on the back of his leg. The bullet apparently went straight through.
He tried to go after Giselle, but the first step he took on his right leg was a mistake. He fell, his gun skittering from his grip. The guard rushed over to him as several other guards came in from the other door, orders being shouted in Hungarian. Looking at that door, Bradley saw that Giselle was gone, and so were the diamonds.
“Damn it!” he shouted as a darkness began to filter in around his vision. He could hear one guard yelling at the one who shot him, but their voices were beginning to sound as if they were fading. Soon, blackness enveloped him as he rode his pain into oblivion.
Chapter One
Excitement coursed through her body as Brooke stood on the platform that overlooked the assembly line and finished her speech, commending everyone for working so hard to get everything up and running. Pride filled her. In her hands was a bottle of champagne, and she waited for the line supervisors to ready their bottles that they held also.
Once everything was in order, Brooke raised the green bottle up to her stomach, one hand on the largest part and the other on the neck. “I christen the new home of SmartTab Computers!”
With her thumb, she pushed up on the cork, savoring the sound of it popping as it flew off to who knows where. The bubbly liquid spewed out, over the black railing and down onto the floor below as cheers went up around the expansive area.
With delight, she watched as the supervisors began to fill clear plastic cups that the workers held with the bubbly. Raven, who had stood next to her along with the daytime foreman, held three champagne flutes out for Brooke to fill.
Pouring the bubbly liquid into the proffered glasses, Brooke had to think back on all she had accomplished in the past five years. Graduating first high school and then college, and having her father believe in her enough to head the new line of computers. The only blemish in that timeline was the kidnapping.
As much as she wanted to forget about that time, she knew she couldn’t. It was a relevant part of her life now, a part of her growth process. She had learned a lot about herself during that time, although she did find her breaking point. The knowledge that she did frightened her. Always considering herself a strong person, her frame of mind had diminished during those hours of self-doubt and fear.
She repeatedly told herself that she would live her life, be successful and happy. Having two men, not one, pursuing her was a surprise, and sometimes she didn’t know what to do or think about it.
When Bradley and Frank informed her they were interested in her amazed her even after listening to Andrew talk about his ménage relationship. It was more because she hadn’t been expecting it, and because she wasn’t really interested in a relationship at the moment. She was in a quandary with what to do about them.
Bringing her thoughts back to the moment at hand, she finished pouring the three glasses of champagne, and then Brooke set the bottle down on the table next to her. Taking the glass that Raven handed her, she raised it up, facing the large gathering.
“Here’s to many long years of production, and a happy working relationship with each and every one of you!” she called out.
Lifting her glass up in a salute, she drank down the contents, savoring the sweet, tangy taste of effervescent flavor. The workers on the operations floor drank, following Brooke’s lead, while flashes from some of the cameras that the news reporters had with them to went off to document the occasion. When they were finished, they waited for Brooke.
Brooke pressed a red button on a black box that sat on the table, and a loud buzzing sound occurred while the equipment came to life. Production was officially beginning as was the rest of her life.
* * * *
The thud of the wheels hitting the tarmac and the quick decline of speed due to the pressure of the brakes being applied woke Frank Smith from the sleep that had finally settled upon him. The two weeks leading up to this point had been nerve-racking to say the least.
A call early one morning alerted him to his best friend’s on-the-job injury. After a week in the hospital, Bradley was discharged but had to remain in Budapest until the doctor released him for travel.
A large loss of blood followed by a transfusion had left Bradley weak, but it was the chipped femur where the bullet had hit him before exiting the other side that had the doctors concerned about traveling. Surgery had to be performed to remove the chip so he wouldn’t experience continual pain with movement.
Frank had been provided the names of a few orthopedic surgeons for Bradley to follow up with, mostly in Washington, DC, but he had asked for a referral to one in the Kalispell area, for that’s where the two men intended to head as soon as they took care of some things.
A discussion would need to be had between the two as to what their futures held pertaining to a certain blond beauty, and that’s the reason why he had flown to Washington, DC. He knew plans had to be made, apartments to be packed and moves made, but most important was their futures with their jobs. What were they going to do about them?
A request for transfer had been submitted for both men, Frank’s still hanging in the balance. Bradley’s would be scrutinized due to his injury now, as he would be on desk duty for at least six months, if not longer.
As the plane was towed to the terminal, Frank straightened himself up, ready to disembark. As far as he knew, Bradley would be at home waiting for him, as he was to have arrived a couple hours earlier.
Once they were given the go ahead, Frank grabbed his laptop case from the overhead and headed en masse with the other passengers up the covered ramp to the terminal. After gathering his suitcase at baggage claim, he stepped out onto the street to catch a cab and was surprised to see his friend leaning against the front of a brand-new hunter-green GMC Yukon with tinted windows.
The usual black slacks were replaced by a pair of khaki cargo shorts, and the white button-up shirt along with a black suit coat was now a brown polo shirt. Flip-flops adorned his feet, probably because they were easier to slip into than a pair of normal shoes.
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White gauze wrapped around his left thigh, peeking out from under the shorts, was testimony to his injury. Crutches leaned up against the passenger door of the Yukon, as casually as Bradley was.
Bradley’s hair was longer than usual, down past his ears, indicating he had been embedded in his case and then hadn’t had time after the shooting to get it cut. The usual dark aviator glasses covered his eyes, but Frank knew the man watched the crowd like a hawk. It was his training, just like Frank’s.
People rushed to and fro either to enter the terminal for their flights, or to the taxis, shuttles, limos, or family vehicles waiting for them. Various people stood around, clutching loved ones, welcoming them to DC.
For once, Frank wished someone was there to greet him with a hug and a kiss. A blond woman who had haunted his dreams for the past two months. Her smiling green eyes looking at him tenderly with love and compassion as she would if she missed seeing him for a while. He had to hope that was how she would look at him when they arrived in Kalispell to claim her.
As he stepped closer to his waiting ride, Bradley gathered the waiting crutches with ease and rested them under his arms. He appeared as eager to see Frank as he was to see his friend.
After greeting each other, Frank loaded his suitcase and carry-on bag in the back and climbed in the shotgun seat. “This is a pretty fancy ride,” he said as Bradley climbed in behind the wheel. Frank helped him situate the crutches in the back seat.
“I thought if we were moving to Montana, I would need a sturdier vehicle. I saw what all those cowboys were driving out there. I have to look like I belong there.”
“All they have to do is hear you talk to know you don’t belong.” Frank laughed at his own joke, causing Bradley to join in.
They rode the rest of the way in silence to Bradley’s sparsely furnished apartment in Virginia. The one plant he had was alive thanks to his cleaning lady who came in once a week, and the place was clean.