Chardy Walker Lieb

by The Saint

  Toss the jacket. Pop a few buttons. Remove a few hairpins. His mouth watered at the possibilities. "Look, Eddie," Courtney mocked, pointing to the source of the metal detector's alarm. "Here's the

  pin to that Hot Sunset #6 grenade you found." Jake did not like her playful tone. He did not like her smirk. And he sure as hell did not like her standing there half-naked, cracking wise with the likes of Eddie, the overgrown hall monitor.

  "Well?" When neither man said a word, Courtney added, "My belly ring must have set off the alarm." Her words were clear and concise, and somehow she managed to meet Jake's incredulous expression without flinching.

  Eddie nodded. Jake grunted. "Now, if you don't mind," Courtney continued, glancing from one to the other, "I'd really like to

  make it to my ten o'clock appointment on time." Without waiting for permission, she slipped her watch back on and replaced her earrings. "She's clean." Jake's warning snarl dared Eddie to so much as look at Courtney again. He snagged Courtney's purse and diskette case with one hand and ushered her through the doorway with the other.

  Jake cursed silently. The last thing he needed right now was to arouse Eddie's suspicion where Courtney was concerned. Templeton's men might not be rocket scientists, but they were street smart as hell. So from now on, Jake had to watch himself very carefully. He couldn't afford to cross that line again. Not

  even for her. This was exactly what he'd warned O’Shea about. …He looked at Courtney. This was the reason he worked alone now. …What he saw was innocence. This was going to be the death of him yet. …What he sensed was disaster.

  Still poking her blouse back into the waistband of her skirt, Courtney yanked free of Jake and stopped in the middle of the hallway. Her aggravation at his over-inflated sense of self momentarily canceled the reality of where she was and why she was there. "Back off, Jake. I can take care of myself." So typical of Courtney, the words were out before she could stop them.

  Jake unceremoniously shoved the case and bag into her hands. "Then do it." He turned and walked away.

  As quickly as it had flared, Courtney's anger disappeared, leaving in its wake a cold, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. Somehow, a familiar face, even Jake's, had been a welcome sight this morning. Not that she would ever let on. Because she wouldn't. Couldn't.

  For so many reasons.

  Next to Courtney's temper, pride had become the driving force in her life for the past six years. Well, that and hard work. Without them, her consulting business never would have gotten off the ground, much less developed into such a solid, successful company.

  And, as luck would have it, that success was exactly what had come full circle and brought Courtney here today. With that in mind, she shoved aside the unsettling stand off between Jake and Eddie that had temporarily eclipsed her meeting and refocused on the reason she had been sent.

  To face Dirk Templeton, the man Brian O’Shea believed murdered her father. To infiltrate his organization. To use her computer expertise to extract enough evidence to nail him once and for all.

  The door marked Templeton Enterprises waited menacingly at the end of the hall. Courtney's spine stiffened as she took a deep breath and willingly stepped through the looking glass.

  "I have a ten o'clock appointment with Mr. Templeton," Courtney advised, her mind automatically identifying the classical, background music as Pavarotti. Something haunting from La Boheme, she was sure.

  The woman behind the desk looked up and smiled. "Mrs. Montgomery?"

  "Yes." Impressed by the secretary's sweet voice and easy manner, Courtney returned her grin.

  "Mr. Templeton's expecting you. Go right in."

  Courtney wondered if the middle-aged woman had any inkling of her boss' dealings, or if her only connection was to the legitimate side of Templeton Enterprises. The family photo on the corner of the desk caught Courtney's attention as she walked toward Dirk's office. A stolen glance at the picture revealed the secretary standing beside a tall, ruggedly handsome man, three laughing teenagers–two girls and one boy– and a huge, friendly-looking sheep dog. A family.

  Courtney's gut clenched. Oh, God, this was way too much information. In self defense, she deliberately blocked the images long enough to remind herself…

  Yes. She had a job to do.

  Yes. Dirk Templeton deserved to be taken to his knees.

  Yes. Templeton Enterprises was just a front, albeit a successful one, for money laundering and Lord only knew what else.

  But for the first time since Courtney had agreed to work for O’Shea, she realized Dirk wouldn't be the only one she would hurt. Presumably innocent employees, people like the one she had just met, would be put out of work. By her.

  Before Courtney left, O’Shea had told her Templeton Enterprises laundered illegal funds through their legitimate restaurant businesses. And that meant employees. How many workers would lose their jobs when Templeton went down? How many families, just like the one in the photograph, would suffer? What would be the long-term effect of what she was about to do?

  Uncertain, unnerved and suddenly unhappy, Courtney salved her conscience by vowing to sort through the details later and search for some kind of solution. Satisfied, at least for the time being, she reached for the doorknob.

  "Oh, Mrs. Montgomery."

  Courtney turned.

  "I'll be serving coffee shortly, unless you prefer tea."

  "Coffee…" Courtney's voice trailed off as she looked into the unsuspecting eyes of her first victim.

  "Sandy," the woman told her, mistaking Courtney's hesitation.

  Oh, great, now Courtney had precisely what she didn't want or need. A name to go with the face. She felt the secretary's friendliness tighten around her neck like a noose.

  "Thank you, Sandy. Coffee's fine." More than grateful to turn away, Courtney realized, if it was possible, she hated Dirk Templeton even more than she had before.

  Suddenly anxious to confront her enemy, she found walking into his office only added fuel to her fire.

  Plush, burgundy carpet.

  Solid cherry desk.

  Opulent artwork.

  “Good Morning, Mr. Templeton.” Courtney’s greeting was recited mechanically, but with a smile. Taking in every nuance, she realized any other attractive man dressed in an impeccable black suit and designer tie would have, at the very least, complimented the room's exquisite style. But in Templeton's case, the entire scene represented little more than a paradox. How on earth could he look so normal? It unnerved

  Courtney to think no one could tell that the man seated behind the desk was a cold-blooded killer.

  “Dirk,” he reminded.

  “Dirk,” she conceded with the same smile. “I was just admiring your décor.” As the lie rolled off her tongue, she relished its bittersweet taste. For the second time in as many days, Dirk's obvious affluence burrowed beneath Courtney's skin as easily as Pavarotti switched to Pagliacci. The fact that he was about to lose everything offered Courtney some consolation, but nothing compared to the satisfaction she received from simply planning his demise. She would steal his fortune and his freedom much in the same way he had stolen her father's life. Swift and merciless. But that's where the similarity would end.

  Reminiscent of a thief in the night, Courtney plotted what would be considered the ultimate revenge against any man who felt invincible. She would infiltrate his world. Sneak in right under his nose and disarm him of the protection that, prior to today, had shielded him so well.

  "My office is just a reflection of the fact that I appreciate beauty–in every form." He gestured to the chair opposite his desk.

  His scrutiny fueled Courtney's already simmering temper. She took a seat and fought unnoticeably to steady her composure.

  Dirk leaned back comfortably in his chair and buzzed the intercom. "Sandy, call in Lenny and Jake."

  "Right away, Mr. Templeton."

  Go ahead, Courtney challenged silently, you can call in the militia, but it won’t do yo
u a damned bit of good. After all these years, her father's murder would be solved–regardless of the manpower or the risks.

  Not only would Richard St. Claire finally be able to rest in peace, but his wife and children would experience the closure they had long been denied. Unfortunately for his family, justice would arrive about twenty years too late. Courtney gritted her teeth and deliberately turned her attention to the huge window behind him.

  Just far enough downtown to be flanked by skyscrapers, Courtney had to admit the lakefront view from Templeton's office was fabulous. The contrast between the fast-paced streets and the tranquil water took her breath away. Her determination, however, settled in comfortably, content to wait.

  The moment the door opened and Leonard and Jake stepped in, Courtney knew it was show time, and she was definitely up to the challenge. She met Leonard's nervous look with a genuinely confident smile and made a conscious choice not to try and interpret the question in Jake's eyes.

  Sandy maneuvered around both men to place the tray she carried on the elegant sideboard beneath the window. With quiet efficiency, the secretary circumvented the conversation and unobtrusively dispensed their coffee.

  Amidst preliminary small talk, Courtney mouthed thank you, accepting the china cup and saucer and shaking her head to Sandy's offer of cream and sugar.

  "Courtney, this is Jake Deluka." Templeton sipped his coffee and nodded his approval, dismissing his secretary.

  “Jake . . . “ She arched a brow. Why on earth had he changed his name? Had he gotten in that much trouble during the past six years?

  "Deluka," Dirk repeated, shifting his gaze. "Jake, this is Courtney Montgomery."

  Montgomery? Jake's eyes never left hers, and he never changed the expression on his face. He could take a punch as well as the next guy. Had to for as long as he could remember. Hell, his old man knocked him asshole over appetite every Saturday night until Jake turned sixteen and hopped the first freight train that came along. So why had this news of Courtney's marriage almost driven him to his knees?

  Couldn’t be that little scene in the park, now could it?. Not big, bad brother Mikey. The other one. You know. Mommy. Daddy. And baby makes three. The happy little family that’s not yours.

  Courtney refused to squirm. "Actually, Jake and I–"

  "Already met at your party," Jake finished, cutting her off. He may have jumped the gun, but after last night his lack of confidence in her ability to handle the situation got the better of him. Well, that and the fact that she failed to mention she was married. Married? To someone else?

  "That's right." Courtney gritted her teeth to keep from shooting Jake a withering look that would not only have drawn too much attention to her, but to him as well. Not that she gave a fig about Jake. He obviously hadn't changed a bit, except maybe gotten worse–working for slime like Templeton.

  Besides, fading into the woodwork simply wasn't Courtney's strong suit. So the last thing she needed was Jake completing her sentences like some long lost lover–especially in front of Templeton. That man was slime, but he hadn't amassed a fortune by being obtuse.

  Dirk switched his gaze from Jake to Courtney. "Lenny will show you around and get you set up."

  "Thanks, Dirk." Anxious to eliminate Jake from the conversation all together, Courtney's smile was almost genuine. "I believe Leonard and I sifted through enough of the details over the phone to make this process as painless as possible for everyone."

  "That's what I like to hear." Dirk pulled a cigar from his desk drawer and snipped the tip. He ran the unlit stogy beneath his nose and inhaled deeply before continuing, "Deluka will be your right hand man as long as you're here. Anything you want–just tell him."

  Courtney sipped her coffee, surprised that, under the circumstances, she was able to swallow, much less keep it down. "I'm sure I won't need anything special," she assured him, hoping to stay as far away

  from Jake as possible.

  "Not just supplies," Dirk clarified. "I want him to drive you to and from the office."

  Courtney saw her life flash before her very eyes. Not because she'd started working undercover and had absolutely no training experience to draw on. That should have been enough.

  Not because she was standing toe-to-toe with her father's murderer. That should have been so much more than enough.

  But because the thought of sitting next to Jake in proximity defined by the size of an automobile scared her to death. Like life, some fears simply defied explanation.

  "Drive me?" she echoed, battling the all-too-steamy memories of the last time she and Jake were together in a car. "That's really not necessary."

  Jake watched Courtney closely. She'd already jumped in with both feet, so how she handled Dirk from this point on was critical to her cover. And Jake had to admit that so far the woman hadn't as much as blinked. In fact, she'd been almost too cool.

  "Nevertheless, I insist." Dirk leaned back, his swivel chair creaking. "We've met with some unpleasant circumstances lately, and since you’re the only one with a cure for my computers, I don't want you involved."

  "I really appreciate your concern, but–"

  "Then it's settled." Dirk dismissed the threesome with a wave of his hand. "Get Mrs. Montgomery situated, Lenny."

  Like last night, Jake recognized the glint of determination flicker in Courtney's eyes. She'd handled Dirk as well as a trained undercover cop–which didn't make one lick of sense. Where had all her grit come from?

  Every instinct Jake relied on told him flat out that Courtney St. Claire–Montgomery–shouldn't have this much moxie. But she did. Regardless, he hoped to hell she kept her act together until this mess was over.

  Courtney stood. "Really, Dirk, driving me isn't necessary."

  Templeton struck a match and took a moment to puff life into his cigar before refocusing on Courtney and ending the discussion. "Yes–it is."

  CHAPTER 3

  >"You…Mr. Deluka, or whoever the hell you are now"–Courtney poked her finger in Jake's face–"are not driving me to and from this office." Anxious to make her position clear, she had finally gotten rid of Leonard for a few moments, sending him in search of some obscure office supplies.

  Working like a dog to obliterate the extremely vivid visual of Courtney's wedding night playing in his head, Jake placed both hands, palms flat, on the desk that separated them. He forced himself to refocus, knowing if Courtney made the mistake of bucking Templeton right out of the gate, protecting her would be like playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun. "You don't know Dirk very well, do you, Sweetness?"

  About as well as I know you, she thought sadly. Courtney denied the regret that tugged at her heart and fought to resist the seductive persuasiveness in his voice. Jake Ciora, or Deluka, had made his choices, she reminded herself. Whatever he had gotten himself into must have been pretty serious, if it was bad enough to force him to change his name.

  She turned on the computer, wishing a force field–not the monitor's screen–would spring to life and protect her. Because even standing an arm's length away, Jake seemed too close. Looming. Menacing. Attractive–no, distractive. She definitely meant distractive, even if it wasn’t a word.

  "What makes the difference how well I know Mr. Templeton? This is not about him; it's about me." And believe me, you don't know the half of it, she mused.

  Jake shook his head. "That's where you're wrong."

  Refusing to take her eyes off the computer, Courtney let out an exaggerated huff that ruffled her bangs. "Don't you have to drive someone somewhere, Ciora?"

  "Don't jerk me around and don't call me that. The name's Deluka." He leveled his voice, and tipped her chin. Holding her startled gaze, he reiterated, "No one says no to Dirk Templeton."

  Even after six years, the diamond-hard conviction in Jake's eyes was hauntingly unmistakable. As was the determined set of his jaw. Courtney swallowed the flip comment teetering on the tip of her tongue.

  Was he warning her about Dirk? Not likely
. According to Jake's own words, no one crossed Templeton. It was as simple as that.

  "Then convince me," she challenged, lifting her head a notch. "Why would Dirk insist that you drive me?" She defiantly folded both arms across her chest and leaned back in her chair just out of his reach. "And don't insult me with some lame excuse like–because he can."

  Jake weighed his options against Courtney's obstinate streak and, under the circumstances, decided to throw enough sketchy details her way to shut her up. "It would be to Dirk's competitor's advantage to keep his computer system down."

  "Is that what he meant when he said there had been unpleasant circumstances, and he didn't want me involved?"

  "Let's just say that much to Templeton's surprise, he finds himself in the middle of a power struggle right now."

  "Even so, my work here should be an extremely short term project. At the very most, I'll only be here a few days."

  Jake shrugged, hoping to hell she was right. "Doesn't matter. Templeton is desperate. He needs to get his business up and running–yesterday–and you're the only game in town."

  Elbows on the table, she steepled her fingers to punctuate her point. "That may be true, but how would anyone outside Templeton Enterprises even know I'm here?"

  "Take it from me, Sweetness, they already do." He watched the significance of his words register. Satisfied, he continued, "Besides, Dirk Templeton never leaves anything to chance."

  "Oh, really?" If Courtney wasn't scared half out of her wits, she would give in to feeling smug about having planting herself, undetected, right under Templeton's nose.

  "You bet," Jake assured her. "He's one man who definitely covers all his bases."

  "Well there's nothing like a trusty baseball analogy to whip a woman into submission." Mindful of the grim lines bracketing Jake's mouth, Courtney tempered the remainder of her normally unchecked sarcasm. "Relax, Jake." Steadying the slight tremble in her hand, she grabbed the note pad next to the phone and scribbled down her address. Forced to give in rather than draw unwanted attention to herself by refusing Dirk's offer, she grudgingly handed Jake the paper. But in typical Courtney-style, she couldn't resist tacking on at least one condition. "If you're not there by eight sharp, I'll drive myself."