Chardy Walker Lieb

by The Saint

  With a straight face, Jake countered Courtney's ultimatum. "Seven forty-five." He creased the sheet precisely and slipped it into his inside jacket pocket. "Don't be late." He winked, then turned on his heels and left before she noticed the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  Cheeky, but perceptive. Jake liked that. And respected it in Courtney—even if she was another man’s wife. Regardless, he had kept her from making a major mistake. His smile faded as he made his way down the hall. If Courtney had crossed Templeton, she could have blown the case wide open, and that was something neither one of them could afford.

  **

  Courtney spent the remainder of the morning reviewing the computer system while Leonard watched her every move. It didn't take her long, probably less than five minutes, to realize Leonard Wallis was no slouch when it came to computers. In fact, the man was damn good.

  As Courtney performed and ran the diagnostic programs, his questions and observations were right on the money. She made sure she satisfied his need to verify that the system's problem was, in fact, the virus in question.

  Courtney also made a mental note to assure Uncle Brian that, regardless of his adamant protests, allowing her to continue had not only been the right decision, it would probably prove to be an extremely valuable one.

  The remainder of the morning, Jake prowled the hallway. Making sure Courtney didn't slip past him. Touching base to confirm she was still there. Just thinking of her, his palms itched.

  He ran an impatient finger beneath the neck of his starched collar, reminding himself that this situation–the fact that Courtney was so close–was strictly business. Nothing more. Not personal. And definitely not to be confused with any kind of a second chance for the two of them. How could it be? The scene at the park flashed through his consciousness, a flesh-and-blood reminder that Courtney was married.

  Besides, they just happened to be working the same case. That was all there was to it. Not her fault.

  Definitely not his choice. Instead, Jake cursed O’Shea for throwing them together again. But even that didn't help. Who was he kidding? The lieutenant wasn't the man who had just ripped a ragged hole in Jake's gut. That honor went to the good-for-nothing bastard who had married Courtney.

  Probably some pencil-pushing geek.

  An uptown yuppie with a bank account for a brain.

  What the hell kind of name was Montgomery anyway?

  By noon, Jake had drained an entire pot of coffee. He had actually toyed with the idea of lighting a tightly rolled napkin for a cigarette, but his inability to dig up a match, not to mention the fact that he had quit smoking three weeks earlier, caused him to scrap the idea.

  He had spent the morning shoving Courtney's entirely too appealing image from his thoughts–over and over. And wondering. What kind of woman takes on a man like Dirk Templeton? And what kind of a husband lets her? Stupid bastard, Jake decided. Not that his totally unbiased opinion of the twit meant squat. Because it didn’t. After all, Courtney was another man’s wife.

  Jake, on the other hand, didn't have a wife or even much of an existence. He reminded himself that the lie he had been living for the past six months was nearly over. At this point in the investigation, he had to remain focused, because losing his edge now could mean losing his life. And Courtney's.

  Heading toward the office Dirk had assigned Courtney, Jake decided that taking down an armed robber in a deserted building–pitch black, dead silent, no back up–was less nerve racking than today had been.

  Why? Courtney had not only arrived on time this morning, but she had appeared competent and in control. With no training and no prior undercover experience, she had handled both Dirk and Lenny like a pro. So, what was Jake's gripe? Why did he feel like shoving his fist through the nearest wall?

  Because she was married. No, because he'd always had a thing for Courtney, dammit. With her elegantly slashed cheekbones and smooth, satiny skin. And whether she realized it or not, she was in danger. **

  When the office door flew open, Courtney jumped, nearly deleting her past hour's work. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to knock?" she yelped, her fingers flying frantically over the keys. She paused to observe the computer screen. Satisfied all her information was still in tact, she faced Jake's thunderous expression with one of her own.

  "Why, Mrs. Montgomery? Did I catch you doing something you shouldn't?" Jake shot back. That woman's mouth will be the death of me yet, he swore silently, hoping, if nothing else, his accusation would shut her up.

  "You've got that right." For some totally unexplainable reason and despite the fact that Jake worked for Templeton, Courtney felt comfortable ignoring his insinuation. "In fact, if you'd have burst in here five minutes earlier, you'd have caught me dancing around the desk stark naked."

  That did it. Jake shoved the all-too-vivid image from his mind and scrapped the indirect approach. "As much as I'd like to see just that, you'd better can that attitude around here."

  If this was another warning, then why did Courtney sense protection and not intimidation? In light of their rocky past, Jake didn't owe her a thing. Considering the present, shouldn't his loyalty reside with Templeton? She searched Jake's face, but his haunting, dark eyes never wavered.

  Call it instinct. A hunch. Woman's intuition. Courtney felt certain the intent of Jake's unsolicited advice, not his accusation, rang sincere. Oh great, she thought dismally. For whatever reason, Jake's trying to help me, and I'm secretly working to bring down his employer…and him?

  Just what Courtney needed. One more load of guilt piled on her already over-taxed conscience. So Jake Deluka wasn't all bad, she mused. Looking at the planes and angles of his handsome face, Courtney had to admit that she never believed he was. Courtney sighed and forced her spine to stiffen. She reminded herself that Jake had clearly made his choices in life, both then and now.

  He'd left without as much as saying goodbye. He'd chosen his occupation. And today, like six years ago, paying the price still came with the deal. Unfortunately for Jake, he

  would never know just how costly both his decisions had been. "So other than disrupting my work, what do you want?" As if uninterested, she turned her attention back to the computer screen.

  How can she sit here and talk to me like our past never existed? Jake wondered. He couldn't. No way. One look. One lousy look was all it had taken. Memories coiled. Circling out of the misty corners of his mind, they writhed and intertwined.

  Her soft lips. The warmth of her body. The sweet smell of her hair. Jake stopped cold. Courtney was another man's wife. Clenching both fists, Jake rested a hip on the

  corner of her desk and asked, "So, you're married, huh?" "Divorced." Courtney ignored the uneasy splash in the pit of her stomach and kept both eyes on her work.

  One word. That's all she'd said. One word, Jake thought, could change a man's life. One word was all he had needed to hear. So, was the guy in the park her ex? Or someone new? Who was the little girl? Despite the slight flush of her cheeks, Jake refused to let the subject go. Hell, he couldn't if he'd have wanted to. "What happened? Just didn't work out?"

  Deliberately facing him now, Courtney offered a none-of-your-damn-business shrug. "Something

  like that." He waited a beat, then opened the only other door that could hurt him more. "Kids?" "One daughter." She refused to blink. To breathe. To think. “Isn’t the divorce hard on her?” Despite the crushing pressure in his chest, Jake’s question was

  sincere. Courtney bristled. “My ex-husband is very good to keep in touch with her.” And he was, she thought, especially under the circumstances. Immediately turning the tables, she began typing. Without looking up she forced nonchalance. "How about you? Do you have a wife? Kids?"

  He stood and shoved both hands into his pants' pockets, still wondering if the guy at the park was her ex. "Nope." One syllable. That was all Jake would give Courtney and a helluva lot more than she deserved. The last time he'd told her the truth, she had turned her back on hi
m. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

  Confess he'd never lost his anger?

  Looks like she had.

  Confess he'd never found anyone who could replace her?

  Looks like she had.

  Confess… To hell with that, Jake decided, unfisting both hands. Courtney had gone on. So would he. "It's nearly time for lunch."

  “Lunch?” Courtney froze. Her meeting with O’Shea–she had nearly forgotten about it. If she caught all the lights, she could make it in twenty minutes. It was 11:25 now. She only had fifteen minutes to get rid of Jake. But how? Without looking up, she kept on typing. "Not interested."

  “You've got to eat." "No." She paused for emphasis. "I don't." "That's ridiculous." She shrugged. "That's just me." "Maybe so, but skipping meals isn't good for you." Courtney sighed. When in God’s name did Jake get so health conscious? At this rate, she’d never

  get him out of here. Glancing at her watch she saw it was 11:30. Panicking, she lied, "I brought my lunch,

  okay?" "Prove it." "I don't have to prove anything." "Prove it," he repeated. Courtney snatched up her purse. Cursing under her breath, she fingered past the Snickers and the

  bag of M to the mother load that would shut Jake up once and for all. She pulled out a king size Hershey bar and strategically slapped the huge slab of solid milk chocolate between them on the desk like the ante in a poker game. "There. Now get off my back."

  "No way." Jake dug in.

  So did Courtney. She had to meet with O’Shea, so she stood to lessen the advantage Jake’s six foot four frame had automatically given him. "I’m serious. Now get out. I've got work to do."

  Before Jake could answer, Courtney's cell phone rang. She yanked it out of her purse and mouthed goodbye to Jake.

  "Hello."

  "Barry . . ." Courtney sat down and swiveled her chair away from Jake's prying eyes, hoping he would have the good manners to leave. Quite the contrary, he stepped forward and leaned against the edge of her desk, then folded both arms across his chest and waited.

  "Tonight?" Infuriated by the impudent shake of Jake's head, she tacked on, "That sounds lovely."

  So who the hell was Barry? Her ex? The guy in the park? Not that he gave a damn, because he didn't. His only concern was their investigation, and he had every right to screen anyone who might jeopardize this case. To hell with the tension that had settled between his shoulder blades like a knife. A very long, very sharp knife.

  Courtney glared at Jake, but, more than that, cursed her own inability not to squirm under his scrutiny. Fighting the urge, she smoothed her upswept hair with her free hand. "I don't know what time I'll be done."

  The soft whisper of silk against silk captured Jake's attention as Courtney crossed her long, shapely legs and leaned back slightly in her chair. He swallowed hard and decided this guy on the phone was definitely in the running for B-u-r-y, not B-a-r-r-y. Satisfied, he made a mental note to check this loser out with O’Shea first thing in the morning.

  A few days from now, when this whole Templeton mess was wrapped up, Jake wouldn't give a damn what Courtney did. Or who she did it with.

  Liar, his conscience whispered.

  Until then, his main concern was keeping her focused. That was the truth. And that sure as hell didn't mean hooking up with old Barry after hours.

  Countering Jake's sour expression, Courtney spoke softly into the receiver and promised sweetly, "I'll call the minute I get home." She flipped up the phone and glared at Jake.

  "Big plans with Barney?" Jake couldn't resist. Well, technically he could have, but after noting the slight flush to Courtney's cheeks, that would have been way too simple. And Jake had never done anything the easy way in his life.

  "Barry," she snapped, ignoring his question, but noting the time to be 11:35. "Montgomery," she added just for spite. "You know, the same as mine." Anything to get Jake out of her face.

  Bingo. Jake had pressed just the right button to get the information he needed. Ex-husband. Not boyfriend. Like knowing that make it better. Yeah, right. "Kind of cozy with your ex, aren't you?"

  Aggravated by Jake's sarcasm, she tossed the phone back into her bag and ignored his question. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get back to work."

  "No problem, Mrs. Montgomery." On his way out, Jake grabbed the weighty Hershey bar off her desk. "I'll be back."

  The note pad hit the door, just about the same time it closed behind Jake. Regardless, venting her frustration felt considerably better than sitting across from Jake in some quaint Italian restaurant would have? Who was she kidding?

  "Damn him," she muttered. "Damn him to hell."

  **

  Nearly twenty minutes later, Courtney rushed into O’Shea’s office with less than a minute to spare. She came to a screeching halt, when she saw the officer standing to Brian’s right.

  “Michael,” she said breathlessly, closing the door behind her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Uncle Brian called me in on this case,” he told her.

  Courtney heard the deceptively even tone of her brother’s voice. Looking from his grim face to Brian’s, she asked, “And?”

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Michael exploded.

  Courtney looked incredulously from one man to the other. “What is it with the two of you and that question?” Before either could utter a word, she directed her next comment to Michael. “If you’ll recall, I explained all this at the park less than four hours ago. I know you don’t agree with my decision, but I thought you would respect it.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into?” Michael asked, raking a hand through his thick, dark hair.

  “Well, I–“

  “Did it ever occur to you that you might be followed, Lass?” O’Shea barked without so much as a blink.

  “Followed?” Courtney swallowed hard and looked at her brother. She saw it coming–Michael was good at this. Always had been. She’d seen that look before.

  Like when they were kids and he caught her smoking behind the garage, but she didn’t see him. And how for the next month he had stood behind their mom and fake-smoked just to torment Courtney before he told. In the end, she had gotten in big trouble. But she’d never smoked again. Her smart-assed brother may have saved her life–in the long run–but their mom’s wrath against tobacco paled in comparison to what Courtney faced today.

  “Thanks to my intervention team, your new best friend Lenny-the keyboard-Wallis, was cut off in traffic after tailing you about ten minutes.”

  Courtney felt her cheeks burn.

  “Guess what would have happened if Lenny had reported back to Templeton that you made a beeline for the police station on your lunch hour?” Michael boomed. Not waiting for her response, he tossed down the homicide photos of Templeton’s last double cross. “This?”

  As appalled as Courtney was, she couldn’t take her eyes off the graphic pictures of a naked woman, not much older than she was, lying face up with her throat slit from ear to ear. The color drained from Courtney’s cheeks.

  “And that’s just the part you can see, Lass,” O’Shea warned before gathering the snapshots and slipping them into his lap drawer. “We can’t pin it on Templeton, but we know the bastard’s responsible.”

  “What have I done?” Courtney whispered. “I had no idea–“

  “Exactly,” Brian told her. “That’s what I’ve been tryin’ ta tell ya.”

  “Okay. Okay,” she insisted, holding up both hands in surrender. “I get it now.” Courtney took a deep breath and turned to Michael. “Janey–”

  “I’ve already called mom and arranged for her to pick up Janey after pre-school and keep her the rest of the week–“

  “What did you tell her?” she butted in.

  “Just that you had to go out of town and would call tonight.”

  Courtney stepped behind the desk. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me,” he insisted, shaking his head. “If it were up to
me–“

  “Well, it’s not,” she corrected. Yanking on his shirtsleeve, she continued. “So, big brother, what can I do to make sure”–she pointed to where the pictures had been–“I don’t end up like like…what was her name?”

  “Peggy. Peggy Baird.”

  Courtney clasped her hands together to steady them. “So I don’t end up like Peggy Baird.”

  “For starters, listen to Uncle Brian. Report in on time. Do what he says. If he tells you not to do

  something, don’t do it. Do not for one second underestimate Dirk Templeton. He’s smart. He’s connected. He’s a murderer.” Blue eyes locked with brown.

  “I’ll be working on this end with Uncle Brian,” Michael assured her.

  “How fast can ya work, Lass?” O’Shea asked.

  Peggy Baird’s corpse flashed through Courtney’s mind. Without the hint of a smile, she assured him, “Like a Jack Rabbit, Uncle Brian.” ** Barely back at her desk by 1:00, the knock on her door five minutes later stilled Courtney's fingers

  on the keyboard. "Come in."

  Bag in hand, Jake strolled in. "Here."

  Without thinking, Courtney took the sack. When she noted the logo from Mother Earth's Deli, she stubbornly offered it back. "Thanks, but I'm not hungry."

  Spotting the empty M er desk, Jake refused to take no for an answer. "You need to eat something healthy."

  Courtney peeked inside the brown paper tote and found a deep pita pocket stuffed full of vegetables, sprouts and greens and topped with a fragrant dressing, one beautifully polished red apple and a steaming plastic cup marked green tea.

  "Who sold you this? Martha Stewart?" Courtney fought to resist the mouth-watering scent wafting from the bag.

  Assuming her question was rhetorical, Jake waited for the proverbial but. When it didn't come, and she still hadn't started eating, he asked, "Something wrong with the sandwich?"

  "No." Courtney cleared off a space on the table adjacent to her desk and set the bag down. What the heck, she thought, no sense wasting it. "It's not that I don't like it,"–she paused long enough to make eye contact–"I just don't understand it."