by Meryl Sawyer
When Adam and Tyler had both tired of detective work that was usually drug-related, they’d decided to launch their own private-investigation company. They’d set up shop, seeing corporate security as an emerging field.
Then Adam’s unit had been called to duty. Obviously, the company had taken off in another direction. Adam had been able to tell a little about this from Tyler’s e-mails.
Adam surfed through the account files for the better part of an hour. The company seemed to be very successful. The receivables were up to date, showing how financially healthy the company was, but it wasn’t involved in corporate security, the way they’d intended when they’d formed HiTech.
Adam rose and walked out of his office, heading down the hall to Tyler’s office.
“Mr. Foley’s with a client,” called Sherry.
“Please let Tyler know I need to speak with him.”
Adam nodded to the brunette and returned to his office. He had the vague impression she didn’t approve of him. Who could blame her? His hair was in desperate need of a cut and his clothes were barely passable. He’d spent the earlier part of the morning, after his encounter with Whitney’s ex, sorting through the stuff he’d hastily put into a storage unit before shipping out. Most of it had mildewed during this overseas deployment and wasn’t even fit for Goodwill.
When it came right down to it, nothing much was left of his previous life. He needed to start over—with a fresh attitude. After all, by some miracle, his life had been spared. He should make the most of this second chance. As soon as he spoke with Tyler about the company’s direction, Adam was going shopping.
With nothing better to do, he Googled the articles written about his uncle’s death. The few lines recounting Calvin Hunter’s career in the navy were eclipsed by his win at the Frankfurt International Dog Show with Jasper. Not one of the articles mentioned a 911 call made from Calvin’s home by a woman who’d fled the scene before help arrived.
That mystery followed by a robbery during which the thieves had ignored priceless antiques, but had stolen his uncle’s computer and discs, disturbed Adam. What could be on his uncle’s computer? Expense reports, no doubt. His uncle must have claimed judging shows was his business and probably wrote off many questionable expenses, like a Citation and a villa in the Greek Isles.
Calvin Hunter had been in financial trouble, according to his attorney. Adam needed to find out just what caused the problem and the extent of the difficulty. If his uncle had been murdered as Adam suspected, the trail might begin with his finances. From his work as a homicide detective, Adam knew most murders were crimes of passion or the result of disputes over money. Judging from what Adam had seen of his uncle’s home, no woman had been sharing it with him. The money trail was the place to start.
Adam stood in his office, his fists rammed into the back pockets of his well-worn Dockers, staring out at the sea in the distance. He was just as glad his uncle hadn’t left him a lot of money—just buildings with debts. When all was said and done, he wanted to know he’d built his own business. It was all about pride, he decided.
His father had been the same way. Matthew Hunter had been a building contractor. When he’d unexpectedly keeled over from a heart attack, the small savings Adam had accumulated had gone toward finishing his father’s last job. It hadn’t been enough, and Adam had been forced to take out a loan to complete the project and protect his father’s good name.
Adam’s thoughts strayed from memories of his father to Whitney Marshall. He’d been dating a woman when he’d left for Iraq. He’d told Holly that it was over before he went, and she’d quickly replaced him. He’d thought returning might trigger old feelings, but it hadn’t. Instead he kept seeing Whitney’s deep green eyes and tousled blond hair. He pushed brain Pause and rewound his thoughts to last night. He could feel Whitney beneath him. So soft. So sexy.
So…right.
Whitney was gorgeous, and he’d wanted to tell her so, but thought better of it. How could any man in his right mind be so attracted to someone he’d thought was a burglar? Of course, Adam might not be in his right mind. He’d been changed in ways he was still discovering.
“Hey, Adam.” Tyler interrupted his thoughts. “You wanted to see me.”
Adam slowly turned away from the view and tried for a smile. “Yeah, I was looking over the accounts. Seems like we’re into private guard services big-time.”
“Look, you’ve been out of touch. There’s been an explosion of gated communities around here. Providing gate ambassadors—”
“Ambassadors?”
“It’s a fancy term everyone uses for guards. No one wants to say guards. That implies crime. So everyone goes with ambassadors.” Tyler chuckled. “It’s a no-brainer, and it’s our bread and butter.”
Adam detected more than a hint of defensiveness in his friend’s tone. He hadn’t intended to make him anxious. “You’ve really built the business while I was gone.” Adam didn’t remind Tyler that most of the money to start HiTech had been his. Tyler had put up very little cash, but he had done all the work when Adam’s unit was sent to Iraq. “I just thought we’d agreed to go into corporate security.”
“I know, but that’s a tough nut to crack.” His tone was accommodating, more like the Tyler that Adam had known before leaving. “Corporate security takes a lot of computer geeks and expensive equipment. I don’t think we should head in that direction yet.”
“I’m not second-guessing you,” Adam assured him. “I’m just getting a feel for what’s happening. You’ve done a helluva job.”
Tyler rewarded him with one of his trademark smiles, but Adam couldn’t help wondering what his friend was thinking. Adam knew he’d changed a lot in the last two and a half years. Apparently, Tyler was different as well. Were they going to be close friends again? Would they be able to work together?
Hell, he hoped so. During his time overseas, Tyler had been like a lifeline. He’d e-mailed Adam at least once a week. True, most of his messages had been about the company—very little personal stuff—but they’d meant a lot to Adam. Without many relatives and not having many close friends, Adam had counted on Tyler’s moral support.
“Look…” Tyler shuffled over to the window, looked out at the view for a moment, then continued, “About Holly. We didn’t mean…for anything to happen. It just did.”
“No problem,” Adam replied, and he meant it. Okay, maybe some small part of him had wanted Holly to wait and give their relationship a chance. But almost three years was a long time, especially since he’d given her the big kiss-off just before he’d left. Hell, most of the married guys in Iraq had problems making their marriages work long-distance. He’d been right to end the relationship when he had.
“You’ll hook up with someone new,” Tyler assured him. “You always were the one the women went after.”
Adam couldn’t help thinking about Whitney. He knew damn well she wouldn’t agree with Tyler. He’d frightened the wits out of her. Worse, she had an ex who was still in the picture.
Aw, hell. No one had ever accused him of being sensible. Something about Whitney sent his brain into a tailspin. He found her really sexy. And he’d spent so much time without a woman that he needed sex in the worst way—yet something inside him was desperate for so much more than a quickie.
What did he want? Seeing death so often—so close—made him value life. He wanted a family, and that meant kids…and a wife. He needed a woman, someone special to share things with, someone to discuss important things with—someone special. He kept thinking about Whitney. She might not be that person, but it wouldn’t hurt to investigate.
He smiled inwardly. Hell, he was good at investigating.
CHAPTER SIX
RYAN FORDHAM STARED out at the bay just beyond Peohe’s restaurant. A Coast Guard cutter slogged its way out to sea while yachts whizzed by, their sails amber in the light of the setting sun. Beside him, Ashley chatted about the house she longed to possess. He didn’t have the heart to t
ell her that he’d already contacted the broker and had withdrawn their bid. What choice did he have? Until Whitney signed the documents and he had full control of their property, he was precariously low on funds.
Almost totally broke, he grudgingly admitted to himself.
What money he had managed to raise must go into his new practice and toward paying off Domenic Coriz. Just the thought of the big Native American sent a bead of sweat crawling like a centipede down the back of his neck.
Why can’t you stop gambling? he asked himself for the hundredth time.
You can, responded the logical part of his brain, the way it had countless times during the last three years. Over and over, he’d told himself he would never step into a casino again. Each time he broke his promise.
Gambling was an addiction, he reminded himself, and it was just as powerful as being hooked on cocaine or alcohol. Maybe more so. Winning gave him a high that he couldn’t achieve even with the hottest, kinkiest sex. Losing was a total downer, but the high’s promise was enough to lure him back to the tables again and again.
“What?” he asked, realizing Ashley had said something. “My mind wandered.”
Ashley studied him for a moment, then repeated, “I said I picked up papers to file for my resale license. I need to put down the name of my business. I can’t decide between Ashley’s Interiors or Ashley’s Designs.”
“‘Designs,’” he said emphatically. “‘Interiors’ limits you to decorating. With ‘designs’ you can branch off into other things, like art or clothing. With your talent, you can do almost anything.”
Ashley rewarded him with her winning smile. It was accompanied by an adorable mischievous glint that fired her blue eyes. That captivating expression had instantly won his heart the minute he’d introduced himself to her on his first visit to the cosmetic surgery group he’d later joined. Until he’d met Ashley, Ryan hadn’t believed in love at first sight. Now he was convinced.
Ryan had thought he’d loved Whitney, but he’d been mistaken. What he’d felt for his ex-wife had been a certain fondness magnified by sexual attraction. But it was so much…less than the heartfelt emotion Ashley evoked.
“You’re right,” Ashley told him. “Ashley’s Designs it is. I’m going to start with a small office in the house.”
“Good.” He didn’t mention that he didn’t have the capital to bankroll even the most modest business. Damn Whitney. The bitch had already agreed to the settlement. Why did she have to pick now—of all times—to become uncharacteristically stubborn?
“Dr. Fordham?” Their waiter interrupted his thoughts. “A man in the bar needs to see you.”
“Have him join us,” Ashley responded.
“Don’t bother.” Ryan stood, a little unnerved. Who knew they were here? It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to enjoy the sunset over the bay. “We don’t want our romantic dinner interrupted. Do we?”
Without waiting for an answer, Ryan followed the waiter, his apprehensive feeling intensifying. Had someone been following him? Was that how he knew they were here?
What now? His new partners were pressing him to line up financing for his portion of the long-term lease on the state-of-the-art cosmetic surgery facility. He was several payments behind on his first and second mortgage and on the home equity line of credit he’d taken out when real estate skyrocketed last year. Home sales had since flattened, yet bills kept marching across his desk with frightening regularity. But nothing could beat the pressure he was getting from Coriz.
The waiter led him into the bar area. It was jammed with twenty-something Gen-Xers trying to hook up. Ryan spotted a lone man in the far corner. He looked like a guy from the wrestling channel attempting to pass for normal in street clothes.
One of Coriz’s men. Christ! They had been following him. The goon stepped forward as Ryan shouldered his way toward him, and the waiter melded into the crowd.
“Fordham.”
The single word was low, gruff and wouldn’t be noticed by the people standing around like cigars jammed into a box. Still, the menacing tone cut right through Ryan like one of the lasers he used on his patients.
He forced himself to employ his most arrogant voice. “Do I know you?”
“Naw.” The creep shrugged and emphasized powerful shoulders beneath his Tommy Bahama shirt. “I’m one of Dom’s guys.”
Dom. Only Domenic Coriz’s closest associates called him “Dom.”
“Dom wants a progress report. Did your ex sign the papers?”
“Not yet, but she will,” Ryan assured him, though he had his doubts about how soon he could expect to see signed documents.
“Dom don’t want no fuckin’ lawyers involved.”
For a second Ryan’s knees wobbled. How could they know Whitney planned to consult Broderick Babcock? They must be eavesdropping on him with some sophisticated device as well as following him. Those cocksuckers!
Ryan drew himself up to take full advantage of his height. Dom’s man might be muscle-bound but Ryan had a good six inches on him at least. “You tell Dom that I’ll take care of my ex.”
The goon studied Ryan with dark eyes as if he were inspecting some alien species, then his lips curled into a smirk. “Remember this is time…s-sensitive.”
The way he’d stumbled over the word told Ryan the man had never used it before. Dom must have told him what to say. Not that “time sensitive” had appeared to be in the Native American’s vocabulary either. He’d probably heard the term from his fish-faced attorney.
“I’m well aware of the time factor involved.”
Dom’s man edged forward and for an instant Ryan thought he didn’t understand what factor meant. Quick as a snake, a meat hook of a hand whipped out and grabbed Ryan by the balls. One deft twist of the man’s wrist and Ryan had to bite the inside of his cheek to control a scream of unimaginable pain. Despite his efforts, a choked grunt escaped his lips. No one in the noisy bar noticed.
The man released Ryan’s gonads, saying, “Dom always gets what he wants.”
Without waiting for a reply, the cocky prick muscled his way through the crowd and vanished. Ryan didn’t need the threat spelled out. Deliver or you’re dead.
It took several minutes for the pain in his groin to ease enough to move. Both hands in front of him to protect his balls, Ryan wended his way out of the crush of kids hustling each other. He walked haltingly, each step bringing another stab of pain. He stopped and stood at the edge of the crowd for a moment, waiting until the ache subsided. He didn’t want to hobble back to the table and face Ashley’s questions.
He’d managed to keep his gambling a secret from Whitney. She’d thought his late night forays had been to the hospital. It had worked during his two residencies, but that excuse no longer held water. Cosmetic surgeons didn’t go to the hospital at night unless there was an emergency. And having worked for a group of cosmetic surgeons, Ashley would know this.
He couldn’t fool her. Just as well, he decided. He’d sworn off gambling. Still, the pull was there. A sense of inevitability seeped through him like a powerful narcotic. If only he could score big—the way he had in the past—his problems would be solved.
Remember. Dom always gets what he wants. Ryan knew he had no choice but to deliver.
IT WAS ALREADY DARK WHEN Whitney returned to the cottage. After her confrontation with Ryan, she’d been playing catch-up all day. In addition to Da Vinci, Whitney now had Maddie, a fluffy white bichon frise, while her owner traveled to a gala in New York City.
She hoisted Da Vinci out of the carrier strapped to her back. “You’re spoiled silly. I’m going to have a bad back from carrying you around all day.”
Da Vinci scampered after Maddie, intent on chasing her and not caring one bit about Whitney’s aching back. Oh, well. Being a pet concierge brought in the money she needed, but who promised it would be easy?
Lexi licked her hand and Whitney took time to pet her retriever. The dog seemed eerily in tune with her. When Whitney
had been despondent over Ryan’s betrayal, Lexi had never left her side. Whitney could see what a help Lexi was going to be in her new venture. She had a calming effect on other dogs because she obeyed and didn’t get excited over little things like unexpected noises or other pets.
A sharp knock on the front door stopped Whitney halfway to the kitchen to prepare two special diets and scoop a bowl of kibble for Lexi. Da Vinci went into a frenzy of sharp yips and Maddie joined in, dancing a jig on her hind legs.
“No. Bad,” she scolded them. “Quiet.”
It must be Ryan, she decided. The man just never knew when to give up. Once she’d thought it was an admirable quality. Now she’d been exposed to the dark side of his behavior. Trish might be right about needing a restraining order. Her anger at Ryan put steel in her spine, and she swung open the front door, saying, “Get out of here or I’ll call the police.”
The dark figure was backlit by the dim porch light. All she could make out for a moment was a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette. Too tall, too big for Ryan.
“I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner, Whitney.”
She instantly recognized Adam Hunter’s voice. He unnerved her in a way no other man ever had, but then, she’d never been attacked before. She reminded herself that he’d helped her this morning. Stay calm; the guy wasn’t all bad. “No, I just came home.”
He took a step forward, and the light from inside the cottage washed over him. Their brief encounter this morning hadn’t prepared her for this clean-shaven man with a fresh haircut. Now he was dressed in crisp tan slacks and a light blue polo shirt that emphasized his dark hair.
His crystalline blue eyes lacked warmth or spark. They seemed vacant, almost haunted. And they bore into her with unwavering intensity. She suddenly remembered Adam had lost his uncle. The death must have upset him the way her mother’s death had stricken Whitney.
She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Thanks for helping me this morning.”
“Your ex-husband seemed…unreasonably angry.”