“Okay. He didn’t take anything. But what did he leave? A nanny cam? A computer virus? Gemma, for once please just do as I ask and get the hell out of the house until it’s been swept.”
Mike was right. Ned was capable of just about anything, and spying or planting a virus would be right in character. She stormed down the stairs, snagging the strap of her purse as she ran, the delighted dog barreling along at her heels. Damn Ned and his sick games. She took Nikki’s collar in one hand, and they decamped to the front lawn and the shade of a large flowering cherry tree to wait for Mike’s reinforcements.
Mike had warned her not to trust Ned, that divorce proceedings changed people. And he had told her to get the locks changed. But no, she wanted to take the moral high ground. And not take advice from her big brother.
Now here she was on her high ground, sweating and shaking all over and trying not to throw up. Even though her breathing slowed, her hands and midsection still vibrated with anger. What if she’d been in the house? Had he even rung the bell, or had he just waltzed in? She rubbed the goose bumps rippling along her arms. This was seriously creepy, even for him.
And dammit, this time he’d gone too far. With all the work she still had to do this afternoon—she’d have to work into the night to catch up. Maybe longer. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and punched in Ned’s cell number, wishing for a few seconds she hadn’t deleted him from her speed dial. The phone went straight to voice mail.
Gemma tsk’ed and dialed Ned’s office. His assistant answered, her voice dripping liquid nitrogen.
“Dori, I need to speak to Ned, right now,” Gemma began without preamble. You’d think now his worthless ass will be back on the market, she’d stop snarling into the phone whenever my number comes up on her caller ID.
“He’s not in, Mrs. Cavanagh.”
As a rule, Dori’s exaggerated politeness made Gemma feel every one of the seven years between their ages. Today though, it only brought Gemma’s chin up a notch higher. “He isn’t answering his cell. When is he due back?”
Dori hesitated so long Gemma’s jaw clenched.
“He hasn’t been in all day.” The girl sounded almost as tense as Gemma felt.
“Thank you.” Gemma mashed the End key. The son of a bitch was more than likely shacked up with one of his playmates. Keep breathing, Gemma.
Her divorce attorney was on speed dial. It irritated her brother she’d gone to someone else, but Mike was a corporate attorney. And when it came to divorce law, Mark Taylor was the best. Thin as a cormorant, with soaring intelligence and the tender instincts of a pit bull.
By the time an unfamiliar dark blue Audi zipped around the corner and pulled up short in front of the house her breathing was almost back to normal, and she was feeling reassured by her attorney’s promise of a restraining order.
The driver unfolded from the front seat and started toward her, stuffing his sunglasses into his breast pocket. A hank of straight black hair fell just above his eyebrows—Italian, she guessed, or maybe Black Irish, with those cheekbones. He stopped a few feet from her, just beyond arm’s reach. Their gazes met and held. The contact jolted along her skin all the way to her fingertips, and she saw a quick answering flicker before his expression flattened into polite and bland.
“I’m Brady McGrath,” he said. “Mike sent me. Are you all right?”
Gemma pushed off the ground and swiped one hand across the seat of her pants to knock off the grass and dust. As he stepped closer she got a whiff of leather, sandalwood and oak, subtle and expensive. Richard James. Wow.
The hand he offered was warm and firm, and his down-curved eyes were the color of dark toffee. She started to salivate, and had to swallow. She wasn’t sure what to say without sounding like a complete fool. “I’m glad you’re here, you smell great?” That would be just charming. “Do you taste as good as you smell?” Even worse.
He didn’t seem to notice she hadn’t said anything. “You were smart not to go back inside alone,” he said. He turned and walked back to his car. She followed as if on a tether. “Even if you’re reasonably sure it’s safe, it’s a good idea to stay out until someone’s checked the premises.”
“Yes, Officer,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. The corners of her mouth were fluttering, and she ordered her face to relax. Her face ignored her. Worse, her voice wobbled, like a scared little kid’s.
Nikki sat with her head tipped to one side, watching him. Gemma reached down to stroke her head, but the dog had already moved forward to give Brady a preliminary sniff-over.
He scratched Nikki’s ear absently, his eyes still on Gemma. “Did you see anyone?”
“No. It was just the computer—”
“Wait one.” Brady took the few steps back to the car, reached through the passenger side window and took out a small leather bag. “You should probably wait out here.”
“No.” She took a breath through her nose, let it out. “I’m going with you.”
He looked at her for a long moment, as if he were weighing her request.
“He’s not in the house. I won’t get in the way, but I’m going with you.”
His long, flexible mouth firmed. “Let’s do it.” He took off up the walk.
“Could a power spike have switched it over to Ned’s stuff, like that?” she asked, practically jogging to keep up with his long-legged stride. She was not going to trot along behind him like Nikki.
“No.” He looked back at her. “Am I going too fast? Sorry.”
“No.” If he wanted to be monosyllabic, she could do that, too. She just had one more question. “Are you sure it couldn’t be some kind of glitch?”
“I do this for a living.” His tone gave no room for questions. He stopped just inside the door and ran his fingers over the latch plate, as if he were looking for scratches or other indications of forced entry.
“You need to call a locksmith and get all these locks changed this afternoon. And I want you to get in touch with your security company and have the techs reset your alarm password. That’s first.” He pulled latex gloves out of his back pocket and snapped one on as he started up the stairs. “I’m going to make sure the house is clear, and then have a look at the computer.”
* * *
So that was the sister. Brady glanced around her office as the computer whirred and bleeped its way through the series of commands he entered. A redhead. He should have guessed it ran in Mike’s family. He didn’t date redheads—too volatile. Nice eyes, though. Big, green, a little fuzzy from worry. Mike thought the moon rose on her. Baby sister, and all. He’d been less than subtle the last few weeks about fixing them up. Too short for him, though. She couldn’t be more than five-three. Great face. Not beautiful. Pretty. And a body that wouldn’t quit. Damn. Slim, subtle—nice ass. And something else that nagged at him. It would come to him eventually.
Whatever it was about her, it had nothing to do with him. None of his business. Redheads were trouble, and he had better ways to screw up his life at the moment. He was sure he could think of some, if he just put his mind to it.
Still, that jolt when their eyes met. What was that about? Dumb question. He knew well enough what it was about. It was his blood rushing from his big head to his little head and the roar of his brain pouring out his ears.
The shelves above her desk held a row of books with snore-inducing titles such as Managing Federal Grants in the 21st Century, and Statistical Analysis for Educational Managers. The desktop and the side wing were covered with stacks of tables and charts. Brightly colored file folders and pages full of intimidating blocks of text lay in what he suspected was some sort of order.
On top of the center pile was a well-read paperback novel, its creased cover decorated with masses of roses, a sultry-eyed woman and a half-clothed knight. Brady grinned as he took off the gloves to touch the surface
s around him, opening his senses to tactile traces of whoever had been in the room. He ran his fingers lightly over her keyboard, the monitor, the desk. The intruder must have worn gloves. Probably why he wasn’t getting anything. Nothing. No one but Gemma.
Her energy was clear, like fluid crystal. Warm, strong. Stronger in some places than others. The stacks of worksheets were cool, intellectual, but as his fingers skimmed the novel, he grinned again at the wave of heat. Fascinating. He got a clear flash of her moss-green eyes going soft and misty, and the erection that had been threatening since he saw her sitting under the tree in the front yard sprang up hard and insistent. Great. Go back downstairs in this condition, probably scare her to death. Just great. He shifted his weight to ease the pressure.
Still, he couldn’t resist letting his fingers wander, pausing to explore the fractals of her personality that opened beneath his questing touch. Piquant—not a word that usually came to him, but there it was—and funny. Echoes of desperation and determination.
He touched a box of men’s sweaters on the floor beside the desk, and had to brace himself against surges of her anger layered over Ned—and what a selfish prick he was. Brady jolted at a flare of sharp, feral joy and a vision of the sweaters flying through a doorway onto the hall floor. He whistled and chuckled under his breath.
He was using too much energy. It was going to zap his abilities for an hour or so, but he couldn’t resist touching her things again. He let his mind spin with a kaleidoscope of impressions, enjoying the sheer strength and clarity of them. He picked up a figurine of a hatchling Pegasus, tested the weight of the smooth stoneware egg against his palm.
“What are you doing?”
Brady jumped. Oops! Busted. “Accessing your husband’s files.”
“Right.” Gemma crossed her arms.
“I thought you were going to wait downstairs.”
“Wait is a four-letter word.”
He looked down at the Pegasus in his hand. “He’s a cute little guy.”
She didn’t smile. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“What question?” He tried his best innocent look—clear eyes, open smile. With any luck, she’d think he was telling the truth.
“About what you were doing just now when I came in.”
“I told you. I’m going to access your husband’s files and zero-write the drive.”
“Great. Bloody brilliant. What does that mean, and why does it necessitate touching my things?”
Her index finger began to tap against her bicep. Brady watched intently, as if fearing it might suddenly sprout a talon.
“Necessitate?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Big word.”
She looked as if she wanted to hit him. “They get bigger the madder I get.”
“I’ll remember that. As for your question, I’m going to erase whatever’s on there, okay?”
“No, it’s not okay. I’ve had about all the creepy behavior I’ll need for one lifetime, thank you very much. And I hope you’re going to back up my data before you erase it all. I need that information, you know.”
“Look, Gemma, I know you’re pissed, and scared, but you need to let me work here, okay?” He straightened in the chair and squared his shoulders.
He expected her to back away, get some distance, but she stood her ground.
“You’ll need my password.” She lifted a notepad off the desk and pulled the pencil out of the casual knot at the back of her neck. Her hair tumbled over one shoulder in a dark red tangle of curls that framed one tempting breast.
Brady’s mouth went desert dry.
“You know,” he said, “I could really use something to drink.”
“Trying to get rid of me?”
“That, too. But I am seriously thirsty.” He folded his hands together like a child at prayer and raised his eyebrows. “Pretty please?”
“Tea in fifteen minutes,” she said. “That should be just about long enough for you to finish.”
He grinned and slanted a look at her. “Not nearly long enough.”
She hurried out of the room, but not before he saw the color flood her cheek.
His smile faded. She hadn’t been teasing him. She’d been surprised to see him using his touch, which meant Mike hadn’t told her. Well, duh. He wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have.
Great. Just great. He finally meets the One, and—God, did he just think that? Even to himself? Brady sat back in the chair and blinked, caught his breath and rethought the last few seconds. Well, damn! It had happened, just the way his aunts had always said it would. Just the way it had hit his dad. With amused and knowing grins, the old women had called it the coup de foudre—the thunderbolt. He’d shrugged it off as just more Indian stories. Served him right.
Okay. Now what? How did he tell her about himself without outing Mike and the Team, too? He’d never had to think about that before. Up until now, the whole thing had just been “one of the best stories you can never tell,” as the old SEAL saying went, before it went on to describe the horrors of the windowless cells in the Aleutians reserved for people who had violated their oaths of secrecy. He supposed every culture had its own “Indian stories.” Still, some were scarier than others, and more plausible. He had no plans to spend the rest of his life disappeared into a nameless facility in Nowheresville. Of course, if Gemma was there with him...
The computer gave one last little growl and stopped. He was going to have to tell her she needed a new computer, too. Okay, Brady hunched forward in the chair. Let’s see what we have in here. And why someone would want to know badly enough to risk breaking into the house.
Gemma’s computer had been networked at some point, probably to the husband’s, and still needed a password to log on. Getting access to Ned’s side turned out not to be a problem, the code so trite it brought a grim little smile as Brady worked.
While the hard drive was copying onto a terabyte thumb drive from his pocket, he started searching through Ned’s files. They were full of toys and applications. Looks like he downloaded everything that came along. Ned plays Age of Empires? Hmm. What’s this? MYST? Jesus, I haven’t seen that in years.
He pulled a list of every file accessed and sorted them by date, and wasn’t surprised to see dozens had been opened between three and four this morning. He installed a custom shredder program from a flash drive and set it to zero-write the husband’s hard drive space. By the time it was done, someone would need a lot of time and serious expertise to discover Ned was ever there. The thought gave him more satisfaction than it should have.
Moving on to Gemma’s files, he used the password she’d given him and checked the contents of her hard drive. No surprises, nothing to catch the eye. Except MYST, again, in her “Shared Files” folder. Maybe they played against each other, somehow? Competing to finish levels? No accounting for what people did for fun. He copied her hard drive to the portable backup. Then he changed her password.
Gemma wandered out of the kitchen, ready to plunge back into sorting and packing. She should have changed the locks the day Ned moved out. Breaking into the house at night was such a rotten thing to do, even for him. If he’d asked, she’d have let him onto the computer any time. He didn’t have to sneak in here. But he just had to push the limits, had to break the rules. It was what he lived for.
She couldn’t keep thinking about it, or she’d be on her way to losing her temper. She looked over the half-packed shelves and sighed, shaking her head. There was probably time to get one box done before the kettle boiled. Let’s get it over with. It was a relief when the doorbell rang before she even reached the bookcase.
Nikki charged down the stairs and wuffed at the front door. Gemma edged the dog away with her knee and opened the door against the chain.
Two grim-faced men in suits stood on the porch. Process servers. The thought was automatic
. The divorce papers should have been filed and in process by now, but Ned kept requesting ridiculous changes to the terms. Instead of having them sent attorney-to-attorney, Ned the Drama Freak had opted for an actual person to knock on her door and chirp, “You’ve been served.”
Every time she had to accept a surprise package of legal papers that accused or demanded something else, she walked around for a couple of days feeling as if she had swallowed a huge weight.
But why were there two of them? What is he up to now? A female officer in Kirkland Police Department uniform mounted the steps to stand behind them, and Gemma’s chest tightened even more.
“Mrs. Carrow?”
She slipped the chain and opened the door. “Cavanagh. Carrow is my husband’s name. Can I help you?”
“Ms. Cavanagh,” the shorter man said, “I’m Detective Sergeant Olsen with the Pierce County Sheriff’s Department, and this is my partner, Detective Abernathy, and Officer Teng from Kirkland P.D. We need to speak with you for a moment. May we come in?”
“I’m sorry, but what’s this about?”
“It’s about your husband. I’m afraid we have some bad news. May we come in?” he asked again.
Cops and vampires, her dad had said more than once, can’t come in unless you invite them. “May I see some identification, please?”
Their picture IDs looked genuine enough. She knew credentials were simple to fake, but the smooth way the men pulled them out convinced her. As if they’d done it so many times it came automatically. The way her dad had done it. The older one even had the same look in his eyes Dad had when he came home from a tough case—steady, wounded, compassionate. Gemma took a deep breath and swung the door open.
“What’s he done this time?” She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but she really didn’t have time for more of the ploys Ned came up with to keep her off balance.
When they were all in the entry, Olsen spoke. “I’m very sorry, Ms. Cavanagh, but your husband is dead.”
Now You See It Page 2