The Perfect Solution

by Day Leclaire

  Mick grinned at that. “Don’t you know? Ownership is the least of it. It’s the one who gets the contract who wins.”

  He was right and they both knew it. She silently stewed as he tromped across the grass toward the side of her house. Unable to stand his having the last word, she shouted, “Hey, Mick!” He threw her a quick look over his shoulder. “You will give me a call if anything vital shows signs of falling off, won’t you?”

  She could see his mouth move and suspected whatever he’d said didn’t bear repeating. Chuckling softly, she tossed the atomizer into the air, caught it, then made her way to the lab. She reached automatically for her safety goggles. Slipping them on before entering, she wound her way around rows of lab benches to the locked cabinet containing her current samples.

  Inside the temperature-controlled environment were twelve plain glass bottles. Each was marked with LP and a number. It wouldn’t take any time at all to mix up a new perfume sample. She reached for LP-2, since it was next in line. Minutes later, a new atomizer rested in her lab coat pocket and she crossed to her computer to type up a few notes.

  The only emotional reaction to her first “perfume” had been annoyance. Of course, she couldn’t say for certain whether the spray had prompted the reaction or the experiment itself. It was too early to tell if Flynn had reacted unusually to it—she didn’t know him well enough to make that determination. Perhaps she’d try it out on him at some point in the future and see whether he found it annoying. But not on their first—Her fingers slipped on the computer keys and her eyes widened. Good grief! She’d almost called it a date. Where in the world had that come from? Well, wherever it had emanated from, it better go right back. After Mick, the very last thing in the world she wanted was another romantic relationship.

  Love affairs were messy and hurt like hell when they came to an end. They engaged emotions that were impossible to analyze or control and usually involved lies. Her mouth tightened. Many lies. Keeping her energies and emotions focused on her work wasn’t just smart, at this point in her career it was vital. She didn’t need a man like Flynn in her life, a temporary distraction that promised long-term pain. No. She’d use him for her experiments and nothing more. She certainly wouldn’t allow any sort of romantic entanglements. She sighed.

  No matter how kissable a mouth Mr. Flynn Morgan possessed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “YEAH, YEAH. I’M COMING.” Flynn yawned, snatching up a T-shirt. He thrust his arms into the holes and yanked it over his head as he opened the door to his hotel room. A man he’d never seen before stood there. “Sort of early for a social call, isn’t it?”

  “It’s almost noon.”

  Flynn thrust a hand through his hair, tumbling it out of his eyes. “Really? Haven’t slept this late in ages. Guess that’s what a clear conscience does for you.” If his visitor caught the underlying irony, he didn’t let on. Flynn sighed. “What can I do for you?”

  The man threw a quick, nervous glance over his shoulder. “Could we discuss this in the privacy of your room?”

  Flynn stepped back with a shrug. “I guess. Mind telling me who the hell you are?”

  “Oh, right.” The man looked surprised, as though common courtesy hadn’t even occurred to him. “Mick Barstow.”

  Flynn’s eyes narrowed. There couldn’t be two Mick Barstows in a town as small as Salmon Bay, which meant this had to be Jane’s Mick. “Flynn Morgan.”

  “I know who you are,” Barstow claimed, striding into the room. “What I haven’t figured out is what you’re doing here.”

  That was direct. And none of his damn business. Flynn summoned up the energy to say as much. “That’s none of your damn business. Are we through talking now? I wouldn’t mind catching a few more hours of shut-eye.”

  “Not even close.”

  Mick made himself comfortable in the nearest chair, and Flynn wondered what the hell Jane had seen in the man to convince her he’d be a welcome addition as both a partner and a lover. Granted, he wasn’t too bad-looking. A bit weak-jawed, perhaps, but he made up for it by being tall, blond and decently built. Unfortunately, he had a serious attitude problem. Worse than that, his bristly mustache covered up lips too thin to do justice to Jane’s generously proportioned mouth.

  A piss-poor match there.

  Flynn planted his backside on the low-topped dresser and thrust his legs out in front of him. He yawned again, wondering if the room had a coffeemaker somewhere. Better yet, maybe he’d wander over to Jane’s and beg a cup off her. Maybe she’d have slept in, too. Would she open the door to him, all tousled and flushed with sleep, her eyes still filled with misty dreams of sweet romance? Or would she already be bespectacled and trussed up and wearing her lab coat like a suit of armor? It might be interesting to find out.

  But first he had to take care of business. He leveled his visitor with a jaundiced eye. “What do you want, Barstow?” he asked. “You’re intruding on my sleep time and I don’t take kindly to that.”

  “Then I’ll get right to the point. You’re here to install a security system for Jane Dearly, right?”

  Flynn cocked an eyebrow. “So?”

  “So, I want to know what else you’re up to.”

  “Got it.” Flynn straightened and grabbed Barstow by the arm. “This is where you leave.”

  “Wait a minute! You can’t throw me out.”

  “Give me one good reason.”

  “I’ve had you investigated.”

  That gave him pause. “How? I just hit town yesterday.”

  “I have sources,” Barstow warned. “Excellent sources.”

  Flynn sighed. “What is it with people around here? I thought small-town folk were supposed to be trusting. First Jane’s uncles and now you.” He eased his hold. “What is it you think you know about me?”

  “I know that you’re not all you claim. I know if you’re involved in something, there’s a scam going on.”

  Flynn didn’t like the expression glittering in Barstow’s eyes. “Let me rephrase the question. Why are you telling me this?”

  “You’re a security expert, right?”

  “I can find my way around most systems.”

  Mick smiled, a cold, calculating twitch of mustache and lips. “And I know why, too.”

  “Get to the point or get the hell out.”

  “I want you to get my notes from Jane. They’re locked up in her computer. I have access, but not knowledge. You have both.”

  “This is where you leave.”

  “I’m willing to pay, and pay big.”

  Flynn gave him a quick shove toward the hotel room door. “Out.”

  Mick held up his hands. “I’m not asking for anything that doesn’t belong to me. I can give you the specific file I need. You can even read the information before you hand it over to prove to yourself it’s mine.”

  “Why me? Why haven’t you taken your complaint to a lawyer?”

  “There’s no time! I need that file now, before her findings become known.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Think about it, Morgan. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “Fine. I’ll think about it.” Flynn yanked open the door and tossed Barstow on the far side of it. “But it would take a lot to make me betray a client. A lot more than you have, I’m willing to bet.”

  With that, he slammed the door closed.

  * * *

  “ANYBODY HOME?”

  Flynn’s call came from the foyer and Jane hastened from her lab to join him. He must have recently climbed out of a shower. His dark hair had been combed into submission and he had that fresh-scrubbed-and-shaved look about him. She found it entirely too distracting. Perhaps a hint of formality was in order.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Make it Flynn, if you don’t mind. Sorry I’m late. I’ve been working nonstop the past few weeks and I’m afraid it finally caught up with me.” He offered an abashed grin. “My first day on the job and I slept in.”
>
  She waved aside his apology. “To be honest, I didn’t notice.”

  “Got lost in your chemicals and potions, did you?”

  That...and far too much daydreaming. “I enjoy it,” she confessed with a shrug, “so it doesn’t seem like work.”

  “You ready to show me around?” His gaze swept the foyer in an assessing manner. “I didn’t realize this place was so large. I’m not sure two weeks is going to be long enough to install an adequate security system.”

  “You can see the facility later. We have more important business to attend to first. Let’s go into my office and we can fill out the survey for my study.” She didn’t bother to wait for his response but pulled open a wooden door with her name neatly etched into the wood, and waved him toward a seat.

  “We really need to discuss your security needs. That is why I’m here.”

  “Later. This is more important.”

  “What’s more important?”

  She frowned. Hadn’t he listened to a word she’d said yesterday? “The informational part of my survey. Don’t you remember? You agreed to participate in my experiment.”

  “Oh, right. I thought we could do that after we’d determined what sort of system you required.”

  “Low priority, Mr. Morgan.” He looked less than pleased with her comment, but she ignored that. She needed to take advantage of the man fate had dropped on her doorstep, and quickly. Heaven only knew when—or if—it would happen again. “We’ll start with my study then worry about locks and dead bolts.”

  “Actually, security systems have become a bit more sophisticated than—”

  She cut him off briskly. “Yes, well. We can go into all that another time.” Opening the drawer to her filing cabinet, she pulled out a folder. She returned to her desk with it and removed a neatly stapled packet of papers. “Do you want anything before we begin? Coffee? A cola?”

  “Nothing, thanks.”

  “In that case, I’ll ask my questions. Let me just find a pair of glasses.” She opened her desk drawer. To her surprise, Flynn leaned across the desk and plucked a pair off the top of her head and set them gently on the tip of her nose.

  “That’s the third different pair I’ve seen so far. How many do you have, anyway?” he asked curiously.

  The question bothered her, since Mick had always fussed about her glasses. It wasn’t that he objected to her wearing them. He simply objected to the colorful frames, calling them “crass.” And the frequency with which she lost them had infuriated him. “A lot. I tend to misplace them. Does it matter?”

  “No.” He tilted his head to one side, studying her. “Actually, it’s kind of cute. I like the yellow daisies.”

  She took instant exception. “I’m not cute, I’m a scientist.” Unfortunately, her comment only served to amuse him.

  “Scientists can’t be cute?”

  “Not this scientist.” Fighting to regain control of the conversation, she glanced at her notes. Somehow she’d managed to lose it, an all-too-frequent occurrence around Mr. Morgan, she suspected. He had an uncanny knack for turning her attention from business to personal with one simple question. She found it most disconcerting. “As I mentioned, it’s all standard information. Name, age, address, phone number, educational background and vital statistics.”

  “Vital statistics?”

  “Height and weight.”

  To her surprise, her questions made him wary. Why was that? she couldn’t help but wonder. “You already know my name. I’m thirty-four.” He rattled off his address and phone number, then hesitated. “I’m six foot one and a hundred eighty-five pounds.”

  Most of which appeared to be good, lean muscle. “And your educational background?”

  “Is that really necessary?”

  “I need it for statistical purposes. All the information I gather will be kept strictly confidential, I promise.”

  He glanced away, his mouth tightening. “I received my GED at age twenty.”

  She fought to conceal her astonishment. “I see...”

  “Do you?” His gaze returned to her and he leaned across the desk. Where once she’d considered him incredibly good-looking, now his features had hardened into taut, uncompromising lines. They spoke of a man who’d ridden long and far and overcome life-altering obstacles. “You want to know the bare-bone facts of my life and record them in some file. Sounds familiar. I’ve probably had my entire life recorded in various files littering the country.”

  “Mr. Morgan, it’s just a survey—”

  “Why don’t you get to know me as a person instead of asking a bunch of questions that don’t have a thing to do with who or what I am?”

  He was overreacting and she couldn’t help but wonder why. Slowly, she pulled off her glasses and dropped them to the desk. “I’m sorry, Flynn. I have a regrettable tendency toward single-mindedness when it comes to my work. You’re not comfortable with this, are you?”

  “No.”

  “It’s simple background information,” she explained gently. “What you do for a living, your marital status. That sort of thing. If it would make you more comfortable to make it part of a normal conversation, we could do it that way.”

  He slouched low in the chair and thrust his feet out in front of him as though he didn’t give a damn. But she knew differently. For some reason, a simple, basic survey had thrown him, had touched a painful place, still raw with memories. “You want details?” he asked with a careless shrug. “Fine. Why don’t we just get this over with and take care of business? I’m part owner in a company that installs security systems. I’m not married, but one of these days I hope to find a woman who’ll take me on permanently. We’ll settle down and have a passel of kids. Is that good enough? Are we through now?”

  He’d surprised her again. “You want to marry? To have children?”

  “I haven’t ruled out the possibility. Right now I find the idea a bit off-putting.”

  For the first time in her entire life she had a glimmer of insight into another person. She couldn’t recall it ever happening before, and the fact that it happened first with this man worried her. “Having kids scares you, doesn’t it?”

  “Right down to my bones.”

  She flipped the folder closed and rested her elbow on the desktop, cupping her chin in her hand. “Me, too. Why does it scare you?”

  He hesitated and she could practically see him fight to get past a lifetime’s worth of protective barriers. “I’m afraid I’ll follow in my parents’ footsteps. I’m afraid I’ll make a god-awful father and screw up some poor innocent kid. I’ve made so many mistakes in my life, I can’t even count them. But one mistake I won’t be making is having a son who’ll spend the better portion of his youth at Lost Springs Ranch for Boys.”

  She stared at him blankly. “What’s that?”

  “That, sweet lips, is where I grew up. It’s a pretty little spread in Wyoming where they ship kids who’ve been abandoned or are about an inch away from a life in juvey. I qualified on both counts.”

  Understanding dawned. He’d mentioned having his life recorded in files. No doubt he’d spent years being probed and surveyed, sitting on the wrong side of a desk answering the wrong types of questions. She couldn’t have chosen a worse way of approaching him. But she also couldn’t help being curious, a curiosity that had nothing to do with her survey. “Did you hate living on the ranch?”

  “No. Though, I didn’t take to it as well as some of the others. I can’t say why. The other kids were in the same boat I was. They were all in trouble with the law or had been abandoned or had parents who flung them out because it was easier than raising them.”

  She fought to hide her compassion, suspecting it wouldn’t be welcomed. “I gather you were one of those who was flung?”

  “You got that right. Flung at a time when I was flirting with jail.”

  “A time when you needed your parents the most.”

  “I needed parents.” His smile was a devil-may-care, lopsided
twist of his lips. “Just not the ones who brought me into this world.”

  Oh, Flynn! “So you ended up at this ranch? The people there raised you?”

  “Right up until I’d had enough of the good life and decided to rip out the few admirable qualities the community attempted to instill.” Darkness settled on his face and his eyes grew bleak and flat. “It’s taken me a long time to realize the error of my ways. But I finally did and I’m gonna make sure my children have the best possible example to follow instead of the worst.”

  “Without any help?” she asked gently.

  “Damn right. The ranch did their damnedest to save my life. They won’t have to save my child’s.”

  It was a telling comment. Whenever he decided to have those kids that scared him so badly, he’d make a wonderful father. “I gather that despite everyone’s efforts, you didn’t graduate from high school?” She asked the question tentatively, waiting for him to shut down on her and end the conversation. To her surprise, he kept talking.

  “A prank at the end of my senior year pissed off the principal and he withheld my diploma. That in turn pissed me off enough that I decided I didn’t need the damn thing. Two years later, after enduring every sort of dead-end job imaginable, I swallowed my pride and sat for a high school equivalency test.”

  “What about college?”

  “Do I look like a college boy?”

  She shoved the folder to one side and regarded him curiously. “I don’t know, Flynn. What does a college boy look like?”

  “Prissy.”

  Jane couldn’t help it. She chuckled. To her surprise, the irritation drained from him and he smiled, too. “I confess, I’ve taken courses that have helped with my security firm.”

  “But you don’t trust organized education, is that it?”

  “Got it in one.”

  “All right. I’ll put down ‘some college.’”

  “Don’t bother prettying me up. I am what I am. I don’t need whitewashing.”

  “Who’s whitewashing?” He’d revealed so much of himself during their conversation, it seemed only fair to return the favor. “For your information I never went to school at all. Did my uncles mention that they raised me?”