He deepened the kiss. Her arms went all the way around his waist. He eased one hand down the length of her spine to the graceful curve above her buttocks. He urged her hips against his thighs, seeking to ease the straining tension of his heavily aroused body.
She was invitingly firm in all the right places, enticingly soft in others. And she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath the poet shirt. He could feel the tight buds of her nipples.
He slid his leg between hers.
The rain struck without warning. The balcony overhang provided little protection against the chill, wind-driven blast, and Jasper was suddenly drenched. The cold, wet fabric of his shirt clung to his skin. Olivia flinched in his arms.
“Good grief.” She stepped back quickly, pushing a tendril of wet hair out of her sultry eyes. Her kiss-softened mouth curved in with laughter. “I’m soaked. So are you.”
“You see what I mean about my lousy timing.”
10
She was still laughing a few minutes later when she handed him his jacket and his briefcase and ushered him out of her cozy little villa.
“Hurry.” She leaned out into the hall to watch him get on the elevator. “The cab will be downstairs by now. You don’t want to miss your ferry.”
Jasper was still smiling to himself when he got out of the elevator eleven floors below. He should have been feeling at least a little let down, given the abrupt ending to what had promised to be an interesting evening. But for some reason he was in a surprisingly good mood.
There was a new, unfamiliar sense of anticipation humming inside him, a feeling of possibilities.
Or maybe it had just been so long since he’d gotten laid that he’d forgotten what the prospect could do for his mood.
He nodded to the doorman who had summoned the taxi and walked out onto the sidewalk. The wind gusted, sending another sheet of rain across his shoulders.
The cab was not directly out front. It waited on the far side of the street. It figured.
Jasper jogged through the rain to where the taxi was parked. He opened the door of the cab and got inside.
“Ferry dock,” he said.
“You got it.”
Jasper looked back as the car pulled away from the curb. His eyes went straight to the eleventh floor. It was easy to spot because Olivia was standing at the railing, watching him leave.
The Mediterranean warmth of the sunny palazzo glowed behind her. She had put on a hooded raincoat for the second venture outside. It gave her a romantic, old-fashioned glamour. Juliet on a high-rise balcony.
As he watched, she raised her arm in a farewell wave.
He returned the salute and then settled back against the seat. A mistake. The movement plastered his damp shirt against his back. Still, he felt good.
Very, very good.
The rain was still coming down steadily forty-five minutes later when he walked off the ferry on Bainbridge Island. But he was still feeling good. He found his Jeep in the parking lot, climbed inside, and drove to the big house overlooking the waters of Puget Sound.
The mildly intoxicated sensation lasted until he walked into the darkened kitchen.
Three steps past the door, he came to a halt, keys in hand. For a moment he listened to the silence. There had been a lot of it since Kirby and Paul had left for college. He was slowly growing accustomed to it.
But for some reason the sense of deep quiet was disturbingly intense tonight. It felt wrong.
Awareness flickered through him. He reached out and pushed the control panel button that turned on the lights in every room in the house at once. When the place was fully illuminated from top to bottom, he listened hard.
No panicked, fleeing footsteps. No squeak of floorboards.
But the sense of wrongness persisted.
Jasper walked slowly from room to room. Nothing was missing. There was no evidence of a break-in. No shattered windows. No one leaped out of a closet.
The heavy door to the basement was still safely locked. Jasper had had it specially designed. It would have taken a great deal of effort to open it. Any attempt to do so would have left obvious signs.
The average burglar probably did not expect to find anything of value in a basement, Jasper thought. And given that most prowlers were after items that could be fenced quickly and anonymously, the assumption would have been correct.
He worked the sophisticated code to unlock the door. Then he opened it and went slowly down the steps. In the light of the overhead fixtures he surveyed his row of gleaming metal file cabinets.
They were solidly made, built more like safes than standard cabinets. They housed and protected the kind of information that he did not trust to computers.
There was a lot that he did not trust to computers. He liked to think of himself as a modern businessman, but he could not deny that he had an atavistic distrust of the new information storage and retrieval technology. He was keenly aware of the risks and vulnerabilities.
Inside the file cabinets were the confidential background information on clients, tax records, and personal financial data that he had accumulated during the years he had been in business.
There were other things in the cabinets. Photographs and personal effects that had once belonged to Fletcher and his wife. Jasper intended to give them to Kirby and Paul when they graduated from college.
He walked down the row of cabinets, checking each drawer. When he was satisfied that none had been touched, he went back upstairs and locked the basement door again.
There was no proof that anyone had been inside the house. Still, he could not shake the sensation that someone had prowled through it tonight.
This paranoia thing may be getting worse, he warned himself. He wondered if he should be worried. This was the second time in less than two weeks that he’d imagined that someone had deliberately targeted him. For sure he would not mention his little problem to Kirby.
Jasper paused at the doorway of his study and glanced inside.
He had already checked this room once to make certain none of the computer equipment had been stolen, but something made him go back into it a second time.
He stopped in the center and tried to figure out what seemed different or out of place.
It took him a few seconds to realize what was wrong. The pen that he habitually left on top of the closed laptop was now sitting beside the computer.
A cold feeling that had nothing to do with his damp shirt drifted through him. He reached across the arm of his chair, raised the lid of the computer, and switched on the machine. It hummed happily to itself as it went through its opening sequence. A moment later his files were neatly arrayed on the screen.
No one had wiped his hard disk. Of course, there would be no way of telling if someone had downloaded his files onto floppy disks, he reminded himself. But he had no confidential client data or business records on this machine at the moment. He could not think of anything he had stored in the computer that was worth stealing.
He crossed the study to the file drawers and opened them one by one. He never bothered to lock this cabinet. The truly valuable documents were all downstairs in the basement.
Nothing appeared to be out of place in the first three drawers. He was about to close the fourth when he noticed the yellow file folder in front of the red one.
He looked at it for a long time before he removed it and glanced inside to be certain that all of the papers were there. When he was satisfied, he dropped it back into its proper place behind the red folder.
It was very likely that anyone who chanced to glance into his filing cabinet would assume that the system he used was governed by date and the alphabet, which it was. But within that system, it was also colorcoded.
Kirby and Paul had often teased him about his elaborate, many-tiered personal filing system. Jasper had developed it on his own years ago. It worked. He had never seen any reason to alter or simplify it.
It was just barely possible that he, himself, had misfiled the red folde
r at some point in the past, he told himself. But given his precise filing habits, it was far more probable that someone else had removed the file and then returned it to the wrong place tonight.
Hell, maybe I really am getting paranoid.
Maybe he needed another vacation.
But what if he wasn’t going over the edge? What if someone had searched his study tonight?
If that was true, he would have to reconsider a few of the evening’s events in a slightly different light. Whoever had entered his house must have known that he would be delayed getting home tonight.
That observation gave rise to other, more troubling questions. After Olivia agreed to a working dinner with him, had she plotted to keep him busy while someone searched his house?
He sat down at his desk to think. After a while he realized what it was that bothered him the most.
He could deal with the possibility that Olivia did not trust him. He could even handle the concept that, in her zeal to protect Glow, Inc., interests, she might have sent someone to go through his private files to see if he had a secret agenda for the company.
What he did not want to believe was that she had lured him out onto her windswept balcony for a flaming-hot, incredibly sexy kiss that meant absolutely nothing to her.
11
The chess player looked down at the pieces on the board The motive behind the opponent’s strategy was not clear. Once again, lack of sufficient information complicated the situation.
But in the end the most focused player would win.
The chess player was very, very focused.
12
“It was very kind of you to take time out from your busy schedule to have breakfast with me, Olivia.” Eleanor Lancaster smiled across the expanse of snowy white tablecloth.
“My busy schedule?” Olivia chuckled. “Yours must be even more hectic than mine. Campaigning is exhausting. I don’t know how you do it.”
“A lot of caffeine and a great deal of help from my close supporters.”
Olivia smiled. “I can identify with that.”
“Yes, I imagine you can.” Eleanor paused as the waiter poured more coffee from a gleaming silver pot. “I have also learned a useful trick. I make myself take time for a quiet breakfast every morning. Not only does it compose me and center my thoughts for the day, but I find that I can do a great deal of business over breakfast.”
“I’ll have to try it,” Olivia said. She glanced around at the opulent hotel restaurant. She and Eleanor were seated in a velvet-cushioned booth that gave them both privacy and a view of the posh room. “Of course, it helps when you do breakfast in a place like this.”
Eleanor laughed softly. “I eat here every morning. Management has been most accommodating. I’m always given this table.”
Holy cow, Olivia thought. She told herself not to be dazzled, but who wouldn’t get a kick out of the situation? Not only was she on a first-name basis with the future governor, possibly the future president, but she was doing a power breakfast with her. The invitation had come in the form of an early morning phone call from Eleanor, herself.
This kind of thing was bound to be great for business.
If Todd married Eleanor, there would be more breakfasts in the future, Olivia thought. Some day she might find herself dining at the White House.
Holy cow.
Maybe she should go straight home and jot it all down in a journal. She would want to tell this story to her children and grandchildren.
Of course, she reflected, that scenario could only occur if she actually got around to having some kids. Logan had not had any interest in becoming a father. Unfortunately, he had not thought to mention that fact to her when he proposed marriage.
But Olivia blamed herself for not having understood right from the start that he was too focused on his art ever to be a parent. There was no room in his heart for anything except his painting and occasional, short-term obsessions. She had been a fool not to see that.
“I asked you to meet me here this morning,” Eleanor said, “because I thought it was time that you and I got to know each other better. I’m sure you’re aware that Todd and I have more than just a, shall we say, business relationship?”
Olivia picked up the thin china cup in front of her. “Todd has mentioned something about it,” she said vaguely.
A knowing look appeared in Eleanor’s eyes. “I realize you probably have some qualms. After all, you are his older sister.” She smiled wryly. “And I am a politician.”
Olivia was mortified. She put her cup down too quickly. It clanged in its delicate saucer. “I don’t have anything against politicians. Really.”
Eleanor chuckled. “It’s okay. If I were in your shoes, I’d be a little concerned, too. Politics is an incredibly demanding lifestyle.” Her expression turned serious. “You know, you and I have a great deal in common, Olivia.”
“I doubt it. They’re talking about you as a future president. I can’t envision myself in the White House, but I can see you there.”
“Thank you. That is exactly where I hope to be eventually. I feel that the country needs me.”
“Yes, well…”
“I know that sounds less than modest.” Eleanor held her cup poised between the fingers of both hands. “But believe me, the first thing you have to learn when you get into politics is that modesty is not a virtue.”
“I see.”
“As I said, you and I are alike in many ways. We’re both strong women. We’ve earned our places in the world. We’re smart, and in our separate ways, we’re both ambitious.”
Olivia shrugged. “That’s pretty much where the comparison stops, I’m afraid. I don’t have your presence. People look at you and see a leader.”
“You underestimate yourself. From what Todd has told me, your family and the people who work for Glow, Inc., view you as a leader.”
“It’s not exactly my company,” Olivia mumbled. “I only own half of it.” Forty-nine percent, but who, besides Jasper Sloan, is counting, she thought.
Eleanor eyed her shrewdly. “Nevertheless, I got the impression from your brother that everyone at Glow looks to you to ensure their future.”
“My, uh, new partner and I intend to work together to take care of Glow,” Olivia said. A united front, she reminded herself.
“Todd is a little concerned about Sloan.”
“People always get nervous during a transition. But everything will settle down soon.”
Eleanor nodded with understanding. “That’s the way it is in politics, too. Nothing stands still in life, does it? We must go forward.”
“It’s not like there are too many options.”
“Very true. I learned that lesson after Richard was killed.” Eleanor smiled wistfully. “I had no choice. My first election campaign was an antidote for my grief. Fighting for stronger criminal laws gave me a purpose, a reason to go on.”
Olivia read the papers. She knew the story of Eleanor Lancaster’s first campaign. Her husband, Richard Lancaster, a wealthy businessman, had been shot dead when he interrupted a burglary in progress. The killer had never been caught but was believed to have been a career criminal, someone who should have been incarcerated long before he murdered Lancaster.
Eleanor had run for the state legislature on a law-and-order platform. The campaign had been fueled by her fervent ambition to make certain that the kind of violent person who had killed her husband was taken off the streets. Once in office, she had quickly demonstrated the full range of her abilities as a leader.
“I understand,” Olivia said.
Eleanor’s immaculately shaped brows rose. “I told you that in my business, modesty is not a virtue. I will be honest with you. I am running for the governor’s office because I believe that I have something important to offer to this state and, ultimately, to this country.”
The passion that flickered in Eleanor’s eyes was real, Olivia thought. She was a committed woman.
“I believe you,” Olivia sai
d.
“Your brother has done a great deal to help me shape and define my message and my agenda. I need him. I’m grateful to him. He’s important to me. I realize that you are probably afraid that what I feel for him is tied to those things.”
“Well…”
“I can’t deny that I recognize how much he contributes to my campaign.” Eleanor put down her cup. “But I want you to know that I’m smart enough not to get my personal emotions mixed up with what I know is good for my future in politics.”
“I see.”
“I was very fortunate,” Eleanor said softly. “My marriage to Richard was based on love and commitment. Because of Richard, I understand those feelings. I want to assure you that those emotions are at the heart of what I feel for Todd.”
“I appreciate your telling me that, Eleanor.”
Holy cow. One day she might find herself dining in the White House.
It was a delightful fantasy, Olivia thought. But it didn’t change anything. She still did not want Todd to marry Eleanor Lancaster.
“Mr. Sloan is going to hire a real private eye to check out a list of the people I knew in the early days of my career?” Zara’s eyes lit up with excitement. “What a brilliant idea.”
“I’m glad you approve,” Olivia said.
“Approve? I don’t know why I didn’t think of it, myself. It’s just the sort of thing Sybil would have done. I’ll get started on my list of names immediately.” Zara paused. “It will take a while. I had so many friends and rivals in those days.”
Olivia’s chair squeaked as she leaned back in it. She tapped the tip of a cheap ballpoint pen on the arm. Todd had once given her an outrageously expensive fountain pen, but she did not dare use it here at the office. She knew it would get lost amid the clutter.
“You’re not upset because I told Sloan about the situation?” she asked.
Flash Page 10