Heat of the Moment

by Lori Herter

  The threat of intrusion made Peter’s shoulders tense. Exactly who was she, and what did she want? A reporter? A policewoman? An accomplice to whomever had tried to kill him? Should he answer on the speakerphone, or just ignore his doorbell when it rang?

  Ignoring a beautiful woman wasn’t something Peter had ever been inclined to do. Play it safe, he told himself. Pretend you’re not home. Keep her a fantasy—real women mostly bring trouble.

  JOSIE RANG THE BELL near the outer gate of the two-story, Spanish-tiled home.

  There was no response. She rang it again. And then a third time.

  At last, a tinny male voice came through the speaker, marred by static. “Yes?”

  She raised her voice as she talked into the metal speaker. “I’m here to see Peter Brennan, please.”

  “Who are you?” The response was gruff, threatening.

  Josie made an effort to sound equally imposing. “I’m Josie Gray. From Earthwaves.”

  “Why do you want to see Peter Brennan?”

  “I’ve come to tell him what I know.”

  There was a pause. “Who did you say you are again? You work for Earthwaves?”

  “Not anymore. I quit yesterday. For ethical reasons. My name’s Josie Gray, spelled G-R-A-Y.” Anxiety made her feel as if she couldn’t catch her breath. But she had to do what was right, or she’d lose even more sleep than she had already. “I want to tell Mr. Brennan about…about some things I found out, that may be connected with what happened to him.”

  “What happened to him?” The male voice sounded dubious, suspicious.

  She hesitated, then asked, “Are you Peter Brennan?”

  “Yes.”

  Josie understood his wariness. She looked up and down the narrow street which wound its way up a hill in the Lemon Heights residential area of Orange County. No one seemed to have followed her. No one appeared to be lurking, or observing her, that she could see. “It’s about your accident.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Step back from the gate, into the street, so I can get a better look at you.”

  Josie walked about twenty yards until she was standing in the middle of the empty street. She faced the house, wondering how he could see her except from the second floor, because of the trees and foliage behind the fence in the front yard. Perhaps he’d installed a chairlift on a stairway to go up and down. Newspaper photographs had shown him in a wheelchair as he left the hospital, pushed by Al Mooney, his longtime partner. The paper had said it was unlikely Peter Brennan would ever walk again.

  She heard his voice from the speaker and ran up to it. “Would you repeat that? I couldn’t hear.”

  “Open the gate when the buzzer sounds.”

  “Okay!” She felt relief at his apparent willingness to see her.

  Though expected, the loud buzzer made her jump. She opened the heavy iron gate, closed it carefully behind her, then walked up the sidewalk. The front yard was beautifully kept, with azaleas beginning to bloom and tall juniper trees bordering the ironwork fence. No doubt he had a gardener.

  Josie walked up tiled steps to the front door and knocked. In a few moments, the door opened. She could see wheels and feet, and then he swung into full view around the open door.

  As soon as Josie saw him, her heart went out to him. Sandy-haired, Peter was undeniably handsome. The rolled-up sleeves of his blue shirt revealed appealingly broad shoulders and muscular forearms. But his athletic upper torso contrasted with the devastating sight of his legs, which rested inertly on the foot supports of the wheelchair. She wondered if he might even be paralyzed from the waist down.

  Peter gave her a sharp look, his green eyes formidable and discerning. He’d caught her peering down at his legs and the wheelchair, she supposed, and he didn’t like anyone feeling sorry for him.

  She made the effort to meet his gaze. “May I come in?”

  Now he sized her up and down as she stood on his doorstep. His eyes were cold, calm, appraising, and he didn’t blink. She felt as if he could look through her, and goose bumps rose along her arms.

  “You have any identification?” His low voice cut the silence between them. “Proof that you worked for Earthwaves?”

  Anticipating this, she opened her handbag and pulled out her driver’s license, her last paycheck, still not cashed, and a company photograph of the employees gathered beneath the Earthwaves sign over the door of the plant. “I’m second from the left in the front row,” she said, handing it to him. “That was taken three years ago. I’m standing with my lab partners from Research and Development.”

  He eyed the photo, then took a look at her. After examining the check and license, he handed all the items back to her. “Come on in.”

  He wheeled himself backward a bit, so she could pass easily. To save him the trouble, she closed the front door herself. But when she looked at him again, she thought she saw a hint of amusement in his eyes.

  “I’m not completely helpless. I can get around my own house.”

  Josie felt color rise to her face. “S-sorry.” She hadn’t meant to embarrass him.

  He nodded. “I’ve found that people either back away or are overly helpful to a person in a wheelchair. Your reaction is about average. Come into the living room.”

  She walked alongside him into the spacious tan-and-hunter-green room, trying to regain some poise. As she glanced around at the imposing, mahogany bookcases that lined the walls, the deep leather couch and chairs, the rough-hewn tiled floor and large Morrocan rug in the center of the room, she realized she had entered an extremely male sanctuary. She felt uncomfortable, vulnerable.

  He motioned toward the leather couch. The rich, camel-hued leather creaked as she sank down into its depth. He stopped his wheelchair in front of her. Hands trembling, Josie smoothed back the wisps of hair she was sure had slipped from the large butterfly clip that held her long tresses in a twisted knot at the top of her head.

  When she found him closely observing her preening, she stopped. “Thank you for seeing me. I tried to call first, but your phone number had been changed.”

  Peter’s eyes darkened. “How did you know my address and phone number?”

  “It was easy,” she said. “Earthwaves hacked into your company’s computer system. Before I left, I copied down the information.”

  He leaned back a bit in his chair, but his eyes honed in on her face. “We knew our system had been compromised. Couldn’t figure out who. Why are you confessing now?”

  His cool, steady, unblinking eyes unnerved her. She didn’t like it when men looked at her so directly. Male eyes focused on her set off alarms in her nervous system. And Peter Brennan was thoroughly male. There were those broad shoulders. And he had large hands and long fingers. Though he was clean-shaven, she couldn’t help but notice the roots of his beard that shadowed his square jaw below his smooth cheeks. He might be in a wheelchair, but he certainly didn’t look sickly.

  “I’m not a computer expert,” she told him. “It wasn’t me who did the hacking. But three days ago I came across some information Earthwaves had to have pulled from your system months ago. I know Martin Lansdowne is extremely competitive, but I never thought he’d go so far as to try to steal your company’s methods.”

  “Go on.”

  She wished he would just stop looking at her. He was too masculine, too handsome. And she was too alone with him, on his territory. He was in control of the situation, not she, and that was all it took to make her extremely wary. As her heart began to pound, she wished she could get over the gnawing physical anxiety she felt. “So,” she continued, fighting to appear calm, “I began to think about your accident—and to wonder if it really was an accident. I recalled that the newspapers said the structure you fell from may have been sabotaged. But nothing further was ever said about it, that I know of.”

  “And if it was sabotaged,” he said in a cool drawl, “who is it you’re suspecting? Lansdowne?”

  She bowed
her head and chewed her lip a moment, knowing she should be careful about accusing anyone when she had no firm evidence. When she looked up at Peter to reply, she found his eyes focused on her mouth. Quickly, his eyes met hers again, straight on, a curious light in their depths. Josie wondered what he was thinking about. She’d come as a messenger, not as a woman for him to admire. She’d prefer gruff over flirtatious.

  Oh, God, did he admire her? The thought made her unable to breathe for a moment. She hadn’t expected this. And then it dawned on her that she didn’t need to be quite so wary of this particular man, as he couldn’t walk.

  Lowering her eyes again because she suddenly couldn’t look at him, she began to smooth a crease in her khaki-colored, ankle-length linen skirt. “I don’t think Martin would have sneaked onto your company’s back lot, climbed the test structure and sabotaged it himself. But he might have hired someone to do it.”

  “So you’re saying he hired someone to kill me?”

  Josie swallowed, folding her hands tightly in her lap. “That’s my supposition, yes.” She dared to look up at him again. “Do you think your fall was an accident?”

  His eyes were moving back and forth across her face. He didn’t answer.

  Josie grew confused. Had she been reading too much into her former employer’s motives? Were the news reports of possible sabotage in error? “What happened exactly, when you fell?”

  Peter swiped the knuckle of his forefinger across one flared nostril. Her eyes wandered to his firm mouth. There was a sensual quality to his features that transfixed her.

  Sensual. That was a word that seldom crossed her mind. Why now? The thought, the word, disconcerted her. Her libido was dead—or so she’d thought.

  “…late after work to inspect the old overpass and pillars we’d brought in to use for testing.”

  She realized he was talking, and she pulled her errant mind back from the netherworld it had strayed to. “Were you alone?” Her voice wobbled a bit.

  “Yes, alone. Well, Al Mooney, my partner, was inside the building. He’s a lab junkie, always working late. But no one else was around. We were planning to use one of the pillars to test our revised retrofit method the next day. I climbed the ladder to the top. When I leaned over the cement railing to look down, it gave way. I fell to the ground. Al found me a half hour later and called 911.”

  “The fall could have killed you.” Her voice grew hushed. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you think the structure was sabotaged, or just old and crumbling?”

  He paused only a moment. “Sabotaged. I suspected it, and investigators confirmed it. There were tool marks in the cement. I saw to it that the confirmation of sabotage wasn’t published in the media.”

  “So then you do believe that someone tried to kill you?”

  “Others on my staff occasionally climb the structure.” Peter scratched his cheek. “How would anyone at Earthwaves have known I would be the one to climb it that day?”

  Josie shrugged, acknowledging he’d raised a good question. “All I know is that when Martin read about your fall in the newspaper, he laughed. I was there. It still gives me chills, remembering. It was at that moment I began to distrust him.”

  Peter tilted his head. “My accident was five months ago. You took your time leaving.”

  Josie felt defensive, then quickly realized he had a right to remain suspicious of her. She supposed he might even be thinking she’d been sent there by Earthwaves to spy on him, that leaving the company was her cover story.

  “Yes, I did,” she told him forthrightly. “It was a huge decision for me. I’ve been working for Earthwaves ever since graduating from college. I’m twenty-nine, so that’s seven years of my life I devoted to that company. They even paid for my postgraduate education in chemistry and seismology. Martin invested a lot in me, and I believe in loyalty.”

  She went back to smoothing the wrinkles in her skirt. Her hands were cold and clammy. “Besides that, I had no proof. But when I found out early this week that Earthwaves had hacked into Frameworks Systems’ computers, I connected it with Martin’s reaction to your fall. Martin has always had a terrible temper. I’ve begun to fear he may be mentally unbalanced. My conscience couldn’t take it anymore. Physically, I couldn’t deal with the anxiety. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in ages.”

  Josie stopped running her hands over her skirt and leaned back into the couch. “The clear evidence of hacking was the last straw. I wonder how Martin reacted when he found my resignation letter. I didn’t even give two weeks’ notice.”

  She looked at Peter, wondering if he believed her now. Every word she’d told him was true, and she wanted him to believe her so she could feel she’d accomplished something in coming here. She was growing anxious to leave. Peter made her feel far too vulnerable, too female, unsafe in her own skin.

  PETER STUDIED JOSIE, still measuring her, weighing her story, perhaps a little less suspiciously than before. But he warned himself not to be taken in. She had a beautiful face, even without makeup. He’d never met a woman who didn’t even wear lipstick. Her face was lovely, open, honest—especially her lustrous, vulnerable, brown eyes. Her high, breathless voice caressed his ears and made him go soft inside. This wasn’t good. He reminded himself to beware—this was no time to be a sucker.

  “If you think he may have tried to have me killed, then your life may be in danger, too. You’ve betrayed him. You’re a turncoat, a female Benedict Arnold, coming here to me.” He kept his eyes on her to closely observe her reaction.

  She stared at him, speechless at first. “I—I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t think he’s into vengeance. Competition, winning at all costs, that’s what motivates him. But he will be angry with me—if he finds out.”

  “You’re a good-hearted person.” He leaned forward to touch her knee with his fingertips in a brief gesture of appreciation. “I hope that in reaching out to me you haven’t brought trouble onto yourself.”

  Josie blinked as if startled by the gesture, then wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Peter felt a pleasant twist deep in his abdomen. But then her breathing grew shallow, even a bit shaky, and he became concerned. Still, she continued talking, and he began to see a certain heroism shining through her nervous demeanor.

  “I only wanted to make amends for my part, however innocent, in what my company has done to you, and to Frameworks Systems. I just didn’t want to feel responsible and guilty anymore.” Her hand was trembling as she ran her fingertips over her mouth.

  All at once, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she insisted, though she looked and sounded distracted.

  Peter wheeled forward at an angle until one knee was almost touching hers. Reaching, he took one of her hands in his. She pulled it away. Feeling her cold fingers, he reached again. “Your hand is like ice.” He took her other hand and held both between his, rubbing warmth into them. She clenched her jaw, as if to fight or hide her reaction. Her hands were half the size of his: small, slender and so cold. Just holding them between his made him feel strong and protective.

  “You’re safe. I won’t tell anyone you came here,” he assured her. “And so far, all we have is a theory. We don’t know if it was Lansdowne or someone else who sabotaged the structure. There’s a gang in that neighborhood. My partner, Al, thought they might have done it. One night he saw them hanging around our lab after dark, when he left to go home. He yelled at them, threatened to call police. The next day we found graffiti on our outside walls.”

  He brought her hands forward, resting them on the blanket over his knee, as he continued to massage them. “So there’s no reason for you to be scared. I’m sorry I put the idea in your mind.”

  Josie seemed to only half hear what he was saying. Staring at her hands, held snugly within his, she looked a bit dazed. Her fingers had grown limp and pliable, like the hands of someone who was uncon
scious. Peter didn’t know what to make of it. Was she still frightened, thinking about Lansdowne? He began to wonder if her reaction might be due to something else altogether. Was she hypnotized by his touch? Did she like the way he was massaging warmth into her fingers? Was she not used to anyone holding her hands? Perhaps she didn’t know how to be comforted—or maybe she thought he was coming on to her and didn’t know how to respond.

  Slowly, so as not to startle her, he took her hands and placed them softly on her lap, then gingerly let go. “Are you all right?”

  Josie raised her face to his. She seemed to wake up, and sat up straight. “Yes.”

  “I was holding your hands to try to make you feel less anxious. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m…stuck in this wheelchair.” Peter lifted his hands in a purposely hapless gesture, injecting humor into his tone. “Can’t start chasing you around the room, can I?”

  Josie looked embarrassed. Her reaction verified that he’d guessed correctly. Apparently, she’d thought he was trying to make a move on her. She gripped the long sleeves of her loose sweater, hiding her hands. Then, suddenly, she let go and mustered a confident attitude, as if trying to banish all outward traces of vulnerability. Her gentle voice grew cold. “I know you were only trying to make me feel better. Thank you.” She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  Of me? Peter thought. It hadn’t quite occurred to him that she might be afraid of him until she’d protested she wasn’t. He gazed straight back at her. “Good. I think you need to catch up on your sleep.” Indeed, there were shadows under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept much. “You look very tired. If you can sleep better, you’ll feel better. Less anxious.”