Dangerous Love

by E. B. Walters

  After several bites, he noticed she was playing with her salad instead of eating. The confidence she wore like one of her designer outfits was missing. When she lifted her drink to her lips, her hand shook slightly. She wasn’t as calm as she projected, and he was a world class jackass for punishing her now.

  “Okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

  She put her drink down. “Five years ago, after I finished studying at Parson School of Design, Sean O’Neal hired me as an intern. After a year, he made me one of his assistant designers. I thought I’d get a chance to show my talent, use my own designs, but you either did things his way or you were out. He was the master, and we, his pupils. I was stifled. I started sketching on the side. I had no idea he knew what I was doing until I discovered he’d used my designs to procure a loan to expand his clothing line. I confronted him and things turned ugly between us.”

  His appetite disappeared. He hated people in power, who abused their position and stepped on the underdogs. Or those who covered their incompetence by shifting blame when things went wrong. People like that was the very reason he quit the Bureau.

  Faith’s voice rose and fell, at times shaking with anger, but her gaze didn’t waver from his. She finished with, “After Mrs. Riggins left, I realized he might have my entire fall collection, which means I won’t be able to have a show this spring. Or if I went ahead, everyone will assume I copied his designs.”

  Ken wanted to nail the bastard to the wall. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he backpedalled, remembering who he was dealing with and how easily she could screw with his head. He couldn’t afford to get worked up on her behalf.

  “Why didn’t you expose him when he stole from you before?”

  “It would have been his word against mine. I was a nobody while he was already a household name. At least now, a few people can vouch for me.”

  “I don’t think stealing from him is such a good idea.”

  She scowled. “Why not?”

  “You need more than one woman claiming he made the exact same dress as yours. You need to know if he has your store bugged or if someone at your place is working for him.”

  Faith blinked as though the idea never occurred to her, then her shoulders dropped. He couldn’t explain why the defeated expression on her face bothered him. Despite his wish to remain indifferent, something shifted inside Ken. Their past became insignificant. His instinctive reflex to protect the innocent surfaced.

  He reached over, covered her hand and squeezed. He immediately regretted the gesture. Her soft skin reminded him of other soft parts of her body, places only a lover knew. He felt a stirring behind his zipper and withdrew his hand as though scalded.

  “I’ll think about it and come up with a strategy,” he said.

  “Does that mean you’ll take the case?”

  “Yes.”

  A radiant smile lit her face. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t want anything from this woman, including gratitude. In fact, he wished he’d had this discussion in his office, keeping things official and business-like. But no, he’d hoped to wine and dine her, show her what a good thing she’d passed up. Bad move on his part. From now on, he’d treat her like any other client.

  He went back to his food, his thoughts going through the different ways he could solve her problem fast and with minimal face-to-face contact. As if she understood he needed to be left alone, Faith didn’t speak either. She concentrated on her salad.

  When he dropped her by her car later, he didn’t linger.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said.

  She gripped his arm before he could walk away. “Fashion Week is in February, Ken. I don’t have much time.”

  He stared pointedly at her and reached a decision. “I wasn’t going to mention this, but how many people have access to your designs before they’re turned into clothes?”

  “My assistant and salesgirl, Molly Bolden. Deidre Jamison, the jewelry designer whose products I carry in my store. She custom-makes her pieces to match each outfit I design, so we tend to collaborate. The three seamstresses I use get to see the patterns and the toile, but they sign a confidentiality agreement.”

  He had no idea what a toile was, but signing contracts didn’t mean jack to a thief. “Have you spoken to them about O’Neal?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Don’t, just in case one of them is his spy. I don’t want you trusting anyone right now. And if possible, don’t leave designs lying around. Let me come up with a plan then I’ll stop by to discuss it.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  He didn’t move until she entered her car and drove away. Despite what he told her, he planned to break into O’Neal’s offices and photograph the man’s designs. He just needed to work out the details.

  ***

  Ken rolled the portable table packed with the computers he’d used at the Braun job into the main room of his offices. His workers broke into applause, including Sly, who had converted the visitors’ waiting area into his workstation because of his cast.

  “What?” Ken asked, parking the table against a wall.

  “You closed the Braun case ahead of schedule,” Duncan said. He was the oldest of his employees, an ex-military with the pipeline to gadgets and foot soldiers whenever they needed them. “Wheeler just called. He got your e-mail.”

  “He wants to talk to you about another SEC case,” Lucy added.

  “I called it first,” Duncan said.

  Ken nodded. “I’ll need your help retrieving our video and audio devices from the brokerage firm. Sly, I know you need more space for that cast, so use my office instead of the couch. Where’s Rodriguez?”

  “Finishing the injury claim case,” Lucy said. “From the pictures Rod uploaded, the man had serious whiplash. We’re talking physical therapy, pain medication, muscle relaxants, the whole nine yards. His claim is definitely not fraudulent.”

  Either way, the company the man was suing would pay big. “When Rodriguez gets in, we’ll have a brief meeting. Lucy, come into my office, please. Sly, give us a few minutes.”

  He entered his office with Lucy right behind him. He closed the door, sat on the edge of his desk, and crossed his arms.

  “How much do you know about high fashion?” he asked. Lucy had been with him the longest and he could trust her with just about anything.

  “I know I can’t afford it at my present salary,” she quipped.

  Ken smiled. “Nice try. What do you know about Sean O’Neal?”

  Lucy frowned. “The designer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Other than the fact that he’s a respected designer and maverick, I find his clothes too impractical to wear. When he started out, he designed for certain a body type,” she indicated her curvaceous five-three body. “Now, I don’t understand his vision. But it sells, more is the pity. Now your friend who was here earlier, I could see myself wearing the stuff she designs.”

  Ken frowned. “You know Faith’s work?”

  “I stopped by her store a few months ago and liked what she had on display. Did you two talk?”

  “Yeah. Could you see what you can dig up on O’Neal? You know, how he got started in the business, what stores carries his line, and samples of his work. Please, keep this low key. Also, contact Premier Courier Service to pick up the memory stick for the SEC.” He went behind his desk, pulled a drawer, and retrieved an envelope.

  Lucy took the envelope and the memory stick from him. “Does your interest in O’Neal and his work have anything to do with Ms. Fitzgerald?”

  “Yes.” He’d learned long time ago to be truthful with Lucy. She often saw through his half-baked lies, called it a mother’s intuition because she’d had lots of practice with her two girls. Ken knew better. Lucy paid attention to details and had a knack for reading people, which was very important when they talked with a potential client. “Tell Sly to get in here.”

  “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

  Lucy also didn’
t know when to obey the boss and leave well enough alone. “Nothing I can’t handle. Get me the info on O’Neal A.S.A.P.” His tone came out sharp.

  “You know we’re here should you need help,” she added, not moved by his outburst. He studied her with narrowed eyes. “After all you’ve done for us it’s the least we can do.”

  Ken pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lucy—?”

  “It’s okay. I’m done. I’ll get you what you need.” She headed out of the room, but not before Ken saw the frown on her face. How had she known that Faith was the same Ms. Fitzgerald from last year? He’d told her that he expected a call from a Ms. Fitzgerald and for two days straight had asked her, “Did she call?” She must have gone to Faith’s store after that. Lucy was like a mother bear with those she cared about, so something about that visit must have convinced her that Faith wasn’t a bad person.

  Ken settled behind his desk, turned on his computer, and waited impatiently for the system to start running. It was time to meet the maverick O’Neal.

  ***

  Faith wobbled to her door, balancing a Chinese takeout paper bag on her one arm, her tote bag filled with sketch pads, fabric selections, and muslin, and a dress-form under the other arm. She unlocked her door, disengaged the alarm, and carried her load into the kitchen area. She flopped on the nearest stool and took a long, deep breath.

  The day had been very productive, but she still had a long night ahead of her. The talk with her people had gone smoothly as did the fitting session with Mrs. Ferreira, who was in town having her hair and nails done. Faith didn’t have to drive to her place after all. But she had two dozen new sketches downloaded onto her laptop, so the woman viewed the finished products on a virtual model. The computer-aided design software had cut her consultation time in half, though she’d resisting using it for so long. She still preferred to sketch by hand before transferring them to the computer.

  She removed the boxes of takeout from the bag and the tangy aroma of Kung Pao chicken and mixed veggie stir-fry filled her kitchen. Once she placed food on a plate and poured herself a glass of wine, Faith staked a corner on the L-shaped counter and pulled her sketch pad from her bag.

  She got busy, eating and working.

  The gate’s intercom on her landline phone rang and interrupted her. She reached over and pressed the intercom button to speak to the security guard. “Yes?”

  “There’s a Mr. Lambert to see you, miss. Should I let him in?”

  Her stomach dipped. She looked at her watch. It was almost ten o’clock. How did he know where she lived? “Yes, let him in.”

  Her heart picked up tempo. She left the kitchen and ducked to the nearest bathroom, the one off her living room. She looked a mess. She rinsed her mouth, put on some gloss, and finger-combed her shoulder-length hair. When her doorbell rang, she was far from ready.

  She wiped her hands on her pants and hurried to the door. Out of habit, she peeked through the peep hole. Ken was glowering at the door.

  CHAPTER 3

  Her heart beat at an uneven tempo as she opened the door and met his gaze head on. “Isn’t it a little late for business, Ken?”

  “Not in my line of work. Are you going to invite me in?” His voice was calm, but his eyes flashed.

  “That depends on whether you plan to yell at me or not. It’s been a long day.”

  “I don’t yell. I’m curious, that’s all.”

  “About?”

  He looked left then right at her neighbors’ closed doors. “You want to have this conversation out here?”

  The gated condo community was close-knit, and she didn’t want her business out there, so that meant letting this maddening man get his way. She stepped back and gave him space to enter. As soon as he did, he whipped around and crossed his arms, his stance wide, penetrating green eyes locked on her. Faith wasn’t intimidated by his gesture. Her cousins were just as tall, hard, and mean, and she never backed down from knocking heads with them.

  “Excuse me, I was right in the middle of dinner,” she said and skirted around him. He was on her tail as she headed to the kitchen. Her food was cold and she was still hungry. She picked up the plate, placed it in the microwave oven and punched in numbers. “Do you want something to drink, eat?”

  “No.”

  “So what is it that couldn’t wait until normal hours?”

  “You lied to me.”

  Faith blinked and turned to face him. “Excuse me?”

  “You didn’t just work for O’Neal, you were engaged to him.”

  Faith sighed. Somehow she knew he wouldn’t like that bit, so she’d omitted it in her narration during lunch. “I didn’t think it was relevant.”

  “You didn’t think….” He muttered a curse, pressed the heels of his hands on the kitchen counter, and pinned her with a glare. “I never take a case unless I know all the players and how they’re connected. I hate to be blindsided. You were his lover for four years, how could that not be relevant?” he yelled.

  “I worked for him for four years,” she snapped. “We were involved for a year and engaged for about a month. It’s not exactly a period of my life I’m proud of, okay? And don’t you dare raise your voice at me, Kenneth Lambert.”

  “Other than being his lover,” he continued in a biting tone several decibels lower. “What else did you leave out?”

  Faith shook her head, the fight draining out of her. “Don’t do this, Ken.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Give me a hard time over a mistake I’ve regretted the past five years.”

  “You don’t make mistakes, Faith. You’re too smart and stubborn to get played.”

  She crossed her arms and cocked her head. “What do you want from me?”

  “The truth.”

  Faith took a deep breath. “I was naïve when Sean singled me out and started showing me special attention. The parties and his A-list stars friends and clients blinded me to the fact that he was wrong for me. As months went by, I knew I’d made a mistake, but I couldn’t leave. Everyone loved him. Everyone thought we were perfect together.”

  “Who the hell is everyone?” Ken growled.

  “You met my family during Ron and Ash’s wedding. They are many, loud, and think they know what’s best for me, especially my aunts. When he proposed, he spoke to Auntie Viv first, like she was my mother or something. He knew how much her approval meant to me, and he used that to get what he wanted. By the time he asked me to marry him, Auntie Viv was on board, planning our wedding. No one goes against her wishes.” Faith’s voice trembled, frustration and remembered helplessness surging through her. She rarely lost control, but when she did, tears followed. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of Ken.

  She took a deep breath and let the anger drain out of her. “I was trapped. Catching him stealing my designs gave me the courage to pack up and leave.” She cocked her brow. “Who do you think my aunt blamed for the engagement fiasco? Me.”

  Ken shoved his hands in the front pockets of his pants, his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry I made a big deal out of it. Like I said, I hate surprises.”

  His contrite expression tugged at her heartstrings, but she was done talking. She had already said too much. “Well, now you know. You can see yourself out.”

  Faith lifted the plate of Chinese food from the microwave oven and her glass of wine, marched past him to the dining room and sat on a ladder back chair. The food tasted like sawdust, but she willed herself to chew, sip the wine, and swallow. She waited to hear the door close behind Ken.

  He appeared at the periphery of her vision. Her eyes widened when he took the chair at the other end of the table and placed the remaining takeout box with the Kung Pao chicken in front of him. He opened a package of chopsticks and started eating. His cockiness could be endearing, just not tonight.

  “That’s my dinner,” she griped.

  He flashed an apologetic smile. “I know, but I’m starving and it was there, begging me to eat it. You know,”
he jabbed the air with the chopsticks, “I spent the better part of this afternoon and most of the evening reading about pin-head O’Neal just for you, so cut me some slack. I’ll buy us dinner next time.”

  “Who said there’d be a next time?”

  “Me. You and I are going work closely together for the next few weeks.”

  “I’m too busy to help you with your investigation.”

  “I’m busy too, yet here I am.”

  She didn’t want to work with him. His irresistible dimples and the charming twinkle in his eyes would get to her, again. And she sure as hell didn’t want to be reminded of what she’d given up. She scrunched her face and studied him, trying to gauge what he was really up to. Why would he want her involved? He didn’t think highly of her because of her affair with Sean. From the display earlier, he didn’t trust her either. Faith tried to come up with another excuse why they shouldn’t work together and drew blank. She had no proof that her fall collection was compromised, which meant she didn’t need to start sketching new designs just yet.

  She almost choked on her wine when she found Ken’s hungry eyes on her. He’d already finished eating and seemed to find her every movement fascinating.

  Getting irritated again, she asked, “Do you want some wine?”

  “Not tonight. So what’s the deal between your aunt and your ex?”

  Faith winced. “Don’t call him that.”

  “Okay, what’s the deal with pin-head? From what I read, your aunt sponsors a lot of his shows.”

  That was why she hadn’t asked her aunt to sponsor her for Fashion Week. “My aunt is a philanthropist. Local artists, designers, and dancers have benefited from her generosity, but Sean’s case is special. He’s a relative of her second husband.” She smiled, remembering what she and her cousins often said about their aunt.

  “You smiled,” Ken said, drawing her attention.