by Day Leclaire
She wanted to rip it open. She wanted to destroy it before Damien had a chance to read the contents. But at the last moment she knew she couldn’t do it. No matter what anyone believed, she hadn’t leaked the bids. To do so would have gone against ever tenet she’d ever held dear. And so did this. That decided, she opened her hand, allowing the envelope to flutter back to the desk.
“So it wasn’t the bids you were after earlier.”
Swearing beneath her breath, she slowly swiveled to face Damien. He stood, leaning against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest. She looked at him and shuddered. His face was dark and forbidding, his eyes the only thing revealing any expression, and those glittered with a white-hot rage. She’d made a serious error in judgment and soon she’d pay for that error.
“No, I wasn’t interested in the bids,” she replied with amazing composure.
“What’s in the envelope?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t bring myself to open it.”
“Give it to me.” He held out his hand and, with no other alternative, she picked up the envelope and relinquished it to him. “Shall we go?”
She didn’t dare argue, not when his fury simmered just below the surface, ready to explode with volcanic force at the first sign of opposition. “Go where?”
“Back to the party,” he informed her tautly. “It’s on the verge of breaking up. We’ll stand there—together—until the last person has departed. Then we’ll leave.”
We. The two of them. Her hands curled into fists. “And then?”
“I’ll take you home.” His expression flayed her. “Then we’ll open the envelope and see what you’re so desperate to keep from me.”
All her emotions iced over. She couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, couldn’t comprehend the fact that total disaster awaited around the next bend. She might as well have been an automaton. Without protest, she returned with him to the party and stood at his side until the room cleared. She smiled. She shook hands. She even managed to string words together into complete sentences. She must have made sense, since no one seemed to notice anything amiss.
And all the while Damien stood at her side. He kept the incriminating envelope rolled in his fist, slapping it relentlessly against his thigh. If he intended to drive her to the brink of insanity, he was unquestionably succeeding. By the time he decided to leave, her nerves were shredded. It wasn’t until he’d assisted her into his black Jaguar that she returned to life.
“I don’t want you coming home with me,” she began.
“Tough.”
“I’m serious, Damien. You can’t come in.”
He idled at a stop sign and glanced at her, the lights from the dash playing across his taut, unforgiving features. “I’m coming in.”
She shook her head. “Not a chance.”
He accelerated through the intersection, and started up a hill, shifting gears with the ease of long practice. “You either agree or I continue on to Sausalito. And if we do that, count on it, you won’t need to worry any more about where or when we make love. The decision will be out of your hands.”
She inhaled sharply. “You can’t do that!” she protested. “You promised.”
“I can and I will. And you won’t fight me, either. At least, not for long. Not if your response earlier is any indication.”
“That’s a foul thing to say!”
“It’s honest and it’s accurate.” He shot her an impatient look. “Now which will it be? My place or yours? Decide before this light changes or I’ll make the decision for you.”
It didn’t take any thought. There was only one choice. She sent up a small prayer that Millie had made Kyle pick up before going to bed. Otherwise they’d be discussing far more than just the contents of that envelope. “Take me home,” she finally said.
His laugh held a sardonic edge. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”
She didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. He parked outside her house, curbing the wheels and setting the emergency brake. She didn’t wait for him to open her door. All things considered, the small courtesy would be painfully out of place. Damien followed her up the steps to the porch, waiting impatiently at her side while she unlocked the front door. Walking in behind her, his footsteps echoed on the inlaid oak flooring. Sable glanced up the steps leading to the bedrooms. Millie had apparently retired for the evening since all was quiet.
“Lenny had good taste,” Damien commented. “A bit of a comedown from Gopher’s Hole, of course—”
“Fox’s Lair,” she corrected automatically, her gaze sweeping the entranceway for telltale signs of Kyle’s presence.
He shrugged. “Whatever. When was this place built? 1906? 1907?”
“1907. Right after the earthquake. And Leonard didn’t choose the house. I did, a month after he died.” She tossed her purse on to the hall table. “Now, are we through with the pleasant chit-chat or shall we debate whether the leaded windows are originals? Or, if you’d prefer, we could marvel over the fact that the framework and upstairs flooring are made from redwood.” She lifted her chin. “Well?”
His gaze settled on her face and she wondered if he could see the tension in her expression, sense her exhaustion. “What I’d like is a cup of coffee,” he finally said.
“Excuse me?”
“Coffee. That amazing bean they grow in South America and ship here. You know. Grind it. Brew it. Drink it.”
“I know what coffee is. I just don’t understand. I thought you’d want . . .” She gestured toward the envelope fisted in his hand.
His mouth tightened. “Oh, we’ll get to that soon enough. But first, coffee.”
There was no point in arguing, though she couldn’t help wondering at his delaying tactic. Did he hope the mysterious Kyle would choose to join them? Heavens, he’d better not. She shot a surreptitious glance toward the living room. It appeared as tidy as the entryway, none of her son’s toys readily apparent. She’d just have to risk it.
“Have a seat, I’ll be right back,” she said, and headed for the kitchen. Moving as swiftly as possible, she scooped a blend of her favorite coffee into the coffee maker. Next, she removed two mugs form the cupboard and set them on the counter.
“Anything I can do to help?” Damien asked, appearing in the doorway.
She froze, shooting a sudden, panicked glance toward the refrigerator, a refrigerator plastered with Kyle’s artwork. “Not a thing. I’ll join you in a minute.” Take the hint! she willed silently. Get out of my kitchen. The coffee maker burbled and a final drop of coffee plopped into the glass carafe. Snatching up the mugs, she filled them to the brim. “Let’s go,” she urged.
His brows drew together. “I thought you preferred half coffee, half cream.”
“I decided to take a leaf from your book and try it straight up and uncorrupted,” she said as calmly as she could manage.
A smile edged across his mouth. “Black?”
“Black,” she confirmed, moving toward the living room. “Shall we?” He didn’t protest, nor did he look in the direction of the refrigerator. She could have wept in relief.
“I wouldn’t think you’d be so eager to open this envelope. Nor hear what I have to say about your efforts to steal it.”
A thousand possible comebacks flashed through her mind, not one of any use. After all, she had planned to steal the envelope. She couldn’t very well deny it. Even explaining that she’d changed her mind would be pointless, merely underlining her initial guilt. “I’d rather get this over with,” she said with a frustrated sigh. “Besides, I’d like to find out what’s in there, too.”
“You don’t know?”
“I have my suspicions.” She sat down on the couch, cradling the mug between her hands. And that was when she saw it.
On the carpet at her feet lay one of Kyle’s shoes.
She choked.
“Something wrong?” Damien questioned.
“Coasters! Could you hand me a coaster, please? They’re on the e
nd table beside you.” The minute he turned, she scooped up the telltale evidence and thrust it between the cushion and the arm of the couch. Frantically, she looked around for the shoe’s mate. Knowing Kyle, it could be anywhere.
He handed her the wooden coaster. “Lose something?”
“Yes. No!” To her abject horror, tears of desperation flooded her eyes. Terrified that he’d notice her loss of control, she lowered her head and inhaled a mouthful of coffee. Without the cream to cool it, it scalded her tongue, and she gasped at the pain, the breath sobbing beneath her lips. She blinked rapidly. At least now she’d have an excuse for her tears.
Damien reached out and took the mug from her trembling hands, setting it on the coaster. “Calm down,” he told her quietly. “Getting upset isn’t going to change anything. Now let’s get this over with.” And in one swift move he ripped open the envelope.
She flinched at the sound. “Well? What does Alex say?”
“He confirms that someone at Caldwell’s is leaking information, and as proof has sent a copy of the prospectus we prepared for Luther.” He studied the papers. “This is our bid, there’s no question about it. It came from our office.”
“Why would he send it to you?” she asked with a frown. “It doesn’t make sense. Couldn’t you pursue legal action against him?”
Damien shook his head. “He knows I won’t, that all I want is the person at Caldwell’s who’s stealing the information. As to why he’d help me . . .” His mouth twisted. “I imagine that as long as you and Patricia headed the company he didn’t have many qualms about helping himself to this information.”
“Once you came onboard all that changed?” The sheer audacity of it took her breath away. “It’s all right to steal from women, but not from men?” she questioned incredulously.
“If you and Patricia had acted the first time the leak occurred, he wouldn’t have thought that,” Damien retorted sharply. “Instead you let it be known that Caldwell’s was an easy mark. But Alex knows me. He knows I won’t stand still for theft, that I’ll uncover the truth, no matter who I have to take down to do it. He’s just throwing me a bone and moving out of the way, hoping I won’t come after him.”
It made sense. Unfortunately. “Did he add anything else?”
“Yes.” Damien’s gaze locked with hers. “He suggests I watch my back.”
She licked her lips. “But what about the person who leaked the information? Does he say who it is?”
“Not in so many words. But he doesn’t have to.” He tossed Alex’s papers on to the coffee table in front of them. “Tell me, Sable, why did you think he’d pin it on you? What proof does he have?”
“I . . . I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do. You tried to get your hands on Alex’s letter, not once but twice. You’re terrified. I see it in your eyes. I can hear it in your voice. He must have some sort of evidence of your involvement or you wouldn’t be so desperate.”
“He doesn’t have any proof!” she cried. “He can’t.”
“Then why are you so frightened? What’s going on?”
She bowed her head. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I wish I did.”
He thrust a hand through his hair and got to his feet, crossing to stand by the fireplace grate. Stripping off his suit coat, he slung it over the arm of a nearby chair. Next, he loosened the dark red tie at his throat. He couldn’t have stated his intentions more clearly. He planned to stay as long as it took in order to get to the bottom of this situation.
He faced her, the snowy white dress shirt clinging to the full, muscular expanse of his shoulders. His jaw clenched, and he thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, the black silk pulled taut across his thighs. His movements were filled with a volatile impatience, as though he barely held himself in check.
“Let’s begin again,” he bit out. “You don’t seem to realize how close you are to disaster. I suggest you be frank with me, while you still have the chance.”
Her gaze jerked upward. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise. Now what does Alex Johnson have on you? How are you involved?”
Perhaps he was right. Perhaps the time had come to level with him. Damien wasn’t joking. Without question he planned to seek legal action against the person responsible. She had to find a way to convince him of her innocence or she’d take the fall.
“Fine, Damien. I’ll tell you what I know.” She struggled to gather her thoughts, trying to determine the best place to start. At the beginning seemed sensible. “After Leonard’s death last year, Patricia took over as chairwoman, and we started losing the occasional contract. None of us thought much of it. I mean, you can’t win them all, right? Ryan Matheson expressed concern, but Patricia refused to listen. And since she was in control . . .” Sable released a drawn-out sigh. “The rest of us fell into line.”
“So all of you ignored the problem?”
“Yes,” she confessed. Looking back, the decision seemed foolish in the extreme. But at the time . . . “After this last board meeting, Ryan approached me, warning there were rumors of a leak.”
“I assume he also warned that fact would figure in his report?”
“Figure predominately.” She met his eyes without flinching. “I swear to you, Damien, it never occurred to me there might be a leak. It seems so obvious now. But then . . .” She shrugged helplessly. “Right after my meeting with Ryan, I decided to try and find the person responsible. I hoped to uncover the guilty party before Ryan completed his report to you.”
She couldn’t tell if her confession angered him. He listened intently, his face expressionless. “So, what did you do?”
“I asked Ryan to prepare a list of all possible suspects, anyone who’d had access to the information. And then I called Alex Johnson and asked him to name his source.”
Damien released a bark of laughter. “Did you really think he’d tell you?” he asked in disbelief.
Warm color swept into her cheeks. “No. But I hoped he’d say something that might clue me in.”
“And did he?”
“Alex was very generous,” she admitted huskily. “He told me precisely who had leaked the information.”
Damien straightened, his gaze sharpening. “And?”
She plucked at the filmy scarves of her skirt. It was all so hopeless. “He said I had leaked the information.”
“He what?”
“He said I had leaked the information,” she repeated stoically.
His eyes flamed and his hands clenched into fists. “And did you?”
“No!” She bit her lip, quickly lowering her voice. If Kyle heard her, he’d be downstairs like a shot. “Of course I didn’t. But what’s so frightening is that I believed him, Damien. Alex isn’t lying when he says it’s me. I mean, I’m not guilty, but he’s convinced I’m responsible.”
Damien turned slightly, staring into the empty fireplace grate, his brows drawn together in a fierce frown. “Have you any idea why he might think that?” he questioned.
“I have an idea.” She hesitated, not certain she wanted to discuss it. “But I have no proof. It’s just a suspicion.”
“Tell me,” he ordered.
“Patricia’s last name is also Caldwell. Perhaps he confused us.” Spoken aloud it seemed totally inane.
Apparently Damien thought so, too. He shook his head. “Alex isn’t stupid. Sorry, Sable. It’s too convenient. Wasn’t she the one you pointed the finger at last time?”
Her mouth tightened. “You asked and I’ve told you. She kept the board from investigating the problem sooner. She had access to the Luther bid. Maybe Alex just heard the name Caldwell and assumed it was me.”
“Why would he think that?”
“For the same reason everyone else assumes it,” she retorted. “My reputation precedes me.”
“But why would Patricia leak the information? What’s her motivation?”
Sable shrugged. “To get even? She sold her shares of Caldwell’s to y
ou because the board removed her as chairwoman. Once she sold out, I suspect she’d think it served us right if the company lost business. And there’s one other reason. She’s always held us responsible for destroying both her brother and her family’s business. Not that I entirely blame her for feeling that way.”
He turned then, his face set in hard, implacable lines. “There’s one way of knowing for sure whether or not she’s guilty.”
“Which is?”
“She no longer has access to company files. If she’s responsible, the Luther development should be the last bid that’s leaked.”
She couldn’t fault his logic. But for some reason her fear didn’t ease. “Assuming she’s the one who did it,” Sable murmured.
Damien’s smile made her very, very nervous. “You’ve sworn you’re innocent. So, who else could it possibly be?”
A tiny sound distracted her, a sound only a mother would notice—the stealthy turning of a doorknob. She hastened to her feet, the petals of her skirt fluttering about her knees in an agitated swirl. “Is there anything else?” she asked, struggling to conceal her panic. “I’d like to call it a night, if you don’t mind.”
He tilted his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. “And if I do mind?”
She gripped her hands together, desperate to get rid of him. “I’ve answered your questions to the best of my knowledge. I think we should sleep on it.”
“What a good idea.” He started across the room and she saw desire flare to life in his eyes. She knew that look, and knew where it would lead.
“No,” she whispered in dismay. “Oh, no! I meant sleep on it and discuss it further in the morning.” She darted across the room and snatched up his coat. Keeping him at arm’s length, she hurried toward the foyer.
Damien followed. Just as they reached the entranceway, he dropped a hand on her shoulder and spun her around. “What’s going on, Sable? What’s your hurry?”
A floorboard creaked, the sort of sound a house made when it settled for the night . . . or the sound a small boy made when he was sneaking down the hallway. If Damien heard, he gave no indication. “I’m exhausted.” She faked a yawn. “See? It’s time for you to go.” She grabbed at the doorknob, jerking desperately at it until it finally opened.