Playing Love's Odds (A Classic Sexy Romantic Suspense)

by Alison Kent

  The pictures of her and Julian were amazingly clear. Black and white shots showed her handing Julian the notes she'd taken, foolishly, stupidly jotted down on ViOPet stationery. The bright red ViOPet logo fairly shouted from the upper right hand corner of the top page.

  Her mind spun. Did they know exactly what she'd given Julian? Could they convict her of anything illegal on this flimsy evidence? Had they manufactured more data she'd never be able to discount in court?

  Or would they bother with court at all?

  People with a penchant for breaking-and-entering, not to mention theft and assault with a deadly weapon would hardly go to such law abiding lengths to cover their criminal activities. A dark alley and a switchblade seemed more their style.

  Hannah drew in a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "I don't see anything wrong in having lunch with an old friend," she stated with more calm than she felt.

  "Friend?" The word slithered from his lips. The sarcastic tone of voice was repeated in the gloating cast of his face.

  She shot him a cool glance. "We dated a very long time ago."

  He leaned forward and awarded her a poor excuse for a sexy come-on. It came across as a repulsive leer. "Ah, and how many countries have been betrayed by secrets divulged between the sheets? How many governments brought to their knees by confidences whispered in the throes of passion?"

  Hannah suppressed a shiver. Passion and Harrington did not paint a pretty picture. Acid rolled through her stomach, pushing her to the edge of nausea. She pressed her hand to her mouth and rose slowly. "Excuse me."

  "No argument, Miss Evans?" Harrington stood as well, clasping his hands behind his back as he skirted the desk. Stopping before her, he rocked back on his heels. "Seems to me if you're innocent you'd fight harder to save your job."

  Hannah swallowed hard. "I'm not in the habit of beating my head against a brick wall."

  "Then you admit you're guilty."

  She stiffened, her fingernails gouging crescents in her palms. "I admit to being through enough corporate cover-ups to know a lost cause when I see one."

  Harrington grew still. His voice took on a sharp cutting edge. "Just what do you mean by that?"

  This was it. All or nothing. She took a deep breath and prayed for the guts to pull it off. "I don't know what you're doing with the barrels in Warehouse B, but the chemical in them is illegal to produce, to sell and, for all intents and purposes, to possess."

  "You sound so certain. When did you become an expert?" Harrington's patronizing smile went no further than his mouth, the black of his soul a sinister shine in his eyes.

  A chill cut through her like a razor sharp wind and she found a measure of strength in the fear. No one had been willing to take the blame for the accident that caused her father's illness. No one took responsibility for the chemicals that physically destroyed him. She remembered the excuses meant to reassure. The placating words of false comfort. The lies.

  This time she would win. She'd come too far to back down. She owed this small victory to her father. And to herself. "I've worked with enough chemists to know what's legal and what's not. From what I can tell, someone here is walking a very fine line between the two."

  He advanced a threatening step and brought his fist down on the desk hard enough to jar his crystal peppermint dish. "I will not tolerate disrespect from an employee."

  "You just fired me. I can say anything I like."

  For a long quiet moment the room sizzled, the fizzing tension tightly capped. The look on his face went beyond indignation at her defiance. It came from deep down inside, a burning animosity aimed at her. Personally.

  The clock on the wall behind her ticked relentlessly. The hum of the computer terminal magnified as seconds passed. Voices droned behind the closed door. Harrington's nostrils flared, his breathing uneven. A drop of perspiration ran from his upper lip to his chin.

  He smoothed his tie, a bare hint of indecision visible in his trembling fingers. Weak as it was, she'd played her upper hand. The next move was his. He seemed to want to call her bluff yet seemed equally unsure of the cards he held.

  Finally, he lifted the edge of the blotter and handed her the papers beneath. "You're free to go after you sign these release papers."

  "Do I get an attorney?" she asked, releasing the breath she ached from holding.

  "Do you need one?" Harrington shot back.

  Hannah scanned the paper, a standard exit interview form. She scratched her name across the bottom and slapped it down on the desk. "I'll collect my things and go."

  "Your things," he said with a disdainful wave of his hand, "are in a box at the front security station. Hank will load them on your way out."

  "Fine. Then I'll get my purse from the lab."

  Harrington punched the intercom. "Send in Miss Denison."

  The door buzzed open and Lynn walked through, Hannah's purse in hand. She offered a sympathetic shrug but before Hannah could open her mouth, Harrington jerked the purse from Lynn's hand and shoved it into her own. "That will be all, Miss Denison."

  With a final questioning glance Lynn turned to go. Hannah ached to call her back, to find out what rumors were circulating. Why hadn't she kept this to herself? Why had she involved Julian? She had to let him know he could be in danger.

  But first, she had to call Logan and tell him ViOPet had moved their first pawn. With no backward glance, she marched out of the office. Back stiff, eyes straight ahead, she passed the rows of secretarial desks. At the end of the visitor's foyer, she entered a clone of the sterile white hallway stretching the length of the building where she worked. Or once worked.

  She stopped and pressed her spine against the wall, needing the solidity to get a grip on her nerves before she walked back in and ripped that fancy hairpiece right off Harrington's head. How dare he? How dare he lay the blame in her lap when he had to be up to his beady eyeballs in the entire operation? Why else would he have had her followed? Oh God, she had to call Logan.

  She scurried down the hall. The glass security doors were in sight. She'd get her belongings from Hank and find a phone. Five feet and ...

  ... a hand closed around her collar and jerked her into the ladies' room. She swung her fist, connecting with nothing but air and Lynn's lab coat.

  "You scared the spit outta me," Hannah wheezed, leaning against the marble vanity, her hand pressed to her thundering heart.

  Lynn cracked the door open and peered down the hall. "I don't want anyone to see me in here."

  "You mean you don't want to be seen talking to me," Hannah accused, swiping at the tangle of hair in her face.

  Turning the lock, Lynn didn't bother to deny the charge. She grasped Hannah's hands in her own. "You're shaking like a leaf. Did that slimeball Harrington touch you?"

  "I'm so furious I could scream," she ground out before sucking in a huge breath and blowing it out in a flurry.

  "Well, don't scream in here, girl. It looks like you're in a heap of trouble already."

  "What have you heard?" Hannah asked, eyes narrowed.

  "That project that's been keeping you up here late nights with Elliot?"

  "The plastics? What about it?"

  "Rumor has it ViOPet may not be the first to market with the new environmentally conscious substitute." Lynn mimicked Neil Harrington's highly self-touted ad campaign.

  "Harrington's accused me of selling out to Vandale?"

  "That's more or less the word circulating."

  Perched on the edge of the vanity, Hannah leaned back and bumped her head against the mirrored wall. "I can't believe it."

  "Rumor also says he has evidence."

  "He has pictures," Hannah spat, barely containing her fury. "That hardly constitutes evidence."

  "Then you were with Vandale."

  "Lynn, Julian and I are friends."

  Lynn remained silent, studying one wine-tipped fingernail. Resigned, Hannah drew her knees to her chest, tucking her full skirt under the toes of her shoes. The marble
vanity felt as cool as Lynn's response. "Don't tell me you believe the rumors."

  "Oh, Hannah, I don't know what to think," Lynn began, swinging her arms in a melodramatic arc. "I know you wouldn't sell out. But something strange is going on in Warehouse B," she added, shaking one finger Hannah's direction.

  Hannah's ears pricked up. "How do you mean?"

  "I worked late with Tom Beecham Saturday night. He asked about a truck unloading in Warehouse B and Harrington just about bit his head off. Told him to keep his nose in the lab where he was paid to keep it."

  "Harrington was here on a Saturday night?"

  Lynn crossed her arms and nodded, one eye narrowed Hannah's direction. "Fishy stuff. That man don't lift a finger unless someone else is around to hold it for him. I can't imagine him doing overtime unless he gained personal profit from it."

  Burying her face in her hands, Hannah moaned. "This is getting too involved. All I know is that I've got to get out of here. Hank's got my stuff at the security gate."

  "You're right. You'd best scat. Let me check the hall." She came back to give Hannah a fierce hug. "Call me, you hear."

  "I will. And you keep your ears and eyes open." She wanted to tell Lynn everything but didn't want to put her friend at risk. "I have to know what's going on if I'm to defend myself."

  "Only if you have something to defend yourself from."

  "How much incentive do you think Neil Harrington needs to manufacture evidence against me?"

  "How 'bout a big fat zero?"

  "Exactly. I may have to defend myself from no more than his evil mind. That scares me more than anything at all."

  "Come here, girl," Lynn ordered, pulling her into a hug. "I'm gonna miss you. No one understands when I get a mood on."

  Hannah didn't suppress the grin Lynn's comment brought to her face. "If you cut down on the caffeine it might help."

  Lynn moved to the door and eased it open a crack. "Let me slap your mouth. Caffeine and I are soulmates," she whispered, waving Hannah her way. "Coast is clear."

  Hannah stepped past Lynn and into the hall. "Be careful."

  "Take your own advice, girl. You're the one who needs eyes in the back of your head."

  "I'm hoping this will all blow over."

  "You're kidding, right?"

  "I wish I were. Hope's about all I've got going for me."

  She gave Lynn's arm one last squeeze then took off at a fast clip, not slowing down until she'd reached her car. Locked inside, she gulped down the stifling air, tasting a bit of freedom and security.

  At the guard house, Hank reluctantly ordered her from her car. "I'm sorry, Miss Evans. I have to check your car."

  "Don't apologize, Hank," she said, shrugging out of her lab coat. "It's your job." She tossed her coat in the passenger side floor and shoved the door open.

  "Do you want to make sure everything's here?" Hank asked after setting the box of her things in the passenger seat.

  "No. I imagine Lynn remembered everything."

  Hank slammed the door. "Good luck, Miss Evans. I'm gonna miss those muffins. No one makes them like you do."

  "I'll drop by with one once in a while." She gave him a weak smile and climbed behind the wheel. "You need to eat something besides those doughnuts and greasy burgers."

  "That's what Lyn...I mean, Ms. Denison's always telling me."

  "Lynn? The queen of caffeine?" Hannah started the engine.

  Hank guffawed. "Ain't that the ever lovin' truth."

  This time her smile was genuinely sad. "Bye, Hank."

  "Bye, Ms. Evans. You take care."

  Hannah waved, drowning his parting words with the roar of her engine. She laid rubber on ViOPet's drive and pulled onto the long tree-lined stretch of road connecting the facility with the rest of the city.

  She was supposed to have called Logan on her morning break. Now that her break had been indefinitely extended she could drive on over to his office and ... what? Take the chance he'd be there? Not a good idea.

  Better to stop at a pay phone and make sure he was in. It wasn't likely he was sitting at his desk waiting for her call. She was his case. Nothing more. Just because he'd kissed her like he meant it didn't mean he did.

  Still, she wanted to see him. Because for her, that kiss had been real and she wanted, no she needed to hear his voice.

  Coming out of a long curve, she accelerated and signaled to change lanes. She'd made it halfway across the line when a loud horn blared behind her. She jerked her car to the right and a truck roared by, bouncing through a rut in the road. The back door swung open and a single yellow drum came sailing out.

  In a response as automatic as screaming, Hannah nailed her brakes to the floor. Her car slid sideways and bounced off the curb. The barrel smacked the front fender of her car and rolled across the road. The impact reverberated to the roots of her hair. The driver drove on.

  "Oh, God," she silently mouthed, pressing one hand to her lips. It was the truck from ViOPet, the one with the busted taillight she'd nearly rear-ended that morning. Eyes wide, heart beating a staccato rap in her chest, she watched the back door swing out. The truck jolted over another bump in the road and the door lurched open, revealing three more barrels inside.

  Her worst nightmare was coming true. She knew those barrels and knew that chemicals were not transported in plain unmarked trucks. Before she could second guess her next move, she moved her car away from the curb and shot down the road.

  The next major intersection couldn't be more than a mile ahead. If she could catch up with the truck she'd keep it in sight long enough to get the license number then head for a phone. She rounded another curve. Up ahead the truck sped across the small bridge spanning the creek running through the ViOPet property. Gripping the steering wheel, she shifted in her seat.

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and burned. She risked a quick glance in her rearview mirror. The grill of the brown sedan flashed silver in the sunlight, seconds before it rammed the rear of her Miata.

  Her car pitched headlong down the creek embankment. Her windshield shattered. Her hood rushed up to meet it. Years of unfulfilled dreams and risks not taken streaked by with regret. Her last conscious thought was that Logan had been right. Her car was a sardine can.

  She hoped they made a big enough key to open it up and remove her remains.

  Logan fingered the pack of smokes in his shirt pocket, seriously considering lighting one of the suckers. He was doing a lot of the unusual today. Sitting in his office waiting, for one thing. He never sat in his office. In fact, he did little more than drop in occasionally. On top of that he was waiting. Staring at the phone, willing it to ring.

  Hannah had said she'd call Monday morning.

  It was very late Monday morning. Almost Monday afternoon.

  The first time the phone rang, he'd been one foot inside the door and had almost knocked Maggie flat in his haste to beat her to it. A computerized voice droned in his ear and he'd slammed the receiver down so hard his secretary had threatened to quit.

  A second call came. From Gideon. Logan grimaced. He'd been too short with his sibling's brotherly routine. Now he'd have to apologize and explain he'd been waiting for Hannah to call. An explanation that would require more explanation.

  Like why he was so anxious to talk to a woman he'd known a grand total of sixty hours. He couldn't put it into words and that reason wouldn't cut the mustard with Gideon. Especially when Logan had so much trouble accepting it himself.

  The phone rang again. This time, Logan decided, Maggie could answer it. That decision lasted the length of one ring.

  "Burke, here."

  "Logan Burke?" a female voice inquired.

  "You got it."

  "Your card says you're a private investigator."

  "Currently up to my eyeballs in investigating," he grumbled more to himself than to the mystery voice. He didn't have the energy or concentration to carry on a civilized conversation.

  "My name is Annette John
. I work in emergency admitting at Northwest Medical."

  Logan's heart pumped harder. "Hospital?"

  "We've just treated a young woman name Hannah Evans and found your card in her purse. Are you acquainted with her?"

  "Yes." He choked on the word. "What happened?"

  "An auto accident. She's not a regular patient of any of our doctors and we're having trouble locating any relatives."

  His brain quit functioning, started up again, and headed in the wrong direction. All he could think of was one tiny little girl, one car blown straight to hell, and prayed it wasn't the same. "Is she hurt?"

  "Dr. Wilson is with her now. I realize it's against your ethics to divulge information but I was hoping you could put me in touch with someone."

  Ethics, hell. "I'm on my way."

  "Oh, I didn't mean ..."

  "I'll be there in thirty."

  It was more like fifty, but considering he had a whole city to cross he made remarkable, if not outright dangerous, time. Fifty minutes gave him too much time to think about a day three years ago. Too much time to think about the accident, and the medical bills he felt compelled to pay for the child who'd suffered and died because of his carelessness.

  He burst through the emergency room doors; his nose twitched at the irritating odor of pine and iodine. His Nikes squeaked against the linoleum floor. Blinking, he sneezed twice and made a beeline for the admitting desk.

  "Logan Burke."

  Nurse John gave him a cursory glance. "Excuse me?"

  "Logan Burke. You called me about Hannah Evans." He rubbed a fist in one sure-to-be bloodshot eye.

  "Oh, Mr. Burke. I wasn't expecting ... I didn't know ... You must be undercover," she whispered, leaning across the desk.

  "Deep undercover." It was a lie but if it got him to Hannah faster it was worth it.

  "Miss Evans is in Examining Room Two. Down the hall. Second door on the left." She said something else but he was too far away to hear anything but the squeal of his soles on the tiled floor and the thrumming vessels in his brain. Blood rushed to his head at racetrack speed. Lightheaded, he pulled up short at the door.