by Adrianne Lee
Her heart hitched and tears burned her eyes. Her hand began lifting toward him before she realized and stopped herself. But the yearning to comfort him nearly overwhelmed her, and she discovered with a jolt that what she felt for Mac went deeper than anything she’d ever felt for Grant. Her face flamed. How had she nearly married a man who didn’t touch her soul as this man did? How had she slept with him? Planned a future with him?
And what right did she have spinning impossible dreams about Mac? Nothing had changed.
Tia hugged herself. She would not fall in love with Mac Coy—no matter how right it felt.
Mac hit the top of the desk and swore. “God, the precautions I took—guarding the toy and its precious microchip as if they were gold in Fort Knox. My mistake was in trying to keep the spies out. When all the while, the spy was already on the inside.”
“Mac, shouldn’t we go and check out the VR simulator before your employees start arriving?”
Her suggestion eclipsed his outburst. He glanced at the clock, then rounded on her, his eyes wide. “Yes. It is getting late.”
“We’d better hurry, then.” She started for the door ahead of him. But before they reached it, a rangy man with blazing red hair on his head and chin burst in. His eyes were narrowed, his expression alert, suspicious. His hand rode the gun at his hip.
Tia drew back, startled.
“Who are you?” he growled at her. “How’d you get up here?”
A hint of recognition struggled upward through her fear-fogged brain.
“I’m Grant Coy,” Mac said, stepping into the man’s line of vision. “The new owner of this plant.”
The redhead reared back, gasping as if he’d seen a ghost. Tia supposed he probably thought he had.
Mac said, “I think you’d better tell us who you are and what you’re doing with that gun. My brother was a gun-control advocate.”
Tia’s muscles eased at Mac’s quick thinking. She wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he’d forgotten that he wasn’t supposed to know exactly who this man was or why he was here.
“Well, sure. I know who you are.” The man’s head did a slow bob. He released hold of his gun and offered a hand to Mac. Mac ignored it. Probably afraid he’d give himself away, Tia thought. His aloofness reminded her of Grant. “We spoke on the phone yesterday. I’m the security guard. Bud Gibson.”
“Buddy?” Tia gaped at the redheaded man, recognition hitting her. Ginny’s kid brother—the youngest of the three bad seeds. She hadn’t seen him in years. Last she’d heard, he was doing one to five on a felony conviction. The hair at her nape bristled. Putting Bud Gibson in charge of security was like handing Al Capone the keys to Alcatraz. Why hadn’t Ginny told her he was working for Coy Toys?
“Tia?” Bud’s widening gaze rolled over her. He hadn’t recognized her, either, apparently. “What are you doing here?”
“Ms. Larken is my fiancée,” Mac answered, but curiosity swam in his eyes. “You two know each other?”
“Buddy, er, Bud is the brother of my best friend,” she explained. “I didn’t realize he worked for Mac.”
Bud glanced at Tia, noticing the huge diamond on her finger. A gleam entered his eyes, and she knew if he could have he’d have stripped the ring from her finger or the jewel from its setting with that look. He offered her a broad grin, showing off large, even, cigarette-stained teeth. “You’ve come up in the world, T. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Tia’s pulse wobbled. Apparently Ginny hadn’t told Buddy anything about her life, either. She supposed she ought to be grateful. But recalling her friend’s distress the past week and the alarm and fear she’d seen in Ginny’s eyes when they’d learned of Mac’s death sent acid through her stomach. For her friend’s sake, Tia prayed Buddy wasn’t Mac’s thief. Grant’s killer.
“And the gun?” Mac insisted. “What are you doing with it?”
“Mac—er, your brother instigated a new policy two days ago. He directed me and Ford, the daytime guard, to start wearing them while on duty.”
“I see.” Mac didn’t like this. He hated guns with a passion; however, he supposed Grant had had good reason to worry. But the guns hadn’t saved him or Holly Beary. “I’m changing that order back to the original, Gibson. I don’t want anyone getting shot accidentally. So leave that thing at home when you go today and inform Ford of the same.”
“Sure thing. And if there’s anything I can do for you, Mr. Coy…”
“Actually there is. You aren’t off duty soon, are you?”
“I’m on another hour.”
“Good. When the staff arrives, tell them I’d like them all to gather in here for a meeting.”
“Sure thing.” Bud crossed to the window and opened the blinds. The dark sky had given way to a gray dawn. He glanced out the window, then back at Mac. “Ms. Rice is just pulling in now. She’s the office manager and your brother’s personal secretary and assistant.”
Mac stiffened. “Go let her in and relay my message about the staff meeting. Ms. Larken and I have something to attend to before everyone arrives.”
Bud hurried out and a moment later they heard the main elevator descending. Mac caught Tia by the arm. “Come on. The simulator is on the second floor. We’ll take the stairs.”
The second-floor landing was a twin to the third, long and wide with four closed doors on the side opposite the elevator. Mac led Tia to a room at the end of the hall. It was directly below his office, but was little more than a large walk-in closet. He’d steeled himself for this, uncertain he could face the place his brother died. Or the weapon that had killed him.
It was the real reason he hadn’t come to check it out last night. But he’d put it off long enough. He had to do this. Sweat beaded his upper lip. He shoved the door open and hit the switch. Brilliant illumination flooded the room, highlighting the armchair with its back to him. His breath caught at the sight of the scorched headrest. His brother had died here in that chair. Don’t dwell on that. He started toward the chair, his steps hitched as though he were a puppet with shortened leg strings.
Tia hung back in the doorway.
Mac rounded the chair and swore. “It’s not here.”
“What?”
“The simulator. It should be on this chair. Or in this room.” His gaze flew from corner to corner. It wasn’t here. He felt all hope of catching his brother’s killer dissolving like icicles from a sun-drowned skilodge roof. “Someone removed it on purpose.”
“Who?” She frowned. “The police?”
“Why would they take it? Bud told me last night they’d declared Grant’s death an accident. Frayed cord. All they were going to do was file a report for Labor and Industries.”
“Maybe Bud took the simulator.”
Her suggestion surprised Mac. What didn’t he know about Bud Gibson? “I’ll ask him, but I think our killer took it.”
“Are you so sure Bud didn’t kill Grant?”
He strode toward her, more confused and curious than ever. “You know him better than I do. What do you think?”
She blushed and shook her head. “I wouldn’t want it to be Buddy.”
“Yeah, well he’s as likely a suspect as the rest right now. The only one I don’t suspect is you.”
Tia’s face was as gray as the morning. He longed to stroke her silken cheek, just a touch to erase the stricken pallor from her skin. He held his hand rigid at his side, fighting off his own distress. His own sense of helplessness.
He’d figured on handing that simulator over to the police next week. It would help prove his claims that Grant was murdered. Now he feared there might never be any proof. Rage and frustration collided in his head, banging together like irate reindeer bucks.
“Does this change any of your plans for the toy’s launch?” Tia asked.
He thought about that a moment, then shook his head. “No. It just makes me more determined than ever to catch the rat in my woodpile.”
She gave him a smile of approval. “Al
l right, then. I suppose we’d better get back to your office. The staff should be assembling by now.”
He let out a loud breath. “Okay. I can’t put this off forever.” But he was rattled. Without thinking he reached for Tia’s elbow. The second he realized it, he started to pull back. But she caught his hand and held on tight.
He gazed down at her, noticing her skin was still a touch too pale. He cursed himself for not realizing the effect that seeing where Grant died might have on her. She’d put on a brave facade, thus far going every extra mile he’d asked of her. Even this gruesome one. She wanted Grant’s killer caught as much as he did. The depth of her commitment to his twin gladdened him, and filled him with such envy he ached with self-loathing.
In the elevator she relinquished her hold on him. Mac’s arm chilled as though her touch had been all that was keeping him warm. She studied him, straightening his jacket and tie, brushing a speck of lint from his lapel, the way a wife might do for her husband before an important job interview. The intimacy thickened his throat, and his need for her to be more than a friend speared him. He stepped back from her.
She seemed not to notice his discomposure, nodding, instead, in satisfaction. “There, that’s better. Are you ready?”
To face his staff as Grant? Was he? “I guess we’ll find out in a minute.”
The elevator doors swung open. Nancy Rice stood there as though she’d been waiting for them. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of Mac, and her breath seemed to hitch. She recovered quickly. “I’m Nancy Rice, Mr. Coy. Your brother’s personal assistant.” A shapely brown-eyed blonde, Nancy wore her usual outfit, a brightly colored spandex top and skin-tight jeans.
Mac introduced Tia, but Nancy gave her short shrift, acknowledging her only with a polite nod of her head. Her attention kept returning to him. Had he somehow given himself away? His mouth dried. He shifted uncomfortably, scowling at her. “Is something wrong, Ms. Rice?”
“No, nothing. Excuse me for staring. It was such a shock last week when Mac decided to shave and cut his hair. I was just getting used to his new look, and now, seeing you, it’s rather jarring, you know?” Her round eyes filled with tears.
Two weeks ago Mac would have thought her sorrow genuine. Now he didn’t know. Didn’t know who in his employ was honest and who was acting. He hated that and it roused his ire. An odd sense of strength reared up in him, making a shield between himself and this woman’s feelings.
For the first time in his life he felt insensitive to another’s suffering, to the grief shown by a woman he’d known and worked closely with for many years.
Was this how Tia had meant for him to use his anger?
Mac nodded toward his closed office door. “Is the staff assembled?”
“Yes, but before we go in, I was hoping…well, it might be impertinent of me, but given my close professional relationship with Mac, well, I…the truth is, Mr. Coy, we’re all a little concerned about this meeting. About your plans for the future of Coy Toys.”
Mac nodded and started forward. “I intend to discuss that with you all. Meanwhile, Ms. Larken is going to be acting as my assistant. No offense, Ms. Rice, but I’m used to her help and I would appreciate your full cooperation this week in particular.”
Nancy Rice’s face paled. “Does this mean that I’ll soon be looking for another job?”
“That will depend on Holly Beary,” he said cryptically. The less time he spent sparring with Nancy the better. Of all his employees, she scared him the most. Not because she might be the murderer—although that was a concern—but because she knew Mac Coy better than the others. He opened the office door, gesturing for the women to proceed him.
Stand straight. Speak loudly. Don’t touch your nose, he instructed himself. Still, he feared he’d give himself away. He held his body rigid and entered his office.
Five minutes later the meeting was over, his department heads filing out. He’d kept it simple, assuring all that their jobs were not in jeopardy—as long as they could get Holly Beary ready for shipment by the weekend.
Even as he said this, he knew one of them would not be pleased, but for the life of him, he couldn’t tell which.
Before anyone could protest the increased workload, he outlined exactly how he expected them to carry it off, showing them it was not impossible if they concentrated on their own part of the toy’s assemblage.
Finally, forestalling an endless stream of questions, he assured them all he’d come and talk with each individually sometime during the day. Meanwhile, there was no time to waste. His dismissal had them looking a bit unsure, glancing at Nancy for support as they shifted up and out of their chairs and began filing out of the office, mumbling amongst themselves.
Mac stopped Nancy at the door. “Ms. Rice, I’d appreciate it if you’d personally handle the phones. There’s likely to be press calling and, more importantly, worried customers. Please assure them all that Coy Toys, Inc. is carrying on as my brother would have wanted. Holly Beary will be delivered as promised.”
“Please, call me Nancy, Grant.” There was a new gleam in her lovely brown eyes, an invitation he’d never seen or been offered before. Nancy was flirting with him. The realization zinged through Mac, spoke to the deepest male part of him. His pleasure in how he’d handled the meeting skewed, lapsing like a forgotten license. Women never flirted with him.
He didn’t seek or encourage advances. He’d humiliated himself to the core the two times he’d had sexual encounters—both blind dates set up for him by Grant. Heat seared his insides at the embarrassing memories. “Fastest gun in the west,” the first woman had laughingly called him. But she hadn’t thought it funny when he couldn’t “reload his weapon” after she’d stopped giggling. The second woman hadn’t been that kind. Had either or both of them told Grant?
He shook himself, feeling the heat climb to his ears. He was better off without romantic entanglements. Besides, living like a monk wasn’t all bad. It gave him plenty of time to work. Not to mention an appreciation for the therapy of cold showers.
And yet, the soft come-on in Nancy’s eyes sent a strange, not unwelcome sensation fluttering through him. He felt a sappy grin sliding across his face. Felt powerless to stop it.
Tia did that. “Thank you, Nancy. I think Grant would appreciate it if you got busy now.”
Nancy gave her a polite but chilly nod of the head and left them alone. Tia shut the door, then stood leaning against it, staring at him. She and Nancy were like day and night. Nancy’s sexuality was as glaring as the sun, obvious and overwhelming, whereas Tia’s was as gentle and intriguing as the moon.
He was male. His body responded to both women, but he wouldn’t overstep propriety with either of them. Nancy didn’t interest him, and Tia deserved better than a bungler. Besides, she had loved his brother. Loved him still.
He realized she was glaring at him. Distress arrowed through him. “What? Did I do something wrong? Give myself away?”
Her silent reprimand fled her glorious eyes and she seemed almost embarrassed. She blinked. Squared her slender shoulders. “No, in fact, you were great. I think they were all impressed.”
“Not all. One of them wants me dead.”
Tia hugged herself as if against a sudden chill. “Would that really be necessary when they could throw you off by simply seeing—instead—that you don’t make the launch date?”
The possibility riveted him. He felt like a man whose Christmas tree had burned down his house, robbing him of all the joy that should have accompanied the holiday celebration, stealing his every possession and layering him with the ash of distrust.
Betrayal. Murder. And now, sabotage?
Chapter Five
“Grant wanted me to install hidden video cameras in all of my managers’ offices and in the work areas.” Mac swiped his face with his hands, looking torn, disgusted with himself.
Tia perched a hip on the corner of the conference table. She understood feeling guilty for something you hadn’t d
one. But wishing it different didn’t make it so. “Is it too late to do that now?”
“I won’t do it. The idea of spying on my employees—” he broke off, shaking his head.
And she realized she’d misread the source of his disgust. He didn’t hate himself, he detested the situation and the idea that violating his people’s privacy was the only way to make it right.
“If I’d listened to Grant, we probably would have found the traitor straightaway.”
And Grant would likely still be alive.
Neither said it, but Tia knew he shared the thought, just as he shared the sorrow blooming within her. Her heart reached out to him, and she ached to ease his pain. “Grant always believed in fighting fire with fire.”
“I know, but doing something unethical even to catch a criminal goes against everything I believe in. How would you feel if you found out after the fact you’d been spied on by your employer?”
“I don’t think I’d like it.” She would hate it.
“You see what I mean?” He waved his hands in frustration. “I have to work with these people after the betrayer is caught. But if I treat them all like they’re guilty, then how many of them will still want to work with me?”
She couldn’t imagine any of them not wanting to work with Mac. He was a fair and generous man. Surely he was that kind of employer. On the other hand, she’d had her share of lousy bosses. If she discovered she’d been videotaped at work without her knowledge, her trust would be stripped away. Would she stay with such a company? Even if they had legitimate reasons for their action? Not after her experience with Crimble Industries. Not after knowing one picture could override a thousand declarations of innocence.
She laid her hand over Mac’s, finding strength in the warm encounter—and a frisson of guilty pleasure that had her releasing him as quickly as she’d reached for him. What was the matter with her? Allowing herself to forget, wanting something she couldn’t have? She lifted the offending hand self-consciously through her hair, warding off a wave of despair. “You know, we could go on all day discussing coulda, shoulda, wouldas. But we can’t go back and change things. So, how do we assure that Holly Beary gets launched without a hitch?”