by Addison Fox
“Fine. What else do you want to know?”
“The server and uplink to the office you keep in the Paris location. Who put that in?”
She sighed and reached for her own cup of coffee but gave him as thorough an answer as she could. “Two of my key tech guys installed it, following my set of specifications. I’ve got a matched set here if you’d like to take a look.”
She saw the interest spark in his eyes and gave up the thought that she might be lucky enough to snag an hour or two of sleep. “Do you trust them?”
“I did. Now I don’t know who to trust.”
“Were you there for the install?”
“Most of it. I had them do it over a weekend and I’m also there when upgrades to the system are installed if they require outside techs. No one gets into any of my homes without my say-so.”
“Smart. Okay. I’ll look into their backgrounds but let’s assume for the moment your home system’s clean. Does anyone else in the company know the extent of what you’ve got at home beyond the team that help you put it together?”
“There’s no reason to think anyone does, but up until a few weeks ago, there wasn’t a reason to think anyone cared all that much.” She held up a hand. “And before you think I’m minimizing this, my home system is a replica of the command details at the office. I don’t have any personal authority over the satellites. Just because my name’s on the building doesn’t change the security protocols I follow, as well.”
“So give them to me.”
“Four people, including me, have full access to the nerve center that is McBane Communications. We have eighteen satellites in orbit and another six set to launch over the next three years. No one has sole access—every major command into the system requires at least two of us to initiate.”
“Can that be changed?”
“Not without a hell of a lot of us knowing about it. There’s a secondary layer another eight people have classified access to. They can’t formally override any systems—even in tandem with each other—but they need to be able to access all the software, manage maintenance and upload new iterations of software. We also have a team that interfaces with those who lease space from us.”
“Those were the names you gave me this afternoon?”
She traced the handle of her mug, the images of each and every one of those trusted colleagues flashing through her mind on a loop. “Yes. They’re the best place to start.”
The overwhelming desire to rant and rail that none of them could be responsible—that none would betray her that way—was strong but Abby held back. The story she’d shared with Campbell earlier about her stepmother was only half the story.
That resounding sense of betrayal had irrevocably changed her and it hadn’t taken a whole lot of self-analysis to realize her entire adult life had been built around a small, trusted team of people she’d carefully vetted, in both her professional and personal lives. Very few people were part of her inner circle, by her own choice.
Her gaze drifted toward Campbell. His sister had been part of that inner circle since college. Despite going months without talking to each other—their daily lives hectic enough that even living in the same city had never ensured regular visits—they were close. Abby knew to the depths of her being that Kensington Steele had her back.
Was that what made it so easy to trust Campbell? Or was it something else?
He scribbled a few notes on the pad of paper, his concentration absolute, and she couldn’t help but be fascinated by his focus. Since their meeting that afternoon, he’d immersed himself in her problem, and with an attention to detail she’d rarely seen in another person.
The sharp buzz of the doorbell startled them both and pulled her from her observations.
“You regularly get callers at four in the morning?”
“Never any good ones.” An image of the night her father died flew to her mind on swift wings. His unexpected death skiing in Vermont had brought a late-night visit from the police. Even now, she could recall the immediate mixture of shock and disbelief as a kind-faced officer stood outside her door with his partner and told her why they’d come.
Before she could get up, Campbell was out of his seat and heading for the hallway. “Stay here.”
“I need to key the alarm.”
“Fine, but stay here until I see who it is.”
The heavy, hammering beats of her heart kicked up a notch at the idea he might be facing an unexpected visitor on the other side of the door. A door framed in decorative glass that would give someone bent on doing harm an easy shot. Unwilling to allow him to face a possible threat alone, she followed him down the hall.
“Are you physically incapable of taking direction?” She didn’t miss the anger that boiled underneath his words before his hand flung out and pulled her behind him.
His actions were so immediate—and so protective—a strange sense of wonder filled her at his touch.
“I didn’t hire you to be my damn bodyguard.”
“Consider it an extra service. On the house.” His hand tightened and she drew in a hard breath as his long fingers connected with her waist.
“Who is it?”
“Campbell. It’s Kensington.”
“Just a sec.” Campbell sighed hard before he turned around. “She can’t use the phone?”
“She must have found something if she’s here.”
“Go ahead and key in the code then get back behind me.”
“Campbell. It’s your sister!”
“Doesn’t matter. Come on.” The alarm beeped off and Campbell pulled her behind him once again before opening the door. She wanted to push her way past him—this was her house and her friend, after all—but something held her back.
For the first time in her life, she didn’t have to face the other side alone.
* * *
Campbell kept the increasing urge to argue in check, but he was hanging on by a thin thread. What the hell was Kensington doing over here? And at four in the morning, to boot. He’d already pressed her on why she couldn’t have used the phone, but her pointed stare and flick of the wrist hadn’t been an answer so much as a dismissal.
Now the three of them were back around Abby’s kitchen table, full mugs of coffee fueling each of them.
“You want to save the attitude this time and tell me why you rushed over here instead of using the phone?”
“I wanted to make sure you were both all right.”
Abby’s hands tightened on her mug, her features drawn. “You shouldn’t have put yourself in danger. What if someone’s watching the house?”
“I’m fine. Besides, T-Bone brought me.”
“There’s someone out there?” Those drawn features changed immediately to concern as she leaped out of her chair. “He needs to come in.”
Campbell reached for her hand and held tight until she stood still and looked at him. “T-Bone’s more than capable of sitting in the car. A car with bulletproof glass, I might add.”
Some of the fight went out of her shoulders as she dropped back into her seat. “T-Bone?”
“He’s worked for the Steele family for a long time. Rowan named him when she was a kid because he looks like a slab of meat. I can’t believe you’ve never met him.”
“T-Bone prefers staying in the background.” Kensington brushed it off. “And he hasn’t needed to do a lot of the day-to-day for a long time.”
“So why’s he here now?”
Kensington took a sip of her coffee and Campbell didn’t miss the piercing stare across the top of the mug. He’d spent his life with the common-enough remark that the Steele siblings all had the same eyes, but he’d always felt Kensington’s were the most penetrating.
Add on the same skill as their mother and grandmother—the ability to see beneath the surface of most any situation—and Campbell had the sneaking suspicion his sister knew he had the hots for one of her oldest and dearest friends.
“I’m also here because I have to tell you something.”
Campbell fought the mixed urge to throttle his sister for dragging out whatever it was she had to say and appreciating the fact she took the time to ease Abby into whatever news she’d come to share. “What’s going on?”
“I started the security order for Abby’s Paris house and came across a bit of disconcerting news.”
“What’d you find?” Whatever well-merited concern Abby had for T-Bone transformed instantly into a cool, competent businesswoman used to situation briefings.
“The homes on both sides of yours in Paris have been broken into in the past year.”
“There’s no way, Kensington. I realize we don’t exactly run a neighborhood watch, but I’d have heard about it. Two in one year?”
“You likely wouldn’t have heard about these.” Kensington shook her head. “Aside from the fact those with the most desirable address in Paris prefer to keep things like this to themselves, nothing was stolen and both were hushed up by their respective security companies, neither of which is the same as yours. It’s only when I gave your address and said Avenue Foch that I got a hit with our team.”
“Which was? Come on, spill it, Kenzi.”
Campbell suspected Kensington held back the urge to stick out her tongue—barely—before she gave them the high points. “The security team said there were two mysterious hits in the neighborhood that were over a year apart. No one thought anything of the first, other than that it was either an interrupted event or a trial run for something bigger. They’ve kept a close eye and that was that. It was only when the second happened, two doors down, that the interest grew more speculative as to what might be going on.”
“Two break-ins. On opposite sides of my home?”
“Yes.” Kensington nodded.
“And nothing taken from either address?”
“Nothing at all, even after a thorough search by both owners.”
“Any guesses on motive?” Campbell pressed the question, but he suspected he already knew the answer.
“Absolutely none.”
“I know.” Abby’s quiet voice punctuated the moment and for the first time since they’d met that afternoon, he saw the true depth of the strain this was taking on her. “The motive was me.”
“Yes, that’s what I believe.”
* * *
Abby drew her legs up under her and made room for Kensington on the overstuffed couch in her sitting room. They’d left Campbell down the hall in the guest room and took a few minutes to catch up in the small alcove off of Abby’s bedroom.
“I appreciate the personalized service but you really can get back home. It’s almost morning and you must be exhausted. Besides, T-Bone’s downstairs waiting.”
“It’s what he does best, which is strange and comforting all at the same time.”
Since it was useless to argue with Kensington once she made up her mind—a trait Abby could hardly fault her for as she was known for a similar bent—she offered up a quick apology instead. “I’m sorry this is turning out to be such a difficult project. I never expected this.”
“It’s our job, Abby. We’ll figure it out.” Kenzi paused for the briefest moment, the rare sign of hesitation evident in her gaze, before she pushed forward. “Is my brother behaving himself?”
Abby couldn’t hold back the light snort. “That was quick.”
“I see the way he looks at you.”
“With the trademark Steele intensity.”
A light swat hit her leg before Kenzi pushed forward. “No, that one’s designed to intimidate and unnerve. I’m talking about the heat look. I’m hardly surprised—at all—but, well, actually I am in a way.”
Intrigued at the hesitation—and more delighted than she cared to admit—Abby pressed for more. “What way is that?”
“He’s a private man and that’s as true with our family as it is with others.”
Campbell’s claims earlier that his family was more than enough for him was an interesting contrast to Kensington’s perspective. “I got the feeling that you all were pretty tight. You’ve all dealt with mutual loss and built a strong family unit, not to mention a business, out of that.”
It was Kensington’s turn to snort. “Like that would get my brother to open up to me about his love life. He’s intensely private and lives inside his head. Always has. Add on the fact that Liam took on the role of crown prince of the dating scene pretty early and Campbell’s quiet about who he’s interested in.”
“Especially since you’re so discreet and all. Goodness, you and I were barely in this room for two minutes before you were grilling me.”
Her friend didn’t even have the decency to look the slightest bit chastised. “It’s the girlfriend code of honor. Forged in the fires of a shared dorm room, bad dating choices and mutual hair-holding as we rode out the consequences of bad hangovers.”
“Do you tell him about your love life?”
“Hell, no. Why would I want to do that?”
Abby shook her head, the sudden urge to laugh a welcome respite from the tension of the last several hours. “Isn’t that a bit of the pot calling the kettle black?”
“Nope. It’s being a smart woman who doesn’t want my big brother nosing around in my life. But if we put that aside, all I’m really saying is that this same brother doesn’t fall for women in front of me. So the fact that he showed real concern for you downstairs means something.”
Although Kensington was one of her dearest friends—and one of her small inner circle she was willing to share things with—there was something about Campbell that held her back.
Whether it was her own inability to define her attraction to the man or the current professional situation she found herself in, Abby didn’t know.
Either way, she just couldn’t go there.
“He’s a good man. But even if I did agree with you that something might be there, life is in the way right now.”
“That’s a cop-out if I ever heard one.”
Abby planted on a broad smile, but didn’t back down from their discussion. “Then don’t listen.”
Kensington laughed as she extended her arms for a hug. They might not see eye to eye, but Abby knew her friend always had her back.
* * *
Campbell finally convinced T-Bone to come into the house after Kensington went up with Abby. The big man filled the hallway with a hulking combination of sheer heft and dark menace that Campbell had always enjoyed being on the right side of.
“What are you dragging me in here for?”
“I want to know what you found out. Uncensored.”
T-Bone sighed before pointing toward the stairs. “They out of earshot.”
“Yes.”
“Then here’s what I know.”
T-Bone gave him a quick recap that matched Kensington’s before diving into the things left unsaid. Namely, the break-ins were nearly identical in execution and equally hard to understand.
As he watched the big man nod, Campbell felt the pieces click into place in his mind, like the tumblers of a slot machine that fell into a neat, even row. “You think something was left behind?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“They sweep for bugs?”
“The security companies did. They didn’t find anything and I’m not surprised. I don’t think it’s a bug.”
“What do you think it is?”
“Whoever it is has figured out a way to get eyes inside Abby’s house and into her equipment.”
“Undetected?”
T-Bone shook his head. “You know as well as I do no one breaks in for fun. And they certainly don’t do it twice. Those weren’t random.”
“How hard would it be to get me inside the houses?”
“How well do you speak French?”
Campbell let out a large bark. “About as well as I speak anything other than English.”
“How could I forget? The only language you know is code.”
“I know French.” Abby’s voice floated over them from the stairs.
“Quite well, as a matter of fact.”
T-Bone shifted his large frame to stare up at her. Campbell didn’t miss the man’s broad, calming smile and wondered abstractly why he never rated one of those.
Ever.
“Hello, Ms. McBane.”
“Abby, please.” She descended the stairs like a regal queen before coming to a stop in front of the big man and extending her hand. “You must be T-Bone.”
“At your service.”
“I overheard your conversation with Campbell. You think something was left in my neighbors’ homes to spy on me?”
“I think they’re spying on your technology.”
“Well, then. What do I need to do?”
“How well do you know your neighbors?”
Chapter 6
Abby ignored the buzzing of her phone as she hunted up details on the Paris house. She kept a small leather notebook in her attaché case, full of all the minutia of her life. Those details filled the book, from family birthdays to her neighbors’ names to various security and tax information.
She’d long laughed at herself for the attachment to a paper device, but there was something about the well-worn leather that comforted. Especially the pages in the front of the book that still held her mother’s careful script.
She ran a light finger over the faded ink that outlined all the pertinent details on their New York home before flipping to the pages that detailed the house in Paris.
Monsieur and Madame Dufresne lived on one side of her and an aged widower, Monsieur Tremaine, on the other. Tremaine was a lovely old man who spent the majority of his time in the South of France. He was also the first house hit and likely was used for practice, his frequent absences making him an easier mark.
Abby shifted her muzzy thoughts to the Dufresnes. Etienne was a former diplomat and, if she recalled correctly, Celine was wife number three. Although she’d not formally met Celine, a vague image of Etienne roamed around her tired mind, finding no purchase as she tried diligently to conjure up a face. When nothing stuck, she reached for her coffee mug and turned to her computer.
“Ah, well, Abby-girl, you can sleep when you’re dead,” she muttered to herself as she tapped Etienne’s and Celine’s names into a search program. And as her gaze tracked the results, she allowed the hot rich coffee to slide down to her stomach, willing the brew to work its magic.