by Julie Miller
"God, Em. You lost them both that night?"
She leaned back into his caress. "At the ripe old age of nineteen. I was finally free. But I was still lost. I could survive. But I couldn't live." Some of the tension within her eased. "Then I met Jonathan. He was visiting a friend at the hospital where I worked. He was so tall and handsome in his uniform."
"He taught you how to live again?"
"He taught me how to trust. And how sometimes you have to risk your faith to find what you really need." A soft laugh vibrated through her. "I wasn't always a willing student, mind you. But he refused to give up on me."
"That's why you won't give up on him?" She turned to face him, her eyes focused on the placket of his shirt. She smoothed the T-shirt beneath the opening and fastened the next button. He flattened his hands over hers, stilling them against his chest. "Em?"
She lifted her sad eyes, far braver than she gave herself credit for. "I need you to help my daughter the way Jonathan helped me. You can do that by finding her father. Before she forgets him entirely. Sooner, rather than later or never. By any means necessary. I'm willing to put my faith in you to do that."
"In other words, you want me to tap into my less noble attributes, make use of my, um…connections."
"Will you?"
The hope shining in her eyes proved an irresistible enemy to his common sense. He wrapped his fingers around hers and leaned closer, promising to find a man for the woman he was in danger of falling in love with himself. "I already said I would." He paused. "But you won't."
"Damn it, Drew. I know I can help."
"By getting yourself hurt?!" He ignored his own sense of impending loss and concentrated on seeing the situation from Emma's perspective. "If you think Kerry has problems now, think about what an injury to you would do to her. Think of how losing your parents affected you." He released her and ran his fingers through his hair, ashamed that he had used such personal information to make his point. "I'm sorry. That wasn't fair."
"No. It was."
She surprised him by lifting her fingers and straightening his rumpled hair, pulling it from the center of his head and smoothing it behind his ear, soothing his temper, easing his regret.
"Maybe it's okay for Kerry to think of you as a father figure. I could have used a man of honor like you growing up."
Despite the comfort he found in her gentle touch, Drew pulled away. "You'd better cut the `man of honor' crap. I'll do my job, that's all. I don't want to see the kid get hurt.'
"And you don't think that makes you a man of honor? Defending her? Defending me?"
Her praise made him uneasy. She'd opened up a painful secret while he allowed a lie to sit between them. Maybe it was for the best that he didn't tell her about his past. She didn't need any more grief to bear.
Drew understood the challenge she'd laid before him. The tightness around his heart understood all too clearly what he had to do to help her and Kerry. He had to protect them. He had to find her husband.
And then he had to give her up and never be a part of her life again.
"Drew?"
Her voice pushed aside the pain in his heart and propelled him into action. "I think our best chance at catching a break is for me to shadow you. Be with you constantly. Not too noticeably, I don't want to scare anybody away, but I'd like to lurk in the background. That way, if Moriarty should try to contact you or LadyTech again, I'll have the jump on him." He shifted uneasily, knowing he had to say this but fearing the answer he knew she should give him. "Still, if you'd rather not have me around Kerry, I can explain what's going on to your friend Maxwell. He could keep an eye on things here, or assign someone—“
"I trust you."
Three simple words. They washed over Drew like a balm to his soul. Nightmares be damned. Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe he was setting himself up for pure torture, spending time with Emma when he wanted her so badly. Despite a mutual attraction, he knew she was determined to remain loyal to her husband. The notion might sit tough on his libido, but it made him respect the hell out of her.
He struggled to say the right thing, to live up to her expectations of him. "It could make things awkward for Kerry, having me around so much."
Emma smiled, a weary, beautiful curve on her lips. "I'd rather she hung out with you than with an invisible wingless friend who gives her bad advice."
"Wingless?" Drew frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You'll have to get the story from her. But unless her therapist tells me differently, I think the best way to help her through this is to help me. She already feels a bond with you. Maybe if she sees you working to find Jonathan, she'll get past the idea that you're her father, and simply accept that you're our friend."
Their friend.
Emma excused herself to check on Kerry. He followed her into the 'hallway and watched her climb the stairs, the hem of her long sweater catching on the curve of her bottom, tempting him with its graceful sway up each and every step. His body heated in an immediate response to her tall, cool elegance.
But he was more concerned about the tiny fissures cracking open around his guarded heart.
Their friend? He didn't have many friends in this edition of his life. He should be rejoicing at the prospect of adding Emma and Kerry to the short list. But he couldn't shake the selfish burn in his gut that told him finding Jonathan Ramsey might mean losing so much more.
Chapter Seven
Emma checked her watch for the fourteenth time in fifteen minutes. She rolled her chair back from her desk and crossed her office to the wet bar where she poured herself a glass of orange juice from the mini-fridge. She took a drink, set the glass on the counter, and walked away,
Work seemed like such an inconvenience this morning. She'd wanted to cancel her meetings, hand over reports to be reviewed to other executives, and drive Kerry after her appointment straight home instead of to school. For the first time in a year and a half of monthly counseling sessions, Kerry had babbled with delight at the prospect of her daddy coming home, instead of evading questions about missing a father figure in her life.
Emma crossed her arms and raised her hand to her chin, tapping in a distracted rhythm with her thumb. She remembered the fantasy she'd created as a young girl. It was a fantasy where a good, kind man came home every evening at six o'clock, asked about school and complimented her mother on the spotless house and delicious meals she'd created on a tight budget. That fantasy father would tuck Emma into bed, kiss her cheek, and she'd sleep through the entire night without the harsh awakening of crass words yelled in anger, screams that shook the walls of the house, or her mother's quiet sobbing drifting up the stairs to her room.
Kerry had created a similar fantasy around Drew.
But Drew Gallagher was no fantasy. He was flesh and blood, secrets and sinewy strength. He wasn't a family man. He wasn't father material. Yet it seemed both the Ramsey women were looking to him to be their savior.
Emma had grown up in a cruel reality and had given up on finding a man to fit into her skewed view of the world. Until Jonathan. He'd taught her to believe in men again, helped her get to know the men he called friends until they became her friends, too. His memories had sustained a more positive view of the world even after his disappearance.
She owed him her loyalty, her gratitude. She couldn't look to a new man to take his place.
What worried Emma the most wasn't that Kerry saw Drew as a rescuer who could make her seven-year-old world feel safe and secure, but that she saw Drew as a rescuer, too. He took her battered, closed-off heart and forced her to feel again. But he was all wrong for her, she knew that.
Hell. She was still a married woman. She knew that, too.
But his rangy body and burnished good looks stirred longings in her she'd wondered if she could ever feel again. The steel in his soft-spoken voice soothed her in ways words alone could not. And the heat that shimmered in his emerald-green eyes when he looked at her melted the ice that shielded her heart.
But she felt alive in Drew's arms. Connected. Her instincts to trust him felt alien. Before, she'd trusted only one man with her darkest secrets. Jonathan. But now, just as easily as Kerry gave Drew her trust, Emma gave it, too.
That she could so readily betray Jonathan's memory just to feel safe, just to feel womanly, just to feel human again, scared the hell out of her. Her conscience nagged her with the same sense of impending doom that used to keep her awake at night and give her ulcers as she'd waited to find out when her father's rages would arise.
The firm knock on her door startled her from regret back to frantic impatience. She dashed across the room and swung the door open wide, refusing to question the instant relief she felt at seeing Drew framed in the doorway.
"Good morning." His gaze narrowed as it fell upon the breathless rise and fall of her chest. "Are we still on?"
She nodded, and he strolled in without further comment on her agitated state. Grateful for the respite to collect her wits and resume rational thinking, Emma closed the door and watched him set a black leather satchel on the floor beside one of the loveseats.
She scarcely recognized him as the same scrub-bearded detective who had come to her door at two-thirty that morning By ten a.m., he'd transformed himself into a corporate version of the mystery man she knew. The black suit he wore fit his broad shoulders and lean flanks as if it had been custom-made for him. A crisp, white oxford shirt and paisley tie added a touch of traditional style, while his glasses and sleek ponytail gave his appearance a contemporary flair.
"Do I pass muster?" The temperature in the room went up ten quick degrees when he turned and caught her admiring the back view of his trim-fitting trousers.
She had the good grace to blush. "With flying colors." She picked up her juice and poured a second glass for him. "You've done this before, haven't you?"
"Work undercover?" He sat on the loveseat opposite her. "Yeah. Seems to be a talent of mine, blending in with whatever the scenery might be. Sort of like a chameleon, I guess."
"Chameleon?" Her hand shook and she hurried to set her glass on the coffee table between them before spilling her drink.
"Oh, God." Drew plunked his glass down and shot to his feet. "Sorry. Poor choice of words." He circled the room like a caged lion, stopping when he caught sight of Jonathan's picture on her desk. He drew in a deep breath. With just a few steps, he stood in front of her. He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. His mouth thinned before her eyes.
"I can't keep carrying a list of names and topics to avoid when I'm around you."
She looked through the tips of her lashes into his intense green gaze. "I'm the one who needs to toughen up," she assured him. She took the message to heart. "I don't want you to second-guess your actions because you're worried about how they might affect me."
"I can't help worrying."
A loose lock of hair had escaped from the clip at her neck. He tucked it behind her ear, the brush of his fingertips a sweet caress on her cheek. The touch felt soothing, intimate, right.
Wrong!
She chided herself for how easily she gave in to his protective strength. She tilted her face away from his fingers, but she stood her ground. Staying close to Drew without touching him provided a compromise of sorts for her traitorous body and lonely heart. She spoke with an authority in which she wanted to believe. "I won't fall to pieces on you. That was just a knee-jerk reaction to that man's name."
"I know you're tough, Em. You're probably the strongest person I've ever met." His voice dropped to a husky pitch. "But you've been through so much. You hold it all together with grace and determination for Kerry's sake, or maybe just to keep your sanity. But I've seen what it costs you. I don't want to make it any harder on you."
"You won't." She crossed to her desk and slipped into the cashmere jacket she wore with her herringbone tweed skirt. Putting on her work garb might armor her against handsome private eyes and guilty consciences, as well as the usual schmoozing clients and tedious meetings. "So, what's on the agenda today?"
He watched her a moment before answering. "You tell me. I want you to keep your daily routine. If Moriarty is trying to get his teeth into LadyTech, or you, I don't want to do anything to put him off."
"You don't?" Emma paused at the last button of her jacket. "Isn't the idea to protect us?"
Drew laughed, and the low-pitched, masculine tone shimmied along her spine like a physical touch, belying her concern. "I haven't lost my marbles yet. But we need him to make another move in order to catch him. We foiled his initial plan. But he's invested too much trying to get to you already to give up. I'm counting on him to put a Plan B into action."
The game began to make sense to her. "It's not all that different from a business deal. If you're not approachable, an investor won't make the effort to contact you."
"Exactly." His conspiratorial smile warmed her like a shared secret. "But then we have to be smart enough, and prepared for any surprises, to close the deal."
Business she understood. Let Moriarty show his hand first. "I just go through my day as scheduled and wait for Plan B to happen?"
"Something like that." He went back to the loveseat and reached inside his black satchel. She heard a tiny click before he straightened. I’ll leave this transceiver here, out of the way. I can monitor any conversations you have without actually being on the scene."
"Is that legal?"
"Did you hire me to follow the rules?" he countered.
Emma flashed back on five years of going through every legitimate channel available to track down her husband. She'd found nothing. Drew's cagey, cutthroat intelligence provided an avenue she hadn't yet tried. His presence gave her something even stronger.
Hope.
She answered his taunt with a symbolic squaring of her posture. "Do I have to do anything to make it transmit?"
His approving nod brought out some of that strength he seemed to think she had in such abundant supply. "It's voice-activated. It'll pick up anything above a whisper in this room."
The telephone on her desk beeped, energizing her like the gunshot at the start of a race. She pushed a button. "Yes, Caitlin."
"Your ten-fifteen's here."
"Thank you. Show him up." She turned to Drew, finding a degree of comfort in the normalcy of a business meeting. "Wyatt Carlisle and his attorney. I'm conducting negotiations on a buyout opportunity with his company, Consolidated Technologies. Possibly getting us a better foothold in the Detroit market. I'm not too sure about the deal, though. Reports show only a moderate profit for the last three quarters, and suddenly he's selling so many computers he can't keep them in stock."
"Is that unusual to have such a large turnaround?"
"Not for a fledgling company." She'd pored over the data on Carlisle for weeks before agreeing to meet face to face. The recent turnaround in Consolidated left her wondering if the final figures had been doctored to make the buyout more appealing. "This guy's been in the business twenty years."
"It sounds like he hit the right market."
"It sounds too good to be true."
Drew smiled, and the rare gift warmed her inside. She liked talking business with him, having him listen and respect her expertise. His investing his time in this simple conversation made her feel appreciated on a level that had nothing to do with business, and everything to do with being a woman.
"I'd say trust your instincts."
Her thoughts moved a world away from business to a matter much closer to her heart. "I do trust them, Drew. I know you'll do whatever you can to find Jonathan. And to help Kerry."
Her heartfelt encouragement seemed to rattle his polished exterior for a moment. But then he shrugged and moved toward the door, as if her faith in him didn't matter; as if he didn't believe it.
"Just keep it cool today. Conduct your meeting as usual. I'll be on the second floor, checking out my new office and doing a bit of eavesdropping."
He covered her hand where it rested on his coat sleeve. His callused touch gave her warmth, strength, and the promise of something she wanted to seize with both hands and hold on to forever.
"I won't quit." His raspy promise filled the stillness of the room. It sank deep into her heart and reminded her of a different time, a different man.
But the promise was the same.
A light knock on the door pushed them apart before she could question the half-formed feeling. She straightened her jacket and hair, but Drew's promise remained with her. She needed time to think about it, but practicality won out over wistful thinking She buried that need beneath her workplace armor and opened the door to her guests. "Mr. Carlisle."
She shook his fleshy hand, unconsciously comparing it to Drew's firm grip. Carlisle indicated the gaunt, eagle-eyed man standing behind him. "My associate, Daniel Forsythe."
"Mr. Forsythe." She had a clear view of him over the top of Carlisle's short, stout figure, and in the forefront of her vision she saw Carlisle swell up and try to appear taller.
"I thought this was a private meeting." She bristled at the tone of Carlisle's voice. Great. The man had no charm, and he was self-important to boot. Her worry over the mysterious James Moriarty waned in her foreboding over the rest of her day.
The snide comment had no outward effect on Drew. He smiled as he shook hands with both men and introduced himself. "Drew Gallagher. Project consultant. I'm just on my way out. Nice to meet you."