by Julie Miller
Carlisle did not return the sentiment. Emma tamped down the feeling of injustice that flared within her, saying nothing while the man scoped out her office, then sprawled on one of the loveseats. With an apologetic smile, she closed the door on her administrative assistant, Caitlin, and Drew.
As she poured each of her guests a cup of coffee, she wondered how Drew handled undercover work. She wasn't even pretending to be anyone else, and already she faced a challenge in controlling her animosity against Wyatt Carlisle without letting it show.
How did Drew keep his feelings hidden? The resentment he must have felt when she wouldn't let him in her front door that first night, the interrupted passion after being discovered in the back room at Lucky's—how much could he hide behind those intense cat eyes and glib taunts? How many secrets did Drew Gallagher possess?
"Are we having a meeting, or what?"
Carlisle's impatient request cut short Emma's speculation and ate away at her goodwill like acid. She picked up the silver tray and smiled anyway. She could buy and sell his company ten times over. And she might do it, just to teach him a lesson.
What she couldn't do was make too much of her fascination with Drew. She couldn't grow any more dependent on him. She couldn't keep fantasizing about the feel of his arms around her, or the feverish press of his lips against hers.
What she couldn't, mustn't, do was fall in love with him.
Knowing she had to remind herself of that fact frightened her more than the prospect of never finding Jonathan at all.
* * *
Drew stuck his finger into the knot of his tie and loosened the cinch from around his neck. The LadyTech building had a suite of guest offices on the second floor, down the hall from the board room. Emma had chosen an office of simple design for him, decorated in charcoal and burgundy, with a streamlined mahogany desk and a lone charcoal-gray sofa in front of the window. What it lacked in creature comforts, it made up for in a clear view of the main parking lot and outbuildings behind the office center. At his request, BJ had loaded the room with hardware.
He sat in front of a computer system with more technology than his namesake, the fictitious Drew Gallagher, could ever dream of using on a case. He ran a search on the names of investors, and sub-searched the names of record on corporate investments. He logged onto the Internet and found a website on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle so he could read up on Holmes's nemesis, James Moriarty, and get a list of characters' names that might be used as aliases for buying stock.
He tapped into LadyTech's personnel records and pulled up Emma's file. He buried the twinge of guilt that ate at him beneath the excuse that Emma had once offered to give him that same information in exchange for the disk with Moriarty's journal.
In a matter of minutes he learned that she'd grown up in the nearby college town of Warrensburg, Missouri. Her father had been a mechanic, though no place of work had been listed. Drew guessed the man either hadn't been able to hold a job because of his drinking, or Emma hadn't wanted to keep any detailed records on him. Her mother was listed as a homemaker. Emma had worked from the age of twelve, when she hired out to clean neighbors' houses. At sixteen, she'd worked as a waitress, and at seventeen, she took the job she'd mentioned at the local hospital.
She'd worked her whole life, it seemed. Drew frowned at the knowledge. She hadn't been allowed to be a kid, to party with her buddies in high school or college. According to her birth record, Em was only thirty-two years old. Yet she carried herself with a maturity far beyond her years.
Drew wished he could fix that for her, give her time off to spend with her daughter. Safeguard her company so she wouldn't have so much responsibility. Find her husband…
He swore beneath his breath. He wanted to be the man to help her, support her, share her burden.
He wanted to love her.
Drew breathed deeply, calling on the wisdom of his sensei to help him relax and accept the truth.
She didn't love him. She couldn't love him.
Emma wouldn't want to think about loving him if she found out he was still snooping into her past, taking advantage of her heart-wrenching situation to help himself find the truth of his own past.
He hit the print button to copy her work history and rose to his feet. He stretched his arms in a wide circle, brought his palms together and lowered them to chest level, centering his energy and searching for a peaceful resolution for his nagging conscience.
Breathing evenly and concentrating on a calming mantra, he heard the door open and close with only a whisper of sound. Without altering his position, he glanced at the menacing hulk who had invited himself inside.
"Maxwell."
He endured the security chief’s wary assessment, like a young wolf tolerates the scrutiny of the pack leader. The big man crossed to the sofa and made himself at home. "I see you found a new way to get into LadyTech."
Drew completed his exercise before opening his eyes and changing his stance. He pushed his rolled-up sleeves past his elbows and sat, mimicking Brodie Maxwell's deceptively relaxed position. "I have Emma's permission."
"I know she hired you. I just came to see that you're doing your job and nothing more. My friends and I promised Jonathan that we'd protect his wife and daughter."
"If you don't believe I have Emma's best interests at heart, why haven't you thrown me out of here?"
An expression resembling a smile changed the landscape of Brodie's face. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and clasped his boxing-glove-sized hands together. "Believe me, I would have already if I had my way. But Emma's very persuasive. She thinks you're onto something."
So Emma had gone to bat for him. Drew hid his surprise--and pleasure—at the admission by rising to his feet and dipping his hands into his pockets. His casual stance was a conscious, superficial show like that of the warrior seated across the room. "So, did you have me checked out?"
Brodie nodded. Drew expected as much, if the man was any good at his job. And Drew suspected that he was very good. "The D.A. says you’re tenacious and smart. That you think like a criminal."
"Is that a good report or a bad one?"
The giant didn't answer. "Here." He pulled a folded sheaf of paper from his pocket and handed it to Drew. "I cross-checked those names you gave Emma from Begosian's phone bill. I concentrated on areas of contact we made with the Chameleon. Everything about him is speculation, mind you. There are no fingerprints or identifying photographs of the man."
"The only one who can identify him is Jonathan Ramsey. I know the story."
Brodie nodded, not revealing his opinion about Emma sharing such information with him. "My unit worked mostly out of the country, but we have traced direct pipelines of arms sales into New Orleans, New York and Detroit. If the Chameleon's alive, it's possible he'd pressure those contacts to reach Emma, without coming into the country himself. That's my story. You bring me up to speed on what you've found out so far."
Drew laid the list of familiar names on the desk and walked to the window, dropping his guard a fraction. Brodie seemed like the kind of man he could work with. Straightforward. Sure of himself. They didn't have to like each other, but they shared a mutual respect. And an interest in Emma.
"James Moriarty is an alias that someone, who I suspect has a lot of money and influence, is using to create several ties to Emma. I've run across the names of at least two of Sherlock Holmes's villains who've bought modest but sizable shares of LadyTech stock."
"If enough front men buy shares, whoever is backing them gains a controlling interest."
Drew slid his gaze to the big man. "I see you're smart, too."
Brodie unfolded his body and turned to stand next to Drew. Side by side, they watched the comings and goings of the employees outside. "It's not the first time someone's tried to get a hold of LadyTech."
The deep, toneless rumble captured Drew's full attention. "Through BJ?"
"Yeah. It's an old story." Brodie's massive chest rose and fell as he dismissed wha
tever unpleasant memory had gripped him. The man wasn't just tough. He cared. A whole hell of a lot, Drew suspected. He'd be an ideal ally. The kind of soldier Drew would want backing him up in a fight. "You think this James Moriarty could be the Chameleon?"
The query didn't surprise Drew. It was the first logical theory that he, too, had come up with. But he'd done his homework. He'd worked over everything he'd seen and heard so far in his mind a dozen times, coming up with a dozen different answers. But the street smarts in his gut told him which answer was the best.
And it wouldn't make him popular at LadyTech.
"You want to know what I think?" He took the risk of trying his idea out on someone else before he presented it to Emma.
"Not especially. But it's polite to ask."
Drew thought about laughing at Brodie's wry comment, but there was nothing humorous in what he was about to say. "I think James Moriarty is your friend Jonathan."
The dead silence in the room put Drew on instant alert. He pulled his hands from his pockets and shifted to the balls of his feet. He braced for the giant's reaction. It was frosty, as he'd expected. "Not funny, Gallagher."
"Put your emotional attachments aside and think for a minute. Moriarty knows too much about Emma and her company to be a total stranger. And the journal on that disk?" He waited for Brodie to look him in the eye. "It begins five years ago, on the island of Tenebrosa. The place where your buddy disappeared."
"Jonathan would never hurt Emma. Or LadyTech."
"The man's been gone five years. People change."
Maxwell moved surprisingly fast for a big man. Before his next breath, he'd hauled Drew up by the collar and pinned him to the wall. "Not Jonathan Ramsey."
Drew didn't struggle, knowing he could never overpower the man’s brute strength. He gasped against the massive forearm pressed to his gullet. "Maybe something happened in that explosion."
Brodie's craggy face filled with an angry hope. "If he could have come home, he would."
"Ease up, Chief." Drew touched two fingers to either side of the larger man's wrist and twisted. Maxwell swore as his arm went limp and Drew freed himself.
Drew put a respectful distance between them and watched Brodie shake his arm, trying to restore feeling to his hand. He had learned that trick the hard way, at the hands of his master. He knew it would take a good ten to fifteen minutes for Brodie to feel the tips of his fingers again. "What did you call me?"
Drew shook his head, not understanding the threat in Brodie's voice. "Chief."
The look in those icy gray eyes made Drew question the term himself. He fought to make the memory happen, but nothing made any sense. He grasped for a rational explanation. "Emma called you the security chief. I guess I picked it up from that."
"I was a chief gunnery sergeant in the Marines," said Brodie. "Everyone called me Chief."
"Small world, hmm?"
Drew held his ground and watched Brodie evaluate his remark. The big man's nod didn't fool Drew into thinking he'd won him over. Brodie walked to the door, still rubbing his wrist. "All right. You take the lead in this investigation. I'll watch your back because Emma asked me to. But I'm calling in some friends of mine. They have connections that might prove useful."
"And you want a second opinion on me."
Brodie's eyes gleamed at Drew's perception. "If any one of them doubts you, too, you're through."
Drew met him at the door, refusing to grant him the upper hand. "Sounds fair." He had bargained long enough. He slipped into an authoritative mode that called for action. "Now here's what I need from you. A round-the-clock monitor on Kerry. If I'm not there, someone else should be."
"Done."
"Good." Drew pulled in a deep breath and smoothed the emotion out of his voice before he made his next request. "Tonight I'm going to Lucky's Bar and Casino to follow up on a hunch I have. I want to rattle a few cages, see if I can force Moriarty to show his hand. Emma thinks she can help. I don't want her there."
He didn't want her in the line of danger if he pushed too hard and things got out of hand.
Brodie nodded, reading his mind. "All three LadyTech women are stubborn. It's best to have them watch each other. I'll put Beej on that one." He opened the door and stepped into the hall. But he stopped and turned, presenting a menacing threat instead of the staunch ally Drew had wanted. "You're wrong about Colonel Ramsey, you know."
Drew tasted bitterness in his mouth as he closed the door after him. "For Emma's sake, I hope I am."
* * *
Drew's headache beat in tiny pinpricks along the base of his skull in torturous precision. Had his mental anguish transformed into physical pain? Since meeting Emma, his nighttime visions had become more frequent. He gave one short laugh at the grim thought that at least he could enjoy some variety to his nightmares now.
No longer limited to a chase and explosion in the jungle, he could now sample other horrific images, other dangers. The soft female voice that echoed in the recesses of his conscious mind kept warning him to think with his heart. What the hell did that mean? The only thing that made sense to him anymore was Emma.
Her sexy voice whispered through his memory even now as he sought respite from the long afternoon. A cup of coffee might be the last thing he needed for his headache, but the walk to the LadyTech break room gave him a chance to stretch his legs and get out of his office.
Dinner and sleep would be a healthier option. But even after a working lunch, Emma was still in meetings with Carlisle, and the list of false stock purchasers had grown longer. He wanted to consult with her, weed out any legitimate names from the list of villains. Test his theory about Moriarty's real identity.
Hell, he just wanted to be with her. To see her sweet smile. To inhale the fresh scent of her hair. To pull the shades in her office and find out whether she had any other erogenous zones as acutely responsive as the soft indentation at her throat.
The prospect of doing the research left a lazy smile on his features, which lingered as he pulled a cup from the dispenser and reached for the coffee.
"My God, she's a tough broad." Wyatt Carlisle and his lawyer sauntered into the break room, sharing a relieved laugh at Emma's expense. "You think there's anything about Consolidated she hasn't asked us? I bet she's a witch in bed. Nah. I bet she's hard on us because she doesn't get it hard anywhere else."
Drew crushed the Styrofoam cup in his fist. He read the letters of the brand name on the glass coffee pot in his right hand, controlling the impulse to break it across Carlisle's face.
So the pudgy CEO was a chauvinistic lowlife. Emma's concerns had been about the legitimacy of his profit margin. She was so damn driven to keep everything legal, honest, and aboveboard. But Drew didn't think Carlisle's business practices needed watching—he wanted to know about the man himself.
Drew schooled his protective temper and decided that a bit of fade-into-the-woodwork listening would be appropriate. Just play the flunky.
He poured himself a cup of fresh coffee and busied himself with cleaning up his mess at the counter, while Wyatt and Daniel Forsythe worked around him. Wyatt took four sugars. Drew averted his face to hide his scowl. So that's how Carlisle got the stomach for all his sweet-talking.
"I think you need to back off a bit, Wyatt," warned Forsythe, pulling out a chair and sitting at the glass-topped table. "Or she won't go for the deal."
"Here ya go." Drew nodded and accepted the wrappers Wyatt handed him to put in the trash. Good, thought Drew. If the bum thinks I'm unimportant, he'll feel free to talk his heart out.
Wyatt picked up a cinnamon roll that had been sitting out since early that morning and sat in a chair across from Forsythe. "I'm not worried, Daniel," he said. "If I'm too nice, she'll get suspicious. She likes playing hardball. If you know what I mean."
"She knows her stuff. She questioned everything we padded."
Wyatt grunted. "She's got too much time on her hands. Now, there's a babe who needs to get laid. Wouldn't you like to
do the Iron Maiden? Just once? Knock the stuffing out of her? I could stand to have those legs wrapped around me." The bile in Drew's stomach turned over with barely contained rage. The idea of that scum touching—the idea that he'd even talk about touching—Emma seared through him with an angry vengeance.
He forced his shoulders to remain relaxed as he glanced over to see Wyatt licking icing off his fingers with a satisfied smile. Forsythe studied his coffee cup, either bored or disgusted with his boss's line of talk.
Fine. So Drew only needed the strength to toss one bastard through the plate-glass window overlooking the garden.
"Wyatt, watch your mouth." Forsythe had looked up from his coffee. Drew turned away and pretended to study the selection of snacks in a vending machine. "LadyTech's big enough to swallow up and spit out Consolidated a dozen times over. You're lucky she's even considering paying top dollar for your company."
Carlisle frowned and tossed his roll on the table. "I don't want to sell. But I wasn't given a choice, and you know it."
Now, there was an interesting tidbit of information. Drew noted Wyatt's forced motivation in his mental log, right next to the notation that said the scumbag should never be allowed to even look at a female, much less mention a lady's name again.
"Wyatt…" For the first time since entering, Drew felt the focus of eyes upon him. But Forsythe was too late in trying to shut up his client.
"If he wasn't paying me good money to do this, I wouldn't have a thing to do with the Iron Maiden."
Drew tossed his coffee cup into the trash and turned. He looked at the half-eaten roll in the middle of the table and shook his head. He gave the lawyer a cursory glance, then stared right at Wyatt Carlisle, memorizing every line in that cheese-puff face. "Gentlemen."
He nodded once and swept out of the room, imagining the silence before Wyatt started chastising his lawyer for warning him off in front of witnesses.
So Carlisle and Consolidated Technologies were just a front for someone else. Emma had suspected something already when she’d studied Consolidated's fourth-quarter profits. Drew climbed the stairs and wondered if his word was good enough for her to stall negotiations on the buyout until he could check out where Carlisle had gotten the money to pad his accounts.