DANGEROUS DECEPTION

by Kylie Brant

  Frowning, she asked, "Who's Dale Cartwright?"

  James looked up. She noticed, with a touch of irritation, that other than heavier-than-normal eyelids, which somehow on him just managed to look sexy, he didn't show any effects of pulling an all-nighter. While she'd spent half the night running a hand through her hair, which was probably even now standing on end, his looked perfectly groomed. Tori was fairly certain her clothes looked as though they'd been worn for a week. He'd shed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, but somehow managed to still look fresh. She decided in that moment that she could hate a man like that.

  "He was my father's partner."

  "What?" Surprise quickly turned to annoyance. "You never told me your father had a partner when he died."

  "He didn't. Although they'd started the business together, my father had bought Dale out three or four years earlier. Why?"

  As an answer, she shoved the paper at him, pointed halfway down the list. "His settlement upon your father's death was almost as large as that of your family's."

  James studied the paper for a moment. "I remember that my father had one on him, as well. It's not uncommon for business partners to take out policies on each other. That way they can afford to buy out the estate's interest in the company after the death. They had a contract drawn up giving each other that right."

  Tori made an attempt to smooth back her hair. "Is he still alive?"

  Nodding, James added the man's name to the list he'd kept of those receiving settlements. "When they parted ways, he started a company of his own, on a much smaller scale. He focused on providing security officers to businesses and gated communities, and didn't do much with technology. He's been retired for about five years or more."

  When she didn't say anything, merely looked at him, his voice grew testy. "He's my godfather, Tori, and a close family friend. I don't know how we would have coped after the accident if he hadn't been there for us."

  Their relationship was an intensely personal one. She understood that. She also understood that it couldn't be allowed to blind them to the possibilities. With as much diplomacy as she could muster, she said, "Let's see what we've got so far."

  After a moment he slid the list he'd made over to her. The largest settlement by far had gone to the surviving children. "Who was the trustee of your estate?"

  "My grandmother. She moved in with us after the accident and still rules the house with a genteel iron fist." Obvious affection laced his tone. "It couldn't have been easy raising a second family, but with the help of the willow tree in the backyard she managed just fine."

  "The willow tree?"

  His expression was wicked. "The branches make pretty slick switches. My brothers were on the wrong end of more than their share of them. Since I was older and much better behaved, I escaped that particular brand of discipline."

  "Humph." She wasn't buying it. "You were probably just sneakier." But he was several years older than any of his siblings. And the death of his parents had probably meant instant adulthood for him.

  Since his grandmother made an unlikely suspect, she moved on to the next name on the list. "Marcus Rappaport, Lucy's husband, received a twenty-five-thousand-dollar settlement upon his wife's death."

  "And he donated most of that to the library. There's a plaque bearing her name in the most recent addition." He shook his head. "Well, I knew it was a long shot. I think this lead was a bust."

  "Maybe." Although she strove for a noncommittal tone, his expression grew instantly wary.

  "What are you suggesting, Tori, that my grandmother had her own son and daughter-in-law bumped off so she could share the joy of raising four young heathens?"

  She refused to rise to the bait. "I'm suggesting that enough money can make people do unforgivable things. And your godfather received a large sum of money after the accident. A policy the size of the one he had on your father would have had a pretty hefty monthly premium. Seems to me after they separated he had quite a few years to relieve himself of that expense. Why didn't he?"

  "I don't know." And it was apparent from his expression that the uncertainty didn't sit well with him. "But if he was out to make a bundle of money, it's doubtful he'd wait for three or four years to do so."

  He might be right. Or Cartwright might have wanted just to deflect any suspicion from him. "Did your father and he part amicably?"

  James jerked a shoulder impatiently. "I was fourteen or fifteen at the time. I barely remember hearing my parents talking about it. Dale was in California when the accident happened, though, I do recall that. He was one of the first people I called. He took a red-eye flight back and was at our place by dawn."

  She didn't point out that being half a continent away made for a very solid alibi. Or that the alibi didn't mean he hadn't ordered someone else to do the dirty work for him. She straightened up the papers before her, bundling them with paper clips. "It's difficult to have suspicion cast on someone you love," she said simply. From his struck expression, she knew her words had found their target. It was a moment before he spoke again.

  "You're right. And we can't allow emotion to cloud our judgment." With deliberate movements he tore the list he'd made off the legal pad and folded it, slipping it into his pocket. "I'll check around. See what I can find out about the details of Dale and my father's separation."

  It was a peace offering of sorts, she supposed. He didn't relish the thought of it any better than she enjoyed him entertaining ideas about her father betraying him. His vow didn't make it any easier to swallow his distrust of her dad. But it did make her like him a bit better.

  She rubbed her face and yawned hugely. "I'm beginning to believe that you run on batteries, but my energy wore out a couple hours ago. Since it looks like we're done here for now, I'm heading home to get some sleep."

  A quick look of concern passed over his face. "You can't drive back to New Orleans now. You'll fall asleep at the wheel."

  "I'll stop for a tall coffee and put Bruce Springsteen on full blast," she promised. But in truth she was dreading the drive. Right now she wanted nothing more than to fall face-first on the nearest horizontal piece of furniture and sleep for ten hours.

  He stood and went to the door, pushed it open and waited for her to precede him into his outer office. She was shocked to see that it was later, or earlier, than she'd assumed. Dawn had come and gone, and the early-morning sun was shining through his office windows.

  "I'll take you to my place."

  She gave a startled laugh. "To the Tremaine estate? You've got to be kidding."

  The expression on his face said he was dead serious. "Be reasonable. You haven't slept in twenty-four hours. You're swaying on your feet as it is."

  The idea of sleeping down the hallway from James Tremaine, or even in the same building, made her blood heat and panic claw in her stomach.

  "Thanks, anyway, but I don't think so. I'll pull over on the road if I get too tired and nap awhile." She would have promised to push the car back to New Orleans if that's what it would take to shake him from this idea.

  "You're staying with me." His tone was final. "I'd never forgive myself if something happened—" His gaze went beyond her, toward the door, and his brows rose. "Don't you knock anymore?"

  Tori turned to follow the direction of his gaze and saw a petite blonde standing in the doorway of the office, head cocked to one side, surveying them. Despite her bright head of hair and diminutive stature, Tori identified her instantly. This would be James's younger sister, Analiese.

  The woman's bright-blue gaze, so like her brother's, was a dead giveaway.

  "Actually, I did knock. You must not have heard me." Despite her brother's unwelcoming tone, or perhaps because of it, she strolled into the room.

  "Ana, I'm in the middle of something here. I'll get back to you in a half hour."

  Ignoring the command in James's tone, the woman approached Tori, stock out her hand. "He really has exquisite manners when he cares to use them. I'm Ana Jones, James
's sister. And you are?"

  "Tori Corbett." Ana's handshake was quick and firm. At five-ten, Tori was never more uncomfortable than when standing next to tiny women like this. She had a brief mental image of herself as a gangling giraffe, neck awkwardly bobbing above a sleek, petite feline. It took a conscious reminder not to slouch, in an effort to shave off a few inches. She was only marginally successful.

  "So." Ana's bright smile didn't hide the speculation in her eyes. "You must have gotten here early. It's barely light out."

  "Ah…" Tori sent a wild glance at James, but he only folded his arms across his chest, an enigmatic expression on his face. "We … ah … had business and, um, worked late."

  Ana's sweeping gaze took in her wrinkled clothes and unkempt hair. "I see." It was apparent that she did see. Too much. And was drawing her own conclusions about it.

  Tori had just opened her mouth to set her straight when James reached out, brushing her cheek as he pushed a strand of hair away from her face. The gesture was indulgent, unfamiliar and shockingly intimate. "I'm afraid I mussed your hair. I'll have to make that up to you. Later." The promise in his voice, in his eyes, fogged her brain and heated her blood. Both made it damn hard to think coherently. And maybe that was his intent, because it left her speechless.

  He shifted his attention to Ana, casually draping his arm around Tori's shoulders. "Out, brat. I'll talk to you later."

  "Oh, you will." Looking pointedly at his arm, she smirked, turned to leave. "You definitely will."

  The door was closed behind her before Tori found her voice. "What the hell was that?" With a violent shrug, she dislodged his arm, took a step back. "She's going to think that we're … that we…"

  "Yes." His face was coolly amused as he listened to her stutter. "She is. Ana has always displayed too much interest in my personal life. And she has an unfortunate habit of making her opinions on it known. She's also an incurable romantic. With very little effort we can have her thinking we're sleeping together."

  Although she'd been mentally heading toward that conclusion herself, hearing him utter it was like taking a fast jab to the solar plexus. Needing a little distance, she turned, put a chair between them before facing him again, her hands clutching its back. "She may be a romantic, but she doesn't look stupid. I'm hardly your type."

  He rolled his sleeves down his arms and fastened the cuffs, while watching her calmly. "And what type is that?"

  "I don't know." She jerked a shoulder, reached for a sliver of coherence. "Tall, glamorous and empty-headed. The kind to fill her days doing good works and her nights doing you."

  His mouth twitched, once, before he firmed it.

  "You're tall," he pointed out. "And from what I can tell, you do good work."

  She looked at him suspiciously, but if that last was meant to be an innuendo, she couldn't tell from the bland expression on his face. "You know what I mean. There's no way she's going to buy that, and why would you want her to? What's the point?"

  "Think about it. I'll admit I hadn't given it a great deal of thought until she barged in here—another unfortunate habit of hers—and found us together. But this can suit our purposes exactly." He went to a low cabinet behind his desk and opened it, revealing a minifridge. Withdrawing two bottles of water, he returned, handed her one. "We're going to need a reason for us to be together all the time. Letting people think we're seeing each other fills that need admirably."

  "No," she told him succinctly. "It doesn't. It makes me look like a sap. You can just tell her—tell everybody—that I'm a … consultant, or something. We're consulting on a new project."

  James sat on the arm of the chair whose back she was still clutching with white-knuckled desperation. "Since people around here are very aware of all of our projects, that explanation won't wash. My idea, on the other hand, gets you in to every event I attend with no questions asked. The Technology Expo is in three days. Simon Beal will be there, as will every other major and minor player in the business. I assumed you'd want to attend, as well, but maybe I was wrong." He twisted off the cap of his bottle, took a drink.

  His words stopped her, but only for a minute. "I can get a fake press pass. That'd give me a better motive for moving around and conversing with the participants, anyway."

  He nodded, as if her idea made sense. Taking another long pull from his bottle, he lowered it to inquire, "And how will you explain that to my sister? Especially after telling her we were in here 'consulting' all night?"

  Tori opened her mouth, snapped it shut. The man was never more annoying, she decided, than when he was right. "I'll think of something." Because there was no chance she was going to miss the opportunity to talk to Beal and several of James's other competitors. She wanted to make her own observations; draw her own conclusions. She didn't fool herself into thinking that James had given up suspecting her dad of betraying him. Whoever was behind these notes could probably point them to the truth of the matter, and in doing so, clear her dad's name. That had become almost as important to her as making sure the anonymous sender didn't make good on his threats against James's life.

  "The expo's by invitation only," James informed her. There was a wicked glint in his eye that warned of a man accustomed to getting his own way. "Security's pretty tight."

  A sudden suspicion occurred to her. "Just who puts on the expo anyway?"

  "This particular one happens to be sponsored by Tremaine Technologies."

  A sense of resignation filled her, but she wasn't about to give up so easily. "I'm going home to grab a few hours' sleep and I'll call you later, when I'm thinking more clearly."

  He went to his desk, pressed a button and leaned closer to the intercom to say, "Tucker, grab someone and come to my office, will you please?" Straightening, he corrected, "I'll have someone drive you home since you refuse to stay. Sleep's a good idea. I'll pick you up at six."

  Tori had the sensation of being on a rapidly sinking ship. "That won't be necessary." Surely it was sleep deprivation that wiped her mind completely clean of even one logical argument. "I'll call you when I've come up with a plan. There's a better way to work this out. You'll see."

  A knock sounded on James's door and he nodded agreeably. "You're right. I think this is going to work out admirably." And then he was guiding her out the door, handing her over to the two polite young men standing outside it and giving orders to have them drive her back to New Orleans. But as she was being led away she was fully aware that he hadn't given up. And she needed to come up with one heck of a strategy to avoid playing along with the deception he had contrived.

  Because even pretending to be involved with James Tremaine was too dangerous to her state of mind to consider.

  "Funny, with your background in technology, that you should be so averse to using a device as simple as a telephone."

  James grinned at Tori's caustic tone and held up the cartons he'd picked up from a nearby Chinese restaurant. "I brought a peace offering. Are you going to refuse to let me in?"

  For a moment he thought she was going to do just that. Then her gaze lingered on the cartons for long enough to ease his mind. Unlatching the screen door, she swung it open. "Don't think you're going to get your own way by buying me Chinese, Tremaine. I have higher standards than that."

  "I wouldn't dream of it. Not when I know that all it takes to buy you is Hornets tickets, courtside. But I thought our discussion would be more fruitful on full stomachs." Walking past her, he went to her kitchen and set the cartons on the table. Opening up her cupboards and drawers until he found plates and silverware, he set the table with swift movements. He looked up then, found her standing in the doorway contemplating him. James couldn't say exactly why he found her wary expression so appealing. He pulled out a chair, indicated for her to sit.

  When she'd done so, albeit slowly, he began opening cartons, deftly spooning food onto her plate. "Did you get some sleep?"

  She grabbed his hand before he could make the mound on her plate any higher. "Yes. A
nd I've been feeding myself for a few years now. I think I can manage."

  Circling the table, he sat opposite her and reached for the cartons. "I'm sure that brain of yours has been clicking away all afternoon. Let's hear what you've come up with."

  Picking up a fork, she began digging into the food on her plate with obvious appetite. "You'll have to put your male ego on hold for this idea, but give it a chance. I think we can introduce me as your personal bodyguard."

  The food he was attempting to swallow abruptly threatened to choke him. It took several moments before he could manage. "I'm assuming you're skilled in that area."

  "I am, yes. And you said your company was expanding in that field, so it seems a logical explanation."

  He pretended to consider it, and to keep his mind firmly away from the more personal implications of the term. "Of course, Jones is in charge of that department, so my hiring you would be difficult to explain." A hint of amusement entered his voice. "Is it really more appealing to pretend to be employed to lay down your life for mine, rather than to date me?"

  Her gaze firmly on her food, she said shortly, "Your idea has complication written all over it."

  Although true enough, that wasn't precisely the term he'd use. Enticing came to mind. Tempting. And that, he thought, a slight frown forming, was exactly what made this sticky. "We need a pretense that would have you accompanying me to both social and family events. The week after the expo is my brother Sam's engagement party. Family and friends will be in and out of our lake home for the entire weekend." He waited a moment, before adding meaningfully, "Including Dale Cartwright."

  Judging from the sudden look of interest on her face, he'd gained her attention. "It doesn't matter whether I call you my personal assistant, a consultant or a bodyguard. Once we're seen together more than once everyone is going to assume the term is a euphemism for lover."

  Now it was she who seemed to have trouble with choking. He rose and helpfully thumped her back. Waving him off, she said, her voice strangled, "Are you telling me that people assume you're sleeping with any woman you appear with?"