Heat of the Moment
Autore
Lori Herter
Letto da
18,0K
Capitoli
10
1
THE FLOOR VIBRATED and the water in the glasses on the table rippled. Josie Gray paused, alert. “Is that…?”
“Oh, my God!” Ronnie exclaimed. “Should we duck under the table?”
Josie looked out the window of Delmonico’s restaurant and saw a huge truck rumbling by. “Relax. It’s only that big semi going by outside.” She laughed. “I could have sworn it was at least a 3.5.”
“Well, if it fooled you, the expert, I don’t feel so bad,” Ronnie said, still looking shaken as she ran her hand through her multihued blond bangs. “Quakes scare the bejeebers out of me!”
“Me, too.” Josie smoothed back her own dark brown hair, pushing in stray ends that had fallen out of the twist at the back of her head.
“Oh, come on. You love them! You went all the way to Turkey—by yourself—to study one!”
“It was for my dissertation,” Josie replied. “I don’t love them. Who would? You think I’m waiting with bated breath for the Big One?” Josie grew somber. “That’s why I liked my job.” The small company she and Ronnie both worked for researched ways to retrofit old bridges and buildings to make them earthquake-proof.
Ronnie, who worked in payroll at Earthwaves and had no scientific background, seemed to rethink her statement. “I just meant that you know so much about earthquakes, you take an interest in them. While the rest of us panic and scramble for the nearest table or bed to hide under, you’re running to look at the seismograph. You’re brave!”
“Nothing wrong with hiding under a heavy piece of furniture. That’s exactly what you should do.”
As she reassured her longtime friend and co-worker, Josie couldn’t help but feel sheepish at being called brave. Ronnie Pulaski was afraid of earthquakes—a perfectly normal fear. Josie was wary of men…and sex. Earthquakes could be measured, quantified, perhaps one day even predicted. Men, on the other hand, were disastrously unpredictable.
But that didn’t seem to bother Ronnie. Tall, blue-eyed, twenty-seven and single, she always had a date for the weekend and often juggled more than one man at a time. In her circle of friends, she was affectionately known as Ronnie the Hottie, a name she enjoyed. Her sex life was active, but seldom complicated. When she wasn’t at the office, she dressed in whatever showed off her long legs, her belly button, or her cleavage—or all three attributes at once. She’d taken to the modern dating scene like peanut butter took to jelly.
In that respect, Ronnie was Josie’s opposite, but the two had formed a fast friendship despite their different lifestyles. They’d felt an instant rapport when they’d met at Earthwaves, and it had come as a surprise that their attitudes toward men were completely opposing. Josie often wished she could be more like Ronnie, but a certain man years ago had forever altered Josie’s old romantic image of the male of the species.
More recently, she’d held the expectation that her employer would behave in a morally upstanding manner, but she’d been disillusioned on that score, too. It seemed she had a tendency to place too much trust in the goodness of other human beings, especially the male ones. Now that she was pushing thirty, she needed to wise up and learn to be a better judge of people.
Ronnie looked worried. “Wait, you said that’s why you liked your job at Earthwaves. Past tense? You aren’t following through on your crazy notion of leaving, are you?”
Josie swallowed. “Yes.”
“Josie—”
“Ethically, I have no choice, Ronnie. Promise me you won’t say anything. It’s best for you if Lansdowne doesn’t know I told you.” Martin Lansdowne, their boss, ran Earthwaves like a small-time tyrant. A control freak, he’d recently had his dog put to sleep because he couldn’t train it to stop barking. Josie had heard this from Lansdowne himself, but she’d decided not to tell Ronnie, knowing how much her friend loved animals.
“But Josie, you shouldn’t make such a big decision on the basis of a rumor. This talk that Lansdowne hacked into our competitor’s computer system—how do you know it’s true?”
Ronnie’s dismissal of the information as a mere rumor didn’t surprise Josie. An easygoing, trusting person who had never had her illusions shattered as Josie had, Ronnie tended to hear and see no evil.
“Two days ago I saw the evidence for myself, Ronnie. By accident I found the downloaded files from Frameworks Systems. If Lansdowne is unethical enough to do that, it’s not such a stretch to think he may have been responsible for Peter Brennan’s accident.”
Peter Brennan was the managing partner and the driving force behind the small but enterprising Frameworks Systems. Martin Lansdowne viewed Brennan’s company as Earthwaves’ main competitor. Both companies were engaged in a frantic race to perfect a new method of retrofitting structures. Whoever got their system on the market first would rake in millions of dollars. California had no shortage of aging freeway overpasses, or earthquakes.
Ronnie rubbed her forehead. “Even if someone from our company broke in and sabotaged the overpass structure on Frameworks’ back lot, maybe it was just so it would mess up their testing and put them behind schedule. It doesn’t mean it was a murder attempt.”
Josie knew there was no proof of her suspicion. But under the circumstances she simply could not in good conscience continue working for Martin Lansdowne. In fact, she wondered how she could have worked for him for so long and not have recognized his underhanded character until now. “My mind is made up, Ronnie. I can’t sleep at night. I have no choice but to leave.”
Shaking her head in dismay, Ronnie seemed at a loss for words. “But…what’ll you do? The people at Earthwaves are your whole life. You don’t socialize much, despite my best efforts to get you out and circulating. You’ll be all alone.”
“You and I can still be friends. We can meet often for lunch or dinner. With you in payroll and me in Research and Development, we didn’t see each other at the office all that much anyway. And I have my family and some old friends.”
“Your family is on the East Coast.”
“I can telephone them anytime.”
Ronnie sighed. “You practically live like a nun as it is. I worry about you. You turn down attractive men who ask you out. You won’t let me fix you up with guys I know. If I throw a party, I have to plead with you to come. You prefer to sit home and read National Geographic. You have no life! And now you’re going to quit a job that provides your only social outlet.”
Josie’s chin rose. “Excuse me, but I’m happy with my life. I’m productive, I’m competent, working in a field I love, doing what I can to make the world a safer place. Just because I don’t date much or have wild sex while swinging from chandeliers doesn’t mean I’m…unfulfilled, or…whatever.” Josie’s protests began to sound hollow even to her own ears.
“Never mind wild sex. You don’t have any sex at all, as far as I can tell.”
Josie felt edgy, remembering a night seven years ago. When she was twenty-two, a bookish and virginal college senior aspiring to graduate summa cum laude, she began to realize there was more to life than studying for her career in science. All her dorm friends had boyfriends, and she realized that in her social life, she was lagging way behind. Not wanting to be left out of the dorm sex talk any longer, she took a look around.
She noticed Max Garner, an athletic blond hunk with chiseled features and a regal manner in one of her chemistry classes. He also noticed her, and a subtle flirtation began. She’d been happy when he asked her out, and they dated steadily for a few months. He wasn’t exactly her warm and witty ideal, but she told herself such a man probably didn’t exist anyway. She began to think maybe she was falling in love with Max. When he asked her to spend a night with him, she decided it was high time she discovered what sex was all about.
But the beautiful first experience she’d anticipated and prepared for had turned into a trauma. If that was what men were like during intercourse, she didn’t want any more of it.
Maybe she just didn’t know how to choose the right kind of guy, or maybe there was something about her that brought out the worst in men. She still didn’t know. At the time, Josie had confided in a few of her college girlfriends and her mother, and they all had told her the same thing—that she hadn’t done anything wrong. The way Max had treated her was in no way her fault.
Josie understood that was how she ought to look at it, but she still couldn’t quite believe it in her heart. The horrific experience caused her to suppress whatever tattered sexual desire remained in her, and she chose to marry herself to a career in science.
Josie shooed away the dark cloud in her soul and assumed a breezy tone. “I’ve told you, Ronnie, I had a really bad experience. I was never a highly sexed person, anyway. I’ve dedicated myself to science and I’m just not interested in a love life. I honestly feel I was meant to be a single person.”
Ronnie dug her fingers into her tousled hair. “But people need sex. It’s necessary for health and happiness.”
Josie rolled her eyes. “You read Cosmo too much.”
“Josie, sex is a normal part of life. A big part of life. And you’re ignoring it, blocking it out.”
In moments when Josie was brutally truthful with herself, she admitted that her lifestyle was highly unusual for a healthy not-yet-thirty-year-old woman. But she felt she had to maintain a front with Ronnie the Hottie. “For your information, I’m not blocking anything. I have a rich inner life.”
Ronnie scrunched her blond eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
“It means I can imagine the perfect man—anytime I want. I don’t have to hang out in singles’ bars looking for him. Fantasy is safer and more beautiful than any real-life relationship could be.”
“Really?” Ronnie sounded as if she knew better. “What about orgasms?”
Josie glanced at nearby tables. “Do you have to use the O word in a crowded restaurant? And you know darn well a man doesn’t have to be present to get that to happen.” Actually, Josie didn’t resort to the do-it-yourself method. Her libido seemed to have died a peaceful death years ago. But she didn’t want Ronnie to know that sexually, she felt numb inside. That wasn’t anyone’s business, not even her best friend’s.
Ronnie heaved a long sigh, as if giving up.
“I wish you would believe me,” Josie insisted. “I’m happy!”
“I wish I could believe you, too.” Ronnie pushed away her empty wineglass. “So, when exactly are you leaving Earthwaves?”
“I already have. I cleaned out my desk and left my resignation letter in Lansdowne’s box before I left the plant today.”
Ronnie sadly shook her head. “What will you do now? Get another job?”
“I have some savings. I think I’ll take some time off, then go job hunting. The main thing I want to do right now is see Peter Brennan.”
“Peter Brennan! Why?”
“I just feel it’s my moral obligation. He’s in a wheelchair, might be in one the rest of his life. I worked for the company that may have arranged his ‘accident,’ and I need to get that off my chest. Otherwise I’ll always feel guilty that I stood by and kept information about Earthwaves’ underhanded tactics to myself. There are things Peter Brennan has a right to know.”
Ronnie’s eyes had grown wide. “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”
“Very sure,” Josie said gravely. “You have to promise not to breathe a word of this to anyone at Earthwaves. I know I can trust you.”
“Of course,” Ronnie said, nodding. “But be careful.”
PETER BRENNAN hung up the phone after a jovial ten-minute conversation with Gary Lindsey, an old friend and one of Frameworks Systems’ private investors. Gary had called to ask how Peter’s recovery was progressing. Every now and then some friend called him, which kept Peter from feeling lonely.
As he sat near the front window on the second floor of his home, he went back to work sorting through some old files brought over from the office. Getting to the office while confined to a wheelchair was time-consuming and difficult. So he mostly worked at home. Thankfully, his home lab was now fully equipped.
Whoever had loosened the railing on the overpass structure on the company’s back lot hadn’t managed to kill Peter, if that was their aim. But they had managed to completely alter his life and put Frameworks Systems behind schedule. Now his two main concerns were keeping his company on track and protecting himself from a possible second attempt on his life. Whoever was after him might want to finish the job. Industrial espionage was an ugly thing—and in this case, potentially deadly.
While looking through the pile of old reports, formulas, diagrams and test results, he came across a business magazine that featured a cover article about his competitor, Martin Lansdowne, the owner of Earthwaves. The article was written five years ago and included a cover photo of Lansdowne. Peter studied the balding, middle-aged man with eyes the color of coal who wore a smug smile. Had Lansdowne sent someone in the dark of night to sabotage the test structure? Peter had climbed to the top of it, then fallen thirty feet to the pavement below when the railing gave way. He’d suffered multiple broken bones and couldn’t feel his legs when the ambulance came. Fortunately, his future wasn’t quite as bleak as he’d feared in those numb minutes when the sirens were blaring as they rushed him to the emergency room.
Still, circumstances now caused him to live like a recluse in his own home, and his life seemed to have been put on hold. Divorced for seven years, Peter had finally begun to think about finding a new wife and starting a family. He was thirty-four and growing increasingly aware that time was passing by. Born in Boston, he came from a big Irish-American family. His parents had moved their branch of the family to Orange County, California when he was twelve. His two sisters already had children and he wanted to continue the clan tradition, with kids of his own to play with his nieces and nephews at family gatherings.
He’d been hopeful about a new relationship he’d begun with a vivacious redhead he’d met at a party. They’d hit it off, the sex was good, and he’d thought that maybe this time true love was on its way. But after his accident, she’d visited him once during his lengthy stay in the hospital, and then he’d never seen her again. Peter sensed she just couldn’t handle the thought of continuing a relationship with a man who had suddenly become an invalid. He told himself it was a good thing he’d found out that she wouldn’t be there for better or worse. And he had to acknowledge that he didn’t really love her anyway. He’d grown so tired of the bachelor life, every attractive single woman he met began to look like wife material. Sad to admit, but he’d always been a sucker for a pretty face and a luscious body.
Peter pushed the papers on his desk to one side and leaned toward the window, feeling irritable. Now that he had to live like a prisoner in his own home, he knew he’d better get used to a solitary life. Just as well, he supposed. He didn’t have much of a track record when it came to choosing women—his divorce had taught him nothing, it seemed.
That thought became all the more dour as his eyes followed the movements of a young woman in the narrow residential street outside his house. She’d gotten out of her green Volkswagen, had a scrap of paper in her hand, and was walking up the street. Looking at addresses, he assumed. Since he’d had the house numbers removed from his premises, a precaution after his accident, he knew she had to walk next door to read the number there.
She wore a long, bland skirt of a color he couldn’t even identify, and a loose, long-sleeved white sweater over that. Her dark hair shone in the sunshine, but the length of it was drawn up into a knot at the back of her head. While she certainly didn’t dress like a sex kitten, she nevertheless appeared to be quite slender, and her breasts molded her shapeless sweater into tantalizing hints of lush curves. He couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her graceful way of moving. Her walk had a sweet, smooth sway, almost a floating quality. Ultrafeminine. The subtle undulation of her hips hinted at a sublime sensuality buried beneath the drab clothes. His mouth began to water.
Peter continued to watch, pleasantly hypnotized, as she tilted her head and stretched her slim, swanlike neck to read the house number next door. Immediately she turned and began to head back the other way. He wished he could run down and offer to help her with directions, but that was out of the question.
As he observed her, fascinated by her elusive femininity, a phrase from an old song popped into his mind. And fondly I watched her move here and move there. It must have been one of the songs his great-grandfather, an Irish immigrant with a lilting accent and a fine tenor voice, used to sing at family gatherings. Great-Grandpa Patrick Brennan, the family patriarch with his full head of white hair and ruddy face, had died in Boston at a ripe old age when Peter was eleven, the year before Peter’s parents decided to move to California. Peter still remembered some of the songs the old man loved to sing. He couldn’t remember the name of this particular song, or the rest of the words. Just that snatch of lyric, and a vague recollection of the slow and haunting melody. He hadn’t heard it in decades. It was just one of those sentimental old-fashioned ditties—why had he thought of it now?
The diverting mystery of the song faded as he realized the woman on the sidewalk below was eyeing the new security buzzer and speakerphone installed at the outer gate of his enclosed front yard. She approached it hesitantly, turning to look again at the house. Her eyes rose to the second-story window. As he watched her through the slats of the Venetian blinds, he backed away, though he felt fairly certain she couldn’t see him, not with the sun shining on the window. Caution changed to suspicion now. His fanciful image of her as a strolling, sensual dream girl vanished. She’d raised one small hand, finger pointed, and was about to ring his bell.
The threat of intrusion made Peter’s shoulders tense. Exactly who was she, and what did she want? A reporter? A policewoman? An accomplice to whomever had tried to kill him? Should he answer on the speakerphone, or just ignore his doorbell when it rang?
Ignoring a beautiful woman wasn’t something Peter had ever been inclined to do. Play it safe, he told himself. Pretend you’re not home. Keep her a fantasy—real women mostly bring trouble.
JOSIE RANG THE BELL near the outer gate of the two-story, Spanish-tiled home.
There was no response. She rang it again. And then a third time.
At last, a tinny male voice came through the speaker, marred by static. “Yes?”
She raised her voice as she talked into the metal speaker. “I’m here to see Peter Brennan, please.”
“Who are you?” The response was gruff, threatening.
Josie made an effort to sound equally imposing. “I’m Josie Gray. From Earthwaves.”
“Why do you want to see Peter Brennan?”
“I’ve come to tell him what I know.”
There was a pause. “Who did you say you are again? You work for Earthwaves?”
“Not anymore. I quit yesterday. For ethical reasons. My name’s Josie Gray, spelled G-R-A-Y.” Anxiety made her feel as if she couldn’t catch her breath. But she had to do what was right, or she’d lose even more sleep than she had already. “I want to tell Mr. Brennan about…about some things I found out, that may be connected with what happened to him.”
“What happened to him?” The male voice sounded dubious, suspicious.
She hesitated, then asked, “Are you Peter Brennan?”
“Yes.”
Josie understood his wariness. She looked up and down the narrow street which wound its way up a hill in the Lemon Heights residential area of Orange County. No one seemed to have followed her. No one appeared to be lurking, or observing her, that she could see. “It’s about your accident.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Step back from the gate, into the street, so I can get a better look at you.”
Josie walked about twenty yards until she was standing in the middle of the empty street. She faced the house, wondering how he could see her except from the second floor, because of the trees and foliage behind the fence in the front yard. Perhaps he’d installed a chairlift on a stairway to go up and down. Newspaper photographs had shown him in a wheelchair as he left the hospital, pushed by Al Mooney, his longtime partner. The paper had said it was unlikely Peter Brennan would ever walk again.
She heard his voice from the speaker and ran up to it. “Would you repeat that? I couldn’t hear.”
“Open the gate when the buzzer sounds.”
“Okay!” She felt relief at his apparent willingness to see her.
Though expected, the loud buzzer made her jump. She opened the heavy iron gate, closed it carefully behind her, then walked up the sidewalk. The front yard was beautifully kept, with azaleas beginning to bloom and tall juniper trees bordering the ironwork fence. No doubt he had a gardener.
Josie walked up tiled steps to the front door and knocked. In a few moments, the door opened. She could see wheels and feet, and then he swung into full view around the open door.
As soon as Josie saw him, her heart went out to him. Sandy-haired, Peter was undeniably handsome. The rolled-up sleeves of his blue shirt revealed appealingly broad shoulders and muscular forearms. But his athletic upper torso contrasted with the devastating sight of his legs, which rested inertly on the foot supports of the wheelchair. She wondered if he might even be paralyzed from the waist down.
Peter gave her a sharp look, his green eyes formidable and discerning. He’d caught her peering down at his legs and the wheelchair, she supposed, and he didn’t like anyone feeling sorry for him.
She made the effort to meet his gaze. “May I come in?”
Now he sized her up and down as she stood on his doorstep. His eyes were cold, calm, appraising, and he didn’t blink. She felt as if he could look through her, and goose bumps rose along her arms.
“You have any identification?” His low voice cut the silence between them. “Proof that you worked for Earthwaves?”
Anticipating this, she opened her handbag and pulled out her driver’s license, her last paycheck, still not cashed, and a company photograph of the employees gathered beneath the Earthwaves sign over the door of the plant. “I’m second from the left in the front row,” she said, handing it to him. “That was taken three years ago. I’m standing with my lab partners from Research and Development.”
He eyed the photo, then took a look at her. After examining the check and license, he handed all the items back to her. “Come on in.”
He wheeled himself backward a bit, so she could pass easily. To save him the trouble, she closed the front door herself. But when she looked at him again, she thought she saw a hint of amusement in his eyes.
“I’m not completely helpless. I can get around my own house.”
Josie felt color rise to her face. “S-sorry.” She hadn’t meant to embarrass him.
He nodded. “I’ve found that people either back away or are overly helpful to a person in a wheelchair. Your reaction is about average. Come into the living room.”
She walked alongside him into the spacious tan-and-hunter-green room, trying to regain some poise. As she glanced around at the imposing, mahogany bookcases that lined the walls, the deep leather couch and chairs, the rough-hewn tiled floor and large Morrocan rug in the center of the room, she realized she had entered an extremely male sanctuary. She felt uncomfortable, vulnerable.
He motioned toward the leather couch. The rich, camel-hued leather creaked as she sank down into its depth. He stopped his wheelchair in front of her. Hands trembling, Josie smoothed back the wisps of hair she was sure had slipped from the large butterfly clip that held her long tresses in a twisted knot at the top of her head.
When she found him closely observing her preening, she stopped. “Thank you for seeing me. I tried to call first, but your phone number had been changed.”
Peter’s eyes darkened. “How did you know my address and phone number?”
“It was easy,” she said. “Earthwaves hacked into your company’s computer system. Before I left, I copied down the information.”
He leaned back a bit in his chair, but his eyes honed in on her face. “We knew our system had been compromised. Couldn’t figure out who. Why are you confessing now?”
His cool, steady, unblinking eyes unnerved her. She didn’t like it when men looked at her so directly. Male eyes focused on her set off alarms in her nervous system. And Peter Brennan was thoroughly male. There were those broad shoulders. And he had large hands and long fingers. Though he was clean-shaven, she couldn’t help but notice the roots of his beard that shadowed his square jaw below his smooth cheeks. He might be in a wheelchair, but he certainly didn’t look sickly.
“I’m not a computer expert,” she told him. “It wasn’t me who did the hacking. But three days ago I came across some information Earthwaves had to have pulled from your system months ago. I know Martin Lansdowne is extremely competitive, but I never thought he’d go so far as to try to steal your company’s methods.”
“Go on.”
She wished he would just stop looking at her. He was too masculine, too handsome. And she was too alone with him, on his territory. He was in control of the situation, not she, and that was all it took to make her extremely wary. As her heart began to pound, she wished she could get over the gnawing physical anxiety she felt. “So,” she continued, fighting to appear calm, “I began to think about your accident—and to wonder if it really was an accident. I recalled that the newspapers said the structure you fell from may have been sabotaged. But nothing further was ever said about it, that I know of.”
“And if it was sabotaged,” he said in a cool drawl, “who is it you’re suspecting? Lansdowne?”
She bowed her head and chewed her lip a moment, knowing she should be careful about accusing anyone when she had no firm evidence. When she looked up at Peter to reply, she found his eyes focused on her mouth. Quickly, his eyes met hers again, straight on, a curious light in their depths. Josie wondered what he was thinking about. She’d come as a messenger, not as a woman for him to admire. She’d prefer gruff over flirtatious.
Oh, God, did he admire her? The thought made her unable to breathe for a moment. She hadn’t expected this. And then it dawned on her that she didn’t need to be quite so wary of this particular man, as he couldn’t walk.
Lowering her eyes again because she suddenly couldn’t look at him, she began to smooth a crease in her khaki-colored, ankle-length linen skirt. “I don’t think Martin would have sneaked onto your company’s back lot, climbed the test structure and sabotaged it himself. But he might have hired someone to do it.”
“So you’re saying he hired someone to kill me?”
Josie swallowed, folding her hands tightly in her lap. “That’s my supposition, yes.” She dared to look up at him again. “Do you think your fall was an accident?”
His eyes were moving back and forth across her face. He didn’t answer.
Josie grew confused. Had she been reading too much into her former employer’s motives? Were the news reports of possible sabotage in error? “What happened exactly, when you fell?”
Peter swiped the knuckle of his forefinger across one flared nostril. Her eyes wandered to his firm mouth. There was a sensual quality to his features that transfixed her.
Sensual. That was a word that seldom crossed her mind. Why now? The thought, the word, disconcerted her. Her libido was dead—or so she’d thought.
“…late after work to inspect the old overpass and pillars we’d brought in to use for testing.”
She realized he was talking, and she pulled her errant mind back from the netherworld it had strayed to. “Were you alone?” Her voice wobbled a bit.
“Yes, alone. Well, Al Mooney, my partner, was inside the building. He’s a lab junkie, always working late. But no one else was around. We were planning to use one of the pillars to test our revised retrofit method the next day. I climbed the ladder to the top. When I leaned over the cement railing to look down, it gave way. I fell to the ground. Al found me a half hour later and called 911.”
“The fall could have killed you.” Her voice grew hushed. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“I know.”
“Do you think the structure was sabotaged, or just old and crumbling?”
He paused only a moment. “Sabotaged. I suspected it, and investigators confirmed it. There were tool marks in the cement. I saw to it that the confirmation of sabotage wasn’t published in the media.”
“So then you do believe that someone tried to kill you?”
“Others on my staff occasionally climb the structure.” Peter scratched his cheek. “How would anyone at Earthwaves have known I would be the one to climb it that day?”
Josie shrugged, acknowledging he’d raised a good question. “All I know is that when Martin read about your fall in the newspaper, he laughed. I was there. It still gives me chills, remembering. It was at that moment I began to distrust him.”
Peter tilted his head. “My accident was five months ago. You took your time leaving.”
Josie felt defensive, then quickly realized he had a right to remain suspicious of her. She supposed he might even be thinking she’d been sent there by Earthwaves to spy on him, that leaving the company was her cover story.
“Yes, I did,” she told him forthrightly. “It was a huge decision for me. I’ve been working for Earthwaves ever since graduating from college. I’m twenty-nine, so that’s seven years of my life I devoted to that company. They even paid for my postgraduate education in chemistry and seismology. Martin invested a lot in me, and I believe in loyalty.”
She went back to smoothing the wrinkles in her skirt. Her hands were cold and clammy. “Besides that, I had no proof. But when I found out early this week that Earthwaves had hacked into Frameworks Systems’ computers, I connected it with Martin’s reaction to your fall. Martin has always had a terrible temper. I’ve begun to fear he may be mentally unbalanced. My conscience couldn’t take it anymore. Physically, I couldn’t deal with the anxiety. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in ages.”
Josie stopped running her hands over her skirt and leaned back into the couch. “The clear evidence of hacking was the last straw. I wonder how Martin reacted when he found my resignation letter. I didn’t even give two weeks’ notice.”
She looked at Peter, wondering if he believed her now. Every word she’d told him was true, and she wanted him to believe her so she could feel she’d accomplished something in coming here. She was growing anxious to leave. Peter made her feel far too vulnerable, too female, unsafe in her own skin.
PETER STUDIED JOSIE, still measuring her, weighing her story, perhaps a little less suspiciously than before. But he warned himself not to be taken in. She had a beautiful face, even without makeup. He’d never met a woman who didn’t even wear lipstick. Her face was lovely, open, honest—especially her lustrous, vulnerable, brown eyes. Her high, breathless voice caressed his ears and made him go soft inside. This wasn’t good. He reminded himself to beware—this was no time to be a sucker.
“If you think he may have tried to have me killed, then your life may be in danger, too. You’ve betrayed him. You’re a turncoat, a female Benedict Arnold, coming here to me.” He kept his eyes on her to closely observe her reaction.
She stared at him, speechless at first. “I—I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t think he’s into vengeance. Competition, winning at all costs, that’s what motivates him. But he will be angry with me—if he finds out.”
“You’re a good-hearted person.” He leaned forward to touch her knee with his fingertips in a brief gesture of appreciation. “I hope that in reaching out to me you haven’t brought trouble onto yourself.”
Josie blinked as if startled by the gesture, then wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Peter felt a pleasant twist deep in his abdomen. But then her breathing grew shallow, even a bit shaky, and he became concerned. Still, she continued talking, and he began to see a certain heroism shining through her nervous demeanor.
“I only wanted to make amends for my part, however innocent, in what my company has done to you, and to Frameworks Systems. I just didn’t want to feel responsible and guilty anymore.” Her hand was trembling as she ran her fingertips over her mouth.
All at once, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she insisted, though she looked and sounded distracted.
Peter wheeled forward at an angle until one knee was almost touching hers. Reaching, he took one of her hands in his. She pulled it away. Feeling her cold fingers, he reached again. “Your hand is like ice.” He took her other hand and held both between his, rubbing warmth into them. She clenched her jaw, as if to fight or hide her reaction. Her hands were half the size of his: small, slender and so cold. Just holding them between his made him feel strong and protective.
“You’re safe. I won’t tell anyone you came here,” he assured her. “And so far, all we have is a theory. We don’t know if it was Lansdowne or someone else who sabotaged the structure. There’s a gang in that neighborhood. My partner, Al, thought they might have done it. One night he saw them hanging around our lab after dark, when he left to go home. He yelled at them, threatened to call police. The next day we found graffiti on our outside walls.”
He brought her hands forward, resting them on the blanket over his knee, as he continued to massage them. “So there’s no reason for you to be scared. I’m sorry I put the idea in your mind.”
Josie seemed to only half hear what he was saying. Staring at her hands, held snugly within his, she looked a bit dazed. Her fingers had grown limp and pliable, like the hands of someone who was unconscious. Peter didn’t know what to make of it. Was she still frightened, thinking about Lansdowne? He began to wonder if her reaction might be due to something else altogether. Was she hypnotized by his touch? Did she like the way he was massaging warmth into her fingers? Was she not used to anyone holding her hands? Perhaps she didn’t know how to be comforted—or maybe she thought he was coming on to her and didn’t know how to respond.
Slowly, so as not to startle her, he took her hands and placed them softly on her lap, then gingerly let go. “Are you all right?”
Josie raised her face to his. She seemed to wake up, and sat up straight. “Yes.”
“I was holding your hands to try to make you feel less anxious. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m…stuck in this wheelchair.” Peter lifted his hands in a purposely hapless gesture, injecting humor into his tone. “Can’t start chasing you around the room, can I?”
Josie looked embarrassed. Her reaction verified that he’d guessed correctly. Apparently, she’d thought he was trying to make a move on her. She gripped the long sleeves of her loose sweater, hiding her hands. Then, suddenly, she let go and mustered a confident attitude, as if trying to banish all outward traces of vulnerability. Her gentle voice grew cold. “I know you were only trying to make me feel better. Thank you.” She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Of me? Peter thought. It hadn’t quite occurred to him that she might be afraid of him until she’d protested she wasn’t. He gazed straight back at her. “Good. I think you need to catch up on your sleep.” Indeed, there were shadows under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept much. “You look very tired. If you can sleep better, you’ll feel better. Less anxious.”
Josie took hold of her handbag lying next to her on the couch, all business now. “I’ve told you everything. I’d better be on my way.”
A thought sped through Peter’s mind. He held up his hand, indicating he had something more to say. He ought to think this through first, he warned himself. But for some reason, he wouldn’t listen to himself, and plunged on. “I’ve just had an idea. An offer for you. You’re out of a job, I take it?”
“Yes. But I’m not worried about getting a new one right away. I want to take some time off.”
“Why don’t you work for me?”
“For…you mean for Frameworks Systems?” The idea clearly took her by surprise.
“Yes. But here at my home. Being confined to this wheelchair, I don’t get over to our building more than twice a month. My partner, Al, has taken over the day-to-day running of the company. I could use someone with your background to work with on research and development here at my home. There’s a guest cottage at the back of my property that I’ve changed into a lab.”
Her brows drew together. “You mean, you want to pick my brain and find out what Earthwaves’ methods are.”
He shifted his jaw to one side in a jaunty manner. “I’ll admit that occurred to me. But we at Frameworks believe in our own methods. If you feel it would be unethical to reveal Earthwaves’ classified information, I won’t press you for it. I really need someone with your background and experience in R and D.”
Josie raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t want Earthwaves’ secrets, anyway. Our tests haven’t gotten such good results lately.” She smiled for the first time.
Peter’s heart threatened to melt. Her smile was soft and shy, and he found it difficult to remain suspicious of her.
“I’d been trying to tell Martin I thought we were offtrack, but he only sees things his way.” A new thought seemed to come into her mind. “What about Al Mooney? I understood that he was in charge of your R and D department.”
Peter nodded. “Al is our R and D department. He’s a lab nerd. Brilliant and quirky. We met in college and have been friends ever since. When I started Frameworks, he was the first one I thought of to take on as my partner. He and I work together on developing new methods. Al has come up with some ingenious stuff. Trouble is, he doesn’t seem to have the psychological makeup to follow through and do the necessary trial-and-error testing. He gets bored, I think. I’ve been trying to do some of that at home, but I need an assistant. And you may have some good new ideas of your own to contribute.”
“Won’t Al resent your hiring me?” Josie asked.
“Don’t worry about him. I’ll smooth that out. And you wouldn’t be working directly with him, anyway. You’d be here with me.”
Josie hesitated, apparently still dumbfounded at the job offer. “I’ll need to think it over.”
Instead of thinking it over more himself as he ought to, Peter felt the urge to convince her. “I’ll pay you more than Earthwaves did.”
She smiled with a confidence he hadn’t seen until now. “Earthwaves paid me very well.”
Maybe she wasn’t the scared rabbit he’d begun to think she was. Had he misjudged her? “I know. You showed me your paycheck. I saw the figure. That’s monthly?”
“Yes.”
“I can beat it.”
Josie shook her head. “You don’t have to offer me more money to lure me away. I already left Earthwaves.”
Peter raised his eyebrows in astonishment. “You know, there’s such a thing as being too honest for your own good. You shouldn’t be thinking of reasons not to accept the offer of a fatter paycheck.” Now he was growing suspicious again. She seemed too good to be true.
“I know. But I feel bad about having worked for a place that behaved so unethically toward you. Perhaps even caused you a permanent physical injury. And now it seems like you’re trying to reward me.”
“I am.” If she was playing a game, he intended to go along with it until he could find out what she was really there for. “You came here of your own volition. You confessed, told me all you knew. I’m giving you absolution. And a better financial future.”
Josie ran her hands over her hair, smoothing it back, as if trying to think of a good reason to reject his job proposal. “Seems like this is an offer I can’t refuse.”
“Can you start tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow!” She rolled her eyes. “What time?”
“I’m flexible about hours. What time do you like to start?”
“How about nine? That way I can get an extra hour of sleep in the morning.”
“Fine. I’ll get the necessary paperwork arranged.” He held out his hand. “It’s a deal then?”
“Okay.” She shook hands with him. “Deal.”
As he grasped her small hand, so delightfully feminine, he remembered the unacknowledged male-female connection between them that had seemed to throw her not ten minutes ago. She lowered her eyes and quickly pulled her hand away. He gazed over her averted face, so shy and wary. He had the unmistakable desire to reach for her, pull her onto his lap and comfort her in his arms.
Was he nuts? She might be a spy. He didn’t know her. Couldn’t trust her, no matter how vulnerable she appeared. Maybe she was a good actress, trying to mislead him, to seduce him into trusting her. He couldn’t be sure she wasn’t still loyal to Earthwaves and here on a mission. Maybe that was why it was a good idea to hire her and keep her under his nose. At least, he told himself, that’s why he’d hired her.
“Maybe you should go home and get some rest,” he told her. “Don’t be anxious about anything. You’ll be fine here with me.”
Josie appeared increasingly disconcerted. That lost look came back into her eyes. Why? Everything was settled.
Looking distracted, apparently by what he’d just said, she rose and walked to the door. Swiveling his wheelchair about, he followed her.
At the door, she paused. Her brows were drawn together, her eyes troubled, as if she were plagued with doubts that were making her head swim. “I’m realizing that I’ve made this decision awfully quickly,” she said in a nervous voice as she turned to face him. “Maybe I should sleep on it….”
Peter stared up at her, startled. Now she’d thoroughly confused him. “I thought we had a done deal. Shook hands and everything.”
“I’m sorry. I…just… So much has happened so fast. I quit one job in a traumatic way, and now….”
“You need a job,” he argued. “Frameworks is the obvious place for you to be. What are you afraid of?”
Josie gazed down at him, her brown eyes tentative and wide. You, they seemed to say.
Why? he wondered again.
She took a long, deep breath. Then she eyed the wheels of his chair. After a hard swallow, she said, “Nothing. I’ll be here tomorrow at nine.”
He smiled, feeling more relieved than he ought to. “Till tomorrow then. Get a good night’s sleep.”
She said she would, then walked out. Peter closed the door behind her.
Quickly, he threw aside the blanket and rose up out of the wheelchair. He walked to the stairs, limping. As he climbed the steps, he leaned on the railing to support his injured right side, healing, but still weak. He went into his office, to the window facing the street. Peeking through the slats of the Venetian blinds, he watched Josie walk to the front gate.
Was she a gift from heaven, or a Trojan horse?
If she was a spy from Earthwaves, she was brilliant. All her nervous vulnerability, her fidgeting and fatigue, her covered-from-head-to-toe negation of her own sexuality—if that was all an act to convey innocence, then she deserved an Academy Award. Either way, he was convinced the best thing he could do was hire her. If Josie was for real, then his company could use her expertise. If she was a spy, then he had her where he could keep an eye on her.
Only Peter’s doctor knew that his fractured pelvis and legs had mended. He’d requested that the details of his medical condition be kept confidential. No one at Frameworks Systems, not even his old pal, Al, knew the truth—that he could walk, and one day would even run again. He didn’t want his friends to be put in the position of having to keep a secret. Peter wanted to look like a helpless cripple. If people assumed he was paralyzed, so much the better. He wanted to make himself a target, to draw out whoever it was who sabotaged the test structure—and shock the guilty party if he tried to finish Peter off.
He’d told Josie and others about the gang of youths supposedly suspected of the crime. There was indeed such a gang, but he didn’t really believe they were responsible. The police had told him the job had been a professional one. Whoever had loosened the concrete railing on the test structure had done it with the right tools and expertise. It was someone who understood such structures—like an employee for a company working to retrofit such old bridges and overpasses. That meant Earthwaves, Peter had become convinced. He trusted his own employees at Frameworks, all six of them. And everyone knew, as Josie herself had indicated, that Martin Lansdowne was a loose cannon.
Peter watched Josie open the iron gate. Her unexpected appearance on his doorstep might be an indication that his plan to draw out his assailant was working. She might have been sent by Lansdowne to report back.
And yet, Josie had seemed so genuine. Worrying about every stray wisp of hair out of place had seemed to be an unconscious neurotic mannerism. And her hands were indeed icy when she seemed to be having an anxiety attack. That dazed, doe-in-headlights look in her eyes—what was that all about? She’d almost changed her mind about the job, too. That had caught him completely by surprise. Nice touch, if it was all an act.
Was Josie Gray for real? Was anyone nowadays really so ethical that they would quit a job and go spill their guts to the injured competition? If she was on the level, then what a prize had walked into his life! God, didn’t he just wish that such a woman existed, a woman he could really have faith in?
Peter reminded himself that he had to be careful. He’d been a stooge for a pair of soulful brown eyes eight years ago. Despite the warnings of his family and his partner, he’d put all his trust in Cory and married her. And within a year she’d cheated on him.
Josie had big brown eyes, too. No matter how sweet she looked, how much he’d like to mentally undress her and pull down that knot of hair, he’d be a fool to trust her. With his life or his heart.
Outside on the street, she closed the heavy gate behind her, then walked to her car. Peter watched, mesmerized again by the shy, yet sensual, way she moved.
That old song came back to his mind, but this time he remembered a different snatch of lyrics.
And then she turned homeward with one star awake,
Like the swan in the evening moves over the lake.
As she drove off, Peter stepped away from the window, feeling odd, disconcerted, energized. She was such a mysterious bundle of contradictions. He knew he’d think about her the rest of the day—her and that cockamamie old song.
JOSIE DROVE HOME in a daze. She realized she’d missed a turn, and now couldn’t think straight to even figure out how to get back onto the right street. Managing to focus, she made a U-turn, then found the street she’d missed. Back on track, her mind returned to Peter Brennan.
Oh, God! The way he’d looked at her, the way his eyes had settled on her face with such calm confidence. She recalled his black pupils focusing on her in a way that made her certain he could see right into her head. He was so overwhelmingly male. Just being in his home, sitting near him, she’d felt intimidated. Testosterone seemed to permeate the very atmosphere. Even now, remembering his face made her go weak in the stomach: the shadow of his beard along his jaw, the strong nose, the flared nostrils that widened as he spoke, making him look a bit fierce, reminding her of a fire-breathing dragon. Most of all, she’d been shaken by his forceful gaze, at times so filled with suspicion.
But all at once his expression had softened, and when he’d reached out to touch her knee, she hadn’t been able to breathe! When he’d taken her hands in his, his touch had been so warm and gentle, his eyes so kind, she’d wanted to lose herself in that warmth, and in his gaze. That wasn’t like her. Why had she reacted that way?
Her mind was still reeling. She’d expected a broken man in a wheelchair. Instead she felt as if he could break her with one gentle look, one more moment of kindness. Why had she agreed to work for him? Was she crazy? How could she expect to even think straight around him? He might be in a wheelchair, but he was still a man. She shouldn’t trust him.
Get a grip, she told herself as she made another turn, bringing her closer to her condominium apartment in Irvine. He wasn’t that formidable. No one could be. She’d just been overwhelmed by the situation, and her imagination had gone into high gear.
He was nothing special, just an ordinary man. And an invalid. That, in fact, was the only reason she had agreed to work for him, despite the anxiety she felt in his presence. Even if he was one of those highly sexed males, he couldn’t do anything. He might even be paralyzed from the waist down. He’d pointed out himself that he couldn’t chase her around the room.
Josie shook her head in puzzlement as she turned into her condo community. What had made him say that? The fact that she was having an anxiety attack right in front of him, she reminded herself with embarrassment. Blood rushed to her face as she parked her car. She’d gone to him, confident that she was doing the right thing by telling him what she knew, and she’d turned into a melting scoop of ice cream as soon as she’d set eyes on him.
If she was really going to work for him, she had to get her act together. She had to get a handle on her nerves, her emotions. She hadn’t felt so mixed-up since she was a silly, romantic thirteen-year-old. But she was an adult now, and she’d grown up to be sensible, methodical. A scientist. Someone who was in control, of herself and any situation she chose to put herself in. Seven years ago, she’d vowed that no man would ever get control of her again. She certainly wasn’t going to let herself be undermined by a man in a wheelchair!
