Trust by Design (Colorado Trust Series--2)

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  He sipped the steaming caffeine as his computer booted up, then clicked over to check his email before he became engrossed in code work.

  Skim—delete. Skim—save for reply later. Skim—delete. He skipped over the Tech Industry News Briefs, but then came back to it after replying to something Mike had sent last night.

  Opening the TI newsletter, he relaxed back in his chair to scan the latest software news as he enjoyed his coffee.

  The very first headline fucked up his entire morning.

  Technology Software announces new release!

  His fingers tightened on his mug as he sat forward to read the highlights of his software, then read them a second time. Somehow the bastard had gotten hold of his program and done it again. Now he’d change just enough to be able to claim it as his own and anything Daley Solutions released would be secondary in the market.

  How the hell had this happened?

  He carefully set his coffee mug down before he gave in to the urge to hurl it across the room. Then he dialed Mike from his office phone and didn’t even care about the sleep-rough voice when his friend answered.

  “The sonofabitch did it again,” he bit out. “It’s frickin’ right there in the TI News.”

  “What?” Shock echoed in Mike’s suddenly alert voice. “You’re kidding.”

  “Yes,” Dean replied with vicious sarcasm. “Because I’ve got nothing better to do on a Saturday morning than play practical jokes on you.”

  “Whoa, man, I’m not the bad guy here. Look, I know you’re pissed, but—”

  “Damn right, I’m pissed, Mike! Get Quinn on the phone and find out if Ty had anything to do with this. I want to know how the hell this happened. While you’re working on that, I have to call Wesley to find out if we have any legal recourse to get a look at the coding before it’s released so we can prove it’s my design, not his.”

  “I’m on it. But, um, Dean…”

  Mike’s grim voice stopped him from hanging up. “What?”

  “Gina was at the house by herself for a number of hours yesterday, wasn’t she?”

  His entire body stiffened. “And?”

  “And you can’t ignore the obvious just because you like her, man.”

  He didn’t just like her, he loved her. Not that he was about to tell his VP that right now. “So her help the past week means nothing to you?”

  “Think about it. It gave her access.”

  “With our supervision the entire time.”

  “Except for yesterday.”

  He opened his mouth to tell Mike to go to hell, then took a deep breath for control as a tiny sliver of doubt crept in. “Just see what Quinn has to say and get back to me.”

  He slammed down the receiver and cursed both men to hell and back.

  She did not do this. She wouldn’t have.

  Unbidden, his gaze shifted to the conference table where Gina had worked side by side with them over the past week. The neat and tidy surface brought to mind the tray of dirty dishes beside her laptop out on the coffee table in the great room.

  He stalked through the kitchen and into the other room to stare at her computer. Hands on his hips, he cast his troubled gaze toward the loft, toward his bedroom where she still slept. He could go ask her.

  More like accuse her.

  Exactly. And what kind of future would that give them? She’d trusted him last night; he needed to do the same for her now.

  He ran his hands though his hair and clasped them behind his head as his gaze lowered to the coffee table once more. She’d never have to know. And besides, he wouldn’t be invading her privacy so much as proving her innocence. Right?

  The rationalization didn’t absolve his guilt as he moved around and dropped to the edge of the couch. After one last hesitation, he shoved the notebook aside and grabbed the laptop. The computer powered up to her security screen, and he tapped his fingers on the keys without actually keying in any letters.

  She’d changed her passwords after the break-in. Would she have memorized them, or written them down like before? He reached for the notebook and thumbed through the pages. Just when he decided it was crazy to think he’d find them that easy, he came across a page of random design terms, both for software and her interior decorating business.

  It took a moment to realize the basic camouflaging code she’d used, then another to determine the password to unlock her computer: 1PrinceCharming.

  He grinned as he keyed in the number and letters.

  The smile disappeared when he accessed her email program and found the message sent to JBrady@TechnologySolutions.com at ten-fourteen yesterday morning. She’d attached a compressed and encrypted copy of his program without their hidden coding, and he also found the copied files saved in her documents folder.

  His body flashed hot, then cold. He’d believed in her. Trusted her. Now, with the evidence staring him right in the face, it literally hurt to breathe. He consciously drew in a breath and let it go.

  Again.

  And once more.

  At some point, the pain of betrayal morphed into anger. That he’d fallen for her when she’d been playing him all along. That she’d given anything to that sonofabitch Brady after what he’d done to her. Made him wonder if Mike had been right about the assault, too. Had they staged that?

  Was any damn thing real since the moment she’d kissed him at the club?

  Memories flooded in from last night. He closed his eyes against the agony threatening to clog his throat.

  Then confusion hit. Why? The crappy apartment suggested it was all for the money, but she’d turned down his offer to advance her commission. And she’d given him receipts to cover every withdrawal from the house decorating expense account, right down to the penny.

  None of it added up, and yet, he couldn’t deny the damning truth in front of him. Would she?

  He snapped the laptop screen shut and set it on the table with precise control. Time to wake up Cinderella and see what the hell she had to say for herself.

  As he started around the couch, his gaze lit on the clothes littering the floor, and he scooped up her things. Last thing he needed was the naked visual reminder to all he’d gained and lost in less than twenty-four hours.

  A flicker of movement through the narrow glass panels by the main entrance caught his eye when he straightened. Jaw clenched tight, he tossed Gina’s clothes on the back of the couch and strode over to open the door for the police officer who’d just stepped from his car. It appeared his morning was getting better and better.

  “Mr. Daley?” the man inquired as he approached.

  He moved outside, pulling the door almost all the way closed behind him. “That’s me.”

  “You reported a vehicle roll-over last night?”

  His tension eased as he nodded. “I did.”

  “There was another accident not far from here, so we’re going to pull your vehicle out. I’ll need you to come with me to fill out a report and collect anything you’d like from the car before we haul it in.”

  “Right now?” he asked with a frown.

  “Yes. I’m sure you understand the necessity of clearing all the roads as soon as possible.”

  His SUV wasn’t anywhere near the road, but he didn’t bother pointing that out. Maybe this was a good thing. It would give him a chance to calm down and think of the best way to approach Gina when he returned.

  The officer glanced toward her charcoal gray Mazda. “Is this a second vehicle of yours that you can use to follow me?”

  “No, but I have one in the garage. Give me a minute and I’ll be right out.”

  Over at the coffee table, he took a moment to scribble a note for Gina in case he wasn’t back by the time she woke up. Then he located the socks she’d brought down last night, grabbed her computer so she couldn’t erase evidence while he was gone, and headed for the garage door.

  Chapter 23

  She was alone. She’d felt his absence from the moment of wakefulness, and one roll in the
large bed confirmed Dean was not in the bed or in the room. She didn’t hear any water running, but could faintly smell the invigorating Alpine Mountain Breeze body wash scent from the shower he must have taken.

  Much as she was disappointed not to see his handsome face and sexy body first thing, she welcomed the opportunity to savor the feeling of waking up in the bed of the man she loved.

  Slightly sore, yet completely relaxed, she indulged in a slow, languid stretch. The sensual slide of the sheets across her naked body brought back memories that sent a flush of heat from her head to her toes. And suddenly, despite the blush, she couldn’t wait to see him again.

  She hurried through a shower of her own, all the while reliving bits and pieces of the evening before. Strangely enough, now that she was fully awake, it was their conversations that echoed in her mind. More than once she came back to Dean’s questions about Jackson, and if she could’ve seen or heard something without realizing it.

  It got her mind churning as she crossed the room in a damp towel to don one of his T-shirts until she could gather her clothes from in front of the fireplace. She’d told him she mistook Jackson’s seemingly unconditional support of her goals as love, but the truth was, she’d never truly loved him either. The emotions that had existed in that relationship didn’t hold a candle to what she felt in her heart for Dean, the man she’d connected with on every level last night.

  Believing her feelings for Jackson would deepen, then staying in the relationship through his subtle manipulations was the most humiliating part of all to get over. Especially now that she could see the night and day difference of what true love should look and feel like.

  But back to Dean’s questions. Now that she had a moment to think about it without him sitting next to her as a distraction, Jackson had been uncharacteristically edgy and short-tempered the last six months they’d been together. He’d snapped at her more than once while working on his laptop at home—something he seemed to have been doing more and more.

  The incident where she’d gotten even a hint of the violent nature she’d experienced outside her apartment was when he’d been sitting at the table working one night and she’d come up behind him, draped her arms over his shoulders, and kissed his neck. She’d glanced at the document on his screen and commented on the name of the charitable organization in the letterhead of a document he was working on.

  His steel grip on her arms as he shoved her back had made her gasp. Later, he’d apologized and claimed she’d startled him, but now she wondered if that was one of those things she wasn’t supposed to have seen. It was a long shot, but she’d mention it to Dean.

  She tried to recall the name of the organization. Something with ‘winning,’ or ‘racing’…maybe Racing to Home? No…that didn’t sound right.

  She did remember the tagline had been about a non-profit for homeless children in New York City. She’d wondered why New York when Colorado had its fair share of those in need, but his unexpected, frightening reaction had totally wiped any other thoughts from her mind.

  Dean’s suspicions had her considering everything in a new light. He’d said Jackson was in deeper than the computer stuff, and he’d received information obtained by a private investigator from reliable sources. He’d asked her to think about Jackson’s money, his business, and his contacts.

  Was Jackson being investigated for something illegal?

  Were these contacts the police?

  Is that who Jackson had meant when he told her to keep her mouth shut to Dean or “anyone else that comes asking.”

  If only she could remember the name on that letter.

  Hyper conscious of her lack of underwear, she tugged to lower the hem of Dean’s soft cotton T-shirt as she left the bedroom. She glanced over the loft railing as casually as possible while her heart raced in nervous anticipation. Other than their discarded clothes, and the tray of dishes on the coffee table, the room appeared empty.

  Relief and disappointment slowed her erratic pulse a little. This morning-after stuff was new territory for her with so many emotions involved, including worrying about the depth of his feelings. She tried to caution herself against raising her hopes too high, but after the connection she was pretty sure they both experienced last night, it was a futile effort.

  The delicious aroma of coffee strengthened as she skimmed down the stairs. Being it was a little after nine and knowing Dean, he was probably already hard at work.

  Anxious to see his face and tell him about her revelation, she paused only long enough to don her red panties from the pile of her clothes on the back of the couch, then moved around to take the loaded tray into the kitchen with her.

  A sideways glance noticed handwriting on the open page of the notebook she’d been using yesterday.

  We need to talk. Don’t leave. Will be back soon.

  Forgetting about the tray, she reached for the note. The dark, leaden letters were heavily indented in the paper. Her stomach gave an uneasy roll as she pictured his eyebrows drawn together while he jotted the terse-looking words.

  No, Good morning.

  No, Last night was great.

  Certainly no, Love, Dean.

  Foreboding tightened her gut as well as constricted her chest. Something had happened between the time she’d fallen asleep in his arms and when he’d written this note. Maybe command was the better description of his words. Without him here, she couldn’t ask, and her mind was already trying to come up with reasons why he’d left without waking her.

  She dropped the notebook back on the table and quickly dressed in her own clothes. As she carried the tray into the kitchen and poured herself a cup from the half-pot of coffee on the warmer, she wondered if Jackson had done something to get caught last night after all? Hopefully, the answer was yes.

  She’d been about to ask Dean if Jackson had been the one who’d run him off the road, why hadn’t the jerk shown up at the house, but he’d chosen that moment to declare the conversation about the thorn in both their sides over. If she could figure out if that charity organization had anything to do with Jackson’s threats, that would be one more nail in his proverbial coffin. It was a long shot, but still a shot, and the only thing that stood out in her mind.

  She carried her mug back into the great room to start researching the charity, but stopped when she realized her computer wasn’t on the coffee table. Frowning in confusion, she turned to glance toward the kitchen. She was sure she’d left it out here…unless Dean took it into his office. Wondering why he would, she took the final step to snag her cell phone and then strode across the hardwood floor while checking for any new messages.

  No texts or voicemails, but six new emails in her inbox. The first was from Matt Robinson, co-owner of the online media streaming company MovieMail. She’d redecorated his vacation home in Estes Park last fall, and now he was requesting she fly to L.A. to do some work in his new beach house. The business potential gave her pulse a little leap, but she’d have to reply to him later.

  The second email was the daily TI News Briefs, and she scrolled her thumb to move on to the next. When it opened instead, she hit delete with a frown of impatience. The screen blinked back to her inbox just as her eyes registered the words in the first headline.

  Technology Solutions announces—

  She frantically pressed buttons on the screen as dread swept through her. What? Announces what?

  The email reappeared in her Trash box and she read the announcement for Jackson’s impending release of Dean’s software. Her hand fisted on the phone as she thought of what Dean’s reaction would be when he saw—

  She jerked her head up, eyes wide. Considering the note and his absence, no doubt, he already knew.

  “Oh, no…he wouldn’t,” she whispered.

  But the last time she’d woken up and he hadn’t been in the house was because he’d gone over to make Jackson pay for having threatened her. Now the sonofabitch had threatened his entire company, and Dean was gone once again. Any retalia
tion right now would give Jackson more than enough ammunition for a civil suit that could potentially break Dean—if not land him in jail.

  Jackson deserved to be locked up, not Dean.

  She ran to the guest room where she’d intended to sleep last night and grabbed her jacket and keys. On her way out the door, she called his cell phone and prayed he’d answer before doing anything that could ruin his future. Their future.

  The call went to voicemail as she started her car and drove down the driveway that’d been cleared of hazardous ice by the bright, spring sunshine. His low voice telling her to leave a message put butterflies in her stomach, and she hoped her frantic plea not to do anything until they talked made sense enough to convince him to wait until she got there. Then she worried he wouldn’t get the message at all and sped toward Jackson’s.

  Two more calls on the way went unanswered, and fifteen minutes later, she braked to a sudden stop on the road near her ex’s house. Though she recognized the dark truck in the driveway, the red BMW parked next to it was unfamiliar. With Dean’s SUV totaled in a ditch, she had only one way to find out if it was his.

  Now that she was here, the thought of facing Jackson again took more nerve than she’d anticipated. But she could not let him control her life in any way again—especially not with fear. After a couple deep breaths to combat her racing pulse, she gathered her courage and parked behind the truck.

  Her hands shook once she stood on the porch, and she wished she’d thought to call Joel to come with her. The back-up would’ve been nice. She hesitated, then slid her hand into her pocket for her phone.

  No more than she pulled it out, raised, angry voices filtered through the door. Too late. She couldn’t make out the words in the heated exchange, but quickly jabbed a finger at the little glowing button alongside the door.

  Footsteps sounded on the other side. Her pulse skipped when the door jerked open, and she found herself face to face with the man who’d threatened to rape her a week ago. She froze as his blue gaze registered surprise. He shifted to one side, sliding his gaze over as he looked behind her toward the driveway.