The Lady in Red & Dangerous Deception

by Linda Turner

  He thought of the meetings he’d already rescheduled. “Make it one.” It would play hell with his calendar tomorrow, but he could go in early, get caught up. He didn’t usually have to force the single-minded focus reserved for business.

  But right now, watching Tori turn and walk back into the tavern, he had a feeling that focus was going to be more difficult to summon than usual.

  Chapter 6

  “You didn’t hear a word I said.”

  The feminine words were uttered evenly enough. It was only experience that had James’s sense of caution heightening. Raising his brows, he looked directly at his little sister and lied through his teeth. “Of course I did.”

  Analiese Tremaine Jones tossed her short blond curls and snorted. “Yeah, and pigs fly. I know you have a million things on your CEO mind, oh elder one, but maybe you could show a little interest in the way I’m going to save you about one point five million.” After a pause she added, “And a smidgen of gratitude wouldn’t be amiss, either.”

  Assuming what he hoped was a properly chastened expression, James folded his hands and recited the gist of her conversation. “You’ve figured a way to up the speed on the file-wiping software. Although it’s only on paper right now, you’re pretty sure you can accomplish the multiple overwrites at least twice as fast as it is currently, without using our new chip, which—you’re right—will save us a nice bundle of change.”

  Her blue eyes, so like his own, narrowed at his glib summary. “And how did I say I was going to accomplish it?”

  Neatly dodging that bullet, he gave a careless shrug. “Through genius, of course. I expected nothing less of you.” To divert her from his lack of attention, he added, “You must have been here all night working on it. I can’t imagine Jones is too happy about that.”

  Her smile was innocent. Too innocent. “Nice try, but we’re still talking about you. It’s not like you to be distracted when we’ve got this much going on. I mean, that’s how a normal person would react.” She delivered the dual compliment/insult with the smoothness of family. “Whereas you…you thrive on pressure and deadlines.”

  He reached out, yanked a curl before she could duck. “Brat. We’re forty-eight hours from delivery of the Pentagon contract and within a week of the Technology Expo. I have just a few things on my mind.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Analiese twirled around in her chair, studied him speculatively. He reminded himself that this woman, despite her deceptively petite angelic looks, could put a bloodhound to shame if she caught wind of anything suspicious. “What about the bid on the newest Pentagon contract? They announce their selection soon, don’t they?”

  “They do, yes, but we’ll be ready.” Nothing, especially not some cryptic notes from an anonymous coward, was going to delay the bid. He made a mental note to speak to Jones about beefing up the security around their homes, and especially surrounding Ana. He wasn’t willing to take a risk with her well-being.

  She waited, but when he offered nothing more, she made a face. “Secretive to the end, as usual.” Giving a theatrical sigh, she switched topics. “What time did you come to work this morning? It was well before dawn, I know that.”

  “Early.” He strolled past her, crouched down to look at her computer screen. Once he’d gotten home from Juicy’s, there had been little chance of sleep. The information the man had given them triggered a seemingly endless stream of scenarios playing across his mind. Which just heightened his frustration, because he was no closer than before to finding definitive answers.

  But that hadn’t been what had had him bolting from his bed before the clock had struck three. Those hadn’t been the only visions that had haunted him, keeping sleep at bay. Every time he’d shut his eyes, there’d been a sexy, sultry image of Tori drifting behind his eyelids. A memory of the faintly exotic taste of her. The way her body had fit perfectly against his. Followed, of course, by all the reasons she could never be in his arms again.

  Since self-torture really wasn’t his thing, it had seemed more productive to get up, dress and go to work. As Ana had pointed out, he certainly had enough going on here to keep him busy.

  His fingers went to the keyboard, and he was immediately elbowed for his efforts. “No way, this is my baby.” Slapping his hands away, she added, “You put me in charge, right?”

  “Of course, but I was just…”

  “…going to go back to your own office and leave me alone? Brilliant idea.” Ana stood and gave him a small shove. “I’ll let you know when I get this off paper and functioning. Should be before I leave this afternoon.”

  With real reluctance James tore his eyes from the keyboard. One of the most difficult lessons learned in running a company this size had been learning to delegate. And it never got easier. “I’ll check in later. I have a…an appointment. I’ll be off property for a few hours.”

  Ana stopped shielding the keyboard with her body and surveyed him. “What kind of appointment?”

  Back on familiar ground, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “One that’s none of your business. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

  She fell back in her seat, folded her arms across her chest and stared at him, her suspicious little brain obviously clicking away. “What’s wrong?”

  Determining that discretion was definitely the better part of valor, he began moving to the door. “Nothing. Just a lot of irons in the fire.”

  “Which isn’t out of the ordinary for you. So there’s trouble or a woman. Which is it?”

  “Save that imagination of yours for solving the overwipe problem. You’re wasting it on me.”

  From the dejected look on her face, he’d managed to convince her. “Probably. I don’t know what I was thinking…there hasn’t been a woman born who could tear you away from work when you were busy. Not that we all wouldn’t pay money to see you fall hard and fast, but…”

  He closed the door with a quiet snick, effectively shutting her out. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as successful at shutting out the thoughts conjured by her words.

  It wasn’t a woman dragging him away from work, he thought, striding back to his office. Ana was right, no female had ever had that kind of control over him. But there was a decades-old mystery to be solved, and damned if he was going to quit before he had all the answers.

  The fact that Tori Corbett was all wrapped up in that mystery was just a detail he’d have to learn to ignore.

  Tori leaned against the counter of Sanderson’s Towing and Recovery and flipped through the papers the owner had obligingly dug out of the filing cabinet for her. He’d been obliging, at least, once she’d flashed a hundred-dollar bill in front of him. She didn’t think Tremaine would worry overmuch about the cost of her cure for the man’s reticence. He struck her as a man interested in results, and money had a nice way of eliciting cooperation.

  Thoughts of what else had interested James Tremaine last night had the pages trembling in her hands and her focus on them blurring. She’d recovered, almost, from the rocketing response his touch had fired in her. But it would be a while longer before she was able to forgive herself for becoming a mass of stuttering hormones in his arms.

  Her sudden scowl had the proprietor backing carefully away from the counter. Maybe she hadn’t done herself any favors by steering clear of men since her divorce. Surely if she hadn’t been abstinent for so long, she could have tempered her response a bit better. As it was, she was very much afraid that had it not been for the interruption, she’d have jumped the man’s bones then and there.

  And what an ignominious conquest that would have been, she silently jeered at herself. Ripping off James Tremaine’s shirt in front on Juicy’s, in one of the seediest neighborhoods that side of New Orleans. With her luck, some enterprising cameraman would have been around and the pictures could have been adorning this morning’s tabloids. If mortification built character, they’d be erecting a freaking statue in her name right now.

  Scanning the second paper in the file, she flipped
it over to look at the next page. The only consolation she’d had in the long sleepless night that had followed their parting was that she’d been the one to step back. Eventually. And once she had, it hadn’t taken long for sheer horror to replace the desire pumping through her veins. Getting involved with a client was inviting all sorts of seamy complications. Getting involved with James Tremaine in particular was about as bright as throwing herself in front of a fast-moving bus.

  She’d lived, briefly and unhappily, in his monied sphere once. Or at least as close to it as she ever wanted to be. The people she’d met then, her ex and in-laws especially, had epitomized the term shallow. She’d encountered puddles deeper. She wasn’t going to willingly dance the upper crust two-step ever again.

  As the door opened behind her, her attention was captured by the sight of her dad’s scrawled signature on the page. She slowed, read more carefully. It wasn’t unexpected. In the file Tremaine had copied for her, there had been mention of this place, as well as the lack of any useful leads it had elicited. Still, there was an odd pang knowing she was following in his path, literally and figuratively.

  Because her eyes wanted to mist, she blinked them rapidly before straightening to look at the man who’d joined her at the counter.

  “Tori.” The slightly intimate note to his voice jump-started her pulse, conjuring up a smoky image of their kiss last night. He must have come straight from the office, as he was fully decked out in corporate warrior mode. She recognized the Savile Row suit and Versace tie, but was forced to admit that in his case, the man definitely made the clothes, and not vice versa.

  When she was certain her voice would be steady, she said, “Mr. Sanderson was kind enough to dig around for the records on the car’s recovery.” She nudged the pages toward James and waited as he thumbed through them, skimming quickly.

  He looked up and flicked a glance at the apple-faced, narrow-shouldered man behind the counter. “You the owner?”

  The man straightened, hitched up his pants. “That’s right.”

  “You wouldn’t have been at the time this car came in. Is your father still around?”

  Sanderson pursed his lips. “Pa don’t have much to do with the business anymore. He’s semiretired.”

  “Is he around?”

  “He’s probably out back.”

  “Good. Get him.” His words were repeated politely enough, but imbued with unmistakable command.

  Tori watched the owner shuffle out the back door, into what was presumably a shop area. Irritation arrowed through her. Tremaine had managed to accomplish with two words what she knew intuitively would have cost her another fifty bucks. “Neat trick. Do you do magic, too?”

  James slanted her a look as he spread the papers out to peruse. “I thought you were going to wait for me.”

  “Traffic wasn’t too bad and I arrived sooner than expected.” She inched away, just to give him room. Certainly not because she needed the physical distance between them. Nodding toward the papers, she added, “There’s nothing of interest here. Just a record of the call and costs for towing and storing the car until it went to salvage. A notation made by the mechanic who conducted the physical examination. My dad collected the personal effects for you?”

  “There wasn’t much.”

  Sympathy stirred. The page hadn’t detailed the contents of the box her father had picked up. The ladies would have had purses. Perhaps a shoe or two had jolted loose in the crash. She tried to suppress the mental image of James, barely more than a boy, receiving that box, symbolic of the responsibility that circumstances had thrust upon him.

  The man that walked through the back door was wiping his hands on a greasy cloth. Although his careful gait and the seams etched into his face bespoke at least eight decades, his gaze was alert enough as he surveyed them. “I’m Guy Sanderson. M’boy said you wanted to see me?”

  “We wanted to ask you a few questions about a vehicle you recovered twenty years ago,” Tori put in smoothly. She picked up the file folder and held it out so he could see the label on it.

  Jamming the cloth into one hand, he reached the other deep into the pocket of his coveralls, drew out a pair of glasses. “Can’t read a damn thing without my bifocals,” he grumbled. “’Course at my age, I guess I’m lucky I still have my sight.” He peered closely at the folder, moving his lips silently. Then he swung his head slowly from one side to the other. “Don’t recall it exactly. Mebbe if I take a look at them papers…”

  James pushed them together and handed them to him. But rather than taking them, the old man stared hard at him. “Seen you before,” he said. “Take me a minute to recollect where…” He snapped his fingers. “I know. It was in them society pages my wife always has laying around. Fancy folk going to useless shindigs.” He stared harder at James, and then studied the page lying on top of the papers.

  “Tremaine.” His gnarled fist thumped on the counter soundly. “Yep, I ’member now.” He nodded sagely. “Nothing wrong with my memory, just takes longer to get it working at my age. Yer the one what runs that comp’ny nearby. We towed the wreckage from the accident what killed your folks. Terrible accident, that.”

  Tori sent James a quick look. If the older man’s verbal meanderings had awakened bad memories, it didn’t show in his expression. “That’s what we wanted to talk to you about. The papers list every part you managed to sell off the car.” The frame, two tires, axle rods, bumpers and windows had been a loss. Everything else imaginable had found a new home, down to the ash tray and cigarette lighter.

  Sanderson nodded. “There’s nothing left of it now, though. See?” With one bony index finger he stabbed at the faded imprint stamped across the top page. “It had been stripped down to its frame, and that was sprung so it was pretty worthless. When there’s nothing useful left we sell it for scrap metal. This one has been gone for, oh…” He scratched his jaw, stared into space. “Seems like two, three years now.”

  Glancing at the date affixed below the stamp, Tori found he was correct. Maybe his memory would prove useful yet. “What about the front left fender? From the accident photos it appeared seriously damaged, yet you still managed to sell them.”

  “People look for something in better shape than what they got.” The man shrugged. “It was pretty banged in but still had good to it.”

  “Do you remember the fender, specifically?” James crossed his arms, leaned against the counter. “Any idea what it had come in contact with?”

  A shrug was his only answer. “Don’t pay much attention to that kind of thing. I go over the vehicles once real good when we get them. Clean them up some.” With a quick glance at James, he seemed to think better than to go into detail. “Make a note of what we can mebbe use and list it all down. That way when someone asks we can find the information real quick. Got us a computer ’bout ten years ago, and that makes the whole thing a lot easier, I can tell you.”

  “You don’t remember seeing anything special about that fender?” Tori probed further. “The accident report noted that it had slammed into a guardrail and then through it.”

  Raising his shoulders, Sanderson responded, “Don’t recall any details about the car. Too long ago, and we handle nearly a hundred wrecked vehicles each year. Although seems like this was the one…” He started turning the pages, studying each of them intently. “Yep, I thought so.” With a start, Tori realized he was pointing at her father’s signature. “I ’member this fella. He’s the one what collected the personal effects. Had him a signed release form. From you?” His gaze shifted to James.

  At his nod, the man went on. “I remember it special ’cuz I ain’t never seen one of them gadgets before. Never have since, tell ya the truth.”

  “What gadget might that be?”

  She’d obviously spent too much time in Tremaine’s company, Tori thought, because she was able to discern the sliver of impatience layered beneath the civility in his words.

  “You know, that—what do you call it—tracking thing
. Lets you follow whoever you plant it on. That was a first for me. Guess with your outfit into that high-tech security stuff, you’re used to that sort of thing. If I could afford it,” he mused, his gaze going faraway, “I’d get one of them things to plant on my braggin’ dog. Tell ya, when it trees a coon it’s all I can do to…”

  “You’re saying you found a tracking device in the car?” James’s voice was precise, his expression still. But emotion emanated from him in waves. For some reason Tori was reminded of an explosive waiting to detonate. “How’d you know what it was?”

  “I didn’t, and that was a problem,” Sanderson replied. “And I always did a detailed list of the effects I gathered from the car to return to the family, so’s there’s no confusion later about what was or wasn’t in there. Had no idea what that thing was, so I had to ask.”

  “Who did you ask?” she questioned.

  “The one who come and picked up the belongings. Made him sign for them.” He stabbed a gnarled finger at the signature again. “Rob Landry was his name.”

  The room tilted and the floor seemed to shift beneath her feet. Tori tried to speak, found speech beyond her.

  “You’re sure?” James asked.

  Sanderson nodded emphatically. “Dead sure. ’Member it clear as last week. When I fetched the box for him, I showed him that gadget, told him I’d been puzzling over it. He took a look at it and said right off the bat what it was. Guess he’d seen some before.”

  “That’s impossible,” Tori said flatly. She’d recovered her voice and with it came indignation. “You must be mistaken.”

  That drew a glare from the old man. “Missy, I might be old but my memory’s in working order. How the heck would I have come up with the name for it when I’d never seen anything like it before?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but James beat her to it. “We want to thank you.” He held out his hand, and after a moment the older man accepted it. “We’ve wasted enough of your time, but you’ve been very helpful.”