54
Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
Saw Luke this afternoon. I think he really misses you, Caro. Seemed disappointed that you're still traveling. He's a good guy. Wish you two could work it out. Caroline gritted her teeth. She missed so many things about Luke, but until he understood it was all right for a woman to want a career and not desire to stay home and be pampered, they'd never have a future.
She hit the reply button, and wrote:
Hey, bro—yep, I'm finding Mahoneys all over the place, but I'm not sure yet what any of it means. Apparently Ian Foy and the Mahoneys go way back, and it's not a pretty thing. Thanks for shipping my stuff. My apartment's great, and the restaurant next door, owned by my landlord, is fabulous. I'll come home a blimp!
I don't know what to say about Luke. You know our issues, and neither of us is willing to back down.
Don't forget to water my plants on Friday.
I've got a big day tomorrow, so I'll sign off for now. Hasta mañana!
Caroline sent the message and opened Word. She thought about summarizing the events of the day, but her shoulders and neck ached and her backside felt stiff. Her briefcase sat perched on the desk beside her. She dipped a hand inside and pulled out the file folder with the postcard and her mother's other documents. In one hand, she held her birth certificate and in the other, the birth registration for Baby Girl Smith.
55
Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
According to the dates, the girl child was four days older than Caroline—enough time for a family practice attorney to transport an infant halfway across the country. Was she leaping too far in thinking she was the anonymous Baby Girl Smith? Was she sired by a Mahoney or born of one? A quick look at the postcard, and anyone would have to agree she looked a damn sight more like a Mahoney than like a Spring.
Something deeply essential inside Caroline rebelled against the idea of Mahoney kinship. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. A vision of violet eyes that sparkled with mischief, and a smile that could easily melt the ice around her heart, taunted her. Mick Mahoney was the first man to pique her interest in months. She knew by the trouble he'd taken to tease her that he felt something, too. If she were the anonymous Baby Girl Smith, what did that make Mick? A distant cousin perhaps? Or had Fate dealt her an even crueler hand?
56
Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
Chapter Five
CAROLINE DID NOT see Mick again until Wednesday, her third night in Sebastopol. At times, she'd heard him rumbling around his place, and twice his car had been parked in the space beside hers after another of her sixteen-hour days. Overall, Mick was a quiet neighbor, which surprised her. She had expected to hear music filling their shared hallway or at least the monotonous drone of the play-by-play of a televised sports event.
Tonight Caroline had worked later than usual, and it was nearing one-thirty a.m. when she dragged herself up the backstairs. Too exhausted to do more than grab an apple on her way past the kitchen, she shed her clothes, threw on her nightshirt and fell into bed. Even the thought of checking her e-mail held no appeal.
Within minutes, she fell into a sleep so deep that the first anguished cry blended into her dream.
At the second, she knew something was terribly wrong. She shot up in bed and knocked the remains of the apple off her nightstand.
The third cry, a terrifying, gut-wrenching NO, PAPA, NO!
sent her running, flying across the living room, and into the hall without a thought for her own safety. Her only goal was to help the person in such pain—Mick Mahoney.
"MICK, MICK." She pounded both fists against his front door. "MICK, IT'S CAROLINE. WHAT'S WRONG?" 57
Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
Silence answered her, and the hammering in her chest welled into panic. Should she turn tail and run? What if someone had broken through Mick's shield of security? What if someone waited for her inside?
"MICK!" she shouted again, putting aside the fear for her own safety. "ANSWER ME OR I'M COMING IN." Still no answer. She had to do something. Her hands trembled but she hesitated only a second before twisting the knob and pushing her weight against the wood. The door flew open and Caroline tumbled across the threshold, arms flailing, straight into Mick's chest
"Mick, what the hell is going..." The words died on her lips as the hall light shone across his face. He stood before her, naked except for a towel wrapped carelessly around his hips. Drenched in perspiration, chest heaving and with a wild look in his eyes, he seemed as confused by what was happening as she was.
"I'm sorry," he managed between ragged breaths. "I'm sorry."
Instinctively she went into his arms, holding on as tightly as she could—not as a lover but as an anchor thrown into a heavy sea.
"It's okay, Mick," she comforted. "You were having a nightmare." She, too, had nightmares as a child, terrifying, frightening dreams that were always far worse than the events they portrayed or portended. Yet after they passed, she knew they'd taken a little of her soul with them. Caroline had no idea how long they stood like that, she crooning words of reassurance while he held onto her as if his 58
Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
life depended on it. Slowly, she felt his body still, and wriggled free enough to look into his eyes and ask, "Mick, what's going on?"
Without answering, he buried his face in her hair and held on tighter.
"It's okay, Mick. It's over."
At the first sign he'd relaxed enough for her to slip out of his bear hug and catch a breath, Caroline and saw that a certain part of his body, obviously acting apart from his mind, had an erection.
When he saw it, too, he slapped his arms to his sides and jumped back until they stood separated by at least a yard.
"Oh bleedin' hell, you must think I'm an animal." Caroline denied it with a shake of her head. She looked down at herself, at how little she wore, and how close the tenting towel was to dropping.
A surge of an emotion she couldn't even name shimmered along the back of her neck. She'd come as a caregiver, and now suddenly they were both aware of how physical the moment had turned.
"If you're okay, I'll just..." She averted her gaze and backed away.
"I'm truly sorry, Caroline." Mick yanked the ends of the towel into a knot tight enough to garrote his mid-section.
"N-no, it's okay, it's okay."
Hurrying, Caroline crossed the hall and closed the door behind her, careful not to slam it, but making sure she threw the deadbolt. She'd be lying if she told herself she wasn't frightened, not of Mick, but of the depth of his anguish. There 59
Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
were demons locked inside him that tonight had fought and won. How many times had this happened before? And who had been there to lead him back from edge?
Maybe coming to Sebastopol wasn't such a good idea, the practical part of her brain asserted. Just as she'd ignored its first warning and went to him, she knew there was nothing that could tear her away now. The mystery of the Mahoneys and her life was deepening. She'd come for the penny and would stay for the pound.
* * * *
BY THREE O'CLOCK on Friday, the last day of her first week, Caroline had found questionable programming in the ZyQyx network, although nothing sinister or related to fraud. She also discovered that her first impression of ZyQyx as a great place to work held up. Salaries were exceptionally high, and Ian Foy's employees adored him. No one, not even Brian Mahoney, Ian's designated suspect, spoke unkindly about him.
She'd dangled some bait before a couple of the programmers, to stir things up. No one snapped at the line. For more than an hour she'd stared at code she'd written in Visual Basic earlier in the day. When an e-mail message from Brian popped up on her screen, she gladly took a moment to read it. The e-mail invited her to "Hot August Nights, the Friday Night Bash
at the Marina," the singles'
apartment complex Foy had suggested she consider. Thanks for asking. I'd love to tag along, she replied. She liked Brian. He was easygoing, with a wry, self-deprecating 60
Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
sense of humor about his personal life, but was straightforward and all business about his job. They'd worked together for several hours in the last two days, and she found it inconceivable that Ian suspected him. She also found him a brilliant programmer and analyst.
The phone rang a few minutes later. She was so deep in code again, it startled her. "Caroline Spring." she answered, sounding breathless.
"Got your e-mail," Brian said from the other end of the line. "Cool!"
"Is this a regular Friday night thing?"
"Most of the time. In the winter, Striker likes to rent a bus and take a bunch of us skiing. He's in good shape for an old dude."
Caroline smiled. "Brian, why do you and your brother call him Striker? Mick says it like a curse."
"You want to know about curses, ask my big brother. Mick's superstitious as hell. Thinks all of the Mahoneys are cursed."
She had to have misunderstood. "Your family's living under a curse?" How gothic.
Brian's chuckle sounded ironic. "Not my family, just my big brother, or at least in my big brother's mind."
"Come on, Brian. Scientists debunk the paranormal, don't they?"
"Not Mick. He's a scientist because of the family curse." Caroline envisioned Brian putting quotation marks around those last two words.
"Who or what is cursed?"
61
Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
He snorted, as if disgusted by the thought. "Maybe someday, when you have about five hours to kill, we can skim the surface."
"That bad, huh?"
"Yeah, but that's old news." She heard the smile return in his voice. "The party starts right after work. Should go 'til about midnight."
"What do people wear?"
"Whatever you're wearing now. In case you haven't noticed, we all dress down on Fridays." Caroline sighed. She wore a silk blouse with linen pants. The matching jacket hung from a hanger on the back of her door. "Someone forgot to tell me. I'm wearing a suit."
"Probably won't hold up too well if you're thrown into the pool."
"Excuse me?"
For an instant, she heard Mick in Brian's mischievous laughter. "Hey, work hard, play hard," he said. "That's Ian's motto."
"Will he be there?"
"We never know 'til we see him. Whether he's there or not, he always picks up the tab for the food and keg." Whoa. How much of Ian Foy's generosity was heartfelt? Or was it paternal, which tended more to manipulation than generosity?
"You have plenty of time to change," Brian was saying.
"Promise you won't flake out on us." 62
Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
Oh, she'd be there. Wouldn't miss the opportunity to observe the crew after they'd tossed back a few. "Those legendary wild horses couldn't keep me away."
"Great. Later."
Caroline hung up the phone, propped her chin in her palm and closed her eyes. They stung from hours of staring at the screen, just like her neck and shoulders ached from hunching forward. She'd been at this for five days, and had yet to see anything unusual. Nothing popped. Even background checks came up clean.
The first thing Tuesday morning, she'd run a background check on Brian Timothy Mahoney. She learned he was thirtyone, fourteen months older than she, and still lived at home. Or at least he received his mail at the same post office box as his mother, Sheila DeSantis, and her husband, Tony. He'd graduated with honors and a degree in computer science from UC-Berkeley. Afterward, he'd pursued enough continuing education that he had almost every certificate the industry offered.
He had some credit card debt—nothing unmanageable for his income. He owned a jet ski, and was halfway through the payments on his Blazer.
Over a mocha latté, he'd told Caroline he was engaged to one of the executive assistants, Ramona Carini, with their wedding in two weeks. "We're at minus fourteen days and counting," he'd said, bursting with pride. After their break, Caroline had returned to her office and ran a background check on Ramona as well. Both hers and Brian's records were spotless—not even a parking ticket. 63
Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
They'd grown up in Sebastopol and followed each other through grammar school and high school. Brian went off to college; Ramona started working at ZyQyx. Neither had ever worked anywhere else, both received excellent performance reviews, and both had climbed the corporate ladder in the direction of their choice.
Caroline had also run checks on the three Mahoney cousins who worked in the ZyQyx branch offices. All women in their early forties, administrative staff with spotless records. Model employees. Where did she look next?
Ian had showed her proof that someone was siphoning his profits, yet she saw no unusual activity on the network. Whoever masterminded this one was good. Very, very good. After fetching a cup of coffee, Caroline reviewed the snippet of code she'd written before lunch. Dim lRet As Long
Dim lProcessID As Long
Dim lProcessHandle As Long
'Can replace me.hwnd with any handle to any other
'window including one you may obtain from another
'application
GetWindowThreadProcessId Me.hwnd, lProcessID
'Get the process handle, you need not change"0 and false" settings lProcessHandle = OpenProcess(0, False, lProcessID)
'Sets the priority
'use any priority from the constants
'defined in declarations
'if lRet—0 then
64
Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
'the call was successful lRet = SetPriorityClass (lProcessHandle, HIGHPRIORITYCLASS)
'Close the handle so system retains
'accurate count of open handles
'to process. Returns non-zero if
'successful
lRet = CloseHandle(lProcessHandle)
Her mind was still on the Mahoneys. She hadn't seen Mick since she'd burst in on his nightmare on Wednesday, although she'd heard him coming and going at different times. She'd promised Ian her undivided attention the day she started. In reality, she was spending more time trying to solve the mystery of her life, and how the Mahoneys figured into it.
"You have to stop this, Caroline," she muttered. Once her job was done, she'd have plenty of time to unravel the mystery.
* * * *
AT A QUARTER PAST six, Caroline riffled through the sparse array of clothing that hung in a walk-in closet so empty it echoed. Her business suits, blouses, and dresses lined a quarter of one side, while her casual clothes, other than those fit for nothing more elaborate than a date with the Laundromat, could have been hung from one hook. Travis had shipped clothes perfect for business dinners and cocktail parties, not poolside keg parties.
She chose the best of her casual wear, white jeans that hugged her long, slender legs and rode low on her hips, and a 65
Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
white tank top that ended a few inches short of the belt and zipper on her pants. She circled her waist with a gold chain, fastened on a pair of large golden hoop earrings, and slipped several bracelets on her arm. This had been Luke's favorite outfit. He'd bought it for her while they were in Puerto Vallarta—the trip meant to jump-start their sagging relationship but that had ended it permanently instead. Caroline turned in the mirror. Luke had insisted she wear gold-strapped sandals with four-inch heels to round out the look. He'd paid a fortune for them in a designer shop along the resort city's answer to Rodeo Drive. He wanted her to look "hot."
She looked "hot" all right, like a cross between a country singer and a hooker in a Dallas juke joint. Disgusted, she kicked off the sandals, unsnapped t
he chain at her waist and pulled off the bracelets. Fingers working quickly, she harnessed her hair into a long, thick French braid, and threw on a pair of white, backless sandals. Now, at least she wouldn't glow in the dark.
Caroline paused in the hallway a few minutes later. Mick's door stood ajar. She wondered if he'd left for a minute or two, or if he was expecting someone. The sensual sounds of a French chanteuse crooning something hopeless and forlorn floated through the opening, along with the most unusual fragrance, akin to the musky scent of a rain forest sprinkled with Caribbean spices.
Caroline tiptoed across the hallway and pushed on his door. It opened slowly, enough for her to see that the blinds were drawn, and the room dark except for the flicker of 66
Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
candles. What lay beyond? A warm tub with bubbles?
Champagne? With the sun still high?
Part of her wanted to laugh, while another wanted to cry. She and Luke had shared a lot of good times, but after the first couple of months, he was about as romantic as a plate of pickled herring. Making love before suppertime, flickering candles in daylight, the mournful poetry of a French chanteuse—definitely not on Luke's list of priorities. She sighed, shrugged off what could have been, and headed out. 67
Sweet Caroline
by Micqui Miller
Chapter Six
IT WAS ALMOST 7:30 p.m. when Caroline found a parking space at the Marina. She'd stopped for gas and picked up a bottle of wine and some snacks at a deli not far from the complex. She might not be drinking, but she hoped everyone else was and remembered an old war slogan she'd heard somewhere: Loose lips sink ships.
Caroline had no problem finding the party. She followed the noise—laughter, music, and a loud splash made by someone who'd belly-flopped into the pool.
At the entrance to the clubhouse, a woman called out,
"Hey, Caroline, over here."
She looked through the crowd of about forty—all ZyQyx singles, some older than she, and some younger. Caroline didn't remember everyone's names, but she recognized all of the faces.
Sweet Caroline Page 5
