Intent to Seduce & A Glimpse of Fire

by Cara Summers

  “She’s not your usual type,” Vincent said.

  Lucas set his glass down with a snap. “That is not the topic of our business either.”

  “Your grandfather would have liked her,” Vincent said.

  “What would you know—” Lucas caught himself. What was the matter with him? Mac was flirting with that old man because that was what she was supposed to do. This was the second time that he’d let her distract him. He never should have grabbed and kissed her like that in the limo. It was out of character for him, and it was just the thing that would put Falcone on the alert. He’d better keep his mind on what he had to do. Shifting his gaze to Falcone, he said, “I didn’t come in here with you to discuss my grandfather either.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Our business begins and ends with him.” Moving to another painting on the wall, he pushed it aside and began to turn the knob on a small safe. When it was open, he extracted an envelope and held it out to Lucas. “Read this first and then we’ll talk.”

  “TINY MORELLI’S THE NAME, and you are?”

  Mac felt her hand gripped in a vise. When she glanced up, her first thought was that the name was a misnomer. Tiny Morelli was huge. He towered at least a foot above her and his hand was easily the length of her forearm.

  “Sally Maxwell.”

  “Ever been to the Napa Valley before?”

  “No.” Tiny was the third man who’d gravitated to her since Lucas had disappeared with Vincent Falcone. This one was younger than the other two. But it didn’t seem to matter. “Sally” was a definite man magnet. There didn’t seem to be a male in the room who was immune to a woman in a short skirt, a top that showed cleavage and very high heels.

  Added to that, she was a stranger. If she’d doubted the validity of her male-fantasy research before, she certainly didn’t now. A week ago, this verification would have thrilled her.

  “How about a dance, sugar?”

  “I can’t leave. My fiancé made me promise to stay here.”

  “Then we’ll dance right here.”

  Mac blinked and stared. The only music in the room came from a string quartet. “It’s a little hard to dance to Mozart.”

  “We’ll improvise,” Tiny said, placing his wineglass on the tray of a passing waiter. “I got some moves we’ll both enjoy.”

  She just bet he did. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Tracker had worked his way to the archway that led to the hall. He was nearly home free. Trying to ignore the quick stab of envy, she turned up the wattage on her smile and flicked her gaze back to the man whose fingers were now sliding up the inside of her arm. The one thing she wasn’t supposed to do was call attention to herself.

  “I shouldn’t really,” she pointed out. “My fiancé wouldn’t like it.”

  “Who cares?” he murmured as he leaned a little closer. Then to her astonishment, she felt the backs of his fingers brush very deliberately along the side of her breast. She took a quick step back into a waiter. Wineglasses clinked and jiggled on his tray, and one dropped to the floor. In the midst of the confusion, Mac upended the contents of hers down the front of Tiny’s shirt.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “Why, you little…” Tiny paused to glare at her as he searched for a word. “You did that on purpose.”

  Mac lifted her chin. “That’s not a very nice thing to accuse a lady of.”

  “Sally, my dear, is there a problem?”

  Mac turned to find Tracker pushing through a circle of people. “I spilled my wine.”

  “She poured it over me on purpose,” Tiny maintained.

  Whipping out a hankie, Tracker began to brush it down the front of Tiny’s shirt. “You’re so lucky it was white wine. Red wine stains are so difficult to take out.” Pausing, he ran his finger down the cloth. “Oh my. This is silk. And chardonnays have been known to leave a mark.”

  The man slapped Tracker’s hand away. “Leave it, will you?”

  Tracker made a tsking sound. “Just to be sure, you should rinse it immediately with cold water.” He gave the shirt one last brush with his hankie. “I can show you where the men’s room is.”

  “Never mind,” Tiny said, backing away. “I can find it on my own.”

  “You weren’t supposed to create a scene,” Tracker said under his breath as he took her arm and parted a way for them through the little crowd that had gathered.

  “I don’t like to be fondled in public,” she said. Then it occurred to her that she’d just told an outright lie. Hadn’t Lucas touched her almost as intimately in front of Vincent Falcone? “At least not by strangers.”

  “C’mon, let’s get you a breath of fresh air.” Taking her arm, Tracker guided her through a glass door to a redwood deck.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “The boss has you rattled, doesn’t he?”

  She sighed as she turned to him. “Yes. But I shouldn’t be letting it interfere. I should be able to put it out of my mind until we find—” Cutting herself off, she glanced quickly around. They were alone on one of the wide decks she’d spotted from the limo. Beyond Tracker’s shoulder, she could see the flight of steps that led to the upper levels. Shifting her eyes back to Tracker, she said, “In the lab, I never lose my focus.”

  “He’s rattled too, if that helps. As far as making my escape goes, I think we’ve just found a better way to get to the upper levels of this little hotel. C’mon.”

  “I’m supposed to keep myself visible,” Mac said. The stairs looked steeper and steeper as they drew closer to them.

  “Been there. Done that,” Tracker said as he began to climb. “And since you’ve called a little too much attention to yourself, it’s time for plan B. Besides, I think you’re safer with me right now than you are with Tiny.”

  “But we can be seen by anyone who glances this way.” Drawing in a deep breath, she took the first step, then the second. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She wanted to help find Sophie.

  “It’s the best kind of cover,” he explained in a low tone as he turned to draw her up the last steps. “If someone asks, we’re just trying to get a better view of the whole estate.” He guided her toward the railing and raised his voice. “Mr. Falcone wanted us to make ourselves at home. And the view is so much better from here. Look, there’s even a telescope we can use.”

  Mac was sure that the view was incredible, but it was hard to enjoy it with the way her stomach had started to pitch and roll. She gripped the edge of the railing.

  Tracker leaned close and whispered, “One of the glass doors behind us is ajar. I’m going to wander in, then check out the room and the floor. You stay here and keep watch. Any trouble, you head down to the party. Okay?”

  “Sure.” Mac managed a nod. She wasn’t sure she could get back down the stairs, but she wasn’t going to keep Tracker from doing his job.

  In a louder voice, he said, “Nature is calling, sweetie. Be right back.”

  Mac kept her eyes directly in front of her as Tracker slipped away. The view was spectacular. If she kept her attention focused on that, the dizziness would fade. From this level, she could see the neat patterns that the rows of vines made as they crisscrossed in the distance. She let her gaze follow one pattern into the next as she drew in deep breaths and let them out. Any minute now, the queasiness would pass. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of color.

  Turning, she saw just the edge of a colored cloth spread across the grass. She inched her way along the railing as it curved around the side of the house until she spotted the baskets and the splashes of colored silk. Deflated hot-air balloons.

  Sophie had mentioned taking a ride in one—how long ago? Two days? Mac recalled the excitement in her friend’s voice, and now she wondered if Sophie would ever…

  No, she wasn’t going to let herself think that way. They were going to find Sophie. She was going to be all right. Tracker could be finding her right now.

  Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes. She’d ju
st seen it again, that flash of color. Something had caused one of the swatches of red and green silk spread along the ground to ripple a little. That was what must have caught her eye a few moments ago.

  What was causing it? There wasn’t any wind, but she was sure she’d seen the cloth move. She waited and watched.

  “What in hell am I supposed to do now?”

  The sudden break in the silence made Mac jump. It was coming from the section of the deck below her where she and Tracker had been standing only moments before. And the voice was familiar.

  “I promised my father that I would have exclusive rights to MacKenzie Lloyd’s research by today. You promised me that I would.”

  “Look. I was sure that you would have it too. But you know how difficult she is to deal with.”

  Mac’s hands tightened on the railing. The second voice was more than familiar; she recognized it instantly. Leaning over the railing, she confirmed what she already knew. The second man was Professor Gil Stafford, her department chair at the university. And the first was Vincent Smith, the representative from Lansing Biotech who’d dated her in the hopes that she’d sign with his company.

  “You assured me it was a done deal,” Vincent said.

  “It’s just a minor glitch. She left town unexpectedly. Once I can get her out here, she’ll sign the papers. I guarantee it.” Gil Stafford’s voice was as smooth as an oil slick, and just as dangerous.

  “You’ve been wrong about her before. You told me that all I would have to do was get her to fall in love with me and she would sign everything over to Lansing Biotech. That didn’t work. And I’ve guaranteed my father that he can make this announcement today.”

  “Calm down, Sonny.”

  Another wave of dizziness hit at the same instant that everything clicked in Mac’s mind. She pulled her head up slowly and focused on the colorful balloon silk in the distance. The man who had introduced himself to her and romanced her as Vincent Smith of Lansing Biotech had to be none other than Sonny Falcone. She took a deep breath and let it out.

  What name had he used when he’d been dating Sophie? she wondered. Then she clamped down ruthlessly on the hysterical bubble of laughter that threatened to erupt. There would be time to laugh with Sophie later. Right now she had to listen and think.

  “I admit I misjudged Dr. Lloyd at first. When she turned down the money you were offering, I thought she might be persuaded by romance. She’s such a little mouse. But everyone has a price.” Gil’s tone was soothing, his laugh soft. “I now have something that she wants—something that she will do anything to get back. I guarantee it.”

  “Then why isn’t she here, signing the papers right now?”

  “I told you. I have to get her out here first.”

  For the first time, Mac heard a hint of anger and frustration in Gil Stafford’s voice.

  “The important thing is not to let your father know that there’s a problem, right?” Gil said. “No need in getting him all upset when everything will work out in the end.”

  “As long as you’re sure…”

  “When he calls you into his office, just tell him that the paperwork will be here shortly. Dr. Lloyd is sending it by special messenger.”

  Mac heard footsteps then. They were taking the outside stairs to the lower level. As the voices faded, she focused her eyes on the bright silk cloth. This time it wasn’t the thoughts spinning around in her head or even the height of the deck that was making her dizzy. It was the fear blooming inside her. If Gil Stafford had something she wanted, it must mean that he had Sophie—and he knew it was her.

  Just then the silk rippled. And this time she saw what was causing it. One of the baskets had swayed, tipping one way and then righting itself.

  Moving quickly to the telescope, she focused it on the balloon. Someone had to be in it, making it move. Then she caught a glimpse of a head with blond hair. Sophie?

  Whirling, she made her way to the stairs. Two flights. The moment she glanced down, the panic slammed into her and stopped her short. Closing her eyes, she gripped the railing and took a steadying breath. But it didn’t seem to help.

  There was a sliding glass door behind her. She could go back into the house and find Tracker. But that would take time. And Sophie—if it had been Sophie that she’d seen—needed her help now.

  I’ve been promised a balloon ride. The words slipped into her mind as clearly as if Sophie had spoken them aloud. She’d said them the first time she’d called from the spa. Except she’d been here in California.

  Keeping her eyes closed, Mac took another deep breath and let it out. This time she wasn’t going to let the fear stop her. All she had to do was take the stairs one step at a time. Gripping the railing, she placed her foot on the first one.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  LUCAS COULD HEAR the ticking of the clock on Vincent Falcone’s desk as he read the letter for the second time.

  My dear Ham,

  If you are reading this, it means that my friend Vince is calling in an old debt. Since I owe him my life, I hope you will find it possible to grant him his request.

  All my love,

  Green Eggs

  The words hadn’t changed since the first time he’d read them. As always his grandfather had been brief. Lucas Wainright believed that brevity was one of the cardinal virtues. But the conciseness of the letter wasn’t the only detail convincing him that it was authentic. The signature, too, was his grandfather’s. Of course, Falcone was resourceful enough to hire an excellent forger. But as far as Lucas knew, no one else had ever known the secret code name his grandfather and he had used whenever they had gone on one of their private vacations to the cabin.

  So this had been the source of the slow, sinking certainty in his gut he’d been experiencing ever since Falcone had walked out of his office that day—the one that always told him when his opponent had something up his sleeve. At least it was good to know that his instincts weren’t failing him.

  Raising his eyes from the letter, Lucas looked at the older man. He was standing at the drawn curtain, gazing at the group of people he’d gathered together to celebrate the fifth anniversary of the vineyard. The ruler surveying his happy subjects. That was what he should have looked like in his moment of triumph. But to Lucas, Vincent Falcone suddenly seemed older and more frail. He was reminded of the way his grandfather had looked shortly before he’d died.

  Shaking the impression off, he said, “My grandfather owed you his life.”

  Falcone threw back his head and laughed, and a sound of genuine amusement filled the room as he turned to face Lucas. “You are so very much like him. You accept the facts and cut right to the heart of the matter. No quibbling. Your father would have argued forever, questioning the authenticity of the letter, arguing that he wasn’t bound by it.”

  Lucas shrugged. “I’m pretty certain my grandfather wrote it.”

  Falcone moved toward him and took the seat behind his desk. The negotiations were about to begin, Lucas thought.

  “I could give you some time. If you check, you’ll find his prints on both the note and the envelope, along with your own. I’ve always used gloves when I’ve touched it. And the handwriting will also check out.”

  When Lucas said nothing, the older man said, “And, yes, I did save your grandfather’s life. We fought in the same unit in France. We were very young, barely eighteen. I have no proof of that, by the way. Only the two of us knew about it.”

  Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

  “We were the last two left in a bunker. Everyone else in our unit had been shot or had made a run for it. The shelling was heavy and the hits were getting closer.” Vincent Falcone leaned back in his chair, a half smile of remembrance on his face. “I knew we were just sitting ducks and I wanted to get out. Your grandfather felt it was safer to stay. We had a fight. Luckily, I knocked him out, then carried him with me to safety. The bunker was leveled about ten minutes after we cleared out.”

  Lucas
nodded. His grandfather had told him the story more than once—about the man who hadn’t been afraid to take a risk. He’d credited the man, not only with saving his life, but with showing him how to live it.

  And that man was Vincent Falcone, a man he’d viewed as an enemy for the past five years. “Did my father receive one of the letters too? Is that how he came to get mixed up with you?”

  Falcone shook his head. “Your grandfather wrote only one letter. He sent it to me shortly before he died. It wasn’t long after that your father came to me and asked for money.”

  “Which you were only too happy to lend him.”

  “It served my interests well. I won’t mince words. Your father was a weak man.” He turned a hand over, palm upward. “The strong will always take advantage of the weak.”

  Lucas folded his grandfather’s letter and put it back into the envelope. “What do you want?”

  Falcone’s lips curved. “You might as well be your grandfather’s clone.”

  “Then you know that I will not let you back into Wainright Enterprises.” He placed the envelope between them on the desk. “My grandfather would not have asked me to do that.”

  “No, he wouldn’t.”

  “So?” Lucas asked. “Play your hole card.”

  For a moment, Falcone studied him, eyes narrowing. Then once again, Lucas thought he caught a glimpse of frailty. Finally, the older man said, “I have a favor I want to ask you. No, it’s a favor I want to collect from you. My doctors tell me that I am going to die within the year.”

  Lucas managed to keep his astonishment masked. Whatever he’d expected to hear when he’d followed Falcone into the office, it hadn’t been this. What kind of game was the old man playing?

  “I’ve been making certain preparations. One step is that I’ve sold off all my business interests that are not what you might refer to as legitimate.”