Unraveled

by Allie Hawkins

  “Here’s a small down payment on my IOU.” Quinn rose and dragged her tongue along his bottom lip. His desire spiraled into the pit of her stomach.

  Arms wrapped around his neck, she teased the corners of his mouth, received a quick but intense shock from the stubble on his chin, then slipped inside his welcoming mouth. The anxiety that had crushed her heart and lungs during his brief absence receded, allowing her to breathe. Her nerves quivered as he repressed a groan. The head of his cock pressed hard against her. Lord, she wanted him inside her, reaffirming they were alive. Offering hope they might grow old together.

  Without warning, he stepped back and exhaled like a man jumping in a mountain stream. “We either stop right now or...”

  “We don’t,” she finished, amazed by the reasonableness of her tone.

  “The electric chair holds more appeal than stopping, but I will...You think you can find something—anything...?”

  The hope in his voice beat back the disappointment zinging through her. She nodded. “Why don’t you find a couch and take a nap?”

  “Why don’t I sit here?” He pulled an imaginary zipper across his mouth.

  The smart response dictated shaking her head, but he’d already moved to the other side of the desk and sat down, stretching his legs in front of him, owning the space. He watched her every keystroke in silence. Heart pounding, she entered a mental cave and concentrated on a strategy to hack into the site she suspected held the key to the embezzlement.

  Nobody had to tell her BOTN probably allowed one sign-on attempt. If she mis-guessed the user-id on her first try—a near certainty since she assumed Tony never used his mother’s maiden name or his astrological sign or anything mundane—BOTN access would be blocked.

  Sweat slicked her palms. The scenario she’d dreamed up earlier—Tony signing onto BOTN with a fake ID that pointed to Rex—lost some of its plausibility. If Tony wanted to frame Rex for the embezzlement, he’d choose an obvious user-id. If his obvious became obvious to her, several traps still loomed.

  She exhaled. First things first.

  Words and icons melted into one illegible stew. She groaned, snapped her mouth shut and glanced at Pierce. His head lay twisted at an odd angle, and he breathed softly through his mouth. The facial stubble and tics in his jaw twisted her heart. Whatever level of sleep he’d entered, she doubted it was restful. If she ever figured out a damn user-id, maybe they could go back to his place and sleep for a week. What better sleeping pill than making love?

  Quinn pinched the inside of her elbow, turned over a clean sheet of paper and drew several cat caricatures. This damn search was all cat and mouse. Her hand trembled with exhaustion, but she drew another cat. Instead of adding ears and whiskers, she drew a heart. Inside the heart, she mindlessly traced their initials—SQA + PHJ.

  For God’s sake. Face burning, she glanced at Pierce. His eyelashes curled like miniature brushes against his cheeks. Her heart stampeded. God, she had let him back in her life so easily.

  She stood and scrubbed her burning eyes. No wonder she couldn’t think like Tony thinking like Rex. Looking for patterns in Tony’s mind was an exercise in chasing—

  “Ghosts. Phantoms,” she said out loud, nerve endings tingling.

  Pierce made a noise but his eyes remained closed.

  “Phantom—no s,” she whispered, wishing Pierce would wake up and congratulate her.

  Phantom fit.

  If Tony had, in fact, tried to frame Rex.

  What if she’d subconsciously bought into Tony leaving obvious pointers to frame Rex?

  The irony stuck in her head like a nail. Ironic twists worked on TV shows, but in real life...Was she making this too easy? How did Tony know about BOTN? How did he embezzle a small fortune to support a drug habit no one suspected? Why had Rex suspected?

  A memory of Detective Ryder flashed. Why had he suddenly shown up in the parking garage? What did she know about Tony that would help an undercover narcotics cop?

  Logic said, wake Pierce, get his input. She hesitated. Tension knotted the muscles in her neck and shoulders. She imagined Pierce’s strong fingers melting her bones while she checked out—what, exactly? His touch would drive her nuts—overriding the search for clues implicating Tony in BOTN.

  Because...the last thing Pierce wanted was proof that Tony had masterminded the embezzlement.

  ****

  Pierce’s mouth tasted like a small, furry animal had crawled down his throat and died. He jerked awake, needing a heartbeat to figure out where he was and saw Quinn bent over a pad of paper.

  “Mornin’,” he mumbled.

  Her head came up. “So soon?”

  The purple smudges under her eyes sliced into his heart. When was the last time she’d slept all night? “Why’d you let me sleep so long?”

  Standing, he realized he sounded belligerent and mentally kicked his ass for taking out his frustration on her. “Sorry. That’s my male ego showing.”

  She stood and leaned toward him, risking death by his dragon breath. “You’re not used to sleeping on the job. Too bad I don’t have more to show.”

  “Nothing pointing to the weasel?” He took a step backwards, hoping she wouldn’t notice how bad he looked and how worse he smelled.

  A quick headshake. “But I’m not giving up.”

  “I should check on George.”

  “The nurse thought he was resting more comfortably at ten past five.”

  “If there’s no change, let’s go to my house. Grab a shower. Eat something. Maybe even nap for ten, fifteen minutes. We can be back here in less than ninety minutes.” When she didn’t interrupt or shake her head, Pierce thought he’d convinced her, but the spooky glitter in her eyes caused his gut to spasm. .

  She shifted her gaze to her pad of paper, staring at it like some kind of crystal ball. “You go. I’m close...to a breakthrough.”

  “Close to falling on that damn keyboard and breaking your nose.” Pierce snapped his mouth shut before he made it worse by telling her he wanted her with him.

  “Phantom thief,” she mumbled as if he’d evaporated into the ether.

  “Whatever.” Jaw muscles tensed. He swallowed a dose of bad breath. Question after question popped in his cotton-filled head.

  Secretly, didn’t he want Quinn to drop her search? Forget finding evidence proving Tony was the embezzler? Prove, instead, that Rex was guilty.

  Blood scalded Pierce’s face. A jolt of adrenaline brought back Quinn’s accusations he’d sabotaged their relationship by shutting her out. Keeping his deepest thoughts to himself. Hiding his darkest secrets from her.

  He exhaled and almost gagged. Did she consider his contempt for Michael sabotage? Were dinosaurs extinct?

  “Indecision,” he announced, aware her mind swam in cyberspace, his dog-paddled in the shallow end of the pool. “Indecision is the key to flexibility.”

  The stupidity plummeted like an anchor dropped in a lake. He shuffled his feet. God, he was pathetic. Expecting a response was...stupid. Childish.

  As if reading his thoughts, she raised her head. The corners of her mouth curved, and the tenderness in her smile soothed his ego. Even before she floated toward him, he felt his hard edges soften.

  They stood for a few minutes without talking. His legs were beginning to protest when she looked at him with eyes that broke his heart. Oh-oh.

  “On the last day I ever saw my father, I put a note in his lunch...”

  “I see,” he said as gently as if speaking to an injured child.

  “You know, when you’re a little kid, you think everything bad that happens is your fault.”

  He nodded, though she hadn’t asked a question.

  “From the beginning, that very first night he didn’t come home, Mom told us he didn’t leave because of anything we kids did.” She nailed Pierce with an unwavering gaze, but he suspected she was seeing her mother.

  “Your mom’s one smart lady.”

  “That’s why I wanted to believ
e her. After a while, I did.”

  “But?” The but churned his stomach.

  “But I never told her...never owned up to writing the note to anyone—except Michael.”

  That explains a lot. Not who left the note in her kitchen, but a lot.

  “I’m honored.” Pierce hoped that didn’t sound too hokey.

  “Better hear the whole story.” Her eyes looked hot with unshed tears.

  Her hand went limp in his, but he squeezed her fingertips and held her gaze. “I’m listening, but you had nothing to do with your father’s disappearance.”

  The deep breath she sucked in hurt his lungs, but she spoke in a clear, strong voice. “I wanted a puppy. A neighbor’s black cocker had seven of the cutest wigglers...”

  A faraway look clouded her eyes. “I wanted the runt. The black and white one. I had a name picked out. I went over every day and came home begging for Spot. Original, huh?”

  Pierce stopped breathing. Quinn went on. “Daddy said no. Every time. No. He almost never said no to anything I really wanted.”

  How could he, unless he had a block of ice for a heart? Pierce stroked her hand.

  “He said I was too young. I remember feeling insulted. Hurt and misunderstood, but mostly insulted. So, I wrote him a note.”

  She stopped, looked off into memory again. “I told him I hated him, thought he was a bad daddy and wished he’d go away because then I could have a puppy.”

  “Your mother didn’t notice?” Sarah Alexander had always struck him as the kind of mother who never let her kids get by with anything.

  “I don’t know where she was. She usually knew everything Michael and I even thought of doing.”

  “If she was like mine, she had eyes in the back of her head,” Pierce offered.

  Quinn nodded. “I remember, I wrote the note right before I went to bed. Slept with it under my pillow. The next morning, while everyone else ate breakfast, I stuffed the note in his coat pocket.”

  Tears leaked out of her eyes. “He didn’t come home that night and I knew why.”

  She clutched Pierce’s handkerchief—a soggy, useless mess.

  “I know.” She sniffed. “I know he didn’t leave us because of my note.”

  “Good.” Pierce figured she meant she knew this in her head.

  “I’m not so neurotic I spend every day feeling guilty or pining after him.”

  “You’re a low-maintenance babe, sweetheart.” Hard-headed, feet on the ground, he almost added.

  Her lips twitched, and she sighed. The sound raised a bruise on his heart.

  “That note in my kitchen—that note really—” The Quinn he knew, the one who said sighing was a character flaw, sighed again.

  Pierce jumped in. “That note was cruel and spiteful and untrue.”

  “Not a coincidence, though. Can’t be. With a little more time, I’m certain I can find the connection between my note and Tony’s confession.” She didn’t give him big eyes or kiss him or make a move on him to elicit the response she wanted.

  The temptation to remind her of the trust she’d just given him scalded the tip of his tongue. He clenched his hands at his sides so he wouldn’t betray that trust. He said, “Okay. I’ll wait for you at home. Call me when you’re ready for me to come get you.”

  “Thank you.” The intensity in her voice spilled down his spine.

  “Two hours max,” he muttered. Then, by hook or by crook, he’d get her in his bed—where he’d make sure she got some sleep—after which he’d get her yes no matter what.

  ****

  Minutes later, in a mild state of disbelief at Pierce’s departure, Quinn tapped her pencil against her upper lip. She’d have plenty of time to tell him she’d marry him. After she proved Rex had thumbed his nose at all of them, embezzled the money and killed Tony. Proof would make her yes that much sweeter.

  Frowning, she entered PHANTOM. To hell with worries about getting sucked into quicksand. If she was wrong, about case sensitivity or passwords or keystrokes, she was wrong. She didn’t have to do the police’s work for them. And she didn’t have to cogitate and ruminate until hell was serving iced cold beer, either.

  “Everything should be made as simple as possible, but no simpler,” she said to the computer screen.

  Opera went with phantom the way birds went with bees and milk went with honey. Her pulse revved up. She pounded the keys on her keyboard. O-p-e-r-a.

  For a fraction of a fraction of a second, her computer screen hung. She held her breath. Please, please, don’t let the password be case sensitive.

  A flash...the main BOTN menu came up. Quinn whooped. Fingers tingling, she studied the menu with its eight categories. Nothing fancy. But why would elegant screen design appeal to a band of thieves?

  The casual user might see nothing unusual. With minor variations, the categories appeared on the main menus of all kinds of Internet portals. The listing of BANKS leaped out. Quinn ignored the prickle on the back of her neck, clicked on TRAVEL as a test and received the message to enter her password.

  A second click on TOOLS confirmed her suspicions. Each category required a password. She gnawed her bottom lip. BANKS might even require additional verification of her identity.

  Damn, leave it to a bunch of sociopaths to set up more safeguards than honest people ever considered. BOTNers could have a BOT installed tracking her every keystroke, recording every hesitation, analyzing every mistake she made. She probably had less than ten seconds before her operating system crashed. She exhaled and stared at the screen. Her eyes were grittier than sandpaper, and logic neurons refused to fire. Pierce was right—she needed sleep.

  Shiiiit. She’d washed out as cybercop. She squeezed her mouse. The jig was up. The masks were off.

  Masks. “No s.” She fought the impulse to yell.

  Her fingers flew across the keyboard. The drums in her aching head faded as a new group of sites appeared.

  Laundering Institutions/ Unnumbered Accounts: Swiss, Caribbean, Latin American

  Robberies, Greatest 20th Century

  Federal Reserve Updates

  Embezzlement/Scams/Etc.

  “Yessss.” Her hand shook on the mouse. She waited, then double clicked on the only subcategory that held any interest.

  Chapter 21

  “Nooooo.” Quinn turned her back on the Embezzlement menu and glared at her cell phone. She grabbed it, inhaled twice and punched TALK.

  “There’s a taxi waiting for you at the main entrance,” Pierce announced.

  “I’m in the middle—”

  “Of a pointless computer game. Come home, Quinn.” His impatience gave his words a melodramatic edge that sounded so unlike him, she blinked.

  “I need half an hour to finish my pointless computer game.” She made no effort to soften her own impatience. Too many adrenaline highs. Too little time since Pierce had left.

  “This can’t wait. Get over here. Right now. You won’t believe your eyes.”

  She held the phone away from her ear and stared at it. Pierce had hung up on her. Incredibly, she’d swear he’d spoken in exclamations.

  Tough. Exclamations didn’t make his big kahuna one bit more important than her miracle of breaking into BOTN. Irritation at him jumped a notch or two. She didn’t have much to show for her mental gymnastics except brain paralysis. Her break-in of BOTN proved slightly more enlightening than breaking into a pet store. And Michael had disappeared off her radar.

  Her eyes burned and her back ached and her jaw felt ready to crack. Maybe Pierce had a point about sleep. Maybe. She logged off before she changed her mind, but anxiety hammered the top of her skull.

  What if she forgot the passwords? Pierce was distracting...and she was tired enough to forget her own name. She scribbled phantom, opera, mask on a scrap of paper and stuck it in her coat pocket. Her fingers grazed the envelope she’d forgotten—thanks to spilling her insides to Pierce. More muscles bunched in her chest. She stuffed the cell phone in her pocket, grabbed the lapto
p and tore out of her cocoon.

  Whatever Pierce had discovered, it had better be good or she’d fall asleep in his face.

  ****

  “Want help up them steps?”

  A gust of wind swept across Quinn, dry-mouthed, disoriented, and slumped in the backseat of a taxi. She rubbed her gritty eyes, shook her head and thanked the driver. Where the heck was Pierce? After his phone call, shouldn’t he throw open the taxi door, pull her into his arms and sweep her up the stairs like Rhett with Scarlett?

  The driver let her feet touch the ground, then slammed the door and raced around the front of the cab. Sleet danced like thousands of miniature bees in his headlights. Shivering, she tottered up the marble stairs. The laptop’s weight stirred a snapshot of the parking garage. Like in all the horror movies she’d ever seen, the front door was cracked a fraction of an inch. When she knocked, the door swung open. No squeaks though. Not in Pierce’s house.

  “Pierce?” Quinn scurried inside, disappointed the scent of coffee didn’t tickle her nose.

  Silence magnified her footsteps. She frowned, set the laptop near the closet and walked to the kitchen. Where was Floyd? Her heart lurched. If either feline or human jumped out and surprised her...Pierce knew she hated surprises.

  The note sat propped against a bottle of olive oil on the island. A snapshot of the note in her kitchen flashed. Sweat trickled down her back. She clenched and unclenched her trembling fingers, then picked up the note in front of her. She read the scrawled line in a single glance.

  Come upstairs as soon as you get here. P

  Relief poured over her in a wave of heat. She smiled. Impatience to see him overrode her lingering irritation at his bossiness. Interesting what he took for granted.

  Or not. She reached the top of the stairs and stopped to catch her breath. His bedroom was the only room she’d visited on the second floor. Anticipation didn’t vaporize exhaustion, but she felt more alive than dead on her feet. What better time to accept his proposal?

  Her heart drummed in her ears, her head spun. Was she nuts?

  Calling his name, she turned the door handle to the master bedroom.

  The stench of musk punched her stomach.