Intimate Knowledge

by Julie Miller

  A perfect match for the polished man buttoning his suit coat and circling the corner of his ornate rococo-style desk.

  “Grace!” He took hold of her outstretched hand and pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her cheek instead of shaking hands. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  This was it.

  Grace fixed a professional smile on her face that was tempered with a bit of a haughty pout. “It’s lovely. Thank you for having me.” She turned to introduce Logan. “Harris, this is my assistant, Logan Pierce. He tracks files and, uh, carries heavy equipment for me—” she winked “—if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes.” Harris’s conspiratorial smile vanished when he turned to greet Logan. “Ilsa will show you to your room in the bungalow. If Miss Lockhart needs you, we’ll send for you.”

  Grace opened her mouth to protest, but a sharp, warning glance from Logan kept her silent. “Yes, sir.” He lifted his stooped gaze to hers. “I’ll get started on that accounting template for you.”

  She hoped that meant he would get started on their search for Mitchell’s hidden computer. Grace nodded, playing along. “Thank you, Mr. Pierce. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Summarily dismissed, Logan turned and followed Ilsa out the door. Meanwhile, Harris turned to the freckle-faced redhead who’d been sitting beside his desk, apparently taking dictation and showing him a length of leg, judging by the steno pad she carried and the micro-mini skirt she wore. “Heather, you may go, as well. Get started on those letters. I’ll sign them after lunch.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After the room had cleared, Tanya took up guard again outside the door and closed it.

  Harris took Grace’s briefcase and set it on the corner of his desk. Her Undercover .38 was no longer within arm’s reach. She breathed deeply, trying to subdue the sudden jump in her pulse rate before she betrayed her nerves in a blush on her cheeks.

  He came back to face her, cupped her elbows and ran his hands up and down her arms. “I’m so glad you’ve chosen to join me, Grace. I think we’ll make a fine team.”

  She was glad she’d chosen the heavier weight blazer of mint-green wool for her first day on the job. Though it wasn’t body armor, it did provide some measure of protection from the stroke of his familiar hands. Other than the soft color and smooth fit, the suit itself wasn’t sexy. But the fact that she wore a stretchy lace camisole instead of a blouse beneath it hadn’t escaped Mitchell’s notice. With his gaze fixed on the rise and fall of her chest, he was grinning like a child with a new toy.

  “There’s so much I want to show you.” He lifted his gaze to hers finally, checking her reaction.

  Grace arched one skeptical eyebrow. “Really.”

  Harris chuckled, then revealed his perfect, bright white teeth in a full-blown smile. “Maybe we can do that later. Right now I want to show you my books, give you a good feel for the scope of what I’m asking you to take on.”

  Books were good. Books were evidence. Books she could handle.

  Grace relaxed enough to let her smile match his. “Sounds fascinating. Let’s get to work.”

  He released her and crossed to the shelves at the far end of the room. He pulled out a leather-bound book then reached into the empty slot and pushed a button recessed in the side of the bookcase. To her surprise, one of the walnut panels behind the desk popped open. Harris quickly replaced the book and swung the panel open like a door.

  “What’s back there?”

  Over his shoulder she could make out what looked like a row of metal filing cabinets set against a stark white wall. “A vault. Plus, it’s a fireproof room where I can store my records.”

  A perfect place to stash a hidden computer, thought Grace.

  “Here.” He set a cache of computer disks on his desk. “Did you know I’m a self-made millionaire almost a hundred times over?”

  “Impressive.”

  Harris made several more trips, carrying out stacks of records books and piling them beside her briefcase on the desk. Meanwhile, she circled the room slowly, touching a book or chair here and there, hiding the fact she was actually pinpointing the location of the switch he’d used to enter the hidden room.

  There. Grace’s eyes widened as she read the book spine.

  Kama Sutra. Fitting, she supposed, given the man who’d designed the secret vault system.

  “There. All set. Do you prefer to work on paper or the computer?”

  Grace didn’t answer. At that moment, she focused in on one of the small statues sitting on the shelf in front of her.

  Silhouettes in copper and steel wire of a woman on her hands and knees with a man kneeling and entering her from behind. She looked up at the shelf beside her. A piece of carved teak in the image of an African goddess, with enough mammary mounds to feed an entire tribe. Sitting on the lamp table beside one of the wing-backed chairs was an oblong chunk of sculpted ivory with the smooth, defined shape and detailing of a man’s erect penis.

  In fact, she now realized, the only piece of art in the room that had no lewd overtones was the portrait of Mitchell himself. Or maybe the fact that it was included in the decor meant he thought he himself was a work of art worthy of such a collection.

  Grace bit down on the inside of her mouth, stifling the urge to laugh. The man’s ego was astronomical.

  Without having heard him come up behind her, Grace jumped when Harris slipped his hand around her waist.

  She stopped laughing inside.

  His displeasure at being ignored was evident in the clipped tone of his voice. “Come, Grace. You can admire the collection later. We have work to do.”

  She stopped laughing and started thinking about survival.

  “WHAT DID YOU FIND OUT?” Logan nearly pounced on Grace when she entered the bungalow almost five hours later. He’d checked to make sure the place wasn’t bugged, then stripped off his jacket and tie to do some snooping, but had left on his fake glasses to keep track of his partner on the inside.

  “That the man’s a pervert.” She kicked off her high heels and sank onto the floral-brocade couch in the sitting room. He noted that she pulled her jacket together and hugged one of the throw pillows in front of her before continuing. “There’s a hidden room in his office I’d like to check out. Beyond that, the only room I had access to was the main bathroom, and there’s no computer hookup in there.”

  Logan perched on one of the overstuffed chairs across from her, giving her the space she’d demanded last night, giving him the space he needed to keep his hands to himself and his mind on the game. “What about his office computer?”

  Grace shook her head. “I was on it all morning. I played around while he took a call. It’s freestanding. The main server that he uses to access his illegal files and contacts is somewhere else.”

  “The bungalow’s clean. I discovered that his chauffeur, Raisa, and I share a mutual admiration for well-tuned engines. I got into the garage and checked the office there. Nothing. It’s got to be in the main house.”

  “Right.” He felt her weary sigh through his bones. “So how are we going to get in? Ilsa and Tanya patrol the halls twenty-four/seven.”

  “Not exactly.” Logan was formulating a plan now. “I watched the staff today, tried to pinpoint their schedules. One of the two bodyguards is with Mitchell at all times while the other patrols. The rest have set duties, but seem to be limited to certain areas of the estate. They’re easier to avoid than Ilsa or Tanya.”

  Grace’s energy level picked up a notch as she caught on. “If I keep Mitchell busy, that would account for at least one of his bodyguards.”

  “And I can stay a step ahead of the other.” He stood and began to pace. “I’ll start with the west wing, back in the kitchen and servants’ rooms. I doubt he’d place the mainframe there, but there might be someone he trusts enough to guard it. It’ll help us narrow the search.”

  “I can check the guest rooms upstairs tonight.”

  �
��No.” He shook his head and scratched at the stubble of beard that was just starting to poke through his skin. “I’ll handle the search. You just keep Mitchell and his bodyguard busy.”

  “So now I’m reduced to bait?”

  He should have tuned in to the temper edging its way into her voice. “That was the plan. You got us in, you created the flush-out program. Now it’s my turn to do what I do.”

  He intended for them to find and corrupt Mitchell’s computer network fast and methodically then get them the hell out of Mitchell’s grasp.

  But he wasn’t going anywhere yet.

  When he spun around, he found Grace blocking his path. Her fists sat on those voluptuous hips, her chest heaved in a deep breath, and her eyes were spitting nothing but emerald fire. His body lurched in automatic response at the delicate scent of her standing so close. But he fisted his hands at his sides and glared down at her upturned face, refusing to acknowledge the desire that forked through him.

  He wanted to kiss that damn smirk off her face and bundle her up in his arms and take her home all at the same time. But he did neither. She wanted her space and some respect, not necessarily in that order. And, damn it, if that was all he could give her, he would.

  “Let me get this straight.” Her temper had reenergized her body. Never knowing for sure what was going on in that brain of hers, Logan wisely retreated a step. “You’re going to search an entire twenty-five-room mansion all by yourself while you’re dodging Amazons who wear guns and a man with a penchant for castrating the competition. And all the while, you’re going to listen in on your earpiece to be ready to rush to my rescue should Mitchell get his hands out of place.”

  Logan didn’t balk. “That sounds about right.”

  Her expression suddenly softened, throwing him off guard. “Who’s watching your back while you’re doing all this?”

  He hadn’t expected that one. Her concern sucker punched him right in the gut and he visibly flinched. But he was stronger than this. He was stronger than emotions; he was stronger than desire. He had to be. He’d barely survived losing one partner on a botched undercover assignment.

  He didn’t intend to lose another.

  “I’ve always watched my own,” he told her, moving across the room to pour himself a glass of ice water at the bar sink. He drank a long swallow. “You don’t need to worry about me. Just focus on what you’re doing.”

  “I see.” When he turned to face her, she’d hugged herself up in that self-conscious embrace that made him want to rail at the world that had somehow made her think she wasn’t good enough or pretty enough or sexy enough. He wanted to swallow her up in his own arms and show her time and again that she, Grace Lockhart, was a sexual force to be reckoned with. A beautiful woman in her own right who didn’t need to live in her mother’s bombshell shadow. “You can be afraid for me, but I can’t be afraid for you?”

  Ah, hell. Afraid for him? Logan shook his head, stemming the rising swell of warmth inside him.

  “That’s right.” He set his glass down on the counter. He didn’t want to like that she cared about him. For the moment, he pretended he didn’t need anyone to care. “I know all the tricks, Gracie. I can work more quickly and efficiently on my own without having to worry about you wandering away from Mitchell. The minute I locate that computer, I’ll contact you. You can download your magic and we can get the hell out of here before he’s any wiser.”

  “You don’t think I can do this, do you?” she accused. Her hug wound tighter around her middle. “Then what the hell was all that training about? I changed my looks, I fired weapons, I wrestled you to the floor, I…we…had sex.”

  No. They’d made love. Despite the best intentions of his randy libido, there’d been emotions involved. Connections had been made. Expectations had been kindled.

  But he couldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t quite get a handle on those feelings himself. The only thing he’d allow himself right now was the driving need to protect something good and wonderful and innocent. He hadn’t protected Roy. But, by damn, he would protect Grace.

  Even if it meant never fully understanding the new and painful emotion gripping his heart.

  “We were good together, Gracie, I won’t deny that.” Good didn’t even begin to describe what they’d shared. Good was doing her a disservice. “But you’re on the front line now. Harris Mitchell’s the only man I want you to worry about.”

  “I can’t promise you that.”

  “You—?” Logan sputtered on his frustrated anger. He marched across the room. Right up to her. Close enough to smell her. Close enough to see the blue flecks in her eyes. Close enough to touch. But he didn’t. “You can’t—? Do you think this is easy for me? This is the reason I work alone. Because you can’t trust a partner not to go off and do some stupid, foolhardy thing that’s gonna get him killed.”

  “Him?” she challenged, forcing him to relive every life-altering moment of Roy Silverton’s death. “Take a good look at me, Logan. I’m not Roy. History isn’t destined to repeat itself.”

  Heat radiated between them. Fiery, combustible heat.

  “I’m smart and I’m a survivor,” she went on. “And I had the best coach in the business.”

  He breathed hard. Grace dropped her arms to her sides, his temper touching off her own. She breathed hard. Their chests expanded in deep, erratic gasps, until their mutual frustrations synchronized themselves. With their gazes locked in stubborn combat, Logan breathed in. Grace inhaled. Her firm, high breasts reached out and touched his chest.

  Logan jumped back as if he’d been zapped by an electrical shock. His groin tightened and his heart expanded.

  But instead of reaching out to her, he turned and walked away. “Rule seven, Gracie.” She knew that damn list he’d given her better than he knew it himself. But he needed to remind her—and himself—to concentrate on where they were and what they were doing. He slipped on his brown suit coat and pulled the tie out of his pocket. “You’d better get back to the house. Mitchell’s expecting you for dinner.”

  “Fine.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her slip into her shoes and comb her fingers through her hair. “I’m checking out the guest rooms and the hidden room in Mitchell’s office,” she announced with a prim, perfunctory lack of emotion. She picked up her briefcase and headed for the door. “What you do with your own time is up to you.”

  “Damn it, Grace.” He reached beyond her shoulder and braced the door shut. He kept moving forward, trapping her against the door. He pushed aside her collar and kissed her neck. He wrapped his arms around her, filling his hands with her breasts and squeezing them tight. He wedged his knee at the seam of her buttocks and lifted her onto his thigh. “My job is to keep you safe. My job is to get you home in one piece. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose anybody else.”

  “No.” She pushed aside his hands, pushed herself back from the door. She turned around and flattened her hand against his chest, pushing him away. She was fighting, fighting something hard inside her. Her hand trembled for a moment against his chest. But then the fingers became a fist and she was pushing him back another step. “Your job is to help me bring down Harris Mitchell.”

  Her big, expressive eyes had darkened to a nearly turquoise-blue. “You keep telling me to stay focused, to pay attention to the job at hand. I need you to do that, too, Logan. It’s natural to worry about your partner, and I appreciate that, I do.”

  “But?” Logan moved away on his own, severing contact with her entirely. He knew she was right. He knew he could never completely trust her on her own because of what had happened to Roy. He knew that he wasn’t letting her do her job.

  “But I’m not proving anything if I let you call all the shots. If I make a mistake, I’ll deal with it—”

  “It only takes one mistake, Grace.”

  She paused long enough to let the import of what he was saying sink in. But she didn’t change her mind.

  “Then I won’t make one.
”

  With that he let her leave.

  14

  “SHOW ME YOUR BREASTS, Grace.”

  Logan stopped dead in his tracks, hearing Harris Mitchell’s hushed request over the tiny monitor in the earpiece of his glasses. While Grace had worked late in Mitchell’s office, guarded at the door by Tanya, Logan had worked his way through the west wing of the house. No computers.

  His eavesdropping on Grace had become a harmless buzz of background noise in his ear. The conversation between Grace and Mitchell had involved numbers and expansions and investments. There had been a few brief detours into shared interests, such as fine art and gourmet food. But each time, Grace carefully steered him back to subject of business holdings and whether or not particular investments had paid out.

  As the time crept toward midnight, this particular request had come out of the blue. Logan slipped silently into a closet to listen to how Grace handled this latest blatant flirtation.

  It had caught Grace off guard, too, judging by the breathy catch in her voice. “Excuse me?”

  Stay cool, sweetheart, he encouraged her telepathically. Don’t let this guy push your buttons.

  “We’ve worked long hours today. It’s late. This Indian summer night is warm. You haven’t even taken off your jacket.”

  “I’m fine with the temperature, thanks.”

  There was a beat of silence. Then the crackling sound of paper being crumpled into a fist. Mitchell’s? Grace’s? “Now you know I’m not really talking about the weather.”

  Logan’s pulse rate kicked up a notch. God, he hated listening to this.

  “We’re almost done with your portfolio. One thing you’ll learn about me is that I hate to leave a job unfinished.” She was trying to steer him back to an impersonal topic just as she had numerous times before.