by Diana Duncan
He leaned down to grasp both her arms, holding her immobile. "Don't struggle. You'll hurt yourself."
She stopped wrenching on the handcuffs, but her anger raged like a living thing, seething and burning inside. How dare he!
"Calm down," he soothed. "Let's discuss this rationally."
She gritted her teeth. "Easy for you to say, you're not the one being held prisoner."
"Talk about a fantasy."
In spite of her rage, his suggestive chuckle, and the resulting images her traitorous mind conjured up sent desire hurtling through her. Which made her even madder. How could she possibly be attracted to such an infuriating man? "Pervert."
He laughed. "I have a beautiful, sexy woman handcuffed to my bed." He leaned over her. "Helpless and at my mercy."
She was through playing games. "Not quite." She slammed her knee into his stomach.
He groaned, doubling over.
"Count yourself fortunate I didn't aim a few inches lower, or The Spy Who Loved Me would be out of commission."
Wheezing, he fell into a chair. "I believe I just made the numero uno mistake my martial arts instructors warned against." His laugh turned into a moan. He pressed his hand to his stomach. "Never underestimate your opponent." He sobered. "But I'm not your enemy, Tessie. I'm on your side, remember?"
At his soft words, pictures scrolled through her mind. Gabe rescuing her from Gregson. Gabe shielding her with his body in the park. Gabe standing protectively between her and Leo.
Remorse drowned her fury. She closed her eyes, let her head fall back against the wooden headboard. "I'm sorry."
He crossed to the bed, sank down beside her and gently stroked her cheek. "If I let you go, will you stay put?"
The fight drained out of her. She was normally calm and reasonable. Even under the worst provocation, she never lost her temper. What was it about Gabe that brought out her most primal emotions? Passionate, frightening emotions she needed to keep under tight rein. "Yes."
He used a tiny key to unlock the cuffs, then grasped her hands and turned them palms up. "Did I hurt you?"
She looked at the blue bruises shadowing her ivory skin. "I hurt myself." Not only with the handcuffs. She'd hurt herself by allowing Lucille to manipulate her, by settling for second best with Dale, and most of all by striving uselessly all these years for Vivienne and Jules's approval.
No more, she vowed.
Holding her gaze, he raised her arm and pressed a soft kiss on the tender inside of her wrist. Then he kissed the other wrist.
Her stomach lurched. Gasping, she snatched her hands away. "Don't!"
He stood, somehow understanding her inner turbulence, her need for distance. "You're having a tough time of it. How can I help?"
She longed for normalcy, for a haven from the emotional and physical upheaval of the past weeks. "Take me home. I miss my piano, my plants and Andrew, Lloyd and Webber. I want to make sure everything is okay. I've put up with all your nonsense, and nothing has happened. I deserve one concession."
He sighed. "All right. But only for a short visit. And I'll have to check it out first." He drilled her with a hard stare. "No funny business. Meet me in the living room in ten minutes." He strode to the dresser on the far wall.
She paused at the threshold, turned back. "Gabe?"
Holding a pair of white athletic socks, he looked around. "Yeah?"
"Remember, paybacks are hell. And now I owe you one. A great big one." She quietly closed the door.
His shout of laughter rang down the hall.
She changed into brown tweed slacks and a taupe sweater before heading out to the living room.
Gabe was waiting by the door, holding a manila folder. He shrugged on a black leather jacket. As they walked to the Corvette, he limped, groaning theatrically.
She knew a play for sympathy when she saw one. "Don't think you can manhandle me and get away with it."
"I'll never tap dance again. You don't fight fair, Houdini." His sensual lips curled into a teasing smile. "I like that in a woman."
She'd stomped his foot, kicked him in the shin, slugged him with her briefcase, and kneed him in the stomach, yet he stood here smiling and joking. Amazed and chagrined, she bit her lip. "I'm sorry about getting physical with you. I guess I reached the last of my rope and slid right off the frayed end."
"You can get physical with me anytime." His smile widened into a grin as he offered her his car keys. "You seemed pretty anxious to drive this baby. Speed is a great stress reliever."
Would this man ever stop surprising her? She accepted the keys with a delighted smile. "I've never driven a stick shift."
"How did you plan to drive it to the office?"
She shrugged. "How hard can it be?"
He rolled his eyes before climbing into the passenger seat. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's going to be a bumpy ride."
She managed to reach the middle of the first busy intersection, where she ground metal against metal trying to find second gear. The engine died. Gabe didn't even flinch.
She restarted the car, but killed it again. Following Gabe's patient instructions, she finally got it restarted, but it hopped like a spastic frog before cruising forward. She took a deep breath and maneuvered back into traffic. Cringing, she risked an apprehensive glance at him. "Sorry."
He lounged in his seat, relaxed and at ease. He lifted a shoulder. "It's only a car."
"Most guys would be having a brain hemorrhage about now."
"I'm not most guys."
Now there was the understatement of the millennium.
He chuckled. "Besides, I like to live dangerously."
His laid-back acceptance gave her confidence. Delighting in the growl of the engine and the immense power under her command, she loosened her death grip on the wheel and pressed harder on the gas. The responsive car instantly shot forward. A thrill zinged through her, inspiring a big grin. By the time she pulled up in front of the music store, she was not only having fun, but could competently handle the Corvette.
Gabe started to speak, and she held up her hand. "Stay in the car, lean on the horn, yadda, yadda. This cloak-and-dagger stuff isn't necessary any longer, but far be it from me to shatter your illusions." Sighing, she handed over her keys.
In less than five minutes, he returned. "Looks okay."
The elevator whisked them upward. She opened the door, breathing in the familiar lemon polish scent mingled with her plants' earthy smell. Gabe's cleaning service had done a great job. The place was spotless.
"Twenty minutes," he warned.
"I want to polish my piano and water my plants. And get additional clothes. I hadn't planned on being gone this long."
"Before you morph into Suzy Homemaker, how about I show you what I found in Leo's office?" He held up the file. "Then I can read you the IRS reports while you do that other stuff."
In the tumultuous aftermath of realizing she loved him, she'd forgotten all about whatever he'd discovered at the club. She sat beside him on her pale yellow sofa, and he passed her a photocopied memo from the folder. She squinted at the words scribbled in a bold scrawl. "This is a description of Sav-Mart payroll checks, including the bank routing and account numbers. Where did you get this?"
"Leo's desk. I used his personal copy machine, conveniently located in his office." He smirked. "I also downloaded an incriminating disk of check styles, and a check-printing program off his hard drive. Some checks match those I snatched in the robbery. And I bugged the office and phone."
"Don't you need a warrant for that? How did you get a judge's signature so quickly, and without letting anybody know you're working on this?"
He laughed. "A couple of federal judges owe me big-time favors."
She shook her head. He'd told her he colored outside the lines. Outrageously true. Heavens, at times the man veered clear off the page. "If I let myself think about the unlimited resources at your dubious command, I wouldn't sleep at night."
"If you're lying awake with n
othing to do, feel free to call on me, sweetheart."
She pretended to ignore the sexy suggestion, but her breath hitched in her throat. "Is this enough to convict him?"
"No. He could still pin the crime on anyone who works at the club. And remember, we strongly suspect law enforcement is involved. If dirty cops are out there, I want them. The maggots have slipped away from us too often, and I plan to catch them red-handed. No way will they weasel out of this one."
She traipsed to the kitchen for cleaning supplies. "Tell me the rest." She went to her baby grand, poured lemon oil on a rag and began to massage the shiny golden oak.
"I sent for IRS reports on our suspects. Financial records are very revealing. But due to the fiscal year-end rush and a computer screw-up, the reports didn't arrive until yesterday."
She arched her brows. "What, no string pulling?"
"Honey, even I can't budge the IRS. But wait until you hear this." He laughed. "Your Mr. Trask is the proud inventor and owner of the Ab Annihilator and the Bun Buster."
Her jaw dropped and her hand froze on the piano. "The exercise gizmos that redheaded actress advertises on TV?"
"He uses a corporate name, but we traced the patent to him. Guess he doesn't want his influential banker buddies to know he's in the hard body business. He's got half a million dinero, and his balance is on a steady uphill climb. Totally legit."
"Why would he continue to work at the bank?"
"From what I saw, he doesn't work very hard." He shrugged. "For some people, there's no such thing as enough money. Maybe he's into the power, or prestige in the community, or maybe he needs the medical benefits. I doubt he'd risk his rising fortune by involvement with counterfeiters."
Tessa knelt to polish the piano legs. "Wow. You work with people for years and never really know them."
"That brings up our next candidate. Donald Richards, president of Oregon Pacific Bank. Richards has a mansion in an exclusive part of town, two grown sons, a toddler, and a new, very young wife with expensive taste." He laughed again. "However, the wife appears to be keeping him, rather than the other way round. Does the name Katherine Starr ring a bell?"
She dropped her rag. "The author of Hollywood Affairs, Beyond Hollywood Affairs and Lovers and Liars?"
"Kiki Richards aka Katherine Starr. With seven bestsellers to her credit, she's racked up a cool two million in the last couple years."
"Next you're going to tell me Peter is starring in a soap opera disguised as his own sister or something."
He frowned. "Nope. This is where it gets sticky. Peter looks clean. Nothing there. Neil looks clean, too."
She wandered back to the kitchen. She filled a pitcher with water and sprinkled the plants in the mini-greenhouse window over the sink. "Good. Then what's the problem?"
"I didn't say they were clean. They look clean. Big difference. I have my suspicions. Two years ago Neil's daughter was diagnosed with an expensive heart problem."
"Peter mentioned that. That's what insurance is for."
"It only goes so far. Neil's house is mortgaged and nearly one-third of his income was spent on medical expenses."
She paused with the pitcher over a Boston fern. "You think Neil got involved in crime to pay for his daughter's care?"
"Parents will go to extreme lengths for their children."
"Why wouldn't he ask his father? Even though Kiki and Neil can't stand each other, I can't imagine she'd turn down Donald's grandchild."
"Not much of Kiki's income is liquid. Most of it is tied up in investments, and a large chunk is in trust for the baby. I don't know about the family dynamics, but even if she wanted to, she probably couldn't come up with this much dough." With a sigh, he closed the folder. "Here's the clincher. Do you know what Neil's wife does for a living?"
"Peter doesn't talk about his sister-in-law much."
"The missus is a police detective. She has access to ongoing investigations. And she was promoted two years ago. Right when the counterfeits started turning up."
Tessa watered the plants lined along the white countertop. "Might be coincidence. I can't believe either Neil or Peter would be involved in such an awful crime against their father's bank. It still could be someone else."
"Who else has vault access? Face it, one of them is guilty. While I'm not ruling out Peter, I think Neil's our guy. Now that we've narrowed our suspects to two, the next step is to lay down the trap. We'll need to—"
"Gabe?"
"Bug the offices, their houses—"
"Gabe!" She stood frozen, staring at the plant under her upheld pitcher. "Look." She pointed a shaking finger at her Sensitivity Plant. Her wilted Sensitivity Plant. "I didn't touch it," she whispered. "Someone was in here."
He rocketed off the couch to her side. "Are you positive?"
"Even though Mimosa pudica recovers, repeated stress causes the plant to die. I'm very careful never to touch it."
He swore. "Get down." He snatched the pitcher from her, gripped her upper arms, and sat her on the kitchen floor with her back to the counter. "Stay put while I come up with a plan to get you out of here."
Someone had been in her apartment. Again. The thought of another violation sickened her. She lowered her head, covering her face with shaking hands. Just when she'd begun to believe this whole ugly mess would go away and she could get on with her life.
The door bell pealed. She jerked her head up, her mouth automatically opening to call out.
"Quiet!" A gun appeared in Gabe's hand so fast she didn't even see him move. He stood to one side of the door, his gun held at the ready.
"I hardly think criminals would ring the door bell," she hissed in a whisper. "It's probably Mel. She's been worried about me since the robbery. Don't go off half-cocked and shoot one of my friends."
He peered out the peephole. "It's Peter. Judging by his face, he's not on a social call."
"Peter's a friend and co-worker. He's been here before."
"My gut says different." He glided silently toward the bathroom. "I'll cover you from inside. See what Peter wants."
She swallowed. "All right."
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I can shoot the eye out of a mosquito. If this guy even looks at you cross-eyed, he's dead."
"Thanks for the reassuring words, but I repeat, please don't shoot my friend." She rose on trembling legs.
The door bell chimed again. Peter called out, "Tess?"
"Coming." When Gabe was out of sight, she opened the door.
Peter stepped inside, his face pinched, his eyes red. He looked like he'd been crying.
Tessa gestured at the sofa. "You look like you need to sit down. What's wrong?"
He sank onto the cushions. "I've come from the morgue," he blurted out. "Carla's dead."
Tessa reeled. "What?" she gasped.
"They found her this morning. The coroner said it was a drug overdose." He scrubbed his face with shaking hands. "It's all my fault. God help me, I can't do this anymore."
She tried to speak twice before words emerged. "What happened?"
"Carla never used drugs a day in her life. They killed her." His anguished hazel eyes bored into hers. "They're going to kill you, too. I can't let that happen."
Her heart leapt into her throat. Carla murdered? This nightmare kept spiraling, growing worse. If only she were dreaming. "What exactly are you talking about?" But she was afraid she knew.
"I saw you at the Blue Moon. I went hoping to find Carla. She's been gone for days. I knew something terrible had happened." His voice broke. "They approached you after the robbery, didn't they? After you'd seen the checks. I can imagine what they offered you to keep quiet. Get out, Tessa. Now, before it's too late. Do whatever you have to."
Nausea churned in her stomach. "You—you're involved with Leo Drumm?"
"Not voluntarily." He gave her a pleading look. "I know how easy they make it sound, how tempting the money is. But it isn't worth it."
Hazy and sick, a selfish part of her wished the trai
tor had turned out to be Neil instead of her friend Peter. "How deeply involved are you?"
He jumped up and began to pace. "It started with gambling." He groaned. "I kept losing, but I knew a lucky score was right around the corner. Before long, I'd lost everything."
"Oh, Peter. I never realized."
"I hid my duplicity well, didn't I? I had a gambling problem in college. Dad paid a fortune to cover my debts, and for treatment at a private clinic. He made it clear he would never bail me out again. I was desperate. Desperate enough to go to a loan shark."
"Leo?"
"He bought off my creditors. At forty percent interest. I lost that money, too, then owed him nearly double. Leo offered a deal. If I supplied payroll checks from the bank, he'd let me live." Peter shook his head. "Carla and I had been lovers for a year. Please understand, I didn't see any other option."
Still reeling at the extent of his lies, and the deadly consequences, she wrapped her arms around herself. "So you got Carla involved."
"Leo needed two of us on the inside." He groaned again. "I stole the checks from processing over a period of time. You're well aware that like most banks, we don't return checks, only statements. The processed checks are sent to storage. Nobody keeps track after that, unless a customer requests a copy. Even in the unlikely event a client requested that particular check out of thousands…" he shrugged. "Banks are notorious for misplacing paperwork. We'd send them a copy from the microfiche, end of problem. I talked Carla into helping me."
Tessa hugged herself tighter as realization dawned. "Carla used the ATM for the drop, didn't she? The constant repair calls were a front. The 'repair service' picked up the checks, right?"
Peter's eyes widened. "How do you know that?"
"It makes perfect sense. It's the only way you could smuggle the checks off the premises without suspicion or risk. And it explains the 'unfixable' problem with that particular machine, and the constant service calls."
"You're right. I'd slip the checks into a money bag for Carla to retrieve during the cash count. She'd hide the checks inside the ATM when she filled the machine with cash. Drumm's guy who worked the repair service, the same contractor Leo used for his club, would transfer them to the ATM at the Blue Moon." Peter halted outside the bathroom door and cocked his head.
