“Court—”
He looked toward her. “Good morning.”
Heather nodded. “Good morning.” She indicated the weight-lifting equipment. “Please be careful not to stress your leg with weights before we have a chance to do some stretching exercises. You could set back your recovery.”
“I already did the stretching exercises and the squats that isolate the muscle.”
“Oh.” Surprised, she watched him lift the heavy weights of the leg developer. “It’s coming along nicely then.”
He nodded, straining with the lift. Then on the release said, “Yeah. Still weaker than normal, but…” he strained on the next lift, then completed his statement “…it doesn’t collapse anymore.”
Heather smiled. “That’s wonderful. You’ll be giving up your cane then. And soon you won’t need me anymore, either.”
That realization left her feeling more conflicted than she had imagined. Although she’d been telling herself all along that she wanted to escape, to regain her old existence, she realized now that her feelings for Court had already progressed to the point where it would hurt to cut him out of her life. That realization in and of itself was frightening. Then, she had to consider what DiMona’s reaction might be if she was dismissed from her position here before she’d accomplished what he required of her.
“Give up the cane, yeah,” Court said in response to her observation. “I’ve already pretty much done that. Even started driving again yesterday. But—” he looked up at her with a curious light in his eyes “—you—” he grimaced on the next lift “—I think I might want to keep for another week or so. I still need the magic in those hands of yours.”
Heather forced a smile to her lips. A week! Only a week? Aloud she said, “Well, I’ll get things ready for your massage, then.”
A week! And somehow, within that time, she had to find information on Court that would reassure DiMona and free her from her obligation.
Court finished his workout with a groan that drew her attention. Rising, he retrieved a towel that he draped around his neck and, wiping the sweat from his brow with it, made his way toward her. His walk was completely natural now. The cane that had been so much a part of him when she’d first arrived was nowhere to be seen. She’d known that his condition was improving rapidly, but somehow she just hadn’t let herself think ahead to what that meant to her own situation. Until now…
“Heather—”
“Yes?”
“I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your company last night. I had fun.”
She studied his expression, seeking deceit, but saw only sincerity. Was this a man who did not base his relationships on the success or failure of his sexual pursuits? “Thank you. Me, too.”
He smiled. “Well, I’ll just grab a shower and then we can start the massage.”
“All right,” Heather murmured, watching him as he left the room. She was falling in love. Hopelessly, desperately, impossibly in love. Heather Buchanan, how could you be so stupid?
Later that night, Heather lay in bed, staring into the darkness. It was only ten-thirty, but she hadn’t been able to concentrate on her novel so had decided to make an early night of it.
She had one week left to resolve her current situation, and to do that she had to find out once and for all who Court Gabriele was. A cop? A criminal, possibly even a killer? Or, just an opportunistic lawyer? Once she knew that, she could try to plan her way out of this mess. But how could she possibly find out?
She had all but given up on ever getting the opportunity to check Court’s ID. He carried it with him all the time except for those occasions when he was exercising in the gym. And in those instances, she was with him and unable to find an excuse to leave long enough to sneak into his room, check his identification and return.
If she slept with him, she’d undoubtedly get the opportunity she needed, but… Well, she just couldn’t do that. Besides, to her way of thinking, she wasn’t likely to find much anyway. Any cop who was undercover wouldn’t risk carrying a badge, would he? Okay, so unless opportunity fell into her lap, checking the ID was out.
That left her with only two things to do. One, locate that damned notebook computer that DiMona was so interested in, and find out what was on it. And, two, spy more actively. Maybe she could find a way to listen outside the door when Court had a client in his study. When the phone rang, she’d have to listen in. And, although she’d exhausted pretty much every prospect in that regard already, she’d try pumping Mrs. Kaiser once more for information about Court’s past.
As though to test her new resolve, distantly, in another part of the house, a phone rang. Heather stared at the extension on her bedside table. Could she pick it up without anyone knowing?
Sitting up in bed, she slowly reached over and lifted the receiver from its cradle. “…I wake you?” a man’s voice asked.
“No. I was still awake.” It was Court’s voice.
“Good. Listen, Carrie and I are doing some more planning on the wedding, and I was wondering if you’d be my best man?”
A second of silence. “Well, it’s a bit of a surprise, but I’m sure I could do that. What would I have to do?”
“There’s not much to it, but why don’t we meet for a drink and discuss it?” He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “I need an excuse to escape the planning committee for a while.”
Another pause. “Sure. Why the hell not? It wasn’t shaping up to be a good night for sleeping anyway. Where?”
“Mario’s sound okay?”
“Give me half an hour.” There was a click as one of them replaced a receiver. Slowly, carefully, Heather did the same. She felt horribly guilty for eavesdropping, but the guilt was coupled with the conflicting emotions of relief and worry that she hadn’t heard anything that would need to be passed on to DiMona.
She lay back down in bed, thinking and watching the luminous numbers on the bedside clock change. Distantly, she heard the sound of a door closing and wondered if Court was leaving already. If he was going out socially, he probably wouldn’t take his notebook computer with him, would he? And, she’d probably never get a better opportunity to seek it out.
Throwing back the blankets, Heather slipped out of her nightclothes and into a pair of black jeans and a T-shirt. Then, after sticking a couple of disks into her pocket in case she found the computer, she crept quietly to the door, listened for a moment then slowly opened it to peer into the corridor. Empty.
She swallowed and took a deep breath to calm her pounding pulse. “Okay, Heather,” she murmured to herself. “It’s now or never.”
She refused to consider what might happen if DiMona wasn’t reassured by the information she found. Because that would mean betraying Court. And if she betrayed one man to save another—even her brother—she wasn’t certain that she’d be able to live with herself.
But deep inside herself, where it really counted, Heather felt a soul-deep fear so potent that she felt nauseous. For, though she didn’t know exactly who he was, she sensed that Court was a good man—and, whatever she discovered, it was not going to be the kind of information that would reassure DiMona. Which left her in a no-win situation.
Chapter 12
After glancing quickly in both directions down the corridor, Heather opened the door of Court’s study and slipped inside. She stood for a moment, letting her eyes grow accustomed to the darkness before moving across the room to the window where she cautiously drew the drapes.
A moment later, she stood surveying the office in the muted light of the desk lamp. Court’s notebook computer was not in sight. Neither was his briefcase—which was odd when she thought about it. He wouldn’t have taken his briefcase with him on a social get-together, would he? So where could it be?
She studied the rich oak panelling of the walls. There must be a closet of some kind.
A moment later, she found it. Feeling quite pleased with herself, she pulled it open.
A safe! What good was that
going to do her? She wasn’t a safe cracker. As disappointment suppressed her momentary sense of satisfaction, her gaze dropped. At first glance all she saw beneath the safe were shelves loaded with stationery supplies. Then she saw Court’s briefcase sitting on the floor of the closet, and, just above it, on the lowest shelf sat a small black object.
The notebook computer! Her foray wasn’t a complete loss after all.
Placing it on Court’s desk, she sat down in his chair and searched for the latches that would open it. Her experience with a notebook computer was limited to a short test run she’d done on one in one of the local electronics stores one Christmas. She hoped this one wouldn’t prove to be too different.
It wasn’t. But neither was there much on it, she discovered. It had all the latest windows-based programs, but none of them seemed to have many data files in use. She certainly didn’t see any reason for DiMona’s interest.
Her head snapped up as a faint clicking sound startled her. It had sounded like the door to the room being closed. But there was no one there.
With a renewed sense of apprehension, she returned to her inspection of the computer. Nothing of interest. A few data files whose identification consisted of a long series of numbers rather than standard alphabetical names. Maybe that’s what DiMona was after. Since she couldn’t take the time to check out what they were—even if she might have been able to figure it out—she removed the blank disks from her jeans pocket and began to copy as many of the files as she could.
“Hurry. Hurry. Hurry,” she urged the computer beneath her breath.
Finally, it finished. With anxiety nipping at her heels like an intractable terrier, she jumped to her feet and replaced the computer in the closet. The briefcase sat there looking tempting, and she knew she should take advantage of the opportunity to check its contents, but she’d been in the office too long already. It wouldn’t do to tempt fate.
Right now she wanted nothing more than to regain the relative security of her room.
Opening the door, she checked the corridor.
“Find everything you need?”
With a shriek of surprise, Heather ducked back into the study and closed the door. With a hand to her throat, she leaned against the wall and tried to calm her racing heart.
Ernest had discovered her!
How on earth was she going to get herself out of this? No course of action came to mind.
An instant later, the door to the study opened. Stepping into the room, Ernest turned on the overhead light. “Take a seat, Ms. Buchanan. Mr. Gabriele will be joining us shortly.”
Heather blinked at him as her eyes fought to adapt to the now brightly lit room. “Mr. Gabriele?” she repeated numbly.
Ernest nodded and indicated one of the two chairs that sat in front of Court’s desk. “Please,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable while we wait.”
Heather took a step toward the indicated chair and then hesitated. “Well, if you’re being thoughtful, I’d be a lot more comfortable in my room.”
Ernest considered her. “No doubt. But I’m not quite that thoughtful.”
Heather nodded. “I figured as much.” Sitting down, she studied Ernest as he leaned his hips against Court’s desk and crossed his arms over his chest. He was a big bear of a man, and she didn’t stand a chance in hell of getting out of this room unless he wanted her to. Although, if she’d thought it might work, she could very well have clobbered him over the head right then in order to make her escape. The thought of doing physical injury to Ernest was, at the moment, less frightening than facing Court.
Court’s mood was decidedly black as he drove back from the meeting at the bar. He’d been informed that the arrival date of the Colombian drug shipment had been moved up. Considerably. In fact it could arrive within the next week or two. They wouldn’t know the exact date until closer to the time, but when the word came they had to be ready to move. And that presented Court with a problem on a personal level.
He’d hoped to have enough evidence to charge DiMona with his partner’s murder by now, not to mention finding some proof that would stand up in court of DiMona’s connection to the Colombian operation. So far he had zip.
And only two weeks at best to find something.
He narrowed his eyes against the glare of oncoming traffic lights. Damn! There had to be a way. Nobody who did the kind of work DiMona did could keep themselves that clean. But, Rick DiMona seemed to have untouchable down to an art form.
He went over in his mind everything he knew about the man. Born and raised in Florida, DiMona had had a number of scrapes with the law in his teenage years. In fact, he’d looked to be on a one-way ticket to a life in prison. Then something seemed to have turned him around. He’d entered the police academy right out of high school. That the man was smart had been proven by his grades. He excelled and joined the Miami police force, serving with apparent distinction for a number of years. Until he got caught on the take. He hadn’t served any jail time for his crime, probably due to a lack of the kind of irrefutable evidence that would stand up in court, but he had been dismissed from the force.
Unfortunately DiMona hadn’t been unemployed for long. With his cop training, he’d made the perfect counterintelligence man. And, in his new job, protecting the interests of the cartel wherever his job took him, he gave free rein to his desire to take revenge on the cops he now hated. The problem was that his involvement in certain cop killings could never be proven. And, if Court didn’t come up with something on him fast, it looked like he would walk away once again.
Court swore savagely beneath his breath.
The one thing he had not needed tonight was that phone call from Ernest letting him know that he had an unexpected visitor. Which meant an intruder. It hadn’t taken much imagination for Court to come up with the likely culprit, either. If Ernest had apprehended her rather than letting her go, it could only be because he feared she might actually have stumbled onto information that could hurt them if it fell into the wrong hands.
Not wanting to say any more on the cell phone than necessary, Court had simply said, “I’ll be right there,” and left it at that. Ernest would know what to do until he arrived.
Now, turning into the drive, he winced a bit from the glare as the motion sensors turned on the yard lights. He parked, turned off the car engine and then he sat contemplating the light shining through the curtains of his study. He wasn’t quite sure how to handle this situation, and that indecision increased his ire.
Should he let her know that they were aware of her connection to the Colombians? Or, should he allow her to believe that she was still safe in that regard in the hope that they still might learn exactly what she’d been sent to find? The brother was her weakness. Court was certain of it based on the evidence of his drug addictions. But he was just as certain that Heather would in no way risk her brother’s life.
But that still didn’t provide Court with any inkling as to the course of action he should take tonight. And, since he wasn’t going to find the answer sitting out here in the dark, he might as well go in. He’d just have to play it by ear.
He entered the room quietly. Ernest was immediately aware of his entry. Heather sat in a chair before his desk with her back to the door. She flinched visibly when she heard the faint click of the latch as he closed the door behind him. Her shoulders tensed, but she didn’t turn.
Slowly Court moved across the room and rounded his desk to face her. Although somehow she managed to keep her face relatively expressionless, she wasn’t able to conceal the fear in her eyes. And, since he doubted that she feared him quite that much, there was no question in his mind that, whatever she had at stake in this, it was considerable.
“Good evening, Heather.”
She nodded jerkily. “Mr. Gabriele.”
“Ah, we’re back to Mr. Gabriele, are we?” He’d hoped that, perhaps, their burgeoning relationship and attraction might prompt her to trust him. But it seemed that she’d drawn the line in th
e sand much farther back than that.
She made no response.
Court observed her closely, reading her body language. “So, Heather. What were you doing in my study?”
She shrugged, avoiding his eyes, as her gaze travelled up and to the right a bit before answering. “I was looking for money.”
An obvious lie. “So you’re a thief, then.”
She seemed to hesitate, as though not quite certain whether she wanted to continue upon the course she’d chosen, and then she nodded. “Of course. What else would I be?”
Court raised a brow. “You tell me.”
When she didn’t respond, Ernest spoke. “Then you won’t mind if we search you to recover any valuables you may have stolen, will you?”
Court looked at him sharply, wondering what he was about, but didn’t have the chance to say a word before Heather responded. “Search me?” The fear was sharp in her voice. “But I didn’t find any money.”
Ernest folded his massive arms over his chest. “When I first looked in and saw you, you were using Mr. Gabriele’s notebook computer. I got the definite impression you were copying files. Mind telling us what you plan on doing with them?”
Now that was interesting. Heather’s mouth dropped open, but not a sound emerged.
“Cat got your tongue?” Court inquired silkily.
“No…um…I…”
“Perhaps I should just have Ernest call the police and we can move on.”
“No!” The panic was back in her eyes. “Please,” she gentled her tone. “I can explain!”
Now, maybe they were getting somewhere. He nodded. “Go on.”
“Blackmail! I was copying files because I thought I might find something that would work for blackmail.”
Undercover with the Enemy Page 12
