“Accepted. Do you have time to go over these?”
She shrugged, disappointed in his lack of reaction. Not in any hurry to return to her sister’s side, she said, “Sure. Let’s sit down.” She clomped through the damp morning soil toward one of the picnic tables that next spring would surround an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
She pulled her hair over her bare shoulders to cover the chill. “What did we do wrong?”
“Who said you did something wrong?” He used his tablet to keep the blueprints from rolling closed.
“You didn’t say, but since you’ve written all over the plans—”
“They’re not wrong.” Now there was the Malcolm she recognized—methodical, analytical, and focused, topped off with a quirky grin, calling to mind the time she’d taken off her top to get his attention. And then she’d gotten all the attention she’d needed. She let out a long breath, expelling the memory as she popped up and circled around to stand beside him, peering over his shoulder at the now unrecognizable plans.
“You’re being diplomatic to avoid another argument and it’s irritating. I don’t plan to argue, especially if you see something that will make the facility better.” She angled her head this way and that, trying to get a feel for what he’d done. “Tell me what Kent and I missed.”
“For starters, I think you should double this space by knocking out that wall, and then soundproof the entire facility.”
“It made sense to do that for the arcade, but you think it needs to be more?”
“I do. Although what you have planned for the arcade might not be enough. What consoles and systems are you planning on installing?”
“Um. Yeah, that’s on my list to look into this week.” She shifted to look at him. “I don’t suppose you have any suggestions?” There was a time she couldn’t have blasted him away from his video game with a handful of grenades.
“I think you should do a variety since not everyone has the same system. But yeah, you need to add to the soundproofing. I don’t think you want the concussive sounds of bombs exploding and machine-gun fire disrupting your mini–day spa.”
“How much will these changes and upgrades cost?” Her pride at coming in under budget slipped. When he didn’t respond, she sat down. “That much?”
“It won’t be cheap. But since they were my suggestion, I’d planned to cover the cost myself.” He stared at her and she had to force herself not to glance away. “I wasn’t sure whether I’d need a bullet-proof vest before telling you.”
She twisted her mouth. “I was wrong, Malcolm, and since I can’t reverse time, let’s move past it.” She held up three fingers—as if she’d ever been a Girl Scout. “I promise not to jump on you again without warning.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” That sly smile of his appeared again. “I’m not adverse to you jumping on me.”
The bubble of unease that had lodged in her chest last night broke loose. “I’ll remember that. Now tell me what else you have in mind.” He did. In spades, firing off words and jargon she’d only heard on business and tech reports on late-night cable news. Finally she couldn’t absorb any more and covered his hand as he began sketching over the only clean section of the blueprints. “Okay, I surrender. You’ve convinced me. Truce.”
“How far does it extend?”
“Excuse m—” His hand grasped the back of her neck and pulled her forward, kissing her soundly on the lips.
“Better than a handshake,” he murmured against her mouth as his fingers slid around to stroke her cheek. “Right?”
“Mmm-hmmm.” The brain fog returned, thicker, swirling, tempting; oh, how she’d missed this. She locked a hand around his wrist, smiled into his steady amber eyes.
“Does this mean you’re willing to fill me in on your plans for my father?”
“Wow.” The fog evaporated. She let out a long breath. “He shoots and scores.” But he didn’t let her pull away. He kept her where she was, so close, close enough to kiss again . . .
“I always score,” he murmured and stroked a thumb across her lips.
“Because you’ve always been a player.” As much as a cute geek could have been. He’d had his own special line of girls trailing after him over the years.
“And you’re a master at deflecting questions you don’t want to answer. We need to talk about what you’re up to, Sheila. And soon.”
“I told you, it isn’t up to me. And wait a minute. Is that what this little seduction scene is about?” Instead of fighting him, she shifted closer until her knee bumped his. “Are you trying to keep me in line?”
“Maybe. We can discuss it over dinner tonight.”
“Can’t.” Thank goodness, because right now she’d have told him everything she shouldn’t if he pushed just a little harder. “Weekly dinner with Dad and Nathan at Cubby’s.”
“How about tomorrow night?” He dipped his head and pressed his lips against the side of her throat, short-circuiting the pulse in her neck.
“Jesus, Malcolm.” Her eyes fluttered closed and five years evaporated. “What are we doing?” How could she be doing this? Flirting with disaster, knowing he was here short term and yet . . . was he worth risking her heart again? Damn. No. This had to stop. She sucked in a breath. “I haven’t told anyone.”
His mouth stilled. “Excuse me?”
“About you buying out Oliver Technologies. As much as I think Ty deserves to know, I haven’t said anything. And I won’t. But there’s more than just you to consider where you’re father’s concerned. I can’t take the chance. I’m not sure who you are anymore.”
His eyes narrowed. “I like who I am now, Sheila. I stopped letting people walk all over me.”
“You’ve changed your circumstance, Malcolm, but not much else. Five years ago you didn’t confide in anyone, didn’t tell any of us what was going on. You had to take it all on yourself, on your own terms. Alone. You don’t want to have to rely on anyone for anything, do you?”
“I’d be careful lobbing that particular stone, Sheila. From what I hear you’re not exactly exerting yourself with personal confidences these days.” Anger kicked along the edges of his words, sparked his eyes into that danger zone she considered both arousing and challenging. “How or why I do what I do is my own business. I came back to Lantano Valley for one reason, Sheila. To set things right. With Ty, with my father, and yes, maybe even you. But I don’t think that puts me in line to be one of your punching bags just because you’re scared of getting too close to someone.”
“This isn’t about you and me.”
“No, it’s about you setting yourself apart from everyone who cares about you. Take care with that invisible shield you’ve built, Sheila. It’s bound to get lonely behind it.”
“How dare—”
“Oh, good, you two are fighting.” Morgan bounced into view, a fluorescent yellow hard hat perched on top of her head. She wiggled herself between them onto the bench and flung her arms out on the table behind her. She beamed first at Malcolm and then turned her grin on Sheila. “Come on, spill. What’s it about?”
Sheila gripped either edge of the bench with her hands, setting her jaw as Kent joined them, his steps cautious. “If you’re ready with your plans, Malcolm, I’d be happy to discuss—”
“Right behind you.” Malcolm angled a ferocious look at Sheila before kicking his leg over and following the foreman toward the entertainment facility.
“Whew.” Morgan fanned herself. “You two are positively electric.”
“Now I know which of us got Dad’s sense of humor,” Sheila muttered, willing her pulse to calm. How dare he even think to venture an opinion about her life? What right did he have?
“You know what they say about couples that fight.” Morgan waggled her eyebrows.
“One of them might be suffocated in their sleep?”
“Oh, I don’t
think there’s sleep involved at all.” Morgan grinned, but when Sheila could only clench her jaw and replay the last few minutes in her head, her sister sighed. “What’s going on, Sheila?”
“Nothing.”
“Then nothing has been going on for weeks. I miss my sister.”
“I’m right here.” But she didn’t even convince herself with the strain in her voice. What she wanted to say, what she needed to admit was that she was lost, but instead all that came out was, “I’m . . . somewhere.”
“You haven’t been by the Fiorellis’ in weeks. Not since the funeral.” Morgan inclined her head, and when Sheila couldn’t avoid her gaze any longer, all she wanted to do was cry when she thought of her sister’s foster home and the family living there.
Except she didn’t have any tears. She hadn’t had any tears since she’d stood beside a second boy’s grave watching flowers cascade over a coffin that should never have been. If she’d been a few minutes earlier . . .if she’d found the unconscious Brandon in his room sooner . . .
“I know it’s hard now that Brandon’s gone,” Morgan whispered, “but the kids miss you. Kelley especially.”
“I miss them, too.” But the idea of stepping foot in that house, in his room . . . she couldn’t imagine coming out again whole. “I’ll get there, okay? Soon.”
“Yeah, well, you’d better. If you don’t show up at the barbecue next week, I’m going to sic Theresa on you.”
Sheila felt the color drain from her face. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” Morgan got up and stretched. “And I’ll tell her about you and Malcolm for the added pleasure. In the meantime, take that man to bed, would you? You both look like you need it.”
“Good God.” Sheila scrubbed a hand over her eyes.
“Sheila, listen to me.” Morgan squatted down to grasp Sheila’s hands and squeezed tight. “I know the way Malcolm left before hurt you, and part of me wants to belt him for it. But I also know life is too short. For regrets, for delays. You seize every moment you’re given because you never know when they’re going to run out. I don’t know how long Malcolm is here for. Days, weeks, months? But I’m not sure it matters given how you look at him. Anyone who sees you knows you still care. You won’t know what he wants if you don’t ask him, or show him that you’re open to something. You’re the strongest person I know. You’d walk through fire for any of us.” Morgan’s eyes glistened. “How about you do it for yourself?”
Chapter Ten
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Sheila slid into the corner booth across from Nathan in Cubby’s. “Where’s Dad?” She glanced around the 1960s-inspired eatery replete with neon posters of Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix plastered to the wall while The Who blared from the speakers over the bar.
“Excellent question.” Nathan gestured for the server to refill his coffee while she ordered a glass of Riesling. Known for its eclectic selection of food, from vegan options to still-mooing steaks, the noise level and crowd made Cubby’s the perfect meeting place for Nemesis outside the house. The smell of hot-oil fries and local brewed beer mingled and made her stomach growl. “I wish I knew.”
“Not another mystery trip?” She sank into the yellow vinyl seat. “What are we going to do about this? We need to figure out what we’re going to do about finding Levia’s painting.”
“So we find it and fill Dad in later.”
“Do you think he’s seeing someone?” She blurted the question before she thought better of it.
“Oh. Huh.” Nathan shrugged one shoulder. “I think I like that idea better than what I’ve been wondering.”
“Which is what?”
“Maybe he’s done. With Nemesis.”
Sheila gnawed on her bottom lip. “But Nemesis was his idea. It’s how he coped after Mom died. Why would he—”
“I think that business with Morgan earlier this year shook him more than he’s let on. The fact what we did could have ruined the foundation, put her at risk of going to jail for accepting money we stole . . . not to mention almost ruining her relationship with Gage. It’s possible he’s rethinking things.”
“He needs Nemesis.” She needed Nemesis. Sheila picked up a paper napkin and started shredding it, smiling her thanks as their server delivered her wine. “What else would he do?”
“He has work,” Nathan said. “Not that there’s much for him to do these days. The firm is pretty much running itself. He’s either bored or worried about something. Neither of which is a good thing when we need him focused.”
The idea of her father feeling useless didn’t sit well with her, especially given her own determination to have her life count for something.
“You’re looking positively maudlin.” She gestured to Nathan’s attire. “What’s with the all-black getup? You auditioning for a reboot of Leverage?”
“Ha. Funny. I’ve made some progress.” Nathan pulled out his laptop. “It took some digging, but I looked into those names you found in the files in Chadwick’s safe room. There was one name, or rather, one company that kept popping up. Klein Storage. One of Chadwick’s subsidiary companies owns them. They have more than a dozen facilities in and around Los Angeles. Some more secure than others, which makes me think he might be storing those missing paintings there.”
Sheila set her wine down. “Any chance of narrowing that down to say, oh, five or six locations?”
Nathan said, “What’s crawled up your butt?”
“Sorry.” She held up her hands, silently admitting to being testy. When was that burning feeling over her argument with Malcolm going to flicker out? Hearing her sister’s not-so-wrong advice echoing in her head for the rest of the afternoon was only fanning the flame. “Go on.”
“Overseeing Chadwick’s security system’s given me more than a little insight into his psychopathy. He’s meticulous, anal even, and reliant on several combinations of numbers that repeat themselves within different areas of his business. Passwords, codes, safe combinations.”
“Like seven-seven-four-nine?” Sheila recited the numbers the digital reader had displayed when she’d unlocked Chadwick’s safe room.
“We’re creatures of habits, but we tend to use numbers that would seem innocuous to others.”
“You mean he has a tell.”
“That’s the theory I want to test tonight.”
“Test how?” And then she realized. “Is that where you’re headed?”
“After a nice dinner and some pleasant conversation with my uber-bitchy sister, yep. And you’re coming with me.”
“Do I look like I’m dressed for breaking and entering?” She leaned forward, arms crossed, the lacy sleeves of her ecru crocheted dress trailing over the edge of the table. She scrunched her toes in the solid wooden-heeled platforms. “We can’t do something like this without Dad’s approval.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not here, is he?” Nathan said with more resentment than Sheila was comfortable with. “We’re running out of time. Besides, I don’t have anything else planned tonight. Or do you want to go to your apartment and not paint for the rest of the night.”
Shock radiated, hot, then cold. “Wh-what are you talking about?”
He tugged her hand out and pushed her fingers out like a fan. “You haven’t had any paint on your hands for weeks, Sheila. As pristine as your manicures are, there’s always a trace of something, not to mention I haven’t smelled paint thinner on you either.”
“Stop sniffing me.” She squirmed in her seat. “It’s creepy.”
“How long?”
She loathed the sympathy she saw in his eyes. The pity. Or was that disappointment? All things she’d been staring at in the mirror for weeks. “How long what?”
“How long since you’ve had a paintbrush in your hand?”
“None of your business.” She snatched her hand away, wanting the distraction of ordering but
not the least bit interested in eating. But her words had the desired effect. Whatever empathy Nathan had been aiming in her direction vanished.
“Stealing and replacing Chadwick’s paintings to expose him as a fraud was your idea, Sheila. You want to give Levia her family again, we need those replicas as a distraction. Dad and I believed you when you said you were up for this, but none of the plans we’ve made mean jack if you can’t get those forgeries done in time.”
Shame washed over her. Shame in herself, in her weakness, for not being able to get over what everyone else seemed to have been able to. “We have time.”
“No, we don’t. Oil paintings, if that’s what you have to copy, can take weeks to dry. We’re down to less than three before the auction and unless you found Harry Potter’s magic wand—”
“They won’t be oils, Nathan. I’m not that stupid.” The one work she’d already decided on was a water color. The others . . . maybe a tempera, perhaps oil pastels, which dried in a fraction of the time of an oil. But Nathan was right. The longer she waited to start, the more limited her choices would be and the more pressure she’d be under. And here she hadn’t thought she could feel more suffocated. “I’ll hold up my end of things. It’s just taking me some time to get into the swing of things.”
“Can I help? Do you need me to push you harder? To lock you in your studio? Leaving you alone hasn’t worked—”
“My lack of progress is not our main concern tonight, is it? That list of storage facilities is what? More than a dozen? It’s not like your SUV is Santa’s magic sled. How do you expect to check all of them out in one night?”
“I’m working on narrowing down our choices.” It was then that she saw the teeniest flash of doubt cross her brother’s usually confident face. “I just wasn’t expecting this level of security on their website and server. It’s a storage company, not NASA.”
A system her brother couldn’t hack? And here she thought her ego had been the one to take a blow tonight.
Here Comes Trouble Page 11
