If Ryker could get his hands on her computer, he might be able to trace the hack back to the source. On his own, he couldn’t swing that kind of cooperation with the cops, but Logan Kincaid could.
Daria looked pleased. “That’s good news, then. Maybe the police will now believe that someone framed me.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” her father sighed. “Your computer disappeared from the police evidence room last night.”
So much for tracing the hacker through her system—but Ryker knew other ways. So would the hacker.
“First someone frames me and then they steal the evidence that would lead back to them?” Daria looked both thoughtful and angry.
“As a personal favor to me, the chief of police is looking into it. And the mayor has leaned on the district attorney to delay your arrest while these improprieties are being investigated.”
“I have the office’s tape backups at home.” Daria’s voice rose with hope. “Maybe I should invite the police over to investigate.”
That she wanted to protect the chain of evidence showed him that Daria could think on her feet, even under attack from her family. What she didn’t know was that the police probably wouldn’t accept the taped backups as evidence since she’d had time to alter them to show anything she wished.
“And maybe you shouldn’t go to the police,” Peter argued. “They might lose the evidence again.”
Daria nodded. “You’ve got a point.”
“Why don’t you let me handle this?” Her father took a passport out of his pocket and placed it on the desk. “Leave the country while you still can.”
Daria trembled but made no move to take the passport. “The police gave you the passport they took from me?”
“It’s a new one. Use it.”
So the old man wanted his daughter out of the picture, and he’d gone to some trouble to see her on her way. Fake passports weren’t easy to come by, and Ryker wondered what kind of criminal contacts Rudolf had.
Daria folded her arms over her chest as if to control her anger at her family for not supporting her decision. “I’m innocent. I loved Fallon and Harry. I’m not going anywhere—especially not until we find their killer.”
“Look, I’ve done all I can—”
“And I appreciate it.”
“—but the police detectives now know that your sister not only left her share of the business to you, but that she had a five-million-dollar life insurance policy. Upon her death, the benefit went to you…”
“I know,” Daria admitted, her voice sad. “We took out the policies so that if one of us died and the other inherited the business, the survivor would have enough cash to pay the estate tax on the business.”
“Your tax bill won’t be anywhere near five million dollars,” her father disagreed.
“We were thinking long-term. We didn’t want to up the policy every time we expanded.”
“This won’t work as a defensive strategy in court.”
Maybe her father was correct, maybe she should run while she still could.
“Tell her the rest,” Shandra prodded.
“Joseph Ware’s going to prosecute your case.”
The name meant nothing to Ryker, but Daria turned white. He pulled her against him to steady her and asked, “Who is Joseph Ware?”
Chapter Three
“Joseph Ware prosecuted that serial killer—the one dubbed the Baby Snatcher—last month,” Daria told Ryker over a cup of tea at an all-night deli just down the street from her office. After she’d convinced her family to leave her to deal with her own troubles, she’d locked up the office, unable to even think about work.
And now Ryker expected her to take him to her home but, reluctant to allow him to invade her sanctuary, she’d suggested they stop for a bite to eat.
That she was unable to eat told her she was even more upset than she’d realized. The pecan pie didn’t even tempt her. She couldn’t eat even a cup of chicken noodle soup. Daria hated family confrontations, especially without her sister there to help buffer the antagonism.
Ryker sat across the table from her and bit into a massive corn beef sandwich on rye with extra mustard and sauerkraut. “So?”
“Ware takes on high-profile cases, and he doesn’t ever lose.”
“Everyone loses sometimes.”
“Not him.”
Ryker stabbed a pickle with a toothpick. “Okay, he’s a top-notch D.A. So what? I’m sure you can afford a battery of high-priced attorneys to counter—”
“There’s a personal history between our families.”
“He’s an ex-lover?”
Daria frowned at him. “Ware’s my father’s age. The two of them go way back and were once best friends. Apparently, they both fell in love with my mother.”
“The friendship ended?”
“It turned into a hate fest.” She set aside her tea. “Thirty years later there are still hard feelings between them, and that man would do anything to get back at my father, especially go after one of his children.”
“I see.”
“You don’t have the entire picture yet. After my mother died, the vendetta escalated. I wouldn’t put it past Ware to manufacture evidence against me to hurt my father.” She hated to admit the truth, but she might as well let it out now. “And the only reason my father wants to help me is because he has to beat Ware.”
His eyes pierced hers with sympathy. “You really believe that?”
“If you knew Rudy better, you’d believe it, too.” She tightened her lips. “Fallon and I grew up in boarding schools and summer camps. We weren’t part of family vacations or portraits. Before tonight, my father never visited a Harrington Bouquet store or my office. On the rare occasions when we can’t avoid one another, he never inquires how the business is going.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to pry.”
She shook her head. “He doesn’t care. When my mother couldn’t give him a son, my father divorced her when Fallon and I were five years old. Then Ware told her he didn’t want used goods. She passed away a year after the split. Since the doctors could never find anything wrong with her, each man blames the other for her death. Fallon and I think she willed herself to die.”
“I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to lose a mother. Mine died in a car accident.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine.”
She could read the pain in his eyes and reached across the table and squeezed his hand in an automatic gesture of comfort.
Touching him pleased her. She liked his quiet strength, the way he let her tell her story without interruptions.
Fallon had thought their mother’s love for their father romantic. Daria had thought her mother foolish, and she’d vowed never to let a man mean more to her than her own life.
“Dad remarried when we were six years old, and Shandra immediately gave him the son he was waiting for. Fallon and I were prepared to hate Peter, the golden boy.” She grinned. “But how can anyone not like Peter?”
Ryker raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t mind telling off the old man on your behalf, does he?”
“That’s Peter, defender of all that’s wrong in the world, but he also has nothing to lose. No matter what Peter does, he’s been groomed since birth to take over.”
“He’s the sole heir to the Harrington conglomerate?” Ryker guessed.
Daria and Fallon had never needed their father’s money, thanks to their grandmother’s trust fund and their own ingenuity. Still, the favoritism hurt. “Dad’s molding Peter to walk in his footsteps.”
“You don’t sound envious.”
“Peter pays a price—a high one. Would you want to work with my father?”
Ryker raised his glass of milk to her before downing half in one giant gulp. “Point taken.” With his napkin he wiped his mouth. “I grew up poor, and I’d watch the rich folks in town and imagine that they had perfect lives, but you didn’t grow up with any more love in your life than I did.�
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“I had Fallon.” She swallowed the lump in her throat the size of a golf ball. “What about your father?”
“He was an alcoholic who beat the crap out of me for no reason.” She imagined a world of hurt that he was keeping to himself. “I ran away from home at fifteen and joined the army.”
“Didn’t they check your age?”
“Fake identification isn’t hard to come by on the street. And I was big.”
“You didn’t have sisters or brothers?”
“The military became my family.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m working for you.” He reached for the check.
“I’ll get that,” she offered.
He grinned at her, that charming devil-may-care grin that broke through her worries and made her realize he was a very handsome man who was about to spend the night in her apartment. “Don’t worry, I’ll add it to your bill.”
“WOULD YOU MIND if we go back to the office?” Daria asked him as if she expected him to give her a hard time.
Ryker had no reason to argue. His job was to insert himself into her life, causing as little disruption as possible.
“Forget something?” he asked, helping her into her jacket in the nippy night air.
“I can pick up voice mail from home but, after the surprise visit from my parents, I forgot to pick up my secretary’s messages. I guess the family visit distracted me more than I thought.”
“No problem.”
Was she stalling? Delaying his stay at her home? No matter, sooner or later she’d have to let him into her private life and he could be patient when necessary.
The short walk back to the office took only minutes. At this time of the evening the shops were all closed and the sidewalks much less crowded. Lovers strolled arm in arm and people walked their dogs.
Ryker looked down the street and Harrington Bouquet stood out like a beacon. “The lights inside the shop are still on.” Thieves didn’t announce their presence by turning on the lights. “Your employees—”
“Don’t usually work this late.” She strolled closer, peering through the glass panes of the storefront. “It’s Peter and Elizabeth and…” Her voice rose an octave in shock. “They’re kissing.”
Her brother and the store manager? Not intruders. His heart rate calmed but adrenaline overload made him jumpy.
From her surprised tone and the look on Daria’s face, she hadn’t known about their relationship. And she didn’t approve. His concern was that although there didn’t appear to be any immediate danger, he still had the almost overwhelming urge to protect, to chase, to throttle an enemy.
“It’s odd that neither of them has ever told me,” she wondered aloud, her expression thoughtful as she unlocked the front door and entered the shop.
Ryker didn’t like these kinds of surprises. Her brother’s messing with the hired help sent alarm bells ringing. He filed away the facts to examine later. Right now, he wanted to concentrate on the explanations and crosscurrents of tension.
At their entrance, Peter and Elizabeth broke apart. Elizabeth raised her hand to the smudged lipstick on her mouth, clearly upset. Short, about five feet tall, with long dark hair and creamy white skin, she frowned at Ryker, then focused her attention on Daria.
Daria spoke in a voice that demanded an explanation. “Why are you two making out like kids in my store?”
“Because she’s a very good kisser,” Peter said teasingly. He placed his arm around Elizabeth and tugged her close. He seemed relaxed and happy, like a puppy dog caught chewing on a favorite slipper.
Elizabeth shrugged out from beneath Peter’s arm, her face red. “I was just finishing up watering the plants. We got a little carried away. I didn’t mean for you to learn…like this. I should have told you about us sooner.”
Elizabeth oozed sincerity and a little bit too much intensity. She’d been kissing Daria’s brother, not robbing the place. And, apparently, they were both single adults. Neither wore a wedding ring, so why the big deal over a few smooches?
“Daria’s a big girl,” Peter said. “She’ll get over our little surprise. Won’t you, sis?”
Daria looked from Elizabeth to her brother, quite amazed. “You two are…”
“Hanging out.” Peter finished the sentence with a playful grin. “If you have any objections, keep them to yourself.”
Elizabeth elbowed Peter, but she faced Daria. “We didn’t want you to find out this way.”
“She didn’t want you to find out at all,” Peter added.
“Shut up,” Elizabeth told him, her bright eyes on Daria. “We weren’t hiding. I just thought you had enough on your mind right now.”
Daria recovered quickly. “It’s okay.”
Peter’s face lost the grin. “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s more than okay. And now that you are aware of our relationship, I’d like you to think about giving Elizabeth a promotion.”
“Peter!” Elizabeth shook her head, clearly exasperated and horrified.
Tension between brother and sister escalated. Daria kept her voice even. “Peter, you can date whoever you like, but stay out of my business.”
Before her brother could say another word, Daria spun on her heel and walked out the door. Ryker followed, but not before he missed Elizabeth’s sigh of disappointment or Peter’s triumphant grin.
RYKER COULD SEE that as Daria unlocked her front door she tried to appear comfortable about letting him into her home, but she didn’t quite succeed. After meeting her family he could almost understand her reluctance to invite anyone into her apartment.
The key clicked open the dead bolt, but she hesitated, then a crooked grin turned up one corner of her lips. “My place isn’t exactly conventional.”
He recalled her disgust with the one dusty chair in the living room that served as his office. Her address was one of the most exclusive in Manhattan, and her penthouse, with its own private elevator, had him prepared for luxurious European decadence filled with gilded antiques and Turkish carpets.
So when she opened the front door, a waft of fresh air scented with flowers was his first clue that she’d created something magical. The front hallway appeared to be a lush garden of tropical plants. He simply stared. Delicate white flowers bloomed among climbing green vines that arched over a lattice bower, hiding the ceiling and walls.
She ducked through the archway, and he followed her, amazed that anyone could turn their living space into a miniature Garden of Eden. Fountains bathed by soft lighting added to the junglelike effect, and a drawbridge actually took them over a goldfish pond where the plants reminded him of a wild English garden complete with reclining divans and Victorian coffee tables. Each room had a different atmosphere and different kinds of plants, revealing the tremendous thought, planning and design that had gone into the creation of her home.
When they reached a “clearing” with a hammock hung between two sturdy trees that arched upward to a vaulted ceiling of glass, he tilted back his head to be greeted by moonlight. Two beanbag chairs on either side of a stone table with a game of Go invited one to relax, rest or contemplate the universe. Stone statues peeked out between the plants, mixing art and nature’s beauty with creature comforts.
“This is great. Awesome.”
“I think so,” she agreed.
While before now he hadn’t been convinced of her innocence, he couldn’t believe that anyone who had the spirit to create such beauty could be a murderer. His natural inclination was to discount her as a suspect but his training wouldn’t let him. However, most likely, the murderer had come from Harry’s past.
She turned to the right and they entered a landscaped area of bonsai trees, boulders, stepping-stones and manicured sand. “This is where I come to meditate.” She pointed to a dark area with stone walls that had a cavelike appearance. “Over there is a whirlpool bath, steam room and sauna. I imported jungle plants from South America that like humidity and heat to decorate the hot zone.”
&
nbsp; The hot zone? “But it’s cool in here.”
“I have special ventilation and insulation systems.”
Instead of artwork, she had imported exotic flowers. She’d selected a soft green carpet that reminded him of moss and made him want to kick off his shoes and go barefoot. He imagined her reading by the trickling brook lined with natural stones, dipping her fingers into the stream of water, her head pillowed by his chest.
She led him over a smooth pebble path through the Japanese garden, and into the central part of the penthouse, which was round and boasted a brick wall with a stove, oven and refrigerator. A wooden table with comfy-looking chairs sat on the polished wood floor. An herb garden hung in baskets around a picture window that looked out onto the city.
“Who takes care of all these plants?” he asked, in awe of the world she’d created in the center of Manhattan.
“I do. Elizabeth comes over once a week to help me. She calls it a labor of love, but now I’m wondering…”
“What?”
“If she’s trying to work her way into the family by doing me favors.”
“You don’t like the idea of Peter and Elizabeth together?”
She shrugged. “Women are always after Peter for his money, but I never thought Elizabeth…”
“Did it ever occur to you that she genuinely likes your brother? You do.”
“It just doesn’t feel right. But I’ll get over it.”
A black cat with green eyes emerged from the bushes and brushed against her legs. She stooped to pick him up, scratched affectionately behind the ears. “Hi, Ace.” She handed him a treat, then set him down on the floor where he ate the treat, then licked his paws clean. “Elizabeth is not just the manager of the New York store, she’s my friend. She understands that I don’t like strangers in my home and volunteered to water my plants when I get swamped and stuck at the office. Often I’d come home and she’d just be getting done and we’d talk over tea. Girl stuff. She’s one of the few people I really trust. But she didn’t trust me enough to tell me about her and Peter.”
Defending the Heiress Page 4
