by C. D. Hersh
“Oh sir, let me show you what we have in that designer,” the clerk said behind him, close enough her breath heated his neck.
“Oh, dearie,” Mary Kate crooned. “I had no idea ye would spend five thousand dollars on a crib.”
Mike made a choking sound. Five grand? For that the blasted crib ought to be gold plated. Who the hell was this Falhman that he could drop that kind of money?
Mary Kate leaned over and kissed his cheek. “What a sweetheart ye are.”
His cheek burned where her lips had touched him. Mike steered her toward the furniture. In his peripheral vision he caught the pregnant customer staring at them, openmouthed.
He leaned closer to Mary Kate. “Five grand? How’d you know that?”
“I did my homework. Didn’t you?”
Chagrined, he wasn’t about to confess he hadn’t. He steered the question from himself. “Guess she isn’t as Mrs. Got Rocks as she pretends to be if she’s impressed by a measly five grand.”
The clerk skittered in front of them, clearing their way as if they were royalty.
Mary Kate laughed, the sound as pleasant as a tinkling wind chime.
“But did we really need to do all that?”
“Ye catch more information in highfaluting shops when ye’re throwing the money around. Ye did good, Butch. Now all we have to do is figure out how to wrest the remaining information from this silly twit of a woman.”
The clerk swept her hand over the edge of a silver-gilded, iron crib. “This isn’t exactly what you asked for, but it should give you a good idea of what the designer has.”
“It’s not the Gretta deDeco Royal Iron and Satin Crib?” Mary Kate turned to Mike, a pout on her pretty face. “I wanted to see the model before we bought it.” She swiveled to the clerk. “I’m disappointed. My friend said you had it.”
“We did, but it was recently sold.”
“Can you order another?” Mary Kate asked.
“I’m sorry. That particular design was a limited edition. There are no more available. Surely you can find something else you’d prefer. I’ll get our catalogue.”
“I don’t want a catalogue, I want that bed.” Mary Kate’s face darkened and her chin trembled. “Fix it for me,” she said to Mike.
Mike wrapped his arm around his pretend wife, patting her shoulder. “Can you tell us who bought it? I’d be willing to pay them more than it cost, just so she could have it.” He searched the furniture. “We’ll even purchase the matching bassinet.”
“I don’t know, sir, that’s against policy.”
Mike removed a wad of bills from his pocket, stripped off a couple of hundred dollars, and stuffed them in the clerk’s hand. “Consider it a tip for telling us who bought the crib. You don’t even have to give us an address. We’ll figure it out on our own.”
She hesitated, and he thrust two more bills in her hand. She fingered them, then headed for the office, crooking her finger for them to follow.
“This is strictly against policy,” she said as she opened a file drawer and pawed through it. “But I can see how much it means to your wife, so I’m going to bend the rules this once.” Withdrawing a file, she said, “Here it is. A Mr. Falhman purchased the crib. Apparently, he came back later and bought a second one.” She jabbed her finger at a signature on the page. “The invoice says I was here when he came to get the second crib.”
“No delivery?” Mike asked.
“Usually we do, but the invoice states the customer will pick up the merchandise.” She stopped and chewed her fingernail. “I remember this order. They came for the bed with a pickup truck with a vanity license plate. ‘HateKdz’. I thought it odd since he’d bought two very expensive cribs.”
“Do you remember what state the plates were from?” Mike asked.
“Ohio, I think.”
Mike glanced over her shoulder as he laid another bill on the desk. The address had been redacted from the invoice. But he had what he needed. An Ohio vanity plate would make Falhman’s address easy to find. “You’ve been very helpful. My wife and I thank you.”
Mary Kate clapped her hands together like a thrilled toddler and beamed at the clerk.
Outside, Mary Kate’s shoulders shook as if she was brushing off bugs, her wifely demeanor returning to the hardened woman Mike admired so much. “I hope we don’t have to do that again. It’s not respectable for a warrior to mince around imitating a fashion doll.”
“Agreed. You make a high-maintenance bride,” he said as she strapped her helmet on. “I prefer the real you much better.”
“Ye don’t make such a bad husband,” she retorted. “Especially if ye keep throwing the money around. If my count is right, ye’ve dropped eight hundred dollars already gathering information about the babes.”
“Just money. If it takes thousands I’ll spend it to find LJ’s son.” He swung his leg over the seat and started the motor. “Time to find out where Falhman’s hiding.”
Chapter 25
“Are you ready to go home, Ms. Kayler?” George asked as he entered her office.
Fiona glanced up from the stack of papers she’d been reviewing and checked the clock above the doorway. Six-thirty. Kyle would be here to take her to dinner in half an hour.
“I’m not going home yet,” she said as she scooped the papers into a lopsided pile. “I’ve got a date with Kyle Morrison.” A frown skittered across George’s face. “What?” she asked.
“I just thought after last night . . . Never mind. It’s none of my business.”
A knot formed in Fiona’s stomach. Did George know? Surely Mike wouldn’t have bragged. He seemed too much of a gentleman. Besides, after what Falhman told her at lunch, she had no future with Mike in spite of whatever they had experienced last night. The man hadn’t even appeared for breakfast. What happened couldn’t have meant much to him anyway.
“We don’t all like him better, George,” she said, ducking her head so he wouldn’t see the truth in her eyes. She squared the stack of papers, laying them precisely in the center of her inbox. She ran her index finger along the edge, sliding a stray sheet into alignment. The paper cut her skin. She grimaced then shoved the digit into her mouth and sucked on the cut.
“Damn him,” she muttered around her finger.
George raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“Damn it,” she quickly corrected. She held out her injured finger. “Paper cut. They hurt like hell.”
Not that she personally knew anything about hell. What she’d been going through recently couldn’t be less excruciating than hellfire. All the lies and deception and anxiety.
Now with the absolute knowledge, thanks to Falhman and Mike’s avoidance of her, that she and Mike could not be, her heart stung, as if the entire stack of pages had sliced the throbbing muscle. She returned her finger to her mouth and tongued it. Too bad she couldn’t soothe her aching heart as easily.
She stood and fumbled in the credenza drawer looking for a bandage to cover the cut. George waited patiently beside the door.
“You can go now,” she said as she wrapped the bandage around her finger.
George didn’t move.
“It’s not as if you haven’t checked Kyle out,” she finally said. “You didn’t find anything on him, did you?”
“No, ma’am,” George said.
“Then go. I’ll be fine.”
“Mike won’t like it.”
“I don’t care what Mike will like. I’m Mike’s boss, and I say it’s okay.” She propped her hands on her hips, defying George to disobey.
He shrugged and put on his cap. “Yes, ma’am. What time will you return, in case we need to call out the troops?”
“I’ll be home before pumpkin time.”
He grinned at her reference to Cinderella�
�s coach. “Good to know, ma’am. Could we know where you’ll be?”
“What? You’re not going to follow me?”
“No, ma’am. I’d never do that.” The innocent expression on his face almost convinced her, until she saw the twinkle in his eyes.
“Liar,” she said.
He grinned and headed for the door. “Yes, ma’am,” he said over his shoulder.
When he’d left, she sank onto the desk chair and removed her compact from her handbag. At least George had been reasonable about things. Not like Mike had when he’d caught her coming in from Falhman’s. But then Mike felt—or had felt—something for her. Apparently, sex had screwed their relationship the same way lead characters getting married on a television series killed the show.
She dabbed powder on her shiny nose, contemplating what path she should choose tonight—deceit or double-cross. Both options sucked.
A light rap sounded and the door opened. Kyle smiled, his grin lighting the room. “Hey, beautiful. Ready to go?”
She dropped the compact into her purse and rose to meet him. His sweet greeting made what she had to decide this evening even harder. How could she deceive someone as nice as Kyle?
“Where’s the bodyguard?” he asked.
“I sent him home.”
Kyle crossed the space in two giant steps and gathered her in his arms. “Fantastic. I’ve been wanting to get you all to myself.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Guess I passed the security checks.”
“With flying colors.” She hoped he wasn’t checking into her, because she’d fail miserably. She pasted on a bright smile. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I should at least let my security know where I’ll be. I am paying them a boatload of money after all.”
“I’ve arranged a romantic rooftop dinner on the top of my father’s business tower. Just the two of us and a single server.”
She removed her cell from her purse. “Type in the address. I’ll send it to my security team.”
Kyle keyed in the location, then she sent the text to George. He replied with a happy face icon and a Have a good time. Text me and I’ll be there.
She sent him a thumbs-up icon and dropped the phone into her bag.
Candles lit the rooftop space, scattered between dozens of blooming pots of gardenias, hostas, and white petunias. The area rivaled a jungle setting. All the scene lacked was a rope swing and Tarzan. In the center of the plants sat a table for two with crystal and china place settings on the finest linen she’d ever seen. Kyle scooted out her chair for her then seated himself. The lone server, dressed in a tux, snapped her napkin open and laid it on her lap, repeating the task for Kyle.
As the waiter presented the wine to Kyle, the sweet scent of gardenias mixed with the white trumpet hosta blooms wafted over the table. Fiona inhaled, letting the fragrance melt away her tension. She could get used to this kind of treatment.
As the waiter poured their drinks, Kyle laid his hand over hers.
“This is breathtaking,” she whispered to him.
“Not nearly as much as you are,” he replied.
The server wheeled over a cart with several covered dishes and set the first course on the table.
“Thank you,” Kyle said. “We can handle it from here.”
With a nod, the man disappeared. Fiona heard the click of a door. Then they were alone.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” Kyle placed the food on their plates.
“Well, since we’ve only reconnected recently, I’d have to say a few days?”
He shook his head. “I’ve waited years to sit across from you at a romantic dinner.” He held her hand, his touch warm and tender.
Fiona’s gaze dropped to her lap, her heart pounding like rogue waves against a sinking ship. He’d been waiting for her?
He was within her grasp. All she had to do was say the right things. Give him the right glances and he’d be hers. WK Shipping would be safe.
Slowly, she raised her gaze to his. “I’m sorry, Kyle. I had no idea how you felt when we were younger. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Not then. Not now, either. Forgive me.
Confusion reigned in her heart and head as she made her silent apology. She needed to follow through. Needed to play on his emotions. But it seemed wrong. Very wrong.
Her mouth suddenly dry, she licked her lips. Kyle placed his hand under her chin, drawing her closer to him, his lips parting slightly as he moved into her space. Nearer and nearer as her tongue flickered in and out moistening her parched mouth.
A whistle sounded near her head. The wine bottle shattered in the ice bucket. Kyle dove for the rooftop taking her with him. He shoved her under the table as a series of metallic pings rained on the metal tabletop. Shattering glass sounded as bits of crystal and china scattered around them.
“Someone’s shooting at us,” he shouted.
Grabbing the table’s center post, he dumped the remaining dishes on the ground. Fiona hooked her arm in the strap of her purse as Kyle dragged her, under the cover of the table, toward the rooftop door. When they reached the door, Kyle opened it, shoved her inside, and followed her. Shots rattled the door, but the metal held.
Shaking, Fiona grabbed her cell and texted George. Before she had finished the message they heard the thunder of footsteps on the metal staircase. With nowhere to hide, Kyle searched the landing. Finding a metal rod, he grabbed it, urged her behind him, and they braced for an attack from whoever was racing toward them.
As the man cleared the last step, gun drawn, Kyle swung.
“Stop!” Fiona screamed. She grabbed Kyle’s arm, causing him to miss. “It’s my bodyguard.” She jumped in front of Kyle.
Both men lowered their weapons. “What happened?” George asked.
Kyle placed himself between her and George. “I thought we were alone.”
“Is that why you nearly killed her?” George asked.
Kyle moved toward him, eyes narrowed, fists raised.
“Stop it! Both of you.” She faced George. “Kyle could have been killed as easily as I could have. He’s not to blame.”
“You told me we’d be alone,” Kyle said. “Why was he lurking around?”
“He did say, ‘text me and I’d be there.’”
“Instantly?”
George shrugged. “Sue me for doing my job.”
Fiona drew in a deep breath and exhaled, the sound as shaky as her quivering insides. Both men stepped toward her. Kyle placed his arm around her shoulder and glared at George, who stepped back.
“Do you want to go home?” Kyle asked.
“No. We’ve got something very important to discuss.” She looked at George. “Will you accompany us to Kyle’s house?”
“Yes, ma’am. We should go in my car, in case they tailed you in his. I parked in the building garage.”
“What about your car?” Fiona asked Kyle.
“I’ll send one of my people for it tomorrow,” Kyle said. “I’ve got another one at home I can use.”
Kyle laid the afghan around Fiona’s shoulders and tucked her into the crook of his arm on his plush family room sofa. She hadn’t been able to stop shaking since the rooftop attack.
“Are you cold or scared?” he asked.
She burrowed deeper into his side. “Both, but mostly scared.”
They sat there, silently, as he rubbed her arms briskly under the knitted coverlet. After what seemed an eternity to her, the shaking subsided.
“You said you had something important to discuss,” Kyle reminded her gently. “Is it about the shooting?”
“Yes and no.” She swiveled to face him. “I’m in trouble, Kyle. Big trouble.”
He tipped his head forward, rest
ing his forehead on hers. “Doesn’t surprise me, considering you have bodyguards and someone has been taking potshots at you.”
“Twice,” she reminded him.
“I remember. Any idea who it is?”
“Not really. But that’s not the trouble I’m talking about.”
He relaxed on the sofa cushions and studied her, his gaze roaming over her face. “Then what is it?”
“Have you ever heard of OmniWorld?”
Kyle snorted. “Dad mentioned something about them when I took over as CEO. Said they’d been gobbling companies as if they were Christmas candy. They’re trying to buy you out, right? You’re resisting so they’re shooting at you? Scaring you into dealing?”
She closed her eyes and inhaled. Maybe this would be easier than she thought. When she opened her eyes Kyle was staring at her. “You need to report them, Fiona.”
“I can’t. I’m indebted to them, and they’re blackmailing me.”
“What do they want?”
“Your company. My company. Probably every other shipping company they can acquire.”
He moved away from her. A cool rush of air drifted beneath the afghan, the lack of warmth from his body leaving her cold.
“How are they planning to get our companies?”
“Your company. I’ve already bargained with them to keep control of WK Shipping.” She lowered her gaze, ashamed to continue looking at him.
Kyle placed his index finger under her chin and raised her head until she looked at him. “What did you bargain with?”
Brushing his finger away, she stared out the glass windows at the lights reflected on the lake.
“Fiona?”
Sighing, she replied, “You. I’m supposed to make you fall in love with me.”
