by Cassie Miles
She remembered Ronald Atchison’s advice about looking into the big bucks generated by weddings. “I started going through financials for Pierce’s business. His profit and loss statements. Lines of credit. The loan to Denny Devlin, which is, by the way, truly substantial. There are a couple of red flags I should check out.”
“Unusual withdrawals of cash?”
“Not really. Pierce makes a lot more money than I thought. He’s mentioned real estate investments, but I really need to see his personal records to have a complete picture.”
“How could you access those records?”
“I assume they’re at his town house. We could go there tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a starting place.”
Adam rose from his chair and paced toward the fireplace that was the main feature in this cozy room. Resting his elbow on the mantel, he looked every inch the lord of the manor. Innately, he had the bearing of a leader.
“I wonder,” she said, “about your family heritage. Where did your ancestors come from?”
“We’re American from way back.”
“I could see you as a baron or something,” she said. “His lordship, Adam Briggs.”
He scoffed. “More likely Briggs is short for brigand.”
“Even better. Your ancestor might have been a romantic highwayman, riding through the night on a dark steed with his cape flying.”
“A criminal.” He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “And you find that attractive?”
“There’s something appealing about a dashing thief or a pirate who would swoop down and carry me off into his fabulous, mysterious world. A king of the outlaws. And I would be his queen.”
“Fairy tales,” Adam said disparagingly. “That’s the sort of story Amelia would like, except that her hero would be a basset hound.”
In her childhood, Molly liked to make up stories that took her away from cold, hard reality. “Come on, Adam. Didn’t you ever want to be someone different? Someone exotic?”
“Why?”
“Because the world of dreams is a lot more dramatic than everyday life.” She smoothed the folds of his over size flannel shirt across her lap. “That’s one reason why I like to dress up.”
“What’s the other reason?”
“Because I look good in sequins.”
Though he hadn’t obviously deflected her questions, the conversation had somehow turned around and was about her. “I want to talk about you for a change.”
“Why?”
“Let’s say I’m practicing my interrogation skills,” she said. “If you couldn’t be yourself, who would you want to be?”
He gave a short laugh. “This isn’t an interrogation. It’s an Oprah interview.”
Determinedly, she stuck to her question. “You must have fantasies. Like being a pirate. Or an outlaw. You tell me.”
“A judge,” he said. “If I could pick another profession. I’d be on the bench.”
She sipped her liqueur. The liquid warmth shimmered through her, creating a sense of well-being. “Would you be an off-with-his-head kind of judge?”
“Hell, no.”
“You’d follow the rules,” she said. “And you’d play fair.”
“Always.”
But he hadn’t played by the rules tonight. When she asked him not to inform the police about the attack, he’d agreed. This was so totally out of character that she still couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to probe too deeply into this unusual cooperation. He might change his mind. “If you were a judge, what would you tell me to do next?”
“Quit this investigation,” he said quickly. “It’s dangerous, and you sure as hell don’t owe anything to Pierce, who is probably lying to you.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late,” she said. “I can’t quit now. Somebody’s trying to kill me.”
He visibly winced. “I hate this, Molly.”
“Well, I’m not real fond of the idea myself. But it stands to reason that whoever came after me isn’t going to give up.”
“I agree. We have no choice but to pursue this investigation.” He cleared his throat. “However, the increased level of threat requires a somewhat different approach. I need to lay down some ground rules.”
“Rules?” She didn’t like the sound of this.
“Number one: you go nowhere without me. Number two: you will be armed.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she complained. “If you’re going to be my bodyguard, why do I have to be armed?”
“I might get taken out,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Shot, stabbed or otherwise disabled so I can’t protect you.”
She shuddered at his plainly spoken words. What if her first field investigation resulted in Adam being injured…or even killed. Fate wouldn’t be that cruel. “That won’t happen.”
“A good battle plan prepares for every contingency.” He drained the amber liquid from his snifter and returned to the chair opposite her. “I consider it highly unlikely that I’ll be incapacitated. When it becomes necessary to kick ass, I’m damn good at it.”
Though she had never actually seen Adam in a fist fight or a shoot-out, she didn’t doubt his abilities. “I’ll bet you are.”
“Now, we’re going to talk about strategy,” he said.
She groaned. “I’ve heard this lecture before.”
“Fine.” He leaned back in his chair. “You tell me.”
“Whenever possible, use the element of surprise. Strike first, and strike fast.”
He nodded. “What else?”
“When you’re entering a dangerous situation, always leave yourself an escape route.”
“Good,” Adam said.
“If you’re losing the battle, retreat.”
He grinned. “I’m surprised. You actually have been paying attention.”
“I just look like a vapid beauty queen.” She tapped her forehead. “My mind is a steel trap.”
Before he could comment, his attention was diverted and he glanced toward the staircase. “Did you hear something from the guest bedroom?”
She shook her head. “I’m sure Amelia is okay.”
But Adam was already on the move, climbing the stairs two at a time.
Though Molly could have stayed put, she set down her snifter and followed him. His home was, of course, equipped with a state-of-the-art security system, and there was no reason to presume anyone would try to break into a second floor window.
She joined Adam as he opened the door to the guest bedroom. The glow from the bedside lamp shone gently on Amelia’s blond curls. The covers were tossed aside, and her puppy-patterned pajamas were hiked up to her knees.
Adam went to the bed and leaned over her. Tenderly, he pushed back her bangs and felt the little girl’s forehead. Then he pulled the comforter up over her and stepped back. “She seems warm, maybe feverish.”
Molly took his place at the bedside and placed a light kiss on Amelia’s forehead, inhaling the clean fra grance of baby shampoo. She looked down at the sleeping child. This moment seemed perfect. Sweet and tender. It would be a miracle to have a child of her own, a real family of her own.
She stepped back from the bedside. “No fever.”
Together, they tiptoed into the hallway. Adam left the door slightly ajar. The worry lines on his forehead deepened. “Are you sure she’s not sick?”
“If she is, there’s not much you can do about it.” Molly descended the staircase. “Kids pick up all kinds of sniffles and snuffles. It’s part of building their little immune systems.”
“Not while I’m in charge,” he said.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “What are you going to do? Line up all the germs and blow them away with a bazooka?”
“I might,” he said.
As they settled back in the living room, she realized that she’d learned something new about Adam, after all. He was paternal. “You’re so different around Amelia.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Usually, you’re this world-weary cynic. A solitary man.” She picked up her snifter and finished the Courvoisier. “I always thought that came from your time in the Marines. Seeing so much tragedy and devastation must have made you wary of relationships.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “I thought we were done analyzing me.”
“You leave me no choice. If you won’t tell me what’s going on inside your noggin, I have to guess.”
He spread his hands wide open. “Okay, Molly. What do you want to know?”
Never before had he invited her questions. “Will you really tell me?”
“Shoot.”
She might have asked about the Marine Corps. He’d seen combat and been awarded medals for heroism. But she was even more curious about his boyhood. “Tell me about your parents. I know they retired in Ohio and were married for nearly forty-five years.”
“Which was probably forty-four years too long,” he said. “They fought. Often.”
She frowned. “I always thought you and your sister had an idyllic childhood.”
“We moved often. My mother didn’t like being uprooted. And my father didn’t like when she complained.” His eyes seemed to darken as he looked backward into the past. “Far from an idyll.”
“Was there a lot of yelling?”
“Some,” Adam said.
“What did you do?”
Molly was very familiar with this version of childhood, hiding in closets and waiting for the thunderous noise of an adult argument to pass. She remembered hugging her knees, trying to make herself so small that she was invisible.
She watched Adam, waiting for his response. His lips clamped together. There was a barely perceptible shake of his head, and she could see him pulling back, shutting down.
“Tell me,” she said. “When your parents argued—”
“They fought,” he said bitterly. “It wasn’t a discussion or an interview or even a freaking interrogation. They went at it. Tooth and nail.”
“And what did you do?”
“I took care of my baby sister. She was five years younger than me. I took her outside for a walk or I played games with her.”
“But you couldn’t completely shield her from what was going on.”
“No.” His reply was terse. “I couldn’t protect her.”
“You were just a kid,” Molly said.
“I should have taken her away from there. Should have found another way for her to grow up.”
“You did the best you could.”
“Not good enough. By the time my sister was a teenager, she was a mess. Flunking out of high school. Dating idiots. Not taking care of herself.”
“I’m sorry.”
He glanced toward the staircase. “That’s why Amelia is so remarkable. I look at that sweet child, and I realize that my sister is married to a good man. Her life turned out okay.”
“What about you?”
“Me? I’m fine. No worries.” He stood and stretched. Apparently, he thought this conversation was over. “Time for bed.”
“Wait, Adam. I still have more questions about—”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “We need sleep. Amelia will be picked up tomorrow at 09:00. And we’ll have a full day of investigation. Good night, Molly.”
Before she could protest, he pivoted in a crisp military turn and exited up the staircase.
She was left alone with her thoughts. For the first time in her seven years of knowing Adam, she’d seen a glimpse of his vulnerability. Finally, she had an idea of where his intense protectiveness came from.
When they first met, she’d been picking his pocket. He could have turned her over to the police and walked away. But he took her under his wing. In her, he might have seen his sister’s plight. Molly had nowhere to turn, no one to help.
No one but Adam.
And how had she repaid him? There was the obvious fact that she worked hard at CCC. Her organizational skills were a definite asset.
But she wanted to do more. She wanted to be the person who turned his life around.
She pushed herself out of the chair and padded across his living room floor. Though she wasn’t the world’s best interrogator, her intuition was just fine. And she’d learned what was different about Adam.
Being with Amelia caused him to have second thoughts about his own life and the possibility that he might be able to settle down and have a good relationship like his sister. He was a good man, and he deserved it. A loving home and a family.
Maybe she was the woman who could give that to him.
ON THE DESKTOP, the thief arranged three black pens in a row, then in a triangle. It wouldn’t be smart to write the note. The police had experts who could trace handwriting back to the author.
He couldn’t afford to be caught.
But he couldn’t keep this secret. He knew what was going to happen. And he knew when. A great deal of money would change hands—none of it deserved.
Certainly, he had considered the ways he might profit from his knowledge. Blackmail was one. But he despised lying, manipulation and making demands. He was a thief. He worked alone. No one else was endangered by his work. No one was hurt.
It wasn’t right for them to get away with this crime. They disgusted him. They thought he was blind, that they could pull off this caper right under his nose.
They were wrong.
He turned to the computer keyboard and typed in all capital letters.
Chapter Ten
Adam spotted the white delivery van. It was parked on the street outside Pierce’s townhouse.
He slipped his Land Cruiser into a nearby parking slot. This newly constructed area near downtown Denver was six square blocks of town houses and multistory brick condos with shops on the street level to simulate the neighborhood atmosphere that had been wiped out when the development was built.
Turning to Molly who sat in the passenger seat, Adam asked, “Is that the van your attacker was driving?”
“Could be.” She peered through the car window. “How can I know for sure? I mean, a white van? I can hardly tell one regular car from another.”
“And yet,” he said, “you can spot a Porsche at two hundred yards.”
“When it comes to the eighty-thou-and-up cars, I’m an expert. Because I like the good stuff.” She arched an eyebrow. “Just like you.”
Sure, he appreciated the finer things, but he’d never been impressed by a price tag. Nor was Molly. Though she liked to peg herself as a high-maintenance woman, she wasn’t self-absorbed enough to be a diva.
This morning, after Amelia had been picked up by her mother, they swung by Molly’s house so she could change clothes. It took her less than fifteen minutes to grab her notes for the day’s investigation and to assemble herself in a fringed purple skirt and a fuzzy red and purple sweater that showed a sexy inch of her flat midriff when she raised her arm.
He’d told her that she didn’t look like any field investigator that he’d ever seen. And she responded by hiking up her skirt and pointing to platform shoes that she claimed were good for running fast.
She swung those shoes out of the car and went toward the white van. Slowly, she circled the vehicle. “It’s got the same kind of sliding door.”
Adam read the license plate number. Might as well check out the ownership. “Did you touch the van last night? Would there be fingerprints?”
As she tried to remember, her forehead tightened in an adorable scowl. In those fifteen minutes of getting dressed, she’d also applied makeup. Her mouth glistened with a moist pink shimmer.
Distracted by the sheen from her lips, he didn’t catch what she was saying. “What?”
“I think we should break into the van and see if there’s a black ski mask or something.”
“No way.” He’d already bent the rules as far as he intended.
“But this is a big, fat, hairy clue.”
“Or a coincidence.”
“Come on, Adam. I know how to slip a wire inside
the window to open the lock.”
“Why am I not surprised.”
After trying the door on the driver’s side, she rummaged through her massive purse, looking for a tool to help her break into the white van.
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll phone in the plates and find out who owns—”
“Aha!” She yanked on the panel door which slid right open. With no trepidation whatsoever, she climbed inside. “The rear is empty.”
“Get the hell out of there, Molly.”
“I found a camera,” she called out. “Maybe this is Ronald’s van.”
Her impetuous action annoyed him. In spite of being assaulted last night, she apparently didn’t grasp the potential for danger. “Even if we find evidence, we can’t use it in an unauthorized search.”
“Not true.” She stuck her head out of the van door. “That only applies to a police search, and we’re not the cops. Besides, we never reported the attack last night, so it really doesn’t count.”
Her logic was so convoluted that he couldn’t frame a response. The attack didn’t count? What the hell did that mean? He was beginning to regret his decision to leave the police out of the loop.
“Look!” She held up a crumpled bag from a fast food place. “Do you think we could test the French fry remains for DNA?”
Before he could reply, she disappeared again into the van.
Adam resigned himself to the fact that Molly was making an unauthorized search and that his job was to keep watch. He glanced up and down the tidy sidewalk outside the development. Though hundreds of people lived in this area, few were on the street. It was after ten o’clock in the morning and most of the residents were at work.
Maintaining a lookout, Adam pushed aside his navy-blue blazer for easy access to his sidearm. He was also wearing an ankle holster.
Molly leaped from the van. In her right hand she held a torn envelope. “Evidence,” she said.
“Of what?”
“This van belongs to Pierce. There were other documents in the glove compartment.”
“That’s information I could have gotten with a phone call,” he said. “Breaking into the van was unnecessary.”
“No harm done.”
He pulled the panel door closed, took Molly’s arm and led her onto the sidewalk. He kept his voice low, trying to impress upon her the seriousness of the situation. “We’re not playing games, Molly. As we proceed with this field investigation, we need to exercise all due caution.”
