Playing Love's Odds (A Classic Sexy Romantic Suspense)

by Alison Kent

  But twenty-four hours of conversation barely defined friendship much less covered the do's and don'ts of taking a professional acquaintance into a personal relationship. Her question was justified. What did he want from her?

  "I'm not sure," he answered, silently amending it to everything, though he had no right to ask her to share his pain.

  Ever so slowly, she slid her hands from his waist to his chest and, with the barest tip of one nail, drew a circle around his nipple. Around and around until she got the response she wanted. More response than he should give. He ached. Fiercely.

  "Then until you do, let's keep this business, Burke. Besides," she added, her voice husky with want, "Gideon's waiting."

  She moved to the other nipple and he sucked in his breath. "Don't remind me," he groaned as much from her touch as from knowing he had to go.

  "I'll call you Monday morning and set up that appointment." She slid both hands around his neck, her fingers tangling in the length of his hair.

  "You do that." He tried to keep the whole of his desire from his voice. Not that it mattered. Enough of it was pressed against her belly to carve a permanent niche there. "The sooner I settle this case the sooner I can start work on the next one."

  Her eyes flashed a sensual challenge. "What might that be?"

  "This." He swept her up against him and settled his mouth over hers. She left him breathless, speechless, suspended in time. Something he could get used to, something he could come to need. Something he didn't have the right to think about.

  Anchoring her with an arm around her waist, he molded her hips to his and made love to her mouth. What started as a lark, a way to get her goat, royally flopped. His need was real.

  He needed her reason to give him direction, her logic to set him on the straight and narrow. He'd been wandering too long, listless, aimless and coldly detached. Life had seemed safer that way, easier to exist instead of live. Until Hannah.

  She melted against him in sensual surrender, then drew away and whispered, "You'd better go," her lips glistening with his kiss, her voice soft, seductive, reluctant.

  She was right. He had to go. Or he'd want to stay forever. Frowning with frustration and genuine concern, he asked, "You feel safe staying alone the rest of the weekend? You can come back to the beach."

  "I'll be fine."

  He didn't want to hear that. He wanted to hear that she couldn't live without him. "Sure?"

  She nodded. "Thanks for everything."

  "Everything?" He had to know.

  She seemed to need a minute to think. Logan glared down at her. Finally, she smiled, an honest-to-goodness, cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die smile. "Yeah. Everything."

  "What the hell was that all about?"

  Logan dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, rubbing away the burning sting that reminded him he needed some sleep. Refusing to meet his brother's probing gaze, he answered vaguely, "Define 'that'."

  "You. Hannah. That 'that'."

  "Oh, that." He didn't want to talk about that. He didn't really want to think about that. His mind gave him little choice in the matter. Hannah was etched onto the back of his eyeballs. Everywhere he looked, every time he opened his eyes, every time he closed his eyes, she was there.

  Gideon blew a long whistling breath through his teeth. "You two involved?"

  "She's a client." That was honest enough, if not a bit ambiguous.

  "That's what worries me." Gideon shot him a sideways glare.

  "Don't worry." Logan watched the freeway exit ramp slide by in a blur of gray concrete. He scrunched down in his seat and gritted his teeth against the reply he knew was coming. The same one every member of his family gave.

  "It's my job, Little Brother."

  "Well, consider yourself fired," he shot back, unbelievably irritated. When would they let go? When would they let him work through his own mistakes? When would they quit reminding him, even unintentionally, of his failures?

  Gideon whipped the car into the far right lane. "C'mon Logan. I'm only thinking of you."

  "What you're thinking about happened years ago." With his elbow propped on the padded door, Logan leaned his chin into his fist and stared out the window, waiting.

  The ensuing silence was long and tense and spoke of nothing but truth. "Can you blame me?"

  Logan had to hand it to him. At least Gideon had the guts to be frank. Another silence. More honesty. "No. I've been making a few comparisons of my own."

  "And?" Gideon pulled to a stop sign and faced his brother, his aviator sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the worry lines crinkling the corners.

  Logan sighed and twisted in his seat, his knee jamming up against the gear shift. "Hannah is Hannah. Period. For now she's a case. We'll see about later later."

  "How well do you know her?"

  "Well enough," Logan answered, counting on one hand the twenty-four hours since Hannah had walked into his office and everything he'd learned about her since. How smart she was, how soft she was, how well she fit against him.

  How he didn't know half as much as he wanted to.

  "So you are involved." Gideon made the observation after skidding to a stop in the parking lot next to Logan's Mustang.

  "The deal was one question, one answer, Gid. You've spent your quarter." Logan jerked open the door and climbed out.

  Gideon was right behind, slamming his own door with a less than gentle touch. "That wasn't a question. It was a brotherly observation."

  "The past happened a long time ago. I've learned my lesson."

  "I hope so, Logan. We almost lost you over that one."

  Logan braced his arms against the Mustang's door, braced himself against further judgment. "I'm not going to be stupid."

  Gideon peered into the Mustang. "It appears you already have been. What the hell happened to your car?"

  "Nothing much," Logan answered sarcastically, remembering the rush through the rain to steer Hannah away from his car.

  Gideon shoved the glasses back on his head and waved his hands in furious exaggeration. "Nothing much? Do you realize how long it took me to rebuild this baby?"

  "Chill, Gid. It's just a little water."

  "Logan, it's a lot of water. Gallons. Cubic liters. Oceans."

  "I get the point." He opened the door and let the ensuing river wash over his feet until nothing remained but a slow trickle. "Did you bring the shop vac?"

  "Yeah, but not enough towels. You're gonna have one wet butt."

  "I'll worry about my own butt." Gideon's countenance turned solemn; his eyes narrowed. Logan watched him bite his tongue. "I've been on my own a long time, Big Brother."

  "That's what worries me. Somewhere along the line you've lost yourself."

  "Warning noted."

  "It's not a warning. I love you, Logan. Mom and Dad love you. They'd kill to see you."

  "I know, Gid. I'll go home when I'm ready. Just not yet."

  "Can't face the music?"

  He shook his head, staring down at the sopping mess at his feet, seeing nothing but the sopping mess of his life. "Can't face the love."

  For Hannah, the rest of the weekend shot by in a blur. Whoever trashed her place should've been awarded a medal for service above and beyond the call of duty. Two of her pewter dragons had moved in behind her entertainment center. Those Hannah found by accident.

  She nearly screamed in the quiet Logan left behind. He'd spread that who-gives-a-damn aura throughout her crisply efficient world. Everywhere she looked, every time she turned around he was there.

  In her kitchen foraging through her refrigerator, in her pantry using her phone, in the hallway stacking folded linens, in the living room organizing her music collection, dancing with her, kissing her, touching her.

  She'd expected the heat of his kiss but had been surprised at the vulnerable man she'd found. She'd been right about his fears.

  To banish his presence from her mind's eye she punched the play button on the stereo. Big mistake. Those same sul
try blues and jazzy riffs filled the air. She felt his hands, his mouth all over again, so ejected the CD and gave it a Frisbee-esque toss. It sailed behind the piece of furniture. Leaving it there for the dust bunnies would be for the best. It said too much without saying anything at all.

  Instead, she heaved the ceiling-high shelf far enough from the wall to dig the CD, as well as her dragons, from behind. Then, curled up in her overstuffed chair, a pillow hugged to her chest, she listened to the music. It called her a fool for building her walls so high.

  Now that she was crumbling them bit by bit, she realized those walls had done more than buffer her against being hurt or prevent her from reaching out and losing herself, or someone she loved, in the bargain.

  They'd kept out her desperate need for a man's tender, yet tempestuous touch.

  She listened to the music all weekend, remembering the way Logan watched her when he thought she wasn't looking, the way he touched her like he couldn't get enough. Then Monday rolled around and the anxiety returned.

  She'd done well enough over the weekend. Thinking about Logan had kept ViOPet from her mind. But now, with her stomach a tangle of nerves, she decided to skip her usual muffin and yogurt and settle for a steaming cup of chamomile tea. Even that didn't do much to help. By the time she grabbed her purse and lab coat, made a final quick check of her hair and make-up, the calming effects of the tea had worn off.

  The resolve to solve the mystery at ViOPet soothed her as no tea could. The price paid by employees for a corporation's willful misconduct wasn't negotiable. Her father's life had been price too much. She couldn't let others suffer the same fate.

  Logan had warned of the possible danger. At this point she couldn't do more than keep one eye trained over her shoulder—not until she'd gathered some concrete facts. If she wanted to prove ViOPet's guilt, she had no choice but to go to work and tough it out. With firm determination, she closed the door behind her and latched the patio gate.

  "Good morning, Hannah."

  Startled, Hannah dropped her purse and pressed her hand to her pounding heart. "Goodness, Miss Tiny. You scared me."

  Miss Tiny showered a steady spray of water across the rows of potted geraniums decorating the walkway to her patio. "You know this is my favorite time of the day to be outside."

  "I guess my mind was somewhere else," Hannah lamely replied, retrieving her purse from the cobbled sidewalk.

  "I can well imagine where your mind was considering the parade of young men in and out all weekend." Miss Tiny balanced her watering can on her iron planter's shelf and picked up one of the clay pots. Frowning, she pinched off the dead foliage, stopping as a dreamy look softened her features. "I sure do miss Mr. Trimble."

  It took Hannah a minute to remember her neighbor's surname. Like the other tenants, she called her Miss Tiny. Hannah smiled at the woman. "The man who brought me home Saturday afternoon is doing some work for me." That was the truth, of a sort. "The man who picked him up is his brother."

  Miss Tiny huffed and inspected the blood-red flower. "And I guess the man who came Friday was another brother?"

  Hannah's heart lurched to a halt. "You saw a man here Friday? Before Logan and I got here?"

  "Didn't I just say as much?" Miss Tiny replied.

  "Can you describe him?"

  "I may be old, but there's nothing wrong with these eyes."

  Hannah took a deep breath. "Of course there's not. One look at your gorgeous garden is enough to convince anyone." That seemed to appease the older woman a bit. Hannah waited for her to set the pot back in place. "Miss Tiny, this could be very important. When I got home Friday night, my apartment had been broken into."

  Miss Tiny clamped a gaunt hand over her mouth. "Oh dear."

  "Then you didn't hear anyone inside my place?" Hannah knew the answer but had to ask anyway.

  "Nothing unusual," Miss Tiny replied in a guilty voice the size of her name. "But I watch reruns of Beauty and the Beast on Friday night. And I like my television loud. Besides," she continued, defoliating another geranium, "I figured you must have a date. This fella was a dresser and drove a big brown car, not one of those," she waved her age-spotted hand, "flashy do-dads."

  Hannah felt the pavement rushing up to meet her. She clenched her hand around her purse, the metal buckle biting into her palm. "If I can get Logan to come by this evening can you tell him everything you remember about the man?"

  She shrugged her bony shoulders and picked up her watering can. "Why don't I just tell the police?"

  "Mr. Burke is handling the break-in. He's a private investigator."

  Miss Tiny's eyes widened. "Like Columbo? Or MacGyver?"

  "Yeah, just like them."

  "Do you think I'll get called in for a line-up?"

  Hannah glanced at her watch and damned the time. "I'll call Logan on my break this morning. If he can make it by tonight, I'll call you at lunch and let you know."

  Immersed again in her gardening, Miss Tiny only nodded absently. "Make sure it's after twelve, though. I've got to watch All My Children."

  The drive to ViOPet was the longest of Hannah's life. She pulled through the security gate and slammed on her brakes to avoid rear-ending a panel truck. Never failed. When she was in a hurry everyone else was out for a Sunday drive.

  The driver was lucky she hadn't busted his other taillight and or gouged a second dent in the right corner panel of his truck. At last the guard waved the truck on through then stopped Hannah to check her parking sticker and license plate.

  "Something wrong, Hank?" she asked, annoyed by yet another delay even as she handed Hank his usual morning muffin.

  "No ma'am, Miss Evans. Just doing a routine check."

  "Everything okay?"

  He seemed to hesitate a second before his beefy face split into a grin. "Right as rain, Miss Evans. Have a nice day. And thanks for the muffin. Banana's my favorite."

  Frowning at Hank's change in routine, Hannah gunned her car through the gate and slid to a stop in her assigned parking space. She glanced at her watch. Just great. Less than five minutes. Grabbing her lab coat and purse, she ran up the ramp and punched her code into the panel at the door. Nothing. She tried it again. Still nothing.

  With a sigh of disgust, she pounded her fist against the big red bell, punching it repeatedly until another uniformed guard answered her call.

  "What's going on, Joe?" she asked, slipping through the door and into her lab coat.

  "Just one of them days, Miss Evans," Joe replied, averting his gaze.

  She didn't have time to wonder over his behavior either. "I gotta run. Thanks bunches."

  "Sure thing."

  She barely heard his reply over the click-click of her heels on the tiled floor. With less than a minute to spare, she flew into the lab, only to be met by speculative stares from her co-workers. She turned the corner to her workstation. Her table was clean. "What the hell?"

  "Hannah Evans, did I hear them words spill outta your mouth?"

  Hannah glanced up to see Lynn Denison walk back to the adjoining station, the usual two cups of coffee in her hands. Both were hers, and Hannah highly suspected the caffeine had a lot to do with Lynn's bubbly personality. She was the only bright spot in Hannah's long tiring days, the only co-worker she truly counted a friend.

  With a huge sigh, she dropped her purse in her bottom desk drawer. Lynn set one of the cups down on Hannah's desk and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I hate to ruin your day so early, girl, but Neil Harrington wants to see you."

  Chapter Seven

  Whatever Neil Harrington wanted, it couldn't be good. In the six months she'd worked here, she'd never known him to summon a technician to his office.

  She glanced around. ViOPet had spared no expense in furnishing the administrative wing of the compound. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind his desk offered a soothing view of the wooded acreage beyond. Nature's cool green contrasted severely with the stark white and coldly impersonal metallics of the high-tech office.
r />   Gathering her energy for the scene to come, Hannah focused on the pine tree rising directly behind Warehouse B. It seemed poignantly symbolic, reminding her of what she'd seen there and all that had transpired since. As if she needed reminding. Nothing else had crossed her mind for days. Other than what she felt about Logan. And what he made her feel about herself.

  Behind his desk Harrington remained quiet, his gaze darting over her. He dabbed his handkerchief across his upper lip with a jerky motion. Knowing her confidence made him edgy, she pulled herself up arrow straight and met his gaze directly. She would need every advantage in the next few minutes.

  There wasn't a doubt in her mind this meeting was somehow related to what they'd found in her briefcase. The sly glint shifting through Harrington's eyes more than convinced her.

  Clearing his throat, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his stomach, his lips drawn in a malevolent slit. "There's no easy way to say this Miss Evans. We're going to have to let you go."

  Reality hit like a wrecking ball. The games were about to begin. "I'm being fired?"

  "Fired." The corners of his mouth turned up in a smugly satisfied smirk. He leaned forward, the leather of his chair squeaking in protest, and tapped the eraser end of a pencil against the manila folder lying dead center on his desk.

  The only thing on his desk, Hannah noted with growing apprehension.

  He frowned, the impact more evil than reprimanding. "Ours is a competitive industry, Miss Evans. Highly competitive therefore highly confidential."

  "I'm well aware of that." Hannah thought of Hank checking her parking sticker, of Joe opening the door when her access code failed to work, of the accusing stares from her co-workers. Fixing her gaze on the folder, she swallowed a lump of dread.

  Harrington shoved the folder across his desk with such relish Hannah expected him to smack his lips. "You used to work for Vandale."

  The intuition now was as strong as it had been when she'd decided to hire Logan. With a shaky hand she reached for the folder, knowing what she'd find inside. She pressed her knees together and opened it on her lap.