by Adrianne Lee
“Yes.”
He wanted to make sense of this, but he hadn’t enough information. His cousin and her husband had adopted older children. Not every adoptive couple wanted babies. “Did your medical problems continue into childhood?”
“No.” A quavery sigh issued from her. “I came close to being adopted…once…when I was eight.”
“But?” He glanced at her.
She was hugging herself more tightly than before, as though against a deep-seated inner pain. “I stayed with this couple for a week. I thought it was a done deal. Then…they adopted someone else.”
She sniffed and looked away from him. Mac eased the Porsche into the inside lane, when what he wanted to do was ease Tia into his arms. She must have been devastated. Obviously the rejection still hurt Likely it had colored her whole outlook on life. Sure, children were resilient, but how did someone bounce back from this?
Dear God, and now he had to tell her that Grant had changed his mind about marrying her. What would that rejection do to her? “Why did the couple adopt someone else?”
“I was never told.”
Mac glanced sharply at her. She might not have been told, but he’d swear she now knew or suspected the reason. He also sensed it was a closed subject. He switched lanes again, getting ready to exit the freeway. Let her have her secrets. And her pride. If she ever wanted him to know, she’d tell him. He was more concerned at the moment with how she’d deal with Grant’s rejection. “That must have been rough on you.”
“I don’t suppose it was all that bad. The Bowens were kind and easy to live with. They provided a roof over my head, clothes, a clean environment.”
“Did you only live with the one family?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that unusual?” He drove down the exit ramp and stopped at a red light.
“I guess. But after the adoption fell through, I decided if I was very, very good, maybe someone else would want me. Or at the very least, the Bowens would learn to love me. Silly, huh?”
“I don’t think it was silly.” The light turned green. “You were just a kid.”
“True. I didn’t understand then that Molly loved me as much as she allowed herself to love any of her foster kids. But she always knew they weren’t hers. I realize now she gave all she could. I just wanted more.”
More. He could relate to that. “I suppose Grant told you our folks were divorced when we were ten?”
“Yes.”
“Did he also tell you we each spent every other summer with our dad? He wouldn’t take us both at once. Dad decided early on that Grant took after him more than I did. And from about age seven on, Grant spent every summer with Dad, while I stayed home with Mom. The rejection and being separated from Grant for three long months at a stretch…whew, it really shredded my self-confidence.”
She made a sympathetic murmur.
He maneuvered the road a tad faster than necessary. “Grant, on the other hand, always arrived at our Labor Day reunions more cocksure than when we’d parted.”
She sighed. “How like Grant.”
“Yes.” Mac smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant memory. As a result of their forced separation, he’d became shier around the opposite sex, while Grant had become bolder. Mac might not understand the rejection Tia had felt as a little girl, but he knew the devastating sensation of feeling unwanted.
His two attempts at making love had taught him that ugly lesson.
He turned toward Southcenter shopping mall, shoving his old wounds back into their cubbyhole. His childhood woes didn’t matter. But Tia’s did. How did she see herself based on those old views? Had she hardened herself against rejection? Or would she be devastated when he told her Grant had been about to break up with her? That he had chosen someone else over her? Mac groaned inwardly. If only he could put off telling her altogether. But then Gwen would take matters into her own hands. No. Tia needed to hear this from him. An unpleasant warmth layered his belly.
He pulled into the parking lot of the five-story building where Grant’s business, Quell Inc., had its offices. He parked in the spot reserved for Grant’s car, shut off the engine and turned to face his brother’s fiancée. As Tia glanced at him, he recalled the kiss they’d shared, the abandon she’d displayed, the hunger he’d tasted.
For a long moment passion thickened in his veins. And then a horrible truth struck him, washing his heated blood cold. When he told Tia about Grant and Gwen, what if she didn’t believe him? What if she thought he was trying to further his own case to win her?
The ache in his head throbbed. This news could wait. He opened his door. Rain pelted his face. He welcomed its soothing chill against his fevered flesh. Tucking the keys into his hand, he raced toward the front door of the office building. Tia arrived under the shelter of the portico a second later.
Wet droplets pearled her thick ebony lashes, curled the soft raven hair at her temples. She was so beautiful he could hardly look at her without aching to touch her. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never understand why his brother cheated on Tia with Gwen Gallagher. How long had it been going on? And how the hell was he supposed to avoid Gwen and keep his business running toward the launch?
He searched for the right keys. Finding them, he felt something odd against his palm. “Funny, these two keys feel waxy.”
“Waxy?”
“Yeah.” He lifted them toward the overhead light. A white residue edged the side of one key. He sniffed it. “That’s weird. It smells like…soap.”
She frowned. “That is weird. Maybe Grant dropped the keys in the bathroom near the sink.”
“I guess. That must be what happened.” But it felt more to him like the keys had sat in a bar of soap. Shrugging off the oddity, Mac opened both locks protecting the front entrance, worked the security code, then secured everything again once they were inside. The building was three months old and retained that fresh-paint, new-carpet scent. They stood in a wide open space that sported tall plants against taller windows. The only concession to the season was a large fir tree, lavished with gold and silver balls and bows. The golden angel at its tip brushed the eight-foot ceiling.
Although Tia thought it beautiful, it did nothing to inspire any holiday spirit in her. Inexplicably a shiver tracked down her spine. She preferred this building during the day. Now it had an abandoned feeling. Like the one deep within her heart.
She glanced at the glass walls of the realty office that occupied the largest portion of this floor and stood like a dark fortress to their right. She saw her reflection, obscured and somehow looking like the sorry little girl no one had wanted. She couldn’t believe she’d confided in Mac. She hadn’t told Grant about almost being adopted when she was eight.
What was there about Mac that made her open up, share her private pain? Trust him with such personal knowledge?
She shook herself, pushing away the questions, the lifelong heartache and the ugly memories. She needed to concentrate on finding Grant’s killer. Nothing more. She glanced around and saw that Mac had moved ahead.
The only illumination came from six overhead recessed lights. The dim glow cast shadows across the marble steps leading to twin elevators and gave her the impression there were evildoers hiding in every corner. With her nerves twitching, she hastened to keep up with Mac’s long strides.
Quell Inc. was on the fifth floor. They rode up in silence. The doors slid open to a short hallway leading to the private-investigations offices. Mac found the correct key, noticing that it also had an odd waxy feel.
Tia glanced right and left, half expecting someone to leap out at them. Quell had a separate security system. Mac worked the sequence of numbers. He held the door open for Tia to enter first.
The reception area reflected a business operating well in the black. In tones of burgundy and aqua, the area was dominated by leather and oak. Someone had strung red and green garlands and taped holiday cards to a file cabinet. A live, decorated Douglas fir with a silver star on top repo
sed in one corner. The air held the rich scent of pine. Tia glanced at Mac and wondered if his Christmas memories were happy ones. Or if his parents’ divorce had somehow evoked the need in him to bring some happiness to sad and lonely children.
In the huge scheme of things, did the reason matter? Just the fact that he devoted himself to finding and developing toys that enriched the lives of little kids deepened her fondness for Mac. He was the kind of man she wished had fathered her. He was the kind of man she wanted to father her children. But that would never be. She had no right even to think it.
She caught a warm glance from Mac and fought the urge to offer him a look as warm. Encouraging the blossoming love inside herself for this man was dangerous. Foolhardy. It would only lead to heartache. For them both.
She forced her gaze from his, glanced around again. Grant and his partner employed two operatives and one office manager, who handled everything from accounts to letter writing. Beyond her desk, a hall led to three other offices. The two operatives shared the first office, and at the end of the hall, Grant and his partner’s private domains stood across from each other.
“Feels eerie in here.” Tia shivered inside her raindamp coat. She didn’t like being in commercial buildings at night, without all the hustle and bustle of the workday, when shadows lived and silence reigned. She struggled against the unpleasant sensation. “Gives me the willies.”
“I usually like the quiet,” Mac said as they started down the hall. “Makes it easier to think.”
He looked like a man with a lot on his mind. She wondered for the hundredth time what he was keeping from her. But for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to push the point.
They opened Grant’s door. A tinny voice rang out. Mac rammed his arm against Tia’s middle. “Stay back.”
Her pulse jumped. He switched on the light. Tia gasped. File cabinets had been overturned, the desk littered with papers and computer disks. The telephone lay on the floor, the source of the disembodied voice. He took a step forward.
She caught his arm. Her nerves quaked. “Mac, don’t. Whoever did this might still be here.”
“No. There’s no place to hide. Go to the front desk and call 911. I’ll start the computer and print out the information before the police arrive.”
“Okay.” Tia raced down the hall to the reception area. Her heart banged against her ribs. She grasped the phone. It was on the line connected to Grant’s office. The operator informed her, if she wanted to make a call, she should hang up and try again. She punched another line. A dial tone filled her ear. With a trembling hand, she poked the 9.
A footstep sounded behind her. She whipped around. A shiny object descended toward her head. She yelped. Lurched to the side. But the object found its mark. Pain crashed through her skull. The room spun. Her knees buckled. As she dropped to the floor, her vision blurring, she spied a wavy figure, dressed like a skier in mourning, scoot out the door. Then all turned black.
“TIA.” MAC CALLED HER back to consciousness. She pried her eyes open. His face hovered above her. Blurred in, then out, then in again. She lifted her hand toward him, realizing his eyes were filled with horror and alarm. She moaned softly. Her hand shifted, going, instead, to her own aching forehead. To where Mac had his hankie pressed. “He was here. Whoever did that to Grant’s office—he hit me with something.”
“The silver star from the Christmas tree. Are you okay?”
“I think so.” She realized the fingers she’d put to her head were sticky. She looked at them. “I’m bleeding.”
“I know. Hold this on the wound.” He pressed her hand onto the hankie at her forehead. It felt damp.
“Can you stand?” He began helping her to her feet. “Walk?”
“Of course.” She held the hankie in place and struggled to her feet, feeling slightly nauseated and mentally numb, as though it weren’t her forehead that had been stabbed by the treetop ornament.
“I’ve got to get you out of here. Somewhere safe. Whoever did this might still be on the premises.”
“No. He ran out.”
“It was a man, then?” His brows shot up. “Did you see him?”
“No. Only an image. Blurry. Don’t know if it was a man or a woman.” She stepped from his grasp. The room spun once, then leveled. “We need that information, Mac.”
“You need a hospital and that’s where we’re going. Now.” There was such guilt in his eyes she wanted to reach up and touch his cheek. But she hadn’t the strength.
Mac said, “This is all my fault. I should never have dragged you into this danger. After the hospital I’m taking you home and you’re going to stay out of this mess.”
“Like hell I am.” Tia felt as though she’d been struck again. “I’m in this for the long haul. Especially after being attacked.”
“No.” Mac touched her cheek. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Neither do I.” She stuck out her chin, thinking she probably looked fairly silly holding a cloth to her head, with blood staining her face and clothes. “And the best way to insure that is to find out who our nemesis is.”
Mac shook his head.
She made a face. “I don’t feel well enough to argue about this right now. Whoever was here, whoever did that to Grant’s office, might have been after the same thing we are.”
“I don’t like the look of that gash.” He peered at her forehead. “You’re still bleeding. You probably need some stitches. A doctor should tend to it right now.”
“Heads always bleed a lot. But I’ll let you take me to the hospital after we get what we came for.” She stood her ground, refusing to budge. “Did you find it in the computer?”
“Not yet.” His eyes still swam with guilt. And concern. “I found the file, but it’s password protected.”
“Then we’ll have to figure it out.” She skirted past Mac, holding the hankie secure, and hurried toward Grant’s office. “Come on. We’re wasting time.”
Mac sat in Grant’s chair. Tia leaned over his shoulder, breathing in his special scent that was now a mixture of his brother’s aftershave and Mac’s own special smell. It made her light-headed. Made her yearn for more from him than he could give, than she had any right to want.
He began trying words to find the one that would open the file they sought. He started with “Tia.” It didn’t work.
She suggested, “Coy Toys?”
He typed it. “Nope.”
He tried “Gwen.”
Wrong again.
Tia frowned. Why in the world would Grant use the name “Gwen” for a password, unless he suspected she was the one who’d betrayed Mac? Were they onto something? Should he try all the employees?
Before she could ask, he typed “Holly.”
Wrong.
“Holly Beary?”
Wrong.
Tia pressed the cloth to her wound, wincing at the sharp pain, but the bleeding seemed to have abated. “Bear?”
His fingers flew across the keyboard. “No.” He blew out a frustrated breath.
“Teddy?”
“No.”
“Teddy bear?”
“Nope.” He ground his teeth. “This isn’t going to work. The computer will shut us out after another couple of tries.”
Tia strained to think of something else. Her head pounded and her vision doubled. Then cleared. “How about your birthday?”
“Too obvious,” Mac groused. But he had no other suggestion, so punched in the numbers.
“Bingo,” Tia cried as the file opened. But her delight fled as quickly as it had come. The screen that appeared bore the heading: Coy Toys Employees. But the rest of the file was blank. “It’s been erased?”
“Yes.” Mac swore. “Whoever just knocked you down beat us to this file.”
Tia glanced at the pile of disks on Grant’s desk. “Grant would have made a backup disk.”
They quickly checked every disk. Then again slowly. Mac scowled, climbing to his feet, fury on his fa
ce. “If he made one, it’s gone now.”
Disappointment dropped over Tia. Her head was beginning to thump. “What I don’t understand is how he or she got in here. I mean, the doors were locked, not jimmied or anything.”
Mac shrugged, then she saw a dawning glint in his eyes. He snapped his fingers. “The residue on the keys. Someone must have gotten hold of Grant’s keys and pressed them into a bar of soap, then had copies made.”
“Can that be done?”
Mac nodded. “I saw it on one of those detective shows once. ‘Murder She Wrote,’ I think.”
Fear shot through Tia. “Dear God, Mac. Why would someone do that unless they knew what Grant was up to?”
His eyes rounded. “You mean, whoever sold the blueprints of my Holly Beary to Lei Industries knew Grant was investigating?”
“It’s the only explanation.”
His face paled as the full significance hit him. “If you’re right, then he or she must have known we traded places.”
She held her head in both hands and nodded, too horror-stricken to speak.
Mac stood up, shaking his head. “But…but that would mean he or she meant to kill Grant, not me.”
Chapter Nine
Mac’s face was the color of fresh snow, his eyes wide with shock. He appeared to be swallowing a lump of coal. Tia stepped toward him, automatically reaching out, touching his arm, offering comfort as he’d offered it to her minutes ago.
He held himself as stiff as a stone sculpture. “If Grant was the intended victim…”
His voice broke. His gaze met hers, the turquoise bright as though heated from a fire behind, a fire fed by impotent rage and confusion. If ever she understood how someone was feeling, it was this man, at this time.
She finished his thought for him. “Then the killer knows you’re impersonating Grant.”
He nodded, then jammed his hands through his short hair. Anger spewed from him in one curse after another. His outburst ended as abruptly as it began. He looked as though he were shaking off some evil spell, as though he couldn’t believe his own behavior. The tips of his ears glowed pink, and he wore a sheepish, apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually swear like that.”
