037369945X (R)

by Debra Webb

  “Did you find it?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” she replied, lowering her voice. Countering belligerence with a calm and composed response was a trick she’d learned in her MBA program. In her early days with Kathrein it had been surprisingly effective at defusing him when he grew agitated over something.

  “Everything you need is in the envelope. A man seeking to ruin my grandson’s political plans went digging through my background. My past is irrelevant! Nosy reporters,” Kathrein ranted. “It is no more than slanted, ancient history and vicious rumors. My Daniel is a good boy. He will not pay for the mistakes of my youth. Family is everything, yes?”

  “Yes,” she agreed. Apparently one member of his family—his only grandson and heir—was worth her entire remaining family combined. The envelope crinkled as her hands fisted, wishing she could wring his leathery, wrinkled neck. Her pulse hammered behind her temples. She had to think, to find a way around this. What kind of threat, what ancient secrets from his past had pushed the wealthy recluse to these drastic measures?

  “The man stored electronic copies of these damaging rumors in a Gray Box,” Kathrein said.

  Gray Box. Memories that Lucy would rather have continued to forget emerged, vying for precedence in her troubled thoughts.

  “As outlined in your instructions,” he went on, “you will retrieve every document and then destroy everything in the cloud, removing all traces of the electronic records.”

  Break into a secure Gray Box? Kathrein had no idea what he was asking. Rush Grayson, the brilliant creator of that particular secure cloud storage service, had contracts with the United States military and intelligence agencies. His proprietary Gray Box encryption was that reliable and impossible to hack. To date, there had never been a successful breach. “What you’re asking is impossible, Mr. Kathrein.”

  “You’d best hope not, Lucille. Since the man I contracted was not successful with the password and such, I presume it will require a more feminine ingenuity,” he suggested.

  Her mind caught on his words and suddenly his determination to bring her to France, to give her anything and everything she needed to make the transition became clear. She was as much a pawn as her sister and nephew, caught in a life and death game of speed chess. Dieter Kathrein didn’t need a personal assistant as much as he’d anticipated a need for her to pry open software. He’d selected Lucy based on her past.

  Oh, dear God.

  “If you contact the police or anyone else I will terminate your family,” he said. “If you fail I will terminate your family.”

  Renewed fear tightened her chest. “Mr.—”

  “You have one week.”

  Her heart stumbled. Seven days to break into a Gray Box? He might give her a year and she wouldn’t be able to deliver. No matter what she’d learned during her time with the company founder, she didn’t have any confidence she could accomplish the task in the next decade. “Sir, I’m begging you to reconsider.”

  “Begging does not an ounce of good. Results matter to me. You know this. Retrieve the information or you will never see your family alive again.”

  If someone on Kathrein’s extensive staff had already tried and failed to crack the secure storage site, she couldn’t possibly hope to succeed long distance. The inevitable scenarios played like a house of horrors tour in her mind. “Wait! Please, I need more than a week.” Lucy floundered for a believable excuse. “I’ll have to return to the States.” For the first time in years, the plane trip would be the least of her challenges.

  “One week, Lucille. Not a single hour more.”

  “Don’t hurt them,” she pleaded. Silence was the reply. He’d ended the call. She reflexively redialed Gwen’s number. No answer. Tears rolled down her cheeks. How could he threaten Jackson? Just last week, he’d stooped over the stroller and smiled warmly at the baby during one of Gwen’s walks around the estate. Kathrein must have lost his mind. Clearly a crazy man held the lives of her sister and nephew in his arthritic hand. Damn it. No matter what her insane boss believed, cracking a Gray Box was not possible.

  She upended the envelope and poked through the contents. Along with a substantial amount of cash, presumably to assist with her travel expenses, Kathrein had provided detailed background on investigative journalist Mathieu Garmeaux. How had this one man gathered secrets damaging enough to push Kathrein to such an extreme and irrational response?

  Kathrein probably assumed Lucy could magically derive the man’s username and password from the background. Not likely. She dashed away her tears with the back of her hand, forcing herself to concentrate on solutions rather than the cold dread sinking into her bones. If Garmeaux would be reasonable, if she could convince him to help her, maybe she could avoid a pointless attack on a secure Gray Box and she could get her family back by morning.

  Nothing lost by asking, she decided. She booted up her laptop and did a preliminary search for the man based on the background provided. First she’d send an email and follow that with a phone call. Or not. Her stomach sank at the first search result.

  Mathieu Garmeaux, based in Paris, had died two weeks ago, the victim of a traffic accident just a few blocks from his apartment.

  Dear God. Lucy dropped her head into her hands and flexed her fingertips hard into her scalp, tugging on her hair as the dates lined up in her mind. She’d been with Mr. Kathrein in Paris at the time. In light of the kidnapping it seemed far more likely that the journalist’s motorcycle had lost the fight with a panel truck on purpose. If Kathrein had had Garmeaux killed, what wouldn’t he do to gain control of the documents?

  A shudder racked her shoulders as she brought up an airline website and booked the next available flight to San Francisco. Gwen and Jackson were counting on her and, like Mr. Kathrein, she would do anything to save her family. Oh, she hated having even that much in common with the wretched old man. Air travel and returning to Rush Grayson’s territory were small costs compared to the priceless value of the people who mattered most to her.

  Her ticket booked, she tried not to think of anything but the next step and failed miserably. Knowing she’d be facing the man who’d broken her heart last year had her agonizing over every item of clothing as she packed. Circumstances aside, deceiving Rush went against her nature. Though he’d hurt her, she’d never wanted to hurt him. Saving Gwen and Jackson meant damaging the Gray Box reputation, and that left a sour taste in her mouth.

  “Can’t be helped,” she said aloud. Zipping her luggage closed, she called for the car and driver to take her to the airport. As the estate faded into the distance behind the car, Lucy’s thoughts bounced from past to present and leapfrogged into the near and distant future.

  Starting with a business introduction and a surprising mutual respect, she and Rush had developed a friendship that had become so much more. Chills raced along her skin at the memories she couldn’t suppress. She’d been foolish enough to fall in love and he’d been smart enough to adhere to his personal boundaries.

  Despite the knowledge that their business interests and efforts had served them both well, she didn’t entertain any illusion that he’d be particularly happy to see her on a personal level. What Kathrein required of her would push the mutual professional respect across a bed of hot coals.

  If by some miracle she succeeded in her task, her foolish heart’s persistent, feathery hope to someday reconcile with Rush would be blown out of reach forever.

  Chapter Two

  San Francisco, California

  Wednesday, December 16, 11:45 a.m.

  Rush Grayson returned to his new company headquarters in the Financial District absolutely frustrated. He’d walked out on the morning meeting after more than an hour of zero progress. Time was precious and he refused to waste it. If the prospective client didn’t experience an attitude adjustment soon, they could find a different security solution for their data. It wouldn’t be as effective as the system he’d designed, but that wasn’t his problem.

  He’d lea
rned the hard way to walk away and let go. His desire to help others didn’t mean they wanted his help. He had to remember Gray Box was no longer at the point where one contract would make or break the company.

  He took the express elevator up to the executive office suite and the stress fell away when the doors parted and he entered his domain. His journey to the top hadn’t always been pretty, but he’d made sure the gorgeous view he enjoyed now rewarded him every day.

  “Good morning, Melva.” He paused at the receptionist’s desk to pick up his messages. With a little more life experience than Rush or any of the other executives on the floor, the woman had been a godsend, keeping them all grounded with the discreet, calm professionalism he wanted to project to clients and competitors alike.

  “How was the meeting?” she asked, peering at him over her bold, red cheaters.

  “I lost patience and walked out.” He shrugged. “How has the day been treating you?”

  “Glorious, thank you.” She flicked a hand at the stunning, panoramic views of San Francisco beyond the glass walls surrounding the space. “Your messages.” She slid a stack of small paper squares across the marble counter.

  Rush grinned. Although everything within Gray Box systems was completely electronic now, she insisted on backing up phone message emails with her old-school habit. He loved it.

  “You have a visitor waiting in your office.” Melva’s practiced smile turned warm, almost affectionate.

  The expression stopped Rush short. Melva had used that particular soft smile with only one person and that person was now rusticating in France, working for a musty old man with almost as much money as Rush. He turned slowly toward his office suite, which occupied one full corner of the floor, noticing the brunette seated in the waiting area near his assistant’s desk.

  “Where is Trisha?”

  Melva’s lips flatlined with disapproval at the mention of his assistant’s name. She’d never warmed to his current girlfriend. It didn’t help that since he and Trisha had been involved personally, he had yet to find a more suitable place for her within the company. “It appears she is away from her desk,” Melva stated.

  His gaze swept over the other glass-walled offices and conference rooms. “I can see that.” Just as he could see the long, glossy sweep of his unexpected guest’s hair falling straight and sleek well past her shoulders. His pulse kicked, though he knew it couldn’t be the woman he most wanted to see. Despite Melva’s warmth, he knew that very special brunette was in France. Still, his body moved automatically, propelling him closer as if hope alone would change the stark reality.

  He wanted to stride on into his office like a consummate professional, giving his assistant room to do her job and make introductions, but Trisha wasn’t anywhere on the floor. He could go back downstairs and catch the private elevator that opened into the hallway behind his posh office. That would create an entrance worthy of the primary developer and top dog at Gray Box.

  Or he could stop being ridiculous and get on with his day. Hadn’t he been lamenting time wasters a few minutes ago? Irritated with himself, he strode forward to meet his guest.

  The familiar vanilla-laced scent stopped him as effectively as a brick wall. His heart slammed against his ribs when she looked up and he saw those big brown eyes full of nerves.

  “Lucy?” He had to be hallucinating. She’d left him a year ago, effectively disappearing overnight. One day here—and his—and the next, he been left holding a note that she’d moved to Chicago with no plans to return. He folded his arms over his chest, not giving a damn about defensive posture. She didn’t look capable of rendering destruction, but he knew better. “This is...” The multiple ways to finish that sentence became a logjam in his head.

  “A surprise, I’m sure,” she finished for him, coming to her feet.

  He had to back up a step to stay out of her personal space and to keep his hands to himself.

  “My apologies for dropping in unannounced, Rush.” Her smile flashed and disappeared from one second to the next. “I just got back in town. Can you spare a few minutes?”

  Hearing her say his name brought back images and memories best left until later. “For you, always.” He caught the subtle twist of her lips and winced. His time and attention had been the one sore spot during their relationship. They were both busy professionals and he couldn’t always insist that global markets and prestigious clients wait while he wrapped up a date.

  Things were different now, calmer and more predictable since he’d achieved his goal and positioned his company at the forefront of the electronic information security industry. Calmer, but not nearly done, he thought, as part of his brain slid back to the wasted morning meeting.

  Recognizing the doubt about his availability in Lucy’s eyes, he pulled his attention back to the present. Bending over Trisha’s keyboard, he sent his secretary a text alert to clear his calendar for the afternoon. “There.” He stood tall, smiling at Lucy. “I’m all yours for the rest of the day.” The idea of it cascaded over him in a wave of effervescent anticipation. Only Lucy had ever had this effect on him. He held open his office door, encouraging her to enter ahead of him. The soft fabric of the smart evergreen dress she wore swirled at her knees, and he enjoyed the distraction for a moment.

  When the door closed behind him, he flipped the switch that turned the clear glass panes of his office opaque, giving them privacy from anyone else on the floor. “What do you need?”

  “Oh, my,” she breathed. “Your view of the bay is stunning.” Lucy turned a slow circle in the middle of his office, a bittersweet smile wobbling on her lips as she took it all in. “The world at your feet, right?”

  “I saved the best view for myself,” he confessed.

  “As you should.” Her smile blossomed, a little less wistful. She cleared her throat. “The building, the new offices...it’s all amazing, Rush. Congratulations. You deserve it.”

  “You think so?” Pride swelled up at her praise before he could battle it back. He’d never reconciled the way she’d constantly encouraged him with the fact that she’d walked away without a single word of warning. Never one to leap without looking, her sudden departure from him as well as the city had completely baffled him.

  She nodded, interlocking her fingers at her waist. He remembered that little habit showing up whenever her self-control was about to snap. What was going on?

  He shrugged out of his sport coat and hooked it on a sleek stainless coat tree near the door. “Why don’t we sit down,” he suggested briskly. He considered rounding his desk, emphasizing his position and power in the room. Instead, he moved toward the long, elegant leather couch. How many days had he envisioned her right here beside him with a cup of coffee in the morning or a glass of wine after a long day?

  Lucy chose a chair on the other side of the art deco glass coffee table and that spark of hope that this might be a personal visit withered.

  He catalogued every nuance and change as she settled into the chair. Fit as ever, her sense of style still radiated elegance and class. Yes, her hair had grown longer over the past year. And the warmth in her big brown eyes was tempered with something he couldn’t pinpoint. She’d done her eyes with subtle color, framed by those thick, dark lashes, and she’d swept soft gloss over her rosy lips. He didn’t care for the tense lines bracketing her lovely mouth. What had happened to her since she’d left him?

  He’d kept tabs on her, always in search of a way to bring her back home to California. Not finding the right combination of timing and opportunity, he’d been forced to admit defeat and move on. He hadn’t managed to forget her, even after sinking all his energy into a year of aggressive corporate growth and dodging the grasping pursuit of equally aggressive, gold-digging women.

  He waited, offered her coffee and water. She graciously refused, but didn’t seem willing to explain what had brought her here. “I heard about your brother-in-law,” he said, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  �
�Thank you,” she replied, her gaze drifting past him to the view of the bay.

  “How is Gwen holding up?”

  “Better day by day.” Lucy’s big brown eyes shimmered with tears until she blinked them away. “I think.” White teeth momentarily nipped at her full lower lip. “Moving to France helped all of us.”

  That caught him off guard. “I didn’t realize she went with you.”

  Lucy nodded. “Her son, Jackson, is eight months old. It’s amazing watching him grow.”

  The worry in her eyes launched an internal battle as his need to shield himself battled against his need to comfort her. “Strong name.” As he’d hoped, the words brought out her smile. She’d often lamented her name was a hurdle in the corporate world.

  God, he couldn’t take his eyes off her, stunned and delighted to have her in his office. Terrified he’d drop his heart into her hands and she’d reject the gift again. His palms itched to touch her, to hold her fine-boned hand in his again. How many nights had he tossed and turned, wishing for one more touch of her lips, gentle as rose petals, against his skin? Her chest lifted on a deep inhale and sent his mind on a sensual, inappropriate detour.

  “I know you’re busy,” she began, “so I’ll be brief. I could use a job, Rush. If you can find a place for me.”

  He knew the perfect place for her, though it had nothing to do with the professional answer she was seeking. Sitting forward, he propped his elbows on his knees. She knew him too well to bother hiding his excitement about bringing her on board. “A job here, with me?”

  “With Gray Box.” Her lips pursed. “France has been a great experience. Beyond beautiful, but—”

  “We have plenty of wine country here,” he interrupted. A voice in his head roared at him to shut up. He was an idiot to think she reminisced over their weekend adventures the way he did. He’d heard how quickly she’d replaced him with a new man in Chicago.

  Her lips curled into another distant smile and she smoothed her hands over her dress. “California is home,” she finished.