Trust by Design

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  “What’s going on?”

  He handed him the phone to read Gina’s message. “I gotta go home.”

  “Shit,” Mike said as they entered the office. He gave the phone back after he’d shut the door. “You don’t know for sure he’s even going to try anything. It was a long shot anyway with this storm.”

  Dean tossed him a dark look as he pulled his keys from his desk drawer. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving her alone out there.”

  “We could call the police.”

  He shook his head. “With this weather, they’re busy with accidents and emergencies.”

  “And if you go out in this you might become one of them.”

  “I’ve got four-wheel drive.”

  “Which doesn’t do shit on ice,” Mike argued. Not that it mattered one bit. He followed Dean as far as the elevators, his expression worried as they parted company. “Be careful, man.”

  Dean nodded as the doors closed.

  Outside, the sidewalks had been salted, but the parking lot was like a skating rink. It was a few minutes after three p.m., but the looming, oppressive clouds blocked out any hint of afternoon light. Between the dusk-like dark and the thickening fog, the automatic sensors had tripped for all the street lights in the lot.

  He started his vehicle and turned the defrost on high to melt the build up on the windshield while he scraped the other windows and engaged the four-wheel drive. His hair was wet by the time he slipped into the driver’s seat.

  Once on the road, the city streets were okay, and the highway wasn’t too bad. The radio reported trees and downed power lines to the west of the city with more outages expected as the wind speeds increased. He thought about texting Gina that he was on the way, but didn’t want her to worry about him on the slick roads. As for Jack, if he did decide to take their bait, it was unlikely he’d beat Dean to the house now.

  He left the defrosters on high to keep up with the ice forming on the windshield, and had to shrug out of his suit coat when he began sweating. Once he was off the highway, his hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white as he eased the SUV along at 35 mph. With the road built into the side of the mountain, no guardrails and a steep drop-off peppered with trees and boulders to his right, this was where he really had to be careful.

  Numerous times he navigated around large, fallen tree branches, but the little sticks that littered the pavement and became stuck in the ice helped provide some traction for his tires.

  He’d seen one other car about ten minutes ago, but since then, nothing else until headlights flashed in his rearview mirror. Dean glanced up, squinting against the glare as he realized the vehicle was approaching way too fast. His grip tightened on the wheel as he carefully steered toward the side of the road.

  “Slow down, idiot,” he muttered. The person behind him flashed their brights, and he added, “Stupid bastard.”

  The vehicle moved past, and Dean did a double take as his heart lodged in his throat. That looked a lot like the truck he’d seen parked in Jack’s driveway last weekend. Pulse instantly at high throttle, he turned the steering wheel to get all four tires back on the road. When the red taillights ahead began to disappear in the fog, urgency pressed his foot down on the gas.

  The SUV began sliding sideways. It lurched when the tires caught for a brief moment on the graveled shoulder, then tipped at an angle over the edge.

  It rolled three times before jolting to a stop on the driver’s side. After a moment of disorientation, Dean sucked in a breath, battered, bruised, but still in one piece. He batted the deflating airbag out of his way and reached to turn the car off, his fingers clenching on the keys for something solid to hold on to.

  A picture of the vehicle that had passed him flashed in his mind as the smell of gas began to permeate the SUV. Spurred into action at the possibility of an explosion, he fumbled for his seatbelt. The driver’s side door was obviously out of the question, so he grit his teeth against the pain radiating through his body and maneuvered until he could reach the passenger door handle. It wouldn’t budge, and the gas smell grew stronger by the second.

  His frantic glance caught sight of a smashed back window. Covering his mouth and nose with his shirt collar, he scrambled for the opening and tumbled out into the cold, wet elements. With the gas fumes just as strong outside, he crawled up the hill toward the road, his movements crunching the ice-covered leaves and brittle remains of winter snow.

  As the cold rain ate right through his thin cotton dress shirt, too late he remembered his suit coat lay in the car—with his cell phone in the pocket.

  Chapter 21

  The power had gone out over an hour ago, but it was still fairly warm in the house. Right now, Gina was biding time since the slot beside the hearth in the great room was only half full of wood. She’d readied the fire, but with luck, the power would be back on before she needed to light it for heat.

  She swept aside the red, mink Sherpa throw covering her legs and set her laptop and notebook aside on the table in front of the couch. She had a number of candles lit to keep the lengthening shadows at bay, and decided to go pick out a book from Dean’s study for when her laptop battery died.

  Halfway through the kitchen, a loud bang from the garage nearly stopped her heart. When another noise followed, it started beating again, ten times as fast. That was way different than the occasional muffled thump of a tree branch hitting the roof or scratching against one of the windows. More like a person had stumbled over something out there.

  For a brief second, she wondered if Dean had come home.

  No. He’d have called. And there was no way he’d make it in this weather.

  Which meant she had no clue who might be out there trying to get in.

  Backing toward the study while attempting to get some oxygen into her constricted lungs, she rationalized the noise had come from outside the main house.

  And she’d set the security system—oh, shit, was it even on with the power out? Her gaze cut to the small panel alongside the French doors in the kitchen. Green light. Dean must have a battery backup. Thank God.

  From one second to the next, green switched to blinking red.

  The door that led from the garage to the back hall thumped against the wall, lodging her heart in her throat.

  Someone’s in the house.

  She bit back a scream and forced her shaking knees to carry her to the study. She could lock that door and it would give her time to hide—

  “Gina.”

  The weak call from the hall brought her up short. Frowning, she hurried though the kitchen. Her eyes widened at the sight of Dean slumped against the wall, soaking wet. As she rushed to his side, the security system began beeping a warning, and the red light flashed increasingly faster.

  “What’s the code?”

  He had to repeat it twice before she got the little light back to green again. Then she turned her full attention on him. “What happened? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at Mike’s?”

  “Y-you o-k-kay?”

  Forget soaking wet. His clothes were practically frozen on his body and stiff to the touch. The hand she grabbed was like a block of ice, and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. Yet the concern in his brown eyes was unmistakable.

  “I’m fine, but we’ve got to get you warmed up.” She dragged his arm over her shoulder, and let him lean against her as she led him to the couch in the great room. God, he was so cold, his entire body was wracked with shivers. “Take off those wet clothes while I start the fire.”

  As soon as the flames licked at the paper she’d laid beneath the wood earlier, she turned back to find him still fumbling with the first button on his shirt. His fingers must be numb, and his tie kept getting in the way. A tie? She’d never seen him wear one before, and even half-frozen, he looked so damn hot.

  She hurried around the coffee table and knelt in front of him on the area rug to brush his hands out of the way. “Let me help.”

  He didn’t prot
est, and after loosening the tie, she pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. Ignoring the few drops of moisture that flicked from his hair, she started on the buttons of his shirt. She kept her gaze focused on her hands as they moved lower, then lower still. Positioned between his thighs, she felt the tremors that shook his chilled body, as well as the weight of his gaze with each wild beat of her heart.

  A couple tugs freed the shirttails from his pants, and she rose up to push the material back over his shoulders. If his skin wasn’t so icy, she’d have taken extra time to enjoy the task. Making quick work of the buttons at his wrists, she sent the shirt to join his tie.

  The fire behind her warmed her back, but it was an entirely different heat that warmed her face as he leaned back on the couch while she reached for the buckle on his belt.

  A quick peek though her lashes caught his tired attempt at a smile. “If I weren’t so d-damn c-cold, I’d be enj-joying this.”

  She had a feeling he still was, despite the chatter of his teeth. At least it’d lessened in intensity. Giving him a brief smile, she pulled the belt free, then undid the fastener of his dress pants and slid the zipper down. Next came the shoes and his soggy socks.

  Needing a distraction as he lifted his hips to help her slide his slacks down, she asked, “What the heck happened, anyway?”

  “Some j-jerk almost hit me. I rolled m-my c-car.”

  Alarm fisted her hand in the drenched pants as she set them aside and sat back on her heels. “What? Why were you even out here? You were supposed to be at Mike’s.”

  “I thought Jack might c-come by.”

  Her eyes widened as pain hit her chest. He still didn’t trust her. “Are you serious? You still think I’m—”

  “No,” he exclaimed weakly. “Not like that.” He closed his eyes with a sigh, then looked at her again. “We m-made sure the employee we suspect is feeding Jack information knew the house would be empty. We were h-hoping to get him to do something s-stupid. Then I found out you were still here.”

  “Oh.” Ooooh. He’d driven out in the ice storm to make sure she was safe. Her heart swelled with emotion as she ran her gaze over his body, now bare except for those clinging boxer briefs. There was no holding back her frown at the thought of him getting hurt because of her. But besides the near hypothermia, he seemed unharmed with no visible injuries.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Other than the fact I’ll probably be s-sore as hell tomorrow.”

  “And your SUV?”

  “P-pretty sure it’s totaled.”

  “Where did this happen?”

  “Couple miles away.”

  Miles. She blinked back an unexpected sting of tears and got to her feet. His cold hand locked on her wrist with plenty of strength, and she paused in surprise. His gaze flicked down toward his waist, then back to her face. Ironically, the clear message lightened the mood even as her stomach fluttered in nervous excitement. The man was going to be just fine.

  With a soft laugh, she shook her head and reached for the blanket she’d been using earlier. “You’ll have to manage those on your own.” An infinitesimal narrowing of his eyes preceded his indrawn breath to speak, but she stalled him by tossing the blanket in his face. “No—no dares.”

  “T-that’s no fun,” he complained, pulling the throw down onto his lap.

  “Get over by the fire,” she ordered. “I’m going to get you some dry clothes.”

  She sidestepped out of reach until he asked, “C-can I use your phone? I lost mine in the car and need to let Mike know I’m h-home so he doesn’t call the police.”

  After handing over her cell, she hurried up the stairs for clean briefs, socks, a pair of drawstring lounge pants, and a T-shirt. By the time she returned, her phone sat on the coffee table, and he’d wrapped the blanket around him to sit on the stone hearth in front of the crackling fire. One quick glance at the pile of wet clothes on the floor confirmed he was naked under that Sherpa throw.

  Mmm. What she wouldn’t give for a peek.

  Yeah, right. You had your chance, chicken.

  So true. She handed him the dry clothes, then stepped over to pick up the wet ones. “No coffee since the power is out, but I can light the burner on the gas stove and either make you some tea, or hot chocolate.”

  “There’s a bottle of Frangelico in the bar in my office. Throw in a couple shots of that, and I’ll take the hot chocolate.”

  Sounded good to her, too. And even better, she noticed his chilled chatter had completely disappeared.

  “You get a hold of Mike?”

  “Yes.”

  “You should also report your accident so the cops don’t search for you if they come across your vehicle,” she suggested over her shoulder as she turned to leave.

  In the kitchen, she started boiling the water in the tea kettle, opened a couple cans of chicken soup from in the cupboard, then went to spread his clothes over the utility tubs in the laundry room off the back hall. A quick trip to his office retrieved the hazelnut liqueur, and she was back at the stove to stir the soup and mix the hot chocolate.

  He was still in front of the fire when she returned with a loaded tray of steaming mugs and soup bowls. A corner of the blanket slipped when he reached to take a mug, revealing his bare shoulder. “Thank you.”

  Heaven help her, was he still naked under there?

  She peeked sideways while setting down the tray, and breathed a silent breath of relief—or maybe disappointment—when all she saw was his T-shirt on the hearth. A glance down confirmed socks and pants visible beneath the bottom edge of the blanket.

  “Did you call the police?”

  He nodded.

  “Good, then come and eat. I heated some soup for dinner.”

  “You didn’t have to do all this, but I appreciate it,” he said as he came joined her on the couch.

  “It’s the least I can do,” she murmured, swiveling to hand him a bowl of the hot soup. Then she slid back with her own. It was a big couch, yet he’d sat close enough that his thigh rested against hers, solid and surprisingly warm. Her nervous reaction was to shift away, but she checked it at the last second.

  “Before, you said someone almost hit you. What happened? Clearly they didn’t stop to help.”

  “A truck came up behind me way too fast for the conditions,” he explained as they ate. “I eased over toward the shoulder and when it passed, I thought it might be Jack. But by then, my tires caught in the gravel and it pulled me right to the edge. With the ice, I had no way of stopping.”

  “Do you really…” She paused as the rest of the sentence registered in her head.

  “What?”

  “I realize it may be a dumb question given what’s already happened, but do you really think he’d do something like that? I mean, you could’ve been killed.” The thought shot agonizing pain through her heart.

  “It’s precisely because of what’s already happened that I wouldn’t put anything past him,” Dean affirmed. “He’s in much deeper than just stealing from me.”

  She couldn’t help a glance of surprise. “How do you know that?”

  “The PI I’ve got looking into him learned some interesting things from some reliable contacts.”

  Must be the guy Jackson had said was following him around, poking his nose into his business.

  “You ever notice him do anything strange money-wise? Or help him with any of his business dealings? Meet people who didn’t quite seem to fit?”

  She frowned. “No…why?”

  “It’s been bugging me that he threatened you to keep your mouth shut over the computer stuff when he knows you have no leg to stand on.”

  “He’s worried about his reputation.”

  “Maybe.” He shrugged, then canted his head in her direction. “Or maybe you heard or saw something you shouldn’t have, and now he’s worried you’ll make the connection. Or that you already have.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know really, but ju
st give it some thought. Think about things you may have seen while working on his computer. People he talked to while you were out. If you come up with anything the next couple days, let me know.”

  A chill ran down her spine. What in the world could Jackson think she knew that would hurt him?

  Dean had finished eating, and with his empty bowl resting in his lap, he leaned his head back and shut his eyes. The throw draped about his shoulders hung on either side of his muscled arms. She took advantage of the opportunity to run her gaze over his bare chest and the defined ridges on his torso. A narrow trail of hair led down into the waistband of his pants and the urge to retrace the same path with her hands made her fingers tighten on her dish.

  “You know,” he drawled, “if the power doesn’t come on in a few hours, we’ll have to share body heat to stay warm.”

  A quick glance up saw his eyes were still closed. For someone who’d been frozen less than an hour ago, he didn’t appear the least bit cold anymore. Stubble covered his jaw, giving him a rugged look that was positively dangerous. Add the images his comment conjured, and she was sure she could heat all seven thousand square feet on her own.

  Gina reached over and lifted his dish from his slack fingers to stack inside hers. As she stood and leaned over to set them on the tray, something else occurred to her. “If Jackson ran you off the road, why do you think he—Oh!”

  Large hands grasped her hips and pulled her back onto a firm pair of thighs. He’d rotated her body so she landed sideways, her butt in the cradle of his hips, and her back supported by his unyielding right arm.

  His rich chocolate gaze met hers in the combined candle and firelight. “I don’t want to talk about Jack anymore.”

  Acutely aware of his body beneath her, against her, hell, all around her, she had a hard time catching her breath. And when she did, his musky male scent had her fighting to catch it again. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Payback.”

  It sounded like he had gravel in his throat, and his reference to their earlier phone call shot her temperature up another notch. She’d forgotten about that, but clearly, he hadn’t.