Читать книгу Share the Darkness - Jill Monroe - Страница 6

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WARD KNEW WHEN he was being avoided.

A woman avoided a man for only two reasons. She either didn’t want him, or she wanted him bad. Okay, not rocket science, but it had worked since he’d hit nineteen, and managed to figure out a few things about women, other than the obvious.

And the obvious was Hannah wanted him B-A-D. She’d also stretched avoidance to Olympic proportions. It didn’t take a federal agent to spot the ducking-intoa-doorway routine.

Two could play. In fact, one of Ward’s favorite pastimes was toying with the bad guy. Or in this case, girl. In the last two days, he’d made a special point of getting in her way. When Hannah poured her morning coffee in the break room, he held the sugar. When she made a few copies, he, being the new guy around, always needed help with the machine. And oh, his password. How many times had he forgotten it? And when he asked for her to write it down, he got a sample of her handwriting as well as her fingerprints.

This case should be a piece of cake. One more week to ferret out the culprit, another week or so of tracing all the wire transfers, searching through the files and generally doing all the paperwork he hated. He’d discovered something about investment bankers; they liked a lot of paper. A lovefest of forms. Which meant he’d have to spend a lot of time doing the tedious cataloging of evidence.

Ward studied his appointment list. Most of the employees had eagerly met with him to discuss security issues. Except Hannah. But she couldn’t avoid him today, even though she’d signed up for the last possible time slot on the last possible day.

Ward glanced at the clock, which indicated he had to wait only another five minutes before his reckoning with Hannah.

Anticipation made his muscles tighten. Not much longer and he’d have Hannah all to himself. He’d be able to question her without evasion, hear the sexy huskiness of her voice. Meet the green of her eyes.

He’d already narrowed his search to three individuals with access to the computer system. As head of those computer systems, Hannah had designed the very software someone was using to launder the money.

Would Hannah blatantly use her own software? Wouldn’t make much sense. She struck him as one smart lady. But then the security was so lax at P&L, it was only a matter of time before someone took advantage of it. Was that someone Hannah Garrett?

Something in his gut told him…damn. That was the problem. When it came to her, he had nothing. Zilch. Oh, he had a lot of gut reactions where Hannah was concerned, but not a single clue as to what made the lady tick. Frustrated, he curled his fingers around the edges of her résumé. He’d looked at the thing half a dozen times. He quelled the urge to crush it into a ball.

Okay, maybe things weren’t all bad. He did have a gut reaction with her work history. It was perfect. College placement counselors could teach a course with it. And there lay the problem. He scanned the text again. He knew the answer to Hannah’s secrets hid in what the brief bio didn’t tell.

A soft knock drew his attention away from the paper and to the very person occupying his thoughts. For a moment, he didn’t breathe. Framed in the door, Hannah didn’t appear so mysterious. He still wanted her. She’d mastered her red curls into that neat knot she liked. He still wanted her. Her strong features remained expressionless, and she’d plopped a pair of dark-framed glasses on her nose. He still wanted her. She radiated the very picture of a professional computer programmer…and he still wanted her.

She radiated the very picture of a very irritated professional computer programmer. She tapped her pencil against the notepad in a cadence that suggested she wouldn’t mind flinging the pencil at his face. Hard.

He smiled at her.

The pencil tapped harder.

She took several graceful steps into the room, and sat in the chair he indicated. Efficient and professional. Once again her green eyes gave her away. With a touch of surprise, he noted they weren’t the clear green he’d expected. A cloudiness masked the rich verdant hue. All the better to conceal.

Ward widened his smile to a nice open invitation. “I’m glad you joined me.”

“I didn’t have much choice.”

He smiled again. She resumed the tapping. “It won’t be that bad, most people have given me excellent suggestions for improving security.”

“This meeting isn’t necessary. I already outlined all my suggestions in a memo to Mr. Protter. I CC’d human resources and you.”

Ah, yes. The neatly typed pages he’d placed with his handwritten notes. He had to appear as if he were doing true work while here undercover. Actually, her suggestions were quite good, but then, a criminal would know the best ways to rip off a place.

He nodded. “I prefer to meet one-on-one. Brainstorming will often raise possibilities neither one of us would have thought of on our own. Almost a get-to-know-you-better kind of session. Why don’t you tell me a little more about yourself?”

She gave him a wary glance, alerting his hunter-agent instincts. He recognized that look. It was the kind that proved she’d faced inquisitors before and knew she didn’t have to say or do a thing. At least not without a lawyer present.

He closed the file. He had his answer. Hannah Garrett not only remained a legitimate suspect, but now she moved to the front of the pack. He felt a surge of disappointed satisfaction. Until this moment, he hadn’t even realized he’d held some pathetic hope he’d sized up the situation completely wrong, and she was just some gal who liked computers and needed a date for Saturday night.

The lights flickered, and the pitiful excuse for an air conditioner Protter had installed whined to a halt. “That’s just great. I didn’t think this place could get much hotter.”

Hannah pulled out a frilly white cloth and blotted her forehead. She had the flushed, gently perspired look a woman wears after being made love to. That she even possessed the lacy handkerchief not only surprised him, but also it was sexy as hell. Hot desire slammed his body. He searched for some indication that Hannah was suffering as he was. That, at least, would make his perpetual hard-on somewhat worth it.

Why did she wear so many clothes? And such ugly ones. The brown sack of a skirt left nothing for his active imagination to latch on to. Couldn’t she wear something a little more formfitting? Or something anyway that didn’t end at the knee.

“Didn’t you get the shorts memo from human resources?” he asked. “You must be on fire in all those clothes.”

Hannah straightened, then replaced the handkerchief in her pocket and crossed her legs. The pencil resumed its tapping accompanied by the obviously irritated swinging of her leg. He didn’t care. Each swing gave him a peekaboo view of something other than the smooth skin of her ankle. Her ankles, as ankles went, were outstanding. Only he wanted to see more.

“I really don’t think my clothes should be of any concern to the head of security.”

“Suit yourself.” Ward fluffed his cotton T-shirt in a vain attempt to get a little more air onto his overheated skin. Hannah averted her eyes quickly. He hid a grin. Ahh, maybe it was more than just the heat affecting Hannah. He flexed his muscles a bit as he reached for his notepad.

“Now then, tell me the procedure for ensuring outsiders are not accessing the computer system.”

Hannah stopped the tapping and leaned forward. Her green eyes darkened. The first bit of passion he’d seen. “That falls under my job description. I don’t see where that’s any of your business.”

“All areas of security are my business.”

Her eyes narrowed, but the passion he’d spotted earlier faded. Damn. What had been there? She looked down, angled herself away from him and blocked her body with the notepad. All signs of criminal intent. Or that she just didn’t like him. Nah.

He’d thrown her off balance.

Now, he needed to figure out why. And do it again. Was it because he challenged her job performance? Or because he questioned how outsiders were able to access computers? Time to rattle her some more.

“Tell me how—”

The lights flickered again. A grinding, mechanical screech wrenched through the office. Then complete darkness.

For a moment the entire floor housing Protter and Lane lay silent. Then a few chuckles and squeals drifted in from the outer office. Hannah released a soft sigh, and the tension strung between them slackened.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Her voice vibrated with a loose quality he hadn’t heard from her since they’d first met. Weird. Instead of making her more nervous, the darkness almost seemed to make Hannah more relaxed. At least the tapping pencil had stopped.

Peeps and chirps sounded outside his window. The power failure had not affected the bird family who’d nested on his ledge. At least his sliver of a window provided a little light.

He stood and felt his way around the corners of his desk. A shrill siren sounded and the emergency security light beamed red in her face.

Ward reached for her. She wrenched away from his touch. “Hey, I’m just taking you to the window.”

With an abrupt, almost violent lurch, she stood. “No. Don’t touch me.”

He raised his hands and stepped away. Her notepad slid to the floor, and they both hunkered down to retrieve it.

Her fingers wrapped around the steel spiral of the notebook just as his hand met hers. The soft smooth skin beneath his fingers warmed him. Her shoulders shook as she sucked in a breath.

Then, with a determination that radiated from her to him, he felt her fortify her strength. The unease he’d sensed when the light had glared into her face vanished. She was completely under control.

The siren stopped as the lights flickered back on. They remained crouched by his desk. She, holding the notepad. He, holding her hand.

He gazed into her eyes. Although her back stretched strong and firm, her green eyes still held the uneasiness she’d shown moments ago. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her green eyes flashed, a hint of gold burned like a bursting ember. He sensed something in the fiery depths. An unflinching vulnerability. Those two descriptions countered each other so completely that he stiffened like a man who realized he’d stopped making sense. A condition usually brought on by a woman.

The flash in her eyes disappeared, but the damage was done. Her brief yield had stirred up a primeval response. Shocked by the heat of his reaction, his hand dropped from the satiny skin of her hand.

Hannah stood and smoothed her skirt into place. Total concealment. He sat back on his heels and watched her race away.

Now more than ever he needed to know her secrets.

He could afford to bide his time. In two days it would be Saturday. He’d have her in the office all to himself.

HANNAH PADDED barefoot into her kitchen and spooned coffee into the basket. Her mind drifted to work as she waited for the coffee to brew.

She smelled a setup. Since her disastrous meeting with the security head on Thursday, it seemed she couldn’t evade him. The last thing she wanted was to be anywhere near the watchful gaze of Ward Coleman. Wherever she went…there he was. All six foot plus of outstanding male.

A delicious shiver went down her back. It had been so long. So long since she’d felt the steady warmth of a man’s hand. So long since she’d felt the mind-numbing pleasure of a man’s touch. So long since she’d hungered for a man. And she hungered for Ward Coleman.

And he wasn’t doing much to help her out. She couldn’t get a pencil out of the supply closet without him retrieving a pen. Forget about the break room. She hadn’t been there since the beginning of the week. And Friday was doughnut day, and the boss had sprung for Krispy Kreme. Coleman was gonna pay for that one.

The only place she could find any peace was in the ladies’ room, and Friday afternoon she could have sworn she saw him skulking by the men’s room across the hall.

But today was Saturday. Her special time alone in the office. No one asking for their password, no one complaining about the server being too slow. No one. In an hour, it would be just her, blank disks and a computer to back up.

She leaned against the counter and took in her tiny kitchen. She loved it. It was the first one she’d had with a dishwasher. Why she’d stupidly avoided having one until this point she didn’t know. Her foster mother’s hands had always been rough and red from soapy water. A woman’s hands were meant for something other than cleaning. Her mind always knew it, but she’d only recently put it into practice when she spotted the box of dishwasher detergent the landlord’s wife had left.

She tugged the lapels of her green terry cloth robe tighter. The blistering heat wave passing through Gallem hadn’t reached full strength yet, so she could relax fully covered. Saturday morning always seemed to start out right with a cup of coffee and the newspaper in her kitchen.

The apartment had practically rented itself after she saw it. The previous tenants had been a couple of college kids. They’d sponge painted the walls black, and the elderly landlord had knocked off twenty bucks a month so he wouldn’t have to repaint. She kind of liked it. The front room reminded her of a dark, moonless night. She’d placed a few stick-on stars on the ceiling for effect.

Furniture remained a luxury. She didn’t have much left, leaving almost everything she’d accumulated behind in the last town she’d been relocated to. It was bad to get attached to stuff anyway. She’d found a few good pieces for this new place—a sturdy couch; she’d fashioned a slipcover for it with a navy flat sheet covered with yellow moons and suns. It kept with the space theme. Maybe she should have stuck with plain navy, but then a voice in her head said it was time to delve into the light.

She hadn’t yet found a reasonable kitchen table, but she had unearthed two bar stools, badly needing attention. She’d spent an entire weekend sanding and staining, then proudly placed them before the nice, neutral Formica dining bar.

Hannah slid onto the bar stool and tucked her legs beneath her. She reached for her coffee, inhaled the warm, toasty aroma and took a sip. Ahhh. With lazy fingers she folded the newspaper flat on the countertop.

The date lurched. Bold and warning.

Her breath left her body with a whoosh.

June twenty-first. The longest day of the year. How could she have forgotten?

She gulped down some more coffee, coughing as it slid down into her lungs instead of her throat.

How she hated this date. When light seemed to take over the night. The calendar explained it all. The impending sense of doom, the anxiety, her paranoia of Ward.

It wasn’t Ward Coleman and the exciting yet dangerous promise she’d glimpsed in his eyes at all. It was the date that had her jangly with nerves.

The longest day of the year had been the last day of her normal life.

Hannah drew in a calming breath the way the counselors had taught her to four years ago. She would beat this. She was beating this. Nothing special lay in the date. It was no different from the twentieth. Or the first. Or the thirteenth.

No. The date held no meaning for her. Not anymore.

She slammed the paper to the table and marched into her bedroom. She nearly tripped on the inflatable mattress. Not that it would have been too great a loss if she’d popped it. But she would be kind of sad. The convenient mattress was one of her few possessions to last through two moves.

The accordion door of her closet slapped against the wall. She’d yanked it harder than she’d intended. With a jerk, she grabbed a long skirt and blouse. No way would she crumble under the weight of the date. Hannah Garrett was made of stronger stuff, and she would go to the office as usual. Maybe the next time Ward Coleman got in her way, she’d smile at him.

“YOU GOTTA SEE THIS, WARD. Some reporter is actually out there trying to see if the sidewalk is hot enough to fry an egg.”

Ward looked up from his review of the three suspect files and at his best friend, Brett Haynes, gaping out the fourteenth-story window. “Don’t they have any real news?”

“This is the only news,” Brett pointed out. “Sixtyeight days of no rain coupled with this unbearable heat—it’s a disaster waiting to happen. A local news channel’s dream.”

“Speaking of unbearable, isn’t it about time for you to call home again?” Ward asked.

Brett glanced at his watch. “No, I’m not supposed to call until—” His friend wore the expression that indicated he just realized he was the butt of a joke. “Hey, we’re not that bad.”

Ward laughed. “No, what was bad was when she put the baby on the phone.”

“Just wait. Your time will come.”

“Ahh, but you forget. I’m the man women love to leave. Besides, I can’t think of a worse thing than being trapped behind a desk at the Bureau with you.”

“They leave because you make them want to leave. By the way, the guys asked me to give you these.” Brett dumped a package of condoms on Ward’s desk.

With the tip of his pen, Ward flicked them at his friend. “What are you crazy? Put those away, someone’s going to see you.”

“There’s no one here. Put ’em in your wallet. It’s time you joined the land of the living.” Brett puffed up his shirt. “At least I’m not stuck in this oven. Why didn’t you tell me the place was so hot?”

“I did mention James had relegated me to hell. Besides they’re about to close the whole place down—” he glanced down at his watch “—in about another hour.” Where was Hannah?

“Is that why the area is deserted? As I drove in, I felt like I’d stepped into one of those sci-fi movies where all the inhabitants of a city had disappeared.”

Ward nodded. “Since it’s the weekend and so hot, the city officials are going to divert as much of the electricity as they can out of the city and to the suburbs.”

“And since only an idiot would waste a Saturday in the office, the powers-that-be thought ‘who’d care?’”

“They think that might prevent an overall power outage,” Ward said.

“How?”

“Something about power grids and diversions. I don’t know, I’m an agent, not an engineer.”

“I think that line works better when you’re a doctor. If the place is going to shut down, what are we still doing here? This weekend was all about beer and baseball.”

The outer office door opened and closed.

Hannah.

Ward stood and went around the desk to his door. “Right on time.”

“On time for what?”

“My number-one suspect. Hannah?” he called out in his most surprised voice.

Hannah turned and faced him, not bothering to hide her disappointment. With a quick glance, he sized her up. Even though she knew no one would be in the office, she still wore that long skirt.

But glorious red hair lay in waves down her back. He stifled a groan. He’d have an image of Hannah’s hair strewn on his pillow burned in his brain for the rest of the day. Week. Forever.

Wait a minute, something was missing. Something in her eyes. She didn’t leave him much time to ponder the absence because she strolled right toward him. Another thing she’d never done.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Okay, some of the same old suspicious Hannah remained. This was a reaction he could appreciate. A prickle of relief eased his shoulders. He hadn’t even realized he tensed them.

“Oh, I have an old buddy visiting me. Hannah, this is Brett.”

She cut Brett a glance. “Nice to meet you. Too bad you got here just in time for all the heat.”

“And it just keeps getting hotter,” Brett added.

Ward shot him a warning glance, then cleared his throat. “I was showing Brett my new office.”

Hannah returned her attention to Ward and smiled at him. And Ward dropped his pen.

“Bye, guys. Off to back up the hard drives.” She gave them a little finger wave, and they watched as she walked into her office and closed the door.

After retrieving his pen from the floor, he saw Brett was shaking his head. “What?”

“You’re going to have a heck of a time proving this one innocent.”

“What are you talking about? I’m here to find the bad guy and put him or her in jail.”

“Yeah. Sure. Just keep telling yourself that. It may actually help for a while. But I recognize the signs. It’s benched many a great agent.”

THAT FELT GOOD. Hannah had never turned the tables on someone before, and seeing Ward Coleman drop his pen at her feet…it was almost worth the intrusion on her Saturday.

She opened her desk drawer, pulled the rewritable CD from its sleeve and stuck it into the computer. With a few clicks of her mouse, the backup process began. With the expected lulls in power, this particular backup was crucial. She snapped open the top of her diet cola, retrieved the book from her purse and began to read.

Hard work indeed.

Her thoughts kept drifting back to Ward. She closed the book on her thumb and stared at the cover picture. The hero of the book was a pirate. He possessed Ward’s green eyes and blond hair, and strong jaw. Was that why she’d bought the romantic pirate story? Did she see Ward in the brave man pictured on the cover?

Of course not. She simply found herself sexually attracted to him. It was natural. She was a grown woman who’d denied herself for a long time. An unsteady desire settled in her as she remembered Ward looking into her eyes. For a brief moment, she’d been tempted. The pull of his attraction had her melting faster than an ice cream in the Gallem sun.

Ward no. Pirate yes. And she opened her book.

The pager at her waist vibrated as the pirate in her book hoisted the heroine into his arms. Her fingers shook as she replaced the bookmark and set the book on her desk.

No one except her boss at P&L or the server had her pager number. No one except her contacts.

She ripped the black standard-issue pager from her skirt. She didn’t recognize the number, but an asterisk blinked as the last character on the miniscreen.

The symbol for danger.

Using the private phone in her office could prove too risky. Anyone at the switchboard would be able to see the flashing light of her line and know it was in use. Then there was the possibility of someone listening in….

With trembling legs, she grabbed her purse and walked toward the fire stairwell. Once the door slammed behind her, she sprinted down three flights. From her previous scouting, she knew no one milled about on a Saturday on this floor housing law offices. The attorneys had installed a pay phone near the public restroom to prevent clients from asking to make personal calls.

Hannah found her change, inserted it into the phone and punched in the number. She’d gone through this drill before, but her nerves never got any better.

The person on the other end answered the line on the first ring. “Code?”

“726418,” she recited. Hannah knew that code number the way others knew the digits of their social security number.

“Kyle Barton escaped from prison this morning.”

Gasping, Hannah nearly dropped the receiver. Her stomach quaked, and she gulped several breaths to keep from losing her breakfast.

The date. The longest day of the year. The day that started it all. Of course this would be the day Kyle made a break for freedom. He’d see the irony and run with it. Why had she mocked it earlier? Dared the calendar to mean anything. He’d always find her. Kyle had promised that after the police had placed the cuffs on his hands and escorted him from the courtroom. He’d find her just as surely as day following night. It was her destiny. As it was his.

Okay, stop it. There was no such thing as destiny. That was the kind of stuff Kyle had said to an impressionable girl just wanting to please. Be practical.

A dozen questions came to mind. How had he escaped? Why hadn’t he been restrained? She sucked in a breath, and shrank into the shadows.

“There’s no reason to suspect you’re compromised. What are you doing now?”

“Backing up the computers. I do it every Saturday. I’m almost done.”

“Good. Keep with your routine. Finish up and go home. Don’t draw any attention to yourself. You know the routine.”

Yeah, she knew the routine.

“Marshals are tracking him right now, but we want you to lie low. Do you have some sick days coming?”

“Yes,” she answered, her voice as scratchy as sandpaper. But she knew. He’d find her. He always did.

“Good. Take the days and get out of sight. Fly below the radar. If I call again, it’s to give you the address of a safe house. If he’s captured, you’ll see it on TV.” Her contact hung up.

Hannah replaced the receiver, and checked for the weapon in her purse. She carried a Taser. Even though she would have preferred her gun, no one thought anything of a single woman with a Taser in her purse.

The man who had vowed to see her dead was free.

Hurry the night. Safety lay in the shadows.