Читать книгу Brief Encounters - Suzanne Forster, Suzanne Forster - Страница 10

“MS. MCKENNA! Come back here!”

Rob Gaines belted out the command as Swan brushed past him and walked into the adjoining bedroom. She needed some space to clear her head and she needed it now. In less than twenty minutes he’d accused her of horrendous crimes and strip-searched her in a way that gave new meaning to the term.

What was next? Stop or I’ll shoot?

“That was not a request,” Gaines barked. “Stop or I’ll—”

Swan stopped. Oh, yes, she did. She stopped so suddenly she tilted forward like a ski jumper about to go off the ramp.

“I think we need to establish some ground rules,” he said. “First, turn around, and second, look deeply into my eyes and listen carefully to every word I say—as carefully as you’ve ever listened to anything in your life, because compared to this, none of that other BS matters.”

Swan wanted to tell him that his superior tone was not necessary but, of course, she didn’t. She turned, looked straight into his glacial-blue eyes, and felt as if her breath had been flash-frozen in her chest. If time travel were possible, this guy had been sent from the Ice Age. Even his impossibly long eyelashes did nothing to warm the chill.

“Rule number one,” he said, “since I’m the one with the badge and the gun, I’m in charge here. Rule number two, since you’re the one about to be wearing the handcuffs again, you’re not in charge. You’re the suspect. And rule number three, don’t ever walk away from the guy with the gun because he might think you’re trying to escape, and if he did think that, he would have to do everything in his power to stop you—and that would not be good.”

Not good for whom, she thought, mustering up some defiance. He’d probably love to pull out that big old six-shooter of his and blast away.

“Is that all?” she asked.

“Rule number four, you’re in a shitload of trouble, Ms. McKenna. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that your very life is in my hands, so if I were you, I’d be very nice to my hands.”

Swan was drawn like a magnet to the body parts he mentioned, and they were exactly the kind of hands she loved on a man. Hard from use, brown from the sun, with strong, tapered fingers and a palm plenty wide enough to handle a football. Veins could be seen running down from his forearm, and the feathering of hair above his knuckles matched the sooty black of his lashes.

She was obsessing over the hands of a man who was a threat to her very existence. How normal was that? For that matter, how normal was anything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours? Maybe the threat he posed had something to do with it. He’d just told her that he held her life in his hands and the idea of being that vulnerable to a man, especially this man—

“Are we clear on the rules?” he asked.

“You’re the guy with the gun.” She gave him a tight nod. What else could she do? “And, by the way, what is this gun fixation of yours? You know what guns are, don’t you? Compensation for an inadequate penis.”

He shot a look at her that questioned her will to live. “Maybe we should talk about your penis fixation,” he said. “And while we’re at it, I don’t feel the slightest bit inadequate.”

That was no big surprise, but it brought a sting of awareness to her cheeks anyway. She also felt a thrust of something deeper, quicker and significantly hotter in her belly. She had to get a grip.

“Back to business,” he said. “I’m giving you a choice, which is more than most felony suspects get. Either you agree to help us catch Long’s accomplice or you and Art can have adjoining cells. Which is it going to be?”

Swan went icy cold. “That’s a choice? Everything Lynne and I have worked for is about to be destroyed, and you want me to pitch in and help so you and that other bully with a badge can use our show as a sting operation to catch someone you can’t catch yourself!”

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

He actually seemed pleased with her assessment, and that was the last straw for Swan. She slumped down on the edge of the bed and covered her face with her hands. “This is not happening,” she whispered. If she kept her eyes closed long enough and said the words passionately enough, maybe this nightmare would go away. And it would take Rob Gaines with it.

Gaines sat down next to her. His voice took on an explanatory tone, along with a hint of compassion.

“Listen,” he said, “you’re going to be dragged into this mess whether you agree to help us or not. Now I know that stinks, but that’s just the way it is.”

Swan glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Art Long is smart. He’s been conning people for years but he’s not this smart. He didn’t put this plan into action by himself. Large amounts of money have been electronically transferred, and according to the bank examiners who tipped us, he doesn’t have the authority to do that on his own. Long hasn’t confessed to having an accomplice, but he had help from someone inside.”

“Inside the bank? How am I supposed to help you with that? Lynne and I don’t know anyone at the bank besides Art.”

“That’s what you claim, but someone opened an account under Lynne’s name and has been electronically transferring funds into that account. This same someone then issued a cashier’s check for those funds in the name of Lynne Carmichael—a check that you picked up after forging Lynne’s name. And now Lynne has conveniently disappeared.”

“Well, when you put it like that, of course we look guilty.” She pressed two fingers to her temple and hit exactly the spot where it was beginning to throb. “But Lynne hasn’t conveniently disappeared. She’s away on legitimate business, and I know nothing about any electronic transfers.” Frowning, she said, “What did you mean that I would be dragged into this whether I help you or not?”

Gaines rose and slipped his hands into the pockets of his charcoal slacks. She was reminded of the man in the gray flannel suit, except for one or two discrepancies—the rakish dark hair and disreputable blue eyes. There were con men in every profession, she reminded herself.

“You’re a marked woman, Ms. McKenna. You say you’re not in on this with Art Long, and if that’s true, then one thing is certain. Art did not intend for you to keep the five million. Someone was going to ‘relieve’ you of all that money—likely Art himself—and then split it with his accomplice.”

Swan didn’t like where this was going. “Are you suggesting that his accomplice might come after the money? Or after me because he believes I have the money?”

“You’re starting to get the picture,” he said. “If you work with us, we’ll provide you protection. When the accomplice makes his move, we can be there to make ours. You won’t be hurt, and we’ll have our coconspirator.”

Swan rose and walked to the double doors that led to a balcony above the gardens. White, lacy sheers covered the glass panes. She moved one aside and peered into darkness that was as opaque as an inkwell. The doors were closed, but she could hear the low roar of the ocean, and closer, the purr of traffic on a side street. The beach was always busy in the summer.

“When do you think this person might make a move?” she asked him. “Am I in danger now?” She needed the truth, no matter how bad it was.

Rob Gaines considered the value of lying to her and decided against it. There was nothing to be gained by giving her a false sense of security. Right now she was vulnerable enough to listen to what he had to say and frightened enough to accept it.

“You could be,” he told her, “which is why Joe and I are staying here tonight. I doubt anyone’s going to hit this place, though. They’ll wait for the confusion of the fashion shows. You’re being promoted as the designer of the line, which means you’ll be easy to find, and you’ll be distracted. Thieves love chaos.”

“Swell,” she said. “I’m being used as bait. I could be thumped on the head at any time, robbed and left for dead. And what happens when this accomplice discovers that I don’t have the five million dollars? I’m history, right?”

She shoved a handful of auburn hair away from her face and stared him down with an accusatory expression.

Not if I can help it, he thought. Her rising agitation gave off a scent that was part frightened woman and part French perfume. Both were totally alluring, and both were Swan McKenna. She could be hell in high heels one minute and visibly apprehensive the next, just as she was now. Rob preferred her vulnerable. She was much easier to handle. He was also aware that if she weren’t a suspect, he would have had a hard time keeping his distance. And the hell of it was, he wasn’t sure she would have stopped him.

“Relax,” he said, his voice softening. “Joe and I haven’t lost anyone yet. We’ll set up a security plan. If you do exactly as you’re told, you’ll be safe. We can protect you, but only if you cooperate.”

She hugged herself and he could see gooseflesh creeping up her arms.

“And what do I get out of this,” she asked, “besides a nervous breakdown?”

“Immunity from prosecution. You’ll probably have to testify against Art and his accomplice in court, but, otherwise, you’re off the hook.”

“What about Lynne?”

“That depends on Lynne. Partial immunity, possibly full, if she’s willing to testify.”

“Immunity from prosecution for something we didn’t do? You’ll excuse me if I don’t sound grateful.”

She swung her head and cast him a hard glance, her red hair dancing. Rob suspected she was about to slip on her high heels again and give him a hard time. But he didn’t have any more time to play.

“I need an answer,” he said. “Say yes, Ms. McKenna. It’s the only smart thing to do.”

Smart or not, Swan wasn’t sure she had a choice. There was no guarantee that Rob Gaines wouldn’t haul her off to jail if she refused to help. That would be disastrous for Brief Encounters, and the bad press could be enough to ruin them, even if her name was cleared. But bait for a sting operation?

On the other hand, it was also possible that whoever was helping Art Long had been frightened off and wouldn’t come after the money. That would make this whole exercise pointless. But there was no way to be sure of that, and five million dollars was a lot to walk away from.

“Did you say yes, Ms. McKenna?” Gaines intoned. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes, Ms. McKenna.” She was giving up, but not happily. “You know,” she said, “if you and Joe are planning to go undercover, you could always be underwear models.”

She took some pleasure in watching his face go pale at the thought.

“I saw what you put those guys through tonight,” he muttered, “and I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing one of those nut buckets.”

“Nut buckets?” Swan chuckled. First time she’d ever heard her thongs called that. It was also nice to know that she could still laugh.

“You’ll have people setting up the stage, doing the lights and the sound, that sort of thing?” he asked. Swan nodded. “Good, because Joe and I will blend in as a couple of workmen. We’ll do everything possible to stay out of your way. But you need to keep in mind that we’re conducting an investigation, and you’re still one of the suspects.”

“How could I forget? I’m getting tired of protesting my innocence, and you’re probably tired of hearing it, but someday you’re going to be damn embarrassed about the way you’re treating a woman who gives pennies back to store clerks when they make the wrong change.”

She expected some kind of wisecrack and when it didn’t come she stared at him hard. Maybe she was daring him. “Go ahead and say it,” she invited. “Tell me what an idiot I am for getting myself mixed up in this loan fiasco. But don’t tell me I’m a thief, because I’m not.”

He was suddenly very serious. The dark lashes lowered, masking his expression. “If you think I don’t want you cleared of these charges, you’re wrong. Nothing would make me happier. I mean it.”

The way he said I mean it made her stomach go weirdly light. This wasn’t butterflies or anything like it. It was as if the force of gravity had suddenly been lessened and everything might lift right off the ground.

“Nothing would make you happier? Why would you care what happens to me? You don’t even know me.”

He lifted his head. “I have my reasons.”

“Your quest to catch Art Long, right? And I’m your means to that end? Is that why you care?” She told herself to let it go, but she couldn’t. She wanted to grill him. She wanted to put him under bright lights in a darkened room and interrogate him until he surrendered them, one by one. Call it payback.

Maybe it was her imagination, or just wishful thinking, but she had the feeling he wouldn’t mind spending some time with her in a darkened room, either. He hadn’t smiled, hadn’t even looked as if he might, but there was an energy brewing in the cool blue irises hidden under those lashes, and it was sexual.

Her soul-searching came to an abrupt end as Joe Harris walked into the room.

“Everything is booked,” he said to Gaines, who simply nodded.

It took Swan a moment or two to figure out what he was talking about, and then it hit her that Rob had given Joe her loan check along with the other one. “I’m getting my money back, right?”

Harris looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “That’s evidence, Ms. McKenna. No way you’re getting that check.”

“You can’t mean that.” Swan’s voice went faint. “I need that money! Lynne and I have costs to cover for this tour. If I can’t come up with the money, it will ruin our relationship with the boutique chain. They may even cancel the tour, and I still have to pay for the launch party. I put that on a credit card!”

Harris and Gaines looked at one another. Apparently even tough FBI agents could be surprised.

“I’m serious,” she said. “Lynne and I went broke getting the line manufactured. Part of the loan from First National was to cover modeling fees, travel expenses and lodging. I won’t even go into the stack of delinquent bills I have on my desk. Without that money, there won’t be any shows.”

Gaines raised his hand for silence. After a moment’s reflection he spoke to his partner. “We could put in for an emergency requisition.”

“Worth a try,” Harris said. “All they can do is say no.”

Voices filtered up from below and Swan suddenly remembered her party, her guests. The fashion press was down there, along with the brass from La Bomba. She had no idea where Gerard was or what was going on downstairs. The last time she’d seen him, he was being ushered out of the room. He may have been taken in for questioning for all she knew. That would mean her guests were down there, fending for themselves. She had to go. Someone had to do damage control, and there was no one but her!

Without even thinking to ask permission, she breezed past the two agents and headed for the veranda. As she reached the doorway, she realized she’d just broken every one of Rob Gaines’s four rules and there was nothing she could do about it. Hell with it. Let him shoot her in the back. He might be doing her a favor.

IT WASN’T QUITE AS BAD as Swan had thought. Gerard hadn’t been hauled off in a squad car. He’d been holding down the fort until she got back, and her guests didn’t seem to have any idea what was going on. That much she could be grateful for. They didn’t even notice that her outfit was a wrinkled mess.

She tried to think of some way to bring the evening to a close, but no one seemed in any particular hurry to leave, which, ironically, was the sign of a successful party. Something to celebrate, except in this case there were two government agents in her guest bedroom, and she did not want them mingling.

Too late. She caught sight of Joe Harris by the buffet table. He was helping himself to a healthy slice of Gouda cheese, but he was also watching her. Swan looked around for Gaines, but didn’t see him. She hoped it was because he was working on getting them some funds for the shows. That should keep him busy, and meanwhile his absence gave her another idea. There was something else she had to do tonight, and it would be far easier if she didn’t have to deal with Rob Gaines.

Gerard was heading her way with a small cluster of guests, hopefully to say good-night. She caught his eye and pretended to be adjusting her earrings. She was actually pointing toward Joe Harris. By now she and her assistant could read each other’s minds. She was asking Gerard to cover for her and he gave her a knowing nod. He excused himself and picked up a tray of canopies, hurrying over to where Harris was standing. In typical Gerard fashion, he had the agent engrossed in herb-stuffed mushrooms and conversation within seconds.