Читать книгу A Breath Away - Wendy Etherington - Страница 8

MAYBE IT WAS the probing, conflicted expression in Remy’s eyes. Maybe it was simply time to give in to someone’s opinions other than her own. Maybe she was just exhausted. But Jade was certainly tempted.

Foolish, definitely. But the lure was there, glimmering in front of her like an inviting respite from holding everything in, from doubting and fighting to stay in control. Even as he aggravated her, this man might equal her strength and challenge her as no one ever had before.

For now, though, she had to set it aside.

“We have a lot to talk about, but we don’t have to do it now,” she said, rolling her shoulders and stepping back. “I want to see what Mo comes up with. In the meantime, I’ll find a way to let you out, but you have to keep out of sight. You’re supposed to be a traumatized art dealer.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned. “Boss. Chief.”

“I prefer the last two.”

“I figured.”

“I gotta get some sleep. I’m getting punchy.”

“Because you’re tempted by me.”

“Because I’m tired. I’ll grill you later, don’t worry.”

“Promise?”

“Count on it.”

“I don’t suppose you’d let me tuck you in?”

She smiled wanly. “You supposed right.” She headed toward the door. “But I’ll be ready for the life and times of Remington Tremaine when I get up.”

“You’re giving me time to deal with my own demons, aren’t you?”

She turned the doorknob but didn’t look back. “Of course not. I’m just tired.”

After leaving her client, she checked briefly on David and Mo, then shut herself in the guest bedroom.

Okay, maybe she was going soft. But then maybe she just needed a break from Tremaine’s magnetism. He knew way too much about her. She probably should have expected his craftiness, but the day had had so many twists and turns it was no wonder she was dizzy. Not to mention she was out of practice with sophisticated intrigue.

Most of the people she defended her clients against these days were angry or overly devoted or just plain crazy. Plus, her primary goal was preventative protection, which involved an entirely different kind of smarts.

Closing her eyes as she lay back on the bed, she fought to put Tremaine out of her mind. He’d occupied every minute of her thoughts all day. She needed a break—along with a healthy dose of perspective.

Her partner, Frank, would be arriving soon. He’d help serve as a buffer between her and Tremaine. He’d have fresh ideas and the professional distance she couldn’t seem to hold on to.

Was that why she’d put off her client’s confession regarding his dodgy history? Was she so desperate for balance that she’d stalled receiving vital information? Or was she afraid she’d hear something that would push her irrevocably to either accept or reject him?

Before this case, her opinion of him had been anything but positive. Since she’d met him she’d budged little. But her conscience niggled. What if she was wrong about him? What if she’d sneered at a man who had value way beyond the shallow box she was determined to keep him in?

You’re still thinking about him.

She mentally worked through cleaning and loading her pistol, hoping to bore herself to sleep. As she drifted, her parents’ faces hovered before her.

She remembered her dad teaching her to change the beer tap and how to bluff at poker. He used to wear Old Spice cologne and would pull her into his lap during late-night card games, long after she was supposed to have been asleep.

She’d been a night owl even then.

She remembered her mom’s perfectly manicured hands reflected in the mirror as Jade sat at her dressing table. Momma had liked Jade’s hair—which she’d brushed and braided constantly—long. Once in high school, after they’d argued about her curfew, Jade had cut it off really short, and her mom had cried.

Jade had kept it long—though not waist-length—ever since. No doubt there was psychological funny business in that decision, some leftover sense of guilt for hurting her now-dead mother.

As always, her dream came back to that hot June day when a group of terrorists had decided to use a parade to assassinate the mayor of New Orleans. As grand marshal, her dad had been right beside him, her mother on the other side. The three of them, plus the mayor’s bodyguard, had died in the shooting.

Jade hadn’t been there. She’d been in calculus class at Tulane. She hadn’t said goodbye to them. She hadn’t appreciated or loved them enough. And then they were gone.

The NSA had seen her pain and with stealth tactics and subtle training, turned it into controlled fury. At the tender age of nineteen, she’d started a new life of intrigue and danger—all in the name of revenge.

She jolted awake at the knock on the door.

Her hand automatically jerked to her holster as she sat up and blinked the dreams and the past away.

“J.B.?”

Frank.

“Coming.”

She unlocked and opened the door, then immediately sank onto the end of the bed. She rarely dreamed, so the cobwebs were hard to bat away.

Her partner dropped onto the bed beside her. He wore his usual baggy jeans and button-down shirt—today, baby blue. His face was scruffy, and his sandy-brown hair looked as though he’d run his hands through it at least a thousand times.

But the crinkles spreading out from his dark-brown eyes betrayed his sharpness—if you took the time to look. He was only ten years older than her, but he had what people romantically refer to as an “old soul,” so he acted more like her father than her brother.

“What’s up with the locked door?” he asked.

“With Light-fingered Tremaine on the case, I figured the precaution was necessary.”

Frank glanced at the door. “Not much of a lock.”

“Don’t I know it.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What the hell did you do last night? You look terrible.”

“I reworked the Ace One security program.”

“No kidding? You got the bugs out?”

“Yep.”

All thoughts of sleep gone, she leaped to her feet. “You’re a freakin’ genius!”

“You had doubts before?”

“Did you tell Mo?” Mo had taught Frank—who’d been previously technologically challenged—everything he knew. She wasn’t sure how thrilled his teacher was liable to be about his student excelling quite so thoroughly.

“Oh, yeah. I told him.” Frank smiled. “He’s pissed. We had fifty bucks on who’d break it first.”

“Can we test it here?”

“You really think there’s going to be a full-scale assault on the penthouse suite?”

“I’m not as worried about them getting in as I am about him—” she nodded toward the living room, where, presumably, their client was waiting “—getting out.”

“Certainly a bigger issue. I’ll get it installed. We can probably consider this a fairly definitive test.”

“I can’t think of a better situation.”

“He’s the best.”

Curious, Jade angled her head. “You really think so?”

“Near as I can figure.”

“You met him?”

“Slick.”

“In spades. What did you find out research-wise?”

“More than you, I bet.”

“Cute.”

“You wanna put fifty on it?”

Recalling Tremaine’s evasive answers and, worse, her reaction to him, she shook her head. “Not particularly.”

“I think he considers me a rival for your affections.”

“How do you figure that?” she asked casually, though sweat prickled at the small of her back.

“Just got that sense.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Ten minutes.”

She rolled her eyes. The man was a master. How could she forget? He’d taught her, after all.

There was no telling what Frank had gotten from Tremaine in ten minutes—added to what he’d researched. When he saw them together, he’d really get a troubling picture.

She’d already briefed her partner on the suspected cause of their client’s shooting, so he’d dug much further back in Tremaine’s life.

“Let’s hear the dirt,” she said.

“He’s an orphan.”

Despite preparing to be cynical, her heart stuttered. Guess the old money, vineyards and real estate he’d told Lucas about were part of his cover. “No kidding?”

“Mom dropped him off at a Catholic orphanage when he was six months old. Father’s identity unknown—blank on the birth certificate. Tremaine was his mother’s last name, and she died three months after dropping him off with the nuns.”

She swallowed.

“Around the age of fifteen, an old family friend came to visit him. Tremaine met with him in private, then told the nuns that the man hadn’t known his family, that he’d been mistaken about his identity.

“A few months later, he started sneaking out of the convent. He got caught a couple of times, and the nuns sent him to confession and counseling. At first, they figured he was out looking for drugs or alcohol, but others don’t think so.”

“Who’d you get this from?”

“One of the nuns.”

Being raised Catholic, though she’d been lapsed for many years, Jade had a hard time picturing anybody grilling nuns. “She just offered all this up?”

“I smiled nicely.”

“Ha.”

“And memorized a Bible verse she wanted me to learn.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Micah 2:1. It’s a warning about devising wickedness. Truth is, without the black cape and funny hat, she was kinda cute.”

“Stop.” Jade held up her hand. “Oh, please stop.”

Frank cleared his throat. “Anyway, I got the info. You wanna hear it, or not?”

“He was sneaking out at night.”

“Right. Nobody really knows what he was doing during all these late-night outings—except maybe the priest in the confessional booth—since Tremaine refused to tell anyone. But then the forays stopped. Supposedly.”

“Supposedly?”

“My opinion. I think he just stopped getting caught.”

“Our thief was born.”

“Makes sense. For the next year he was the model student. The day he turned eighteen, he packed his suitcase and headed out for parts unknown. The mail the nuns tried to send him came back.”

Again, an odd, sinking feeling rolled through her stomach. Like her—until she’d found Lucas—Tremaine had been alone in the world. “He never went back?”

“Oh, he went back. Brought a big freakin’ check that entirely renovated the orphanage—big-screen TVs, PCs, video-game units, board games, building blocks, playground equipment, solid-wood bunk beds, freshly painted walls. The works.”

“Profits from an excellent thief.”

Frank shrugged. “Maybe. He refused to let them credit him as the benefactor.”

Just as he’d refused to defend himself earlier. She shook aside her emotions and concentrated on facts. “So he wanted a low profile.”

“But why go back at all?”

“They’d raised him,” she said.

“Plenty of people are raised without being grateful.”

Or aren’t as appreciative as they should be. At least until it’s too late. “A question to be probed.”

“You’ve been around him longer. What do you think?”

Oh, boy. “Could be guilt or genuine affection.”

“You lean toward…?”

She recalled the soft, persuasive feel of his lips on hers, the smile of invitation—and the blank look in his eyes when she’d questioned whether or not his money was tainted. For once, she went with her heart. “Affection. But where does the NSA come in?”

“No idea there. Not surprisingly, no one will go on record. There are just the rumors we’ve all heard before—he turned evidence against a bigger, thieving fish. As far as personal impressions go, a couple of agents acknowledged they worked with him, but they found him competent and secretive—just what you’d expect.”

“You called the NSA directly?”

“No. Tipping our connection didn’t seem wise at the moment. I talked to trusted, but retired, people.”

Jade leaned back against the door. “So, who’s this old family friend?”

“No idea. The good sisters claimed not to know, either.”

“Claimed?”

“Their loyalty is with Tremaine.”

“So we need to talk to him.”

“You think he’s really going to tell us what we need to know?”

“It’s his life. He’d better.”

She turned the doorknob, determined to face the inevitable sooner than later.

“Jade?”

Turning, she met Frank’s gaze.

“Are you okay with this?”

“Of course.”

“What about Lucas?”

She fought against the hurt lingering near her heart. Why didn’t he just trust her to take care of things? “Did he call you?”

“He left me a message. He’s worried about you.”

I am, too. “I cut him out of this case. He’s mad.”

“He could help.”

She clenched her fists. “You’re not serious.”

“He knows about the art world, the clientele. He’s known Tremaine longer. Maybe he could give us a perspective we aren’t seeing.”

“He’s my cousin.”

“Doesn’t mean he should be eliminated as an expert.”

Though her instincts protested, she tried to focus on Frank’s words. She trusted him like no one else. “I need to think about that.”

“Don’t think long. I imagine this case is gonna move quick.”

Another knock rattled the door.

When Jade opened it, David stuck his head inside. “The police are about to release the scene back to the restaurant. Do we want to check it out?”

“They’re offering to let us?”

“Apparently Tremaine’s name brings out the manners.”

“Yeah.” Mentally, Jade shifted priorities in her head. She figured they’d have to sneak by the police scene restrictions. “Yeah, we want to see it.” She turned to her partner, who now stood behind her. “You and Mo stay here with Tremaine. David and I will go.”

“Fine by me.” He rubbed his hands together. “I want to install that security system.”

“Are we going to get a big bill from the Marriott for seriously altering their room?”

“Humph. They’ll never know we were here.”

As Frank stalked from the room, Jade followed, shaking her head. Questioning a man’s home improvement/computer skills was like questioning the strength of his libido.

In the living room, she found their client beside Mo, both of them sitting at the dining room table amongst the surveillance and computer equipment.

“See this button here?” Mo was saying as he held up a particularly sophisticated tracking device. “Press it and you get a GPS position, so—”

“Feel free to give away all our secrets,” Jade said. As if Tremaine needed another specialty.

The men rose.

“Well, boss, he’s one of us, right?” Mo said, his massive size contrasting sharply with his contrite expression. “I figured—”

“No, he’s not.” Her gaze flicked to Tremaine, who—naturally—smiled. “He’s a client, not a member of this team.”

“But you have to admit, I’m not your usual client,” Tremaine said.

“You’re unusual, all right. And that’s not a compliment,” she added when his grin widened. “Okay, people. We have a new development. The local cops are giving us an opportunity to check out the scene, so David and I will go.”

“And me,” Tremaine added.

“You’ll stay here with Mo and Frank, order lunch from room service and pretend to be traumatized.”

“A wonderfully humiliating picture, but, no, I won’t.”

Did the man live to annoy just her, or was it everyone who didn’t let him run them over?

“I don’t mind keeping an extra-sharp eye on him,” David said.

Jade raised her eyebrows. “Do you usually keep a less than sharp eye on our clients?”

He flushed. “Ah, well, no.”

Tremaine approached her, and her pulse immediately, embarrassingly, sped up. “Are you telling me if you’d been shot, you’d let somebody else examine the scene?”

He knew perfectly well she wouldn’t.

“And you did promise you’d find a way to let me out.”

“I was thinking of a stroll down to the lobby,” she said incredulously, “not to the scene of your near death.”

“I need your help,” he said, staring down at her, “not for you to run my life.”

The sincerity gleaming from his silver eyes made her instantly suspicious. This was an act for the crowd. He’d shift to ruthlessness without a qualm if it would facilitate getting his way.

“My team gets to vote on the direction of cases. Clients don’t.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to make an exception this time, aren’t you?”

“The team votes. Guys?”

Grumbling and mumbling ensued, all of which fell in Tremaine’s favor.

“Fine. I know when I’m outnumbered.” She forced her anger to the pit of her stomach. It was an ego thing, after all. She wanted her way, and the others didn’t agree. She was arrogant, but not stupid. She knew Tremaine, unlike other clients, could handle himself, even though she knew she’d have to constantly remind him who was in charge.

“I don’t like it.” She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head. “But it’s your funeral.” She smiled.

“I was sort of hoping to avoid that.”

“Mmm, well, Frank has gotten your signature on the standard security protection release, hasn’t he?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He will before we leave.” She turned back to the bedroom. She wanted to splash some water on her face. “Which we do in fifteen minutes.”