Here Comes Trouble (22 page)

“It’s my problem, Morgan. I’ll deal with it when I have to.” If she had to. Dangerous thinking. She’d already caught herself thinking what it would be like to live in San Francisco, but the idea of leaving everyone and everything she knew behind . . . that caused an unfamiliar knot of unease that was almost painful.

She parked and reached for her bag and pulled out the sketchbook she’d been working in this morning. “Tell me what you think?”

“What is this?” Morgan pulled out the sketch, looking over the initial ideas Sheila had put together before she’d started painting in the midnight hours and beyond.

“Just some basic ideas.” Sheila leaned on the center console and watched her sister trace her finger over the illustrated forest interspersed with waterfalls and lakes. “I know you asked for a painting, and I did one. Don’t get excited,” she said, holding up her hand. “Not yet, but I was thinking about other areas of the center. Maybe some murals? Like what I did for . . .” She swallowed before forcing out the words. “Like what I did for Brandon.”

Morgan looked from the paper, back to Sheila, to the paper again, but not before Sheila caught the glimmer of tears in her sister’s eyes. “You can really do this?”

“I couldn’t.” And to be honest, the idea of putting this much of herself onto the wall of any place, let alone such a public place, was down-to-her-toes terrifying. “But maybe now I can?”

“Oh.” The file folder slipped off Morgan’s lap as she threw her arms around Sheila’s neck and squeezed. “It’s beautiful. I can’t wait to see it finished. When . . .”

“There’s no way I can do this before the gala. Not with everything else I’ve got going on—”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Morgan insisted as she grabbed up the papers.

“How’s Christmas?” Sheila offered, praying, hoping that the creativity spark wouldn’t die when Malcolm left. Committing herself to something this massive, this personal, was taking a bigger chance than she ever had. But for once, she was banking on herself.

***

“There’s something very sexy about a man who cooks.” Malcolm dropped a handful of chopped peanuts over the chicken stir-fry sizzling on Sheila’s stove while she munched on a stray carrot.

“It’s sad you have this gourmet kitchen and you never use it.” He dodged the piece of celery as it flew at his head. “Admit it. This is just one big yogurt storage system.”

“The microwave does great leftovers. I’ll get the bowls.” She hopped off the bar stool and came around the counter, looking to Malcolm as tasty and distracting as the triple-layer chocolate cake he’d bypassed at the market.

“I ran into Theresa this afternoon at J & J.” He flipped the switch on the rice cooker he’d bought and opened the lid to breathe in the nutty aroma of perfect brown rice. “She helped me stock your pantry.”

“Are you sure she didn’t sneak a wedding cake in your bag? I wouldn’t put it past her. Hey.” She looked down at the shiny white bowls in her hand. “I didn’t buy these. Or these.” She pulled open cabinet after cabinet. “Malcolm, what did you do?”

“I told you. I went shopping.” Her kitchen was pathetic and lacked every possible convenience and practicality available. And he’d needed a break from obsessing over stock buyouts, art heists, and pending test results.

“Oh my God.” Sheila clutched the bowls to her chest. “You shop, too?”

Malcolm let his gaze graze her from head to toe. “Do we need a replay of last night?”

“Anytime.” She grinned. “But you know all this is wasted on me, right? I don’t cook.”

“You can host. And I can teach you to cook. Come here.” He pulled her over and wedged her between him and the counter. He put the knife in her hand and covered it with his, slicing through the bunch of green onions with more deliberation than necessary. “Cooking with you is very . . .” he whispered in her ear before he nibbled on the curve of her neck. Another step forward and she gasped, parting her legs slightly as he moved against her. “Stimulating.”

“Keep doing that and no one’s going to be eating any time soon.” She dropped the knife and turned in his arms, linking her hands behind his neck as she tangled her fingers in his hair. “And given Nathan and my Dad are due here any minute . . .” She kissed him and nearly set off the smoke detector. The front door buzzed just as his fingers skimmed under her shirt. “Behave yourself,” she murmured against his lips. “Or you won’t get any dessert.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

She ducked under his arms and hustled to the front door. He heard muffled greetings and an enthusiastic response to whatever wine she’d been presented with so he turned off the gas burner and pulled out four wine glasses and set them on the counter.

“When Sheila said you were cooking dinner, I was horrifically reminded of mac and cheese and Slim Jims,” Nathan said as he rounded the corner. “You’ve progressed.”

“How you two survived college I’ll never know.” Jackson joined Malcolm near the sink, where he washed up. “Put me to work.”

“Spring rolls are in the oven,” Malcolm said. “Potholders are in the drawer next to the stove.”

“I have pot holders?” Sheila asked as she withdrew one of the few items she’d possessed: a wine opener.

“Takes after her mother,” Jackson said, rolling up the sleeves of his navy-blue shirt. “Has Sheila told you about the Thanksgiving of 2000?”

“Hey. That was Mom, not me.” Sheila shoved Nathan when he elbowed her. “Well, okay, the pie was me, but the salt and sugar canisters were identical.”

“To this day I can’t eat pumpkin pie.” Nathan made an inhuman gagging sound. “And don’t even ask about the turkey.”

“Now that was Catherine.” Jackson chuckled and deposited the sheet tray on the counter. “She thought when the instructions said to wash the turkey, she should, well, wash the turkey.”

“Oh, good Lord.” Malcolm nearly sliced through his finger as he laughed.

“Nothing says a Tremayne Thanksgiving like soap suds billowing out of the oven. The kitchen was like a giant Slip’N Slide.” Nathan sipped at his white wine, but choked and covered his mouth. “What the hell?”

“Sherlock.” Sheila dived behind her brother as the tiny black fur ball clawed up Nathan’s back and draped himself over his shoulder.

“Mew.” He knocked his head hard into Nathan’s jaw.

Sheila giggled, her eyes shining. “Nathan, Sherlock. I think I might have to get him one of those collars with a bell.”

“That look right there,” Malcolm said, pointing at his friend with his knife. “Was worth every penny I spent.”

“Little guy fits right in, doesn’t he?” Jackson placed spring rolls onto a platter. “Did you make all this from scratch?”

“I needed a way to decompress and deal with stress instead of skydiving or racing, so I took cooking lessons.” He popped a water chestnut in his mouth and addressed the curious looks of the Tremayne clan. “Once you own a company as valuable as TIN, insurance companies frown on risky behaviors.” Maybe it was time to revisit those old habits.

“I miss those weekend trips to Vegas. Remember that skydiving weekend we took with those twins from . . .” Nathan said as he scratched Sherlock on the top of the head.

Jackson cleared his throat.

“That I just realized I never told you and mom about.” He shot his father a guilty grin. “Landed safe and sound, though.”

“Skydiving?” Sheila aimed a look at Malcolm.

“Nothing makes you feel more alive than dropping out into an empty sky,” he said. “You should try it sometime.”

“I wouldn’t mind, actually,” Jackson said as he toasted Malcolm. “Let me know if you want to go up.”

“What is in this wine?” Sheila looked down at the almost empty bottle.

“Hopefully something that will help us figure out what to do about these new developments you told us about,” Nathan said. “Why do you think I brought more than one bottle?”

“Leave it to Chadwick to prove me right. A second appraiser.” Nathan pushed his empty dinner plate aside, snagged one of the last spring rolls, and leaned back in his chair, wine in hand. “Nothing about this job is going to be easy. It would be helpful to know who those advance bidders are.”

Too bad the “list” Chadwick had sent to the office had been initials with dollar amounts only. “Doesn’t matter who he’s selling to, we go with it.” The last thing Sheila thought she’d have to worry about was her father and Nathan pulling the plug. “We aren’t stopping now.”

“No one said we were,” Nathan said.

“Let’s back up a minute.” Jackson tapped his hand on the table. “Criminal guests aside, first thing first is Malcolm confirming Chadwick’s got the painting we want for the auction. We’re good on that, right?”

“I’m going to Malibu in the morning,” Malcolm said. “With Nathan’s guidance, I’ll make it look as if Nemesis paid Dad’s private office a visit. He’ll be checking on those paintings faster than he could place a two-dollar bet at the track.”

“The good news is we know about this second appraiser,” Jackson said. “You said Chadwick hasn’t met this man, right?”

“He said he came recommended, so I’m guessing no.”

“Then we’ll just add another fake to the auction. And before you ask”—Jackson pointed at Nathan—“I have someone in mind for the job.”

“We need to figure out how to get the forgeries into place in the first place,” Sheila said. “We can’t sneak them in, the air ducts are too narrow. And there aren’t any skylights to access. The loading dock’s blind spot has been addressed. Thanks so much for that recommendation, Nathan.”

“How was I supposed to know we’d be targeting the gallery last year when they asked me to consult on a system upgrade?” Her brother defended himself.

“Why don’t you bring them in the front door?” Malcolm tossed his napkin onto his plate, then looked startled when all three looked at him. “What? I say something wrong?”

“No, no. That’s good.” Jackson leaned forward. “In through the front door in plain sight. Can you think of two of your mother’s paintings you’d be willing to part with, Sheila? Or at least pretend to part with if we were to auction them off for the foundation?”

Sheila mentally worked her way through the family art collection. “If all the paintings are still at the house, yeah. I can stop by in the morning and pick out two.”

“Do you think Chadwick will agree?” Nathan asked Malcolm, who chuffed.

“One way to find out.” Jackson pulled out his phone and excused himself from the table. “Oh, and that insurance investigator, Sheila? You have his card? I want to do a little background check on him. Nathan’s not the only techie in the family,” he said to Malcolm.

Sheila retrieved her purse and dug out the card. “Dad, are you sure—”

“Stop worrying.” He patted her arm as he pocketed the card. “We’ve got this. And in a second I’ll have— Chadwick, good evening. Jackson Tremayne.” He winked at Sheila, who felt a new knot form in her chest. “I wonder if you might be open to granting me a favor.”

***

“Are you out of your mind?” Sheila asked him a few hours later after her family had left, the dishes were done, and she and Malcolm were focused on popping buttons and tugging zippers. “Skydiving?” She divested herself of her bra and panties with a twist and a wiggle and stood naked in front of him, blonde hair spilling about her shoulders and over her perfectly formed breasts. She waved one of their favorite foil favors in front of his face before her hands disappeared.

“Don’t really have to now.” He sucked in a breath that chilled his teeth as her hands sought and found her target. “Apparently just the mention of it works as an aphrodisiac. Holy Mother of God, don’t stop.” He grabbed her wrist to slow her movements, the feeling of her palm stroking him to steel and forcing the air from his lungs. “Nothing like diving out of a plane to make you feel powerful.” And alive. Unless it was being under Sheila Tremayne.

“I think we can both agree.” She rose up and sank her front teeth into his ear lobe, the throaty chuckle that vibrated through her all but made him whimper. “Who has the power right now?” She maneuvered him to the bed and shoved him back. He pulled himself onto the mattress as she crawled over him, planting her knees on either side of his thighs and in one smooth movement, sheathed him. “Now that’s dessert,” she purred, dragging him up and covering his mouth with hers.

She rocked against him and he held on, letting her set the pace, flattening his palms against the small of her back as she raised and lowered herself in time to his pounding pulse. There was something different tonight, a tension or a determination in her that he could feel in every inch of her body. Her mouth commanded his, her arms and hands roamed and scraped and kneaded as she took, drawing him deeper into her until he couldn’t take anymore.

He gripped her hips in his hands as she began to shudder around him and only when she had just begun to ease against him did he follow with his own release.

“What was that?” He asked as she licked his shoulder, kissed his lips, trailed her mouth down his throat.

“That was me making sure you won’t forget me,” she breathed. “Now.” She caught his face in his hands as she rolled her hips. “How about you return the favor?”

***

“So, um, about dinner tonight?” Sheila hooked her phone under her chin as she wiped her hands on a towel and stepped away from the easel and headed to answer the doorbell. “I’ll have to take a pass. I need to—”

“Paint, I know,” Malcolm said. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not sure when I’ll be back from Malibu anyway.”

“I’d rather be with you.” But the lack of male distraction had resulted in an almost completed forgery. The watercolor landscape had been a challenge, but the artist had never been known for his intricacies. It was the surreptitious use of a combination of yellows as an undertone to the white streaks of the clouds that were the distinctive quality. “Hang on a second.” She signed for the overnight express envelope and tossed it onto the kitchen counter with the rest of her unopened mail. “I can’t wait to hear the details about your conversation with your father. You’re clear on what you need to do?”

“Don’t worry. By the time my father arrives, he’ll be convinced Nemesis paid him a visit. Provided I don’t screw something up.”

“You won’t.” Still . . .

“Stop worrying. I know how important this is to you.”

“Drive safe,” she said, and then, feeling particularly reckless, added, “I love you.”

The five seconds of silence that followed felt like the last five years all over again, and she wondered if, when the time came, she’d be able to say good-bye again.

“Me, too. See you soon.”

“Mmmm.” She pressed her phone against her lips, strolling out of her studio on the balls of her feet. “Sherlock!”

“Mew.” Thud. He dropped off the edge of the counter as if he were BASE jumping.

“No need to wash my cereal bowl now,” she muttered, noting that the milk she’d left at the bottom was gone. She looked at her cat, who was lapping droplets from his whiskers. “You need obedience lessons.”

Sherlock blinked, tilted his head, and Sheila swore if the cat could talk he’d remind her that cats didn’t deign to obey anyone.

Taking a day off from the office wasn’t unheard of, but she didn’t do it often. She’d been so far out of the painting zone the last few weeks she didn’t want to venture too far away for fear of frightening her connection away. The landscape would need a couple of days to finish curing—oil pastels always remained a bit tacky to the touch even after decades, so that was one thing in her favor.

Her mark, a very subtle “N” within the cross hatching of the grass blades made it more than obvious to anyone looking closely enough that this was a replication, not the original work. Adding the same mark to the cubist piece she’d selected would take a more delicate touch.

She fixed herself another cup of coffee, wandering over to the window to gaze out on the town she called home. It suited her, allowed her to embrace the part of her that enjoyed the amenities money and prestige allowed as well as keeping her feet on the ground, not easy given her usual footwear.

She sipped her coffee as Sherlock brushed between her feet, knocking his head against her ankle as if to apologize for his previous behavior. “Mmmmeeeew.” Sheila bent down and scooped him up, tucking him under her arm as she headed upstairs to shower, her eyes falling once more on her town.

Could she do it? Take the chance, the risk, and go with him? Leave everything and everyone she loved?

Or maybe that wasn’t the question.

Maybe the question was could she let Malcolm leave without her?

***

Why did he run perpetually late these days? Malcolm grabbed his key fob, pocketed his phone, and headed out the door of his hotel room and found Ty headed his way.

His brother hesitated, an envelope tucked under his arm, hands shoved in casual slacks—where had the suit gone, Malcolm wondered—then straightened, as if he’d been dosed with a bout of courage. “You have a few minutes?”

“Not really, no.” Malibu was a good forty-minute drive and he had a lot to do once he got to the beach house. It wasn’t easy pretending to be a notorious cat burglar with an agenda. Ty’s jaw worked, and the fact that he didn’t spew a load of vitriol in Malcolm’s direction had him rethinking his answer. “But come on in.”

“Thanks.” The slicked-back hair was gone. The polished clone Malcolm had silently accused him of becoming had faded under the re-emerging persona of the brother he’d wanted to find when he came back to Lantano Valley. They got as far as the dining area before Ty held out the envelope. “Found it.”

“The contract?” Malcolm blinked. He pulled out the paperwork, scanned the contents that had haunted him. “Where?”

“Dad’s personal laptop. Serves him right for not coming into the office the last few days, as it took me that long to go through all his files. You were right.”

“Ty—”

“I’m resigning from the company,” his brother interrupted. “I’ll wait for things to shake out, but.” He shrugged. “Dad knows, by the way. About the buyout.”

“Does he?” Malcolm tapped the papers against his hand. “You told him, then?”

“Didn’t have to. It’s there, behind the contract. I found it when I was looking to prove you wrong.”

“Found what?” Malcolm flipped through the pages.

“It’s an email exchange between Dad and a private investigation company he’s had watching you off and on over the years. Not a very reputable one given the fact they’ve hacked into your system on numerous occasions, bugged your phones, tailed some of your employees, including you. He knew about your plans to buy Oliver Technologies stock from before you made your first purchase. I printed out a couple of them.” Ty pulled out a flash drive and tossed it to Malcolm. “Here are the rest.”

Malcolm’s heart swelled, the final piece of his plan falling into place as he stared down at the drive.

“Why are you smiling?” Ty asked. “This can’t be good news for you.”

“Oh, this is the best news you could have brought me, little brother. I knew you’d come around.”

“Really?” Ty asked. “I didn’t.”

“I have more faith in you than you do yourself.” Faith that had been hanging by the thinnest of threads. “Give me a second.” He pulled out his phone and dialed Veronica. “Hey, good morning. Ty came through. With more than we expected.”

“Thanks,” Ty muttered.

“Yeah. Proof of the hacking and the wire taps. I’m staring at the email right now stating he was aware of the hostile takeover well before we made our first purchase. You have that press release about TIN’s acquiring Oliver Technologies ready?” Malcolm grinned over at Ty, who was looking more confused by the moment. “Great. Let’s get the rumor mill stirred up a bit, and then release the official statement in a week. Auction day,” he mouthed to Ty. “Great. Thanks, Veronica. I’ll touch base later.” Malcolm slapped the papers against Ty’s arm. “Thank you.”

“That’s nice to hear.” The hint of a smile tilted his lips.

“Yeah, well, I bet this will be, too. I’m not accepting your resignation.”

“You’re not?”

“Stop looking at me as if I’ve escaped an asylum. I need someone I can trust at Oliver Technologies and TIN.”

“And you think that’s me.” Was the doubt in Ty’s voice in himself or in Malcolm’s faith in him?

Malcolm’s entire body relaxed as the last five years lifted off his shoulders. “I do now. But first, I have something I need to do.”

***

The screeching of tires in the driveway pulled Malcolm’s attention away from the crashing surf, and he rolled his head against the Adirondack chair and watched his father climb out of the black town car.

The old man must have broken the land speed record to get here within a half hour. The sight of his somewhat bedraggled, haggard-looking father, his suit wrinkled, a dazed and barely covered look of panic in his eyes, was the second best thing Malcolm had seen all day.

“Did you call the police?” Chadwick tugged his suit jacket closed as he stomped up the stairs and through the embossed glass front door Malcolm had left open.

“I told you on the phone that I didn’t.” Malcolm pushed himself to his feet and followed him into the side office that was a near replica of the one at his home. “And no, for the tenth time, I didn’t touch anything.”

Chadwick circled the three narrow crates in the middle of the floor, each with “Fragile” and “This End Up” stamped on the stressed wood. And the three paintings in front of them. “I came in, got something to drink, and thought I’d check my email since my cell reception is crap. When I opened the door, this is what I found. How many paintings do you need, Dad?”

His father raised accusing eyes. “These are for specific buyers at the auction, not that it’s any of your business. What are you doing here anyway?” Chadwick began ripping the packing raffia out of the crates and slid the paintings back in.

And here Malcolm had taken such care unpacking them. And taking pictures of them. All his hard work. “I was going to bring Sheila up here for the weekend, but that plan’s shot to hell since it’s about to be a crime scene.”