Make Mine a Marine (56 page)

"I can't leave without that disk," warned Drew. Without it, he'd have no excuse to press Emma about their past connection.

"Oh, you'll leave." A deep, dark voice rumbled through the air behind him. Drew's eyes narrowed a fraction, the only outward sign of surprise that someone had somehow gotten the drop on him.

He stiffened his fingers, tamping down the surge of adrenaline that made him want to curl his hands into fists. Drew turned to face the reckoning he'd figured would find him sooner or later when he'd first slipped through LadyTech's security. He centered his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to fight, if need be, ready to
…

Drew settled back onto his heels as he looked into the icy gray eyes of the craggy-faced giant in the open doorway. Despite the flannel shirt and jeans the man wore, Drew recognized a warrior. Knowing he himself was the villain here, he backed down from his defensive position to bide his time until he could either talk his way out of trouble or make a break for it.

"Nice diversion you created on the loading dock. Fortunately, nobody got hurt. But I'm not so easy to get around."

"Brodie—" BJ tried to say a word in Drew's defense.

"Not now, sweetheart."

Sweetheart
? No wonder the guy took such a personal interest in getting rid of Drew. That was a problem with women like Emma, he thought abstractly. They always had friends. Lots of them. And this particular friend looked as if he wanted to take Drew's head off for entering his
sweetheart's
office. The man looked as if he could.

And Drew had no ally to help him.

He hadn't for a long time. His allies had vanished when his past did. He’d known there were no friends, no backup, in his life when he'd awoken in that hospital all alone—when nobody, not one person, came to see him who wasn't on the staff.

Drew was painfully aware of Emma's silence. She'd gotten what she wanted from him, and now she probably couldn't wait for this Mack truck of a man to haul him away.

So much for finding answers.

Since this was a battle he couldn't win, he wisely retreated. "I guess I'll be going, then."

"Em, you want to press charges?" asked the big man.

"No." BJ interceded when Emma would not. "He brought us a lead on Jonathan."

The man's eyes narrowed when BJ came to Drew's side, but the giant remained on guard. "Move away from him."

"You have to excuse my husband, Mr. Gallagher. He tends to be a little overprotective." Drew understood that he was the threat here. He respected Brodie's skill and alertness—and admired his taste in women.

"I don't blame him," said Drew. "It's easy to see why he'd want to keep you safe." Drew nodded his thanks to BJ and stepped toward the giant, deferring to the man's authority without bowing to his will. "After you."

"I don't think so."

Drew let the corner of his mouth curve into a wry smile. "After me, then."

The man stepped aside, and Drew walked into the hall. Before the hulk could push him on his way, he turned for one last look at Emma. One last look at the closest thing to a link to his past he had. "You're welcome."

But satisfaction at getting the last word didn't come. Instead, he wished he could retract his sarcasm and change the words to, "I'm sorry."

She stood alone, staring at the computer screen with such sadness in her eyes that he moved toward her. The need to wrap her in his arms, to promise her that hope still existed, was as overpowering as it was foreign. She shouldn't hurt like that. He didn't want her to hurt.

But a large, unyielding hand on his shoulder stopped him. "This way."

They walked all the way out to Drew's Jeep at the far edge of the parking lot before the big man spoke again. His warning was unmistakable. "I don't know what you're up to, Gallagher. But you do anything to hurt that woman or her little girl, and you'll have me to answer to."

Drew nodded and climbed into his Jeep. The other man waited until he had the engine warmed up and had shifted into reverse before he backed away from Drew's door and headed toward the main building.

Drew looked up to the third-floor windows. The glare of sun and snow reflecting off the glass prevented him from seeing inside. But he couldn't help wondering if Emma was there, watching him, worrying about him the way he seemed predisposed to worry about her.

He wondered if it was possible for a man to feel more alone than he did at that moment.

He imagined he heard the sound of gentle weeping, but the tears weren't his own. He dismissed them as another sign of madness and drove away.

Chapter
Three

"I'm sorry there wasn't better news with the disk," said BJ, the frustration evident in her voice as she walked to the front door with Emma.  “Who knew it’d be just some guy’s journal.”

"Don't blame yourself, Beej. You'd think by now I'd be able to tell the difference between a legitimate clue and a scam." Emma's self-deprecating laugh echoed in the two-story entryway of her Mission Hills home. "I'm such an idiot to get suckered in by an opportunist like Stan Begosian. He was just looking for a way to weasel into LadyTech and get his hands on some of my money. Why does the world think a wealthy woman without a man in her life is an easy target?"

"I guess we've been down that road before." BJ's expressive eyes dimmed at the memory. "I'll never forget the last time."

Emma offered an apologetic smile, wishing she could retract her unthinking comment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to compare my situation to what you went through when Damon Morrisey tried to take LadyTech from us."

"I know you didn't. But he almost destroyed us." BJ's smile returned with a twist. "I guess we haven't had much luck with father figures, have we."

"No, we haven't."  She tried to boost BJ's spirits, and her own.  "But we've thrived in spite of the pain they caused us."

"Got that right." BJ beamed down at her daughter, strapped and sleeping in her carrier. "I'm just ticked off that slime tried to use Kerry to get to you."

Emma swallowed past the lump of shame in her throat. "Even knowing that, I still wanted to talk to him. I’d hoped he might know something about Jonathan."

She held the baby carrier while BJ shrugged into her parka and wrapped a Kansas City Royals knit scarf around her head and neck. Brodie had gone outside several minutes earlier to warm up their SUV.

"He was your husband, Em.  You loved him," BJ reminded her unnecessarily. Emma surprised herself by not jumping in to change the verb to present tense. "Go easy on yourself. I can't imagine any of us giving up on someone we care about."

"Always faithful, huh?"

BJ smiled. "Semper Fi. That's what we get for loving a Marine."

Emma tucked the blanket more securely around BJ's seven-month-old daughter, Katie, and recalled performing the same attentive action for Kerry when she was an infant. By this time in her life, Emma had envisioned having three or four children to care for. Jonathan would have assumed an administrative position with his covert ops task force, she would have phased herself out of the day-to-day running of LadyTech, and they would enjoy being homebodies together.

But Jonathan hadn't come home.

She hadn't had more children.

And "Iron Maiden" had become a term she heard in whispers behind her back after particularly grueling negotiations, or the firing of a crooked employee, or defending her right to full disclosure of any information related to her husband's disappearance.  She could be tough when she needed to be. It made her very good at her job. It had helped put her company on the Forbes 500 list. But being tough hadn't been enough to help her mother survive. Being tough hadn't made growing up any easier for her. And being tough didn't give her a wink of assurance across a crowded room. It didn't hold her when she cried. It didn't make the cold nights alone feel any less an eternity.

"Em?"

A gloved hand on her arm stirred Emma from the downward plummet of her thoughts. She mustered an unnecessary smile. BJ and Jasmine were the only friends she'd never had to pretend with. "I'm disappointed, but I'll be okay.  I’m just glad it wasn’t filled with the smut Begosian usually keeps."

BJ squeezed her arm. "Look on the bright side. Maybe you've been handed a missing Sir Arthur Conan Doyle manuscript, and you can sell it for a million dollars."

Emma laughed. The rusty sound grated along her vocal cords. "What I think I got is someone's poorly copied homework assignment. I’ll probably erase and reformat it so at least I'm getting a new disk out of the deal."

BJ's answering laugh boosted her spirit. "There you go."

Emma handed Katie to her mother and opened the thick oak door that guarded her foyer. A chilly wind that served as a prelude to the oncoming winter storm seeped through the glass storm door, and Emma shivered. "You guys drive safely. It's not icy yet, but the snow's on its way."

"We'll be careful." BJ wrapped her free arm around Emma and traded a hug. "Tell Kerry good night for us."

"I will."

BJ leaned back, her green eyes narrowing with concern. "I know you're the Rock of Gibraltar and all that, Em, but I'm calling you in the morning to check on you, anyway."

Emma rubbed her hands together and clutched her arms to her chest. BJ's promise provided the only warmth she felt at that moment. "Do that."

With a parting smile, BJ ventured out to the driveway, where Brodie took the baby and secured her in her car seat. Emma responded to his quick wave and waited until they had pulled into the street before closing and locking both doors.

Leaning her forehead against the cool oak, Emma sighed. The roomy house she had designed and decorated with such love echoed with a lonely silence. She'd left Kerry in the study, watching an animated DVD about a streetwise boy who discovered a magic lamp that turned him into a prince.

Unbidden, Drew Gallagher's image popped into her mind. With his tattered jeans and shaggy mane of hair, he could be the poster boy for "streetwise." He hadn't cowered when Brodie had shown up in BJ's office to throw him out. He'd kept his wits about him, falling quiet, pulling back from a sure confrontation as if biding his time. Learning the opposition, waiting for the right moment to assert himself.

Did that mean he'd be coming back?

Emma squared her shoulders and straightened the hem of her mustard-colored sweater. He'd said he needed that disk. Probably to save his butt with the district attorney's office. He didn't seem to be quite aboveboard in the honesty department.

She grumbled to herself and headed into the study. She'd be smart to keep reminding herself of Drew Gallagher's shortcomings, since he seemed to keep springing into her thoughts without a proper invitation.

He might mesmerize her with those catlike eyes, he might intrigue her with the enticing scents of brisk air and worn leather, he might make her feel feminine and sheltered and out-of-sorts—but he wasn't her type of man.

He wasn't Jonathan.

"Hey, sweetie." Emma sat on the plush navy print sofa and hugged Kerry to her side. Her love for her daughter was one of the few constants that remained in her life.

"Aladdin j-just saved J-Jasmine." Kerry tucked the doll she sat with under one arm and lifted her lavender blanket. Emma curled her legs beneath it, sharing their warmth and their love as they watched the last few minutes of the movie together. Just as they had for so many nights the past few years.

"Okay." When the genie signed off at the end of the movie, Emma pressed the eject button and stood. "It's after nine o'clock, young lady. Time to get upstairs and brush your teeth."

Kerry whined like any self-respecting seven year-old. "But, Mom, I don't have s-s-school tomorrow."

Emma smiled and shooed her across the hallway to the carpeted stairs. "Saturday we have gymnastics and run errands. You need your beauty sleep so you don't scare away your teacher."

"Mom!" Kerry's low-pitched belly laugh never held a trace of her stutter. "You're the one who n-needs beauty s-sleep!"

Emma opened her mouth in exaggerated shock. "Me?" She took one step and the chase was on. Kerry squealed and bolted up the stairs with her mother in hot pursuit. Her breathless laughter lightened Emma's mood, and soon they were tumbling onto the pink comforter of Kerry's white canopy bed, tickling and laughing and being kids together.

Emma heard the chime of the doorbell like a stern reprimand from her father, warning her to be quiet before he'd make her be still.

She sprawled on her stomach, breathing hard from the healthy exertion. Kerry lay on top of her, ending the game a few seconds after her mother fell silent.

The bell chimed again and Emma sat up, rolling Kerry onto the bed with her doll. Made of an old pillowcase and quilt scraps, Angelica—as Kerry called her—had seen better days. One arm hung by a few threads, and some of the yarn used for hair had worn away and left a bald spot beneath her bonnet. Emma felt like doing the same kind of damage to the unwanted visitor who’d interrupted their fun.

"Sorry, sweetie. You go on and brush your teeth. Remember to get the ones in the back, too. I'll be up to read you a story in a few minutes."

Emma marched down the stairs, stiffening her posture and finger-combing her hair into controlled order. She couldn't do anything about the flush of heat in her cheeks, but would let her unexpected guest attribute the color to her slow-burning temper at having Kerry’s bedtime routine disrupted.

She threw back the dead bolt and fixed her most authoritative expression on her face. She opened the door, and her bravado dissolved on a puff of air.

Between the white Colonial columns on her brick front porch stood Drew Gallagher. With his shoulders hunched up against the cold, and the north wind whipping tendrils of his hair against his cheeks, he looked like a stranded motorist who had walked up to the house to ask for help.

He lifted his chin from the warmth of his suede collar and transfixed her with those cutting green eyes. Emma realized there was nothing lost or hesitant about this man.

"Mrs. Ramsey." She acknowledged his curt nod by clasping her arms across her stomach and steeling her will against his.

"Mr. Gallagher." She raised her voice to be heard through the glass of the storm door. "It's a little late to be paying a visit."

"I had to wait until they were gone. That big guy, your guard dog, even walked up and down the block once. Probably suspected I'd show up."

Apparently Mr. Gallagher couldn't take a hint. "Whatever it is, call my secretary on Monday. We can talk at the office."

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded manila envelope. "You may not want to wait until Monday." He held out the envelope like a peace offering. "I have a pretty good idea where Begosian got that disk.  And this might help it all make sense."

Emma wavered in her urgent need to dismiss this man. Still, she didn't want to be partner to another of his questionable attempts to help her. "Does the district attorney know about this?"

The stern granite of his face softened into a cagey smile. The cocky charm of his grin danced along Emma's resolve, making her feel teenager-ish, as if he were sharing a tantalizing but harmless secret with her. "Where do you think I got the information?"

Emma felt an intimate energy rising within her but caught herself before her lips curved into a smile.

"All right," she relented, unlatching the door.  She opened it only far enough to take the envelope "Thank you. I'll read through this and give you a call on Monday."

Before she could pull the door closed, a black gloved hand shot in and grabbed the frame, blocking her ability to shut him out. Drew leaned forward, his aristocratic nose mere inches from her own. "Don't you want to know what's in it?"

Emma's pulse quickened. He could easily overpower her and wrench the door open, or, she realized with belated chagrin, he could simply shatter the glass with a blow of his fist or foot. If he wanted to get into her house, there was nothing she could do to stop him.

He stood close enough to the slim opening for her to smell the worn suede of his jacket and the woodsy scent of his after-shave or shower gel. Yet he didn't force his way in. He held his ground; he would not be shut out in the cold night by her. But he waited for her invitation.

This man who held a superior position gave her power over him instead.

"I'm smart enough to figure it out," she said.

Drew's smile had flattened into a grim line. "Em, unless you have contacts in the world of organized crime, I doubt you'll recognize the significance of some of those names."

"Organized crime?"

"Look, I know I'm not a welcome guest. But give me fifteen minutes to look at that disk and explain a few things, and then I promise to get out of here. To get out of your life." His gaze strayed to some faraway place that Emma couldn't see or understand. Then, as if by sheer will, he hardened his expression and forced his gaze back to hers. "I don't like leaving things unfinished."

Something about the distance he seemed to have traveled to find his way back to her struck a resonant chord within her at that moment. Her whole life had become unfinished business since Jonathan's disappearance. Drew might simply be talking about a case in the D.A.'s office, but she had an inkling that he referred to something more.

So, forgetting her promise to stay away from Drew Gallagher, she pushed open the door and invited him inside.

The surprised look that flitted across his face did more to reassure her of the safety of bringing him into her home than any words he could have said. He stamped his booted feet and rubbed his hands together while she shut and locked the doors. But when she held out her hand for his coat and gloves, he froze and studied her in mute surprise.

How many other times had he forced his welcome?  He didn't seem to expect the simple courtesy she would extend to any guest. That surprising revelation humbled and empowered her enough to give him a gentle mom's smile. "Those things are damp. I'll hang them in the kitchen so they can dry a bit before you get chilled through."