Play to Win (9 page)

“The water's getting cold.”
Hint, hint.

But instead of leaving, Parker just grabbed one of his huge, fluffy towels and held it out for me. A flash of memory hit me—Parker doing the exact same thing in New York. It made me sad, which in turn made me angry. I wasn't about to fall for Parker again, not when his idea of “commitment” lasted scarcely twelve hours.

I abruptly stood, water sloshing in the tub, and jerked the towel out of Parker's hands. “I can dry myself, thank you very much.”

His lips pressed together but he didn't say anything. Our gazes locked in a staring contest. Then he inclined his head slightly, as if ceding me a victory, and turned and left.

I let out a breath. Though I was glad he'd gone, I could taste the sharp bite of disappointment.

M
onday morning dawned bright and early, and I knew that because I was up well before the sun peeked over the horizon.

Parker had slept on the couch in the spare bedroom he used as an office last night, and I was trying hard not to feel guilty about that. He was injured and had let me have his bed. I'd put up a fight, of course, but it had been like talking to a brick wall.

I'd tossed and turned for a while, my mind and logic warring with my heart and emotions. It hadn't helped at all that the sheets and pillows smelled of Parker. My dreams consisted of him and me in various forms of sexual congress, making me awaken horny and frustrated.

Not a good combination.

Coffee cured all ills. Well, most of them. And what coffee couldn't cure, alcohol could, but pouring a shot of bourbon in my coffee seemed like a bad idea, so I went with a heavy pour of half-and-half instead. I'd dug jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt out of my suitcase and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. If we were going to be digging through thirty years of my dad's files today, no sense in not being comfortable.

I was watching the first rays of sunrise kiss downtown when Parker emerged from his office. He glanced at me.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” he asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee. His voice was as polite and even as if he were greeting me at the office rather than in his apartment. He wasn't wearing a shirt and I scrutinized the gauze over his wound. No bloodstains, so that was good. He didn't seem to be favoring it, either.

“Yes, thanks,” I said. “Though I still feel guilty for taking your bed.”

He walked toward me, lifting the mug to his lips as he did so. “Well, don't.” He took a sip.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh good, well that was easy. So glad you said that.”

His lips twitched in an almost-smile. “I'm going to shower and shave. Won't be long. Then we can head out.”

I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry at the image of Parker in the shower. He might've read my mind, too, because a gleam came into his eyes and the almost-smile turned into a wicked grin. In another moment, he'd disappeared into his bedroom.

I needed more coffee for this.

An hour later, we were pulling up to my dad's business in Parker's car. He'd gone through a Starbucks drive-thru and the warm smell of a bacon and egg sandwich in the paper bag on my lap was making my mouth water.

Three security guys manned the lobby, all of them looking like they chewed nails for breakfast. Their presence was a reminder of Gary's death and the danger that not only I was in but everyone who worked for my dad and me. The faster we found out who was doing this, the sooner we could neutralize it.

We were a tad early, so only a few other people were in. Carrie smiled a greeting as she passed by us, coffee mug in hand and talking on her Bluetooth headset. I led Parker to my office.

“This is nice,” he said as I headed for the windows to open the wood blinds. “No, don't.”

The sharp command made me stop in my tracks. “What's wrong?”

“No need to give anyone a target through the window,” he said. “Leave them closed.”

Oh yeah. Someone was trying to kill me. Wouldn't want to forget
that
.

I dug my half of breakfast out and started chomping as Parker took a tour of my office. It felt odd, him being in
my
office as opposed to the other way around.

“Do you like your new job here?” he asked, taking a sip of coffee.

“Yeah, I do,” I said. “It's different when it's something you have a stake in. It's my father's company and I don't want to mess things up.”

“You won't.”

The certainty in his voice gave me pause. It was a nice vote of confidence that I hadn't expected. He looked at me, his gaze steady, until I had to look away.

“That's nice of you to say,” I said for lack of anything better.

“I'm not being nice. I'm being honest. You're smart and a quick learner. You handle people well and are a good problem-solver. I think you'll do very well here.” He paused. “Though Rosemary doesn't come close to replacing you.”

A tingle of warmth in my belly at that. It was good to be missed. And hearing Parker tell me those things made me happier than it should have. I wondered if he really thought all that or was just trying to build my confidence.

“C'mon,” I said, getting to my feet before I did or said something stupid. “The file archive is in the basement.”

We took our breakfast and coffee to the elevator and rode it underground. The basement was your typical concrete room. It was large, encompassing the entire footprint of the building, and lit by long, rectangular fluorescent lights. I flipped the switch and they flickered to life with a telltale buzzing noise.

Four aisles of metal storage shelving greeted us, all of it loaded with file boxes.

“Thirty years of paperwork, at your service,” I said.

“Good thing we go through paperwork well,” Parker replied. Which was true. He and I had a pretty good system when combing through customer files. I hoped it would serve us well today, because hours of reading files until I went blind was not something I was looking forward to.

We dug in.

It was chilly but humid in the basement, an awful combination. A few hours later, I was sticky with sweat and sported a nice layer of dust from head to foot. Parker, of course, looked even more gorgeous with a faint sheen on his skin. I could smell him slightly, his sweat-tinged cologne, and it just made me cranky.

We were quiet as we worked, digging through boxes and reading files. Most were run-of-the-mill orders and invoices. Some were acquisitions of other businesses and for the most part, Parker went through those. A ton of it was legalese and while I had a working knowledge of the terminology, he could get through it quicker and much more thoroughly than I could.

I'd been thinking about Parker's parents and I wondered if they'd called him. Maybe his mother had left a message or told him they would come see him. Parker and I had never discussed his parents, so it was with more than a little hesitation that I asked with deliberate casualness, “So, have you talked to your mom or dad?”

Parker glanced at me, then back down at the file he held. “No.”

His tone didn't invite further discussion, so I shut my mouth and went back to work. It was his business, not mine. Though I tried not to let it bother me, it hurt that he wouldn't open up to me about what I knew was a very touchy subject.

“I didn't expect them to call,” he said out of the blue a few minutes later.

I paused in flipping pages. “Why not?”

Parker looked as though he were considering his words carefully. “We're not close, my parents and me. I had a younger brother who passed away when he was eight. Leukemia. My parents never got over it, especially my mother. He was everything to her and I think she wished it had been me instead.”

Holy shit.

I stared at him as he set aside a file and rummaged in the box for another one. He'd said all of that as though it wasn't a big deal, when it was. It really, really was.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Because she told me so. All the time. ‘You should be grateful for the opportunities you're given. Paul never got those.' Or ‘Paul would never have thought I was overbearing or had too high expectations.'”

Parker had lost a brother and then paid the price for his own existence by constantly being reminded he wasn't wanted. I couldn't imagine. No wonder he'd latched on to Ryker.

“I'm really sorry,” I said. What else was there to say?

He shrugged, flipping through pages rather than looking at me. “It's fine. It is what it is. Everyone has something, right?”

I reached over and set my hand on his arm. He paused and our eyes met.

“You didn't deserve that. Don't deserve that,” I said. “It's not fine and I'm really, really sorry. Thank you for telling me.”

He didn't move, just let me look into his eyes, and I saw the pain and hurt there. Parker had lost his brother and to an extent, his parents, too.

“I trust you,” he said simply.

My heart squeezed and I had to glance away at the sudden tears in my eyes. His hand covered mine on his arm, and for a moment, our fingers touched and held together for a long breath. Then I cleared my throat and sat back and the moment was over. But it had shifted something between us.

Parker had always kept a careful distance when I worked for him, never letting the professional become personal. Then we'd tried to build something in the hurried morass of people trying to kill us and that had fallen into ruin. It made more sense to have this new beginning, spinning strands of trust and intimacy to bind us together with a stronger foundation. I couldn't help the tentative hope I felt.

Carrie sent down a pizza for lunch, along with a couple of pops. We munched on the food, occasionally pointing something out from a file. There was a small stack of Maybes—people who might have a grudge against my dad. Shots in the dark, but all we could do at the moment.

I was up on a stepladder, trying to haul down a box from the top shelf when I felt his hands on my waist.

“Here, let me get that,” he said. “I don't want you to fall.”

His hands felt as though they burned through the thin cotton T-shirt I wore, and I sucked in a breath.

“I'm fine,” I managed, my voice sounding strangled. My thoughts wandered to things like
Could we hear someone coming in time to pull our clothes back on?
And
Exactly how hard is the floor? Like walk-away-with-a-couple-bruises hard or break-my-back hard?

“Come get down from there,” he persisted. “I'll get it.” Not leaving me a choice, he circled my waist with his good arm and picked me up. I squealed in surprise, grabbing on to his arm, then my feet touched the ground. He held on to me for a moment, my back touching his chest, and I was glad he couldn't see my face. A shaft of pain went through me.

It'd be so easy to give in, tell Parker I loved him and we could be together. But what if he changed his mind again? What if Natalie decided she wanted him? It was all well and good for him to give lip service to not loving her anymore, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that Parker was the kind of guy who loved the chase and the unobtainable. His entire career was built on fighting impossible odds. Once he'd won…the challenge was gone. As was his interest.

“Thanks,” I said, stepping forward out of his hold. His arms dropped to his sides. I didn't look at him—I was afraid my emotions would be too easily read in my eyes.

It was late afternoon and I had too many paper cuts to count when I found something.

“This is weird,” I said, flipping through yet another box. “It looks like this is all one file.” Most of the boxes had been collections of customers and transactions, but only one name was listed on the file here: SLS Enterprises. “Who's SLS Enterprises?”

“That's Leo Shea's company,” Parker replied, setting down the file he was reading and scooting the stool he sat on over next to mine. He read over my shoulder. “The date is twelve years ago.”

I could smell him again, but it wasn't like I could tell him to move over. That would just be rude…and telling. I flipped through the pages.

“Handwritten notes,” I said, eyeing the scrawl. “I think that's my dad's handwriting.” There were a lot of pages and I handed a few to Parker to decrypt. My dad had always had crappy writing. He should've been a doctor.

“Leo's business was a high-profile startup that began eating other businesses like candy,” I mused as I read. “Dad listed a bunch of them here, along with the families who ran each.” It was a long list.

“Your dad's notes list times and locations,” Parker said. “And if I'm not mistaken—victims.”

“Victims?”

“And a catalogue of their injuries and deaths.”

I swallowed. “So Dad wasn't kidding when he said Shea was bad news.”

“No,” Parker said, continuing to flip through pages. “And it looks like he targeted your dad, too.”

Now it was my turn to lean over to see. My breast brushed his arm and I gritted my teeth, though Parker showed no sign of having noticed. Figured.

“They arranged a meeting,” he continued, reading. “But Shea wouldn't agree to any terms. Looks like he wanted a monopoly and your dad was the lone one left standing in his way.”

“That's probably why this is all handwritten,” I said. “Dad never learned to type and I doubt he would have dictated it to someone.”

Parker shuffled through more pages, then dug in the box. I did as well, but didn't see more handwritten notes. “What happened?” I asked.

“Does your dad keep anything locked up?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea. I just work here, remember?”

Parker gave me a half-smile at the joke. “Let's go see.”

Parker carried the box with him as we rode the elevator up. I stopped by Carrie's desk first.

“Carrie, are there any locked files that you know about?” If there was something no one was supposed to know, chances were Carrie knew it.

She glanced around, then leaned over her desk closer to us. “Your dad keeps a locked cabinet in his closet, but I don't know what's in it.”

“Do you have a key?”

Carrie just gave me a look.

“It was worth asking,” I muttered. I should've known it wouldn't be that easy.

“Charlie might have a key,” she said. “He just came in a short while ago.”

Good. I wanted to ask him how Dad was doing anyway. I headed for his office, Parker in tow. We dropped the file box off in my office, then rapped on Charlie's door.

“Come in.”

Charlie looked tired, but smiled when he saw me, giving a nod to Parker as well. “Your dad is the same,” he said, reading my question before I'd asked it. “Stable and doing well. Your mom was there when I left.”