Stolen Secrets (9 page)

I recognize that look, Angie thought. He wants me— and I have no desire to stop him. I love him.

As his lips questioned, hers gave, generous in their giving. She couldn’t help it. After that prelude to a kiss earlier, in the shower, her body had been silently waiting and wasn’t to be denied. Her instant yielding inflamed him more and his touch grew more possessive as his hands sought the soft warmth of her body pressed against his.

The kiss spun them both into a cocoon of sensation, oblivious to anything but the quest of discovering each other. As it continued to grow in intensity, her knees buckled and he lifted her closer in support. In the process her right foot knocked against his leg— and she gasped with pain.

She could feel the moment he clamped down on himself, exerting the self-control developed from hours of constant training. It couldn’t be a lessening of his desire or any resistance from her—she had offered him none. Instead, her vulnerability had forced upon him a greater restraint than if she had had some form of protection.

It was at that moment, as he pulled himself away with a rueful shake of his head, that Angie fully realized how close she had come to surrendering to him. The will to resist had been discarded with her clothing. It hadn’t returned yet. And although she felt sure she loved this man, Angie had always determined that the ring would come first.

She figured if a man loved her, really loved her, he should value her enough to marry her. Life was too uncertain for non-commitments. But when making her decision, she hadn't counted on having to fight her own traitorous feelings.

He supported her trembling figure with one hand while the other slowly and carefully straightened the shirt— in itself a caress, the small act of tenderness bringing a lump to Angie's throat. She stood shakily on one foot, waiting patiently as he finished.

Part of her lack of defense was the physical situation, but his kiss had completely destroyed her emotional barriers, making her body ache for his touch. Deep within her, love sought release. Unreasoning, unquestioning, it forced its way upward, sweeping her along in an emotional flash flood.

Her love soared over her willpower at the moment and she felt herself wanting to give her all to this man.

Then Grandfather struck four notes, reminding them of the hour.

"Good morning, Angie." Smiling, Ryan gave a small shrug and admitted, wryly, "I can't say my home is any safer to sleep in than Scott's office. We'll have to fix that."

"Did you lock up?"

He nodded his head. "Yes. But I better look to my own personal security."

"What more can you do?"

"A dog would help. I've already got dead-bolts and an alarm system. I just checked everything. I had neglected to arm the system, but I don't see how he got by the dead-bolt."

"Did he come through a window?"

“No. The snow on the sills hasn’t been disturbed. It had to be the door. No sign of forced entry. Nothing's damaged. We’ve a locked door mystery. How did he get in?"

"It doesn't look good for a security person to get robbed," she teased.

"Not much. Security people tend to forget to secure their own offices. But we’re protected, here and downtown. What is it with you and locked doors? Unless...." He stopped, his face changing, as if struck with horror.

"Yes?"

"Unless...." He took a step backwards, drawing himself to his full height, hands tense. As if in pain, he closed his eyes as he spoke. "No. No."

"What is it?" Angie demanded, clasping Ryan’s arm in alarm. He looked ill, his face a funeral white, eyes stricken with anguish.

"Unless someone... opened... the door." The words were torn from him.

The implied accusation slashed against her happiness with whip-like cruelty, destroying her dreams. "How can you think such a thing? He threw me in the lake."

“You weren’t in any real danger. I’d have dived in and pulled you out.” Bitterness marred his features. "It wouldn't be the first time I've been fooled by a woman with the face of an angel. There are no other possibilities. He either had a key or you opened the door." He shoved his fingers through his hair as if trying to tear out the thought. "Did you open it, Angie?"

"No." Her protest sounded weak— her throat constricted by a force stronger than the intruder's arm.

"He didn't come through a window, nor the back door. There’re no fresh tracks in the snow. So I'm asking you one more time. Did you let him in?"

He stood there, staring at her; his eyes accusing, his lips set in a grim line.

His words effectively shattered the last remnants of her vision of love. He didn't believe her; probably never had, his suspicious mind always questioning her actions and motives. She had been foolish to think he might be starting to love her.

She could see no way to defend herself. No way to regain his trust. He’d looked at the evidence and drawn his own conclusions. It would forever stand between them, a wall of distrust ruining any chance of their finding happiness together.

"No. I did not let him in." There was nothing else to say and she dropped her gaze and walked away. She’d leave tomorrow morning, no matter what.

* * *

Ryan watched Angie limp toward his guest room, his faith in her honesty almost nil. In spite of his feelings for her, she had to be involved. Too many things pointed to it.

What was going on? What made MXOIL so important? Well, what made any oil company’s records important? Research and development. New drilling sites— perhaps discovered but not claimed or leased.

When he’d pulled out the “X” numbered ones to hand to the thief, Ryan had quickly slipped the good CDs for MXOIL into a stack of paper. He now retrieved them and made two new “X” copies, wondering as he did so if the thief would make another attempt after he wiped out a second computer.

To be on the safe side, Ryan changed the numbers on the good copies, then set up another set with the old numbers and just enough information to make them look real. If he was sheltering the thief’s accomplice in his home, she’d most likely take that set.

Next Ryan called MXOIL’s security officer, Jim Markum, and told him about the second attempt. “Keep a close watch. If they ever do steal both CDs, I can’t guarantee—”

“Why not make your dummy CDs send them to the ‘trap’ you set up?”

“You still have it running?”

“Yes. And monitored twenty-four seven.”

“I’ll do that.”

Hanging up, Ryan took out the two dummy CDs he had made and added the trap to the program. Then he called the Seattle police, speaking briefly to his friend, Detective Eric Hayes. He gave him Officer Granger’s name and badge number and mentioned Ted and the thief who had been shot.

“It doesn’t make sense. Computer thieves don’t rob jewelry stores,” Ryan said. “So I’m inclined to think they weren’t involved. But add their names to the case. You’ll have to call the coroner for the second man’s name.”

“You still want to handle this?”

“Sure. I’ll keep you posted. I’m making a list of possible suspects.”

He heard a noise behind him and turned. Angie stood there. She’d overheard him. Nothing new.

What was new was the expression in her eyes. As of this morning the light no longer shone and he felt guilty of extinguishing it. Which wasn’t right— he shouldn’t feel guilty. He looked away, at a loss for words.

The phone rang and he answered it, glad of the interruption. It was one of the neighbors calling—he had gotten a group together to clear the parking area and entrance lane. The city was sanding the side street today, so the tenants would be able to drive out.

Ryan hung up, shoved his chair back and sprang to his feet; refusing to dwell in depression. "I'm going to shovel snow. Come watch.” It would keep Angie out of his office.

He grabbed a small folding shovel and led the way out into the frozen world. Everything sparkled like bright diamonds in the sunshine, the glare blinding in its intensity. A noisy group of around ten school kids played out on the end of the dock, enjoying their unscheduled vacation.

The kids spotted them and came running, yelling at Ryan.

“What are they asking?” Angie said.

“They want to climb the wall. Always.”

“What wall?”

“Come look.”

The children surrounded them, and he waved his hand to quiet them. “Easy. One at a time.”

“Who’s she?” The tallest boy, a youth in his teens, pointed at Angie.

“Angie Reid. She’s working for me.”

“Cool. Can we climb?”

“Only if there’s no ice on the holds.”

“There isn’t. We looked.”

“Use the ropes.”

“Right. No one wants to fall in the water this time of year.”

* * *

With the kids surging around them, Angie followed Ryan along the slippery surface to where she could see the north side of his houseboat.

A climbing wall had been fastened there, with a short section over the deck and a larger section reaching up to the flat roof over an area where the deck had been removed. If someone fell from the higher elevation, they landed in the water. Angie could immediately see how much fun that would be in the summer and guessed that Ryan’s houseboat must be covered with kids all year long.

“Neat idea,” she told the group. “I can’t wait for my ankle to heal.”

“I put it up for the exercise. Didn’t think about the kids till— “

“Till we invaded,” the oldest teenager said with a grin. “He had to teach us, to get any peace. I’m Kent. This is Blake, and Rebecca, and Garrett, and Chase, and Selina, and...” He went through the names, pointing to each, and Angie nodded appropriately, completely lost.

“Hello to all of you.”

“Ryan climbs it with his fingers only,” Kent explained, “but we can all make it to the top now except for Thaddaeus.” He pointed to the youngest who looked to be in Kindergarten. “He can’t quite reach some of the holds. The hard holds, the ones where you can only use a couple of fingers, are the ones Ryan uses. You should see him on the wall.” His admiration evident, the boy flexed his own fingers, testing their strength.

“Do you have to come back down? I mean, could you climb onto the roof and then go inside?” she asked, noticing that it looked possible.

“Yes,” Ryan answered. “Right over the low wall and onto the upper deck where we watched the sunset last night.”

“Then could the thief...” Her mind raced ahead of her words.

“Maybe.” He slapped his head. “I added some easy holds for the kids and didn’t think about someone entering that way— I keep that door locked. Wait here.” He ran toward his front door. “I’ll set up the ropes,” he called back to the kids, some of whom started to follow him.

“What thief?” Kent asked, staying with Angie.

“Ryan had a break-in last night. We were trying to figure out how he got in.”

“Bummer. Did the guy get much?”

“He was after some CDs with some valuable information on them, but Ryan said they were encrypted. Ryan doesn’t seem too concerned, so I guess the thief didn’t get what he thought he did.”

“Yeah! Way to go, Ryan!” Then, seeing his hero appear on the roof deck, he and the others ran around to the side of the house to catch the ends of the ropes Ryan dropped to them. They quickly lined up, the two oldest taking turns belaying each other and the younger climbers. The kids were good, and Angie watched them climb with skill and confidence.

Ryan came back out the front door, a smile on his face.

“Well?” she demanded when he drew close. “Tell me.”

“I’d left the door unlocked. First time I’ve ever— “

“The pizza boy came. I followed you down, remember? I didn’t even think about locking it.”

“Right. Not your fault.” He grinned more broadly, eyes dancing. “Remind me to check it whenever we go up there.”

That solved the locked door mystery. Or did it? As Angie got a better look at the finger and toe holds that made up the wall, she wondered if the intruder could actually have climbed it during the night, wearing those heavy winter boots. She couldn’t tell. If he hadn’t, then...

Ryan might or might not think about that. Right now, with the light— for her— back in his eyes, she wasn’t going to mention it.

“You’d think every house would have one of these,” she commented, laughing as a youngster jumped up and down in anticipation, so hard that they couldn’t get the rope tied around him.

“Umm. Maybe. Tripled my insurance.”

“Oh. Do you mind?”

“Not really. I had their parents sign wavers, just in case.”

She laughed at his expression; he’d have a hard time keeping the kids away, so he might as well make the best of it. He grinned back and motioned to a houseboat across the dock from his. “You can go next door to Grandma Miller's. She likes company."

"What if she asks questions? What should I tell her?"

"Tell her everything. Save me having to do it. She'll keep after me, otherwise."

"Even about the missing CD?"

"Sure. She's curious, but no gossip. I've no secrets from Grandma."

They walked down the dock to Grandma Miller's houseboat, a small two-story building with dormer windows. They were greeted at the door by two cinnamon cats and a tall, fragile lady with Dresden blue eyes and thin snow-white hair cut short and softly waved.

Her loose smock, originally white, was streaked with paint of all colors, some fresh and still gleaming wet. She held a paint-smeared rag and was furiously wiping her hands clean.

"Come in, Ryan. Both of you. What happened? I thought I heard a woman scream last night. Was that you?" she asked, looking at Angie.

"Yes," Angie replied, "just before I went into the lake."

"Aha!" said Grandma Miller, her blue eyes sparkling in anticipation. "You look like you have a good story to tell. Come sit down." She popped ahead of them to scoop two magazines and a pile of knitting off the couch.

"This is Angie and she's sprained her ankle. I'll let her fill you in while I shovel snow," said Ryan, holding up his shovel. "I've already warned her you're a clever interrogator."

The elderly woman was not the least disturbed by this description. "I've had plenty of practice. Getting information out of you would keep anyone sharp. This is Sugar and that darker one is Spice," she added, pointing to the two cats who were using Ryan's legs for back scratchers. "So you're the one Ryan rescued from the storm. I'm dying to hear all about it."

"Mr. Duvall said that you wouldn't mind if I visited while he shoveled snow."

"You haven't been letting her call you ‘Mr. Duvall’ all this time, have you, Ryan?”

He shook his head.

“Sit down, Angie, while I put that coat away," Grandma said. She took the coat and hung it in a closet, then looked critically at the small shovel Ryan was unfolding. "Is that the best you have?"

"My climbing shovel."

"There's a snow shovel in my outside closet if you want to dig it out. Even a broom might be better'n that thing.”

"I'll get it. You probably have the only snow shovel around." He disappeared through the rear door of the slightly cluttered room, followed by the two cats.

"Would you like a cup of tea, dear?" Grandma Miller asked, her voice soft-toned and melodious.

"Thanks. Yes I would, please." She left and Angie looked around the brightly-lit room. It was comfortably cluttered, with photos of children and grandchildren on the top of a well-stocked bookcase.

The most striking aspect of the furnishings were paintings stacked up along the wall— realistic animal paintings, mainly cats, including the two cinnamons. "Do you sell these?" she asked her hostess, who re-entered the room with a tea tray.

"Yes. People love animals and they want things they can recognize."

"These are really good."

"I’ve prints made of my better pictures, so I can sell both my original and the prints."

"Ryan has one in his living room. I recognize it now. All the rest are mountain photos."

"Ah, yes. Ryan and Scott love to climb. I think the only reason they work is to pay for their climbing." Grandma stepped over to a large picture frame that contained a montage of photographs and pointed to the individual pictures of climbers in various positions. "That one's taken on Mt. Rainier, this was up in the Index area, and these were taken on Mt. McKinley."

Angie had seen similar photos in Ryan's office but hadn't paid much attention to them except to think they were beautiful shots. "How often do they climb?"

"At least once a summer. They used to go more, but they've built their business up to the point where they’ve a hard time getting away. Some of their climbing stories are funny, but they've also been on several search and rescue missions that are tragic. They seldom mention their own close calls."

Her comment made Angie think about Warren and Mary. Both were in Search and Rescue, but they had encountered danger in a more civilized setting.

Angie re-studied the pictures. High and remote, beautiful blues and stark whites, a world apart from the cozy houseboat. No wonder Ryan was rock-hard muscular. The size of the packs he and Scott wore in the photos might not weigh much at the bottom of the mountain, but they’d ‘gain weight’ with each step.

It must be wonderful to be able to climb like that— to walk above the earth, suspended in clouds, on a narrow ridge with the distances dropping away from you. What a feeling of freedom.

Angie had never climbed before, but she had hiked to the top of Mt. Si, a small mountain not too far from Seattle, and stood at the summit, knowing the feeling of accomplishment.

No wonder Ryan acted so confident, so immovable. He had been to the top. He knew what he could do.