Surrender (17 page)

Oh no.

A sick feeling struck me, making me swallow hard.

What is it this time?

I glanced down, realizing I was wringing my hands. I hated this. I despised how up and down things were between us right now. If only we could clean up the mess my brother had supposedly started, we could move on. We could be happy.

He shoved his phone into his pocket, turned.

His lips were thin. His face a little pale. He moved stiffly as he approached.

“What’s wrong?” I asked when he was close enough to hear.

“They’ve put out an arrest warrant.”

My stomach squeezed in on itself. “For who? My brother?”

“No, for you. And me.”

18

A
rrest warrant?

Arrest warrant!

Me.

I was wanted by the police.

Why? Why!

“I don’t understand,” I managed, somehow, to squeak out.

Placing a hand on my back, he steered me into the house. Once we were safely closed up inside, he said, “We’re both suspected of embezzlement. You. And me.”

This didn’t make any sense. Why would they suspect me of stealing anything? Why? And Kam? They thought he had stolen from his own company? Why would he do that? Fear turned my blood cold, my body stiff. My head suddenly spinning, I grabbed the closest piece of furniture, a chair, for support. “But I didn’t steal anything. You know that. I don’t have anything.”

“I know. But evidently, from what I’ve been told, you’ve somehow been linked to the theft that your brother was initially suspected of committing.”

“Initially?” I echoed. “What does that mean? Is he off the hook now that I’m a suspect . . . now that we’re suspects?”

Kam placed his hands on my waist and helped me into the chair. Once I was sitting, he sat in a chair nearby. “That I don’t know. What I do know is that you are most definitely on the hook, and because rumors have been spread about you and me . . . about our personal relationship, I’ve now been dragged into this mess too.”

I felt sick. Nauseated. Ready to pass out. Things were going from bad to worse. Now not only had my brother lost his job because of something he hadn’t done, but both Kam and I were about to lose everything we had too. “They think you’ve stolen from your own company?”

He shrugged. “I guess so.”

“This makes no sense. Of all the people, you? You’ll be able to get it straightened out, right?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have enough information yet to know what we’re up against.” He jammed his fingers through his hair.

“But you can find out?”

“I’m doing my best.” He was still looking pale. I understood why. He was worried.

I was petrified.

What if he couldn’t prove I was innocent? What if I ended up going to jail?

“Will you tell me now what was stolen? Will you tell me what is going on?”

“Some plans were taken, and all the research too, for a new data compression process we were about to patent. They were sold to a competitor. We hadn’t applied for a patent yet, so all the work we’d done on it is lost. Gone. But right now I couldn’t give a shit about that.”

“We need to find out who stole the plans.”

“I’ve been trying to find that out.” He stood and started walking away from me again as he dialed another number on his phone. I watched him from my seat. He didn’t speak until he was down by the swimming pool again.

While I waited for him to tell me more, I went outside. I went inside. I went outside again; checked to see if he was still talking. He was. So I went back inside and strolled around the living room. I wandered down the hall, went to my room, grabbed my phone, tried the number my brother had last called me from but then hung up.

What if the police were tapping my phone? My calling anyone could lead the police right to our doorstep.

That sounded ridiculous. Had I watched too many detective shows? Or was it really that serious? Would we appear on
the evening news?

I needed information. I needed to find out what was going on and why anyone thought I had something to do with it. Outside of being the sibling to a man who had been a suspect, I had done nothing to make anyone suspect anything.

This made no sense.

None.

Oh God, what was going on?

Unable to stand still, I went back outside. Kam was still on his phone. I needed him to tell me he had it all figured out. I needed him to tell me it was all a big misunderstanding.

When he clicked off, I didn’t walk to him, I ran.

“What did you find out?” I asked, breathless from the sprint.

“Nothing much. I can’t trust very many people right now. That’s making it difficult to get information.”

“I understand.” I wanted to cry. I was going to cry.

He pinched my chin, lifted it. “We’ll figure this thing out. I promise. I know you had nothing to do with it. Nothing.

“And when it’s all done and over,” he continued, as his head dipped lower, “you and I will go on vacation. A real vacation. Not like this. We’ll go anywhere you want. Anywhere.” He brushed his lips across mine, and I shivered, hot and cold at the same time. He wrapped his thick, strong arms around me and held me.

With my ear pressed against his chest, I let his slow, strong heartbeat soothe my rattled nerves. Then his stomach rumbled. I couldn’t help giggling.

He chuckled. “I guess my body’s telling me it’s time to eat.” Easing away, he turned toward the house. He left one arm wrapped around my waist as he escorted me back inside. We went to the kitchen. He hesitated at the counter. “I should warn you, I don’t know how to cook.”

All too happy to embrace this, the normalcy of a conversation about cooking and food, I said, “That’s all right. I can cook. A little. I’m no Rachael Ray, but I do okay.”

“Excellent. The refrigerator’s stocked. Have at it. But I do ask one thing.”

“Sure.”

“Teach me?”

“Teach you? Sure.” Impressed with Mr. Billionaire Bigshot’s willingness to learn, I took a peek at what I had to work with. It seemed whoever had stocked the refrigerator and pantry had assumed the resident was not the kind of person to cook from scratch. This relieved me. Immensely.

I took another look, found some frozen skinless chicken breasts, bags of various vegetables, and boxed potatoes in the pantry, and voilà, a menu was planned. I started with the chicken, since it would take the longest.

“First things first. We need to preheat the oven,” I announced.

Kam looked at the stove and blinked. “Okay.” He stared at the buttons. I did too.

That thing was nothing like my stove at home.

“I’m embarrassed to admit I have no idea how to turn on the oven,” he said.

“Neither do I.” I leaned lower, studying the digital display. “This stove is so fancy. It has settings to do just about anything. Of course, that means it isn’t so simple as just hitting a power button to turn it on.” I turned to the nearest drawer and started sifting through its contents. “Maybe there’s a manual in here somewhere.”

“Hmmm . . .” Kam helped me search. We dug through a dozen drawers, rummaged through at least that many cabinets. And for all our effort, we got nowhere.

“Time for Plan B,” I said as I went toward my room to get my phone.

“What’s Plan B?”

“Most companies have owner’s manuals online.” I opened the browser and started typing in the manufacturer’s name.

“You’re brilliant.”

“That’s why you promoted me to personal assistant.” Beaming, I displayed the results. “Success.” I skimmed the manual until I had some understanding of how the stupid stove worked. Then I shut down the browser. “Now, back to the easy part, preparing the food.”

As we’d been searching the cupboards for the manual, I’d been placing the things I wanted to use for our meal on the counter. I now had a couple of bowls and some corn flakes and spices ready to go. “This is a recipe I learned when I was a kid. It’s super-easy and tasty. Comfort food.” I poured some of the flakes into a large plastic baggy and handed a glass to Kam. “Use the glass to crush the flakes.”

“Crush them?” he repeated, eyeballing the glass.

I set the bag on the counter and rolled the glass over it.

“I get it now.” He set about pulverizing the corn flakes into dust while I prepared the egg and milk mixture and defrosted the chicken in the microwave. Within minutes we had four coated chicken breasts sizzling in the oven.

“That was easier than I thought,” Kam said as he washed his hands. “What’s next? Shall we make a crème brûlée for dessert?”

“That’s way beyond my capabilities.” I took another look in the pantry, spied a no-cook cheesecake mix, a premade graham cracker crust, and a can of cherries. “But this, I can handle.”

“I think I love you,” Kam said.

I turned to him, eyes wide. Did he mean those words? Or was he just playing around.

His eyes widened and his face paled, and I realized he hadn’t meant what I had hoped he meant. “I mean . . . you know . . . it’s cheesecake.”

“I know.” Hiding my disappointment, I opened the ingredients, flipped the cheesecake box over, and started reading the directions.

“I should go make a couple of phone calls.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “I want to see if Stephanie found out what the hell is going on.”

“Okay.”

He took a step away, turned, took a step toward me, cupped my chin. “You really are special.”

“Thanks.”

He gave me a little kiss. It was too soft and definitely too quick. But it still made me knees get a little wobbly. I decided that kiss was enough of an apology to forgive him for his little slipup. He hadn’t meant to say those words yet. But it wouldn’t be long. I could see it in his eyes.

He didn’t love me yet. But I had a feeling he was falling in love. Falling hard.

Just like me.

Smiling to myself, I made his cheesecake and put it in the refrigerator. As I was turning back toward the stove, my phone rang.

I checked the screen. It was a number I didn’t recognize. But something made me answer it.

“Where are you?” my brother practically yelled into the phone.

“You shouldn’t be calling me,” I said. “Didn’t you tell me you were leaving me alone? So I could live my own life?” The last thing I wanted was for him to be dragged back into this hell. If he had been cleared, I wanted him to stay that way.

“Yes, but that was before . . . Where the hell are you? I’ve been by the apartment. Several times.”

“You need to be careful right now—”

“I am. Do you realize you were on the news last night?”

“No.”

“You’re wanted. By the police.”

“I know. What phone are you using?” I asked. My throat was closing up. Stress. Anxiety. I grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator. “Is there any chance the line is being traced?”

“Not a chance. It’s a throwaway.”

I pinched my phone between my shoulder and ear so I could open the water. “Okay. Good. But mine’s not.”

“We’ll keep this short. Are you safe?”

“Yes.” I guzzled some of the water.

“Are you with
him?
” His sneer was clear, even over the phone.

“Yes.”

“Is he taking care of you?”

“Yes,” I said, taking another big chug of water.

“I don’t trust him.”

“I do.” I screwed the water’s cap back on. “Do you have any idea why they’ve decided it was me?”

“No clue. I swear. Can’t Mr. Billionaire find out?” Joss asked.

“He’s trying. But he’s not sure whom he can trust.”

“I’ll see if I can do anything on this end.”

“No, don’t.” I unscrewed the cap, then screwed it again.

“Listen, Abby, since we were kids, you’ve been the one taking care of me. It’s my turn now to help you. Hell, if they want someone to pin the blame on, maybe I should turn myself in. Let them put it on me. At least that’ll allow you to be free—”

“Don’t. You. Dare!”

“But my life is already fucked—”

“No!” I slammed the water bottle down on the counter.

“But I love you. I owe you. For everything you’ve done.”

“I love you too. I don’t care about the sacrifices. We need to find out the truth. Nobody but the real guilty party deserves to go to jail.”

“Okay,” he acquiesced.

Breathing a little easier, I reiterated, “You won’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t.”

“If you do, I swear, you’ll regret it,” I warned.

“That much I know.”

“Call me if you find out something.”

“Okay. You can call me on this number too. I’ll let you know when I switch to a new one. In the meantime you can reach me here at any time. Day or night. You understand?”

“Yes.” I snatched up the water bottle again.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, baby brother.” Before I hung up, I whispered, “I’m scared. For both of us.”

“Me too, sis. Me too.”

He was gone.

And I was alone. Scared. Gripping that stupid plastic bottle as if my life depended upon it. Waiting, once more, for Kam to tell me something that might give me some hope.

Kam’s words kept echoing in my ears.
I think I love you
.

“I think I’m falling in love with you too,” I whispered.

“What was that?” Kam asked. He was behind me. Close enough to have heard what I’d said.

Heat burned my cheeks. A lump coagulated in my throat. I opened the bottle again. “Um, I was thinking about my brother,” I said as I twisted around. “He called me while you were busy.”

“What did he have to say?”

I downed half the bottle before answering, “He’s worried. I guess I was on the news. The police are serious about finding me.”

“I have some idea why now.”

“What is it? What did you find out?”

“Caribbean Commercial Bank,” he said, taking the water from my hands and downing it in a series of thirsty chugs.

“What’s that?”

“A bank. On Anguilla.” He sat on the stool next to mine. He set the empty bottle on the counter in front of us.

“Anguilla?” I echoed.

“The account is in your name.”

“But . . . how is that possible? I didn’t open a bank account in Anguilla. I’ve never been to Anguilla. I don’t even know where Anguilla is.”

He said, “It isn’t necessary to travel to a foreign country to open a bank account there. People do it all the time, open foreign bank accounts to hide assets. From spouses. From lawyers. From the government.”