Madalyn Reese - No Place To Hide

Emma let out a groan of sheer disgust. “You would!”

“In a heartbeat.”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Some people never learn.”

“Right. So how would you do away with me this time?” he asked, flexing his left arm.

Emma took another bite of melon, wondering how long he could stand it before he scratched. “This time I’d probably sink you up to your thick skull in lawyers. What about you? How would you do it differently?”

“This time I’d bribe the entire building inspector’s office so they couldn’t tip you off.”

Emma laughed. “That was your own fault, you know. Should have done your homework. The guy who told me someone must have faked the asbestos samples was my father’s best friend.”

“Live and learn,” Anthony said. “Almost pulled it off, though. My people were all set to come in and look busy doing nothing. You never would have known I’d set the whole thing up if you hadn’t replied to their noncompliance letter with a huge temper tantrum.”

“Humph. I can’t believe you thought you’d get away with it. I would’ve gone nuts being shut down for months. And even though you said you’d pay for everything, I never would have given you controlling interest,” Emma said.

He laughed and Emma’s throat tightened at the sight. She’d forgotten how utterly gorgeous he could be when he laughed. Smiling was bad enough.

Emma jumped when the phone rang. She stared at it a moment, debating whether to ignore it. This conversation was far too interesting to let drop, but no one ever called during lunch unless it was urgent.

“Hang on a minute,” she said, fighting the impulse to scratch his shoulder as she passed.

Anthony’s shoulder was on fire but he refused to contort himself into scratch position. It would remind her of the scar, and he didn’t want to erase this last half hour’s progress. They’d somehow managed to joke about the past in a way he never had, not even with Geoff, his stepfather, whose sense of humor had been Anthony’s saving grace during the last two years.

But then it had always been easy to talk around touchy subjects with Emma, because she was always quick to smooth over unwanted topics herself.

Eavesdropping shamelessly as she picked up the phone, he heard her say, “Hey Brady.”

With her back to him, Anthony felt free to scowl. But it melted from his face as Emma’s voice turned sharp. “What? You’ve got to be kidding me! Put him through.”

There was a pause and the scar began to itch again in earnest as Emma said, “Hi, Peter.”

Peter was Peter Carlson, Emma’s insurer, and a huge danger to Anthony and Charles. They’d made absolutely certain the New York auction house would keep their mouths shut about enhancing Emma’s bid, but Peter’s appraised value of the stones and metals would be way more than she’d paid.

Charles had been soothing Peter for a couple months now, telling him these things sometimes happened. But Peter wasn’t on the phone with Charles this time. He was talking to Emma. And she wasn’t known for being careless.

If either one of those two got nervous enough to dig deeper into that appraisal discrepancy, Anthony and Charles were toast.

“What do you mean we won’t have them today?” Her voice was level but he could see her back tighten with tension.

Anthony, on the other hand, blew out a quiet sigh of relief. With Emma in no-excuse mode, Peter wouldn’t dare hint at another delay.

“Yes, well that’s what you said last week. I don’t care how many stones there are. There’s no way it takes three months to appraise one auction lot. With what I’m paying you… Well, are you sure your people aren’t overvaluing the uncut stones? It’s happened before, and our bid couldn’t be that far off the value.”

Oops. Holding his breath, Anthony watched as she put a hand on her hip and stretched sideways. He almost felt sorry for her.

But he could imagine how she would react if he told her the stomach problem and knotted muscles would disappear as soon as she stopped letting her career run her life.

She’d get mad if he called her on it, and that did not appeal, although he couldn’t help recalling how spectacular she looked when angry. Full bottom lip red and glistening from the abuse, green eyes flashing, and that telltale blush of a steaming temper. She’d looked that way the night she’d tricked him into believing he was about to get a whole lot more than her businesses. Ravishing. A wild thing that could never be tamed.

Anthony dropped his sandwich. If she turned around looking that sexy he wouldn’t be held responsible for what happened next. Taking no chances that his already battered rules wouldn’t survive the next ten minutes, he cleared away his lunch mess as Emma listened to Carlson.

Since she hadn’t turned around to bonk him over the head with the phone, he assumed Peter was doing some major kissing up. Good man. Emma needed it. And the sooner those stones were released, the better they’d all feel.

Maybe this afternoon he’d place a discreet call and persuade Carlson to speed things up.

The idea was quickly retracted when Emma said, “You know what, Peter? I have seven other insurance companies begging for my money, and right now you’re costing me more than premiums. So let’s do this. If that lot isn’t in my vault by noon on Thursday, consider our contracts terminated.”

So much for discreet, Anthony thought, as Emma said a quiet goodbye and hung up. He couldn’t have done it better himself.

“Problems?” he asked.

“Nothing important. Not to you, anyway. Do you want help with the dishes or can I go downstairs now?”

“After you’ve kept your end of the bargain, you can,” Anthony said, his shoulder screaming for attention.

“What bargain?” she asked. Then she brightened and said, “Oh. Is it bad?”

“Believe me, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t. I do still have some ego left, and my shoulder’s kind of hard to reach without contorting myself.”

“Then you should have said something instead of trying to be all macho,” she scolded.

Emma stepped up behind him at the sink, and the second her fingernails came in contact with his back, Anthony’s entire body screamed for that attention. This was a bad idea, he realized, as she laid her free hand on his ribs for leverage.

Mind-numbing relief and arousal dragged a guttural moan all the way from his toes, and he could feel her smiling tolerantly behind him.

“It’s not funny,” he groused.

“No, it’s not,” she replied with heartening sympathy. “But if I’d known it was this easy to shut you up I’d have started scratching the second we got up here.”

He sneered over his shoulder at her and she smiled.

“Okay,” she said, clapping him on the back. The impact of the playful smack was like flint on metal as she added, “I’m going downstairs and you don’t have to spy anymore. I’ve got enough work to keep me busy for weeks. Couldn’t take off even if I wanted to.”

Anthony tightened his grip on the counter and nodded weakly. As soon as she was gone, he leaned his back against the nearest wall and slid to a crouch with his hands dug into his hair.

This was impossible. His rules had been hard enough to follow before, but now Emma had blown number three sky-high. Not only was he thinking about her, but he’d begun to want something he could never have.

He couldn’t handle her. Not yet. She’d laugh in his face if he told her how he felt. Then he’d run. It was as inevitable as the sunrise.

Angry with himself for letting her affect him, Anthony stayed where he was for a while, telling himself this couldn’t possibly go on much longer. Layne had a crew scouring the employee files of the companies he’d raided, and something was bound to turn up. Either that or Dop would finally make Jim’s promised mistake.

Anthony’s cellphone went off in his pocket and he dropped his head forward in frustration.

“What fresh hell is this?” he muttered.

But it was only Geoff, on a break between surgeries, calling to make sure he’d survived the reunion.

Emma only managed twenty minutes downstairs before the reality of the FBI hit home. She’d counted to ten at least sixty times while Hornsby personally opened and examined the day’s shipments. Every one of the packages had been expected, but the man just wouldn’t listen to reason.

And then Layne had strolled by the office, peering in as though Emma were on display.

Sighing and shaking her head, she toyed with the idea of writing “only doing their job” on a thousand sticky-notes and tacking them all over the place. Maybe with the added reminder, she and the FBI wouldn’t be at war by dinnertime.

Dinner. What would that be like? Emma was still trying to put lunch in perspective. Yes, she’d forgotten how annoying Anthony could be, but she’d also forgotten how he could claim her total attention for as long as he darn well pleased.

Deep breaths. Many, many deep breaths. She could do this. She could handle Anthony. She could handle the FBI. It was just difficult because she wasn’t used to having so many people in her space.

Her cooperative spirit faltered a bit as Jim stuck his head in the door, waving her mail in his hand. “Gotta have a look through this before you can have it. Oh, and we’ve got ears on your computers, phones and your cell. We’re required to hang up on calls that aren’t relevant, but we gotta listen long enough to make a determination. So you might want to keep the personal stuff down to a minimum.”

“Subpoena?” Emma prompted.

Jim patted the envelope sticking out of his shirt pocket. “Don’t mean to be rude, Emma, but I’m a cautious guy. The courts make it harder to convict than to investigate. Relax. My bases are covered.”

Emma stared after him, wide-eyed. She couldn’t give a hoot if the bases were covered for court. She didn’t want anyone listening to her phone calls, personal or not.

And they’d darned well better hang up if it wasn’t relevant. She and her therapist could never manage office visits so they’d arranged phone sessions instead, and these days he was number one on her speed dial.

Dr. Dillon. She didn’t know how she’d managed before he came along. He deserved full credit for the fact that she hadn’t screamed at anyone yet.

The man was a blessing. She’d almost given up finding a replacement for her last therapist, then finally threw herself on the mercy of an Internet referral site. She’d entered all her information and the next day she got a phone call from Dillon. Simple as pie. And she thought she’d died and gone to heaven when Dillon said he’d visit her at work if it was more convenient, since he’d just moved here from California and wasn’t booked to oblivion yet.

And from the moment she laid eyes on the man, she’d known he was the right one.

Dillon was about forty or so, with animated hazel eyes that made actual contact. He was totally laid-back and equipped with a smooth, soothing voice—perfect for when she was ridiculously angry over something stupid.

She’d have to call him and warn him about the eavesdropping. And Anthony, of course. Talk about kamikaze therapy. But Dillon said forgiving Anthony was a baby step forward on her journey to get rid of her temper and she knew he was right, much as she hated to admit it.

She’d be nervous, though, wondering if someone was listening in. Would she be able to tell if they’d hung up?

Why does everything have to be so damned dramatic? Would one normal week be too much to ask?

With a cynical laugh, Emma picked up her cell phone and called, catching Dillon on his way to a conference in Wisconsin.