"Here you go, babe."
She opened her eyes to find Max holding out a festive glass covered with bright tropical fish, the wine cooler poured thoughtfully over ice. He was smiling again. Damn him.
"Thanks." She reached up to take the glass with an obligatory smile that killed her, because inside she wanted to cry. She might be completely capable of nailing Carlo to the wall, but that didn't mean she still wasn't suffering the girlish emotions of unrequited love.
Kimberly's dainty fingers touched Max's as he passed her the drink and something inside him tingled as he pulled his hand away. He gave his head a short shake to shrug off the feeling and hoped she hadn't noticed, hoped she didn't start wondering just what was going on with him. Of course, he wondered that, too. This was getting worse, this situation with her.
To allay the feeling, he swung his gaze to where Carlo now sat dripping wet at the edge of the pool. Wouldn't hurt to do a little more digging, although he knew it would likely lead nowhere. "You know, Carlo," he began, "last night Kimberly was asking me where you were from and I realized that I didn't know, either."
Carlo smiled in reply.
"Me? Oh, nowhere in particular. I've always moved around a lot."
"You have to be from somewhere," Max said with a friendly grin. If he could find out even that much about Carlo, it would be a place to start looking into his background. He still wasn't completely sure he wanted to put Kimberly in Carlo's hands in the bedroom later. If Max had
anything
else to go on, it would help in his decision, irrational as the decision seemed.
"Nope, always just moved around," Carlo replied, cheerful as ever. "Even when I was a kid."
"Where do your parents live?"
"No parents," Carlo answered simply.
From the corner of his eye, Max saw Kimberly sit up and adjust her lounge chair to the raised position. "No parents?" she said, leaning back.
Carlo shook his head. "Lost them both a couple of years ago."
Kimberly tilted her head. "Oh, I'm sorry. What happened to them?"
"They were old, both of them in a rest home," he said, and left it at that, as if dying parents were a very small thing.
"Still," Kimberly replied, "I know it's hard to lose a parent." At first Max thought she was trying to help him coax information from the guy, but what she'd just said finally hit him…
"You've lost your parents?" Carlo asked her across the pool.
She nodded. "My father died when I was very little. I don't remember him. But my mom died just a little over two years ago. She had cancer."
Max swung his head around to Kimberly, but she looked away. He hoped Carlo hadn't noticed his shocked expression, but he couldn't hide it. When he'd known Kimberly before, her mother had been alive and well. He'd only met the woman a few times, but she'd been a very nice lady and he knew Kimberly was close to her, being an only child.
"That was, um, two years ago in…?" Max asked uncertainly. He felt like an idiot to have to pose such a question in front of Carlo, but he felt like an even bigger idiot to be hearing the news like this, now, without being able to react.
"You remember, honey," she said, looking at him without really looking at him. "In February. Two years ago in February."
"Mmm, that's right." Max didn't know what else to say. Inside, his heart was bursting with sorrow for her and he wanted to show his concern, find out if she'd coped okay, do something to comfort her. But he couldn't, at least not right now.
He ran his hand back through his hair. Why hadn't she told him? Of course, when would she have? Well, maybe when she'd asked about his parents on the ride here two mornings ago, if he'd only been civil enough to ask about hers. He couldn't believe it. What a devastating loss for her.
"I'm sorry, Kimberly," Carlo said. Carlo, of all people, comforting her when it should be
him
comforting her. He stifled a groan of frustration.
Breaking the silence, she swung her feet to the patio and stood up. "Bathroom break," she announced. Max watched her slender form move away from him and into the house and he decided that he had to talk to her … now.
"I'm gonna grab some chips," he told Carlo, and he followed after her—his partner, his lover, his "wife." Oddly, it was starting to feel as if she was really all three of those things.
"Brandt!" he yelled after walking in the house and closing the French doors behind him.
"What?" she replied from the hallway.
"Wait up, I need to talk to you." He hurried through the kitchen and into the hall, where he found her lingering just outside the bathroom. He brought his face close to hers. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"About your mother. I'm sorry, Kimberly. I know you were close to her."
She nodded, then glanced down, clearly not very comfortable with the topic. "Yeah, I was. And it was tough. But I got through it."
He nodded. His new, stronger Kimberly. Something about that strength made his stomach clench in a strange mixture of admiration and affection and also a little bit of fear. He just hoped the same sweet, gentle Kimberly he'd known before was still inside her, too.
He lifted a hand to her soft cheek, pinkened by the sun. "I just … wish you'd have told me. Wish I'd have known. I'd like to have been there for you or something."
Kimberly shook her head, looking incredulous at his sincerity, and he pulled his hand away. "When would I have told you? We haven't exactly been in touch. And you haven't exactly been much for small talk most of the time we've been here together."
She had him there. Knowledge of his heartless way of acting toward her made his stomach sink. He glanced down, feeling oddly ashamed. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, Tate. We're here on a job, not to socialize. But just don't expect to know every detail of my life." She looked him squarely in the eye. "I'm not the same girl you knew, Max."
"That's completely clear to me."
"Oh?"
"It's like you told me before. You're tougher."
Kimberly studied him. Was that a hint of appreciation in his eyes? Probably not. Still, she somehow got the impression that he approved of the person she'd become.
Now she only wondered what he'd think to know that some parts of her remained as soft as ever underneath it all. That, in fact, sometimes she wondered if all this toughness she wore now was truly genuine, really her, or if it was all a complete fabrication to cover up her weaknesses. He'd likely be disappointed, but that hardly mattered. He didn't really care for her anyway. Oh sure, maybe as a person—his concern right now over her mother's death demonstrated that—but it was a far cry from what she had going on in her heart for him and she knew it. So it was best not to start entertaining any thoughts to the contrary.
"Kimberly, I really am sorry about your mom." He lifted the same hand he'd used to touch her cheek and placed it on her shoulder, firm and comforting. She sort of wanted to collapse into his arms and quit being tough-girl Kimberly, but this was no time for that. Nor was this a man who really wanted that.
Be the employee he's paying you to be. Pull away from him
.
She shrugged free from his touch, hard as it was to make herself do it. "Thanks, Max." She felt uneasy, and she wanted to get away. "You know, I think I've had enough sun for today. I'm going to go shower and change."
He nodded. "I'll go hang out with Carlo some more, maybe grill some hamburgers for lunch." He glanced at a clock down the hall, so Kimberly followed suit. It was
noon
. "
Two o'clock
will be here before long."
Thank goodness, Kimberly thought. The sooner this was all over, the better.
"You're … sure you're ready to go through with the plan?" he asked her.
"Damn it, yes!" she snapped, stomping her bare foot on the hardwood floor. When would he ever start trusting her to do her job?
"All right, all right," he said, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "Don't get mad."
"I'm not. I just want you to quit questioning me on it, that's all."
"Okay, Brandt, whatever you want. No more questions."
"Good."
* * *
Kimberly stepped out of the shower, refreshed in body, but not in mind. She still hadn't managed to wash away the mounting pain of all she felt for Max but couldn't express.
Less than two hours, though, and this would all be through. Less than two hours and they'd have Carlo on film trying to steal her jewelry. She'd have proven herself to Max, once and for all. And then she could go home.
After that she could begin the business of trying to get over him again, which she knew from experience would be futile. She would always love Max, and she would always feel incomplete without him in her life. She toweled off, then put on a summery, peach-flowered dress that buttoned up the front, hugged her shape and showed plenty of thigh and cleavage. She'd long since gotten bored with using her body to lure Carlo in—frankly, it hadn't taken much work—but most all the clothing she'd brought fell into that category. Besides, she had to wear something at least sort of sexy because she had to make sure Carlo wanted her this afternoon.
She blew her hair dry and pulled it back from her face into a pretty chignon, then applied a little makeup, noting that the warm colors of the dress and the bit of tan she'd picked up over the last two days combined to give her a tropical kind of look she found appealing. Maybe Max would, too. Not that it mattered, of course. His interest wouldn't go beyond her skin.
Well, back to work, she decided then. From outside the open balcony door, she could smell the hamburgers Max was grilling for lunch. She'd go down in a few minutes, but in the meantime, it might be a good idea to practice the combination and check out the jewelry again. After all, she'd gotten interrupted yesterday when she'd tried to do that and in less than two hours it was show time for real.
She padded across the carpet to the safe and spun the lock. Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two.
Voila
. It opened.
She reached inside and extracted the black velvet box. She'd seen it just hours ago, but it still had the ability to captivate her senses somehow, as if the jewelry inside was real, as if everything about this weekend was real.
But it's only pretend. Remember that, Kimberly
. In less than two hours she would click her heels together and be returned to the
Kansas
that was her apartment, her real life, and all this would be nothing more than a dream. The only part that would count for anything would be that they would put Carlo Coletti—and hopefully his bosses, too—behind bars.
She lifted the box's lid and looked inside, the reflected colors of the shimmery fake jewels dancing in the sunlight that shone in from the balcony.
"Kimberly."
The voice came from behind her and caught her off guard.
Because it didn't belong to Max.
She turned as Carlo stepped into the room, wearing his swim trunks and a T-shirt, a lecherous grin beaming from his smarmy face. He fixed a hungry gaze on Kimberly, then closed the bedroom door.
Chapter 8
A
ll the air drained from Kimberly's lungs. Her knees went weak, her throat dry.
She forced a smile and tried to make it shine through her eyes as well. "Carlo, what are you doing up here?"
What do you think you're doing coming into my bedroom without even knocking?
But she kept the question inside and held her smile firm.
"You promised to, uh, show me your jewelry today, remember? Looks like you were thinking about it, too." He glanced at the open velvet box in her hands.
"This isn't really the best time, Carlo," she pointed out gently. Where the hell was Max?
"Why's that, sweetheart?"