Sweet Caroline (17 page)

His lips curled into a wry smile. "You're damned lucky, lady, that I'm still wearing this towel."

"Oh, pul-leeze, d'you think I've never seen a naked man before?"

His fingers flew to the knot in the towel that secured it to his hips. "You've never seen me naked." 159

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"And I don't want to," she snapped back,
at least not like
this.
"I'll tell you everything, but not until you put on some clothes."

Mick relented. "All right, but don't you move an inch." In determined strides, he crossed the room, threw open the closet doors and pulled out a pair of jeans. He dropped the towel, even though he guessed Caroline was watching, and stepped into his trousers.

If he'd turned, he would have seen just how much she was enjoying the view. Her gaze traveled slowly downward from his broad muscled shoulders that were sprinkled with a veil of red curly hair. From his tan line, he spent more time in shorts than a swimming suit, and apparently never neared a pool in the buff. That surprised her. She could envision him swinging among the trees like a latter day Tarzan. And he had probably the hairiest legs she'd ever seen. But his waist was narrow and his flesh solid muscle.

Carelessly zipping the fly and not bothering with the button, he turned back to her. "There. Are you happy now?"

* * * *

MICK WATCHED CAROLINE nervously lick her lips. She held up one hand, as if to force him to stay on his side of the room, and still held the other behind her back. "Look, when you've calmed down, I'll tell you every thing." She'd started to back away again, toward the hall.

Over his dead body.

"What are you hiding from me, Caroline? What are you holding behind your back?"

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"Nothing. Why would I be hiding something?"

"Oh, I think it's a lot more than nothing." He advanced, she bumped into the doorframe. He saw her grimace. Only a few feet separated them now, and he took care of that before she could even flinch.

"Give it to me, Caroline." Mick loved women. He'd never hurt one, but he knew that if he didn't use the threat of his strength over hers, she'd never give up what she was hiding. She was too hardheaded. "I don't want to hurt you, but if you don't give that to me, I'm going to take it from you."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she spat at him and pushed him so hard, he fell against the other side of the doorframe.

"Here, take it."

Mick didn't know what he expected to find, but a listening device was clearly not at the top of the list. How did she get it? Where did she get it? How in world did she even know what it was?

"Where did you get this?" he asked, staring at the small wire with the shank on the end. "Do you know what this is?"

"Do
you
know what it is?"

"Stop answering my questions with questions. Where did you get it?"

"Where did
you
get it? It was under your bed."

"That's impossible," he said and strode back into the bedroom. He was on his knees, peering under the frame. "No way."

"Sorry, that's where I found it. Besides, you ought to know, you were standing right behind me." 161

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He looked up, for the first time seeing her in a different light. "How do I know you weren't putting it there, not picking it up?"

"Yeah right, doesn't every girl keep a shank in her night shirt?"

Mick sat back on his heels. He thought he knew Caroline, had believed her when she insisted she was only there to test the viability of Striker's network to conduct international trade.

He stood and shoved the wire into his pocket. He knew dozens of programmers and systems analysts, but he'd bet his last dime not one of them would have been able to identify the shank, and even more unlikely, call it by its street name.

"Caroline, we have to talk."

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CAROLINE HAD TO think quickly, and standing only in a nightshirt and a pair of red satin, fringed bikini panties wasn't helping matters. "Look," she said, "this isn't a good time. It's late, we're both tired—"

"Oh, no, lady, no more of that." Mick streaked by her, slowing only enough to grab her wrist and drag her with him.

"Sit!" he said, as if talking to a disobedient canine. "There!" He pointed to one of the two bar stools at the breakfast bar. In the kitchen, he tossed a cup of coffee beans in a grinder and let them spin themselves to a fine blend while he poured water in the top of the coffeemaker.

Caroline's mind spun almost as fast as the beans. She'd have to plead client confidentiality on her assignment at ZyQyx—he'd understand that. Since she had no intention of mentioning the anonymous postcards she'd received over the years or her suspicion that she might be a backdoor Mahoney. That left little for them to discuss.
Stay calm. Think before you speak, and answer only the
questions he asks. Don't volunteer anything.
While the coffee poured through, Caroline watched Mick pace about the kitchen. Like a cat sensing a storm, his agitation grew with every pop and gurgle of the coffeemaker. Her stomach churned, too, and if she squeezed her folded hands any tighter, she feared she might break a finger. With a last breath of steam, the coffee maker sputtered into silence. Mick took two mugs down from the cabinet and 163

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thunked one on each of the place mats there since breakfast this morning. He poured the coffee without saying a word, came 'round the bar, and dragged his stool so close he caught her knees between his thighs. "Now I want the truth."
Stay calm. It's your only defense.
"When have I lied to you, Mick?"

He reached inside his jeans pocket and slapped the shank on the bar. "What about this?"

"I told you, I found it under your bed. You were standing there. You saw me drag it out." With studied calm, she raised the mug to her lips and almost choked on the bitter taste of too strong coffee.

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it," he boomed in her face.

"Stop yelling at me," she snapped back.

"The truth, Caroline, about everything. NOW!" She lowered the cup to the place mat, and took a deep breath. "Okay. I admit this probably looks suspicious, but I can explain."

"I'm waiting."

She lifted her hands, palms out, in surrender. "This evening, while I was getting ready to meet Ian, I dropped an earring. It rolled under my bed. I looked for it and found a mate to that." She pointed at the shank as if it were a coiling snake.

"No way." He stood and started pacing again. She couldn't believe she was seeing the same Mick who always seemed so in control. "How would a shank get under your bed?" 164

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"I'm presuming the same way one got under yours. How many people know you never lock your door? There's your list of suspects. How many of them know where you keep the master key to all the doors? It would be easy enough to walk in here while we were out and plant the shanks under our beds."

He stopped pacing and stared at her, as if weighing whether or not to believe her. She marveled at how reasonable she sounded over the jumble of knots in her stomach and the vile taste of Mick's coffee.

"Okay, I'll buy that part," he finally said. "Tell me how you knew what this is. I could show it to a thousand people and they'd have no idea. Yet, just like that," he snapped his fingers, "you not only knew what it was, you called it by its street name."

He had her there. Getting out of this would be tricky. "I did a stint in Great Britain a year ago." That was the truth. "If you know anything about the shank, you know that RunyonRialto, Ltd. is the parent company of the shank's manufacturer." Truth again.

Mick listened. She noticed that the vein in his temple had stopped pulsating. A good sign. "If a company with an inventory control problem hires me, I make a point of studying their product line. It helps to identify patterns." The truth again, except she never worked for Runyon-Rialto. Mick's gaze never wavered.

Crap. He didn't believe her.

"This version is less than sixty days old," he said. "Not a year."

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She hitched her hands on her hips. "It's close enough that I knew what it was when I saw it." She pointed a finger in his face. "I have to tell you, Mick, I wasn't happy about finding it. I don't like living in a place that's bugged." Mick did a double take. "You think I put this under your bed?"

Yes!
She'd disarmed him, now she had him on the defensive. "I certainly didn't think the Tooth Fairy left it. How do I know you didn't toss it under there last night while you stomped around allegedly looking for Ian." Her victory was short-lived.

"Right, and then I threw one under my bed as well."

"I didn't know there was one under your bed when I found the one under mine."

She slammed her fist against the tile for emphasis, then ground her teeth against a stinging open palm. "I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. That's why I came over here—to look for a mate. And what happens? You suspect me of planting it." She looked down, hoping he believed her. He said nothing. After a moment, she glanced at him. With a sinking heart, she watched his expression change, from defensive to cunning.

"If you were so interested in finding one of these under my bed, why were you studying all the photographs on my wall?"

"I ... ah ... I..."

He leaned so close their faces were only inches apart. She could still smell the fragrance of his aftershave but there was nothing seductive about the anger in his eyes. "You forget, Caroline, I heard you come in here. If you'd turned around, 166

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you would have seen me standing there. You're lying to me, and I want to know why."

I'm busted.
She'd underestimated Mick and saw that beneath all the Irish charm and the boyish grins, Michael Gabriel Mahoney was one tough son of a gun. She moistened her lips and took a deep breath. "I can only tell you part of it. The rest is protected by client confidentiality."

He folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. "This ought to be good. Next, you'll be telling me you're an attorney."

"No, I'm an I.S. consultant just as I said I was, and Ian hired me to find the glitches in his system." She looked up at Mick, attempting to assess what he was thinking, but could not. "He's not opening an office in Canada. That's my cover story." She made small quotation marks with her fingers.

"ZyQyx is suffering some growing pains. Ian suspects there's a few holes in his distribution network. I'm on board to assess the damage and stop the bleeding. I know you don't like him, and what's between you is none of my business, but Ian truly cares about his people, Mick. This is hurting him deeply, and not just financially."

"Bullshit!" he answered, his words tinged with exasperation. "Striker's mean and heartless. Besides being a liar and a cheat, he'd probably..."

"Stop it, Mick," she cried. "You two are so tiresome about each other."

Mick shook his head. "Not me."

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"Yes, you. He's just a bad." She pointed to the shank. "But that, Dr. Mahoney, is an entirely different story. I want to know who's responsible for it."

"Don't look at me. I know what I do in my own bed. I don't have to record it."

"I'll bet you don't," Caroline snapped back losing her patience to frustration. "Joke about it if you must, but I don't like people rummaging through my things."

"You don't mind rummaging through someone else's."

"I explained that."

He picked up the shank from the countertop and stretched the wire to its full length—about three feet. "You thought you'd find this in a box of condoms."

Caroline grabbed it so quickly he had no time to react. She flung it across the room. "This conversation is over. Go to bed, Mick. Maybe you'll wake up with some manners in the morning."

* * * *

IT TOOK MICK a minute to realize what had just happened—he'd been conned. Although his apartment door had been unlocked, in some circles what Caroline did was considered breaking and entering. She'd gone through every drawer and closet, and even opened a box of condoms. He knew that if he'd done the same to her, she would have been outraged, shouting, "I've been violated!" from the rooftop. Yet she'd turned it back on him, then breezed out of there on the wings of righteous indignation.

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"Oh, you're good, Ms. Spring," he said to the door that she'd slammed shut behind her.

In spite of himself, Mick realized he was smiling. A week ago, he hadn't known Caroline Spring existed, and now she was dipping those pretty little hands into every aspect of his life. For the worst or the best of it, he realized he was enjoying it.

He waited a few minutes, walked across the hall, and knocked on her door. "Caroline."

"Go away," she answered from the other side of the wooden panel. "I'm sleeping."

He tried not to laugh. She'd been waiting for him, as he knew she would.

"Can't we discuss this rationally? Coffee's still on."

"Your coffee's awful."

"Juice?"

"No. N-O. No"

"Your loss."

"Good night, Mick."

"Good night, Caroline."

* * * *

FOR THE FIRST time in years, Mick threw the deadbolt on the door and locked it. He dimmed the living room lights, unplugged the coffee, which he agreed tasted more like tobacco juice, sat down at the breakfast bar and waited. He didn't have to wait long. Less than five minutes later, he heard her door open, her footsteps pad across the hall, and 169

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saw the knob turn on his door. Unable to open it, she knocked.