The Cutting Edge (11 page)

Looking back at the printout sheets, his eyes fell on a name that had recurred frequently in the payout sheets.
What caught his attention was that the name was the same as Tessa's. “What's this Conway, Inc. that so many checks are made out to? What sort of business is it?”

“Supplier,” Evan said. “They've been supplying Carter Engineering for years. Basic building materials. I checked it out.”

Several minutes later, Brett looked up. “What about Conmay?”

“Weren't you listening? They're a supplier—”

“No, not Conway. Conmay,” he said, stressing the last syllable.

“That's what I thought you said.” Evan went very still, staring at Brett. “Conmay belongs to two men, Connors and Mayfield.”

Brett's eyes were narrowed. “We have checks sent out to both a Conway, Inc., and a Conmay, Inc. Are they both legitimate?”

“I'll be damned if I know,” Evan growled, crossing to Brett's side to lean down and squint at the two very similar names. “That slipped by me completely. I thought it was the same account.”

Brett began flipping back through the pages they'd already checked, looking for the first entry for Conway, Inc. Instinct told him that they were on the right track. Conway, Inc… . If it hadn't been for the similarity to Tessa's name, he wouldn't have noticed it.

“We need a computer terminal,” he said decisively, getting to his feet. “We might as well go to the source.” It would be a lot easier to track down that account with access to the central computer.

“Might as well,” Even agreed. Like Brett, he sensed success, and that banished his fatigue. They could work
as long as they liked, without fear of detection, for it was Saturday night, almost Sunday morning, and the building would be deserted except for the guards.

By three o'clock Sunday morning, they were both certain that they'd found the right thread. All they had to do was follow it back to the embezzler. The computer-made payments to Conway, Inc. had begun a little over a year before, weren't made with any regularity, and were never for an outstandingly large amount; but a few thousand here and there added up before long. All of the checks were on microfilm, but they were unable to get a signature from the canceled checks; they were all stamped with a rubber stamp that said DEPOSIT ONLY, CONWAY, INC. with the account number and bank name beneath it. Brett jotted down the number and bank.

“That's it until we can see the withdrawal slips, or the name on the checks written on that account.” He had a headache from hours of staring at the bright green numbers on the display screen. Impatience rose up in him, impatience with both himself and the job, which grated on him increasingly as the days passed. Soon, he promised himself silently. Soon he would be on the ranch, and his fatigue would be the result of good, hard physical work, rather than from sitting hunched over faded computer printouts or working his way through the maze of computer programming, ferreting information out of electronic files.

“Let's pack it up and get some sleep.”

Evan was more than willing, and the drive back to the hotel was accomplished in silence. In his room, Brett undressed and sprawled on the bed, almost groaning
aloud as his tired muscles relaxed. The end was in his grasp now, and he wanted to get it over and done with; he wanted to put this behind him and get to the ranch. Funny, but years ago, when he'd been in college, the ranch hadn't pulled at him the way it was doing now. It had been home, but there had been an entire world out there that had challenged him, daring him to take his sharp, icy intellect and master it. He'd done it; he'd made a success of himself, using his cool grit and steely determination. He was not only very good at what he did, but he was well paid for it, too, and that had enabled him to invest, to diversify. His financial acumen had put the ranch on solid ground, much better able to weather the vagaries of the beef market than a lot of ranches. Tessa wouldn't be reminded of her youth, spent in a rundown old farmhouse. She'd still be able to wear silk, if she wanted it.

He closed his eyes, but her image filled his mind, and he opened them again, knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep. His body burned, as if she were still lying against him, her arms and legs twined around him.

It was a hell of a coincidence that the embezzler had used Conway as a name.

His memory was almost photographic; abruptly he recalled Tessa's personnel file, and the dates of her employment. She'd been working at Carter Engineering for fifteen months. The embezzling had begun roughly thirteen months before. She worked in the bookkeeping department. And she was on very friendly terms with Sammy Wallace.

He swore aloud in the darkened room. Hell, what was he thinking? It wouldn't be Tessa; she was all sun
light and laughter. No, it would be Sammy Wallace, who'd probably picked Tessa's last name as some sort of twisted tribute. Like all men, Sammy Wallace could easily make a fool of himself where Tessa was concerned.

But, damn him, why did he have to drag her into his dirty little scheme? Didn't he realize that using her name would automatically make her the first suspect? Brett's mouth tightened. Of course he realized that! Why not try to throw the blame on Tessa? Wallace probably knew well enough that she would be less likely to be prosecuted than anyone else working at Carter Engineering.

He'd like to knock the bastard's teeth down his throat for putting her in jeopardy like that.

He was so tired that his entire body ached, and it was almost dawn, but he couldn't sleep. He kept thinking of Tessa, of the day he'd spent with her…mostly in bed. His good intentions hadn't been worth a damn when faced with the temptation of her body; he couldn't get enough of her. No matter how wild their lovemaking had been, he'd begun wanting her again as soon as it was over. Nothing in his previous experience had prepared him for the deep hunger he felt for her, and the inability to satisfy that hunger. But he'd tried, and she'd been sleeping in exhaustion when he left her, her dark hair spread in a wild tangle across the pillow.

The image haunted him. He turned restlessly on his stomach, bitter resentment rising in him again. He didn't like this compulsive need for her. He liked being in control, and with her he wasn't even in control of his own body, because he couldn't make himself stay away
from her. He didn't like the power she had over him. He couldn't get her out of his mind! Even now, when he needed so badly to sleep, he remembered the feel of her silky body beneath him, the clasp of her legs around his hips, the deep, inner heat of her. His flesh stirred, and he swore between his teeth. Even in bed, she'd flirted and teased, laughing at him and moving elusively away from him. He'd been too sexually preoccupied to mention getting married, but soon he'd have to put an end to this damnable situation. When they were married, when he had her in his bed every night, she'd be his for good, and he'd be in control once more. With that on his mind, he went to sleep, but even in his sleep it seemed that he was tortured by the power she had over him, and fought with her for control of their relationship. He'd never felt so strongly about a woman before, and his feelings were both unexpected and unwelcome. In his life, he'd trusted only Tom, but now he had Tessa to deal with, and in her own way she was an enigma to him. She was both delicate and strong, elusive but his for the taking, yet even when he took her, he felt that there was a part of her that escaped him, and she was driving him crazy, even in his dreams.

When he woke, it was late in the afternoon; the first thing he thought was that Tessa must be wondering where the hell he was. He'd already picked up the receiver to call her before resentment rose in him. Damn it, he didn't have to check in with her like some grade-schooler! He dropped the receiver back into its cradle; then frustration with himself got the upper hand and he picked it up again, punching out Evan's room number. Evan answered on the third ring, his voice thick
and still sleepy, and Brett knew that, like himself, Evan was catching up on his sleep. “I'm going over to Tessa's,” he said brusquely. “You can get in touch with me there if you need me.”

“Sure,” Evan agreed sleepily, then laughed. “I don't blame you. If I could be with her, I wouldn't be wasting time in a hotel room, either!”

Brett showered and shaved, his lowered eyebrows testimony to his black mood. He was getting damned tired of every man in the country slavering over Tessa like dogs over a juicy bone. She was his. No other man had ever held her naked in his arms as he had done. With his hands and mouth and possessive lovemaking he'd branded her as his, every lovely, silky inch of her. He burned to have her again, to bury himself in her and hold her so close that nothing could get between them, to protect her from the undefined threat that was hanging over her head. He hoped that no one ever told her that she'd been used as a cover to hide an embezzler. She liked Sammy Wallace. She'd be distressed enough when he was arrested without knowing that he'd used her.

Half an hour later he rang her doorbell. Then impatience made him abandon the bell and bang on the door with his fist.

“Hold your horses!” he heard her mutter irritably on the other side of the door, and surprise at her bad mood made his eyebrows lift. “Who is it?”

“Me,” he answered shortly.

The door didn't open, and she said just as shortly, “What do you want?”

The surge of anger that shook him was so strong that he ground his teeth in an effort to control it. What sort
of game was she playing now? He wasn't going to argue with her through a door. “Tessa, open this door,” he said in a controlled voice, then barked,
“Now!”

She opened it, but blocked his entrance. Her face was cool and blank, but her eyes were spitting green fire. She didn't have any prior experience with love affairs, but she'd known immediately that she didn't like going to bed with her lover, the man she loved, and waking to an empty bed and an empty apartment, with no note to tell her where he was or when he would be back, with no phone call all day long. Brett Rutland was so arrogant that he probably expected her still to be waiting for him in bed where he'd left her.

He took a step forward, towering over her, but she didn't step back to let him in the door. His navy eyes narrowed. Did she expect to block him with her body? The idea was almost laughable, if he'd been in the mood to laugh. She barely reached his shoulder, and he outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds; he was roped with powerful muscles, while she was all soft silk and satin, yet she stood there glaring stubbornly up at him. Why had he never noticed the proud willfulness in her expression? She had a flashfire temper, he suddenly realized, a temper that was usually hidden behind lazy laughter, because she protected herself with indifference and humor. She became angry only when she cared about something.

She cared. Before she realized what he was about, he put his hand on her waist and gently lifted her to eye level with him, holding her suspended in the air. “I worked all night,” he explained in a quiet, level tone. “Evan and I went to bed about dawn. When I woke up,
I showered and shaved and came straight over here. I'm not used to anyone having the right to expect an explanation of my whereabouts.”

Tessa still glowered at him. If that was supposed to be an apology, he needed a lot of work in that area; but then, it was really only an explanation, and a reluctantly given one at that. Still, in a back-ended way he'd admitted that she had the right to an explanation. The hard edge of her anger evaporated, but she wasn't able to forgive him completely yet.

“Put me down,” she finally said, her voice as level as his.

“Kiss me, first.”

She stared at him, then blushed. “No. If I do, you'll…we'll…”

A tiny smile of amusement curled his hard mouth. “Baby, I already am, and we will anyway.”

She wanted to hit him. “You're not short in the ego department, are you?”

“Or any other department,” he whispered, and eased her against him. “Put your legs around me.”

Furiously she pushed against him. “Brett, we're standing in an open door! Put me down!”

He took another step forward and kicked the door shut behind him. “Tessa,” he growled, and fastened his mouth to hers. Her hands were braced against his heavy shoulders, and she tried again to push herself away from him, again without result. His mouth was hot, moving on hers, opening her lips for the entry of his tongue, and she shuddered at the electric pleasure that jolted her body. With a whispery moan she stopped trying to hold on to her anger. Despite wanting to box his ears,
she loved him, and loving him was so much better than fighting with him. He hadn't declared undying love and devotion, but still he'd given her more than any other woman had ever had from him. He'd given her the right to question him. She hadn't chosen a comfortable man to love, but he was all man, and she was going to make him all hers.

His breathing was heavy, his mouth hungry as he moved it down to her throat. Arching her against him with one hard arm clamped around her waist, he closed his other hand over her breast. Her legs parted automatically for him; she lifted them to clamp her thighs on either side of his lean waist, with her ankles locked behind him. “That's right,” he rasped against her throat as he pushed himself against the cradle of her body. He kneaded her breast, wringing little cries of pleasure from her and making her writhe against him until he couldn't stand the sweet torment any longer and began walking toward the bedroom, still holding her wrapped tightly around him.

“Tell me that you love me,” he demanded in a low, harsh whisper as he placed her on the bed and swiftly stripped away her clothes.

“I love you.” She saw the flare of satisfaction in his eyes, satisfaction and something else, something cool and unreadable, and she was suddenly frightened. But then he was naked and he came down on the bed with her, covering her with his hard, heated flesh. He entered her at once, so powerfully that her nails sank into his shoulders. He made love to her with a passion that was almost violent, but always controlled, and he controlled her, too, setting their rhythm and pace, wringing
sensations from her. He gave her exquisite pleasure, but even at the peak of her ecstasy, she wondered at the bitter look of resentment he'd given her.