The Cutting Edge (12 page)

B
RETT STARED AT
the microfilm of the checks written on the account of the bogus Conway, Inc. and sweat beaded on his forehead as he fought the urge to vomit. Nothing in his life had ever made him any sicker than he felt at the moment, and he closed his eyes, slumping weakly against the back of his chair. He couldn't take it in; he simply couldn't believe it, couldn't grasp the implications of it. The signature on the bottom of those checks was a very feminine one. An attempt had been made to disguise the handwriting by using a script that was a mixture of printing and writing, but that didn't matter. What mattered, what had hit him with such force that he felt as if he'd been pole-axed, was the name: Tessa Conway. Tessa! God in heaven, how could it be her? How could she cling to him as she had, give herself so fiercely, whisper that she loved him, when all the time she was stealing from the company that it was his job to protect?

He raised a shaking hand to his eyes, as if to shield them from the damning evidence before him, but he couldn't shield himself from his own thoughts, and they grew more bitter as the moments passed. He'd been used, for a motive as old as time. Had she thought that if she forged a relationship with him, he wouldn't be able to prosecute her if her little get-rich-the-easy-way
scheme was uncovered? Had she thought that he might even protect her? Damn her, she'd even given him her virginity! She was a smart woman, all right. Few men could cast off the entwined chains of guilt, responsibility and passion.

He'd made a fool of himself with her, he thought bitterly. But at least he hadn't gotten around to asking her to marry him. At least she didn't know just how big a fool he was. That was the only consolation his pride could find: She didn't know. Black rage boiled up in him at the thought that she must be smugly congratulating herself for luring him into her net so easily. It was barely a week since he'd seen her for the first time, and she'd had him tied in knots, ready to quit his job and take her away with him to the ranch, full of stupid dreams about the future with her as his wife, even planning for the children they'd have.

The hell of it was, the signs had been there for him to read, if he hadn't been blinded by his own lust. She had both the skill and the opportunity. Her apartment, though not luxurious, certainly wasn't cheap. She drove a new car; she dressed well. She'd grown up in poverty, so much so that her aunt had had to take them in. Had she seen her thievery merely as insurance against a return to poverty?

The lying little bitch!

He shoved himself out of his chair and stood up, running his hand through his hair. He was shaking with the force of his fury, an anger so powerful that he could feel it burning inside him. No matter what her motive, she was a thief, and he was a fool. He'd been so hot for her that he'd neglected his job, something he'd never
done before. It would be a long time before he allowed himself to forget that.

A knock on the door made him jerk around. He knew it would be Evan, so he said, “Come on in,” and was amazed at the cool control in his voice.

“I couldn't get away from Ralph,” Evan said as he entered and closed the door behind him. Ralph Little was head of data processing. “Did you get the microfilm of the checks?”

Brett indicated his desk. “Take a look.”

Evan went over to the desk and looked at the copies of the checks. He was silent a moment, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, hell,” he said quietly.

Brett was silent.

Evan began to swear under his breath, a string of oaths that would have done credit to a sailor. He looked up at Brett, his eyes a little stunned. “This makes me sick.”

His mouth twisting bitterly, Brett moved over to the window and looked out. “I know the feeling.”

“Damn it, I never thought—not even when we caught on to that bogus account. I wrote it off as just a coincidence, or thought that the name had been picked because it was so similiar to Conmay.”

“Yeah, so did I.” He'd gotten control of himself, now that he was over the first brutal shock.

After a moment, Evan said, “What are you going to do?”

“Get a warrant for her arrest. Prosecute. Do the job I was sent down here to do.”

The cold steel of Brett's voice made Evan wince.
“Let's hold off for a few days; maybe if we talk to Mr. Carter—”

“His instructions are to prosecute to the full extent of the law. I intend to do just that.”

“Brett, damn it, this is Tessa we're talking about!”

“I know exactly who we're talking about: a thief.”

“I can't do it,” Evan whispered.

There was nothing any colder than Brett's eyes. The expression in them was an arctic wasteland. “I can,” he said.

He had to; he didn't have any choice about it. Nothing would ease the crippling sense of betrayal, the feeling that something vital had been torn out of his insides, but he could at least do the job he'd been sent to Los Angeles to do. He could refuse to make any more of a fool out of himself than he'd already done. In time, he might even be able to feel a little grateful to Tessa. After all, she'd shown him irrefutably that the best course was the one he'd always followed before her: Enjoy a woman, but don't allow her under your guard. He wouldn't make this mistake again. All he had to do now was his job…that, and get through the nights without her, when his body ached for her, when his mind was filled with the burning, erotic memories of making love to her.

Already he felt haunted. He pushed the thoughts of her away and strode to the desk to flick on the intercom. “Helen, get the D.A.'s office for me, please.”

“The district attorney?” Helen asked in confirmation, her tone a little puzzled.

“That's right.”

He turned the intercom off and met Evan's grim look.

“We've got all the evidence we need, though I'm
going to have the handwriting of that signature analyzed, anyway,” Evan said. “We can get a conviction, if that's what you're going after. But for God's sake, don't have her arrested here at work. Don't do that to her.”

Brett's eyes went black. “I wasn't going to,” he snapped. “Do you think I'd humiliate her that way?” Suddenly pain sliced through him, and he closed his eyes for a moment. No, he didn't want to publicly humiliate her. He wanted to beat the living daylights out of her to teach her not to steal; then he wanted to chain her to his wrist and drag her off to Wyoming and keep her there for the rest of her life. Even now, even knowing how she'd used him, he wanted her, and admitting that to himself hurt as much as the knowledge that she'd been playing with him.

The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Rutland, I have John Morrison, the district attorney, on line one.”

“Thank you, Helen.” Brett punched the appropriate line, not even wondering how Helen had gotten the district attorney himself. He didn't care. All he could do now was concentrate on getting this done and over with, and living through it.

When he hung up the phone ten minutes later, he had a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. The wheels had been set in motion. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he wiped it away. “We have to take all of this to the D.A.'s office,” he said, indicating the damning copies of the checks, the piles of computer printouts, the lists of account numbers, all the methods they'd used to eliminate the legitimate withdrawals.

“Yeah. I'll do it.” Evan's voice was hollow, and his face was gray. Brett wondered briefly what in hell he
looked like, if Evan looked that bad. Evan knew her only peripherally, while he…God, he'd had her beneath him in bed, writhing in mindless need, her body sweet and hot and clinging, accepting his powerful thrusts with joyous abandon. At least he'd kept his head enough not to risk making her pregnant…. As soon as he had the thought, he went cold. Yesterday afternoon. He remembered standing in the doorway, lifting her up and clasping her to him. He remembered her legs locking around his waist. He'd carried her to bed, and in his urgency to possess her he hadn't thought about protecting her. Perhaps, in the back of his mind, he'd even discounted the need to do so, since he'd planned on marrying her so soon that any pregnancy would have been only a little early. But now…

Was this part of her scheme, too? She'd never even mentioned birth control. Had she deliberately ignored it, hoping that the possibility of her having his baby would force him to protect her if she got caught?

What the hell difference did it make? he wondered, agonized. If she was pregnant, whether it was deliberate or an accident, he'd have to protect her. He couldn't let his child be born in a prison hospital. He'd no longer have the option of quitting his job. He'd be fired for going behind Joshua Carter's back and dropping the charges against her, but he had the legal authority to do it, and he'd use it, if he had to. A bitter smile curved his mouth. It was a measure of how far down the road to madness he was that he found himself actually hoping that she was pregnant, so he'd have an excuse to step in and jerk her out of the mess she'd gotten herself into.

“Brett? Are you all right?”

Evan's reluctantly posed question brought him out of his black thoughts, and he realized that his fists were clenched. Slowly, he forced himself to relax. “I'm all right,” he said, but his throat burned on the words, as if he'd screamed them instead. “Get this stuff down to the D.A.'s office, and let's get it over with.”

* * *

O
VER LUNCH WITH
Billie that day, Tessa couldn't keep the smile from her lips or the glow from her eyes. She was in love, and after yesterday she was certain that Brett loved her, too, even though he hadn't said it. She realized instinctively that the words would come hard to him; he'd be reluctant to admit his emotional vulnerability. His aloof, controlled character made it difficult for him to allow anyone to get close to him, but she no longer had any doubt that by some bright miracle she'd done exactly that. The thought of having that incredibly tough, sexy man love her made her feel oddly humble, for her life had been almost boringly mundane and normal, and she'd never done anything outstanding or exalted enough to earn his love. She wasn't a high-powered executive or lawyer, or a passionately dedicated doctor, or a brilliantly talented artist. She was a bookkeeper, and content with her position in life, for she lacked intense ambition in her character makeup. Her only gifts were laughter and the ability to enjoy life. Why was that enough to attract a man like him? And did she really care, so long as he
was
attracted? Of course not!

She was so full of happiness that when the waiter rather sloppily served their food, she overflowed with joy and rewarded him with a smile that stopped him in
his tracks, and he retreated with a rather stunned look on his face.

“You look happy,” Billie understated dryly.

“Do I?” Happy wasn't the way she felt; she felt delirious with joy.

“The waiter's tongue is hanging out.” Then Billie laughed. “I take it you had an enjoyable weekend?”

“I never thought it would happen this fast,” Tessa mused, answering Billie's question obliquely. “I thought that it would grow gradually, like a building going up brick by brick.”

“Brett Rutland doesn't look like the type to have any patience with the brick-by-brick method. I never should have doubted you. The poor guy didn't have a chance. Rather than warning you, I should've been warning him. So when's the wedding?”

“We haven't discussed that,” Tessa answered serenely, never doubting that the subject would be discussed before too much longer. “If he can get away this weekend, he's taking me to his ranch in Wyoming.”

“Oh, ho! To meet the family?”

“His father, anyway. They own the ranch together. He hasn't mentioned any other family.”

“No problem, then. Well, whaddaya know?” Billie sighed in intense satisfaction. “We have great timing. Both of us, in the same weekend.”

Surprised, Tessa looked at Billie's bright, smiling face, then glanced quickly at Billie's left hand. A sparkling diamond adorned it. She shrieked, then jumped up to pull Billie out of her chair and hug her. “You sneak!” she chortled. “You didn't even tell me you were getting
serious about anyone! Well, who is it? David? Ron? No, I know, don't tell me! I know!”

“You do not,” Billie laughed, ignoring the scene they were making in the restaurant.

“Patrick!”

“How did you know?” Billie yelped; then they were hugging each other again.

“This calls for a toast,” Tessa proclaimed, picking up her glass of bottled water with the twist of lime that she liked in it. “To Billie and Patrick!”

“To Tessa and Brett!” Billie picked up her teacup, and they clicked cup and glass together, then drank toasts to each other. When they resumed their seats, Billie said, “Well, how did you know?”

“Elementary, my dear Billingsley.” Tessa sniffed. “Patrick is obviously smarter than the other two.”

Billie had been dating Patrick Hamilton, as well as her other two suitors, for almost a year, but she'd never revealed any partiality to any of them. In Tessa's opinion, though, Patrick was definitely the best man for Billie. He was a civil engineer, more at home in jeans and a hard hat than he'd ever be in a suit, but with a self-assured masculinity that would do wonders to Billie's rather delicate ego.

“Thanks,” Billie said softly. “What would I have done without you?”

“Met and married him anyway. I told you, Patrick is smart.”

“He'd never even looked at me twice before you came along and stopped me from looking like an escapee from a punk rock concert. I knew what you were doing, but I pretended not to notice,” Billie admitted a
little shyly. “When Patrick asked me out, I had to pinch myself so I'd know it was real. I mean, look at him! And look at me. I couldn't believe it; I didn't even let myself hope. But this weekend…well, he'll be leaving the country on a job that'll keep him gone for almost two years, and he…he put this ring on my finger and flatly informed me that there was no way in hell—his words—he was going to spend two years without me, so I'd have to quit my job and go to Brazil with him.” She grinned. “I almost sprained my tongue, I said yes so fast. I'll be turning in my notice at the end of this month.”