Brief Encounters

He shot a look at her that questioned her will to live. “Maybe we should talk about your penis fixation,” he said. “And while we’re at it, I don’t feel the slightest bit inadequate.”

That was no big surprise, but it brought a sting of awareness to her cheeks anyway. She also felt a thrust of something deeper, quicker and significantly hotter in her belly. She had to get a grip.

“Back to business,” he said. “I’m giving you a choice, which is more than most felony suspects get. Either you agree to help us catch Long’s accomplice or you and Art can have adjoining cells. Which is it going to be?”

Swan went icy cold. “That’s a choice? Everything Lynne and I have worked for is about to be destroyed, and you want me to pitch in and help so you and that other bully with a badge can use our show as a sting operation to catch someone you can’t catch yourself!”

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

He actually seemed pleased with her assessment, and that was the last straw for Swan. She slumped down on the edge of the bed and covered her face with her hands. “This is not happening,” she whispered. If she kept her eyes closed long enough and said the words passionately enough, maybe this nightmare would go away. And it would take Rob Gaines with it.

Gaines sat down next to her. His voice took on an explanatory tone, along with a hint of compassion.

“Listen,” he said, “you’re going to be dragged into this mess whether you agree to help us or not. Now I know that stinks, but that’s just the way it is.”

Swan glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Art Long is smart. He’s been conning people for years but he’s not this smart. He didn’t put this plan into action by himself. Large amounts of money have been electronically transferred, and according to the bank examiners who tipped us, he doesn’t have the authority to do that on his own. Long hasn’t confessed to having an accomplice, but he had help from someone inside.”

“Inside the bank? How am I supposed to help you with that? Lynne and I don’t know anyone at the bank besides Art.”

“That’s what you claim, but someone opened an account under Lynne’s name and has been electronically transferring funds into that account. This same someone then issued a cashier’s check for those funds in the name of Lynne Carmichael—a check that you picked up after forging Lynne’s name. And now Lynne has conveniently disappeared.”

“Well, when you put it like that, of course we look guilty.” She pressed two fingers to her temple and hit exactly the spot where it was beginning to throb. “But Lynne hasn’t conveniently disappeared. She’s away on legitimate business, and I know nothing about any electronic transfers.” Frowning, she said, “What did you mean that I would be dragged into this whether I help you or not?”

Gaines rose and slipped his hands into the pockets of his charcoal slacks. She was reminded of the man in the gray flannel suit, except for one or two discrepancies—the rakish dark hair and disreputable blue eyes. There were con men in every profession, she reminded herself.

“You’re a marked woman, Ms. McKenna. You say you’re not in on this with Art Long, and if that’s true, then one thing is certain. Art did not intend for you to keep the five million. Someone was going to ‘relieve’ you of all that money—likely Art himself—and then split it with his accomplice.”

Swan didn’t like where this was going. “Are you suggesting that his accomplice might come after the money? Or after me because he believes I have the money?”

“You’re starting to get the picture,” he said. “If you work with us, we’ll provide you protection. When the accomplice makes his move, we can be there to make ours. You won’t be hurt, and we’ll have our coconspirator.”

Swan rose and walked to the double doors that led to a balcony above the gardens. White, lacy sheers covered the glass panes. She moved one aside and peered into darkness that was as opaque as an inkwell. The doors were closed, but she could hear the low roar of the ocean, and closer, the purr of traffic on a side street. The beach was always busy in the summer.

“When do you think this person might make a move?” she asked him. “Am I in danger now?” She needed the truth, no matter how bad it was.

Rob Gaines considered the value of lying to her and decided against it. There was nothing to be gained by giving her a false sense of security. Right now she was vulnerable enough to listen to what he had to say and frightened enough to accept it.

“You could be,” he told her, “which is why Joe and I are staying here tonight. I doubt anyone’s going to hit this place, though. They’ll wait for the confusion of the fashion shows. You’re being promoted as the designer of the line, which means you’ll be easy to find, and you’ll be distracted. Thieves love chaos.”

“Swell,” she said. “I’m being used as bait. I could be thumped on the head at any time, robbed and left for dead. And what happens when this accomplice discovers that I don’t have the five million dollars? I’m history, right?”

She shoved a handful of auburn hair away from her face and stared him down with an accusatory expression.

Not if I can help it, he thought. Her rising agitation gave off a scent that was part frightened woman and part French perfume. Both were totally alluring, and both were Swan McKenna. She could be hell in high heels one minute and visibly apprehensive the next, just as she was now. Rob preferred her vulnerable. She was much easier to handle. He was also aware that if she weren’t a suspect, he would have had a hard time keeping his distance. And the hell of it was, he wasn’t sure she would have stopped him.

“Relax,” he said, his voice softening. “Joe and I haven’t lost anyone yet. We’ll set up a security plan. If you do exactly as you’re told, you’ll be safe. We can protect you, but only if you cooperate.”

She hugged herself and he could see gooseflesh creeping up her arms.

“And what do I get out of this,” she asked, “besides a nervous breakdown?”

“Immunity from prosecution. You’ll probably have to testify against Art and his accomplice in court, but, otherwise, you’re off the hook.”

“What about Lynne?”

“That depends on Lynne. Partial immunity, possibly full, if she’s willing to testify.”

“Immunity from prosecution for something we didn’t do? You’ll excuse me if I don’t sound grateful.”

She swung her head and cast him a hard glance, her red hair dancing. Rob suspected she was about to slip on her high heels again and give him a hard time. But he didn’t have any more time to play.

“I need an answer,” he said. “Say yes, Ms. McKenna. It’s the only smart thing to do.”

Smart or not, Swan wasn’t sure she had a choice. There was no guarantee that Rob Gaines wouldn’t haul her off to jail if she refused to help. That would be disastrous for Brief Encounters, and the bad press could be enough to ruin them, even if her name was cleared. But bait for a sting operation?

On the other hand, it was also possible that whoever was helping Art Long had been frightened off and wouldn’t come after the money. That would make this whole exercise pointless. But there was no way to be sure of that, and five million dollars was a lot to walk away from.

“Did you say yes, Ms. McKenna?” Gaines intoned. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes, Ms. McKenna.” She was giving up, but not happily. “You know,” she said, “if you and Joe are planning to go undercover, you could always be underwear models.”

She took some pleasure in watching his face go pale at the thought.

“I saw what you put those guys through tonight,” he muttered, “and I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing one of those nut buckets.”

“Nut buckets?” Swan chuckled. First time she’d ever heard her thongs called that. It was also nice to know that she could still laugh.

“You’ll have people setting up the stage, doing the lights and the sound, that sort of thing?” he asked. Swan nodded. “Good, because Joe and I will blend in as a couple of workmen. We’ll do everything possible to stay out of your way. But you need to keep in mind that we’re conducting an investigation, and you’re still one of the suspects.”

“How could I forget? I’m getting tired of protesting my innocence, and you’re probably tired of hearing it, but someday you’re going to be damn embarrassed about the way you’re treating a woman who gives pennies back to store clerks when they make the wrong change.”

She expected some kind of wisecrack and when it didn’t come she stared at him hard. Maybe she was daring him. “Go ahead and say it,” she invited. “Tell me what an idiot I am for getting myself mixed up in this loan fiasco. But don’t tell me I’m a thief, because I’m not.”

He was suddenly very serious. The dark lashes lowered, masking his expression. “If you think I don’t want you cleared of these charges, you’re wrong. Nothing would make me happier. I mean it.”

The way he said I mean it made her stomach go weirdly light. This wasn’t butterflies or anything like it. It was as if the force of gravity had suddenly been lessened and everything might lift right off the ground.

“Nothing would make you happier? Why would you care what happens to me? You don’t even know me.”

He lifted his head. “I have my reasons.”

“Your quest to catch Art Long, right? And I’m your means to that end? Is that why you care?” She told herself to let it go, but she couldn’t. She wanted to grill him. She wanted to put him under bright lights in a darkened room and interrogate him until he surrendered them, one by one. Call it payback.

Maybe it was her imagination, or just wishful thinking, but she had the feeling he wouldn’t mind spending some time with her in a darkened room, either. He hadn’t smiled, hadn’t even looked as if he might, but there was an energy brewing in the cool blue irises hidden under those lashes, and it was sexual.

Her soul-searching came to an abrupt end as Joe Harris walked into the room.