Brief Encounters

“What’s that?” she whispered.

Harris waved the plastic bag that contained her check. “Altogether, that’s five million in embezzled bank funds.”

Too much was happening too quickly. Too many questions were ricocheting inside her mind for her to grasp even one and examine it closely. Swan staggered back, lowered the lid on the commode and sat down. “Is there more?” she asked.

Harris frowned. “What? Money?”

Swan shook her head. She should be going crazy, but instead she was going numb. “No. Surprises. Are there any more surprises?”

Gaines gave both the book and the check to Harris, who was apparently in charge of submitting them as evidence. “I’ll tag and bag these,” Harris said as he stepped out of the bathroom. “It’ll take a few minutes. You got her?”

After Harris had left, Swan glanced pleadingly at Rob Gaines. “I really need you to explain what’s going on. This is all a mistake. I didn’t know anything about that check, the big one.”

For a long moment he simply stood there studying her as he slowly peeled the rubber gloves from his hands. She wondered if he was going to speak to her at all, when, finally, he leaned against the edge of the vanity.

“There’s no mistake, Ms. McKenna,” he said. “You and Lynne are up to your necks in this, however—”

He seemed to be deliberating again, but she sensed there was more on the man’s mind than bank robberies. Possibly a lot more. Possibly her.

“However what?” she asked.

“Well, there might be a way that we could work something out.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. She had a bad feeling about where he was going with this, but, at the same time, her vital signs were whipping themselves into a frenzy again. Her skin was feverish and her hairline was damp. He seemed to be able to do that to her under just about any damn circumstances.

“Just tell me what you want,” she implored.

That triggered a glance from him that nearly made her vital signs stop. It had all the smoldering intensity of an illicit touch and Swan was rocked back by it. But she’d barely had time to register the impact when she was wondering if the whole thing had been her imagination.

All at once he was the government agent again—standing tall, arms crossed with the authority of a hanging judge, and when he spoke, it was cool and professional.

“The FBI can count on your cooperation then?” he said. “We have a tough case on our hands, and you could be useful to us.”

She nodded. “Of course, I’ll cooperate. Tell me what’s going on.”

Gaines relaxed his stance and began. If he’d been harboring any prurient urges, they were well concealed. “Your friend, Art Long, is one of the best con men in the business,” he explained. “It’s taken us years, but we finally have him where we want him. Only there’s a problem. Long didn’t work this scam alone. Someone inside the bank helped him, someone highly placed. We want that person, too.”

“But how can I help? Lynne and I don’t work at the bank. Surely you must know that.”

“We do. But we also know that Ms. Carmichael and Art Long have been seeing each other socially. We know Long has visited this house and spent time with both you and Carmichael.”

“You’ve had us under surveillance?”

He ignored her and went on. “What we don’t know is whether you and your partner were duped by Long or whether you’re part of his scheme.”

“We were duped,” she assured him. “Lynn and I thought Art wanted to help us. And, I swear to you, Lynne doesn’t know any more about this than I do.”

“Speaking of Ms. Carmichael, where is she?”

“She’s with a designer. A big designer, who might be interested in sponsoring our line under his label. This could be the break of a lifetime.”

“That explains what she’s doing. Now, where is she doing it?”

Swan shifted and felt cool air swirling around inside her skirt. It was quite a draft. “I don’t know,” she said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. “They’re on a yacht somewhere on the high seas.”

“Ever hear of obstruction of justice?”

“I don’t know where she is!” Was her skirt still hiked up? Swan twisted around to look and nearly swooned as the blood rushed out of her head. God, wasn’t bladder urgency enough? Gaines caught her elbow to steady her. His grasp on her bare arm was firm, though not overly so. But his fingers were hot and strong, and she almost wished he would do something more with them. She didn’t want to think what exactly, but something.

“Take it easy,” he said.

Swan released a breath that helped clear her head a bit. “I’m fine,” she said, but it sounded as hollow as she felt. “Just tell me there’re no more surprises. I don’t think I can take any more tonight.”

She looked up at him, saw his expression and groaned inwardly.

“I’ve got one more,” he said, “and you aren’t going to like it.”

4

“MS. MCKENNA! Come back here!”

Rob Gaines belted out the command as Swan brushed past him and walked into the adjoining bedroom. She needed some space to clear her head and she needed it now. In less than twenty minutes he’d accused her of horrendous crimes and strip-searched her in a way that gave new meaning to the term.

What was next? Stop or I’ll shoot?

“That was not a request,” Gaines barked. “Stop or I’ll—”

Swan stopped. Oh, yes, she did. She stopped so suddenly she tilted forward like a ski jumper about to go off the ramp.

“I think we need to establish some ground rules,” he said. “First, turn around, and second, look deeply into my eyes and listen carefully to every word I say—as carefully as you’ve ever listened to anything in your life, because compared to this, none of that other BS matters.”

Swan wanted to tell him that his superior tone was not necessary but, of course, she didn’t. She turned, looked straight into his glacial-blue eyes, and felt as if her breath had been flash-frozen in her chest. If time travel were possible, this guy had been sent from the Ice Age. Even his impossibly long eyelashes did nothing to warm the chill.

“Rule number one,” he said, “since I’m the one with the badge and the gun, I’m in charge here. Rule number two, since you’re the one about to be wearing the handcuffs again, you’re not in charge. You’re the suspect. And rule number three, don’t ever walk away from the guy with the gun because he might think you’re trying to escape, and if he did think that, he would have to do everything in his power to stop you—and that would not be good.”

Not good for whom, she thought, mustering up some defiance. He’d probably love to pull out that big old six-shooter of his and blast away.

“Is that all?” she asked.

“Rule number four, you’re in a shitload of trouble, Ms. McKenna. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that your very life is in my hands, so if I were you, I’d be very nice to my hands.”

Swan was drawn like a magnet to the body parts he mentioned, and they were exactly the kind of hands she loved on a man. Hard from use, brown from the sun, with strong, tapered fingers and a palm plenty wide enough to handle a football. Veins could be seen running down from his forearm, and the feathering of hair above his knuckles matched the sooty black of his lashes.

She was obsessing over the hands of a man who was a threat to her very existence. How normal was that? For that matter, how normal was anything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours? Maybe the threat he posed had something to do with it. He’d just told her that he held her life in his hands and the idea of being that vulnerable to a man, especially this man—

“Are we clear on the rules?” he asked.

“You’re the guy with the gun.” She gave him a tight nod. What else could she do? “And, by the way, what is this gun fixation of yours? You know what guns are, don’t you? Compensation for an inadequate penis.”