“Olivia?” he called when she walked into her bedroom.
She stepped back into the hallway. “Yes?”
“Why would your mother think you’re imperfect?”
She sighed. “I got sick, Grayson. That made me imperfect.”
She really hoped he was through asking questions about her family tonight. He was dredging up all sorts of emotions she didn’t want to feel. She shut her bedroom door and changed into a pair of blue-and-white flannel pajama bottoms and a blue T-shirt. That little bit of effort exhausted her, and she sat down on the side of the bed. She fell back, rolled to her side, and closed her eyes. She would just rest for a few minutes and then have some soup, she told herself. After that, she’d send Grayson home and get a little work done on her computer.
Fifteen minutes passed and Olivia hadn’t come back to the living room. Grayson opened the bedroom door a crack and looked in. Her hair covered the side of her face, and her arms were crossed over her chest. Grayson pulled the covers back on the king-size bed, then lifted Olivia into his arms. He held her close against his chest for a minute, liking the feel of her warm body against his. He gently placed her between the sheets and covered her. He brushed her hair back and stroked her cheek. Her skin was so soft, so smooth.
“There’s nothing imperfect about you, Olivia.”
THIRTEEN
Ronan thought Olivia’s brother-in-law, George Anderson, looked good for the shooting and wanted to put him at the top of the list.
Grayson wasn’t convinced.
Ronan opened his desk drawer, pulled out a Nerf football, and tossed it across the office to Grayson. Throwing the football while they brainstormed had become a ritual, providing the cavernous office was empty.
“I’ll put Anderson in the top five,” Grayson said. “But there are others who look better, like Carl Simmons and his crew, and unfortunately, Olivia’s own father. Any one of them could have hired men to silence her. Did you know she was calling the SEC?”
Ronan smiled. “Good for her.”
Grayson tossed the football back to Ronan. “Olivia’s been asking a lot of questions about the Trinity Fund. There could be someone connected with the SEC who doesn’t want an investigation.”
Ronan nodded agreement. “Let’s talk about Anderson.”
“Yeah, okay. He owes three hundred thousand to a bookie named Subway, and every week the interest escalates.”
“Every week?”
“Every week,” Grayson repeated. “If Anderson continues to let the loan ride, in six months he could owe as much as, what . . . six hundred thousand?”
Ronan tossed the football as he answered, “Right. So I’m gonna go out on a limb here and suggest that Subway isn’t a bookie. He’s a loan shark.”
Grayson nodded. Then Ronan asked, “Does Olivia know about her brother-in-law’s gambling problem?”
“I doubt it. I’m going over there in a little while to talk to her about him. She mentioned that George is in town and wants to stop by tonight.”
“And what did you say?”
They were throwing the football faster and faster until it was rocketing across the office.
“I said he’s not getting in unless I’m there. The guard knows,” he added.
“What about Anderson’s wife, Natalie? Do you think she’s aware of her husband’s gambling problem?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “He could get some money out of the Trinity Fund to pay off the loan—they have close to four million in an account with her father—but he hasn’t taken any.”
“Because she’d find out.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. She’s put a great deal of her own money in the account. Her uncle, the late Daniel Monroe, was very wealthy. He set up trust funds for his two nieces so that they’d each get a large sum. The minute Natalie got her money, she turned it over to her father to invest.”
“What about Olivia’s fund?”
“She gets hers next year.”
He then told Ronan what he’d discovered about Simmons, Simmons and Falcon. He’d looked into their banking practices and their accounts and had uncovered that Carl Simmons was a silent partner to Robert MacKenzie.
“Carl Simmons is slandering her, spreading lies about her to get her to stop asking questions. How much do you want to bet her father knows what he’s doing?”
Grayson nodded. “If things work out, I’ll get to see him in action in a few weeks at the Morgan Hotel.”
“The big birthday party?”
Grayson nodded. “I haven’t crashed a party in a while. It should be interesting.” He tossed the football back to Ronan and stood. “I’m leaving.”
“You’re going over to Olivia’s now?”
“Yeah. Henry’s sleeping over at a friend’s tonight.”
“Not that I’m keeping tabs,” Ronan said, “but it appears you’ve been spending an awful lot of time at Miss MacKenzie’s apartment.”
“What can I say,” Grayson answered with a grin, “I take my investigations seriously, and I’m very thorough.”
“Uh-huh,” Ronan drawled with a good deal of skepticism.
The fact of the matter was, Grayson had looked for excuses to see Olivia. Even when a question could be answered with a simple phone call, he’d insist that it needed to be done in person. He couldn’t resist being with her. What he was feeling was so new to him, he couldn’t explain it. The only thing he knew for certain was that Olivia MacKenzie was different from any other woman he had ever met, and the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted.
He was walking toward the stairs when Ronan asked, “Are you still being a gentleman?”
“With Olivia?” he said, pretending not to understand.
“No, with her dog.”
He laughed. “She doesn’t have a dog, and, yes, I’m still being a gentleman.”
And it was killing him.
It had been three weeks since Olivia had been shot, and the only time she had left her apartment was to go to the doctor to have her stitches removed. She was beginning to feel like a caged animal. Her routine was so boring. She got up early every morning, dressed, then went into her office and logged on to her computer with her password. Since there weren’t any distractions, she got caught up with her cases fairly quickly.
The only exercise equipment she owned was a treadmill, and since she couldn’t go to the gym and use the elliptical trainer like she used to, she got on her treadmill twice a day to break up the boredom. Some days, when her asthma wasn’t bad, she would run; other days she walked so slowly she felt as though she was crawling.
Collins came over two Sundays in a row and stayed for a couple of hours each time. Then she’d go back to the firing range to work on accuracy. Olivia still trembled thinking about Collins carrying a gun.
Jane stayed at home because of the weather. Washington was having an unusual winter. It was bitterly cold, and snow kept blasting the city. She lived in a townhouse near Dupont Circle and was busy renovating it to be a studio for her painting. Olivia had missed her art show, but Jane told her all about it. She’d sold three paintings and felt validated and invigorated.
Sam called only a few times, but then she was in Iceland, so she kept in touch by e-mail. She wrote long, rambling letters about the jets she was flying and didn’t complain at all about where she was stationed.
All three of Olivia’s friends dated, but none of them had ever been in a serious relationship. Though they were healthy today, they lived with the fear that their luck would change. And how could they put a man they loved through that kind of worry? They had decided to be practical. Happily ever after wasn’t in the cards for them.
* * *
Olivia had just finished answering a couple of e-mails. She closed her laptop and checked her watch. Remembering that Grayson was coming over, she went to her bedroom to change clothes. She stayed casual in a pair of fitted jeans and a white blouse she didn’t bother to tuck in. She brushed her hair and dabbed on a little perfume and lipstick.
George would also be arriving soon. He’d said he wanted to have a serious talk with her. Olivia wondered if Natalie would be with him. She was positive she knew what George wanted to talk about: getting Aunt Emma to invest in Trinity Fund to show her loyalty and support to the family. Olivia’s response wasn’t going to change, no matter what George said. Invest in Trinity? Absolutely not.
How could Natalie and George be so blind?
Grayson arrived just after she straightened up her living room. She’d gathered up all her newspapers and magazines, put them in a recycle bag, and was folding her afghan when she heard the doorbell. She tossed the afghan on the back of the sofa.
She always felt a little catch in her throat whenever she saw him. Tonight was no different. He wasn’t wearing a suit. He was as casually dressed as she was, in jeans and a camel-colored sweater. His gun was at his side. That hadn’t changed.
He looked wonderful, she thought, but then he always did. She stepped back and waited while he hung up his coat in her hall closet.
“You’re early,” she said. “George won’t be here until eight.”
“I wanted to talk to you before he got here.”
He went to the sofa and sat down. She followed. “Talk about George?”
“Did you know he had a gambling problem?”
Her expression confirmed she hadn’t known. She looked shocked, then shook her head. “He doesn’t seem the type. He’s so . . . stuffy.”
She sat down next to him and listened in growing astonishment as he described the hole George had dug himself into.
“He owes that much?”
Grayson repeated the amount. He thought her reaction to the news was comical. Her cheeks turned pink, and she was sputtering. “How could anyone . . . he borrowed from . . . how stupid is he?”
“Are you asking me?”
“A loan shark? He really went to a loan shark?”
“Yeah, he did,” he said, smiling. “And, yeah, it was stupid. People do stupid things all the time. It’s why I have a job. You work for the IRS . . . don’t you deal with stupid all the time?”
She laughed. “Yes, I guess I do.” She thought about George for a second. “Natalie’s going to kill him.”
“You don’t think she knows?”
“George is still breathing, so, no, I don’t think she has any idea.”
Olivia hadn’t meant to sit so close to him. She didn’t want to move, though. She loved the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. She stared into those eyes and said, “May I ask you a question?”
“Sure. What do you want to know?”
“It’s not about the investigation,” she said.
“Okay. Shoot,” he told her.
“Do you ever think about kissing me?”
He smiled at her again, and she felt as though she was melting. “Yeah, I do. All the time,” he said as his hand moved to the back of her neck.
“All the time, Grayson?” she asked, her tone teasing.
He pulled her toward him, and his lips covered hers in a kiss that was outrageously carnal. His mouth was hot, and his tongue stroked hers until she was desperate for more. She could have stopped him, but that was the last thing on her mind.
For Grayson, the kiss was consuming and extremely arousing. When he came to his senses and realized what was happening, he took her by the shoulders and gently pushed her away. “We can’t do this now.” His voice was harsh.
Olivia was feeling dazed. One kiss and she was shaking. What would happen if he made love to her? She’d probably disintegrate. She threaded her fingers through her hair and took a breath. Grayson had disappeared into her kitchen. She needed to apologize. She knew she was putting him in an awkward position. He was an agent investigating a crime, and she was the victim. Getting personally involved was not a good idea. Their relationship should stay professional . . . shouldn’t it? Her head was telling her yes, but her heart was screaming no.
When she entered the kitchen, Grayson was standing at her refrigerator. He had the door open and seemed to be looking for something in particular.
“What would you like?” she asked.
That was a leading question. “I don’t know. Something to drink.”
She pushed the door closed. “There are all sorts of drinks in the beverage drawer. It’s behind you.”
It looked like a regular drawer to him; the exterior was the same dark cherrywood as the cabinets. He opened it, pulled out a bottle of water, then closed it.
“Nice,” he said, making a mental note for his next remodel. “I like it. I should put one of these in my kitchen. My nephew is always in the refrigerator.”
“Henry?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
“He’s living with you?”
“Yes, ever since my father’s heart attack.”
“I’m sorry. Is your father going to be okay?”
“Yes,” he replied and said nothing more.
That was it? Just yes? No explanation at all. Okay, she got the message. His personal life was off-limits. She felt like a fool now because she had all but begged him to kiss her. Again.
Olivia leaned against the sink and folded her arms across her waist. She was irritated with herself. She had broken her vow not to ask personal questions, to let him volunteer whatever he wanted to tell her.
“Do you mind if I look at your cabinets?” he asked.
Since he already had opened the door above the sink and was looking at the wood, she didn’t bother to answer.
“I rehab houses,” he explained. “This wood is nice. I like the grain. Did you choose it?”
“Yes.”
“I also like the granite.”
He suddenly moved and pinned her against the sink. Then he leaned down and kissed her. It was quick and very nice.
“What was that for?” she asked, bewildered.
“To get you to quit frowning.”
He brushed his mouth over hers again. “Know what else I like?”
“No, what?” she whispered.
He stepped back. “Your sink.”
She walked past him. “You’re such a flatterer.”
He followed. “Hey, I really do like your sink.”
She rolled her eyes. “You want to kiss me; you don’t want to kiss me. You kiss, then you don’t kiss. Make up your mind, for Pete’s sake.”
