BULLETPROOF BRIDE (24 page)

The smug smile clinched it. She stomped down hard on his bare foot.

"
Ow
!" He shook his foot.

She wrenched open the door, flung herself into the seat and slammed the door shut. She reached for the lock just as he yanked the door back open.

"Hey," he muttered. "That hurt!"

"I meant for it to hurt."

"I can't let you do this." He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her out of the car.

Work was the only sane, stable thing she had left. She wasn't losing her job on top of everything else. She struggled as he hustled her up the driveway. "Let go of me!" She smacked his shoulder with her briefcase.

He pulled her against his hard body, restricting her movement. "Will you cut that out?" he growled into her ear. "I don't want to accidentally hurt you. But I am not turning you loose."

Hurricane Gabe had stolen everything, including her heart. He was
not
taking her independence, too. She kicked him in the shin. "Yes, you are."

"Damn, Tessa!" He flinched, but hung on. He inhaled sharply, then
swooped
her up and carried her inside.

She tried to wriggle free. "Put me down!"

"Can't afford to. I've only got one good leg left." He carried her down the hallway and into his bedroom.

"What are you doing? I'm going to be late!"

"Sorry, sweetheart." He dropped her on the bed. Holding her down with one hand, he rummaged in the nightstand drawer.

In the blink of an eye, both her wrists were handcuffed to the wooden headboard. "Valentine Gabriel Colton!" she yelled. "Unlock these this instant!"

"No can do." He stood back and crossed his arms, "Let's see you get out of
that
, Houdini."

"Motion sickness pills be hanged, next time I'll feed you rat poison!" Gasping for breath, she yanked furiously on the cuffs, ignoring the metal's cold bite into her tender skin.

He leaned down to grasp both her arms, holding her immobile. "Don't struggle. You'll hurt yourself."

She stopped wrenching on the handcuffs, but her anger raged like a living thing, seething and burning inside. How dare
he
!

"Calm down," he soothed. "Let's discuss this rationally."

She gritted her teeth. "Easy for you to say, you're not the one being held prisoner."

"Talk about a fantasy."

In spite of her rage, his suggestive chuckle, and the resulting images her traitorous mind conjured up sent desire hurtling through her.
Which made her even madder.
How could she possibly be attracted to such an infuriating man? "Pervert."

He laughed. "I have a beautiful, sexy woman handcuffed to my bed." He leaned over her. "Helpless and at my mercy."

She was through playing games. "Not quite." She slammed her knee into his stomach.

He groaned, doubling over.

"Count yourself fortunate I didn't aim a few inches lower, or The Spy Who Loved Me would be out of commission."

Wheezing, he fell into a chair. "I believe I just made the
numero
uno
mistake my martial arts instructors warned against." His laugh turned into a moan. He pressed his hand to his stomach. "Never underestimate your opponent." He sobered. "But I'm not your enemy, Tessie. I'm on your side, remember?"

At his soft words, pictures scrolled through her mind. Gabe rescuing her from
Gregson
. Gabe shielding her with his body in the park. Gabe standing protectively between her and Leo.

Remorse drowned her fury. She closed her
eyes,
let her head fall back against the wooden headboard. "I'm sorry."

He crossed to the bed, sank down beside her and gently stroked her cheek. "If I let you go, will you stay put?"

The fight drained out of her. She was normally calm and reasonable. Even under the worst provocation, she never lost her temper. What was it about Gabe that brought out her most primal emotions? Passionate, frightening emotions she needed to keep under tight rein. "Yes."

He used a tiny key to unlock the cuffs, then grasped her hands and turned
them
palms up. "Did I hurt you?"

She looked at the blue bruises shadowing her ivory skin. "I hurt myself." Not only with the handcuffs. She'd hurt herself by allowing Lucille to manipulate her, by settling for second best with Dale, and most of all by striving uselessly all these years for Vivienne and Jules's approval.

No more
, she vowed.

Holding her gaze, he raised her arm and pressed a soft kiss on the tender inside of her wrist. Then he kissed the other wrist.

Her stomach lurched. Gasping, she snatched her hands away. "Don't!"

He stood, somehow understanding her inner turbulence, her need for distance. "You're having a tough time of it. How can I help?"

She longed for normalcy, for a haven from the emotional and physical upheaval of the past weeks. "Take me home. I miss my piano, my plants and Andrew, Lloyd and Webber. I want to make sure everything is okay. I've put up with all your nonsense, and nothing has happened. I deserve one concession."

He sighed. "All right. But only for a short visit. And I'll have to check it out first." He drilled her with a hard stare. "No funny business. Meet me in the living room in ten minutes." He strode to the dresser on the far wall.

She paused at the threshold, turned back. "Gabe?"

Holding a pair of white athletic socks, he looked around. "Yeah?"

"Remember, paybacks are hell. And now I owe you one. A great big one." She quietly closed the door.

His shout of laughter rang down the hall.

She changed into brown tweed slacks and a taupe sweater before heading out to the living room.

Gabe was waiting by the door, holding a manila folder. He shrugged on a black leather jacket. As they walked to the Corvette, he limped, groaning theatrically.

She knew a play for sympathy when she saw one. "Don't think you can manhandle me and get away with it."

"I'll never tap dance again. You don't fight fair, Houdini." His sensual lips curled into a teasing smile. "I like that in a woman."

She'd stomped his foot, kicked him in the shin, slugged him with her briefcase, and kneed him in the stomach, yet he stood here smiling and joking. Amazed and chagrined, she bit her lip. "I'm sorry about getting physical with you. I guess I reached the last of my rope and slid right off the frayed end."

"You can get physical with me anytime." His smile widened into a grin as he offered her his car keys. "You seemed pretty anxious to drive this baby. Speed is a great stress reliever."

Would this man ever stop surprising her? She accepted the keys with a delighted smile. "I've never driven a stick shift."

"How did you plan to drive it to the office?"

She shrugged. "How hard can it be?"

He rolled his eyes before climbing into the passenger seat. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's going to be a bumpy ride."

She managed to reach the middle of the first busy intersection, where she ground metal against metal trying to find second gear. The engine died. Gabe didn't even flinch.

She restarted the car, but killed it again. Following Gabe's patient instructions, she finally got it restarted, but it hopped like a spastic frog before cruising forward. She took a deep breath and maneuvered back into traffic. Cringing, she risked an apprehensive glance at him. "Sorry."

He lounged in his seat, relaxed and at ease. He lifted a shoulder. "It's only a car."

"Most guys would be having a brain hemorrhage about now."

"I'm not most guys."

Now there was the understatement of the millennium.

He chuckled. "Besides, I
like
to live dangerously."

His laid-back acceptance gave her confidence. Delighting in the growl of the engine and the immense power under her command, she loosened her death grip on the wheel and pressed harder on the gas. The responsive car instantly shot forward. A thrill zinged through her, inspiring a big grin. By the time she pulled up in front of the music store, she was not only having fun, but could competently handle the Corvette.

Gabe started to speak, and she held up her hand. "Stay in the car, lean on the horn,
yadda
,
yadda
. This cloak-and-dagger stuff isn't necessary any longer, but far be it from me to shatter your illusions." Sighing, she handed over her keys.

In less than five minutes, he returned. "Looks okay."

The elevator whisked them upward. She opened the door, breathing in the familiar lemon polish scent mingled with her plants' earthy smell. Gabe's cleaning service had done a great job. The place was spotless.

"Twenty minutes," he warned.

"I want to polish my piano and water my plants. And get additional clothes. I hadn't planned on being gone this long."

"Before you morph into Suzy Homemaker, how about I show you what I found in Leo's office?" He held up the file. "Then I can read you the IRS reports while you do that other stuff."

In the tumultuous aftermath of realizing she loved him, she'd forgotten all about whatever he'd discovered at the club. She sat beside him on her pale yellow sofa, and he passed her a photocopied memo from the folder. She squinted at the words scribbled in a bold scrawl. "This is a description of
Sav
-Mart payroll checks, including the bank routing and account numbers. Where did you get this?"

"Leo's desk. I used his personal copy machine, conveniently located in his office." He smirked. "I also downloaded an incriminating disk of check styles, and a check-printing program off his hard drive. Some checks match those I snatched in the robbery. And I bugged the office and phone."

"Don't you need a warrant for that? How did you get a judge's signature so quickly, and without letting anybody know you're working on this?"

He laughed. "A couple of federal judges owe me big-time favors."

She shook her head. He'd told her he colored outside the lines. Outrageously true. Heavens, at times the man veered clear off the page. "If I let myself think about the unlimited resources at your dubious command, I wouldn't sleep at night."

"If you're lying awake with nothing to do, feel free to call on me, sweetheart."

She pretended to ignore the sexy suggestion, but her breath hitched in her throat. "Is this enough to convict him?"

"No. He could still pin the crime on anyone who works at the club. And remember, we strongly suspect law enforcement is involved. If dirty cops are out there, I want them. The maggots have slipped away from us too often, and I plan to catch them red-handed. No way will they weasel out of this one."

She traipsed to the kitchen for cleaning supplies. "Tell me the rest." She went to her baby grand, poured lemon oil on a rag and began to massage the shiny golden oak.

"I sent for IRS reports on our suspects. Financial records are very revealing. But due to the fiscal year-end rush and a computer screw-up, the reports didn't arrive until yesterday."

She arched her brows. "What, no string pulling?"

"Honey, even I can't budge the IRS. But wait until you hear this." He laughed. "Your Mr.
Trask
is the proud inventor and owner of the
Ab
Annihilator
and the
Bun Buster."

Her jaw dropped and her hand froze on the piano. "The exercise gizmos that redheaded actress advertises on TV?"

"He uses a corporate name, but we traced the patent to him. Guess he doesn't want his influential banker buddies to know he's in the hard body business. He's got half a million
dinero
, and his balance is on a steady uphill climb. Totally legit."

"Why would he continue to work at the bank?"

"From what I saw, he doesn't work very hard." He shrugged. "For some people, there's no such thing as enough money. Maybe he's into the power, or prestige in the community, or maybe he needs the medical benefits. I doubt he'd risk his rising fortune by involvement with counterfeiters."

Tessa knelt to polish the piano legs. "Wow. You work with people for years and never really know them."

"That brings up our next candidate. Donald Richards, president of Oregon Pacific Bank. Richards has a mansion in an exclusive part of town, two grown sons, a toddler, and a new, very young wife with expensive taste." He laughed again. "However, the wife appears to be keeping him, rather than the other way round. Does the name Katherine Starr ring a bell?"

She dropped her rag. "The author of
Hollywood
Affairs, Beyond
Hollywood
Affairs
and
Lovers and Liars?"

"Kiki Richards aka Katherine Starr. With seven bestsellers to her credit, she's racked up a cool two million in the last couple years."

"Next you're going to tell me Peter is starring in a soap opera disguised as his own sister or something."

He frowned. "Nope. This is where it gets sticky. Peter looks clean. Nothing there. Neil looks clean, too."