Now You See It (6 page)

She looked around the room, and decided on the drawer of the antique roll top desk her mother had left her. But the drawer was too far to reach from where she sat. She’d have to either stand up—too much hassle—or else make an uncomfortable shift across an ankle to get to it, so she stuck the key into her back jeans pocket, with an extra weight of attention, to keep it there. It was a tighter squeeze than it should have been.
Back to Zumba
, she vowed,
as soon as this is all settled down
.

Her phone rang. The caller ID read “Unknown.” She flinched at the thought of the unknown intruder and “
tsk’ed
” at herself.
That will be
Julia
, she thought, and answered with heavy reluctance.

“Gemma, it’s Mike. I guess you got through the press okay.”

“The press of the press? Yeah. That was good advice. And Nikki was actually a lot of help. She started snarling whenever anyone came close to the car. It was easy to ignore them, because she was making so much noise they couldn’t have heard me if I had said anything. I always forget how big her teeth look, if you don’t know her. Where are you calling from?”

“Sam Dawkins’s office. I’ve got court in about thirty,” Mike said, laughing. “Brady should be there soon—he had some stuff to finish off this morning. Are you going to be all right until then?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll be fine. Hey, Mike? I found a key in a CD case.”

“What kind of key?”

“One of those flat, funny ones. I’m pretty sure it’s for the camping trunk. But why would he hide it?”

“No telling. What’s in the trunk?”

“Camping gear. Tent, lantern, axe—that kind of thing.”

“Have you looked?”

“Not yet. The garage is way down my list at this point. There’s so much else to do.”

He paused, and she could almost hear the gears in his head turning. “Listen, Gemma, do me a favor and don’t mention the key to anybody. Not even Brady, okay? I’ll talk to him about it myself. But meantime, let’s just keep this between us.”

“Sure, Mike. No problem. Um, you’re still going to barbecue tonight?” She couldn’t think of a way to ask him whether Brady would be there. She swiveled the chair back and forth.
Easy, girl
.
One thing at a time.

“Of course I am. I’ve got Hawaiian shirts you haven’t even seen yet, and M-K’s been marinating turkey legs all day. I can rip into one of those like Henry the Eighth.”

Gemma heard the smile in Mike’s voice and had the uncomfortable feeling he could see right through her. Well, and what else was new? “I don’t think ol’ Hank wore Hawaiian shirts.”

“He would have if he’d shopped in the right stores,” he said. “Later.”

She’d barely hung up when her phone rang again.
Sheesh! It’s like Grand Central switchboard around here!
She flipped the cover up to answer the call.

“Gemma? Brady McGrath. I’m about three blocks from your house. Can you be ready to let me in? I can see the vultures swarming from here.”

Gemma laughed. Heat washed through her, and her nipples hardened at the thought of being here alone with him. “Sure.”

How would he ever get through the reporters? She hurried up the stairs to the landing, where she could watch from behind the curtains.

She spotted him as he came through the crowd, and couldn’t suppress a giggle. He was dressed in tan shorts and a loose T-shirt and running shoes, but to her surprise, he was wearing what she could swear was a police-issue earpiece and cord, and very dark wraparound sun glasses. He strolled down her walk with an intimidating, no-nonsense bearing, his head turning a fraction from side to side as if he were quartering the area, the way a policeman would. The reporters let him through with what looked like no more than an occasional question. Even that stopped when he lifted his arm to his mouth and appeared to speak into an oversized watch.

She opened the door at his first knock.

His hair was damp and curling over his forehead, as if he’d dashed over right from the shower. A flash of pure lust shot through her at the sight of the tanned skin on his legs showing through a light covering of black hair.

“That’s really clever,” she said, deliberately fixing her eyes on the door.

He grinned. “Bodyguards are pretty much invisible,” he said, and removed the almost-transparent earpiece.

She watched him slip it into his pocket. “Does that thing work?”

“Probably. I haven’t used it in a while.”

Gemma felt heat rush to her face. Was he talking about the earpiece? Was she?
Rats!

He saved the moment. “The reporters may figure it out, but I doubt they’ll even think about it. Did you call the security company?”

“Not yet.” The details of the day had overwhelmed her, but she wasn’t going to make excuses.

“Let’s get that done. And the locksmith. I know a couple, if you don’t have one already.”

“I don’t. Thanks.”

“I’m going to secure your computer. There wasn’t time yesterday before the cops came.”

He turned abruptly and took the stairs two at a time. As he moved, his T-shirt billowed out to expose a semiautomatic pistol tucked into the small of his back

* * *

When Brady came back into the kitchen, Gemma had set out cups and plates with two toasted English muffins. The tea she was pouring into a big green Starbuck’s mug looked strong enough to bend a spoon, and he watched with a hitch of relief as she took a plastic jug of milk from the fridge and set it beside a small jar of homemade jam.

“That was quick,” she said.

“I’m waiting for some downloads. It’ll be a little while yet.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Yeah. They were careless,” he said. “Whoever did this either doesn’t know much about computers, or doesn’t think things through. They should have logged you back on, and you never would have known they were in there.”

“I changed my password.” Her voice was thread thin. “Ned picked my old one, so I changed it as soon as he moved out. The same day I sold the bed.” She caught a quick breath and flushed. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

Brady tried to suppress a grin and failed. “Good thing you did.” He paused a beat. “Change the password. I’m guessing it surprised them. I’ve set up a new one.” He rattled off a fifteen-digit sequence of upper-and lowercase letters interspersed with numbers and symbols. “Don’t write it down.”

She goggled at him. “I’ll never remember all that.”

“Sure you will, the same way I do. We’ll create a mnemonic for it. After I leave, you’re going to change it, and build yourself another one, okay?”

“Sure,” she said faintly and swallowed.

Brady started to spread the jam on a muffin half, and realized the dog was drooling a stream down into a small puddle on the floor. “It’s too bad Nikki wasn’t here night before last.”

“It probably wouldn’t have made any difference. Malamutes don’t have a strong sense of property. They’re famous for showing the burglars where the silver is kept.”

He chuckled and cut his eyes over to Nikki, who was still staring at his muffin with single-minded devotion.

“She’s beautiful, though.” He hunkered down to rub the dog’s ruff, and got dainty kisses for his good behavior, then a slap from Nikki’s front paw that knocked him over backward.

“Whoa!” he said, laughing, as she continued to mug him. To Nikki’s delight, he grabbed her neck on each side and wrestled with her. She tossed her head, mouth open, paw flailing.

Gemma looked over at them. “She likes you.”

“I’m really glad,” he said, rubbing his arm where Nikki had pawed him. “She’s strong.”

“She’s a clown.”

Nikki rolled onto her back, asking for a belly-scratch. Brady complied.

“Still,” Gemma said, “she looks fierce, and she can be. Problem is, she doesn’t have a very high opinion of people’s judgment. Unless someone was doing something that
she
saw as a threat, they could probably walk right up to her and tie her up, or shove her in a closet. Or worse.”

Brady rose from the floor and stared straight into her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me, Gemma?”

She turned away, a brief retreat.

“And don’t try to distract me with dog stories. What else do I need to know?”

“It’s stupid. I just feel so—violated, I guess.”

He lifted his head, but before he could say anything, she went on.

“What if it wasn’t an intruder? What if it’s Ned?”

“It can’t be Ned.”

“It could be,” she insisted.

“Gemma, he’s dead. He was cut to pieces. Yeah, there was enough for a positive—
oh, shit.
”

Her face had lost all color, and her eyes went out of focus. Brady grabbed her arm and helped her back onto the stool, and then pushed her head down to her knees. “I’m sorry. Mike didn’t tell you. I didn’t realize—sorry,” he said again. He reached for her cup and was relieved to see there was still an inch or so of the strong tea left. “Have a sip—it’ll help.” He opened the refrigerator and broke a lump off the piece of ginger on the top shelf. “Here,” he told her, peeling it rapidly with his fingernails, “put this in your mouth. Christ, you’re white as a ghost yourself.”

“Damned Irish skin,” she mumbled. “It shows everything.” She sat up slowly and put a cautious hand to her head.

Her color was still bad, but her eyes at least had snapped back into focus. “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t here,” she said, pushing the hunk of ginger out with her tongue. “The Departed used to visit my Grandmother Eileen from time to time.”

He looked her squarely in the eye. “It was an intruder, Gemma, someone flesh-and-blood. I promise.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“Besides,” he said, grasping for something to reassure her, “a ghost wouldn’t need a password to access information. The energy should interface without any barriers.” He didn’t know much about ghosts, but thought that sounded authoritative enough to work until she was calmer. The Ghost Talker on their Team had said something similar once. Tom Long Time Sleeping and his dead relatives used to handle short-range intel during ops. Having invisible eyes on the immediate area had saved their butts more than once.

Mike had been a terrific communications coordinator for their unorthodox and über-secret Team of
gifted
specialists. From Brady’s observations, extra abilities tended to run in families. So maybe Gemma communicated with spirits. Didn’t sound like it, though. And he was pretty sure this wasn’t the best time to bring it up.

“Those downloads must be just about finished. I’m going to go have a look. Is it okay if I take my tea with me?” he asked as he started toward the stairs with the dog at his heels.

Chapter Five

Gemma put the dishes in the sink and wandered into the living room, ready to plunge back into the task of sorting and packing. Someone had been in her house. A stranger had come here while she slept at Mike’s, and gone through her files. Her journals were in there. Her private thoughts, private records. All her business files—not that anyone would care enough about the arcana of grants management to break into her damned house for them.

Her mind refused to deal with any of it. She looked over the half-packed shelves and sighed. The CDs had been the easy part: nothing to wrap, nothing to fold.
Let’s get it over with
. Soft sunlight glowed through the sheer curtains in the front window, so she dragged a short stack of empty boxes over nearer the square of sunshine and began filling them with books and odds and ends from the shelves, cushioning the fragile pieces in bubble wrap and blank newsprint.

She tried not to think about the things in front of her. Too many memories, too much anger.

She smiled with relief when she saw Ned’s partner heading up the walkway, stonily ignoring two pursuing reporters. Anything for a distraction on a day like this.

She met him at the door. “Doug! I didn’t expect you to come by. Come in for a minute. There’s no need to stand out in the sun.” She shut the door against the inquisitive eyes of the press and led the way into the living room.

Doug stopped at the threshold and swept her into a brief hug. She stiffened in surprise and he released her, taking a step backward. “I came to see if you were all right, if there was anything I can do. God, Gemma. Since you called last night, my phone hasn’t stopped ringing.”

“It’s not because I called,” she said, her tone sharper than she’d planned. But it sounded almost as if he was blaming her for the intrusions on his time. “I didn’t want you to find out the way I did, with police banging on your door.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through something like that. It must have been awful for you. How are you holding up?”

She took a long breath. “Okay, so far. At first the cops seemed suspicious. But after my interview this morning—”

“Interview? Gemma, why didn’t you call me? You shouldn’t have talked to them without an attorney.”

He may have been stressed and grieving, but so was she, and his patronizing tone ran down her spine like nails on a chalkboard. “My brother is an attorney. Or had you forgotten?” She watched him struggle with that one. Ned had never even tried to hide his contempt of Mike’s legal qualifications, and Doug had only been a bit more circumspect. Editor of the
Law Review
at UC San Diego didn’t meet their lofty standards as middle-of-the-class graduates of Yale Law. Ned never passed up an opportunity to sneer at “Sea Lawyers.” Doug had always been more polite, but from time to time he’d made his feelings of innate superiority clear enough.

His lips compressed. “You’re packing?”

She shrugged. “Just some of Ned’s stuff that he hadn’t moved yet. I’m not sure what to do with it, under the circumstances.”

“You probably shouldn’t make any decisions right now, Gemma.”

“It’s not as if I just decided. I told you weeks ago I was going to sell the house as soon as Ned filled out the paperwork for the property settlement.”

“I thought you were just reacting to the divorce. This is a terrible time to be selling. You stand to lose quite a bit in this market.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want this place. And I don’t want that stuff, either.”

He took in the masks and hangings from the walls, and pointed to a little stone fetish sitting on a nearly empty shelf. “You’re not tossing that?”

“Would you like it? I think it’s hideous.” There, she’d finally said it. What Ned had seen in the stone doll with its distended lips, bug-eyes and engorged phallus was beyond her comprehension.

“I’ve always liked that piece.” Doug smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re free to take any of this you want. I’m getting rid of all the Sub-Saharan stuff. And everything orange.”

“Political statement?” he asked with a light laugh. “
Erin go bragh
, and all that?”

“Nope. Just not my color. Ned knew that, so he went out of his way to—never mind.” Tears rose, and one spilled over. “It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” So why couldn’t she stop crying? Gemma thought she had used up all her tears in an hour-long crying jag just before dawn. She’d have sworn she was past crying for that sorry s.o.b., but obviously, she’d been wrong.

Doug held her gaze for a beat, then turned back to a woven wall hanging. “You know, some of these things are quite valuable.”

“Really?” She sniffed. “That’s hard to get my mind around. I can’t believe anyone but Ned would pay money for them.”

“Tell you what. I’ll take these, look through them, and give you a fair price for the things I keep. I don’t think you know how much money we’re talking about.”

She cocked her head a little to one side and sniffled again. “How much?”

“Several thousand dollars, at least. Some of the wall hangings may be worth considerably more. What I don’t keep I’ll find a broker for. Fair enough?”

“I was going to send them to St. Vincent de Paul, so that would be great.”

“I’m surprised Ned left them here when he moved out.”

“He said it was only until he could arrange proper display space, but I think he was just marking territory.”

Doug looked down at the statue in his hand. “I knew you and Ned were having problems, but I didn’t know you disliked him so much.”

“I’m only coming to realize it myself.” She sat abruptly on the arm of the leather chair. “I am sorry, though. I shouldn’t be dumping all my emotional garbage on you.”

“Gemma,” he said his voice soft and intimate. “There’s no need to apologize. You’re going to need to talk to someone, sooner or later. This isn’t the kind of thing anyone should have to go through all alone. I just want you to know I’m there for you.” He stared at her intently, and then looked away, as if he were thinking or remembering. “This has to be about the worst time for you I can imagine. I wish you’d let me help. You know I care—cared—about you and Ned. Tell me what I can do. Please.”

His voice was soothing. The muted light coming through the window glowed gold off sun-streaks in his razor-cut dark-blond hair, and darkened his gray eyes to misty blue.
So handsome
, she thought, touched by his unusual hesitation. She had never seen him at a loss.

Over the last few months he’d made it clear he was interested in more than just friendship. Life would be so much easier if she could only feel the same way about him. But she didn’t, and in her present state of overload, she couldn’t think of anything to say.

He took a short breath and brushed his blond forelock to one side. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked again. “I’d be glad to talk to Ned’s attorney and get all the divorce details cleared up.”

“Mike will deal with all that.” She’d done it again. She hadn’t meant to snap at him this time, either. “Sorry. I’m just on edge. I really am sorry, Doug. I’ve got to make funeral arrangements first—I don’t know when they’ll release the body.”

“Let me take care of it, Gemma. Ned left instructions with me.”

“He did?”

“Some time ago,” he said with a sad little smile. “He didn’t want you to have to deal with all of it, if anything ever happened to him. I’m pretty sure he was thinking more in terms of a traffic accident, after his last DUI. Certainly nothing like this. In any case, he just wanted a memorial service, so that can be any time you decide on.”

“I don’t know what I can afford.”

Doug laughed. “Ned gave me a big retainer. That’ll more than cover it.”

“Where did he get the money for a retainer? Retainer for what?”

“For being his financial manager. Yours, too.”

Her stomach twisted. “You’re not serious?” She looked hard at him, but his expression was nearly as surprised as she knew her own must have been. “You are serious. My God.”

“Ned’s salary and bonuses from the law firm were in the high-six figures every year, and your portfolio has been growing nicely. And there’s plenty of insurance, as well—that will be yours as soon as the investigation clears you. Gemma, I don’t know why he didn’t tell you, but you’re not going to be hurting for money. Believe me.”

She stared at him, unable to take it in. “Well, that tears it. I’ve been worried sick about money for months—Ned always said we were running on the edge, that with his Porsche and the house, there was barely enough to pay the utilities. I should have known better.” She pressed both hands against the sides of her head and exhaled sharply to ease the rage that flashed through her. “You know, I thought I was as pissed off as I could get. But I’m finding new depths it seems like, every day.”

“I knew you weren’t happy, but I was totally floored when Ned told me you were filing for divorce. I didn’t realize things were that bad.”

“I’d just had enough.” She flicked a glance at him, then stared into the distance. “It’s not important now.”

He looked surprised. “Sorry,” she added. “That was rude. We were just too different—we had too little in common. I should never have married him.” Doug’s intensity was making her nervous, and she looked away.

He made a tentative move toward the door. “Look, I’ll stop by tomorrow. Will you be here?”

“Probably. Probably still packing, at the rate I’m going, but it keeps my mind busy.” Suddenly she was tired of talking about Ned and divorce and death. “Is all this going to hurt your campaign?”

“No. I don’t think so. It may take a while to find a campaign manager as good as Ned, but I’ll be all right. The publicity and the sympathy factor might even help. How’s that for a comment on twisted values?”

“Let me help you with that stuff,” she offered, gathering up an armful of folded fabric art. “I need the exercise, or I’m going to start smashing things.”

“Gemma.” He paused. “Would you like to go somewhere for dinner?”

The idea made her twitchy. “Thanks, Doug, but I just want to veg.”

“Just a friendly gesture,” he said with a light shrug. “I didn’t want you to have to cook, but you know best what you need right now. Don’t worry about it.”

Guilt nipped at her. She could see he was making an effort not to let his disappointment show. “Maybe tomorrow,” she said.

He reached to touch her hand, but jerked back at the sound of footsteps on the staircase.

Brady stalked into the room, Nikki at his side. He looked at the two of them, then his eyes lasered on Doug and turned to brown flint.

Gemma blinked. Brady looked cold, even dangerous. What had happened to the smiling, funny guy Nikki had knocked over? She swallowed and shifted a little closer to Doug, who seemed comfortable and familiar by comparison.

“Doug Wheeler, this is Brady—” she blushed, realizing she’d lost Brady’s last name in a stress-induced brain cramp.

“Braden McGrath,” he finished for her, his expression now politely bland. “Of course I know you, Mr. Wheeler. You’re the senior partner at Wheeler, Epstein and Carrow. And maybe a candidate for AG next election.”

Doug put down the box he was holding. As the two men shook hands Gemma could see forearms flexing. She was halfway surprised she couldn’t see ice crystals form in the air between them. “Doug came by to make sure I’m all right,” she said.

“Don’t mind me,” Brady said. “I’m just here to do a home inspection.” He made it sound like a quick throwaway and eased back a fraction of an inch.

“I know most of the building inspectors and major contractors on the Eastside,” Doug said. “I’ve never heard of you.”

“If you had, it would mean I screwed up.”

It was clear Doug didn’t get the reference, and Gemma looked away, embarrassed. There was no reason Doug should be familiar with SEAL taglines, but it just emphasized the gulf between his life and hers.

Doug gave a short, puzzled laugh. “Look, I’d better take off.” He turned to Gemma and took the load out of her arms, piling it on top of the box. “Will you be all right, Gemma?”

The softer, possessive tone of his voice irritated her, and all at once she felt more than fed up with posturing males and wanted them both gone. “I’ll be fine,” she said, as pressure built around her chest. What would she do if they started to fight? Doug wouldn’t have a chance against this feral stranger.
Feral? Where did that come from? Too bad, it freaking fits.
“I’m okay,” she said, trying to defuse the tension. “I’ll be fine. Doug. Thanks for stopping by. And I’m looking forward to dinner tomorrow,” she added, deliberately not looking at Brady.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Doug announced. “McGrath,” he added with something like his usual self-satisfaction.

Brady’s smile was amused, challenging. “Nice to meet you, counselor.”

* * *

That was interesting.
Brady watched Gemma walk Doug to the entryway.

She slammed the door and turned on him. “What was that all about?”

He was still standing on the balls of his feet, glaring at the door. He shifted his gaze to her, and saw her shiver.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she raged at him. “Doug is a friend.” She crossed her arms. “He’s a good friend. And I don’t appreciate your coming into my house and spraying testosterone all over my guests—”

Brady felt his own temper rising. It was hard enough to bank down the instant dislike he’d felt for Doug. And for his perfect blond hair and upper-class diction. And that wasn’t even talking about the guy’s perfect teeth, cleft chin and square, manly jaw.

Damn
. The situation didn’t call for this strong a reaction. As much as it stung, he could admit—to himself, at least—he wanted Doug to be a bad guy because he was raging jealous. He hadn’t realized there was another man in the picture. Gemma hadn’t behaved as if—

Back to the basics, McGrath. Observe, investigate, assess
. He’d been jumping too many steps. Gemma had to be stressed nearly to breaking, and he was surprised by a sudden overwhelming need to protect her. She’d probably hand him his hide if he tried.
She looks as if she’s about to burst into flames. I bet if I touched her—don’t go there
. His traitor body stirred at the thought.