Asking for Trouble (4 page)

“They do have their purposes.” Judging by the acrimony in his voice, it seemed Gage wasn't quite sure what those purposes might be. “I don't think you've stopped for two seconds since we walked in the door.”

“Can't stop.” But that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the moment, or the fact that for once a man hadn't looked through her to focus on her sister. She rested her cheek against his chest, closed her eyes, and memorized every moment. “Too much to do.”

She felt the chuckle rumble through his chest and smiled. He smelled head-spinningly divine—sandalwood with a hint of lemon. His arms made her feel as if he could shield her from the world's wrongs by holding her forever.

“You do know I'll be humiliated if you fall asleep on me.”

“Noted.” And for the next countless moments, Morgan let herself drift on the serenity that was Gage Juliano and an orchestra of comfort.

“Morgan?” Gage murmured she had no idea how much later.

“Hmmm?”

“I think your brother's trying to get your attention.”

“What?” Morgan's eyes snapped open. “Where?” She turned around, saw Nathan motioning to them. “Oh.” That expression on his face wasn't good. “I was wondering where he'd gotten to. Do you mind?”

“Yes, but lead the way.” When Morgan stepped away from him, Gage captured her hand. Unsettled by the unfamiliar and caring gesture, once again Morgan was pushed off-balance. Tugging free would be rude, so she shifted her hand and held on, maneuvering through the gathering crowd awaiting the announcement of the evening's final tally. What was it about this man that put her on edge? She hadn't wobbled this much since she'd learned to walk.

She found Nathan and her father along with Sheila in their father's study. She inhaled the trace of tobacco lingering from the cigars he used to hide from her mother, the welcoming warmth of polished wood, and old books and family mementoes.

“I'll wait outside,” Gage said as she joined her family.

“Please,” Jackson motioned him inside. “Join us. Close the door. Nathan, I believe the two of you met earlier this evening.”

“Nice to see you again, Inspector,” Nathan welcomed him. “You handled that arrogant ass Van Keltin perfectly. Sure you're not interested in running for office?”

“I'd sooner set myself on fire.”

Jackson nodded approvingly. “Morgan, we thought you'd want to know as soon as possible.”

Morgan glanced at her father and, having seen that stricken look on his face before, Morgan felt her face go cold.

“Someone's dead.” She stumbled and found Gage right behind her, steadying her. “Where's my phone? Did I miss a call? One of the kids—oh, God. Is it Lydia?” Her heart lurched as if she'd leaned over the edge of a thirty-story building.

“Oh, honey, no.” Sheila handed Morgan's purse to her as Morgan fumbled to open it. “Your scheduling alarms have gone off, but no calls. I double-checked.”

“Kids?” Gage asked.

“Um, four of them. I sponsor a group home for sick foster children,” Morgan said.

“Of course you do,” Gage murmured.

Morgan checked her phone. Sheila was right. No messages from the Fiorellis. Plenty of others though. Didn't anyone ever sleep? “I don't understand,” Morgan looked to her father. “If it's not the kids—”

“It's Ralph Emerson.” And then to Gage, “The foundation's accountant.”

“Ralph?” Morgan echoed, relief and terror striking in equal measure even as she almost dropped her phone. He'd been with them from the start. Her mother's right hand. Ralph was the only person who could help Morgan fix what she'd done. “What happened?”

“Heart attack,” Nathan said. “He and his wife were traveling in England. She called the office late this afternoon.”

“Contact our office in London,” Jackson instructed. “And make sure Edith knows we'll handle all the arrangements,” Jackson said. “I don't want her to have to worry about a thing.”

“Already done,” Nathan said. “She's having him cremated there, wants to scatter his ashes before she comes home.”

Morgan barely heard the words due to the buzzing in her ears. Her chest tightened, her hands trembled. Ralph was a friend, a confidant. She couldn't have stepped into Catherine's position without his support and guidance. His protection.

“We'll hold a memorial service when she's ready,” Jackson said.

“Of course,” Sheila said. “I'll take care of it. Morgan?”

“I'm fine.” Aware that all eyes were on her, she swallowed the panic winding through her body.

It was Ralph who'd paved the way for her to make the deposits, to replenish the money she'd siphoned from the off-limits property payment account into the operating fund. It was Ralph who kept on top of how much she needed to fill in the hole she'd created—a hole that was currently at over two hundred thousand and counting. Money that, until recently, she'd been able to repay in doses thanks to Nemesis' “gifts.” Even if she had been inclined to go to her father for help, Ralph had let slip the fact that her family's cash status had been glutted with Jackson's recent office building renovation.

She wouldn't put the stress of her mistakes on her father's shoulders even in the best of circumstances, and certainly not when he was still reeling from her mother's death, and now Ralph's.

“W-we should send flowers, once she's home,” Morgan managed.

“Elliot Dunbar is going to take over the foundation's account,” Jackson told her. “I've already been in contact with him. I'll have Corrine set up an appointment so the two of you can get things on track.”

Morgan nodded. Was it cold in here? Oh, God. A new accountant. He'd want to see the books. The accounts. She'd have to triple-check the figures, make sure everything added up. She'd have to make sure she gave Elliot the right set of books. Her mind spun like an unmanned Ferris wheel.

Tonight was her last chance. They must have raised enough money to fill the gap.

A knock sounded on the door. “Mr. Tremayne.” One of the waiters poked his head in. “They're finished with the count and ready for you to make the announcement.”

“Morgan, are you up to it?” Jackson asked.

“Ah.” Morgan couldn't seem to shake the feeling of doom barreling down on her. She looked to her sister, recalled their earlier conversation, and for once, surrendered. “Shelia, would you mind?”

Understanding and gratitude shone on her sister's face. Sheila nodded, took Morgan's hand, and gave it a hard squeeze. “I'd be happy to.”

“Are you sure you're okay?” Gage asked as Morgan walked dazedly behind her sister, stopping to lean against the wall beside the main staircase.

“Yeah.” She pressed a hand against her chest. “He was such a good man. It makes my heart hurt.” All the good he'd done, the chances he'd taken to protect her, and now—now she'd have to do what she could to protect Ralph. It was the least she owed him.

Gage stood behind her, his presence both nerve-wracking and comforting.

“Okay, here we go. Almost done, Morgan.” Nathan patted her shoulder as he passed by, and Jackson took a place beside her.

Sheila stepped onto the piano platform in the music room just off the main hallway.

Sheila looked so much like their mother it was as if an arrow struck Morgan in the heart. Her father's hand closed around hers, as if he saw it too.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Sheila announced. “On behalf of the Tremayne family and the foundation started by my late mother, Catherine, we can't thank you enough for your attendance and generosity this evening. We hope this is only the beginning as we bring the final stages of the Pediatric Cancer Treatment Center to fruition.” She opened the folded piece of paper in her hands and smiled. “I'm pleased to announce that tonight's event has raised a record breaking one million, one hundred forty-three thousand dollars. Thank you to everyone who participated.”

Sheila's voice was drowned by the white noise erupting in Morgan's mind. Her head went light, as if she'd stepped out of a plane in midflight. She closed her eyes, let herself fall even as she plastered the practiced smile of happiness on her face and forced herself to breathe.

Over a million dollars and it still wasn't enough.

Morgan felt like a fish on the end of a hook. The more she squirmed to survive, the less she could breathe. She inhaled in between handshakes and congratulations and thank-yous as the evening came to a close.

God. Her problems were multiplying exponentially the closer she got to the payment date. The money was there, on paper, but the second Morgan tried to pay off the property purchase for the center in five weeks, the check would bounce so high the International Space Station would spot it.

Morgan gnawed on her lower lip. Her hope not to have to use the last of the money Nemesis had left for her had just been blown into the afterlife. Dammit! With the new task force focusing on Nemesis, and with Gage overseeing the case, she was in big trouble.

Gage. Her mouth went as dry as Death Valley. She had to get away from him. Just a quick good-bye and then put one foot in front of the other.

“Looks like you could use a boost.”

The stunned buzzing in Morgan's ears faded under the timbre of Gage's voice. She took the china plate he offered, her lips twitching at his thoughtfulness.

Not even chocolate-covered strawberries could ease the hollow pang clanging inside her. “I'm surprised there are any left.” She managed a light laugh, grateful the crowd was thinning as obligations had been met and partygoers headed home to their blissfully uncomplicated lives while Morgan worked to find a way, any way, to stop the foundation from hemorrhaging.

Her mother's life's work, her family's legacy, depended on it.

Morgan couldn't be sure if her stomach was churning around too little food, too much champagne, or the nauseating combination of guilt and fear. She opted for the former and bit into a strawberry, the snap of dark chocolate cutting through the dread pooling in her chest. The sweetness of the plump berry exploded on her tongue, and for an instant, all was right in the world. A trickle of juice escaped the side of her mouth and she caught it with the tip of her finger. Gage's eyes darkened and locked on her lips. She swallowed, no longer tasting the fruit. The potent desire on Gage's face shook her resolve to walk away. But she didn't have a choice. Not if her life was going to stay intact.

“I'm afraid it's time to call it a night.” Would she ever again be able to eat a strawberry and not remember that look on Gage's face? She set the remainder of the berries on a nearby table and picked up her clutch. “I have a full day ahead tomorrow. Thank you for a lovely evening, Gage.” She couldn't have sounded more polite and dismissive if she'd walked off the pages of Miss Manners.

“Morgan, wait.” Gage caught her arm as she turned to go. “You forgot something.”

She should have known he wasn't going to make her getaway easy. “What?” More attitude than she intended slipped out. When she faced him again, she found him holding her shoes by the straps, an amused glimmer in his eye.

“Oh.” The silent
ugh
that echoed in her mind didn't escape his notice and he grinned. “Thank you.” Her feet had swelled too much in the last hour for her to even hope to get them on again. She reached for them, but he snatched them away, offering his arm instead.

“I'll walk you to your car.”

Unable to think of a polite way to decline, she smiled and headed over to bid good night to her father.

“You did a beautiful job tonight, Morgan.” Her father squeezed her arms and kissed her forehead.

Morgan's heart twisted. If only she could confide in him, to ask him for help, but she couldn't bear the thought of disappointing him. Or showing him the mess she'd made of what Catherine had so meticulously built.

“Tonight was Sheila's doing.” But Morgan appreciated the sentiment.

“Gage, good to meet you. Please do call my office for that appointment. Anything my firm can do to put a stop to Nemesis' prowling, we're happy to do. Thank you for looking out for Morgan this evening.”

“I think she looked out for me, actually, but anytime.” Gage shook Jackson's hand. “I'll make sure Evan knows he missed a memorable party.”

“Say good night to Nathan and Sheila for me, would you?” Morgan tapped her phone. “I have some emails I need to return before I can even think of sleep.” She saw the concern rise in her father's eyes like the evening tide, slow, predictable, but he refrained from reminding her yet again that there was more to life than work. Instead, he nodded, sending her on her way.

The cool night air swept over her, a christening of sorts, resetting her priorities, solidifying her resolve. One day at a time. One minute at a time.

The solution was there. She just had to find it.

Slamming car doors and rumbling engines accompanied them up the walk and across the street, the glare of headlights casting scraggly shadows as cars passed and drove out of sight. Morgan shifted her attention to bidding Gage good-bye.

“This was nice,” Morgan told him as she removed her arm from his to get her keys out.
Nice?
Had her vocabulary been stunted in the last ten minutes? Nervous laughter bubbled out of her chest. “I hope your foray into our part of town—” She turned and found him close. Too close.

Her entire body went hot, as if his nearness flipped her internal temperature to high. Her face flushed, her skin tingled, and whatever air she had in her lungs evaporated as his hand cupped her cheek.

Morgan could only blink in time to the SOS stuttering her heart. This was so wrong for so many reasons, and yet . . .

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and she couldn't help but smile as his jaw tensed, his eyes pinned to her mouth as if he couldn't wait to taste her.

“Gage,” she whispered, nuzzling the hand that stroked her face. She closed her eyes, longed to lose herself. “I don't think—”

“Don't think,” he whispered as she opened her eyes. He dipped his head, brushing his mouth so feather-light against hers she couldn't help but lean in for more. She braced her hand against his chest, felt the beat of his heart, more intoxicating than the champagne she'd drunk.

“I've wanted to do this all night.” His lips skimmed hers, teasing until she whimpered. Her fingers curled into his shirt, gripping the fabric, wanting to push him away, needing to pull him closer.

She turned her head, trying to ignore the thrill the brush of his lips against her cheek sent racing through her. It would be so easy to give in.

“I have to go,” she managed, hating the fact that there was nothing she could do except run. “Good-bye, Gage.”

“Morgan,” he whispered, the confusion in his eyes glimmering in the glow of the streetlamp above them. But when he moved toward her again, Morgan stepped away and pressed her lips together as if that alone could stop the regret stabbing her in the heart. “Don't go.”

“I have to.” She couldn't take the chance. Not with everything she had at stake. “I'm not good for you, Gage. It just wouldn't work.”

She got into the car and closed the door. As she shifted into drive, she saw Gage move forward, but refused to look at him. She kept her too-dry eyes pinned on the dark road ahead and drove off into the night. Alone.

***

Darkness swallowed the car.

Gage watched her car's taillights vanish down the hill.

What just happened? Gage's mind cleared as doubt crept in. Had he done something wrong? Moved too fast? Said something to offend her? Or was he overreacting, unable to take the hit to his male ego? Maybe she just wasn't interested. Not good for him? Who was she kidding?

No. There was something there. He'd felt it and there wasn't a chance she hadn't. But it had scared the hell out of her. The question was why.

A horn blared behind him and Gage jumped to the side of the road. When he lost his footing he looked down at her shoes, entwined in much the way he'd hoped to be with Morgan tonight. For the second time that night, he scooped them up, unknotting his tie as he walked backward to his car. It wasn't until he unlocked the door that he found the white envelope wedged into the seam along the driver-side window.

He tugged it free, pulled out the white floral-sized insert card with a solitary embossed gold
N
in the center. He turned it over.

Hope you enjoyed the party.

He swore, scanning the street even though he knew he wouldn't find anyone. His hand itched to crush the note.
Evidence.
His own personal Nemesis note, though. He must be making someone nervous. He slipped the note inside its envelope and tucked it into his pocket before tossing Morgan's shoes onto the passenger seat.

Finding and stopping Nemesis was what was important, the only thing that mattered. But as he glanced at the tangled shoes, he wondered if there shouldn't be more.

***

“Thank you, coffee gods.” Morgan stumbled in the back door of the Fiorelli kitchen and dive-bombed the freshly brewed pot.

As exhausted as she'd been after the party last night, she'd lain awake for hours trying to find a way—any way—out from under the pile of mistakes she'd made. She was feeling as worn and tattered as the cutoff shorts and ratty T-shirt she'd tugged on moments ago. No sooner had she taken her first hit of caffeine than the doorbell chimed, followed immediately by an odd clunk. She dropped her head back.

Repair number two hundred eleven: fix the doorbell. That would go on the list somewhere between repairing the loose floor planks on the porch and replacing the moldings around the front windows. “Oh, Granny.” Morgan stared heavenward. “I know you always wanted me to stretch myself, but we both know I was never meant to be thin.”

Footsteps pounded down the stairs toward the front door. A warning to the kids not to run almost slipped from Morgan's lips, but the sound of active children lightened her heart. Sick or not, kids came with their own special power supply. Who was Morgan to switch it off?

“Morgan! It's Oscar with our delivery.”

Morgan joined Brandon and Kelley at the front door, a smile curving her lips as she watched the twenty-something deliveryman bend down in front of Kelley.

“Your majesty.” Oscar bowed his head as Kelley curtseyed in her bright pink princess dress, her small hand keeping her precariously perched tiara in place on her bald head. “As always, I am at your service.”

Kelley giggled, beaming up at Morgan as Morgan signed for the monthly package from the medical clinic. “Thanks, Oscar. Appreciate you bringing this out on a weekend.”

Kelley and Brandon pushed the box along the floor and disappeared into the kitchen.

“She's looking better.” Oscar's voice carried a familiar trace of surprise. “When will she be clear?”

“A while yet. One day at a time, right?” Morgan's insides felt as if a swarm of bees had taken up permanent residence, buzzing to life whenever worry took hold. Should be easy enough to shut down—worrying didn't do anyone any good, especially the kids—but these days she couldn't turn it off.

“One day at a time.” Oscar grinned. “See you next month.”

Morgan closed the door and joined the kids in the kitchen. “What's Lydia up to?”

“She's working on a secret project,” Brandon said as Kelley climbed onto a stool and Morgan hefted the box onto the counter.

“I'm sure she'll be out soon. Shit.” Morgan sliced her thumb with the scissors she'd been using to open the box.

“Dollar,” Brandon announced, and bolted to retrieve the glass Mason jar off the counter near the pantry.

Morgan pinched her lips together. Damn. This no-swearing policy she'd instituted to stop the kids from cursing had bitten her in the butt. Not to mention it was costing her a fortune. The sad thing was she had learned to keep cash on her person at all times—like today, when she'd left her purse in her apartment behind the main house.

As she handed over the dollar and Kelley and Brandon worked to stash it with the rest of the foul-mouthed cash stash, Morgan pocketed the medication invoice she knew Nico and Angela would fret over. Meds were expensive for one child. Meds for four seriously ill kids were ridiculous.

Morgan couldn't bring herself to look at the amount due. So far her personal finances kept her hovering above disaster, thanks to investments her father had made for her, but the way things were going, that wouldn't last.

The queen bee escaped and buzzed into her chest before Morgan squashed it with renewed determination. She'd find a way through this mess. She didn't have another choice.

Fighting the bitterness, she handed first Kelley and then Brandon their meds and they stashed them on their personal shelves in the far cabinet. She loathed these deliveries. She lived for the day when none of the kids needed more meds, but embracing the ritual had eased some of their fears over being sick. Making their lives as normal as possible, even while some of them faced a possible death sentence, was as important as the meds themselves. Positive attitudes. Hope. Normalcy. She'd seen the combination work miracles.

She'd also seen it fail.

Morgan pulled out a box of insulin and diabetic supplies and wrote the name
Drew
on the outside before setting them aside for when he got home.

“Why doesn't Drew like us?” Kelley dug her fingernails into the wood countertop. This wasn't the first time she'd voiced concern over the latest foster arrival.

“Drew doesn't like us?” Brandon's face reflected both shock and disappointment, and Morgan struggled for the right words.

“He likes
you
.” Kelley rolled her eyes with such exaggeration Morgan thought they might fall back in her head.

“He's only been here a month, sweetie. It takes some people a while to adjust to new surroundings,” Morgan said. “And I wouldn't say he doesn't like us. He just doesn't know us yet.” Morgan wasn't about to admit that Kelley had given voice to yet another concern gnawing at Morgan.