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  She grinned, shifted in her chair, recrossed her legs. “Well, Paul Corcoran’s dad is, like, this Vaughn Corcoran guy. You musta heard of him.”

  Who hadn’t? Vaughn Corcoran was one of the West Coast’s wealthiest businessmen, had fingers in every pie worth tasting, oversaw a huge conglomerate out of the priciest offices in San Francisco, and if word on the street was right, had his eye on making a run for governor. He was a ruthless businessman who had a reputation for always getting what he wanted. Always.

  Ethan nodded slowly as the puzzle pieces started clicking into place. There weren’t enough of them yet to make a picture, but he was getting there.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of him,” he said. “So Vaughn Corcoran is Georgie’s ex-boyfriend’s father. How would dumping Paul get her fired?”

  Iona sucked in her lower lip and gave Ethan the once-over. “You know, you’re hot. I mean, under that button-down look you’ve got going. A little eyeliner, maybe a studded collar—”

  “I left them at home. How would Georgie’s relationship with Corcoran get her fired?”

  She shrugged, rolled her eyes, and sighed. “Okay, Mr. Dick. Your loss. It’s like this…’cause way, way up the food chain, I mean, like, way, way up the food chain, Vaughn Corcoran is sort of our boss.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, he, like, owns KALM. Didn’t anybody tell you that?”

  Chapter Eight

  If you eat food prepared by an upset or unhappy person, it will taste bad, and you may even get sick. More importantly, the chi of your stove corresponds to the quality of your relationship, and the degree of harmony you experience. Yes, your stove! For best results, position it where you can see the door, and who’s approaching. And for the best chi, make sure your stove is clean!

  Georgiana Mundy’s Feng Shui for Lovers

  Without so much as a courtesy knock, her dressing room door swung open, revealing what appeared to be a very irritated Ethan Darling. She swiveled in her seat, presenting him with a dry look. “Crawl out on the wrong side of the cave this morning, Conan?”

  His jaw seemed glued shut as he grabbed her arm, yanked her to her feet, and marched her down the hall toward Ozzie’s office.

  “Oh, I know why you’re so pissy this morning.” She lengthened her step to keep up with him. “Pissy is the right word, isn’t it, Detective? Because somebody recently referred to me that way, and while it didn’t fit me at all, I think it describes you perfectly.”

  When he still didn’t respond, she said, “If this is about somebody writing Ethan Darling wears girls’ pan ties on the bathroom mirror, I can neither confirm nor deny—”

  Her tirade was cut short when Ethan shoved open the door to Ozzie’s office, slamming it shut behind them.

  At his desk, Ozzie jumped to his feet, a look of dismay on his face.

  Ethan shot a look at Ozzie, then at Georgie, and back to Ozzie again. “Is there some reason why neither of you felt it necessary to mention that Vaughn Corcoran owns this television station?” With a jerk of his chin, he indicated Georgie. “You. Speak.”

  She crossed her arms under her breasts. “Woof.”

  “Elaborate,” he snapped. “And it better be good.”

  “I can’t imagine why you’d be so worked up over this,” she lied. “It’s hardly important.”

  For a heartbeat, he simply watched her, then shifted his attention to Ozzie. “Tell me you didn’t think it was important, either.”

  Poor Oz shook his head enthusiastically, dislodging his glasses from his nose. His cheeks flushed. “Well, uh, well, well, no. No, I didn’t, Ethan. Do you, uh, that is to say, do you think it’s important?”

  In a charcoal Hugo Boss suit, white silk shirt, and pearl-gray tie, Ethan looked powerful…and dangerous. If she were some kind of criminal he was interrogating, she’d be nervous as hell.

  All right. She was nervous as hell anyway.

  Their eyes met, and she felt her lower limbs go numb. In spite of how they were glaring at her now, he had the most beautiful eyes.

  He shoved back the edges of his jacket and thrust his hands into his pants pockets, flashing that hard gaze back and forth between her and Ozzie.

  Did this man never smile? Did nothing ever touch him, amuse him, make him laugh? Since she’d met him, he’d been serious, solemn, even when he’d kissed her, run his hands over her body. He hadn’t seemed to derive any plea sure from it. He must have an iron-encrusted conscience.

  Or he was very good at hiding his true feelings behind a mask. That was something she understood completely. If that were true, then they had something in common…

  “To answer your question, Mr. Horton,” he said with a tension in his voice that warned of an impending storm, “I think it might be damned important. Georgie had a relationship with Paul Corcoran that nearly ended in legal action. If the senior Corcoran is the kind of man to take issue with that kind of thing, he could have planted, bribed, or intimidated someone at the station to make trouble. It’s no secret he has lofty political goals for himself, maybe even for his kid. Georgie’s attempt at a restraining order could compromise those goals in the eyes of the voters, so maybe he wants to discredit her.”

  “If what you say is true,” Georgie granted, choosing her words carefully, “why didn’t he simply have me fired?”

  “Makes him look magnanimous, forgiving. His public image stays intact. But if the media dogs got hold of the fact KALM’s star tried to get an injunction against her former boyfriend, the son of the station’s owner, they’d never rest until they found out why you filed it. It’s amazing they missed it before, which makes me wonder just how many people Corcoran has in his pocket.”

  A lot, Georgie thought. The Corcorans had a lot of people in their very deep pockets, which was just one reason why she never trusted anyone. Not anyone.

  “Firing you would only make Corcoran look vindictive,” Ethan said. “Since the injunction was denied, he could twist that into a mark against you. Turns it into a he-said-she-said thing, with no proof of anything. And if the rest of your credibility were taken away, you come off looking like the vindictive one, and Corcoran Junior comes out smelling like a rose, his father’s reputation unmarred.”

  Ozzie nodded, scratched his chin. “Yes. Yes, yes, I could see that might happen. Yes, indeedy. Hmm.” He adjusted his glasses and looked up at Ethan. “Do you have any leads? Any idea who might be aiding Mr. Corcoran?”

  Blowing out a long breath, Ethan said, “No. Fifty people knew what Georgie was going to prepare that day, and fifty people all had access to the freezer. Fifty-one,” he said quietly, “counting you.”

  “Ha!” Ozzie blurted in obvious surprise. “That’s a good one, Ethan!” He laughed again, then his brows snapped together and he mumbled, “Oh, I see you’re serious. But, but, but I’m the one who hired you.”

  When Ethan said nothing, Ozzie removed his glasses from his nose, let them dangle from two fingers for a moment, then slipped them back on again. “I have to ask, do you have any proof Mr. Corcoran is behind this? I can’t believe a man of his stature—”

  “I didn’t say it was him,” Ethan corrected. “Only that it could be him. I’ve never met the man, but I remember hearing of his proclivities from when I was a detective. Some things happened, his name was bandied about, but nothing was ever proven. He’s got a rough reputation and high aspirations. Behind that polished public image, he’s a very dangerous man.”

  Ethan turned toward Georgie, standing so close she wanted to take a giant step back. But she stood her ground.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me about your relationship with Paul Corcoran? Anything beyond the restraining order that might make his father want to rattle your cage?” His glittering eyes stared deeply into hers, intimately, and she saw the message plainly. Trust me.

  Suddenly she wanted to. Oh, she wanted to confess everything. She was so tired of the games, the hiding, the worry, the constant vigilance. The urge to confide in Ethan, s
pill her guts, share the ordeal with him beckoned like a shelter from the storm. If she told him the truth, she might be able to relax a little. It would be so nice to have someone strong to lean on for a while.

  But there was too much at stake. If it had been just her, if it had been only about her…but there were others involved, people she loved with all her heart and all her soul, and she was their only shield, their only protection.

  Vaughn Corcoran did have a lot of people in his pockets; and maybe Ethan Darling was one of them. He’d zeroed in on Vaughn awfully fast. Either Ethan was every bit as brilliant as he seemed to be, or he had been put on her trail…ask the right questions, get the right answers.

  “Nope,” she choked, lowering her head. “Can’t think of a thing. Pretty cut-and-dried, so if that’s all, I have work to do.”

  As she scurried past him, her body brushed his shoulder, and she wished for one second, just one brief second, she could stop and lay her head against that broad shoulder. His arms would come around her and he’d pull her close. He’d rub her back with his wide, warm palm. She could sink into him and let it all go.

  She was so tired of being strong. Feeling like a victim one minute, a criminal the next, never knowing who to trust…God, it would be so nice to give it over to someone else for a while. If she did, maybe she could get her life back. She could close her eyes at night and dream sweet dreams once more.

  Swallowing a sigh, she straightened her spine, walked on by the stalwart shoulder Ethan had silently offered, and right on out the door.

  Betrayal. That was the name of the game, baby.

  Slumped over his desk at Paladin’s offices, Lucas Russell let his fingers slide across the covers of the two files sitting in front of him.

  He’d done a good job, and felt a sense of professional pride about it. This was just the kind of thoroughness and dedication that had made him Ethan’s top agent, earned him his boss’s trust—after a fashion. Yeah, in spite of his history, he was goddamned good at what he did. The data he’d gathered included everything Ethan had asked for, with a few surprises tossed in just to keep things interesting.

  But then, in his experience, there were always surprises. After all, that’s why people hired private investigators.

  He leaned back in his chair, shut his eyes, and ran his fingers through his hair, scratching the back of his skull out of force of habit, since it didn’t itch.

  It seemed, at this point anyway, he was the only one who knew where all the bodies were buried, so to speak, and now he had to decide what to do with that information.

  He’d been tasked to find out everything there was to know about Georgiana Mundy, her relationship with Paul Corcoran, and how Raine Preston and a Mrs. Beebes figured into the equation. And he had, in spades. Vaughn Corcoran would be very interested in what Lucas had turned up and would probably be willing to pay through the nose for it.

  Flipping open the file under his right hand, Lucas shuffled through the papers until he found them—the photos of Raine Preston. What a knockout. Golden hair, sexy mouth, hot body. Dressed in jeans and a white shirt, she stood facing the camera, unaware she was being photographed, simply going about her business at the grocery store. The snitch Lucas had paid to track and photograph her had zoomed in on her face, probably as captivated as Lucas was by her eyes.

  Summer-sky-blue. He’d always been a sucker for blue-eyed blondes, but this one beat out all the others.

  He stared into those eyes, seeing again what he’d seen the first time he’d looked at her pictures. Yeah, there it was. She had a sort of lost quality about her that brought out all his protective instincts—instincts he thought he’d traded for his soul a long time ago.

  Now that he knew so much about her, he understood why she seemed so damaged, and why he was faced with a decision he’d never in a million years thought he’d have to face.

  He cursed under his breath.

  The two files in front of him contained nearly identical data. One held information Corcoran would pay him a king’s ransom to have; the other, while equally informative, was somewhat…incomplete.

  Being a PI involved learning all kinds of stuff about all kinds of people, and then delivering that information to the party who’d hired you. It wasn’t up to Lucas to judge what he discovered, only to dig deep and come up with what the client wanted to know—or suspected anyway.

  Over the years, a man in Lucas’s line of work had to develop a certain let the chips fall where they may attitude. Pass along the information, then just walk away. Sometimes, what he discovered made him hate the subjects of his investigations; other times, he hated his clients. Regardless, he’d always done the job he was hired to do.

  The title of that old story popped into his brain…“The Lady or the Tiger?” Two options, his choice. Would he open the door on the lady, or would he end up being eaten alive? Which file did he give to Ethan, and which to Corcoran? Which man would he betray?

  Cursing again, he rose to his feet. His hand hovered over the files. Finally, he grabbed one and shoved it into a special zippered compartment in his briefcase. The other he simply tossed inside, then closed and locked it.

  Betrayal. Yeah, that was the name of the game, all right. Maybe he should feel bad for what he was about to do, but he didn’t. Perhaps too many years as a cop on the take had hardened him, shut him off from that little nagging voice in his head that had always tried to steer him straight, but that he’d occasionally ignored. Even so, he’d moved past the bad old days, or thought he had until Corcoran’s offer had stopped his good intentions cold.

  He checked his watch; the meet was in less than an hour. Time enough to take a leak, then hit the machine to grab a candy bar or a bag of chips, get to his car.

  Briefcase in hand, he headed for the door, still uncertain which file he would hand over. Corcoran’s payoff would set him up for life, allow him to retire, move back to the Midwest. His ex-wife had remarried, but it didn’t make that son of a bitch father to his boys. Lucas was their dad, and always would be.

  He thought about how the money would change everything. No more midnight surveillance, no more shitty assignments, people spying on each other. He would take his kids fishing and camping, and only work when he damn well felt like it.

  Yeah, money was a great thing. More money was even better.

  Pausing at the doorway, his hand on the light switch, he turned to face his empty desk, letting his eyes linger on the framed photo of his two boys. Grinning ear to ear, they looked out at him from their innocence. He missed them so much, he thought his heart would crack and splinter. And as he stood staring at his only two reasons for living, in that moment, he clenched his teeth and knew what he had to do.

  Even though the alarm clock made a pretty musical sound, Georgie was loath to hear it at six on a Thursday morning. Without opening her eyes, she sent her hand flailing at the nightstand until her fingers met with the offending gadget. Pressing the snooze button, she sank back down into her pillow and sighed in relief.

  Now, where was she? Oh, yes. She’d been dreaming, and it had been a damn fine one. Flinging her arm over her closed eyes to keep the early morning sunlight from penetrating her lids, she tried to pick up where the dream had left off. Ethan had unbuttoned her blouse and was trailing kisses down and down and down, until finally his tongue had reached her—

  “Judging from that smile on your face, I guess I’m missing something good.”

  At the sound of the man’s voice, Georgie’s eyes flew open as a jolt of panic seized her. Her brain emptied, and her blood felt as though it had been zapped with a cattle prod.

  He stood directly over her, his face only inches away. She gasped for air, trying to sit up as she blinked him into focus…

  “Paul! How…how did…what are…” Shock and terror stole her voice, leaving her with nothing but a strained choke.

  Immediately he slapped his palm over her mouth and shoved her back down in the bed. She tasted salt on her lips, smell
ed the coffee on his breath. With a muffled squeal, she doubled her fists and slammed them into his shoulders, wiggling and squirming against his weight, trying to throw him off. Though she aimed for his face, his arms were too long, turning her hits into frustrating misses.

  “Settle down, sugar tits,” he warned. “You’re getting me all excited.”

  She froze, glared into his eyes, her lungs pumping air in and out. Under his palm, she parted her lips farther, then bared her teeth and clamped down, biting the fleshy part of his hand until she was close to drawing blood.

  “Fuck!” he yelped, pulling his hand away. Examining it, he swore again.

  Taking advantage of the opportunity, she screamed with all her might, punching him in the neck with her fists until he grabbed her wrists, holding her arms on either side of her head as her legs kicked under the tangled blanket.

  “Shut up, you stupid bitch,” he snarled. “I’m not here to hurt you.” He smiled then, but it only contorted his handsome face into something pathetic and ugly. His blue eyes sparkled with menace. “Not because I couldn’t if I wanted to.”

  She stopped struggling, eyeing him with disgust. “Damn straight, you’re not going to hurt me,” she panted. “I’ll kill you if you do, you bastard.”

  His grin widened. “Ah. The old Georgie. That’s my girl.”

  “Get out!”

  Releasing her, he walked to the bedroom door. As she made a grab for the phone on the nightstand, he said lightly, “Relax. I’m leaving. Besides, I have witnesses that will place me clear across town, so you’d be wasting your time.” He stood in the threshold, arms crossed, his eyes narrowed on her. “I just wanted you to know that we know what you and your friend are up to, and if you go public, my father will see to it you and dear little Raine are put out of business permanently. Euphemistically speaking. Do I make myself clear?”

  Georgie sat up. In the struggle, her top had been torn, exposing her bare breasts to Paul’s view. Staring at him across the room as his leisurely gaze drifted to her chest, she made no effort to cover herself. Let him look, the prick. Besides, if he came back to the bed and made a move on her, she’d castrate the son of a bitch.