Armed With Steele (40 page)

“About what?”

She balled her hands into fists. “I…I can’t do much of anything by myself yet. Why the hell is it taking me so long to recuperate?”

“Grace, you just woke up! It’s going to take some time.”

“I know,” she said, tearing up, “but I want to go
home
. I want things to go back to the way they were.”

The floodgates opened. It broke my heart to see her cry. I reached into my bag and retrieved a few tissues—good thing I’d come prepared.

“Come on, now,” I said, handing her one. “Crying won’t get you anywhere. Where’s the Grace I know? The one who never lets life get her down? The one who wouldn’t leave home without looking like a million bucks because you never know what opportunity you might stumble into?”

She sniffled. “Ha. Yeah, look where the last opportunity got me.”

I smiled at her. “Well, silly, you’re not supposed to jump on
those
types of opportunities.” A grin peeked out from under her wet cheeks, and I knew the worst was over. “Now, how about we do something fun tonight. Something that doesn’t require us to be out, or home.”

“Like what?”

I pulled a mascara wand out of my bag. “How about a make-over party?”

By the way her entire face lit up, I knew we had a winner.

* * * *

“Wow, Grace, you look…amazing. Just like the old you.”

She reached up and ran a finger over her left brow. “Really? I’m sure these need some work.”

“Nah, you’re perfect just like that. So perfect, in fact, that I’d hate for just the two of us to see such a work of art.”

“Jessica Ann Hartley,” she said, eyes narrowed, “don’t even
tell
me you did all this just so I’d be presentable for a visitor.”

“Nah.” I waved a hand to dismiss her accusation. “I did this to cheer you up. It was just an added bonus that Nate was in the area and asked if he could stop on by.”

“What?
Now
?” If Grace’s legs had been fully functional, she’d have been out of that bed and running for the door. “Oh my God, look at me! And this awful…
gown
.”

“I’m sure you look about a million times better than the last time he saw you.”

“That may be true, but I still don’t think I want him to see me like this. Can’t you just tell him—”

“Hello?” Nate’s deep voice rang out from the doorway. Grace’s eyes widened to the size of large marshmallows.

“We’re in here!” I patted her hand, then stood to greet Nate. “Grace, I’d like you to meet Officer Nathan Steele. Nate, this is Grace. Awake.”

He extended his hand out to her. “Nice to finally meet you.”

It took Grace a second or two to stop gawking and take his hand. “Nice to meet you, too.” She looked over and gave me an approving look.

I winked back.

“I want to thank you, Officer—”

“Nate. I know I’m in uniform, but please, just call me Nate.”

A grin crept onto her face. “Alright, Nate, I want to thank you for…well, for finding me. And making sure I got to the hospital okay.”

“You don’t have to thank me, but you’re welcome.”

She studied his face for another moment. “Something tells me this visit wasn’t totally for pleasure.”

Nate looked over at me. “Boy, you weren’t kidding.”

Grace’s right eyebrow rose. “Meaning?”

“Meaning you’re very good at reading people,” I said with a chuckle.

She crossed her arms. “Uh-huh. Well you go ahead and ask me your questions, then I’ve got a few of my own for you.”

Nate’s jaw dropped open.

“What? Don’t think you can start dating my best friend without me knowing anything about you. And you sure as hell better be treating her right.”

A grin formed on his face as he pulled the black notepad from his belt. “Fair enough.”

They spent the next few minutes going over everything Grace could remember from that day. Which, as we’d expected, wasn’t much. When Nate paused to review his meager notes, I jumped in with a question I’d been dying to ask for weeks.

“Grace, you sent me a text as you were leaving work that day.” I dug my phone out and pulled her message up on its screen. “Something about having a bizarre run-in with MF...do you remember what that was about?”

Grace pinched the bridge of her nose. “Run-in? Let me think for a second. Sorry, everything’s just so foggy… I remember packing up my stuff, trying to call Jess. Jess didn’t answer…”

And
Jess still feels guilty as hell about that
.

“Then I headed out to my car, but, hmm. Something. I…I forgot something. What it was, I can’t remember.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I headed back inside, but when I got to my office, the door was open. And I remember thinking that was odd, because I usually shut the door behind me when I leave. So I stepped inside, and there’s this IT guy sitting at my machine, clicking away in some program. He minimized whatever was on the screen before I could see it, though.”

“Do you remember who that person was?” Nate asked.

Grace narrowed her eyes. “Matthew Findley. What a jerk.”

I worked to keep my expression neutral. “Why do you say that?”

Color washed over her face. “Matthew’s been known to corner women in the stairwell. And the elevators. He’s such a
pig
.” Before I could ask, she added, “He’s never gotten a hand on me, but he’s said some things in passing that I didn’t much care for.”

“He does sound like a pig.” I clenched my hands into fists behind me.
If he ever so much as looks at Grace wrong in front of me, I swear I’ll break that pretty boy nose of his.
“Did he tell you why he was at your computer?”

Grace squinted her eyes. “Yeah, something about a software update they tried to install remotely but my computer threw an error, so he had to come upstairs and do it himself.”

It wasn’t the exact story Vanessa told me, but since she wasn’t a very technical person it’d be hard to prove whether or not the story circulating was a lie.

“Then what?” Nate asked, pen poised over his notepad.

“Um, let’s see. He told me why he was there, I said okay and reached out for my notepad. Oh, that must be what I’d forgotten—my notepad. I carry that thing with me everywhere. Couldn’t believe I’d forgotten it. Then I headed back out to my car, texted you.” She pointed in my direction. “And headed for home.”

“And you don’t remember anything about the accident? Or what you might have seen last?” Nate asked.

Grace squinted out across the room. “No, not really. I mean, every time I try to remember, all I see is a big blur of dark red.”

Nate and I exchanged a quick glance. The maroon van.

* * * *

“Did you find anything?” I asked as Nate drove us home.

He shook his head. “No connections between the employee listing you gave me and Marcus. But your boy does have a lengthy rap sheet.”

“You never mentioned that before!”

He cast me a quick glance. “Was hoping I wouldn’t have to. I ran everything locally when I was stuck in Angola, watching for him to leave his apartment the other day. Several counts of possession with intent to distribute. Pleaded for a lesser charge the first time, did six months the second.”

“Possession of what?”

“Cocaine.”

“Oh
crap
. Why couldn’t we be dealing with some young dope head?”

“Because you don’t seem to be that lucky.”

A shiver ran down my spine. Me and my bad luck. I decided to change the subject and try to forget about Marcus whatever-the-hell-his-name-was for a while. “So, where am I staying tonight, anyway?”

“I’d rather you didn’t go back to your place, if that’s alright with you.”

Not my place. That left his place or Charlie’s. I reached over and set my hand on his knee. I had said I’d try to make tonight up to him. “Should we stop at your place, maybe?”

“Yeah, poor Brutus is probably dying for some attention.”

“And you?” I inched my hand a little further up his leg.

His blue eyes flashed to mine. “I’ve been dying for weeks now.”

I left my hand on his thigh and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Then it’s high time I saved you.”

The nice thing about riding in Nate’s cruiser was the fact that he could drive fast without worry of getting a speeding ticket. He had us to his place in record time. Had Brutus leashed, outside, and pottied in record time, too.

Once we were inside, Nate hung up Brutus’ leash then turned to me. A storm of desire brewed beneath the surface of those deep blue eyes. “Now, where were we the other night when we were so rudely interrupted?”

I put a finger to my chin, pretending to have to think back.

As if. I’d replayed that scene in my head a hundred times since. “Well, for starters, the lights were off.”

He reached out and flicked the hall light off, his eyes never leaving mine. My pulse began to race.

“Yeah, like that. And…I was over here.”

He closed the distance between us in two large steps and had me pinned against the wall once more.

“And…”

Nate’s lips found mine and silenced my commentary. He chose instead to write an entirely different script. One that involved fewer remaining articles of clothing in the hall, had me begging for more as he carried me to his bedroom, and ended with us entangled beneath his dark sateen sheets, satisfied and trying to catch our breaths.

And that was only Act
One
.

* * * *

I floated into my office just before eight the next morning to find another piece of fan mail peeking out from beneath my keyboard.

Last chance. Resign by 5:00, or someone will get hurt.

Had I not been in the mood I was in, those words might have sent me running out the door. Or at least inching toward it. But not today. Today it didn’t bother me in the least.

I was in love. And I was one very satisfied woman.

Michael was to be out at least part of the morning, so now would be an opportune time to go to the storage room and make copies of the Morrisson invoices. Vanessa was on the phone as I passed by the lobby. No worries about her interrupting me today. She jumped a little when she spotted me. I gave her a small wave, and continued on my way. It was tough not to stop and stare, though. She looked even more ragged than the day before, and I wouldn’t have thought that possible.

Vanessa had opted for a pair of black slacks instead of her usual fitted skirts, and traded her four-inch heels for a pair conservative flats. She did have on a cute, ruffly top, but her array of gold and gemstone jewelry had gone from slim to none. Not even a pair of earrings adorned her ears. And her hair! Her usually-enviable locks were pulled back into a messy bun, and a halo of fly-away hairs crowned her head.

I got to the storage room, pulled out the Morrisson file, and tucked it under my arm. There would be no sloppiness today, no missteps. The department copy machine sat unused a few doors down the hall, which allowed me to run the entire stack through in one fell swoop. I had the files back in the storage room before anyone would have ever known they were missing.

When I got back to my office, I pulled the door shut behind me. Set all nine of the MCG invoices from this year out on the table, and looked at Michael’s signatures on each. On the two invoices with Grace’s forged signatures, and the ones paid before Grace started with the company, Michael’s signature was in black ink. But on invoices with Grace’s actual signature, he’d signed in blue.

I ran my hand over the documents, and felt no indentation in the paper from the signatures. Upon taking a closer look at his signature, I spotted small black flecks around it on the paper. Not something made by a computer or the signee—more like the kind of mark you’d see on a photocopy.

Nate was right—Frankston’s signatures had been electronically forged. But by who?

I sat there, puzzling over that dilemma, when my cell phone buzzed.