Double Dealing (26 page)

Gabriel drew a long breath. “There is a man. Jackson Kirby.
Have you heard of him?”

“No, but don’t let that stop you. I can find out whatever I
need to know about him within the hour.”

“Your sources are pretty good, aren’t they?” Gabriel realized
he was shaking his head in silent, wry admiration. What had he been saying
earlier about the importance of information to just about everyone in business?
Any kind of business?

“They have to be good or I would not be as rich as I am,
would I, Gabe?”

“Good point. Okay.” Gabriel sighed. “Here it is in a nutshell.
Kirby is a broker of sorts. Deals in industrial espionage. Buying and selling.
He’s very big but keeps a very low profile. He’s also very powerful. Sometimes resorts
to rather crude business methods.”

“How crude?”

“Crude enough to send armed gunmen into a private home in
the middle of the night and threaten a young man who was foolish enough to
think he could deal with Kirby.”

“Ah. A young man. A friend of yours?”

“He’s Samantha Maitland’s half brother, Gabriel admitted stonily.
There was no way to avoid bringing her name into this. “You met her on one
occasion, I believe.

“At my sister’s spa. She was having a small problem checking
out, as I recall.” There was a trace of humor in Emil’s voice as he recalled
the incident. “I liked her, Gabe. So she did, indeed, manage to shake you out
of your rut, hmm?”

“She’s a bundle of surprises,” Gabriel grated feelingly.

“Some pleasant, I trust.”

“The mess involving her brother is not one of the pleasant
ones. He got furious with his older brother who runs the family firm and
decided to sell a rather crucial spread-sheet to a competitor. Got cold feet within
days after he realized exactly what he was doing. But by then Kirby had been
contacted.”

“Ah, the reckless, hot-blooded ways of youth.” Emil sounded
suspiciously reminiscent. “Young men are so volatile, aren’t they?”

“I wouldn’t know. I seemed to have missed that stage in my
development,” Gabriel rapped.

“Don’t worry. It sounds as if you are getting another crack
at it. Due to the charming Samantha.”

“Emil…”

“Please, Gabe. There is absolutely nothing to be concerned
about. This Mr. Jackson Kirby will not be bothering your friends again. Believe
me.”

“No further questions?” Gabriel’s knuckles whitened around
the phone.

“You want him called off, correct? I will see to it that he
gets the message.”

“Emil. Listen to me,” Gabriel said very carefully. “I don’t
want anyone to suddenly turn up missing. Do you understand?”

“Relax, Gabe. Your Mr. Kirby strikes me as a businessman. As
such he will, I am sure, prove eminently reasonable. There will be no
embarrassing disappearances. Things are not done that way in the international
community of financiers.”

“Uh huh. What about the international community of the
Fortune family?” Gabriel retorted.

“Gabe, you must not form too harsh an opinion of my family
simply because there are a few skeletons in the closet. All families have their
black sheep, do they not?”

“Some families,” Gabriel noted dryly, “are made up almost
exclusively of black sheep and skeletons.”

Emil must have detected the grim humor in the words because
he laughed deeply on the other end of the line. “It makes for interesting
reunions. Enough of that. Tell me. What happened when Mr. Kirby’s small army
invaded Samantha’s home? That’s where you’re calling from now, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Gabriel didn’t bother to ask his friend how he had
arrived at that conclusion. Emil Fortune was a highly logical man. “I got a
little cut up. Samantha is going to have a black eye in the morning, and her brother
is all right.”

“But you are all right?” There was a new, no-nonsense thread
of steel overlying the soft, gentle voice now.

“Yeah. Between us, Samantha and I managed to send them
packing. The little witch used a paring knife on one,” he added, sardonically
aware of the pride in his own voice. “She scares the hell out of me sometimes, Emil.”

“I told you she was good for you,” Emil responded in tones
of great satisfaction. “And you? What was your approach to the subject of
violence?”

“You know me. I’m good in the kitchen,” Gabriel grumbled. “I
used a frying pan. The dashing man of action.”

“I would like to have been there.” Emil chuckled.

“You have a morbid sense of humor.”

“All international financiers have a morbid sense of humor.
Goes with the territory. Good night, Gabe. Go and have Samantha bathe your
manly wounds and tell her not to worry about Jackson Kirby. Neither she nor her
brother will hear any more of him.”

“Emil,” Gabriel began urgently and then ran out of words. “Thanks.”
It sounded lame.

“Why must I keep reminding you that I’m not doing you any
favors? Only repaying one. Good night, friend.” Emil Fortune hung up the phone
with a gentle, final-sounding click.

For a long moment Gabriel sat with the dead receiver in his
hand, thinking once again of his father. Then he slowly replaced the
instrument.

He saw the bit of yellow bathrobe out of the corner of his
eye and turned his head completely to find Samantha standing at the foot of the
stairs, her hand resting tensely on the banister. She was watching him with deep
intensity, her eyes soft and luminous behind the lenses of her glasses. How
long had she been standing there?

In that moment there was no trace of the
amazon
or the businesswoman or the soft, hot, clinging female he had held in his arms
a few hours ago. This was the woman who had cradled his bruised and battered
face between tender hands after the battle with the gunmen. Another side of
Samantha, Gabriel thought in fleeting wonder. And one he wanted to have come
forward and gather him close. He needed her.

His body still ached from the beating it had taken, and his
mind was unsettled from the business he had just conducted with Emil Fortune.
This wide-eyed, intensely feminine creature swathed in an old bathrobe was the
cause of all his aberrant behavior. Did she realize that? Did she know just how
much he wanted to be cradled and soothed and fussed over? Did she have any idea
of how badly a man needed a woman’s comfort after the ravages of violence? Didn’t
she see that he had a right to her comfort?

Comfort and cradling and soothing solace were among the few
things that couldn’t be taken from a woman by force. They had to be freely
given. But damn, how he needed her now.

Samantha loosened her grip on the banister and started across
the room in response to the silent hunger she read in Gabriel’s eyes. It was
not a conscious decision to go to him. It was not a decision at all. She went forward
because there was no alternative.

“My poor battered Gabriel,” she whispered, touching the side
of his face with delicate fingers. “What have you done? I knew I should never
have left you alone to make that call.” She sank to the carpet beside the
overstuffed chair, kneeling so that she could continue to stroke the line of
his cheek. The brooding masculine eyes never left her face. He didn’t move as she
reached out to touch him, but Samantha had the deeply intuitive feeling that it
was because he was holding himself in some sort of rigid grip.

Every instinct in her warned that Gabriel was suffering, and
not just from the physical beating he had taken earlier. In that moment Samantha
wanted only to comfort and cherish. “Gabriel, why was that call so hard for you?
What have you done by calling in Emil Fortune? Have you compromised yourself
now in some way?” she asked in sudden anguish as that possibility dawned on
her.

He reached up and caught one of her hands roughly in his,
squeezing it tightly. “No. Emil is, in his own way, a man of honor. And he is
my friend?”

She looked up at him, bewildered. “Then why are you so
upset?”

“Am I?”

“Gabriel, please don’t play games with me. Tell me what’s
wrong!” she pleaded.

He shut his eyes briefly, and when the mahogany lashes
flickered open, she still could not read the expression there. “Nothing’s
wrong. Emil says to tell you there is nothing to worry about. Kirby won’t
bother Eric again.”

“But will Emil bother you?”

His mouth kicked upward for a few seconds. “He isn’t a
Godfather type, honey. Not in the sense you mean. In any event he owed me a
favor. As far as he’s concerned, he’s merely repaying a debt, not putting me in
debt.”

“What could he possibly owe you? Oh!” She fit the evidence
together quickly, bypassing a few logical routes in order to come up with the
perceptive answer to her own question. “His sister’s spa? He’s grateful to you
for helping her?”

“Something like that. Emil is closer to his sister than he
is to anyone else in the world. When she determined to set herself up in
business without any aid from the Fortune family, he was very upset. But Donna wanted
a clean start with no strings attached which might embarrass her later. She came
to me with a strictly legitimate proposition. I had no idea of who she was or
how she was connected. I loaned her the money and the expertise she needed to
get started. When Emil found out what I had done and that I hadn’t taken advantage
of Donna somehow in the process, he decided I was a man he could trust.”
Gabriel shrugged. “Emil doesn’t have many friends he can trust. During the past
couple of years he has come to value our acquaintance.

“And the favor he feels he owes you? That’s based on his gratitude
for your having helped his sister?”

“I know it’s not strictly logical. My deal with Donna was
merely another business proposition to me at the time. But Emil felt he owed me
something for taking care of his sister during a time when she wouldn’t accept
any help from the Fortunes. And he likes me. I like him. We’re friends. I don’t
know how else to explain it.”

“Then if you’re not alarmed at having asked Emil for this
favor for Eric…”

“For you,” he ground out with sudden fierceness. “I’m doing
this for you, Samantha. Not Eric.”

She swallowed. “I understand. You make a very useful partner,”
she tried to say lightly. “I have this sinking feeling that any of the other
financial backers on my list would have abandoned me as soon as those two
jokers walked in the door tonight!”

“But none of those other potential backers would have found
himself in your bed when the incident occurred, would he?” Gabriel shot back
with calculated certainty. His eyes glittered for a moment with possessiveness and
a definite warning.

Samantha found herself swallowing again, and this time her
mouth felt very dry. Damn it to hell! The man risks his neck for me, and now he
figures he has a right to turn possessive. More than possessive. He’s looking at
me as if he thinks he owns me. “You sound very sure of that.”

“Are you telling me I s-shouldn’t be so s-s-sure of it?”

He was so tense, she realized. The stammer was harsher than
usual. He looked weary and in pain, and yet Gabriel looked as if he was
prepared to fight this particular battle all night if need be. Samantha knew she
couldn’t bring herself to lecture him on rights and equality and the fact that
their relationship outside of business was supposed to have nothing to do with
their partnership. Not tonight. Tonight her instincts urged her to offer
comfort, not a Vera-Maitland-style lecture.

Besides, Samantha acknowledged wryly. When all was said and
done, she owed this man one hell of a lot. How had a relationship which started
out as a simple business partnership gotten so damnably complicated?

“Samantha?”

He wanted some recognition of the claim he obviously felt he
had on her. It was, Samantha told herself, a small thing to give him tonight
after all he had done. “You know very well there wouldn’t have been any other
professional venture capitalists in my bed tonight,” she said with a lightness
she was far from feeling. “Most venture capitalists aren’t nearly as
venturesome as you are!”

“And you don’t make a habit of combining business and the
bedroom,” he finished for her. “I’m the exception.” He stroked the sensitive
inside of her wrist with the ball of his thumb in an absent, sensuous gesture.

“So why was it so difficult to call Emil Fortune?”

“Persistent little thing, aren’t you?” He groaned, resting his
head against the wing of the chair and continuing to massage her wrist. “The
truth is, I kept thinking of my father. This is how it must have been for him.
I never really understood, Samantha. I did my duty. I stood by him. But I never
really understood.”

“Understood what, Gabriel?” Samantha ached for him, responding
now to the pain in his voice .

Gabriel took a long breath. “My father is Weston Sinclair.
Does that ring a bell?”

She frowned, trying to think. “Should it?” But something nibbled
at her memory.

“Only if you’re a devotee of old political scandals. Dad was
a congressman on his way to being a senator. Everything fell apart for him
about ten years ago.”

“Wait a second. I seem to recall my mother discussing a
scandal about a congressman who got himself involved with… with, oh, Gabriel.” She groaned, remembering. “With
the mob?” You couldn’t grow up with Vera Maitland and not have a high degree of
political awareness drummed into you. Samantha no longer followed the political
scene with Vera’s avid fervor, but in those days she had still been spending a lot
of time in her mother’s home, and there such discussions were as routine as the
morning milk delivery.

“Dad had some very dangerous friendships,” Gabriel said
simply. “They eventually ruined his political career. The resulting scandal hit
everything he had built, including his business. I was working for him at the
time. I saw the whole house of cards collapse. Creditors were so thick on the
ground you couldn’t move without running into one. Dad had been ignoring the business
in favor of running his political career, and financially things were pretty
weak. All of a sudden, when the scandal erupted, he found himself facing
bankruptcy. Every warning I had given him about the business became a dire
reality. It all caved in on him. On top of that, all his so-called friends, the
social circle that politicians always move in, disappeared. It nearly sent my mother
into a nervous breakdown.”