Harbour Falls (22 page)

“God, who do you think you are?” I said, incredulous and infuriated at his demand. “Maybe your, your
minions
obey your every command, but I, Adam, am not one of them. I make my own decisions,” I stated with conviction. “You got that?”

Maybe I should have held back. Adam’s eyes flashed in anger, boring into me. “Yeah, I
got that
, Madeleine. Far be it from me to try and save you from your own damn self.”

Fleetingly his mask wavered, and I saw concern cross his features. God, maybe I was overreacting. Was it guilt for keeping my visits to Billy’s secret that had me so worked up? Maybe Adam had been thinking of my safety?

Confused and humbled, I backed down. “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” I said, my voice soft. “I know you’re only looking out for me.” I put my head in my hands and mumbled, “I guess it’s just been a long day.” It was a weak excuse, but it was all I had.

“Come here, Maddy.” Adam’s voice had eased, his anger dissipated.

I glanced up, and he beckoned for me to come around to his side of the desk. I got up and went to him, and once I reached him, he spun his chair to face me and leaned his head back. “Kiss me, Madeleine,” he purred.

His charm was irresistible. And the tension from our fight lingered—we both needed a release. So I bent down and curved my lips to his. Such a perfect fit. Our mouths moved together—tongues touching, dancing, darting—until Adam made a growling noise and pulled away.

Before I knew what was happening, Adam had shifted my body so that my backside was pressed against the edge of his desk. He stood, hovering over me as he kicked his chair back. “Want to make a friendly wager?”

Standing on the tips of my toes, I brushed my lips across his. “Yeah, sure,” I breathed. Hell, anything sounded good at this point. “What are we betting on?”

With no warning and to my delight, Adam slid his hands up under my shirt, his strong hands encircling my ribcage, his thumbs tracing over the lacy edge of my bra. My breathing hitched, and I leaned my head against his chest as his long fingers trailed up and under the straps, poised ever so teasingly on bare skin. I arched my back, wishing he would slide his hands down to my breasts that ached to feel his touch.

But as if knowing what I craved, he did the opposite—slid his hands back out from under my shirt. “First, if I win, you have to promise you will
never
go back to that bar under
any
circumstances.” The businessman was back, making a deal. He eased me back onto the surface of the desk and stood towering above me.

I looked up at him in his position of power. “And if I win?” I asked breathlessly, slick, glossy photos sliding beneath my jean-clad bottom.

Adam parted my legs and eased between them.
Oh. My. God
.

Chuckling, he said, “Then you’re free to do whatever you want. I’ll promise not to interfere.” He leaned down, cupping my face. “But Maddy, I will win.”

And then he kissed me like he’d never done before. His mouth was hungry, demanding, angry. His hands roamed, touching, taking—under the shirt, over the shirt, over the jeans, under the waistband. The top button popped. “Oh God,” I gasped, arching into him, aching to
feel
how much he wanted me.

But Adam shifted, and I felt his hot, urgent breaths at my ear. “Want to know how I’m going to win?” he asked, his lips skimming my neck.

I nodded furiously, plunging my fingers into the silkiness of his hair.

He chuckled, pulling back slightly. He turned his wrist, and we both glanced at his very expensive watch, noting the time.
OK, whatever
. At that exact moment, I couldn’t have cared less.

Dizzy, I leaned my head back on the desk, and Adam slid down my body, lifting the hem of my tee and placing a warm, wet kiss on my exposed hip. He knelt down between my legs, yanking me to the edge of the desk. His mouth returned to my hip, his tongue lazily trailing a wet path across my abdomen. And then his hand cupped my core. “Oh God,” I gasped.

“I win, Madeleine, if in sixty seconds or less, I can get you to beg me to take off these jeans,” Adam purred, and then he began to kiss lower and lower.

The bet was on…

Even though I’d lost the bet—meaning I was to never step foot in Billy’s ever again—I knew I’d have to break that promise at least once if Jimmy located the picture. But I’d worry about that when—and if—the time ever came.

Adam sure had been adamant about me staying away from that bar. Perhaps he didn’t relish the thought of his new girlfriend frequenting the establishment where his old girlfriend had committed so many acts of betrayal. Based on that assumption, it seemed prudent to keep looking into the mystery blonde on my own.

Once I’d organized the photos back into a pile, I spun around once, twice. Dizzy, I tried to imagine what it must be like to be Adam Ward. Being that rich and powerful tended to make people do exactly what you wanted. Even I hadn’t been immune to Adam’s charisma. It had to be intoxicating to be him. Hell, I felt it just by being in his presence.

I swiveled the chair left and right, and took a moment to inventory the study. Packed bookcases lined the room, an eclectic mix of literature and technical manuals. A few museum-worthy oil paintings graced a couple of the walls, and on a credenza under the window, there were framed photos of Adam’s parents as well as his sister.

There was a work area on the opposite side of the room, and by the looks of it, it was a tech-lover’s dream. Elaborately set up computers and peripherals, routers, and other hardware that held little interest for me. So I directed my gaze to the large window on the far wall, the one with the view of the ocean through the trees.

Night had fallen, but the blinds remained open. It was a little unnerving to think that someone—like Max—could have been out there watching us. Even though it was unlikely, and I was being a little paranoid, I still wanted them closed. But as I rose from Adam’s chair to do just that, something on the floor by the desk drew my attention. One of the photos had apparently fallen to the floor.

I reached down to pick it up, and that was when I noticed the bottom drawer—the one Adam had pulled the photos from—stood ajar, the tiny key resting innocuously in the keyhole, the digital keypad dark and disengaged. Adam had forgotten to lock it back up, probably since we’d been otherwise engaged.

At that moment I had a choice to make. I could just ignore the unlocked drawer, or I could open it and see what other things Adam was keeping in there—the only drawer with a lock on it.
God, would he be pissed if he knew I was even contemplating going through his private things.

I held my breath and listened. Everything was quiet, Adam apparently still busy with Max. Only a few moments had passed, so I knew I probably had a good ten minutes more to snoop. I breathed out and sat back down in the chair, tapping the edge of the photo on the desk.
What to do, what to do.
Oh hell, the temptation was just too much. Tossing the picture aside, I wrenched the bottom drawer open and peered in.

Stacks of thick file folders and large A4 envelopes were piled high. With my hand shaking, I reached down tentatively and flipped the top folder open. It contained what appeared to be some sort of a business contract. Nothing too interesting, just boring legalize.

In fact, as I made my way through the pile, it seemed several of the folders and envelopes contained the same things: contracts, lots of contracts, and reams of transcribed notes from business meetings. There was one folder labeled Hensley Files, but I paged past it. I assumed it detailed the stuff Adam had already told me about Ami, plus I didn’t really have time to peruse everything. All of this stuff was obviously private papers. But nothing seemed damning, until I reached the very bottom of the pile. There, three things caught my eye.

One was a file folder stamped “confidential.”

The second was a large, ivory-colored A4 envelope with the name “Trina” scrawled on the front in Adam’s neat script.

And the third was a gun—a .38 revolver. Loaded, based on the weight in my hands as I picked it up and turned it over and over.

OK, so Adam owned a gun. It didn’t seem unreasonable for a man of his professional stature to possess a weapon for home defense. I tried not to over-think the firearm as I carefully placed it back in the bottom of the drawer. With the gun safely secured, I focused instead on the first item of interest: the file folder marked “confidential.”

It contained pages and pages detailing a stock trade Adam had made during the winter months, almost seven years earlier. I nearly dropped the entire contents when I saw the amount of profit he’d made on that single transaction on a stock he’d held for less than two months.
Wow!

Attached to one of the earnings summaries was a worn, yellowing page from a newspaper I’d never heard of—The News Record of Cambridge. Skimming through the articles from six years earlier, it appeared to be some sort of tiny publication, maybe just for the students of MIT. Why had Adam kept something so insignificant under lock and key? When I reached the bottom left-hand corner of the newspaper page, I had my answer.

SEC Investigation Comes to an End for Promising MIT Student

Due to a lack of evidence, current undergrad Adam Ward has been cleared of any wrongdoing in a fortuitous stock transaction that netted the young MIT computer whiz 18.7 million dollars.

Following an intense two-month investigation by the Securities and Exchange Commission, it was determined that the young Mr. Ward’s incredible windfall had more to do with diligent research, and possibly a bit of beginner’s luck, than with trading on an illegal insider stock tip, as was originally suspected.

The SEC became suspicious after Mr. Ward withdrew a significant chunk of his trust fund monies to purchase an exorbitant number of troubled TechnoDyne Inc. shares only six weeks before the small, New York-based software development company was purchased by an industry leader, thus sending the stock price soaring.

When Mr. Ward unloaded all of his holdings and collected his tidy profit, the SEC swooped in and opened a case to investigate the transaction.

However, no illegal activity was uncovered; so pending the discovery of any new information to the contrary, the case is now officially closed. And the young, very rich Adam Ward is now free to spend his previously frozen assets however he wishes.

Oh my Lord!
Hastily I slipped the clipping back under the shiny, new paper clip that had held it and placed the file on the desk. I’d never come across any information detailing stock trades Adam had made. Since this article was nothing more than a blurb from the back pages of some little-known paper, it made sense I’d not found anything like this in my research. But I could see how the Securities Exchange Commission would become suspicious, as 18.7 million dollars was a huge amount of money to attribute to “beginner’s luck.”

And that made me wonder… Had Adam been tipped off by someone about the buyout prior to the information becoming public? That would certainly have been illegal, falling squarely into the definition of insider trading. Could this be the “illegal” thing Adam had done? Was this his big secret? It had to be! I knew it in my heart.

And had Chelsea known? It dovetailed into the timeline perfectly. Is that what she’d been blackmailing him with? The threat of going to the SEC with what she knew?

If she had gone to the SEC with solid information, the case would have been re-opened, and Adam may have had to face a jury trial. Depending on how damaging her testimony was, Adam could have been found guilty and possibly faced prison time. Without a doubt, that would have ruined his life. The article was dated right around the same time he’d gotten engaged. Coincidence? I doubted it. In fact, I
knew
this had to be the secret. That was why it was under lock and key.

Feeling both elated and terrified at discovering this, I shakily picked up the second item of interest, the ivory A4 envelope—the one with “Trina” written on the front in Adam’s own handwriting. I tipped the envelope, and two letters—addressed to Chelsea’s Harbourtown apartment—fell onto the desk. Both had June postmarks from only one month prior to her disappearance. Things were going from bad to worse.

Each envelope contained a short, handwritten note, both written in a feminine cursive.

The first one read:

Chelsea, I don’t know what you have on my brother, but I do know you’re going to end up ruining his life. Adam doesn’t love you. He hasn’t for a long time. You’ve become an evil person, and someday you’re going to get exactly what you deserve. –Trina

The second one, written one week later, read:

You are a bitch. I can’t believe you’re actually going to go through with this farce of a wedding. You can’t love Adam. If you did, you’d never do this to him. Call the wedding off, Chelsea, or I’ll personally make sure you’re sorry you didn’t. –Trina