Til Death Do Us Part (36 page)

“Jealous, Cousin? Are you staking a claim on Mr. Kane?” Daphne grinned. “Isn't your husband enough for you?”

Cleo closed her eyes and counted to ten. She would not allow Daphne or anyone else in this family to push her over the edge. Uncle George had kept an uneven peace for as long as she could remember, his powerful personality as strong a deterrent as the threat of cutting someone out of his will. Since his death, the family had begun falling apart. The bitterness, anger and hatred that had been simmering just below the surface had finally bubbled to the top and boiled over onto everyone's lives.

“Phil, I apologize for my family,” Cleo said. “Please let me know when you have any information on those spiders.” She looked directly at Trey. “Mr. Kane will be leaving here shortly to go to the plant. I want you to give him your full cooperation and assist him in any way you can. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly clear.” Scowling, Trey clenched his jaw tightly shut.

“You're enjoying finally getting to play Lady of the Manor, aren't you?” Daphne brushed by Cleo, deliberately shoving her.

Temporarily losing her balance, Cleo swayed dangerously close to the pool's edge. She fought the unnatural fear, reclaiming her senses at the last moment.

“Grab her, Perry,” Beatrice cried out. “Don't let her fall into the water!”

Perry Sutton, who was the closest to Cleo, knocked over his chair as he stood and reached out for his niece. He grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him and steadying her.

Roarke flew across the patio and jerked Cleo into his arms. Her breath came in gasping swallows. She grasped the front of Roarke's shirt, then laid her head on his chest.

“What's wrong, honey?” Why had his wife gone suddenly white? Why had the prospect of Cleo falling into the pool struck fear in Beatrice's heart and frightened Cleo senseless?

“You must be careful, Cleo, dear,” Oralie said. “It was unwise of you to stand so close to the edge of the pool. Anything could have happened.”

Lifting her head from Roarke's chest, Cleo looked toward the French doors, where Daphne stood watching, a slightly wicked smile on her face.

“Nothing would have happened, except Cleo would have gotten wet and ruined her neat little blue suit,” Daphne said. “Her husband would have saved her from drowning.”

Cleo whispered to Roarke, “I'm going upstairs to change, and then I'm going to the plant.”

Roarke followed Cleo as she walked across the patio, her leather heels clipping loudly on the stone surface. The moment they entered the house, Roarke grabbed her and whirled her around to face him.

“Want to tell me what that was all about?” he asked.

“It was about Daphne playing childish games,” Cleo told him. “I embarrassed her in front of Phil Bacon and Mr. Kane, so she felt compelled to embarrass me in return.”

“I understand that, but what I don't understand is your reaction to almost falling in the pool.”

“I used to be terrified of falling into the pool.” She lifted her chin defiantly, her gaze meeting his head-on. “A few months after I came here to live, when I was a very small child, I almost drowned in that pool.”

“You were allowed to play in the pool all alone? No one was watching you?”

“I—I don't know. I have no memory of even getting into the pool. Pearl found me and saved my life. I'd still be scared of the water if Uncle George hadn't forced me to learn how to swim. But everyone in the family knows about what happened years ago and that occasionally, I'm still wary of the swimming pool.”

“Is it possible that someone tried to kill you all those years ago?” Roarke hated to ask, but he couldn't shake the feeling that someone in this household had wanted to see Cleo dead long before George McNamara had left her in control of his fortune.

“No. No. I—I…” Cleo slumped against Roarke. He wrapped her safely in his arms and stroked her back lovingly. “If that's possible, then there's more to the threats on my life than someone wanting me to sell McNamara's. Someone hates me. Truly hates me.”

C
LEO RUBBED THE
bridge of her nose, then ran her hand over her face and down her neck. Her back hurt, her shoulders ached and she felt the beginnings of a headache. Laying aside the file folder Roarke had given her less than fifteen minutes ago, she shoved back her chair and stood. Things were worse at McNamara Industries than she'd thought. The sabotage was more widespread, and the damage far more extensive. Someone had truly created havoc with the company's computer system. And it had all happened since Uncle George's death.

It had taken Morgan Kane less than forty-eight hours to discover the extent of the damage. He'd handed Roarke a complete report when he'd come in from the plant thirty minutes ago. And after reading the report immediately, Roarke had turned it over to Cleo and left her alone to absorb the information. He'd assured her that since Kane was now on the job and had already assembled a security force of two men and one woman, no one would have the opportunity to tamper with the computer system again. Right now, their main objective was to straighten out the present mess.

At moments like this, Cleo wished she could escape from her own life, from the burdens of being CEO of McNamara Industries, from the responsibility of caring for others. If she could escape to some deserted tropical island, she would want Roarke to go with her. They could
frolic in the ocean, bask in the sunshine and make love under the stars. No past. No future. No worries. Just endless happiness.

But she couldn't escape, couldn't run away from the danger that threatened her and her company. She had little choice but to stay and face whatever lay ahead, to confront the person who wanted to destroy her life and ruin the family business. She had to fight and win this battle.

There was another battle she wanted to win. But in her heart, she feared it was a lost cause. She wanted to win Simon Roarke, and she was willing to fight whatever demons plagued him, whatever tormenting memories held him prisoner. He stayed at her side during the day, guarding her diligently, and at night he held her in his arms and made mad, passionate love to her. But there was a part of himself that he held back, a private, tortured part of his soul that he would not share. He protected her and possessed her with equal fervor, but where she was unable to control her emotional response to him, he never relinquished complete control. Only in the throes of passion did she possess him as surely as he possessed her. And those moments were fleeting—an ephemeral ecstasy soon ended.

Roarke knocked on the door, opened it and walked into the study. He saw her standing in front of the empty fireplace, her red hair glimmering in the honeyed glow of the pewter chandelier that hung from the vaulted ceiling. A spiral metal staircase led from the ground level up to a mezzanine library level lined with rows of bookshelves.

“Have you read Kane's report?” He closed the double pocket doors behind him.

“Yes, I've read it.” Turning slowly, she picked up the file folder from the enormous Jacobean desk that dominated Uncle George's private study. “Where's Kane now?”

“He's in the kitchen. Pearl's serving him a late dinner.”

“Pearl approves of Kane,” Cleo said. “She constantly amazes me. At first she objected strenuously to our marriage, but you won her over quickly. Then I was certain she'd disapprove of Kane, and now here she is, clucking over him like a mother hen.”

“He doesn't know how to handle her mothering.” Roarke chuckled. “Kane's a cold, solitary son of a bitch. I've never known him to succumb to any type of emotion or let any woman get to him, whether she was trying to mother him or trying to seduce him.”

“Have you known him long?”

“Long enough to know that I can trust him, and that he's one of the best at what he does.” Roarke glanced at the manila folder Cleo held in her hand.

She lifted the files, shaking the folder. “Well, your Mr. Kane certainly pinpointed all of our computer problems.”

“All the security codes are being changed and Kane is working with the computer expert he brought in. They're putting safeguards in place to make sure this doesn't happen again.”

“We've already lost thousands of dollars, maybe tens of thousands, if I can't make things right with several of the companies who do business with us.” Cleo dropped the file on the nineteenth-century silver tray that topped the coffee table. Sitting down on the tufted, oxblood leather sofa, she crossed her legs at the ankles, rested her head on the plush back and laid her hands in her lap.

Roarke watched her, noting the worry lines across her forehead and the slightly drooped corners of her mouth. She pinched the bridge of her nose, then spread her hand across her forehead and rubbed her temples with thumb and forefinger.

“Do you have a headache?” He crossed the room, stop
ping directly behind Cleo. Reaching down, he ran his fingers into her hair and massaged her head. She sighed. “You'll find a way to straighten things out. Just don't make yourself sick worrying,” he said.

“I am on the verge of a bad headache, but you're helping prevent it. Thanks.” She loved the feel of Roarke's strong yet gentle hands easing the tension from her head and neck. In a relatively short period of time, she had come to depend on him, to rely on his strength, his protection and his understanding. She could not allow this dependency on her husband to become a weakness. If she found that she couldn't live without him, she would be lost. Simon hadn't said or done anything to indicate that their relationship had become anything more than what it was meant to be—a business arrangement. But it had become more to Cleo—much more. If she wasn't very careful, she'd find herself in love with a man who didn't love her.

“At least Kane caught the payroll inaccuracies before this week's checks were printed,” Roarke said. “That's one disaster you can avoid.”

“I shudder to think what would have happened if he hadn't discovered the problem before checks went out.”

Releasing Cleo's head, Roarke rounded the sofa and sat down beside her. “Luckily, all the lab data are on backup disks. Without those disks, months of research would have been lost.”

“Who's doing this? Dammit, who?” Knotting her hands into tight fists, Cleo lifted them into the air. “The payroll messed up, lab files deleted and a rash of orders either erased or altered where the wrong amounts were sent out or were sent to the wrong companies or not delivered at all. Whoever is doing this doesn't care anything about the
company, and is willing to do anything, cause any amount of chaos to force me to sell.”

Taking her fists into his hands, he drew them to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “We'll find out who did this. Trey is the most obvious suspect. On the other hand, Hugh Winfield, who as a company lawyer has access to all the computer files, minored in computer science in college.”

“Don't narrow it down to Hugh or Trey,” Cleo said, pulling her hands out of Roarke's grasp. “Anyone could have hired someone within the company to sabotage the computer system.”

“That's true, but—”

“Marla!”

“What?”

Cleo shifted her body around to face Roarke, bracing her back against the sofa arm. “Marla worked at McNamara Industries as a secretary. That's how she and Trey met. Marla is very knowledgeable about computers and she'd know our system inside out.”

“I'll be sure Kane knows that. He's got the situation under control,” Roarke assured Cleo, “and whoever was behind the problems won't be able to do any more damage. And if he…or she…is foolhardy enough to try anything again, they'll be caught in a trap, just like that.” Roarke snapped his fingers.

“I almost wish whoever it is would try something.” Cleo rested her head on Roarke's shoulder. “I want this person caught and stopped. I want this nightmare to end.”

Roarke slipped his arm around her waist and lifted her onto his lap. Circling her neck with one arm, she laid her head back down on his shoulder. “Cleo? Honey?”

“What?” She lifted her head and stared into his troubled blue eyes.

“There's a possibility that whoever's behind the problems at the plant isn't the same person who's threatening your life.”

“You really believe there are two members of my family out to destroy McNamara Industries and me?”

“It's possible. And they could be working together or separately.”

“So catching the saboteur at McNamara's won't necessarily end the danger to me, will it?”

“We'll have to wait and see.” Roarke encompassed Cleo in his big arms, holding her possessively. “In the meantime, I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you safe. Just don't take any chances and don't trust anyone in your family, except—”

“Aunt Beatrice.”

“Sooner or later, they're going to make another move. We have to be very careful because we don't know what form the next attack will take or when it will come.”

A knock on the door thundered through the room. Cleo jumped. Roarke's body tensed. Cleo sucked in a deep breath.

“Oh, God, I'm jittery,” she said.

“It's all right, honey. My nerves are pretty frayed, too.”

The knock sounded again. Cleo looked at Roarke and smiled. He eased her off his lap and back onto the sofa.

“Yes?” Cleo said.

“Cleo, it's Uncle Perry. May I have a word with you?”

She exchanged a curious stare with Roarke and when her husband nodded affirmatively, she sighed.

“Yes, of course, Uncle Perry. Please come in.”

As her uncle spread apart the double pocket doors, he hesitated momentarily when he saw Roarke. “I was hoping to speak to you in private.”

Roarke rose from the sofa. “Whatever you have to say—”

“I think that can be arranged,” Cleo said. “Simon, darling, I don't think Uncle Perry would be foolish enough to try to harm me with you just outside in the hall.”

Roarke grumbled. He didn't trust Perry Sutton any more than he trusted the man's hotheaded son. But Cleo was right. The man was no fool.

“I'll be right outside.” Roarke glared at Perry as he slowly exited the room. Pulling the doors together, he didn't quite close them completely.

Scanning the hallway, he found it empty. Trey and Marla had excused themselves and gone straight to their suite after dinner. Daphne was out on the town with Hugh. And the last he'd seen of them, Beatrice and Oralie were in the parlor together, Beatrice reading and Oralie doing some sort of needlework.

He couldn't put his finger on the problem, but his instincts warned him that something wasn't quite right, that trouble was brewing. He hated getting these gut feelings. Nine times out of ten, they were right on the money. He always seemed to have a sixth sense for danger.

When this assignment ended, he was going to quit this business and put the past behind him. He wasn't going to second-guess a person's every action, wasn't going to question everything other people said and did. He was going to buy the farm he'd always wanted and live a peaceful, solitary life. No danger. No suspicions. No constantly watching his back. He'd had enough—more than enough. And he wanted out.

But every day he spent with Cleo made him question his great plan for the future. The sooner he wound up this assignment and left River Bend, the better off he'd be. He'd already let Cleo get under his skin—something
he should never have allowed to happen. Every time he took her in his arms, she melted against him. Every time he kissed her, she surrendered. And every time he made love to her, she gave him all she had to give. The problem was that she expected the same from him and knew he was holding back. And each time, it became a little more difficult not to give in completely, a little harder to regain absolute control.

No matter how much he wanted Cleo and enjoyed their physical relationship, he could not—would not—allow her complete power over him. And he would never allow himself to care for her, not in a way that would endanger his emotions. He could not survive loving another woman and child and losing them forever. And if there was one thing Simon Roarke was, it was a survivor.

 

“W
HAT DID YOU
want to talk to me about, Uncle Perry?” Cleo faced Trey and Daphne's father, a man she'd known all her life and yet really didn't know at all. In all the years that they'd lived under the same roof, Perry Sutton had never made any effort to be a real uncle to Cleo. Other than the times when he'd staunchly supported his wife and children whenever Uncle George had taken Cleo's part in any disagreement, Perry had pretty much ignored Cleo. Of course, he hadn't paid a great deal of attention to his own children, either. Before his retirement, he'd practically lived at the local college where he taught, and when he was at home, he'd spent most of his time in his greenhouse, tending to his precious flowers.

“I did not place those spiders in your bath towels,” he said, a slight tremor in his deep voice.

“Has someone accused you, Uncle Perry?” Cleo asked. Eyeing him speculatively, she noted that sweat dotted his
upper lip. He stuck his hands into his jacket pockets. Were his hands trembling? she wondered.

“Since Sheriff Bacon reported to your husband that he's convinced the brown recluses that were put in your bathroom came from an experiment in Covenant College's science lab, Mr. Roarke has all but accused me.” Perry took a tentative step toward Cleo. “He's questioned me repeatedly. He says things like ‘As a retired professor, you stop by the campus fairly often, don't you?' and ‘No one would think anything about your visiting the science lab, would they?' He thinks I'm the one trying to harm you, doesn't he?”

“Uncle Perry, if you are innocent…if you have nothing to hide, then there's nothing for you to worry about.”

“If I'm innocent?” His voice rose to a loud, vibrating pitch. “My God, Cleo, do you think I'd actually harm you?”