Karin Kallmaker - Above Temptation

She triggered the garage door and opened the back hatch of her Pathfinder. Kip used her key fob to open the trunk of a trim Camry, then came back for a box. Glancing into the trunk, she gave a tiny sigh.

20

“Too heavy for you?” Tam paused, wondering if the petite Barrett found lifting boxes full of paper a challenge. Based on her Secret Service profile and trim physique, Tam would have thought that she had plenty of physical strength.

“Oh no,” Kip said. “I was just wondering where I’d start.” She lifted a box out easily and headed for her car.

“I began cataloging, and the box you have has the thumb drive with the worksheet I’d started. I’ll get the last one.”

As Tam slid the last box into the Camry’s trunk, she saw an overnight bag. She was briefly torn again—was Barrett meeting someone? Discussing or conducting work in front of even the most trusted spouse or companion was a breach of their work code. She realized that meant Barrett couldn’t work at the office, nor could she work at home if she didn’t live alone. Rock and a hard place. “Where are you off to?”

Barrett looked startled, then said, “A weekend near Olympic.

There’s a place I like to go to breathe. But my laptop’s on the backseat, so I’ll make a great deal of headway.”

Alone then, it sounded like. Could she really trust her?

Damn...someone stealing from the company was making her suspect everyone of double meanings and hidden agendas. Just today she’d been second-guessing Ted, wondering if Ted had really laid the groundwork for three very lucrative contracts on his New York trip last week. Ted talked a lot, did bring in clients, but sometimes the smoke was a little thick.

Stupid waste of time, all these suspicions. She managed a smile as she slammed the trunk. “Don’t spend the whole weekend on it. Just most of it.”

Barrett saluted her again, but this time with a decidedly mocking flip to her hand, and got into her car. So she had a sense of humor after all, but it made the Sahara look like a rainforest.

She watched the taillights until the road curved out of sight.

What did Barrett’s sense of humor matter when someone was stealing from SFI? The money was a blow, but the betrayal of a staff member felt very personal.

She stiffened her shoulders, aware of the passing minutes.

21

She didn’t have the energy for useless speculation. She’d be in New York before the sun rose there and home again in slightly more than twenty-four hours from when she’d left. She couldn’t remember a time as an adult when she’d been more depressed and tired than she was now. A break, like a day on the water, didn’t seem likely for several weeks. But she already felt some relief for the burden Barrett had accepted.

Her mobile chirped as she walked back into the house. She answered, expecting Mercedes.

Instead, Nadia’s cool voice flowed out of the phone. “I heard you’re off to New York.”

“Blame your husband,” Tamara said lightly. “He arranged the new client.”

“You’ll be back in time for the fundraiser, won’t you?”

“Yes. I’m only gone for a day.”

“Sounds exhausting. I could always drop by Sunday and make you a home-cooked meal.”

“Since when have you cooked?”

Nadia’s low, throaty laugh was one of her most attractive features, and Tam was momentarily glad simply to enjoy it—it was a beautiful sound. “Okay, I admit it. I could bring you dinner from an outside source.”

“That won’t be necessary, sisterfriend.”

“You’re no fun, Tam. You never were.”

“No, none at all.” She abruptly realized she was too tired to keep up with Nadia. “I’m late for the airport.”

“Sorry, darling. You will be there Monday night, then?”

“Yes, as I said. And I’ll see you Tuesday night too, if you’re joining Ted for the client appreciation reception.” After Nadia agreed, she clicked off and hurried to the bedroom to finish packing her carry-on.

In the twin beams of her headlights on the asphalt she abruptly saw Nadia Langhorn and Kip Barrett, side-by-side.

They were a study in contrasts, in shadow and light. Nadia never approached any goal directly. The friendly call had been about something else and she would know in due time. Kip Barrett, on 22

the other hand, seemed the type to lock sights on the target and take the shortest route.

There was nothing useful to the comparison, so she did what she always did with irrelevancies: she unlocked the door in her mind, put the thought away and turned the key again.

By the time she boarded her flight her head was clear. She read reports until her vision blurred, then fell asleep somewhere over the Great Lakes.

23

Chapter three

Universal truth: drunks stink. Kip had just sat down at the counter in the old-fashioned diner and was reaching for a menu when the waft of cheap liquor and ripe body odor made her turn her head. So much for a quick stop.

The drunk—the diner’s only other customer at this hour—

didn’t hear her coming, but then he’d have missed a herd of trumpeting elephants. The waitress wasn’t yet truly alarmed by the customer’s sudden lunge out of the booth, but from the guy’s arc of motion Kip knew—yep, he grabbed the young woman by the forearm. Whatever it was he slurred was meant to be a pick-up line. Middle-aged Caucasian male, medium build and a beer paunch, brown/brown...

The waitress weakly pulled her arm, but the drunk’s grasp didn’t slip. He let go, however, when Kip peeled his little finger 24

back, then reversed her hold to coil it so the tip pushed violently toward the second knuckle. It wasn’t hard enough to snap the bone—yet—but she knew it hurt like hell.

The freed waitress yelped and rubbed the red patch on her forearm. Kip thought it unconscionable that the woman was apparently alone in the diner this late, and with no training to protect herself.

Averting her nose as best she could, Kip said to the man,

“With your other hand reach slowly into your pocket, get out your wallet and give me at least a five.”

“Okay, okay. Jush wanted a bit of fun. You’re gonna break my hand.”

“I will if I have to.” Kip let up the pressure only slightly.

She took the crumpled bill—a ten, good—and handed it to the waitress. “For his coffee.”

“I’ll get your change.” She backed away.

Kip pressed harder on the drunk’s little finger.

“Keep it!” He gasped when Kip let him go with a push.

“Now get out of here and go sleep it off,” she ordered. “Next time get a woman’s permission before you touch her.”

He staggered through the door toward his camper, shaking his numb hand in disbelief.

She leaned nonchalantly in the doorway, watching him.

She could hear his opinion of her being muttered under his breath. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before, and like most drunk and disorderly men, he was spectacularly unimaginative.

Nevertheless, he scrambled into the back of the road-worn camper and slammed the door. After a few moments it stopped rocking and she guessed that at a minimum, he’d sat down. He’d be asleep before long.

The car clock had displayed eleven o’clock when Kip had pulled off Highway 101 to get coffee and a bite to eat. With another hour en route to Duckabush ahead of her, she’d realized the monotony of her headlights on the road was making her sleepy. She had tried switching from Bach to Santana, even tried to get riled up by listening to the hard core preachin’ of brimstone 25

and damnation for gays in the military and unwed mothers, but it hadn’t helped. Her heart was certainly pounding now.

She heard the waitress behind her. “Shorty only went home to check on his wife. She’s got the flu. I’m not usually here by myself. He’ll be back in two-three minutes.”