Tame Me

“Terrific.” He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it with more force than was necessary onto one of the navy suede chairs in front of the desk. “There’s nothing I like better than accurately predicting the extent of a disaster.”

“Not your responsibility,” Cooper said calmly. “You know damn well it would’ve been a whole lot worse if we hadn’t been brought in when we were.”

The hell of it was, Gabe did. And it wasn’t that he was the least bit sorry Steele Security had been the one to expose Caleb Morgan’s crooked dealings, he admitted, pacing restlessly toward the bank of windows at the far end of the room.

They’d done what they’d been hired to—check out Morgan Creek Investment. And they’d done it the way they did everything, thoroughly and completely.

It hadn’t mattered that it wasn’t their usual sort of job. Or that their client, a prospective Morgan Creek investor, had only expected them to give the company a quick once-over to placate his elderly mother, who swore that while on a recent trip overseas she’d been unable to locate the Taiwanese shopping mall featured in the company’s literature.

The son was now sending his mother flowers weekly, since she’d saved him a bundle when it turned out the mall really didn’t exist.

While Morgan, who’d fled the country the day after Steele had clued in the authorities, was most likely sipping mai tais on the veranda of his newly acquired tropical estate, living a life of luxury made possible by the pirated millions he’d socked away in untouchable offshore accounts.

No, if Gabe did have a regret, it was that they hadn’t brought the bastard down sooner. While it wouldn’t have changed what Morgan had done, it no doubt would have limited the extent of the ensuing damage. As it was, between unpaid taxes and first-position creditors, there hadn’t been much left but crumbs for his bilked clients to recover.

And then there was Mallory. Who, until five hours ago, Gabe had assumed was off in St. Croix or Monte Carlo or some other exotic locale, licking her wounds in luxurious seclusion. Not living all on her own in one of Denver’s worst neighborhoods, trying to scrape by on some minimum wage job.

And there it was, that unexpected, unacceptable miscalculation.

“What about Morgan’s daughter?” he asked abruptly, swiveling around to stare expectantly at his brother. “What did you find out about her?”

Cooper’s busy fingers stilled. “You mean, in addition to the fact that she gave you a shellacking at lunch today?”

“How the hell did you hear about that?”

Cooper rolled his eyes. “How do you think? Family grapevine, bro. Some woman Lilah went to school with saw what happened at Annabelle’s and couldn’t wait to call Lilah and tell her all about it. Lilah told Dom when he took her to her doctor’s appointment, and he told me when he stopped by to pick up the Lederer file on their way home.”

“Geezus.” The intrabrother communication network had always been good, but the addition in the past year of Gen and Lilah, his sisters-in-law, had definitely kicked it up a notch.

“Yeah. Pretty scary, huh?”

“You could say that. Is Lilah all right? No surprises at the doctor’s?” Leaving the windows, he walked back toward Coop’s desk.

“As far as I know, she’s as good as a woman six months gone can be. Dom, on the other hand, may not make it.”

“No news there.” Their brother, Dominic, a former Navy SEAL, had been the embodiment of the brash, tough, never-let-’em-see-you-sweat warrior until he’d signed on to rescue a pretty blond socialite from the banana republic where she was being held prisoner. Now he and Lilah were married and expecting their first child, and he was as overprotective as a five-star general with a troop of one.

“I guess that’s true,” Cooper conceded. “But still…Lilah mentioned today how much she’s enjoying working on some big charity ball, and you could practically see Dom’s teeth start to gnash. It seems like the closer she gets to her due date, the harder it is for him to pretend he doesn’t want to haul her off somewhere and wrap her in a nice safe protective bubble.” He sighed. “If it wasn’t so funny, it’d be pathetic. He used to be such a player.”

Gabe’s dark mood lightened fractionally at his brother’s mournful expression. He shrugged. “Love makes people crazy.” One of the excellent reasons why it wasn’t for him.

“I’ll say.” Sliding the keyboard onto the desk, he turned his attention back to Gabe, his melancholy vanishing as quickly as it had come. “While we’re on the subject of crazy, was the divine Ms. Morgan really working as a waitress?”

“Hostess,” Gabe corrected.

“And she actually called you an egotistical, scum-sucking sonofabitch?”

“She may have. I wasn’t exactly taking notes.”

“And?”

“That about covers it. As noted, she called me a few choice names, refused to seat me, then left when her boss tried to smooth over the situation.”

“Huh.” Cooper eyed him consideringly. “So what did she say when you went after her later? Was she still pissed?”

“Who said I went after her?”

“Please.” Cooper sniffed. “You canceled your afternoon appointments, you asked for a Morgan family update, and it’s been obvious ever since you walked in here you’re tweaked about something. Plus Dom says you two have always had a thing for each other…”

A vision of Mallory’s robe drifting south and exposing her smooth, velvet-skinned shoulders flashed through Gabe’s mind.

“So yeah,” Cooper concluded. “You went after her.”

He thrust the vision away. “You’re right. I did. And yes, she wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me, which given the circumstances is no great surprise. As for the rest of what we discussed…”

He thought about Mallory’s attempt to act indifferent about her situation while foolishly insisting she was doing just fine, and once more felt frustrated, impatient, annoyed—and yes, although he couldn’t quite figure out why—touched.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t tell me you’re going to stone-wall your favorite sibling.”

“Hell, no. But then, last I checked, Deke’s still in Borneo.”

“Ouch.” Cooper gave him a faux-wounded look. “You could’ve just said no.”

“Like you’ve ever let that word stop you? Give me a break.” Leaning over, he planted his hands on his brother’s desk. “And as much as I’d love to share my innermost feelings, hear all about your and Dom’s riveting take on my love life—” with each word his voice acquired a little more bite “—it’s after six and I have plans for tonight. So what do you say you just tell me what I want to know, and we leave the rest for another time? Say, the next time you girls have a slumber party?”

Cooper made a reproachful face. “No need to get surly.”

Silent, Gabe continued to stare down at him.

“Okay, okay,” he said hastily, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Here goes. Up until six months ago, our subject was holed up at the family estate, even though the staff had been let go months before that. Then, when the Feds finally came in, seized everything and locked the place down, she checked into the Markham Plaza. She was there for several weeks, until her credit card was declined and they found out it was no mistake. Word is she tried to make good with a check, but it bounced, too, and the management not so kindly asked her to leave.”

Straightening, he consulted his computer monitor. “Her credit report shows two different apartment management firms checked her history the following week. Considering that she had an extensive collection of plastic, but that every single card was closed due to late or no payments, several with substantial balances, I’m guessing they passed on renting to her.”

Considering where she’d wound up living, Gabe imagined he was right.

“The interesting thing is, except for a small portion of one account, everything else was paid off a few weeks later. And she was making the bare-bones payment on that last outstanding debt until roughly sixty days ago, when she also started to fall behind on her rent.”

Gabe frowned, trying to make sense of it. “What about bank accounts?” he asked, pushing upright and starting to pace.

“Checking account was closed due to overdrafts. Nothing else popped, but then I didn’t have enough time to do much more than skim the surface. Does it matter?”

“Probably not. It’s just that I thought—” incorrectly, it appeared, although it was still the main reason he hadn’t seen fit to check up on her before “—she had a trust fund, a substantial one. She says it’s long gone.”

Cooper frowned. “You don’t believe her?”

“I didn’t say that. But I want to be sure.” Despite the overwhelming evidence that Mallory was operating without a safety net, this time around he wasn’t assuming anything.

“I’ll have another look.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything else?”

“No. I’d say that does it for now.”

Cooper drummed his fingers on the desk. “I take it that means you’re not done with Mallory? Even though, from the sound of things, she ranks you somewhere below foot fungus on the list of things she could live without?”

“What’s your point, Coop? Assuming you have one?”

“I do.” Never shy about stating his opinion, he met Gabe’s narrow stare straight on. “Look, I know how committed you are, not just to making this business a success, but to doing your best to ensure that the work we all do matters. That whenever possible, we do what we can to make peoples’ lives safer and better.

“Because of that, I think you need a reminder that no matter what this woman said to you, no matter how hard she may have tried to guilt trip you, she’s not your responsibility—and you definitely don’t owe her anything.”

“Believe me.” Gabe smiled sardonically. “That’s not the problem here.”

Cooper looked surprised. “No? Then what—”

“Leave it alone, little brother. I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been successfully conducting my own affairs for a whole lot of years now. If I decide I need help, from you or the rest of the family, I’ll be sure to let you know. In the meantime—” shooting his cuff, he glanced at his wristwatch “—the clock is ticking and I’m sure I’ve got a stack of things to take care of before I can get out of here.”

“That’s it? You’re just going to walk?”

“Pretty much.” Reaching down, he snagged his coat off the chair and deliberately steered the conversation in a different direction. “You going out to Taggart and Gen’s for dinner tomorrow?”

To his credit, Cooper knew when to throw in the towel. “Are you kidding? Free, home-cooked meal along with Rockies Cactus League ball on the tube?” He sat back and again propped his feet up. “I’m there. What about you?”

“Yeah, I’m in, too.” He headed toward the door. “You want to share a ride?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, we can hash out the details.” Reaching the doorway, he paused. “Hey, Coop?”

“What?”

“Thanks for the information. I appreciate it.”

“Easy for you to say,” the younger man groused, but without any heat. “You’re not the one left hanging.”

“I think you’ll survive,” he said drily. And with that, he headed down the hall toward his own office and what was sure to be a fat folder of items needing his attention, reassured by the knowledge that Cooper’s bad temper wouldn’t last past the next five minutes.

Knowing as well that while his brother’s concern for him had been misplaced, the younger Steele had been right about one thing.

Gabe wasn’t done with Mallory. Not by a long shot.

Three

“Are you all right, Miss Morgan?”

Mallory dragged her gaze from the rectangle of paper clutched in her trembling hand to stare blankly at the man seated across from her. “What?”

Mr. Cowden’s thin, intelligent face softened. “You seem a bit shaken,” the owner of Finders Keepers, the search firm she’d been contacted by the previous day, observed not unkindly. “Can I get you something? A glass of water? Some coffee?”

“No. I…It’s just…” Embarrassed to find herself babbling, she pressed her lips together and struggled for composure. “Please, could you explain to me again where this came from? You said it’s a behest from a relative?”

“Yes. According to the letter we received, the funds originated with—” he glanced down at the paper centered atop his glossy walnut desk “—one Ivan Mallory Milton. Your cousin, it seems, although most likely a distant one since it states here he was ninety-one at the time he expired. The family connection—” he adjusted his glasses and scanned further down the document “—was apparently through your maternal grandmother.”

“But I’ve never even heard of him.”

“Well, yes, that’s actually rather common with this sort of distant connection. And truthfully, as you might imagine, quite often inheritances go unclaimed for just that reason. In this case,” he said, tapping a finger against the paper, “it seems that Mr. Milton first realized the relationship after reading a newspaper article about your family.”

Mallory winced. Given her father’s notoriety and the extensive press coverage he’d received, she didn’t imagine that anything her late cousin had read would have been complimentary. Not that that appeared to have made a difference.

“The information was found among his belongings after he passed away, and since he had no other heirs, it was determined these funds should come to you. Although these days, with the popularity of the Internet, it is rather unusual for us to be contacted through the regular mail this way….”

Even as she told herself she should pay attention to what Mr. Cowden was saying, Mallory’s gaze drifted back to the cashier’s check.

Sure enough, right after Pay To The Order Of was her name, followed by the fabulous, wonderful, miraculous sum of four thousand, seven hundred, twenty-one dollars and forty-six cents.

A year ago, that amount wouldn’t have qualified as her monthly shoe allowance. Now it meant she could take a deep breath for the first time in months. And she owed it all to someone she’d never met, and never would.

Thank you, dear departed cousin Ivan.

Not, she thought hastily, that she was glad her long-lost relative was dead. But if the old guy had to go, she certainly couldn’t fault his timing.

“Miss Morgan?”

With a start, she realized her companion was staring at her quizzically, as though he’d stopped speaking some time ago and was waiting for a response. “I’m sorry,” she said hastily. “It’s just this—” she smoothed her thumb over the crease in the paper caused by the overly enthusiastic grip of her fingers “—I can’t quite take it in. It’s such a surprise.”

“But a welcome one, surely.” Smiling, Mr. Cowden came to his feet.

“Oh, yes.” It was so welcome she couldn’t quite believe somebody wasn’t going to pop out of the woodwork at any second, claim there’d been a mistake and snatch her windfall away.

“I can’t tell you how much that pleases me,” he went on as he came around the desk. “And how glad I am that we were able to be of assistance. Frankly,” his blue eyes gleamed cheerfully, “this is always my favorite part of the job.”

“I can understand why.” With a smile of her own, she carefully folded the check and slid it into the inner compartment of her purse for safekeeping. Since it was obvious from Mr. Cowden’s behavior that he considered their business done, she stood, as well. “Do I owe you something? Isn’t there a fee for you finding me?”

“Yes, of course there is, but it’s already been taken care of by Mr. Milton’s representative.” He held her coat for her, then ushered her through the door into the outer office. Minutes later, after signing a paper acknowledging receipt of the money, and a round of thank-yous, good lucks and goodbyes, she found herself standing outside on the sidewalk in the midmorning sunshine.

For one glorious moment, elation got the better of her and she actually did a twirl. Four thousand, seven hundred and twenty-one dollars! She couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off her face as she waltzed up the street toward the bus stop, her feet barely touching the ground, her mind filled with possibilities.

Where, oh where, to start? Tres Chic for a facial, a massage, a full day of beauty? Heaven knew, her pores would thank her. Or Mr. Kenneth’s to pamper her hair with some highlights and one of his signature haircuts? Should she make a trip to Marchant’s and pick up that to-die-for Moreno handbag she’d seen in the window last week? Or spring for a new pair of Merrazi wedges since a toddler with attitude had stomped on the toe of her favorites her first day at Annabelle’s?

Maybe the order of the day was to go out for a leisurely lunch. Or, even better, treat herself to an elegant dinner. It would feel good to get all dressed up. Although most of her clothes had gone for consignment, she still had a few nice things. She could catch a cab to Gambiolini’s and request her usual table, then while away a few hours sipping a glass or two of pricey red wine, flirting with Phillippe, her favorite waiter, indulging her months-long craving for the house specialty, shrimp tettrazini.

Except somebody she knew was bound to be there. Did she really want to deal with the whispers and repressive stares or, even worse, the humiliation of being treated as if she were invisible?

Okay, so maybe dinner out wasn’t the best idea, she decided, as her bus pulled up. No matter. There were all sorts of other ways she could amuse herself. Like getting her good wristwatch back from the pawnshop, she thought as her bus pulled up and she instinctively checked the time on its drugstore replacement.

Climbing on board, she flashed her pass at the driver, walked back to her accustomed seat in the middle, and continued to dream.

She could rent a car and make the trip to Aurora to make sure her favorite jumper was doing all right with his new owner. Top Flight had always been a challenge, part of the reason she’d loved him, and it would be good to know that he’d settled into his new surroundings.

For that matter, she could drive up to Breckenridge and spend a few days skiing and being pampered at The Pinnacle, one of her favorite little ultraluxury spa resorts. Although she supposed she should probably call first. It wasn’t unusual for them to be booked an entire season in advance.

Of course, before she went anywhere or called anyone, she needed to pay her overdue cell bill—something else she could now afford to do. Just think! For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t going to have to worry that her phone service, an absolute essential to job hunting, not to mention her sense of safety, was about to be cut off.

Heck, once her account was cleared she’d even be able to use some of her precious minutes on nonessential calls, such as letting Gabriel know—again—that she didn’t want or need his help. Even better—the thought of it had her sitting up straighter—she could send him the money to pay for the locksmith who’d shown up the day after their encounter to install locks on her doors and windows.

She still wasn’t sure what she resented most about the gesture. The hit to her pride that with a snap of his elegant fingers he could dispatch someone to take care of something she herself had been unable to afford? Or that she could no longer crawl into bed without thinking about him because, for the first time since moving into the place, she was actually getting some sleep instead of constantly jolting awake at each and every little noise? Even though the night after the locks had gone on she’d bolted awake to hear someone fruitlessly trying to force her front door?

Or was the agitation she felt when she thought of him caused by something else entirely? Perhaps a secret fear that hiring the locksmith had been his parting gesture? Could it be that deep down she was really afraid he’d taken her at her word and intended to respect her request that he stay away?

Absolutely not, she thought, squaring her shoulders. Sure, she was surprised he hadn’t been back to harass her. But why shouldn’t she be? He didn’t seem like the sort of man to back down from anything. And his parting shot had seemed to indicate that as far as he was concerned, they were far from finished.

Which was just plain crazy, given that they’d never started. Certainly they’d been friends of a sort, and she couldn’t deny that they’d always had chemistry, but they’d both chosen never to cross the line into something more. And while she’d obviously had her reasons for keeping him at arm’s length—he so wasn’t the type for a superficial dalliance—he’d quite clearly kept his distance for reasons of his own.

Reasons she’d never really thought about.

And wasn’t about to start now, she told herself firmly. For too many years she’d been like a leaf in the stream going wherever the current took her, coasting over bumps, sliding around obstacles, letting outside elements determine her path.

Well, she was done with that. Like it or not, it was up to her whether she wound up over her head in some stagnant pool or learned how to keep herself afloat.

That was why, she realized, coming back to earth as she stared out the window at a cityscape that was getting drearier with every passing block, she wasn’t going to spend cousin Ivan’s money on anything foolish like designer shoes or salon haircuts or pricey vacations. For the very first time since she’d found herself stranded outside the Plaza with no one to call and nowhere to go, she had a cushion, however small, between herself and life on the street.

She wasn’t about to blow it. No, except to take care of her overdue rent and phone bill and purchase some urgently needed groceries, the new, improved Mallory was going to sock that money away and continue to watch every last nickel, dime and penny.

She was certain she wouldn’t have to do it indefinitely. After all, a mystery relative unexpectedly bequeathing her money had to be a sign that her luck was changing. So tomorrow she would again scour the papers for jobs, hit the streets, renew her quest to join the ranks of the gainfully employed.

And surely, if she just tried hard enough, by this time next week she was bound to be somebody’s favorite new employee.

Stripper. Nursing home attendant. Fast-food worker.

That pretty much described her current career path, Mallory thought dejectedly as she climbed off the bus well after dark a week later.

Pulling her coat a little tighter against the chill from the snow that had begun falling in the past hour, she began to pick her way home through the freezing slush in her too-thin pumps, sincerely wishing that she’d had the foresight to wear boots when she’d left that morning.

Of course, at the time, the weather had been warm and sunny, matching her mood as she set out to apply for half a dozen promising employment possibilities.

Now, twelve long hours later, after riding eight different buses, walking dozens of blocks, and an eternity of waiting, talking, smiling and praying, not one job offer had come her way.

But then, the positions she’d applied for had actually paid a livable salary, instead of minimum wage for part-time hours too sparse to cover the barest necessities like rent or food. As an added bonus, they also hadn’t required her to breathe heavily into a phone or take her clothes off in front of strangers.

And so far, with the exception of the hostess gig at Annabelle’s, which she’d so foolishly thrown away, those seemed to be the only kind of offers she could generate.

Not that she was feeling sorry for herself or anything, she thought, jumping a little as a door slammed in the distance and an unseen man screamed an obscenity. Okay, so maybe her inability to find decent employment was making her feel even more useless than normal. And she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about how close to living under a bridge she’d be if not for last week’s windfall.

And yes, her feet were freezing, the too-quiet, seemingly deserted street was creeping her out and the thought of spending another night eating boxed mac and cheese all alone in her drafty apartment made her feel beyond bleak, but—