Renegade

After the driver she’d nearly hit had disappeared back into the traffic, Tracy shifted her car into gear and crawled on past her spot. There wasn’t another vacant space for a couple of blocks.

With a deep sigh, Tracy pulled into it. She wouldn’t even attempt to carry the box of forms so far by herself. She’d have to leave them in the trunk until later, and walk to work in her skirt and heels.

She’d told Booker this type of clothing wasn’t practical for a glorified messenger, but he had prevailed. His favorite saying was that in business, image was everything. He’d said a woman’s femininity was often a viable selling point and had advised Tracy to dress for the job she aspired to rather than the one she had.

Since she had hopes of being promoted to full consultant, she was inclined to bow to his wishes.

The whistle she received from a passing driver as she walked down the busy sidewalk only made her madder. By the time she reached the dusty black motorcycle, she wanted to shove it off its big bad tires. Suddenly, hog seemed an appropriate term. She glared at it as she juggled her armful of reports to one hand and whirled around to go inside.

The door to her boss’s private office was open, so she called out, “I’m here. Did you see the hairy beast who stole my spot? I nearly ran over his motorcycle.”

There was a lengthy pause, then Booker’s voice drifted out. “Come in here, Tracy.”

Tracy threw the reports on her desk and kicked her shoes under her desk before she headed back. “I had to park two blocks away,” she said on the way in. “I’d love to grind my foot into that imbecile’s—”

Tracy stopped when she reached Booker’s doorway. This time, she wasn’t noticing something that reminded her of Riley.

She was seeing Riley, himself.

He was sitting in Booker’s plush client’s chair with a helmet balanced on his knees. He grinned that wicked, lopsided grin as he stared at her feet. “Where were you planning to put those sassy red toes?”

Tracy looked down at her feet. The polish was not red, it was pink. Rowdy Rouge, to be precise. She stuck her thumbnail between her teeth and grimaced at the taste of the anti-nail-biting cream she’d rubbed in this morning. Drawing her hand back down, she looked across at Riley, whose smile had spread to both sides.

He looked out of place in Booker’s office. Even in creased dress pants and a collared shirt, he seemed too dangerous to occupy a space so tame.

Her boss cleared his throat. Tracy dragged her gaze to Booker’s most violent frown. He motioned to her feet and mouthed for her to put her shoes on.

She did the only thing she could do.

She walked in three steps farther and sat in the third chair. “It’s okay, I know him,” she said to Booker.

Then she turned her head slightly and looked down her nose at Riley. “Why are you here?”

Riley’s smile revealed an even row of white teeth. Which held her complete attention until a firm grip on her arm wrenched her out of her chair.

“Excuse us, please.” This was from Booker, who hauled her out the door and all the way across the office. He didn’t stop until they were secluded by the coatrack next to the front door. Leaning close, he said, “What are you doing?”

Tracy tossed her head back toward Booker’s office. “He’s bad news.”

Booker backed up a step and looked at her as if she had a row of Rowdy Rouge toenails growing out of the bridge of her nose. “Oh, really?”

“He probably just came here to torment me.”

“Not exactly.” Booker stood up straight and cleared his throat. “He came to hire you.”

She sniffed. “Why would Riley need a consultant?”

Booker paused, and Tracy finally processed his statement. “You don’t mean hire Vanderveer’s?” she whispered.

Booker had crossed to her desk and was squatting to scavenge around on the floor. “No, I said hire you.”

“What for?” Tracy scowled across the room at the pair of trousered legs she could see inside Booker’s office. Even from this distance, they looked all wrong.

“He’s opening a civil engineering firm, and he wants help getting things going,” Booker said before he dropped to his knees, pulled back her chair and said, “Aha!”

Tracy had never seen her boss from this angle. The bald spot peeking out of his tidy brown hairstyle was disturbing.

Or maybe it was what he’d just said—Riley, starting a business in Kirkwood. Oh, no!

“Office setup, demographics, personal coaching—the works,” Booker said from beneath her desk. He held both of her shoes in one hand and used the seat of her chair to pull himself up.

“But I’ve never done a full consulting job,” Tracy said as she accepted a shoe and bent down to slip it on. “You said it could take another year to work up to that.”

“He said that he wants you, and that he’d pay a full month’s fees up front if you accept the job.”

Tracy stared at the wrinkles in her boss’s herringbone jacket. “You’d let me do it?”

“Let’s put it this way—if you take on the job and handle it well, you’ve got your toenails in the door.” He handed her the second shoe. “But you’d be wise to keep your shoes on at all times, got it?”

Tracy slumped down in her chair with the leftover shoe still in her hand. “Uh-huh.” She peered toward the corner office, oblivious now to the foul taste as she clicked her thumbnail between her teeth. Riley had tucked a leg back beside the chair and was beating his heel against the floor.

Impatiently. Powerfully.

Oh, Lord.

“Tracy, he’s waiting.”

She knew he was.

She slid out of the seat and walked slowly across the room, dangling one brown pump from her wet fingertip. Up and down all the way she glided, as fluidly as a carousel horse. As she stepped inside Booker’s office again, she turned back to her boss and said calmly, “Excuse us, Booker.”

And closed his door behind her.

Chapter Three

Remember, image is everything.

Raising her chin, Tracy dropped the shoe in the middle of Booker’s cherry-wood desk, then claimed his chair, too. When she found the courage to meet Riley’s eyes, she refused to cower. She opened hers wider and said, “My boss is convinced you’re starting a civil engineering company.”

“I am.”

She wasn’t completely surprised. She’d always thought Riley would become successful at something. She just wished he wasn’t planning to do it within her range of notice.

She forced a puff of air through closed lips and claimed a few seconds to collect her thoughts. “Do you know anything about engineering?”

“I did a two-year stint as associate professor of fluid mechanics and hydrology at the University of California at Berkeley,” Riley said with a confidence bordering on boastfulness. “After that, I worked for a couple of firms before I started my own.”

“You started your own?” Tracy parroted, studying Riley’s crisp blue shirt. His perfectly tailored and expensive-looking shirt. She couldn’t remember another man filling one quite so well. “Was it successful?”

He lifted broad shoulders, but she knew the answer.

“If you’ve already got a firm going, why do you need to hire an organizer?”

There was that smile again. “You told me I wouldn’t be accepted here,” he said. “So I figured you were just the lady to straighten my image.”

Tracy studied the helmet he held in his lap. It was glossy, black and spotless. As far as helmets went, it was stunning. But it didn’t fit into the business world.

She moved her eyes up to hair that was a little too long, then looked back into smoke-gray eyes. There was a trace of wildness in them, always had been, even when he was a child.

Riley could never be tamed by anyone.

Least of all her.

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” she said, searching his face again—this time for the confidant she’d known all those years ago.

“Sure you do. You’re a gold-star girl.”

Tracy rolled her eyes. After her first day of kindergarten, Riley had taken it upon himself to walk her home from the bus stop. She’d bragged all the way about the shiny stars she’d found pasted on the crayoned pictures she’d drawn that day. Riley had never let her forget it.

“Riley, please,” she said, lowering her voice. “Booker’s never offered me a chance at promotion before. If I blow it, he may never again. I can’t risk my job. I have a little girl at home.”

Riley looked pointedly at the shoe she’d left on the desk between them. “How old did you say you were?”

She grabbed the shoe. “I’m twenty-nine, as you very well know.”

His eyes returned to hers. “And you’re a gofer?”

She sat up straighter. The shoe in her hand dropped to the floor with a clatter. “My title is office manager.”

“I see,” he said, lifting his eyebrows and nodding as if he was impressed. “You’re a dressed-up gofer.”

Scowling, she busied herself extending her foot to pull her shoe closer and tip it upright so she could slip it on.

“Can you afford not to take this chance?” he said next.

That was her problem—she’d been begging for this chance for more than a year. She wanted and deserved a promotion. The adoption had depleted her savings, and now she was working nonstop to pay her monthly bills. If she or Hannah had any kind of emergency, she’d barely land on her feet.

But she could not work with Riley Collins.

She was well versed in Booker’s views of business savvy. He wouldn’t understand an outright refusal. An opportunity was an opportunity, and you didn’t turn down a client because his regard made you uncomfortable.

And since Tracy couldn’t explain the history of Riley and her sister without sounding like a whiner with a long memory, she’d have to make an appearance of considering the job. Maybe if she got Riley away from this office, she could figure out his game and let him know he wasn’t allowed to make up the rules. It might take a few hours, but the cause was worthwhile. After that, she could work doubly hard to catch up and take a stack of reports home again. If Hannah was allowed to finger paint, she wouldn’t care if her mom spent another evening typing.

With as much ice as she could muster, Tracy said, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to assess your situation to see whether there’s anything I can do for you.” When she finished speaking, her heart was racing.

“Great.” Riley put his motorcycle helmet on the floor, stood up and extended his hand across the desk for a shake.

Tracy looked at his hand, but kept both of hers folded in her lap. She’d taken the same hand in hers often enough in childhood, but that had been a long time ago. Accepting it seemed dangerous now.

She ignored it and stayed seated. “To be fair, I’ll only take the job if I think I can handle it. If you require more expert assistance, Booker will have to handle your needs.”

Finally she stood and pressed her hand into Riley’s. Although the handshake was firm, Tracy knew they were solemnizing a deceptive agreement. And not only on Riley’s end. She was planning to use the loophole she’d just announced to her full advantage.

Booker may have his sights on the bottom line, but taking the job was her choice. Now that Tracy’s toenails were wedged inside the door, she’d find an excuse to send Riley packing and take the next opportunity for promotion.

“I think you’ll find you and I are a perfect fit,” Riley said with a warm squeeze.

Tracy’s eyes flew to his face, wondering if the double entendre was intentional. But his expression made a grand appearance of innocence.

Grand and obviously false.

One look at the upward curl at one corner of his mouth gave that away. She didn’t believe the man had any moments of actual innocence. She tugged her hand away. “Shall we do the initial consult at your office, so I can look around?”

“Absolutely.” Riley patted his shirt pocket, then both pants pockets. Finally he reached across the desk and snatched Booker’s favorite gold-filigree pen and a business card from their holders.

Typical. Hadn’t Riley always taken what he wanted, regardless of the consequences?

He slapped the card blank side up on the desk and scrawled some writing across it. “Here’s the address and phone number,” he said, handing it to her. “The name is Collins Engineering, but I don’t have a sign up yet.”

Tracy put the card in her jacket pocket without reading it. “Will a two o’clock appointment work for you?”

“It will if we’re talking about this afternoon.”

She’d meant this afternoon. She’d meant to get it over with as soon as possible. But suddenly an extra day or two sounded smarter. She’d have time for her stomach to unclench and her heart to slow down. “Oh! No, I meant tomorr—Wednesday. I meant Wednesday.”

“I’d prefer earlier in the week,” Riley said, his eyes twinkling as if he’d won some sort of challenge. “But any afternoon is fine.”

“Then it’s settled.” Tracy stretched out her hand for Booker’s pen. When Riley dropped it in her palm, she opened Booker’s appointment book and made an entry. “I’ll be there at nine o’clock sharp…Thursday morning.” She shot a grin across the desk as she slid the pen back in its holder, and wondered why her little victory felt as false as her smile.

THREE MORNINGS LATER, she knew why.

The delay wasn’t a triumph, it was a curse. The few days’ respite had been counterproductive, and she’d accomplished little beyond chewing her nails to the quick.

Last night, she’d allowed Hannah to help her make cupcakes for the day care’s spring party. Tracy had lost patience before they’d managed to add even two simple ingredients to the mix. Then, after a half hour struggle with dropped eggs and spilled vegetable oil, Tracy had let the cakes burn in the oven. Hannah had been allowed to eat the candy decorations, and Tracy had promised to buy special treats at the grocery store.

She’d been sluggish at work, too. After three days of misplaced files, cutoff phone conversations and computer crashes, Booker had asked if she was short of sleep. She’d made up a litany of other excuses, mostly relating to single parenthood and moon phases, but she knew they weren’t the cause.

She was reminded that first instincts were often best. She should have met Riley at his office ten minutes after he left Booker’s.

Now she was in the basement of her parents’ home watching her mother transfer another bundle of clothes from her suitcase to her washing machine and add a capful of soap. “What time did you get home last night?” she asked, studying her mother’s profile.

Gwen Gilbert had never been less than gorgeous. Even when she was lying in a hospital bed with tubes poking out of absurd places, her blond good looks had seemed graceful. This morning she was stunning, humming under her breath and pink with good cheer. The getaway had worked wonders.

“Matthew and I drove straight through from Cincinnati, so it was well after dark,” her mother said, turning on the water and closing the lid. “But I really wasn’t paying attention to the time.” She began pulling clothes from the dryer.

“Hannah and I came by at dusk,” Tracy said. “I watered your gardens.” And kept an eye on your next door neighbor’s house. Have you noticed him over there yet?

Tracy’s mother wrapped an arm around Tracy’s shoulders, offering a quick squeeze. “Thanks. I don’t regret the extra time we took to see the flower show, but I’m sorry we missed you and Hannah.”

I wondered where he was, and when he trimmed the bush at the corner of the house. Did you notice that?

Her mother started up the stairs. “Let’s take the laundry to the living room,” she said. “We can talk and fold.”

Tracy picked up the laundry basket and followed her mother upstairs to dump the clothes on the sofa. After they’d sorted for a minute, Tracy said, “You had a good time?”

“You’ve asked me that three times,” her mother said. “I’ve answered yes every time. It was wonderful.” Smiling, she matched a pair of white crew socks and rolled them together. “Is something on your mind?”

Tracy caught the neck band of one of her stepdad’s shirts under her chin, folding the arms in. “What do you mean?”

“It’s Thursday morning and you’re not only dressed for work, you’re late for work,” her mother said. “You’re usually punctual. And we were only gone eight days—you could have brought Hannah to visit this evening.”

Tracy smiled as she set the shirt on the arm of the sofa. “I guess you know me.”

“Yes, I do. What’s wrong?”

Did you notice a new crackle in the air around Kirkwood?

“Have you noticed anything going on next door?”

“Next door?”

Both women glanced up as Matthew Gilbert walked into the living room, jangling his keys in his pocket and whistling.

Tracy had been introduced to Matthew when she was ten. She’d liked him from the start, but he’d been “Matthew my mom’s friend” for quite a while. Eventually, he’d married her mother and adopted both girls. He’d been Dad to Tracy ever since.

He paused long enough to plant a kiss atop her mother’s head, continuing his tune on his way to the front door. Apparently, the trip had put him in a good mood, too.

“Dad, wait,” Tracy said.

Matthew’s whistle changed to a grin. “I’ve got a class to teach this morning, Teacup.”

“I have an appointment, too. This’ll only take a minute.”

With the affability that made him eternally popular with freshman chemistry students at the university, her stepdad returned and gave Tracy his undivided attention. “What’ll only take a minute?”

“I wanted to tell you, someone moved into Lydia’s old house while you were gone.”

“We knew someone would buy it,” Matthew said with a frown. “The house needs a little TLC, but it’s structurally sound.”

Tracy sighed. “Riley’s living there.”

Her mother seemed vacant for a minute, then she gasped. “Riley Collins?”

Tracy nodded, watching both her mom and Matthew change from happy to thoughtful. “He’s planning to open a business in town,” she explained.

“I figured Lydia would try to sell the place,” Matthew said, frowning across at Tracy’s mother.

“Maybe Riley’s buying it,” her mother said.

No one spoke for a minute. Tracy’s green eyes traveled between her mother’s blue ones and her stepdad’s brown ones, waiting for their reactions. They traded the look they’d always traded when they wanted to discuss something in private. Karen had dubbed it the “worried-parent look,” and had compared it to spelling words in front of a toddler.

But Tracy wasn’t a child anymore, and she wanted to know their thoughts. Did the night of Karen and Riley’s departure still bother them as much as it did her? She swallowed. “You won’t mind having him as a neighbor?”

Her mother shrugged.

Tracy shook her head. She’d hoped one of them would say something to help her feel less agitated. If they couldn’t do that, she’d wanted them to say something to make refusing the job her only recourse.

“Riley hurt our family once, but he was young,” Matthew said as he stood up. “It’s ancient history. I’ve got to scoot, but we can talk when you come to dinner on Sunday.”

As her mother walked Matthew out to his car, Tracy checked her watch. Since she was meeting with Riley early, she could go straight to his office in twenty minutes. This morning’s cornflakes felt as if they’d sprouted wings. Tracy was reminded that she was not good at procrastinating.

When her mother returned, Tracy said, “I’m glad you’re okay with this, because I may be working with Riley.”

Her mother blinked. “In what aspect?”

“As an organizer. He went to Booker and asked for me.”

“That’s good, I guess.” Gwen frowned as she tossed another rolled pair of socks onto the done pile.

Tracy frowned, too. “I’m afraid he’s got some ulterior motive. People don’t request a novice.”

“Who knows?” her mother said. “Just be careful, love.”

Right. Just be careful. Solid parenting advice, but not a reason for refusal. Tracy looked at her watch again, and felt her heart take off after the cornflakes.

Ten minutes left.

She swallowed. “He flirts with me,” she stated softly.

Her mother tilted her head. “How so?”

Tracy sighed. “The way a man flirts with a woman.”

Her mother’s frown returned as she began to place the folded clothes back in the basket. “Well, he always liked you, but I wouldn’t flirt back.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m just glad you’re here and not your sister.”

Right. Tracy was the trustworthy sister. She was the one Riley might tease but would never touch.

“Will Karen care that he’s here?” Tracy wondered aloud.

“I doubt it,” her mother said. “She told me she’s been seeing a marriage counselor. She’s trying to change.”

“She is.” Tracy was skeptical.

“Yes, and as your dad said, it’s ancient history.”

There it was again. The phrase they were all associating with Riley—ancient history. He couldn’t harm her because the harm he’d caused was a long time ago. He shouldn’t upset her because everyone deserved a second chance. He wouldn’t seduce her because she wasn’t the sister he’d seduced before. Tracy knew that’s what they were really saying.

But she also knew Riley would affect her in some profound way she didn’t want affected. And whether anyone said it or not, Riley Collins wasn’t ancient history anymore.

While that worried Tracy plenty, it also pleased some mixed-up inner need in her soul. The fact that he was the hottest man she’d seen in a while was the most troubling realization of all.

Without bothering to check the time, Tracy slipped on her shoes and kissed her mother’s cheek. Judging from the sorry state of her nervous system, it was time to go.

KIRKWOOD’S LARGEST employer was the university, and its biggest claim to fame was the man-made lake and campgrounds nestled in the hills near its northern edge. A constantly rotating collection of college students and university staff ensured a steady economy, but most of the businesses had moved away from downtown to the trendier East Side.

Tracy was familiar with the address Riley had given her. The office space was generous, and it was situated between a pet-grooming shop and an insurance agency. The previous occupant had sold holdover items from the sixties—tie-dyed shirts, incense and hand-dipped candles—before packing up and heading to places unknown.

As Tracy pulled into the parking spot closest to the blacked-out door of the vacated Hippie Hut, she wondered at the absence of Riley’s motorcycle. A chime announced her arrival as soon as she opened the door, but a large light table three feet inside blocked her path. She couldn’t get through unless she got down on her knees and squeezed through a narrow opening underneath the desk.

Even then, successful entry was questionable. Beyond the light table, file cabinets were stacked side by side along the floor. Faint tones of a Pink Floyd song filtered in from somewhere in the background, but Tracy detected no other sounds to give away Riley’s whereabouts.

“Anyone here?” she called, keeping one hand on the door. If he didn’t greet her within twenty seconds, she’d have her excuse to leave. She could explain to Booker that the client was obviously not serious about hiring her services, and get on with her life.

“I’m in back,” Riley said from beyond the chaos.

“I can’t get through.”

“Right. I’ll come to you.”

Tracy set her brand-new leather briefcase on the table and tried not to notice the disarray. Office organization was her particular area of expertise and Booker’s main reason for hiring her. As much as she hated to admit it, she could do this part of the job.

After a moment, she was startled by the repeat of the door chime behind her. She turned around and noted the jeans and red T-shirt Riley had donned for this meeting. Except for the green bandana he’d wrapped around his head, this version of Riley wasn’t vastly different from the teenager she’d known so well.