Undeniably Yours (19 page)

At least, thank God, he'd fly home tomorrow. His return trip couldn't come one second too soon.

He and Meg were friends and co-workers who hadn't hugged, hadn't kissed. But if he had his way, he'd never travel this far from her again. Not for one day in the rest of his life. Not for any reason. He couldn't imagine a single place on the globe he wouldn't go to be with her. Or any place he cared to go without her.

What he was less sure about? How he was going to continue to keep a handle on himself when he was around her. He worried over it constantly, because if he ever did reveal himself to her, not only might he put the farm in more jeopardy, but he feared he'd terrify her. If he terrified her, she might end their friendship.

The engagement party for her cousin was coming up in a couple of days, which would present him with all kinds of temptations to say or do something he'd regret. Not only that, but he'd have to meet her family at the party. Sure as anything, they were going to recognize him for exactly who and what he was. They were—all of them—going to see him as a dumb hayseed not at all suited to Meg.

Meg, with her gentle heart, either hadn't noticed or didn't mind that he was far beneath her. But her family would. And he'd bet money that at some point during or after the party, at least one of them would feel duty-bound to point out the obvious to Meg.

It would probably be best for Meg to hear the truth from someone close to her. And yet he'd been hoping to God that
she'd never hear the truth—that he wasn't worthy of her—from anyone at all.

The next day Meg straddled the seat of one of the machines in her father's home gym and started on her fifteen “rows.” She scowled ferociously at the cables in front of her, watching as they raised and lowered the weight stack.

She'd made herself work out for two reasons today. One, Bo was away, and working out gave her something to do to attempt to keep her mind off of him. Two, she'd purchased a women's fitness magazine to motivate herself and read within its pages that muscles burned calories. Not just the act of building muscles. Of course that burned them. But the new, bigger muscles
themselves
burned calories all day and all night.

Say what?! She'd been floored by this revelation.

If she put on muscle, her body would burn calories while lying on the sofa! While eating Oreos! While sleeping!

Nine, ten, eleven.

She was—twelve, thirteen—going to do this. She was going to get herself into better shape, whether her body came along nicely or had to be dragged kicking and screaming—fourteen, fifteen.

Her phone chimed, letting her know she'd received a text.

From Bo? At last? Lord have mercy. She scurried over to her phone. The small screen told her she'd received a new message from Bo Porter.

In instant response, her outer body went still and her inner body went nuts with excitement.

She retrieved the text.

I'm back from my trip. Glad to be home. How are you?

For five straight minutes, Meg chewed the inside of her cheek
and stared at her phone, trying to decide how to reply. Finally she settled on
Welcome home! I'm doing well.
She hit send.

The exclamation point communicated cheerfulness, and the mannerly tone of hers matched the mannerly tone of his. Still, her response struck her as horribly tepid. Well? She couldn't exactly reply to his simple friendly message with
You're back! You're back! I've missed you wildly, foolishly, embarrassingly. I'm so happy I could kiss you! Can I kiss you? I'd like to kiss you.

She waited, but no reply came. Her text hadn't invited a reply. Even so, she tucked her phone into the waistband of her sweats so she'd have it close at hand.

She finished up the last few weight-lifting exercises on her list, then clicked on the History Channel and climbed onto the elliptical. Struggle, sweat, agony. Struggle, sweat, agony. Typically, she had nothing but the puny distraction of the TV to occupy her mind during cardio. This time, though, her mind was fully occupied, and then some, by the news that Bo had come home.

She hadn't seen him for six days.

It had felt, very sincerely, like six weeks.

Meg had procrastinated a trip to the grocery store too long. Lynn, in contrast, kept a perfectly stocked pantry at all times. So the next morning before work, Meg dashed into the big house kitchen to grab breakfast. She stuffed a granola bar that she would eat, a banana she probably wouldn't eat, and a bottled water into her purse, then poured coffee into a travel mug.

As she was leaving the kitchen, she glanced longingly down the main hallway in the direction of Bo's office. He might possibly be inside. Uncle Michael expected her downtown for one of his meetings soon, which meant she only had a few minutes
to spare before she needed to start her commute. But it wouldn't hurt to walk past Bo's office. If the door was open, she'd indulge in a tiny peek inside.

The plush floor runner absorbed her footsteps. When she'd neared to within a couple yards of his doorway, Bo himself walked out. In the flesh. As if she'd called him into being by the force of her hope.

Meg came to an immediate halt and so did he. The shock and delight of seeing him again after days and distance broke over her like a riotous ocean wave.

A slow grin tugged up the edges of his lips.

Meg smiled back, purse over her arm, coffee in her hand, heart in her throat.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hello.” Her senses drank him in hungrily. The just-out-of-the-shower smell, the masculine face and extra short hair, those light gray eyes. All of it familiar and cherished. Every detail combined into a charisma so powerful that it all but bowled her over. “About time you came back,” she managed.

“Yeah. I thought so, too.”

“Did you have a good trip?”

“I did.” He took in her outfit and her coffee. “On your way to work?”

“Yes, but I've got a little bit of time. I'd like to hear about your trip.”
I'd like to stare at you longer
.

“It can wait if you're in a hurry.”

“I'm not in
that
big of a hurry.” Uncle Michael held a lot of meetings. I mean, seriously. She didn't need to be on time for every single one. “C'mon.” She led him into the great room, where she settled into a spot on the sofa under the antler chandelier. He took a chair.

While they talked about his conference and his Florida horses and trainers, while she answered his questions about her week at home, she continued to revel in the reality of him: clothes, hands, the scratches on his boots, the line of his jaw.

There had been a magnetic pull between them for a long time, and it had grown mightier than ever. But something new made itself known during their reunion. A kind of joy. She could see it in his expression. Feel it within her, answering.

“How's your job going?” he asked. “Is it still overwhelming you?”

“Yes. It's monopolizing. I bring work home at night and on the weekends, and I still can't catch up.”

“You've got to rest sometime, Meg. You work too hard.”

“Tell that to my uncle.” She wished to goodness that she could stay with Bo for the entire day. Maybe trail after him, mooning over him while he worked. But, alas, she had to go.

Bo escorted her to the garage.

“You haven't forgotten about the party Friday night, have you?” she asked, walking alongside him.

“I haven't forgotten.”

“Still willing to go?”

“You bet.”

“I don't know if I mentioned this before, but it's going to be held at the Crescent Hotel in downtown Dallas, and it's cocktail attire.”

“What does that mean?”

“For me, a dress and heels. For you, a suit and tie.” She worried, suddenly, that he didn't own a suit. Why hadn't she thought of this sooner? “Is that all right?”

“Sure.” He glanced at her. “You might be surprised to learn that I do own a suit and tie.”

“No.” She did her best to hide her relief. “Not surprised. I—”

“It's all right if you are surprised. I only own one because your father insisted. He had his tailor make one for me.”

“I should have known.” She remembered now. Her father had always made sure that his employees looked impressive enough to represent him well.

“What time would you like me to pick you up?” he asked.

“Six thirty.”

“I think I might have found Stephen,” Brimm said to Amber late that night.

“What!” His words snapped Amber to attention. “You found him?”

“I believe I did.”

They'd met here, in the big house's office, earlier in the evening for their fourth computer session together. Brimm had been working on both his Mac and William Cole's computer for three hours since. Amber had mostly been keeping him company, daydreaming, and giving herself a manicure. She quickly screwed the brush back into her nail polish and set it aside.

Brimm swiveled his chair so that he faced her. “Okay, so we spent hours looking for him through Web sites and search engines.”

“Right.” She stared at him with wide eyes. “No luck.”

“Last night I decided to go back through your handwritten notes. In them, you mentioned that Stephen participated in a hacking forum online.”

“I only know about that because he bragged about it to me one time. He'd been the first to figure out some kind of challenge
that one of the other members had, like, posted.” She frowned. “I can't even remember the name of the forum now.”

“Hackers Anon. You wrote it in the notes.”

“So . . . you went there? To the forum? And you found him?”

“Just between you and me, I already had a . . .” Brimm pushed his glasses up his nose, “small, legal, very benign familiarity with that forum.”

“Oh.”

“Everyone there uses aliases. But since I know that Stephen likes challenges, I decided to put one together. Then I ran a competition to see who could crack it first.”

“You used it like bait. To bring Stephen out.”

“Exactly. The virus is actually a kind of Trojan horse. Once it's downloaded into a person's computer and they start tinkering with it, then I can infiltrate their computer and take a look around.”

“Whoa.”

He gave her a quick, proud smile. “Yeah. So far ten people have taken up my challenge. In each case, as soon as I gained access to their computers I went straight to their photos.” He rolled his chair to William's computer and wiggled the mouse to wake it. The monitor filled with an image. “This guy look familiar?”

“Yes.” A cold shiver ran between Amber's shoulder blades as she stared at the picture. Stephen and a brunette sitting together at an expensive-looking restaurant with drinks in their hands. Stephen still had the same hairstyle as when they'd been together, same taste in clothing, same smile. But now Amber could see that his smile didn't reach his dead, cold eyes. He was as fake as a celebrity cardboard cutout in a movie theater.