Sins Brothers [1] Forgotten Sins (11 page)

Ray lifted bruised hands, palms out. “I get it, man. I get it.”

Chapter 8

Josie forced a polite smile on her face, letting the soft jasmine smell of her office soothe her. She’d spent the night at Tom’s, and he’d driven her to work in the morning after she’d once again refused his offer of fleeing town. No way was she abandoning this life she’d built the last two years.

Plus, she needed to figure out the discrepancy in her accounts. Numbers and order made sense. When Shane had left, her job had given her a reason to get out of bed—and there was nothing she liked more than solving a good puzzle. There was no doubt she’d been distracted the last few months since she’d sent the divorce papers to Shane. If she’d made a mistake with the math, she didn’t know what she’d do.

She walked her client, the CEO of Trenton Industries, to the door of her office, shaking his hand again. The company built USB flash drives and was wildly successful at it.

Eighty-year-old Joe Trenton patted her on the shoulder. “Golf awaits me, my dear. Excellent job on the audit.”

Yeah, she’d spent hours working on his books. Josie’s professional smile relaxed into a natural grin. “Good luck today, Mr. Trenton.”

“The magic is all in the swing, Josie. All in the swing.” The man nearly skipped down the hallway toward the elevator.

To have that much energy so late in life would be a true blessing. She kept her smile in place until the elevator door closed to whisk the elderly technology genius away.

Eyeing the clock, she flipped open the file for Larson Corporation, a fancy name for a local convenience store. Her fingers danced over the calculator, and she frowned. The receipts were exactly thirteen thousand dollars off. Now that was an unlucky number.

She added again.

Yep. It looked like the store made thirteen thousand more dollars than the payables showed… but there wasn’t any leftover cash. So was the mistake with the receipts, or was there money missing?

Her calendar dinged from her computer.

Time to go. She grabbed the blue file off her desk and hustled to her boss’s corner office for their regular Monday morning meeting. Eli Johnston was waiting for her behind his massive cherry wood desk, his circa 1980 tie already askew. He gestured her to the one empty seat.

She sat and her heart sank at the large man filling the other seat. It figured her main competition for the promotion would be there. Just what she needed. “Hello, Daniel.”

Daniel Mission nodded, shoving his designer glasses up his nose. As always, he appeared in control and unruffled, his Armani suit tailored perfectly to his hard body. A body earned playing basketball and working out in the building’s gym.

“How’s Trenton?” Johnston leaned his impressive bulk back in the chair. About fifty with rapidly thinning gray hair, he reminded her of a pit bull.

“Great. The audit went fantastic, all ducks are in a row.” They’d turn the notes into the IRS and Trenton would have another smooth year. Why the hell was Daniel present for the meeting? It was supposed to be strictly routine.

“Good. Good.” Johnston’s beady eyes narrowed. “Rumor has it you spent the weekend at the police station after two men died in your home.”

Talk about not mincing words. “Rumors are right.” She’d married a soldier, a killer. One who’d apparently been spying on her for quite some time. Embarrassment at her own stupidity heated her face. Her smile faltered, and she glared at Daniel.

He shrugged, brown eyes revealing nothing. “We have enough PR problems right now. Keeping secrets is always a bad idea.”

Daniel played basketball with Tom, and the two men seemed to get along well. Unfortunately, both Daniel and Josie were up for the vice president position for the branch, and Daniel apparently had no problem playing dirty. He must’ve gotten the news from Tom.

Johnston cleared his throat. “Just keep it out of the business, Josie. You know we can’t handle any more bad press.”

Yeah, about that. She tapped the file. “I’m still doing research, but I think there’s a discrepancy with the Larson Corporation account in addition to a couple other accounts.”

Johnston frowned. “What other accounts?”

“Davis Bakery, Agers Hardware, and Hall’s Funeral Home.”

Her boss’s nostrils flared. “Okay. What are the discrepancies?”

Josie shrugged. “I’m not sure. The assets aren’t lining up with reported income. My guess is Billy just lost track of the math. It’s probably something simple. I found one place in the Hall file which reported a lump sale where it was really spread over several months. Easy to fix.” She flipped open the file. “I wish Billy had left some notes on his dealing with them. I’m sure it’ll all make sense.” Billy had been their accountant and main contact with the specialty shop until the previous month—though she’d been assisting him.

Daniel leaned forward. “If the files are too much for you, I can take them over. You’re going through a difficult time personally right now.”

Josie bit back a retort. The man was just too handsome and charming. Clients loved him. She didn’t. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”

Daniel shrugged. “I’m settled with the files I brought over from Salt Lake and can take on more if necessary.”

Josie forced a calm smile. The accountant hadn’t hidden the reason for his transfer three months previous—he wanted the vice president job. “My files are covered. Though you could always seek new clients in the area.”

A slow smile tipped his lips. “I just signed the Snowville School District. So, yeah, good idea.”

Darn it. That was a great client. She forced a chuckle. “That’s awesome. Congratulations.”

Johnston glanced at his watch. “Billy should be out of rehab in another month. Maybe. I’ve heard meth is almost impossible to beat. He may need to stay longer.” His beefy hand closed into a fist on his desk. “That’s why we don’t need any more bad publicity,
Mrs.
Dean.”

Probably true. Billy’s meltdown had put them in a bad light with several large clients. He’d missed deductions. Added wrong. And even gotten one client in trouble with the IRS. Josie only knew Billy professionally, but the guy had always been full of energy.

“I hate to ask this since Billy’s my friend, but considering his drug problem, do you think he was skimming?” Daniel asked.

Josie studied the smooth number cruncher. “You’re friends with Billy?”

“Yes. We’ve worked together, mostly via Internet and Skype, for about five years.” Daniel tilted his head. “Skimming?”

“Maybe, and I always look for that. But I think so far it’s been a matter of simple mistakes. Mistakes we need to catch before tax season.” She’d seen what drugs could do to people and figured Billy had just been working poorly. With enough time and dedication, Josie could get the files back into order without there being an IRS issue. “Don’t worry—I’ll figure it out.”

“I could take over the files, if you want,” Johnston offered.

“No.” Josie shook her head. Enough with all the men in her life trying to ease her way. The attempts always backfired. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m supposed to take over Billy’s clients until he gets back.” If he came back. And if she’d made the mistake while she’d been learning the file, she’d fix it. If Billy had made the mistake while on drugs, she’d fix it. “Don’t worry. I can handle it.”

Johnston shrugged. “Fair enough. Just keep me apprised. Like I said, we don’t need any more bad PR.”

Josie nodded, standing and heading for the door. “Of course.” Poor Billy. Growing up in foster care, she’d befriended many a lost kid who’d coped with life by taking drugs. She’d been offered pot at ten years old, meth at twelve, and cocaine at fifteen. But she’d always known there was a way out of the system, and that taking drugs would keep her in. It was a straight shot from foster care to juvey to jail. So she’d always said no to drugs. Unfortunately, her best friend had said yes to cocaine and had died from an overdose. Josie needed to visit her soon in the local cemetery.

Drugs did kill.

For now, Josie had to concentrate on the present and not the past. This current mess with Shane could cost her the promotion she wanted.

Navy blue industrial carpet cushioned her steps as she wound through the quiet hall to the main hub of the floor. Several secretaries busily typed away in rows of cubicles filling the center space as phones rang and printers whooshed. A trill of laughter threaded among the squeaking of desk chairs. The aroma of floral perfume and vanilla coffee scented the air.

She reached her office, hurrying inside and shutting the door to keep noise out. She didn’t have time to mess around—now she needed to go get a bunch of new clients to compete with freakin’ Daniel.

Hurrying toward her desk, she glanced at her appointment book.

“Hi, angel.” The heavy oak door swished shut behind her, the lock engaging with a click.

She froze. In slow motion, she turned around. The files trembled in her hands.

“Sit down.” Shane had been waiting against the wall. He tilted his head toward a leather guest chair. She’d chosen the light brown carefully to match the chairs her foster father Arthur had had in his office so many years ago. Classy and plush.

The phone. She could get to it, or she could scream. But if she screamed, who’d come running? Her secretary, Vicki? Vicki couldn’t handle Shane. Crap. She’d probably take one look at the soldier and rip his clothes off.

“Now.” He wore a fresh black shirt and new jeans, kick-ass boots covering his size thirteens.

“Nice boots.” Josie tossed the file on the desk and slid into a chair. She was wearing three-inch heels on her feet; they’d cause serious pain if necessary.

“Turns out I had cash hidden at the bungalow. Went shopping earlier.” He stalked forward and dropped into the matching chair, swiveling her to face him. Both legs stretched out on either side of hers, trapping her. “Miss me?”

“No.” She straightened her back with a sharp snap. So he admitted he’d stalked her from the bungalow. Was that a good sign or a bad one? Either way, her chest hurt. “How’s the head?” A new bruise covered his left temple. From her foot. Her grin even felt malicious.

“Excellent kick, angel.” He leaned forward, his hands clasping her knees above her skirt, his scent of heated cedar washing over her. “I taught you well.” He wore his soldier face today, no expression showing. But those eyes. Dark, gray, and swirling with emotion. He usually veiled better.

Her abdomen began to hum… in warning and something darker. A feminine desire for him to explain everything—for him to say it was real. But the only thing that was real was the lust they’d felt. Still felt. “Don’t make me kick you again.”

His smile slid slow and sure across his face. Dangerous. “Ah, darlin’, I’d love for you to try it again.” His hands dipped under the skirt, pushing the silk up, his palms heating her thighs. “Something occurred to me last night.”

Desire rippled through her with memories of what those hands could do. Even lying to her, he’d exploded her world. She grabbed his hands, halting their journey. So close to where her body was beginning to ache. The man knew her body and exactly how to play her. The thought brought both unease and intrigue. “What’s that?” Her voice came out hoarse.

“I’ve been too easy on you.” He flipped one hand over, easily trapping both of hers. “Treated you with kid gloves, kept you out of my life.”

She frowned, her lids dropping. “You remember.”

“No.” He sighed, his free hand curving to the side of her thigh and heading toward her hipbone. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. What you were able to do by kicking me in the face.” He traced a path over her thigh toward her core, his gaze dropping to her breasts. “Let me feel you, Josie.” Three fingers pressed against the outside of her panties. “Just once. Before everything goes to shit. Open for me, baby.”

Electric shocks cascaded out from his fingers. Molten lava. Fire whipped through her until she tilted against his hand. She knew the pleasure he could bring. Even with the pain that would follow, that pleasure was seductive. To get lost like that again. Sometimes to feel the fire, you had to get burned. She swallowed. They were in her office, for goodness’ sake. The temptation made her catch her breath. So much temptation.

So wrong.

This time the fire would consume her. She just knew it. So she tugged her wrists free, scooting back and smoothing down her skirt. “Keep your hands off me.”

Shane sat back, desire flushing red across his high cheekbones. “Never.”

“Stop it, Shane.” She clutched her jacket shut over throbbing breasts. Needy breasts. There was something seriously
wrong
with her. “The police are looking for you. No way can you get me out of this building.”

His lip quirked. “You think I’m here to take you?”

Well, yeah. Her face warmed. Of course he was there for her. The man wanted her, didn’t he? Temper lifted its head. “I assume most stalkers try to take their prey at some point.”

His teeth flashed in a smile. “You’re my prey now?”

Oh, most killers on television had charm, too. “You’ve been watching me. Stalking me. Some of those pictures in your bungalow go back three and a half years.” Her voice rose on the last.

“Keep your voice down.” He rubbed his chin. “I can’t explain the pictures right now. There’s no logical reason for me to have stalked you, and you know it. I had you.” His eyes warmed. “I’ll have you again.”

Heat filled her body while confusion filled her mind. He was playing her, damn it. And like any victim, she was letting him. “Then where did the pictures come from?”

“I’ll find out, though my best guess is that I was watching you to keep you safe if somebody is after you.” He leaned forward, the rough stubble on his jaw making him look more than ever like a pirate searching for loot. “Now you need to trust yourself, Josie. Believe in your instincts, in whatever made you trust me in the first place. Give me a chance to figure this out, angel.” His eyes softened with the entreaty.

“Not a chance in hell.” The words came out weaker than she’d intended. Was Tom correct? Was she caught in some abusive vortex where she continued to trust when she should just flee?