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High Society Sabotage
Kathleen Long


Sara Montgomery thought her days as a debutante were over. But when top-level businessmen connected to an oil conspiracy began disappearing, her undercover work returned her to the spotlight - and forced her into the arms of Kyle Prescott. Could this millionaire playboy be the mastermind behind the investment scheme? Just when she thought she had Kyle pegged, he stepped in front of a bullet meant for Sara - then insisted on playing protector.And although relying on the charming bad boy 24/7 was good for the mission, spending long nights together was never part of the plan. But what about falling for the very man she'd been assigned to investigate?









High Society Sabotage

Kathleen Long













www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Denise Zaza and Allison Lyons, with gratitude.


Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to

Kathleen Long for her contribution to the

BODYGUARDS UNLIMITED, DENVER, COLORADO,

miniseries.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue




Chapter One


Ten minutes into the party, Sara Montgomery knew she’d been spotted by a potential target. And she couldn’t be more pleased.

She stole a glance at Kyle Prescott as he worked the large birthday party for his stepfather. He wound his way through the society and corporate types gathered at the Turner ranch as if he’d done so all his life.

Sara laughed softly to herself. He had done so all his life.

She noted the sideways glance he sent her way. One corner of his mouth lifted, as if he knew she watched him.

She smiled, hoping the man would read her expression as a sign of interest and not for what it really was—a smile of satisfaction. Satisfaction that she’d found a potential means to infiltrate TCM, her latest assignment for Prescott Personal Securities and the true reason Sara found herself at TCM CEO Stephen Turner’s birthday party.

After being briefed on the investigative findings to date, Sara had developed several options for achieving her goal. Oddly enough, charming her way into Kyle Prescott’s life had fallen somewhere toward the bottom of the list.

As the man mingled with other partygoers, cir cling ever closer to where she chatted with a TCM employee, Sara realized she should have put Kyle Prescott at the top of her list.

He was the perfect in, assuming she played her cards right. Which she would.

The playboy represented everything she loathed about the society scene, but what did it matter? Sara had a job to do, and she’d do it well. She always did. She wasn’t about to let the sour taste left in her mouth by a polite society gathering such as this one distract her from her objective.

Access enough inside information on TCM to find out who was operating the bogus Kingston Trust and the scheme to buy up land for the oil beneath—no matter what the ultimate cost.

Considering the rising body count of Kingston Trust investors, Sara knew she had to work quickly, and effectively.

If Kyle Prescott represented the pawn she needed to get inside the workings of TCM, so be it.

She had every intention of stopping the conspiracy before the next victim fell.

The mission called for her to blend in with the society crowd, so blend in she would.

She took a sip of her champagne, noting the weight of the crystal flute in her hand. The ballroom at the Turner ranch had been decked out from corner to corner in only the finest linens, flowers and crystal.

Candles, which Sara understood to be hand-dipped by children at a local charity Stephen Turner supported, adorned each table as centerpieces.

While the glitz and glamour of the entire scene made the small hairs at the base of Sara’s neck lift, the presence of the candles provided a tender, human touch that made the entire visual tolerable.

While Sara had always hated the party scene, her older sister, Annemarie, had lived for it. She’d died for it, as well, being murdered at a party days before what would have been her coming-out ceremony.

Sara had refused to attend the same party and her parents had never forgiven her, as if somehow Annemarie’s death wouldn’t have happened had Sara been in attendance.

Sara’s heart gave a sharp twist, the familiar ache squeezing her chest. Maybe they were right. Maybe she could have made a difference, had she only been there for Annemarie.

Sara had gone through with her own debut a year after they buried Annemarie—part of the Montgomery family plan to prove the unsolved murder of their oldest daughter hadn’t destroyed them.

Attending the debutantes’ ball was the last thing Sara ever did to please her parents. They certainly didn’t approve of the life she’d created for herself since then.

She blinked away the memories as Kyle Prescott neared. Now was the time for razor-sharp focus on the present, not blurry-edged memories of the past.

She studied the man casually, yet carefully, as the TCM employee by her side blathered on and on about global marketing.

Sara didn’t feel guilty about partially tuning out the man’s words. She was more than capable of listening closely enough to respond when necessary, but she’d already determined his position in the company could lend nothing to her investigation.

She had no problem being blunt and, truth was, she had no use for him.

Kyle Prescott, on the other hand, was an entirely different story.

As head of TCM’s international rights division and stepson to Stephen Turner, he was no doubt privy to key corporate information and accounting.

Perfect. Just the foot in the door Sara needed.

Kyle Prescott kept his distance from where Sara stood, chatting and shaking hands with those gathered, but she felt his focus on her. Felt his gaze on her.

She’d always had a sixth sense about being watched, and that sixth sense was working overtime right now.

She glanced down at her dress. A dress she would have never voluntarily chosen, but one that was obviously having the intended effect now that she’d set her sights on Kyle.

While the other women present dripped diamonds and sequins, Sara had chosen a classic, yet seductive, red, silk dress. The sleeveless style showed off her lean shoulders, while the surplice front revealed just enough skin to hint at the curves that hid beneath.

She’d pulled her one piece of real jewelry out of its storage spot in the bottom of her jewelry box. The diamond choker encircled her neck, small star-shaped pendants dangling toward her cleavage.

The skirt of the dress stopped precisely at her knees, revealing nothing but the long expanse of her bare legs, supported by her sexiest pair of three-inch heels.

Kyle began to make his move, and Sara adjusted her stance, working to send the signal she waited for his approach. He shifted his course through the crowd, casually moving straight for her.

His black hair shone in the room’s subtle lighting, his blue eyes so light they glowed like beacons from the handsome lines of his suntanned face. A day’s worth of stubble lined his jaw and Sara wondered how hard he had to work at maintaining the slightly unkempt look.

His manner of dress, however, had nothing unkempt about it.

The man’s black tux fit as though it had been tailored just for his broad-shouldered build, and she had no doubt it had been. The expensive material hung flawlessly on him as he moved toward her, the white collar in sharp contrast to both his suntanned face and the tux itself.

He moved confidently, securely, proudly owning every inch of his well-built six-foot frame. It was there that she saw the resemblance to his late father. Robert Prescott had moved with the same self-assuredness.

She knew from her preparation for this assignment that Kyle was only a few years younger than she, but as far as Sara was concerned, they were a lifetime of differences apart from one another.

His had been a life of luxury and pampering. Hers had not. A choice she’d made. A choice her family had never forgiven her for.

But Kyle Prescott?

Kyle Prescott was a man used to getting his way, even at the tender age of twenty-eight.

He strode toward her now, his gaze riveted to hers. She stood her ground, not faltering in the least. She didn’t rattle easily—never had.

She stiffened, resenting the man before he so much as made his first move, before he delivered his first line. And that first line was on its way. No doubt about it.

Sara was about to experience the legendary Kyle Prescott charm firsthand.

She could hardly wait.

KYLE HAD SPOTTED the petite but leggy brunette the instant she walked from the valet area toward the party. He’d been dreading his stepfather’s birthday party, having never felt much more than obligation toward the man, but perhaps things were looking up.

He’d hoped to speak to his second in command at International, Dwayne Johnson, but the man had been a no-show. Big surprise there.

Kyle had left a none-too-kind voice mail about the call he’d received from a TCM investor in reference to a disturbing memo bearing Kyle’s signature. A signature he had no recollection of writing.

Kyle might be fairly apathetic when it came to the day-to-day business of TCM, but he’d be damned if he’d let someone get away with transacting any sort of business under his name, at least not without him having final approval.

He laughed to himself.

Johnson had probably been so surprised by not only the voice mail, but also the fact Kyle had checked his messages, that he’d dropped on the spot.

No matter.

He’d catch up to him later.

For now, Kyle had a fresh target in mind.

He watched as the woman shook hands with another guest then engaged in what appeared to be comfortable small talk.

Her red dress hugged all the right curves and left a little more to the imagination than he’d like, but perhaps that was what turned his head. She had plenty of sex appeal, but didn’t flaunt her attributes like most of the other women at the party.

Kyle continued his casual conversation, all the while keeping one eye on the brunette, doing his best not to stare at the way her brown hair shone under the light from the chandeliers. Several loose tendrils had found their way out of her hairdo and brushed softly against her neck whenever she laughed or tipped her head.

Breathtaking. The woman was absolutely breathtaking. The expanse of bare leg between the hem of her skirt and her barely there sandals didn’t hurt, either.

He smiled.

Since he couldn’t seem to shake the playboy reputation that preceded him wherever he went, he might as well live up to it.

No time like the present to start.

He closed the space between them and extended his hand, enjoying the feel of her soft yet sure touch as she slid her hand inside his.

“Come here often?” he asked, a smile teasing the corners of his lips as he gave her hand one quick pump then held on tight.

The woman tipped her head sideways, exposing the length of her slender neck. “Does that line actually ever work for you?” Her eyebrows lifted coyly.

Kyle did nothing to contain his laughter. He had no idea who the beauty before him was, but he had every intention of finding out.

Her light green eyes sparked like those of a filly begging to be tamed, and her dark, wavy hair dared him to undo her twist and run his fingers through the thick strands.

“Why, yes, ma’am. It typically works like a charm.”

He glared at the TCM employee by the woman’s side and the man slinked away, effectively dismissed with just one glance.

Kyle continued to hold the woman’s hand, taking careful note of the way the front of the wrapped dress gaped under the strain of her outstretched arm.

“Kyle Prescott.” He gave her hand another gentle pump, then released his grip.

“Sara Montgomery.” She met his gaze unflinchingly. Kyle spotted her strong will instantly. He’d bedded many a beauty in his days, yet there was something in this woman’s eyes the others had lacked. A light he’d never seen before. A focus.

A challenge?

Lord knew he could use some excitement in his life. Maybe Ms. Montgomery would be just the thing to occupy his days—and nights—for a spell.

“How do you know my stepfather?”

“Family acquaintance.” He watched as Sara gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Tough work, isn’t it? One function after another. Fund-raisers. Birthday parties. Black-tie auctions.”

She visibly caught herself, as if her comments might be offensive.

He grinned.

“I didn’t mean this particular birthday party.” She let out a small sigh. “Just the circuit in general.”

Kyle found himself mesmerized by the twinkle in her eyes. “I wouldn’t know.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Prescott. I’m sure you’re at one party or another every night of the week.”

Before Kyle could answer, his half brother Peter stepped between them, extending his hand toward Sara.

She took a step back, startled by the sudden movement.

“Peter Turner.”

“Sara Montgomery.”

Kyle bit back an unusual wave of jealousy. Let Peter find his own companion for the evening. Ms. Montgomery was obviously miles out of his league.

“You’re as beautiful as your sister was.”

An emotion Kyle couldn’t quite put his finger on passed across Sara’s features.

“You knew her?” she asked.

“I was a great admirer.” Peter nodded. “She was the one person who took the time to talk to me when I was a kid. I remember her from some of the parties Mother and Father took me to.”

His expression turned grim. “I was very young, but I still remember the shock of hearing she’d been murdered.”

Montgomery.

Kyle knew the last name had rung a bell.

He watched as Peter pinned Sara with a look that fell far short of sympathy. “I would imagine her death ripped your family apart?”

Enough.

Kyle stepped between Peter and Sara, glaring at his half brother. “Leave it to you to turn the conversation to tragedy, especially on an evening as gorgeous as this one.” He turned to Sara. “My apologies.”

But before she could answer, loud voices sounded from the far side of the gathering.

His mother stood, hands on hips, hot anger flaring in her cheeks and eyes, as she screamed at the caterer.

“Only an imbecile would serve on these dishes.” Olivia Turner gestured wildly then tossed a plate against the parquet floor. The sound of china shattering was unmistakable.

“An imbecile!” she continued ranting. “If you think you’re getting your final payment, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Kyle’s stepfather stood at her side, fingers wrapped around her elbow, obviously trying to calm her and move her away from where she and the caterer stood over what appeared to be several shattered dishes.

“Unhand me.” Olivia spun on her husband as the shocked partygoers fell silent, watching her every move. “Don’t you dare try to placate me after this man’s—” she pointed accusingly at the caterer “—outrageous behavior.”

“Excuse me,” Peter said softly. “It seems Mother could use a drink.”



SARA’S MIND WHIRLED with possibilities as Stephen Turner succeeded in moving his wife away from the tables of food. The poor caterer worked feverishly to clean up all evidence of Olivia’s tirade.

Perhaps the woman had been justified in her actions, but surely a public display such as the one she’d just caused fell somewhere outside the acceptable parameters of polite society.

Sara had heard rumors about Olivia Turner’s tendency toward odd behavior. She’d just witnessed proof of those allegations firsthand.

“I apologize for my brother’s rudeness.” The rumble of Kyle Prescott’s voice cut through Sara’s thoughts.

She shifted her focus to his face, noting the lines of stress that had appeared following his mother’s outburst.

Annemarie. Her thoughts turned back to the awkward conversation with Kyle’s half brother.

“He took me by surprise,” Sara answered. She waved one hand as if she weren’t bothered by Peter’s comment, when the truth was she’d been blindsided. Peter Turner’s sudden remarks had left her feeling raw and exposed.

The orchestra swung into a slow, melodic tune and Kyle held out his hand. “Dance?”

Sara slipped her fingers into his. “It would be my pleasure.”

They moved to the center of the dance floor, other partygoers moving out of their way as if they were the Red Sea parting for the prodigal son.

For a split second, nerves fluttered to life in Sara’s stomach but she willed them away.

Now wasn’t the time to feel out of her element. Now was the time to revel in her surroundings.

She swayed to the music, following Kyle’s obviously practiced lead as the orchestra played on. The heat of Kyle’s fingers burned through the thin material of her dress at the small of her back, but she held her composure. Held her cover.

“I don’t remember seeing you at all these awful society events you mentioned.” Kyle’s lips quirked into a grin. “Are you sure you aren’t just crashing this party?”

If he only knew.

Sara graced him with her warmest smile, gazing up into his deep blue eyes. “Let’s just say I’ve been off the circuit for a bit.” Not a complete lie. “But I’m back now.”

His grin widened and he pulled her closer. “Lucky for me.”

Sara shifted to slide her fingers higher on Kyle’s shoulder. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

When the music stopped, Kyle moved toward the edge of the dance floor, never letting go of Sara’s hand. She concentrated on remaining upright in the ridiculous heels she’d purchased just for this occasion.

If she were smart, she’d have practiced walking in the contraptions before tonight.

When they reached the far side of the ballroom, Kyle spun on her, daring her with his expression. “I could use a change of scenery.” One dark brow lifted. “Do you ride?”

Sara glanced down at her heels. “I do but I don’t think there’s a horse anywhere that would appreciate these shoes.”

A smile spread wide across Kyle’s face, the tension that had been there before their dance completely gone now.

“Not horses.”

Still holding her hand, he led her through the crowd and out into the cool, night air. He tipped his chin toward one of the guesthouses where a Harley gleamed under a floodlight. “Ever ridden a beauty like that one?”

Sara narrowed her gaze. “What do you think? That I get driven everywhere, Mr. Prescott?”

One dark brow crooked, amusement shimmering in his gaze. “If the shoe fits. And, please, call me Kyle.”

“For your information, I’ve ridden plenty of bikes.” She bluffed completely.

She’d been on the back of a motorcycle once, and it came nowhere close to the size of the giant Kyle had pointed out.

He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned, the move lighting up his features. “Then perhaps you’d like to prove yourself.”

She inwardly cursed the traitorous tumble her stomach took in response to his smile.

“Now?” she asked.

Sara’s plan was working beautifully. If Kyle Pres cott was ready to whisk her away on one of his infamous Harley rides through the mountains, she’d made more progress today than she’d hoped for.

He nodded in answer to her question, daring her with his pale eyes. “You game?”

She read the unspoken question buried in his words and suggestively traced a finger down her throat to the hollow at the base of her neck. She ran her finger over her choker. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“I’m always game, Mr. Prescott…Kyle.” She corrected herself.

When he offered his arm, Sara slipped her hand inside, taking note of his well-muscled upper arm and the lean body against which he tightly pressed her hand. She gave herself a mental nod of congratulations.

Was she game?

Most definitely.

She was always game to get her man. And Kyle Prescott promised to be a worthy—and challenging—opponent.




Chapter Two


Kyle handled the bike effortlessly, as if he spent much of his time roaming the vast mountain roads outside of Denver. Sara smiled to herself as she followed his lead, leaning into the curve as they rounded a bend.

From what she knew about Kyle Prescott, his days were supposed to be spent running the international rights division of TCM, but rumor had it he practiced a more absent management style. He rarely showed up at the office, and when he did, he remained isolated in his office. Nothing more.

That particular description of him didn’t jibe with the outgoing, charming man she’d met tonight. One of the personas was an act. All she had to do was figure out which one it was.

Sara tightened her grip around Kyle’s waist, pressing her body tightly against his back. What the heck. If she were going to play the role of a blinded-by-money-and-charm Kyle Prescott groupie, she might as well go all out.

She let her mind wander momentarily, taking in the breathtaking scenery illuminated by the full moon. Majestic slabs of red rock gave way to deep valleys dropping far below the roadside. Summer wildflowers smattered the mountainside with what would surely be vivid splashes of color in the light of day.

For the slightest moment she wanted to tell Kyle to stop—wanted to take just a minute out of the investigation to enjoy the beauty before her.

How long had it been since she’d been up here?

Too long.

She and her sister used to sneak up this road all the time once Annemarie had gotten her license, but Sara had devoted the years since Annemarie’s death to taking down criminals, not sightseeing.

She’d loved her time in the FBI, but being part of the Prescott Personal Securities team was a dream come true. Her undercover assignment to investigate the media conglomerate TCM was something she could sink her teeth into, and her first chance to truly shine as part of PPS.

She could only hope Annemarie would be proud. Sara might not have been able to solve her sister’s murder, but she’d solved others. She’d eased other families’ pain. Try as she might to content herself with that fact, it somehow was never enough.

Kyle eased the bike to the side of the road, snapping Sara’s focus back to the man—and the case—at hand. He cut the bike’s engine, climbed off the massive machine then helped Sara down from the back of the seat, no easy feat in her heels and dress.

When he kept her fingers tightly in his grip, she resisted the urge to pull them free, instead playing the part of the smitten female.

She followed him to the lookout’s edge, gazing down into a valley of jagged rock, stands of evergreens and lush green rolling hillsides. If she weren’t mistaken, the Turner ranch lay in the distance. She could just make out the shape of the buildings and the well-lit grounds.

“Isn’t that—?”

“Sure is,” Kyle answered before she finished her sentence.

He dropped her hand, leaving her fingers oddly cool where his had been. Sara shook off the unwanted sensation, silently reminding herself not to be pulled under by the man’s obviously practiced charm.

When he stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, she fought the urge to toss him over one shoulder and onto his back. Her automatic self-defense response screamed at her to make the move, but her undercover role demanded she stay put.

“Look at this land.” His breath brushed past her ear and a shiver of awareness traced its way across Sara’s shoulders. “This is my favorite place to visit.”

And probably with a different female each time, Sara thought.

“Gorgeous,” she answered. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to develop an inch of these hills.”

“Well, within limits, some development can actually add to the local tax base.”

His quick response took her by surprise, not at all what she’d expected.

“Matter of fact,” he continued, “some might look at it as a win-win. Additional housing, additional tax dollars, some pocket change for the developer, and you just never know. There might be oil in those hills.”

Oil.

Land held by at least three of the dead investors’ companies was known oil land. Maybe Kyle Prescott represented even more than the perfect means to infiltrate TCM. Maybe he also represented the perfect means to infiltrate the investing scheme.

Sara spun on him, seizing the opportunity to push for information. “You can’t be serious.”

His vivid gaze widened with evident surprise. Apparently Kyle Prescott wasn’t used to receiving criticism from his romantic conquests.

He frowned slightly. “I’m completely serious.”

Sara gestured to the expanse below them. “You actually think losing a portion of this land is a good thing?”

He narrowed his eyes and nodded. “Progress is progress, babe.”

Babe.

She spun back toward the view before he could spot the hot color firing in her cheeks. All it would take would be one swift kick to send the man flying off the cliff and into the valley he was apparently so anxious to see developed.

TCM, Sara reminded herself. Stay focused on TCM.

But she couldn’t quite ignore Kyle Prescott’s know-it-all arrogance. She waited until her face cooled, then shifted her gaze back in his direction. He stood staring past her, at the Turner ranch, if she weren’t mistaken.

“What about land preservation?” she asked.

His focus snapped from the view to her face. “What about it?”

The intensity of his focus rattled her ever so slightly. She didn’t like the sensation—didn’t like it at all. She forced her thoughts back to their conversation.

If she could keep him talking about land and oil, he might let some useful information slip into their conversation.

“I’d think you’d be more concerned about international deals than about land acquisitions.” She gave an innocent shrug, working to maintain an air of innocence. “Isn’t that your area of expertise?”

He studied her for a long moment then leaned close. “Is there a reason you’re so concerned about the land, Ms. Montgomery? I assure you I have far more interesting areas of expertise.”

Sara arched one brow. “Can’t a girl care about her environment?”

A sly grin slid across Kyle’s lips. “Sweetheart, you can care about whatever you want.”

The man’s arrogant tone sent anger flicking to life in Sara’s gut. Heat rose from her neck to her face. This time, she made no move to hide her reaction.

“I’m always amazed when a man of your obvious wealth and social status won’t use that power for good.”

“When good playboys go bad.” He leaned even closer. Too close.

Sara held her ground, squinting at him. Their conversation was getting her nowhere. He had yet to give her a straight answer. The man was hiding something, and she had every intention of finding out what.

“Mr. Prescott—”

“I could have sworn I told you to call me Kyle.”

He made his move quickly, as if he’d made it countless times before, leaning into Sara and cupping her face in the palm of one hand.

When he closed his mouth over hers, she opened her lips to protest, only to find his lips matching her moves, his tongue tangling with hers, exploring, tasting.

Traitorous heat ignited deep inside her and Sara wound her hands around his neck and into his slightly too long hair, noting the silky texture and wondering how much money he spent on salon treatments.

When he splayed his palms fully on the small of her back and pulled her body tight against his, her only thought was of how good he felt.

The hard expanse of his chest.

The warmth of his body against hers.

His obvious arousal pressed against her stomach.

Sara blinked herself back into reality before she lost control of the situation, breaking away from his kiss and pushing him out to arm’s length.

Kyle didn’t release his grip, however. Instead he gave her waist a squeeze and turned on his megawatt smile.

Sara had to admit he was good. Very good.

She could see why woman after woman fell for him, only to be discarded when he’d grown bored or received a more enticing offer.

Well, if she’d learned one thing over the years it was that the more you pushed a guy like Kyle away, the more he’d come begging. She decided then and there on her plan of attack. As much as she hated playing games, a round of hard-to-get seemed to be in order.

She drew in a dramatic breath and splayed her hand across her neck. “I think it best we get back to the ranch.”

Without saying a word, Kyle let his gaze drift from her mouth, to her hand, over the swell of her breasts, along the lines of her skirt, down the length of her legs, then slowly back up until he met her eyes.

The seconds passed in slow motion, each moment pure torture as her body heated beneath his gaze.

She swallowed just before his eyes met hers.

“You’d better wear this.” He shrugged out of his tux jacket then draped it around her shoulders. “You wouldn’t want to catch a chill.”

Oh, he was good.

But she could be even better.



KYLE MENTALLY BERATED himself as he maneuvered the bike along the mountain road down from the lookout. When he got a bit too close to the shoulder, he tried to snap himself back into focus by shoving Sara Montgomery out of his head, but it didn’t work.

The heat of her arms pressed around his body and the memory of their kiss lingered on his lips. He’d kissed a lot of women in his day, no doubt about it, but no kiss had ever been quite like this one. It wasn’t that her pulling away had made it different. She had made it different. Plain and simple.

Sara Montgomery ignited a sensation inside him that had never been ignited. She intrigued him. Genuinely intrigued him.

She shifted against him as he pulled into a straight patch of road. Her soft curves pressed into his back, and if he didn’t know better, he’d swear the woman was trying to torture him.

His body remained in a heightened state of awareness even now, at least fifteen minutes since their kiss.

He ran their discussion through his head for the umpteenth time. The truth of the matter was he agreed with everything she said.

He hated to see the sprawl that crept into the land at the base of the mountains. If he had his way, no one would ever be able to develop here again.

Kyle couldn’t quite put his finger on why he’d lied in order to get Sara’s response. Maybe he’d done it to get a rise out of her, or to measure her response.

He’d been pleasantly surprised when she hadn’t agreed with him, as most of the upper crust in the region would have.

Land equaled power in these parts and oil was the Holy Grail. The more land you owned, the better chance you had of striking it rich. He should know. He’d watched several local power brokers find success after success in recent months with lucky land buyouts.

The voice mail he’d received planted itself front and center on his radar screen again. Was that what the man had been referring to? Had he been accusing Kyle of taking part in some sort of investment scheme? If so, the man couldn’t be further off base.

Kyle hadn’t taken part, out of his love for the area’s wilderness, but he had to admit the money was enough to tempt many an environmentalist to the dark side. He, however, wasn’t one of them.

He shouldn’t have let Sara go on as he did without telling her the truth, but it had been a pleasure to see her passion when she spoke, her determination when she explained her stance.

The woman was refreshing, a treat he intended to sample fully when she offered. And she would in time. They always did.

If she thought the hard-to-get act was original, she needed to think again. That particular tactic was tired as well as ineffectual, at least where Kyle was concerned.

He’d been surprised she hadn’t broken away from their kiss more quickly, but the biggest question bouncing around his brain was why she’d agreed to the ride in the first place.

The action didn’t match the coolness she’d otherwise shown. He wondered what she was after. His money? His connections? History showed it would be one or the other. It always was.

Before he could give the topic another thought, Sara leaned forward and tried to yell something to him. The noise of the bike’s engine and the thickness of the helmet he wore muffled her voice.

He shook his head to let her know he hadn’t made out a word she’d said. He dropped a look to his rearview mirror just as she extricated one arm from around his waist and leaned forward, jerking her thumb toward the road behind them.

Kyle knew what she was referring to as soon as she made the gesture. He was already studying the approaching headlights in the mirror.

The vehicle appeared to be an SUV. Dark. Sleek. Heavily tinted windows.

Not your average drive-in-the-mountains fare.

The SUV moved dangerously close to the rear tire of the bike and Kyle accelerated, adrenaline surging to life inside him.

Was the guy behind him nuts? Or was he challenging him to a little road race?

The SUV pulled into the oncoming lane as they approached the next hairpin turn.

What in the—?

Kyle maneuvered away from the too-close black vehicle, yet still maintained control of the bike.

“Hold on,” he yelled into the mountain air, knowing Sara most likely couldn’t hear a thing.

Her arms tightened around his waist, bolstering his resolve to get them away from the maniac in the SUV.

They cleared the curve, but the SUV swerved toward them in the straightaway, pushing Kyle and Sara dangerously close to the edge of the cliff.

Kyle gritted his teeth, determined not to lose control. His father had been killed in an accident and Kyle had no intention of carrying on the family tradition.

The next hairpin turn approached. Kyle knew they wouldn’t make it. They’d have to ditch, but how would he be able to warn Sara?

The SUV swung toward them, brushing mere inches from their legs. Sara screamed something, but Kyle couldn’t make it out.

Damn it. It would be bad enough if he were alone on the bike, but with Sara on the back, he was responsible for saving not just himself, but also the beautiful stranger.

The SUV swerved again, and the front tire of the motorcycle nipped into the rocks and dirt along the edge of the cliff. They faltered, and the bike bobbled from side to side.

The SUV accelerated out around the next curve and out of sight, as if the driver knew what was about to happen, knew he’d succeeded in his dangerous game.

Kyle did his best to slow the motorcycle without losing complete control, but it was too late.

The tires went out from under the bike and they were sliding, dirt and gravel flying, obscuring his view. They slid, and pain exploded through Kyle as the weight of the bike did its damage. Sara’s arms suddenly were no longer around his waist and fear ripped through him.

Had she gone over the cliff? Had she been injured—or worse—because of him?

That was the question haunting Kyle as the mountain fell away beneath him and he and his Harley went over the edge.




Chapter Three


Sara spit the dirt out of her mouth and reached for the strap of her helmet even as she launched herself into action.

She’d been able to jump from the motorcycle as they wrecked, but Kyle hadn’t been so lucky. She’d tried to tell him to jump, but he’d no doubt been unable to hear her above the noise of the motorcycle’s engine.

He and the bike were nowhere to be seen. When Sara spotted a telltale gash in the earth at the edge of the road, bile clawed its way up her throat.

It would take a miracle to survive a fall over the cliff.

She scrambled toward the edge of the roadway, ignoring the pain in every muscle in her body. She held her breath as she peered over the edge, utter amazement ripping through her at the sight of Kyle sprawled on a section of rock just below her. The bike, however, was nowhere to be found.

“Kyle!”

Sara yelled his name when she spotted movement in his arms and legs. To her amazement, he pulled himself into a sitting position, each move an obvious struggle.

“You’re all right?” He spat out the words as he tipped his face toward her, pulling off his helmet as he did so.

The arrogance so prevalent in his expression just minutes earlier was gone. Instead, he searched her face, sincere concern plastered across his features.

Sara nodded, surprised by the absence of any hint of self-awareness on his part.

“Are you hurt badly?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’ll live.”

She dropped onto her belly, reaching for him. “Give me your hands.”

Kyle gave her one hand while he used the other to pull himself up the jagged face of the section of mountain.

Sara pulled with all her might, being careful to let him set the pace. When he cleared the top, he dropped onto his side, wincing in pain. His shirt had been ripped and blood seeped through the white fabric in several spots.

She reached for him, but caught herself at the last moment, deciding against the move. “We have to get you help.”

He shook his head, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “We have to get back. Get you checked out.”

“I’m all right. A bit battered, but nothing’s broken.”

He gave his head another shake. “We still need to get you cleaned up.”

Sara glanced up and down the road. They’d encountered no other vehicle during their trip except the SUV. “Any ideas?”

Kyle pulled off his boot and reached inside, pressing something along the seam.

“What are you doing?”

He lifted his pale gaze to hers and gave her a weak smile. “Automatic tracking signal.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” She shook her head, letting a laugh of relief slide between her lips.

He shot her a wink. “Never underestimate the power of technology.”



KYLE LEANED into the stream of steaming water pouring from the showerhead, his palms splayed against the cool tile. He’d been lucky. Bumped and bruised and he’d no doubt feel much worse in the morning, but he’d survived. That was a whole lot more than he could say for his bike.

He’d dropped Sara at her home and sent her car over with one of TCM’s drivers. His personal physician had followed close behind.

Dr. Franklin had checked in a short while ago to let Kyle know Ms. Montgomery would be just fine.

Kyle winced as the water stung his still raw wounds. He couldn’t believe how close they’d both come to dying.

Who had been behind the wheel of the SUV? And had the driver’s actions been done out of sport, or out of malice? If malice, who was the target? Surely not Sara. They must have been after him, but why?

He hadn’t planned to go up into the mountains, so if the attack had been made purposefully, he and Sara had been followed from the time they’d left the party. No one but the two of them knew where they had been headed.

Kyle thought of the alleged memo bearing his signature and the call he’d placed to Dwayne. Surely today’s accident had nothing to do with his demand for an explanation, did it?

He shook his head.

Pure coincidence. Though, he’d never been a fan of coincidence.

He twisted off the water and reached for a towel. After he’d dabbed at his wounds and anchored the towel snuggly around his waist, he padded barefoot to his personal office.

Here, he could access the TCM computers twenty-four hours a day. No one knew of his setup, not even his stepfather.

The one perk of his bad-boy reputation was the fact that everyone had forgotten he actually had a brain beneath his well-styled hair.

He stopped as he passed through the kitchen to snag a tall, cold beer from the fridge. He deserved a drink—or several—after today’s events.

Kyle popped the cap and took a long pull. Even though he’d literally fallen off a cliff and had had one of the worst days of his life, he couldn’t avoid the way he’d felt since the moment he first met Sara Montgomery.

Shaking her hand.

Debating land issues.

The feel of her slender shoulders beneath his touch.

His stomach tightened and he chastised himself as he dropped into his leather desk chair. He’d never let a woman get to him before, so what made this one different?

For one, she didn’t hesitate to argue with him.

He smiled. Now there was something new.

Typically, the women he met were so eager to please in order to get their claws into him that they’d agree with most anything he said.

Kyle fired up the computer and leaned back, kicking his feet up onto the handmade wooden desk. He took another long taste of his beer, staring out into the night sky. The Denver skyline twinkled in the distance.

When his architect had suggested a full glass wall in the office, Kyle had thought the man a bit mad, but every night when he sat in this very spot, he knew he’d been wrong.

The man had been a genius.

Something about the view, the expanse of land and sky, the enormity of it all, kept Kyle grounded. The sight was a constant reminder of who he was—and how small he was—in the grand scheme of things.

His father would have loved this view.

Kyle’s gut twisted. He’d never known his dad after his mother had taken Kyle back to the States as a kid. When he and Robert Prescott had reconnected a few short years ago, the relationship had been strained, but there’d been a bond that Kyle had never felt with his stepfather.

Stephen Turner was a good man, but a chasm of awkwardness existed between them that Kyle could never quite bridge.

His father had been another matter altogether. Robert Prescott had been bigger than life, at least in Kyle’s eyes. When his plane had gone down on a trip to Spain, Kyle’s playboy antics had spiraled out of control. And he’d let them.

Why not?

He had no reason to do anything else.

Robert’s wife, Evangeline, had taken over Prescott Personal Securities with an icy resolve. Matter of fact, he’d never so much as seen his stepmother flinch after his father’s death. For all he knew, she was secretly happy to find herself in the position of boss.

Marriage.

He took another drink and shook his head.

Based on what Kyle had seen, he was the smart one. Love ’em and leave ’em. That way no one stuck around long enough to get hurt, or produce offspring.

The computer blinked the entry screen for his pass code and he dropped his feet to the floor, pulling the chair close to the desk.

He had work to do.

He typed in his code and waited for the TCM welcome screen to appear.

Kyle had decided not to wait for Dwayne Johnson to return his call. There was no time like the present to search the files in case he’d “signed” more than one memo in absentia.

If someone had used his electronic signature, Kyle had every intention of finding out who…and why.



SARA BYPASSED the cubicles inside the Prescott Personal Securities headquarters and headed straight for Evangeline Prescott’s corner office. She’d received a call from her boss on her secure line not long after Kyle’s physician left.

Word had spread about the accident and Evangeline wanted a face-to-face. Like Sara, Evangeline didn’t think the SUV’s maneuvers had been anything but deliberate.

But why? And who?

Was Kyle Prescott the next name on the list of land investors in the TCM scheme? Had Sara merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Or was the man a target for an altogether different reason?

Sara knew the collision hadn’t been meant for her. She hadn’t been on the case long enough to raise anyone’s interest. Had she?

She rubbed her shoulder absentmindedly as she tapped on the doorjamb to Evangeline’s office. Her boss looked up and smiled, pushing herself to her feet.

Her long blond hair had been sleeked into a flawless twist and her vivid blue eyes sparkled through the reading glasses that sat partway down her nose. She pulled Sara into a quick hug, the move taking Sara by surprise.

Sara hadn’t seen her parents in years, and she had no personal life to speak of, so the genuine display of affection was something she wasn’t used to. It was also a side of Evangeline rarely witnessed.

“Thank goodness you’re all right.” Evangeline pushed Sara out to arm’s length and smiled. She gestured to the sofa that sat facing the bank of windows overlooking downtown Denver. “Sit down. Can I get you something? Coffee? Water?”

Sara nodded. “Coffee sounds great.”

She stared out into the lights of the city as Evangeline pressed the intercom. “Coffee please, Angel. And bring in the other items we discussed, if you would.”

Sara narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Other items?”

A smile tugged at one corner of Evangeline’s mouth. “Secret weapon. You’ll see.” She sat down on the sofa and patted Sara’s knee. “Start at the beginning and don’t leave out a single detail.”

Her expression turned from gentle to intense. “You never know what’s going to be the clue that breaks this investigation wide open.”

Sara nodded and launched into a blow-by-blow description of the day’s events. She left out nothing, even going so far as to detail the kiss she and Kyle had shared at the top of the mountain.

“Plates on the SUV?” Evangeline asked as soon as Sara stopped speaking.

“Wyoming.” Sara shook her head. “I got the first three digits, nothing more.”

Evangeline nodded and stood, reaching for the notepad on her desk. She handed it to Sara along with a pen. “Let’s get it all down. We’ll see what magic we can work with what you got.”

A pang of sadness hit Sara as she remembered the man who would have had no trouble making the information sing. Only a few weeks had passed since Lenny had been senselessly murdered, and the sudden shock had begun to give way to acceptance and grief.

The man who had been PPS’s resident computer genius was sorely missed. A geek among geeks, as he’d referred to himself. A true one-of-a-kind.

Sara wrenched her thoughts to the present. Surely someone else could make the database sing using just the SUV’s description and the partial plate.

Sara had no sooner finished making her notations than a knock sounded at Evangeline’s door.

Angel, one of the company’s receptionists, entered, black hair gleaming and multiple piercings shining.

“You’re all right?” she asked Sara, a note of genuine concern softening the harsh, Goth facade she maintained.

Sara nodded. “Thanks.”

Sara’s eyes, however, never left the object Angel carried. Two steaming mugs of coffee sat balanced on top of a large, flat box.

The secret weapon?

What on earth was Evangeline up to now?

Angel set the box on Evangeline’s worktable, handed Evangeline and Sara each a mug, then looked at Evangeline. When Evangeline nodded, Angel carried the box to Sara and set it in her lap.

“Your secret weapon.”

Sara’s pulse quickened inexplicably. “What is it?”

“The key to my stepson’s heart,” Evangeline answered.

Sara studied the size and depth of the box. Lingerie perhaps? Her belly tightened at the very thought of modeling lingerie for Kyle Prescott. Their kiss had been hot enough to momentarily undo her focus. She didn’t want to consider what a lingerie-modeling session might do.

She swallowed.

“Open it.” Evangeline instructed.

Sara lowered her coffee mug to an end table then slipped her fingertips beneath the edges of the box, slowing lifting the lid.

A plate of brownies sat inside, carefully sealed in a clear container.

She squinted and frowned. “This is the secret weapon?”

Angel excused herself from the room as Evangeline softly chuckled. But when Sara lifted her gaze to that of her boss, Evangeline’s blue eyes had gone steely.

“You’ve got to get inside his life.” She patted the container of sweets. “Seems to me this would get you in the door of his home with no problem. Let him think you’re the perfect little woman—intelligent and attractive, with a great cook on staff.”

She tipped her chin toward the brownies then stood, moving back to her desk.

“We’ve received some new intel that’s rather disturbing when it comes to my stepson. Seems you’ve edged your way into his life at the perfect time.”

Sara set the container of brownies aside and straightened. “Like what?”

Evangeline nodded. “A series of real estate documents bearing his electronic signature. All pivotal to the land deals yet detrimental to TCM.”

“I don’t understand.” Sara frowned.

“Even though the documents bear his signature, they point the finger of responsibility—and guilt—squarely at TCM. Quite brilliantly, actually.”

“But why?” Sara ran the information through her brain. She couldn’t envision the Kyle she’d met doing what Evangeline was saying he’d done.

Yes, the man was as arrogant as they came, but based on his actions after the accident, his heart was a whole lot bigger—and softer—than he let on.

Was he capable of plotting to take down his family’s company? He didn’t seem the type.

Evangeline shrugged. “Kyle never warmed to his stepfather. Maybe he’s setting the man up for a fall.” Her expression softened and the corners of her eyes turned sad. “He was never the same after his father’s death. Who knows what he’s capable of.”

Sara stood and paced a tight pattern to the windows and back. “Or maybe someone’s setting up Kyle.”

Evangeline’s pale brows climbed toward her hair-line. “So I see it’s true what they say about Robert’s son.”

“What’s that?” Sara turned to face her boss.

“His charm is legendary.”

Sara tensed defensively. “Trust me, I have no plans to fall for his charm. I’m just trying to see this situation from every possible angle.”

“Something you do extremely well.” Evangeline hesitated momentarily before she continued. “There’s one more thing.”

“What?” Sara asked.

“We found a notation in the last victim’s date book. Seems he had a meeting scheduled with a K.P. before his untimely death. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to keep his appointment.”

“Kyle Prescott.” A mix of excitement and disappointment fired in Sara’s belly. She’d found just the man she needed to unravel the mystery lurking behind the corporate facade of TCM, yet her gut didn’t believe him responsible.

Evangeline stood, her usual nonverbal mode of dismissal. “I trust you’ll take care of those bumps and bruises—” she nodded toward the container of brownies as Sara picked it up “—and put those to good use.”

Sara mulled over Evangeline’s words as she drove back toward her apartment. She couldn’t picture Kyle Prescott sabotaging the family corporation, but she forced herself to take a mental step back.

She’d known the man for mere hours. Who knew what he was really capable of?

She shoved the inexplicable flash of disappointment out of her mind for the second time since Evangeline had given her the news.

What had she expected? That Kyle Prescott might be more than handsome packaging and a society pedigree? That he might be innocent of the illegal doings inside TCM?

Was she so naive she’d fallen for his legendary charm just as Evangeline had suggested?

Get a grip, Montgomery. Now.

There had obviously been no love lost between Kyle and his half brother, Peter. Perhaps Kyle was out to hurt TCM, if for no other reason than to sabotage Peter.

Sara had no trouble, however, in picturing Kyle being involved in the oil-investing scheme. After all, he’d out and out declared his support for developing and drilling open land.

The puzzle pieces began to circulate through her brain, her favorite part of the investigative process. Now all she had to do was worm her way fully inside Kyle’s life—and inside TCM.

She patted the container of brownies on the passenger seat, then traced a finger over the address of the all-night dry cleaner Evangeline had recommended. She’d drop off Kyle’s tux jacket and have it repaired, cleaned and pressed by morning.

Tomorrow she’d dazzle the man with her concern, caring and her secret weapon.

She planned to use Kyle for an item on her personal agenda, as well.

Finding her sister’s killer.

Her gut told her Peter Turner might hold the key to the mystery she’d failed to unlock even after all this time.

Kyle’s half brother made her skin crawl, but Sara needed to follow up on what he’d said about Annemarie.

As best Sara could figure, Peter Turner would have been a mere five or six years old at the time of Annemarie’s death, but if he’d found her to be kind and patient, he might have trailed behind her at the last party she’d attended.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d seen something that would finally lead Sara to Annemarie’s killer.

After all, there had been no notes in the investigative file about interviewing a child that fateful day.

If Peter Turner had seen anything, no one had taken notice. Perhaps the investigating officers had overlooked a vital piece of evidence. A key witness.

Sara wouldn’t make that same mistake.

Access to his half brother made cozying up to Kyle Prescott very attractive. The fact Kyle himself might be neck-deep in the oil scheme justified whatever moves Sara needed to make to win the man over.

Sara always got her man.

This time would be no different.




Chapter Four


Sara winced as she settled onto the floor, bracing her back against the sofa. Her body had begun to ache from the accident—if one could call it that—and she was doing her best to rest now in anticipation of charming Kyle Prescott starting bright and early in the morning.

Evangeline had sent her home with copies of the documents to review and familiarize herself with. She was no expert at land acquisition, but the documents certainly made it clear that TCM—and more specifically, Kyle Prescott—were acquiring as much oil-rich land as possible.

She took a sip of the strong coffee she’d brewed and stole a glance at Angel’s container of brownies.

Her stomach growled.

She hadn’t had a thing for dinner and heaven knew the cupboards were bare. The cupboards in her apartment were always bare.

Sara flipped through several of the documents. Newly registered deeds. Title searches. All bearing electronic signatures noted as belonging to Kyle Prescott.

According to the evidence sitting right before her eyes, Kyle had been one very busy man. Perhaps he’d used his playboy image and his absence from the TCM offices to carry out his land deals in private.

The thing was, according to the documents, a trust had been the acquiring party. Kingston Trust. Additionally, the documents listed only one party as the authorized signatory. Kyle Prescott.

Yet, PPS had learned through their investigation to date that TCM was the force behind Kingston Trust. They just hadn’t yet uncovered who at TCM was pulling the strings.

As it had done back at PPS headquarters, her gut protested the thought Kyle might be the mastermind.

Sara did her best to ignore the sensation and continued to study the documents, the locations of the properties, the timing of the acquisitions.

If she were going to successfully use Kyle Prescott to infiltrate TCM and find out just what was going on, she needed to internalize every scrap of information she could get her hands on. Once she got inside TCM itself, she’d find a way to access the corporate files.

Sara shot another glance at the container of brownies, this time stretching until her fingers snagged the lip of the container. She pulled it to her side, pried open the lid, stared inside, then frowned.

She couldn’t imagine giving these brownies to Kyle Prescott was going to be anything other than a terrible waste of brownies.

She lifted one from the carefully arranged order and took a bite, instantly moaning at the melt-in-your-mouth perfection. If anyone had ever told her multi-pierced, Goth poster-child Angel could bake like this, she’d have told them to go get their heads checked.

And she’d have been wrong.

Sara polished off the first brownie then reached for a second. A few moments later, she’d settled back into her work, the container tucked into her lap. After all, she had a lot of material to commit to memory tonight.

She refocused on Kyle, and on TCM.

She had no doubt she’d find the proof she needed inside the offices of TCM. With the right information, she’d crack the case wide open and uncover the names of the surviving investors before anyone else met his or her untimely demise.

And no matter what her gut thought of Kyle Prescott’s guilt or innocence, the man was firmly entrenched deep inside the investment scheme.

After all—Sara patted the pile of documents now sitting on her lap—the evidence didn’t lie.

She reached for another brownie as her mind shifted from Kyle Prescott to his half brother, Peter Turner.

She glanced up at the framed photo of Annemarie that held a place of prominence on her living room wall.

When Sara had joined the FBI, she’d promised herself she’d use her new skill set to finally crack open her sister’s case. To date, she’d failed miserably, but the TCM investigation presented an unexpected opportunity.

With a little creative investigating, she could no doubt exploit the current case to pursue the old.

With any luck at all, she’d take down whomever had been responsible for her sister’s murder at the same time she took down whomever had been behind the Kingston investors’ murders.

She popped another brownie into her mouth and refocused on the documents before her.

After all, no one had ever said she wasn’t a whiz at multitasking.



KYLE WORKED LONG and hard into the night, methodically searching through the TCM database of files and reports, looking for anything that would shed light on the cryptic voice mail he’d received.

He’d also checked his corporate voice mail to make sure a second message hadn’t yet been received. The mailbox had been empty. At least that was some small measure of relief.

He still had time to dig.

Kyle made it a practice to never face a perceived opponent without full information on whatever it was the opponent alleged. This time would be no different.

He’d searched first on the caller’s name, Jonathan Powers. He’d found just one record and that had been a form memo welcoming a numbered investor to Kingston Trust Investments.

Kyle could only assume his search on Powers’s name had somehow matched the numbered document. The man’s actual name appeared nowhere on the document.

He frowned.

The document bore his electronic signature.

What on earth was a document dealing with an investment firm doing buried deep within the TCM system? Under Kyle’s signature?

He searched next on Kingston Investments, finding several more welcome memos. All addressed by number. All with his signature.

He knew better than to print the documents. The system was geared to log any print commands. That was one red flag he had no intention of flying.

Not yet.

The memo Powers had called about must be more than a welcome memo. Whatever it was, it contained information Powers thought potentially damaging to TCM.

Where was it? What was it?

Kyle scrubbed a hand across his face and glanced at the small clock on his desk—3:00 a.m.

Typically, he’d be beyond exhausted after being on the computer for so long and so late, especially after the day he’d had, but the curiosity and anger pulsing through him had worked wonders in keeping him awake.

He launched himself out of his chair and crossed to the glass wall, leaning against the cool, slick panes. He’d long since dressed, pulling on a favorite pair of shorts and an old University of Colorado sweatshirt.

His image reflected back at him in the glass—darkened by the early morning sky.

Frustration edged through him.

Had he been so neglectful at TCM that someone honestly thought they’d get away with conducting business under his electronic signature without him catching on?

Short answer? Yes.

He hadn’t set foot inside TCM walls in months.

To add even more fuel to the fire, using his electronic signature was easier than most people would think. All someone needed were the brains to access the log of private and public keys and the ability to match the correct keys to the correct signature.

The signature itself was made up of a randomly generated string of letters and numbers, different each time the signature was applied. But anyone doing business with TCM needed only to use the software TCM operated and supplied to validate the authenticity.

Kyle opened the program he’d long ago installed on his system and ran each document through the necessary steps for validation.

Every signature passed.

Damn.

Someone had lifted his signature and he’d never been the wiser.

The reality of what had happened led him directly back to where he’d started.

Dwayne Johnson.

Senior Vice President for International Rights.

Kyle had given the man his private signature key to make life easier, and Johnson had either used that key for his own purposes or he’d provided it to a third party.

Even more concerning was the reality that if Kyle’s signature was on these memos, there was nothing to prevent his stamp of approval from appearing on an entire project or directive.

Just as Powers had alleged.

Kyle pushed away from the window and headed for the phone. If Johnson thought he could get away with whatever it was he had going on, he’d better think again.

Kyle punched Dwayne Johnson’s private number into the phone, not caring that it was three o’clock in the morning and not caring that he’d already put one call in to the man.

A call that had apparently been ignored.

Kyle felt no surprise when Johnson’s machine picked up. He wouldn’t expect any different at this hour of the morning, and he had no plans to leave a polite message. No plans at all.

“Johnson.” He spoke the name sharply and loudly when the beep sounded. “If you ever want to collect another paycheck, you’ll answer this damned phone and you’ll answer it now.”

A loud noise sounded on the other end of the line as someone bobbled the receiver.

“Sorry. Sleeping,” Johnson said.

Kyle could care less.

“I suppose you’ve been sleeping ever since you ignored my last message.”

“No, I—”

Kyle didn’t give the man a chance to utter another syllable. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be at my front door first thing this morning.”

Silence beat across the line.

“With your explanation of why my electronic signature is on a series of welcome documents for investors in something called the Kingston Trust.”

“You’ve got to be—”

“Listen to me,” Kyle interrupted again. “You are the only person at TCM with access to my signature. If you didn’t sign these documents, then you know exactly who did. Be here by nine o’clock. Or else.”

Kyle slammed down the phone.

He shut down the computer, plucked the empty beer bottles from his desk and dropped them in the recyclables container as he passed.

He headed not for his bedroom, but for his work-out room instead.

Sleep wouldn’t come tonight.

He knew that from experience.

And if he wasn’t going to be able to sleep, he’d have to do something else to defuse the tension knotting every muscle in his body.

The image of Sara Montgomery flashed through his mind’s eye. Spending some quality time with the woman would definitely be one way to the defuse the tension, but based on the fiery spirit she’d shown, breaking down her defenses was going to take some time.

He pulled on a pair of running shoes, fired up the treadmill and stepped on as the machine kicked into high gear.

Before long, Kyle was running at top speed, pressing through the pain of yesterday’s injuries.

He put in five miles then hit a hot shower.

By the time Dwayne Johnson arrived, Kyle planned to be calm, collected and ready.

Johnson would never know what hit him.



SARA TOOK A LONG SWALLOW of her favorite coffee, studied the empty brownie container and grimaced. The oven timer chimed and she crossed her fingers as she approached the kitchen.

She’d been forced to find an all-night convenience store that sold brownie mix in order to replace the batch she’d eaten.

She had to admit Angel’s brownies had been like none Sara had ever tasted before. And they’d certainly helped pass the time while she studied the files on Kyle Prescott.

She opened the oven and smiled at the sight of the tray inside. Her brownies might not be works of art, but they certainly looked edible enough. She reached for the pan and winced as her finger brushed the scalding hot tray.

She stepped back, searching her kitchen for any sign of an oven mitt. She spotted a pair hanging on the side of the fridge, then returned to the task at hand.

A few minutes later, the tray of brownies sat cooling on the counter. Sara had moved on to the bathroom, where she studied her tangle of still damp waves.

The run she’d taken this morning had done wonders to unknot the tension in her shoulders. The exercise couldn’t hurt in the calorie department, either. A fleeting thought of how many brownies she’d consumed crossed her mind, but she shoved it away.

She had bigger things to worry about today. Check that.

Bigger people.

Namely, Kyle Prescott.

The image of his handsome face flashed through her mind. The way he’d had full command of those he spoke with at his stepfather’s party and the way he’d cut off his half brother’s line of inappropriate questioning.

Sara rubbed her lips, gently remembering the feel of Kyle’s mouth pressed to hers.

Her belly gave a traitorous twist and she groaned. Just what she didn’t need. An unwanted attraction to the man who stood for everything she loathed in life—money, the attitude it inspired and the spoiled ways of someone who’d had everything in life handed to him on a silver platter.

The genuine concern Kyle had shown after the accident battled with the thoughts racing through her brain, but she merely shook her head. She had no doubt the gentleness he’d shown after the accident had been the result of the fall he’d taken, nothing more.

The man’s modus operandi was arrogance. That’s what she had to prepare for.

Nothing else.

Her slim denim skirt hugged her hips and ended just above her knees, showing off several inches of skin between the hem and the top of her favorite boots. Butter-soft antique white leather, hand-painted and stitched to perfection, hugged her legs, the colorful design climbing either side of her calves.




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