Fair Game Inc Part 3

There was pain behind that dark gaze, as he stood before her disheveled and wounded-looking. Amber found herself wanting to circle him with her arms, rest her head against his chest, and tell him it would be all right. She shook herself from her thoughts. No way was she going to feel sorry for Grayson Charles, who for all the opportunities he'd been granted obviously couldn't organize so much as his date book. But she couldn't stop herself from asking softly, "Your father died young, I take it?" Research, her conscience insisted. Just research.

"Heart attack."

Grayson's words were short, clipped. She knew when a subject didn't want to talk. She'd get no more from him even if she tied him to a chair and interrogated him under a bare light bulb.

But then he surprised her by saying, "Worked himself to death."

"I'm sorry." The words slipped traitorously from her lips. The only thing she was sorry about was having to work for Barlow & Charles, she told herself sternly.

Grayson drew in a deep breath. "Well, Ms. Shaw, as you can see there is plenty of work to be done. I'm afraid I have to make several more calls this evening, so please," he cast a grim glance over his shoulder at the decimated reception area, "jump right in."

Amber rose from behind Barlow's desk. "You don't have a secretary?"

"We did, until quite recently."

"How recently?"

"About a month ago?"

Her eyebrows rose, in spite of her vow to remain detached. "You made this mess in just a month?"

Grayson sighed. "Suffice to say NicoleAEs departure was ill-timed."

"What happened to her?"

"She ran off to Mexico."

"Ran off?"

"She got married, Ms. Shaw. Her new husband was offered a job in Mexico."

"Isn't that always the way?" Amber said hotly. "A man gets offered a job and he thinks nothing of uprooting his wife and dragging her off to another country. Would he do the same for her? I doubt it."

He opened his mouth to object, but she charged resolutely ahead.

"And once she's given up everything for him, what does he do?"

Grayson threw up his hands in defeat. "I don't know. Please enlighten me, Ms. Shaw."

"He leaves her for his blonde secretary. Just like your brother Roger." The words leapt from her lips. She hadn't meant to say them, hadn't meant to think about Sandy, Roger, nor a certain male named Eric and his blonde secretary, Daphne. But it was too late to call back the traitorous words, so she settled for leveling him a searing stare and daring him to take offense at it.

The corners of his mouth twitched with amus.e.m.e.nt, but he caught himself. "Is that so?"

She nodded curtly, hands on her hips.

"Allow me to point out that you're operating on a couple of incorrect a.s.sumptions here."

"I--".

"In the first place, you're a.s.suming the advantages in relocating were all skewed toward NicoleAEs husband. That wasn't the case. Nicole was also able to secure herself a substantial promotion. It was a great opportunity for both of them. A great opportunity for everyone except Barlow and me," he looked around at the stacks of files everywhere, "who'd come to depend on her. But what could I say? I didn't want to stand in the way of her chance to start an exciting new life."

"Oh right. Away from her family and friends."

"Perhaps she considered her husband both family and friend. It isn't impossible you know, Ms. Shaw."

"It is from my experience," she shot back at him. Now where had that come from? Amber ground her teeth against her tongue in a stern reminder not to spill any more of her guts to this virtual stranger. The stranger, she reminded herself, who'd sued her over a simple mistake.

Grayson raised his eyebrows at her caustic remark. "And secondly, Cindy isn't Roger's secretary, she's an executive. They met at his health club."

"Oh, that makes it so much better."

To her amazement, he looked embarra.s.sed at the mention of his twin. "Roger is hopeless. I make no excuses for him."

"Did he say why he ditched Sandy after leading her on like that?" she asked more gently.

"He said the relations.h.i.+p wasn't working for him." Grayson looked wearily down at her. "Does that satisfy your boundless curiosity, Ms. Shaw?"

Curiosity killed the cat. Her grandmother's words echoed in her mind. The burning desire to ask questions no one wanted to answer was a trait that dated back to her early childhood. Caught in the act again, Amber smiled, a peace offering.

"You might as well call me Amber since we're going to be stuck here together for a month."

"Grayson," he said. The trace of a smile broke across his face.

Like the sun dawning, Amber thought, then mentally shook herself. A woman could get lost in that smile. She wondered how many had.

"Well then, Amber. Are you satisfied?"

"One more question."

The smile faded, like clouds gathering. "One and only one."

"Where's your partner?"

Grayson studied her long and hard. "He's on an extended holiday."

"Why?"

"I said one question, Amber. Next time make sure you use it wisely."

"Doesn't seem like such a great time to take a holiday to me."

He pursed his lips, all but saying he knew exactly what she was up to. "No, it wasn't."

"So why'd you let him go?"

"That's a question," he reminded her softly.

"You're right," she said breaking into a grin in spite of herself. "You can't blame me for trying. Asking questions is my profession after all."

"No, I suppose I can't," he said, sounding even more tired than before. He ushered her from Barlow's office. "Let me show you where everything is."

He leaves her. Grayson couldn't shake her poignant words from his mind. Spoken with just enough hidden pain to make him wonder if in fact she wasn't speaking from her own experience instead of discussing a case study. Had she made sacrifices for a lover who rewarded her by leaving? Was that what set the hot-tempered Ms. Shaw on the course of a new career? Should he ask her?

Grayson smiled in spite of himself. No, that likely wouldn't be a good idea. Ms. Shaw might be adept at asking questions, but he could be certain she was equally adept at evading those asked of her. If he wanted to repair the damage his ill-conceived lawsuit had done, now was not the time to press for personal information. Not yet. Not with her bristling at his every word.

He'd take his time, ask the right questions. He knew from experience that given the right prompting the most reticent of defendants could be enticed to spill the beans.

Grayson glanced through the crack of his partially-closed door at her slight form bent over NicoleAEs main filing cabinet. He couldn't help but admire her. Whether her diligence came from training or deep personal pain, she'd built a business around it, created something profitable where nothing had been before. Created something that allowed others to vent that pain and get on with their lives.

Had she taken revenge on him? He wondered. What had she done? And how had she done it? A few gruesome possibilities flitted through his imagination. He could bet it wasn't ice. No, that wasn't her personal style. Something much more lingering, something the poor fool who'd wronged her would never forget.

And then it hit him. She hadn't exacted her revenge. Hadn't been able to at the time, or chose not to. And all of a sudden he understood something about Amber Shaw that he'd bet she'd never share with another living soul. Pain kept her going. Pain stoked the fires of her success. Pain kept her working on other people's problems instead of facing up to her own. Grayson leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. Ms Amber Shaw was definitely the most interesting case in years to walk through the doors of Barlow & Charles. Perhaps things were working out just fine after all.

But inside a little voice snickered, reminding him instantly of Roger. Roger, who was so blind to his own faults, yet remarkably attuned to other peoples.

And what fans your fire, Grayson?

He shut his brother's voice firmly out of his mind. Getting up, he softly closed the door. Amber Shaw was here to help him get his work done, he reminded himself, not to keep him from it. Grayson reached for the phone.

Her pity for the loss of his secretary vanished as soon as she glanced at piles of files awaiting her undivided attention. He was smooth, she grudgingly admitted. Mr. Grayson Charles missed his calling. He should have been an actor. She'd bet even the tousled hair and wrinkled s.h.i.+rt had been part of the disguise. He could certainly dress himself for court. She yanked open the file cabinet. Like dominoes set in motion, files tumbled out, landing in a heap of scattered paper at her feet.

Oh he was good all right, she thought, gathering up the files into yet another pile. He used just the right amount of humor, the faintest touch of a smile, the see, I'm a good guy, you can trust me routine. She knew how it went. She used it herself. She just hadn't realized she was vulnerable to it.

Stated his case, he had. The defense rested. Lulled into a false sense of security, she told him more than she ever intended. Not intentionally. Of course not. Just as he planned.

Never again. Amber kicked off her shoes and sat down on the carpeted floor to start organizing the files into some kind of order.

Vulnerability lurked behind every need. So what need kept her vulnerable to Grayson's charms?

Later, she promised herself, out of range of Grayson's influence, she'd think about that one.

It was obvious there had once been an order to the mult.i.tude of files littering the reception area. Each color-coded folder had its own laser printed label. But in the weeks since NicoleAEs departure, t.i.tles had been crossed out in ball-point pen and others scrawled in a barely legible hand. Grayson's she deduced. The obsessively neat John Barlow, if his office was any indication, would never have used tools as crude as ball-point. But the color coding that had likely made perfect sense to the departed Nicole made no sense at all to Amber. She found matching folders in the main cabinet neatly arranged in alphabetical order to match the files coded yellow and blue. But there were no corresponding hanging folders for those with red and black labels. She wandered down the hall to Grayson's office, but inside she could hear the low murmur of a telephone conversation in progress. Deciding not to disturb him, she strolled back down the hall toward Barlow's office.

The door shut quietly behind her. Amber hit the light switch and looked around the immaculate office. His oak filing cabinet was locked. Walking softly over to the matching desk, she tried the top drawer again. A quick search yielded a ring of tiny keys. Amber chuckled to herself. What possessed people to lock things up and then leave the keys within easy reach she'd never know.

Metal connected with metal. The lock popped open. Sure enough, the cabinet contained several rows of files with red and black labels. Amber looked down at the folders in her hand. Red and black. Those colors should mean something to her.

Opening the door quietly, she peered down the hall. Light shone in a thin band beneath Grayson's closed door. Straining to hear, she could make out deep timbre of his voice. She closed the door again and crept back to Barlow's filing cabinet.

In the red or in the black. Financial statements? She flipped open one of the files. Inside was a handful of spreadsheet pages. Last years books, if she could trust the date at the top. Amber dug deeper in the filing cabinet, replacing the files from the outer office and flipping through the ones with more recent dates.

The most recent figures were from June. Four months ago. She tilted the file into the light, squinting to make out the tiny figures at the top of the page and stopped. a.s.suming the figures were correct, Grayson's law firm was already seriously in the red.

Amber's fingers hovered above the next file. She cast a glance over her shoulder, checking for signs of her discovery, but the hallway remained silent. Her heart pounding, she opened the file.

Inside were papers offering the sale of Barlow & Charles to another firm.

Chapter FOUR.

It turned out that the elusive occupant of apartment four worked nights, which explained why heAEd been so difficult to locate during the day. It also explained how heAEd been able to dupe his girlfriend into believing he was working.

s.h.i.+ft work, business trips, overtime. After five years, Amber knew just about every cheating scheme in existence. She s.h.i.+fted against the plastic upholstery of her Honda, peeling the skirt that had become stuck to it in the heat of the Indian summer day. That beautiful day was rapidly becoming evening, while all the work she should have done acc.u.mulated with yesterdayAEs. What else could she do? Grayson Charles had manipulated the court into granting him her services in the evenings.

Behind the white Venetian blinds in apartment four, something moved. Amber let go her frustration in a deep sigh. A lamp went on in the bedroom, barely discernible in the late afternoon light. She swung the camera into position.

oCome on, come on,o she whispered as if her words could hypnotize the mysterious occupant in number four. oYou have a date tonight. I can just feel it.o She was already half an hour late for GraysonAEs office, but sheAEd been following Mr. Apartment 4 for three days now. Since her evenings were slated for Barlow & Charles, this might be her last chance. Whatever happened, she couldnAEt let her business slide in any way during the month sheAEd been ordered to help Grayson.

The sun dipped lower on the horizon. Afternoon faded into evening. Mr. Apartment 4 stayed stubbornly behind the closed blinds.

oYouAEre late,o Amber chanted softly. oNo time for a shower. She wonAEt mind a little sweat.o In apartment four, the light went off.

oCome outside and play,o she whispered, then frowned and added, oso I can get this over with and go to work for the rest of the evening.o Movement. In the lobby. Amber eased the window down and put her eye to the viewfinder. SheAEd loaded the camera with high speed film, but if she was forced to wait any longer, even that wouldnAEt be good enough. Her only alternative would be to use flash and that could prove to be ... difficult.

The front door swung open. A thin blond man jaunted down the steps. oLooks like a surfer,o Amber muttered. Using the telephoto lens, she snapped off a couple of shots just to be safe. According to her clientAEs profile, he was an information services technician.

oBet the services youAEre currently selling have little to do with computers.o Amber laughed at her own dark humor. oWeAEll just see about that, Apartment 4. Information is my specialty, too.o She ducked as he pa.s.sed her car, heading for his own. Waiting until there were a couple of cars safely between them, Amber eased the Honda into traffic. A glance at her watch sent her heart sinking. Almost an hour late. Grayson Charles would just have to wait. SheAEd make it up to him later. If she had to.

oThereAEd better be a woman at the end of this goose chase,o she told the red mustang two cars ahead. oIf youAEre going grocery shopping, IAEm going to be really mad.o And so would Grayson Charles.

No wonder heAEd been so upset at the loss of his time. If the firm was in fact riding a fine edge between solvency and bankruptcy, Grayson wouldnAEt have had the resources to hire extra help. Dark eyes haunted her, last night and all day. He hadnAEt looked annoyed to see her. He looked ... relieved.

Amber thrust him from her mind. Since their ill-fated meeting several weeks ago, Grayson Charles had been occupying far too much of her thoughts.

Apartment 4 was pulling into the parking lot of an industrial complex. Amber followed a discreet distance behind. He parked in front of a rambling building. A green sign above was the only thing distinguis.h.i.+ng it from the other squat buildings in the industrial complex. Gardner Information Services. Amber eased her car closer, keeping one hand on the camera.

oGoing to work early tonight, arenAEt we, Apartment 4?o Amber said as he disappeared inside.

Taking the camera, she closed her car door quietly, and crept toward the rear of the building. Most of the workers had left for the day, emptying a mult.i.tude of dark offices. Down toward the end of the building, lights were still on in a couple of offices. Bending low out of sight of the windows, Amber ran along the side of the building.

The first illuminated room turned out to be the lunchroom. A couple of industrial tables, a battered fridge and a microwave made up its furnis.h.i.+ngs. Amber slid around the corner. Peering up over the windowsill, she peeked through the vertical blinds.

oBingo.o Sure enough, Mr. Information Highway Surfer was at his terminal. But he wasnAEt alone. Pressed intimately between him and his workstation was an attractive brunette in a business suit.

oSheAEs his coworker.o A perfect scheme. One stayed late, one came in early. Their coworkers probably pitied them clocking all that overtime.

oWell, partyAEs over, Apartment 4.o Amber inched up to the window. A tiny s.p.a.ce between the vertical blinds offered her all the clearance she needed. Pressing the lens against the window, she captured their pa.s.sionate kiss with the rest of the roll of film.

The kiss ended. Amber dropped out of sight. As if she sensed something, the brunette looked through the half-closed blinds. Plastering herself against the side of the building, Amber rounded the corner and froze.