And the way to avoid disaster was to keep his mind on the things that would make his life better and off the ones that would most certainly derail it even further.

  At the moment, Sierra’s Web was his best—and possibly only—hope of getting his life back. Acting inappropriately with one of their employees, one who’d warned him to keep his hands off her, would not only lose him his last hope of help but could very well land him in a deeper hell than the one in which he already resided.

  Joe Hamilton, CFO of Bellair Software, the man who bilked millions and got away with it, strikes again. This time by hitting on a woman in his employ. One who’d already warned him to leave her alone...

  The imaginary news lead knocking any sense of attraction out of his mind—and his body, too—Joe got up, showered and pulled on another pair of the cargo shorts and the short-sleeved shirts that were the only wardrobe of his long-haired persona. He noticed breakfast scents coming from the kitchen as he unlocked the door into the living area. McKenna had said she wanted to be on the road by daybreak, and the sky’s deep purple color signaled that the moment was arriving imminently.

  There was no sign of the sheets, blanket and pillow he’d pulled out of the under-couch storage the night before. The table was set for two, with a plate of toast in between, and McKenna, in slim-fitting navy cotton pants and a sleeveless white blouse, that curly red hair still damp from her recent shower, was carrying a pan bearing omelet portions over to the table.

  He’d told her to make herself at home. Had mentioned that he had provisions for omelets when they’d been in the store the night before. He hadn’t expected her to cook for him.

  “I’ll make dinner,” he said as he sat down and dug in. Forcing himself to think about the work at hand, not the intimacy of the situation, the two of them in the very small space, all blinds closed to block the light—and their privacy—from the parking lot outside.

  He wanted to know if she’d slept all right. If she needed anything.

  He didn’t want to think about people on a site on the dark web targeting him. He was a numbers guy. One who liked everything in rows and columns and who chose to spend his life in a universe he could control.

  The internet, most particularly the dark web part of it, was out of control.

  Before he got around to deciding whether or not he should inquire as to her comfort, she sat down opposite him and said, “We need you to unhook your car as soon as you’ve finished eating. It’s been decided that the car will be left here, key fob under the spare tire. You’re to text Glen the electronic entry code. He’s already got a driver, about your height with long dark hair and a beard, on the way here from Phoenix. He’s hired the guy to spend the next couple of days driving around the western part of the state, north and south of Quartz Landing. You’ll be billed accordingly.”

  He’d given them carte blanche. Told them to do whatever they had to do, at whatever expense. And he saw the plan immediately...whoever was on that dark-web site was going to be given chances for sightings of him right where they’d be looking—and far away from his actual person.

  “Does the guy know he could be in danger?”

  “He’s a freelance bodyguard the firm uses on occasion.”

  “And he just happens to have long hair and a beard?”

  He could have sworn, when she held her fork aloft with a bite of an incredibly delicious ham, pepper, onion and cheese omelet, that she was ready to grin at him. She didn’t. But her tone had a hint of teasing when she asked, “You ever hear of wigs and costume shops?”

  She took her bite. Finished it, then said, “If we get lucky, he catches someone watching him, or lures someone to approach him with intent to harm or hold him hostage, holds whoever it is, and calls the police. Hopefully he’ll have a chance to question the perp himself before law enforcement arrives, but if not, we’ll be privy to the report afterward.”

  He heard her words and realized the magnitude of the job he’d hired Sierra’s Web to handle for him. Not only were they working on proving his innocence, but in order to protect him—and also perhaps find clues as to who’d framed him—they had to investigate any crazies who were after him.

  He still noticed the full lips just a foot and a half away from his.

  The thirty-three-foot rig had been small when he’d been there alone—with the slides pulled out. You didn’t bother with such luxuries when you were only stopping for a few hours and needed to be prepared to leave at any moment.

  Or maybe, just maybe, since he finally had someone taking on his worries, his mind was going a little bonkers with the first tiny bit of freedom it had had in months.

  It was up to him to corral lip-type thoughts and keep his mind solely on the fact that had been running dizzily around in circles in his brain for months. “I was thinking I should get a haircut and shave,” he mentioned then, not quite getting off the body parts sitting so intimately close together, but keeping the conversation somewhat case-oriented. “No point in keeping up my attempt at a disguise if my cover’s been blown.”

  “To the contrary—” McKenna didn’t miss a beat, or even glance over at his body parts, mentioned or otherwise, as she continued to eat as though if she didn’t get her food down, someone would take it away from her.

  Did she always eat so fast? Or was it just him she was eager to get away from?

  “Glen said that it was determined during the teams meeting last night that the disguise is still best for now. They’ve been looking, and so far, the photo has only appeared on the one site on the dark web. Whereas—”

  “My clean-shaven likeness has been plastered on every social media site from here to everywhere, not to mention placements on all national news sources.” He wasn’t prone to interrupting others when they were speaking to him, but the topic had grown...bothersome.

  When he’d pictured unknown viewers following his case, the weight had been heavy enough to make a hermit out of him. But to think that the woman sitting so closely across from him that he had to keep his thighs opened so his knees didn’t touch hers...to think that McKenna had been looking at those pictures, following the articles, the case...

  Finishing the last bites of his breakfast in one forkful, Joe rinsed his plate, put it in the dishwasher and went out to unhook his car.

  He hadn’t had it for long. Bought it for its towing capabilities after he acquired the rig, but it had represented the beginning of life to him after his acquittal. Safe haven.

  At some point he’d accept the fact that getting attached wasn’t good for him.

  * * *

  Glen knew someone who knew someone who owned vast desert land, and by late morning, McKenna and Joe, with the rig newly dumped and holding tanks filled, were parked on an acre of desert in the middle of hundreds of acres of desert, at the foothills of the Catalina Mountains. On private land they couldn’t legally be bothered without a warrant—not that any law enforcement was out to get him. That horror was firmly behind him. His charges had been dismissed with prejudice—something his high-priced lawyer had managed to argue into fact—meaning he couldn’t be tried again. And with Joe paying rent for the acre, making the property his in terms of the right to defend it from trespassers, they were planning to stay put for a day or two.

  Unless something changed.

  She’d spent the two-hour road trip fully focused on every vehicle that passed. Every one behind them. And all those in front of them, too. Looking for any sign of danger—expressions on occupants’ faces, cars that lingered when the speed limit was faster than they were going, ones that showed up more than once.

  She’d checked in with the camera app on her phone, too. Getting better looks, and saving images, of anything even remotely suspicious.

  Maybe it was all overkill.

  Could be that none of the death threats Joe had received since his acquittal intended real harm.

  The experts at Sierra’s Web thought differently.

  And truth be told, so did she.

  Watching the man as he’d driven, seemingly so calm, so intent and yet ready to comply without complaint to their every demand, her heart lurched a time or two.

  Couldn’t be easy, living life cut adrift from anyone and everything he’d valued.

  Most particularly if, as he proclaimed, he was innocent.

  She’d be a basket case if that was the case and she was in his shoes.

  Was his calm, then, a sign that he was guilty? That he’d taken risks, knowing that there could be a price to pay, but determining the cost worthy the payout?

  She hadn’t seen so much as a wayward blink at the tally Sierra’s Web was running up on his behalf. He had assets—she and everyone else who’d followed the news knew that—and she knew, too, that while everything had been frozen while he’d been on trial, his possessions, including all investments and accounts, were fully his again.

  But he wasn’t listed as one of the richest men in the world. Being an accountant, he had to feel the pinch when his money was flowing out fast with no work on the horizon.

  Who wanted to hire an accountant whose company had been bilked of millions? Even if he hadn’t done it, the crimes committed had all been under his direct watch.

  And if he was guilty, if he had millions stashed away in some offshore account investigators had been unable to find...his perceived comfort with the current leak in his financial plumbing was more understandable.

  Even so, she felt for him.

  Which wasn’t like her, at all.

  Maybe because she was still so raw from the emotional conclusion of her last case?

  Or a tad bit het up to be protecting a man who, even if innocent, stood for everything she avoided in life?

  Who valued the same kind of wealth that had killed her mother?

  There’d been a small blue car—a few years old and with a hitch for towing—waiting for them, marking their turnoff from the dirt road they’d traveled to their hiding spot. Unlocked, keys under the floor mat. Had it been stolen, they wouldn’t have been safe and had been told to call in and keep driving.

  Bony knees came in just as she was signing in to the application on her laptop for the videoconference they were due to have with the rest of the Sierra’s Web team on his case. She knew some of them. Not all. In addition to the partners and full-time Sierra’s Web experts like herself, they’d brought in some freelancers as well.

  With Joe’s life in danger, and so many intricacies to his case, they needed the manpower.

  His tall, long-haired being seemed to suck up half of their living space. She’d hoped to set the laptop on the dash, with both of them sitting in their respective seats for traveling—with the good-size console in between them. There’d been no way to get the device far enough away to catch both of them on camera and still enable them to actually see others on the screen.

  Which left either sitting side by side on the couch, with the computer balancing on their laps—or to sit side by side at the kitchen table.

  The solution had been obvious—and her least favorite.

  Scooting over to the chair whose side butted the wall of the rig in the cubby that held the table, she made room for Joe to take the chair she’d just vacated next to it. Their thighs touched. With the wall there, she had nowhere farther to scootch.

  He did. And did. Have room, and scootch, that was. But the movement didn’t take away his warmth, his piney scent or the branding of heat on her thigh where his had so briefly been.

  Glen’s serious expression popped up on the screen, offering instant distraction, and with quick introductions, the meeting of eleven began.

  As the forensic scientist expert partner, Glen reported that he’d received the overnight courier package containing all physical evidence that Joe had, including the computer he’d used to work from home during his tenure as Bellair’s CFO, his work cell phone, all personal files Joe had kept on his own financials and the death threat letters he hadn’t yet turned in to the police.

  Because Glen had been chosen by the partners to oversee all physical investigative experts, including bodyguards and PIs, he was the only partner McKenna knew well.

  Hudson Warner, Sierra’s Web’s IT expert partner, spoke next. She’d met Hudson several times in the Sierra’s Web headquarters in Phoenix. And was intimidated by the level of intricate technical stuff he knew.

  The rest of the experts on the call were there to listen and learn. To brainstorm.

  And every single one of them could see McKenna sitting next to her bearded pretend husband, knowing full well that they were strangers living in a very tiny space as a married couple.

  They had to be wondering what her current job was like, what it was asking of her.

  Or, at least, she felt as though they were.

  And was incredibly tense all of a sudden as she worried about what nine trained experts might see or sense as she sat there fighting a myriad of feelings for their client.

  Newest of which was overt sexual attraction. Yeah, she’d found him...decent to look at, someone who might garner a second look from her even in his current disheveled state from the moment he’d opened his door to her the day before.

  But she’d been so busy not liking him for being someone who made money the focus of life, and guarding herself against what she suspected was a brilliant criminal, that she’d managed, until he’d just sat down, to pretend that she wasn’t attracted to him.

  You could notice that a guy looked good without feeling any personal desire to have him for yourself, she told herself. But her thoughts fell short, even as she entertained them, since they didn’t explain that intense awareness in her thigh or the tingling the sensation had sent to other places. The way it suddenly had her nerves sending jagged messages throughout her body.

  “We’re dual-pronged here, folks,” Glen was saying after Hudson’s introductions. “With different but connecting purposes. I’m going to be heading up the physical protection arm—including any and all investigations into who could be or is following Joe Hamilton, either physically or on the internet, who’s sending hate mail, both snail and E, and why. Keep in mind, we aren’t just looking at one doer here. There’s big potential for multiple perps, some working together, but others working independently, too.”

  McKenna felt Joe stiffen next to her. Glancing at his face next to her on-screen, she didn’t detect any noticeable change but couldn’t help but feel for him right then. Sitting there listening to yourself being described as someone who had cause to have multiple people wanting you dead...

  Even if he wasn’t petrified for his life, just knowing that...so much hate coming at you... She wanted so badly to tell him that he didn’t deserve it.

  That Sierra’s Web would clear his name.

  But she didn’t know yet if they could.

  She didn’t even know if it was possible.

  And he knew even she doubted his innocence. Maybe not as much that day as she had the day before, but...

  “And I’m the lead on the Bellair fraud,” Hudson was saying. “Our main charge is to find out who committed the fraud and, assuming it wasn’t our client, figure out how he was framed so that we can clear his name.”

  Joe’s expression didn’t falter even a little bit, though all on-screen gazes seemed to be pinned on him. A few team members nodded—whether in support of Joe or just a willingness to give their best to the job ahead, McKenna didn’t know. She fought the urge to touch the bony knee under the table—just out of human decency, she told herself.

  Acknowledgment that the moment might be difficult for him. A reminder that he’d get through it. She didn’t know what...

  What she did know was that he deserved better from her than a woman focused on her own personal reactions. That thought firmly in mind, she tuned in to the camera app on her phone, saw that they were still all alone in their desert hideout and focused fully on the screen in front of her instead of the bony knees beside her.

  Chapter 5

  Customer returns weren’t reported in the right quarter, sales were inflated, inventory was shown as sold that wasn’t, some storage and maintenance costs weren’t reflected—four completely different departments in Bellair, with only one entity in common: his accounting department.

  He knew the basic facts – he just didn’t know how any of them had happened. How had quarterly earnings been reported in wrong quarters? How had sales been inflated? What made inventory show as sold when it wasn’t? Why weren’t storage and maintenance costs reflected? He’d never been able to figure out the how. Nor had the prosecution been able to prove how – which was why they’d failed to get a conviction.

  What everyone did know was that the resulting inflated earnings report was like kindling to investors, who then lost millions when Bellair’s payout wasn’t at all what the earnings had projected they would be. Dividends produced less than half of their expected income. Stocks dropped, and while Bellair was still successful, still selling great products that consumers wanted, that many businesses across the country used, they now had a cache of unhappy investors who’d bought high, expecting high returns, and instead had to take a huge loss in dividends or sell at a loss.

  Some bogus reports had been generated from their source database. And some numbers had been changed between their original databases and his final report.

  He’d personally verified all the pertinent numbers that had caused celebrations to happen and stocks to rise. Had checked them against various company bank accounts.

  He’d also been the one to figure out that partial returns from two quarters had been reported on a third, subsequent one. And to see when the company’s bottom-line dollars started to come in as they’d done before the great rise. He’d suspected fraud, and hoped for mistakes, as any good accountant should. He’d tried to handle the matter himself. To research, investigate, talk to employees involved. Find discrepancies and the sources of them. All tasks that fell under his specific job duties as CFO of Bellair. He’d recorded conversations, had kept meticulous notes.