Hands folded in front of her, McKenna looked at him—and panic flew. From his right side to his left, his head to his toes. He was massive nerves, sitting calmly. Placidly.

  For the few seconds it took him to disassociate from emotions that were not going to get the better of him.

  He should probably head to the bedroom. He didn’t have to sit at the table to work on his computer. There was a television back there, too...

  He’d never been much of a TV watcher.

  “From what Glen reported, you’ve been over everything on your case multiple times,” McKenna said, as though she knew he needed to be rescued.

  Brought back to what mattered.

  What he cared about most.

  “That’s right,” he told her, glancing at the document he was starting—one that would include several spreadsheets as well.

  “What do you think you’re going to find? Staring at the same stuff over and over again?”

  Panic again. Deep breath. Picture Checkers. He shrugged. “If I knew, I’d have found it already.”

  “So, talk to me about it,” she told him. “I have nothing to do but sit here and monitor cameras, hopefully for days on end, if we’re lucky. My dad always says that talking things over helps give different perspective, and while I’m not sure he’s right all the time, I have found that talking to him definitely makes me feel better.”

  Her dad.

  The first mention of family other than grandparents with whom she kept in touch.

  The image he had of her changed with a father in her life. Not physically. Not even in turns of his attraction to her.

  But...he was glad to know that she had the support...

  And aware that he had no business feeling one way or the other about it. Thought about retreating to the bedroom. He couldn’t stand completely erect in the back of the rig, due to underneath storage, but with the slide out, he could walk around the bed. And let his feet hang over the mattress without touching the wall.

  “Right now I’m reorganizing,” he heard himself say, relieved that he was staying put. Sleeping in that small space was one thing...having to spend unending hours there could start to feel like one step up from the jail cell he’d occupied. “The way Glen and Hudson laid it out on the video call this morning. My spreadsheets contain all the crimes together, looking for the similarity that would tell me who was behind them.”

  “You’re assuming it’s one person, then.”

  “No, hoping is more like it.”

  “Because it will be easier to prove and catch whoever it is?”

  “Yeah.” And because he wasn’t ready to accept that more than one of the peers he’d trusted with his life had stolen it away from him.

  In the end, he wanted to know that the people he’d cared most about, the people he’d considered family, had had his back, as opposed to stabbing it.

  “Now I’m thinking maybe it’s a difference I need to look for, not a similarity. Look for how each thing happened individually, rather than searching for one way one person somehow falsified all of the records. I’m going to separate out the departments involved and look at each one on its own.”

  He glanced at his spreadsheet again.

  “Mind if I come around and look with you?”

  Of course he minded. He was dry mouthed with minding. “Sure, go ahead,” he told her, moving so that she could climb over his seat to get to the one in the smaller space against the wall.

  “If I’m getting too nosy, just tell me,” she said as she slid into the chair. “I’m here on business, and this is business. Maybe I’ll see something that will help me nail a culprit at some point.”

  Busy trying to swallow as he sat back down, he didn’t say a word. But understood the difficulty in not being able to get out, explore, play a round of golf or meet the neighbors.

  “Tomorrow, if we’re still here, I’ll probably get out and meet the neighbors,” she said then, again with the seeming to know what he was thinking. “You’re going to be a writer, working on a book. We’re newly married, and I took a month off to travel around with you but need to give you some quiet, alone time to write. But don’t worry, I’ll keep the rig in sight at all times.”

  His safety was the last thing Joe was worrying about.

  The story she’d just told—he’d been right there, buying in to it, as a neighbor would.

  Except that, for a split second there, he’d yearned to be a real part of the fantasy...

  As he got to work, sorting and moving bulleted points, he had a whole new motivation to get to the truth. He wasn’t going to last long, living side by side with the curly redheaded sprite who was getting under skin that no one had penetrated...ever.

  * * *

  The inventory department of Bellair had reported shipping more inventory than they’d shipped. Just randomly. Not on any set schedule, or the same day of the week, or at the same time. It had even happened once on a weekend. Had to have been done manually. But by whom?

  The sales department had added an additional, identical sale, every tenth sale. Joe had already caught that, but he couldn’t explain it. The company had been using the database software program for years. Used it in other departments. Someone had to have manually doubled every tenth sale, which was certainly doable. But who?

  Times didn’t coincide between the two happenings, so it could be the same person.

  The returns department had held reports of returns for six months. And then let them all fall at once. Which prevented the inflated promised dividends from paying out. And caused the stock to drop instantly. The news had been all over that one. They’d latched on and repeated. Again and again. Probably because the concept had been an easy one to grasp.

  Online banking sessions, which had been downloaded as per Bellair practice, didn’t match online statements collected later. Joe had no explanation for that one.

  Prosecutors had claimed that he’d manipulated the PDF after the download. They’d had no proof, but it was a logical explanation. Joe agreed that the explanation was logical. But he wasn’t the one who’d done it.

  “It’s also possible that whoever in the company was doing all this had an accomplice at the bank,” he said as darkness started to fall outside.

  McKenna reached up to turn on the light attached to the wall beside her. They could see his computer just fine without it, but sitting in close quarters in the dark with Joe was definitely out.

  She focused on his case, engrossed far more than she’d expected to be. Her initial offer to listen had been more polite and for his sake than because she’d expected to get involved. Either way. If she didn’t know the details, she wouldn’t have cause to doubt him as much.

  “There’s something I don’t get.” She forced herself to keep her gaze glued on the computer screen.

  “What’s that?”

  “I get how people who invested lost money—they bought when stock was just going up, so they paid more but expected it to continue to grow so they’d make a lot. And they were promised a five percent dividend, payable bi-yearly, and their five percent turned out to be far below projected income.”

  “Basically, in a nutshell, you’re right. There’s more to it, but yeah.”

  “What I don’t get is where they think you got money from it all.”

  His hesitation gave her time to hear her own words, and she cringed. “Where whoever did this got money,” she quickly corrected, realizing as the words came out that she was making matters worse.

  He knew she wasn’t sure about his guilt. She didn’t have to keep making the matter front and center between them.

  He got up. Helped himself to a beer. Offered her one, but, because she was on the job, she had to decline. After uncapping his bottle, he didn’t sit back down. Rather, he leaned against the refrigerator, frowning in her general direction.

  “I’m sorry.”

  His shrug drew her attention for a moment, allowing her to avoid his gaze. If the man was innocent, he deserved to have someone in his life who believed in him.

  But to mean anything, the belief had to be real. And she wasn’t quite there. He was free. Couldn’t be retried, and yet he was spending a bundle to prove his innocence anyway.

  And...without his innocence, his chances of continuing to make his fortune in his chosen field, his chance of living the überwealthy life, weren’t good.

  He hadn’t answered her question.

  The realization bothered her.

  More and more as the silence stretched between them.

  “Joe? What aren’t you telling me?” She stared him right in the eye then. Fully aware that her need for an answer had nothing to do with the job.

  And needing it anyway.

  “When the stock prices first went up, I thought the inflated numbers were legitimate, and I sold my stock. Not the shares that the company gave me as part of my package, but all the shares I’d purchased myself over the past several years.”

  Oh. God.

  Sick to her stomach, she stared at him. Openmouthed.

  “So, you did profit from the fraud.”

  “Not knowing that it was fraud and in a completely legal manner.”

  She had to get out. Go for a walk.

  No reason to feel that way. She’d thought him guilty when she’d taken the job.

  “You didn’t think it odd that the company was suddenly showing such an increase?”

  “I did, yes, but we’d just released a major new product, Stellar, a state-of-the-art gaming system that rivals anything that’s ever been released before, and those were the sales numbers that had been inflated. And the returns that had been held. It took me a bit to catch on to the fact that we had a problem, and by then I’d already sold the stock. I knew, immediately, that they’d be looking at me. Some kind of insider trading suspicion was considered. I never, for one second, thought anyone would think I was guilty of fraud.”

  He sounded so believable. Or was she just falling prey to his charm?

  Long-haired guy with bony knees.

  “I buy and sell stock on a regular basis. Not just Bellair, but others, too.” His tone, so conversational, broke into her thoughts. “It’s a hobby, of sorts, but also a serious moneymaker for me. And it’s not the first time I’ve sold Bellair stock, which my lawyer proved in court with full documentation. Each time the company has come out with a major new product that exceeds expectation, I sell stock. And then buy it up again when things level off. It’s a risk, but I believe in Bellair, and it’s always paid off.”

  What he said made sense.

  A smart man planning a crime would make certain that he’d crossed all his t’s and dotted his i’s. A company’s CFO would likely be on first-name terms with bank managers and such.

  All the back-and-forth...he was exhausting her.

  Turning on her phone, she checked the outside cameras. Took a screenshot from each one and shut the phone back off.

  “You want steak for dinner?” she asked. “We can grill...”

  One way or another, she needed to get out. Have some space. Breathe fresh air.

  Joe didn’t reply. Or move.

  “You knew going in that I had doubts,” she reminded him, a tad defensively.

  He nodded. Turned. Reached for the steaks. Seasoned them. Headed outside.

  She had to go with him. Had to guard his body.

  And what about the heart beating inside the body? Did anyone guard that for him?

  Sitting in the lawn chair he’d set out beside the one he was using, she said, “Thank you for telling me.”

  He hadn’t had to answer her query regarding his profits. Or tell her anything at all about his case. He had her on the job, doing what he needed her to do, regardless.

  Sipping his beer, he looked out toward the other rigs filling the park. Nodded at a couple passing by on bikes. “I didn’t tell you to try and manipulate you into believing I’m innocent.”

  “I didn’t think you had.” But she kind of had, hadn’t she? The part of her that knew he could be guilty.

  The way he nodded his head, his expression shrouded from her, from the world, told her that he knew she’d just lied to him.

  And that the lie had disappointed him.

  Chapter 7

  He’d withheld information.

  Stupid thing to do.

  And not his way. At all.

  The woman was throwing him all out of kilter. Making him into less of the straight-up man he was. He couldn’t have that.

  “The prosecutors claimed that I’d profited in another way,” he said, his voice accompanying the sound of grilling steaks. He spoke softly. There were neighboring campers all around them, some parked just yards away, all with lights on inside their rigs.

  Brows raised, she glanced over at him, her eyes glints of white in the falling darkness. She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t look at him long, either, but then she never did. McKenna’s brown-eyed gaze was always busy watching their surroundings.

  “There were other shareholders who sold their stock during the brief boom.”

  “So?” She was watching a car moving slowly through the park, stopping now and then, as though looking for something. Or someone.

  “With sales of Stellar so impressively exceeding expectations, it would have been smarter for them to hang on for the big payout.”

  “Unless they knew that there wasn’t going to be one.” She was still watching the car. It had turned onto another avenue in the park, out of sight, but her gaze was in the direction it was last seen.

  “That was the prosecutor’s claim.” He could leave it there.

  And if he wanted the possibility on the table of her someday believing in his innocence, he had to tell her what she could find out by other means.

  “The story he laid out for the jury was that I tipped them off and then got a payoff from each one of them, a percentage of the profits they made by selling.”

  “A bank employee accomplice kind of fits that theory, doesn’t it?”

  Yeah, he’d known she’d put it all together.

  “Get inside. Now.” Her tone, while still soft, had noticeably changed. “Turn off all lights in there and stay down low.”

  He heard his chair fold up the second he’d vacated it. Saw her shove it under the rig as he entered the door.

  Inside, with the door shut, he stayed right there crouched on the first step, down, as she’d instructed, but high enough to be able to peer out.

  No way he was going to hide inside while she took a bullet for him.

  He saw nothing on the road, no sign of the car he’d noticed earlier.

  And...turning toward her...he was stunned to see her with her hands on the ground, at her feet, as though she was tying her shoe—not so much because of her hands on her foot, but because of the booty shot she’d pointed at the road.

  Before he’d come up with any explanation for her odd behavior, the car drove by. The one he hadn’t seen any sign of.

  Drove by keeping its slow, steady speed.

  He got a glimpse of the occupant. As much of one as he could make out in the near darkness and glare of dash lights. Male. Military haircut. Freshly shaven. Wrinkles around the eyes.

  The PI that had been mentioned in that morning’s videoconference?

  Heart racing, he watched the man for any sudden movement, his hand on the door handle, ready to burst out and catch any bullet that might fly their way.

  How in the hell was the guy tracking them?

  And doing it so quickly?

  Did Sierra’s Web have a leak?

  The driver passed, his scrutiny on the rig next door to them, studying it like he’d studied theirs. Joe didn’t move, staying inside as ordered, but crouched right at the door, watching McKenna stand upright and calmly move to turn the steaks.

  Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed her watching the passing car surreptitiously over the top of the portable grill if he hadn’t spent the past twenty-four hours right beside her. Seeing her work.

  She wouldn’t be out there risking her life if she was behind any leak.

  Was she in the same boat he was? Being stabbed by someone with whom she worked?

  Dropping back to sit his butt on the second step, Joe entertained the thought but didn’t really buy it. Just didn’t make sense. Life always came down to the money, and he was paying Sierra’s Web a hefty fee for their services. He couldn’t come up with a motivation for anyone there to want him dead.

  Or to want the firm to fail. It wasn’t like one botched job would tarnish the firm’s eleven-year golden reputation.

  The stress of being arrested, tried, hated and turned on was getting to him more than he’d thought. Making him as suspicious of others as his father had always been...

  He heard the click of the door a mere second before McKenna pulled it open and nearly took a lap full of hot steak as she stopped midstride so as not to step on him.

  His hands on her hips were instinctive. Holding her upright as he stood, while she adjusted the steaks on her platter.

  But somehow he didn’t let go soon enough. They stood there, lower bodies an inch apart, her staring up at him with a platter of steaks between them. She’d held his gaze for more than a few seconds, and he got lost in those brown eyes. Mesmerized by the life in them. Maybe by a storm brewing there...

  Letting go, he stepped back and asked, “What do you think?”

  When she didn’t answer right away, he added, “About the car. I’m assuming that’s why you wanted me to come inside.” He reached for the light switch so she wouldn’t stumble coming up the steps.

  “Don’t!” Her tone stopped him instantly, as he was sure it had been meant to do. “Let’s close all the blinds before we turn on any lights.”

  Uneasy, he did as she asked. At the same time, taking it as a good sign that they weren’t leaving.