The boy band jingle blaring from his phone would repeat for hours in Gage’s head, just like the undercooked Chinese food in his stomach. He really had to learn how to un-program the torture his teenage sister kept inflicting on him.
He tapped the Bluetooth in his ear as he swung his Dodge Charger into a parking space across from the Tremayne estate, avoiding the packed driveway as guests waited for the valet service. “Were you able to forward me those additional files on the Tremaynes, Janice?”
“Just sent them to you.” Janice’s schoolmarm voice reminded Gage a little too much of his mother.
A drill sergeant when it came to organizing and scheduling his time, a bit obsessive about keeping his office and desk tidy, Janice’s attention to detail was the reason he’d hired her after her previous boss retired. Unfortunately for him, she’d since become best phone friends with his mother. Now the two of them were tag-teaming him on everything from his social life to his eating habits, both of which, according to the two of them, needed vast and fast improvement.
Gage snatched up his phone, accessed his email, downloaded, then tapped the icon where he’d saved it. He frowned. Well, he thought that was where he’d saved it. Any idiot could operate an iPhone. But as his mother was fond of telling him, he wasn’t any idiot. “Any chance you can leave a printout—”
“On your desk? Already did.”
A classic cherry red 1966 Mustang pulled effortlessly into the space in front of his car.
Gage’s drooling was pure macho reflex. Glistening paint job, polished black top, nary a scratch on the body. There was just enough daylight left to shine an appreciative gleam over the surface. Not so long ago he’d have sold his soul for a car like that. No doubt that’s what the owner had done. Lucky bastard.
He caught a flash of long bright blond hair in the Mustang’s driver’s seat. Huh. So, not a bastard.
“Evan just confirmed the story should leak sometime midweek. He asked if you wanted to do the follow-up interview, but I told him I didn’t think you’d be interested.” Was that a cackle on the other end of the phone? Janice knew how fond Gage was of anything relating to the press. In his experience they used law enforcement to promote their agenda any chance they got. It felt good to return the favor.
Speaking of favors, Gage wasn’t convinced Evan appreciated Gage circumventing his plans for the evening, but Gage needed the perfect escort during the Tremayne Fund-raiser. Someone who could get him into the middle of action. Someone to make his foray into Nemesis’ hunting ground all that much smoother.
He only hoped the youngest Tremayne offspring would be more forthcoming than the picture he’d seen on the foundation’s website indicated.
Had the twenty-five-year-old been born with that string of pearls around her throat? Despite the stoic expression on her round face, and given the level of irritation in her eyes, he got the feeling she shared his opinion of the media. Or maybe he was reading too much into a picture.
The family had a sterling reputation, Jackson Tremayne in particular. It didn’t make any sense to him why this Agent Kolfax would be interested in either the patriarch of one of Lantano Valley’s most admired families or their charitable foundation. But Gage’s curiosity had been piqued.
The Mustang’s door opened.
Toned, tanned female legs emerged from the car, gossamer blue fabric sliding over her skin like a lover’s fingertips. Gage’s hand twitched, eager to feel the smoothness of her legs. From his vantage point he could see she had curves. Lots and lots of curves. A shoe dropped to the ground. He felt like a voyeur, but couldn’t pull his eyes away from the tempting vision unfolding from the Mustang as he bid good night to Janice.
He got out of the car, tugged the hem of his jacket straight, and rolled his shoulders as he headed her way. He stopped to hook a single finger through the strap of the sandal. Dangling the shoe from his fingertip, Gage squatted down and looked into a pair of surprised emerald eyes.
Jackpot.
“Ms. Tremayne. I believe you dropped this.”
***
Evening gowns and battle armor weren’t sold in the same department, but as far as Morgan was concerned, they provided the same protection.
The confidence that descended the second she’d draped the formfitting, strapless peacock blue fabric over her ample figure could only be described as exhilarating. This time last year, she might have resented her mother’s extravagant purchase. Morgan could have paid three months’ worth of electricity bills with what the gown had cost.
A shadow cut across the late spring sun and she jumped, pulling her feet in as the shadow transformed into a man who leaned down and scooped up her shoe.
Her lungs emptied as if her dress had transformed into an overeager python. The way this man wore a tux made George Clooney look like a grunge rocker. Oh, and that hair. Jet black strands so dark it seemed almost blue. Morgan swallowed as summer sky blue eyes pinned her in place. Her sandal sparkled in his grasp as if each stone had been imbued with the sunset-emblazoned sea.
Hot embarrassment flooded her cheeks as she tried to reclaim her confidence along with her shoes. Morgan slid her foot into what she considered modern-day torture devices. How did her sister walk in these things every day? Morgan placed her hand in his outstretched one, allowed him to pull her from the car. “Thank you, Mr. . . . ?” She arched a brow in invitation for an introduction, glancing down to straighten the cameo pendant her mother had given her for Christmas over a decade ago.
“Juliano. But please, it’s Gage. Morgan, isn’t it? You’ve recently taken over as CEO of the Tremayne Foundation.”
Morgan forced a smile. “Yes.” The job was both a badge of honor and a source of grief. She shouldn’t have inherited the position for years, and wouldn’t have except for the accident that took her mother’s life. Which made potential failure all the more petrifying.
“Congratulations on the progress of the Pediatric Treatment Center. A little over six months until opening?”
“If all goes according to plan.” Morgan’s sadness was swallowed by the queasiness that descended whenever she thought about the balloon payment due on the center’s property in a little over a month. All the more reason to get her butt inside and start raising cash.
The subtle strings and flutes of Bach drifted from across the street, drawing her into the cool embrace of the house where she’d grown up yet never felt comfortable. The wealth, the opulence—none of it had ever sat well with her. She’d take a broken garbage disposal any day.
Gage reached again for her hand. “May I?”
“Oh, well, I guess.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “I’m supposed to meet someone inside.”
“My loss,” he said with what appeared to be a genuine flash of regret.
Morgan didn’t often find herself at a loss for words. After all, she spent hours every day conversing with people in all kinds of environments about an array of topics. But when it came to upscale events like tonight’s fund-raiser, or more personal interactions, her brain and tongue took great pleasure in fighting each other. Add a man like Gage—handsome, charming, confident—and the Morgan Tremayne who’d spent the morning fixing garbage disposals and replacing porch rails may as well have been drowning in the middle of the dating pool without a life jacket.
There wasn’t room for her insecurities to loom tonight though. Instead, she focused on donning the mask of her professional self: the woman who didn’t care that men skimmed their uninterested eyes over her size fourteen figure before moving on to whatever svelte, posh, polished socialite stood nearby. She was Morgan Tremayne and she needed to raise a truckload of cash or risk a financial scandal that could destroy her family.
When she noticed Gage had shortened his stride to match her unsteady one, Morgan wished she could have pulled off tennis shoes under the gown. If she had, she’d be able to zip around the party like the Road Runner on speed. Instead she’d spend the night hoping she didn’t topple into the salmon mousse.
“Would you mind joining me for a drink while you wait for your date?” Gage asked.
“Oh, it’s not a date.” Morgan tried to remember the last time she’d even had a date. “Just a favor for my father.” Of course her father had no way of knowing how dangerous his request that she escort the District Attorney this evening was. Putting Morgan in the vicinity of law enforcement was akin to planting a time bomb at the base of the family tree.
“Then it’s his loss.” Gage smiled, displaying a set of straight, white teeth behind full, quirked lips. It was then that she noticed the crooked slope to his nose, as if it had been broken more than once. She’d bet there was a story or two there. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to check in with my donation. Don’t go too far, okay?”
Morgan watched Gage walk away before she blinked herself back to reality. A few moments around Gage had locked her in some sort of trance, one that broke as she caught sight of her father heading her way.
To anyone else, Jackson Tremayne was the picture-perfect host. Only those closest to him noticed the specter of grief hovering around him like a fog that might never lift.
For over a decade, Catherine Tremayne’s Annual Foundation Fund-raiser was the season’s biggest social event. Morgan couldn’t help but feel that tonight’s, the first since Catherine’s death, was decidedly somber despite the celebratory casino atmosphere.
“Hi, Dad.” Morgan heard the telltale twitter of her phone’s appointment alert chime from her purse. Her father smiled, shaking his head as Morgan plastered on her “everything is perfect” expression just in time.
“Right on time as always.” Jackson Tremayne wrapped his arms around her, the ice cubes in his Scotch glass clinking as he hugged her and kissed her cheek. “Does that thing ever let you relax?”
“Nope,” Morgan laughed. “How are you doing?” She knew she should have arrived sooner, come by more often, but there never seemed to be enough hours in the day. Thank goodness her sister Sheila had moved home after the accident so her father wouldn’t be left alone in the enormous house.
“I’m fine, Morgan. You worry too much.” He gave her another squeeze. “Everything good with you?”
Little did her father know those four words held the potential to open a floodgate of panic.
The exhausted part of her wanted to say, “I’ve siphoned off charitable funds and left almost a quarter-million-dollar hole in the foundation’s property purchasing account. I’ll be lucky to make the property taxes this year. Your mother’s old house needs a new water heater and copper pipes installed. By the way, I’ve accepted over one hundred thousand dollars from a thief stalking some of your biggest clients.”
But instead she said, “Everything’s great, Dad,” with nary a trace of anxiety. “Where’s Evan?” Morgan craned her neck to scan the crowd for Evan Marshall’s telltale sun-streaked blond hair. To this day she thought the new D.A. looked more surfer-movie reject than politician. It was part of his charm, and while she liked Evan, she wasn’t particularly invested in spending the evening playing tour guide to the rich and infamous of Lantano Valley. “Didn’t you say he’d meet me inside?”
“District Attorney Marshall sends his regrets.”
Morgan’s head snapped around as Gage joined them, pocketing his donation receipt and bidding marker.
“Inspector Gage Juliano, Mr. Tremayne.” He held out his hand. Jackson inclined his head as if trying to place him.
Inspector? Morgan’s throat slammed shut like a bear trap as blood pounded in her ears.
“Evan hired me to oversee his new Special Investigations Task Force,” Gage said. “I thought tonight was the perfect opportunity to introduce myself, touch base, and get your opinion on some of the cases we’ll be working on.”
Morgan rubbed her hands down her suddenly chilled arms. This distracting, disarming man was a cop? That hissing sound in her ears must be the burning fuse on a time bomb.
“Any case in particular?” Jackson asked, but Morgan already knew. Her skin went clammy. She felt her face grow cold as if every drop of blood had drained to her toes.
“The Nemesis burglaries,” Gage stated as he gestured to a passing waiter and ordered a whiskey, neat. “Now that I’ve caught up on the investigation, I believe everything I need to catch him can be found right here in this house.”
***
Most people assumed Gage’s innate ability to read people was a result of his fifteen years as a cop. But they were wrong. While his mother claimed he’d been born with a bullshit detector, Gage, the oldest of six, had honed the ability on his energetic, opinionated, and determined siblings. As far as Gage was concerned, his brothers and sisters were the best training a cop could have when it came to exposing the truth.
“I wasn’t aware Evan was establishing a task force.” The trace of tension in Jackson’s voice was what Gage expected given the turbulent climate surrounding Nemesis.
The Tremayne patriarch had become a trusted voice of reason in recent years, lending his expertise as the CEO of Tremayne Investment and Securities during the recent economic downturn. But Jackson had yet to be drawn into the continuing saga of the high-end burglar. Given the interest Agent Kolfax and the FBI had in the family—and it would take a lot more than a Post-it to convince Gage the Tremaynes were involved in anything untoward—a congenial relationship with them would be to his benefit. Beginning with Jackson Tremayne.
Tall and lean, his dark blond hair dusted with silver at the temples, Jackson carried himself with an air of sophistication that spoke of classic Hollywood glamour rather than successful business tycoon. But there was a sharpening in his gaze, as if Gage’s uttering the name Nemesis had spun the tumbler on the criminal’s secret vault.
“It hasn’t escaped our notice that Nemesis is targeting a good number of Evan’s campaign contributors,” Gage fibbed. “Many of whom I’m sure are here tonight. We’d all like Nemesis stopped, which is why Evan is making this case our top priority.”
“You don’t strike me as naïve, Inspector.” Jackson took a sip of his drink. “The national attention from capturing a high-profile criminal like Nemesis no doubt factors into Evan’s political plans.”
“It’s no secret he’s considering a run for Attorney General or even governor one day.” Not that Gage cared about Evan Marshall’s career plans. He only cared about bringing a criminal to justice. He owed that much to Brady Malloy. And if this case helped him decide on what his own future should be, he’d consider the information a bonus. “But you’re right. I’m not naïve.”
“I take it you don’t subscribe to the belief that Nemesis is a myth.” Morgan’s lighthearted tone flipped Gage’s frustration switch.
“Myths don’t kill people.” This wasn’t the first time he’d heard Nemesis referred to as an urban legend. Some people didn’t believe the string of robberies were connected despite Nemesis’ proclamations to the press.
The crook loved to call out his victims in the media—online, print, didn’t seem to matter how he reminded those who had more than most that they should be appreciative of their circumstance. He was a criminal giving morals lessons.
It appeared as if irony’s depths of ridiculousness had no limits.
“I’m sorry.” Gage didn’t care for the mingled surprise and disbelief he saw on her face. “The Nemesis case is personal for me. The original investigating officer was a good friend. It’s important I finish it for him.” Not that Gage solving the case could change what happened to Brady. “But now isn’t the time or place to discuss business.”
“I agree. Feel free to call my office for an appointment,” Jackson offered. “Enjoy your evening. Morgan, even though I know it’s the last thing on your mind tonight, do try to have a little fun. You deserve a break.”
“I will, Dad.” Morgan gave his arm a squeeze before Jackson disappeared into the growing crowd.
The smell of aged money mingled with cigar smoke, over-sprayed perfume, and more than a hint of superiority set Gage on the edge of unease. The collective din from farther inside the house echoed of spinning roulette wheels and cheers amid bets won and lost on the roll of the die.
Everyone around him looked as if they’d been painted into the picture, comfortable, in their element. What he wouldn’t give for a bottle of beer and a carton of Kung Pao. He gave Morgan a sheepish grin in the hopes of appeasing her.
“I hope you’re not disappointed in the change of plans. I know I’m not an up-and-coming politician—”
“And here I thought you were intelligent enough to have done your homework, Inspector.” Morgan’s green eyes sharpened like brittle glass as color flooded her cheeks. “If anything, the fact that you’re not a politician works in your favor. At least to me.”
Ah, much better. Gage accepted the drink delivered to him and plucked a flute of champagne off another server’s tray. His date was as quick as she was beautiful. And those legs. He’d be fantasizing about them for weeks. “Let’s start over, shall we? Inspector Gage Juliano.” He brought her hand to his mouth, brushed his lips over her knuckles. “It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Morgan Tremayne.” Her laugh threw his heart into an uneven tarantella. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”
Her smile tugged at the base of his heart. “Inspector, you have no idea.”
***
Karma had come calling and its name was Gage Juliano. Inspector Gage Juliano.
As if Morgan didn’t need a record-breaking fund-raising night already, the possibility of the cops circling her financial shortfalls only increased the suffocating pressure to succeed. While she appreciated Nemesis’ dedication and donations to her cause, his anonymous and plentiful contributions came with a guilt-tinged price.
She—or rather the foundation—had profited from his crimes. The cash Nemesis had supplied over the last six months had kept the charity afloat. But something told her Gage wouldn’t understand her actions no matter how desperate she was.
Come on, Morgan. Kick it into gear. She could soon be doing the prison two-step for ten to twenty if she failed to raise enough money to cover the deficit in the foundation’s account. So she stalked the silent auction items like a predator.
Gage angled a curious look as she scribbled her name and bidding number down on a week’s stay at an exclusive spa in Arizona.
“You don’t strike me as the ‘take a week off for the spa’ kind of woman.”
Morgan arched a brow, impressed and unnerved he read her so easily. She’d already bid on the private Mediterranean cruise, a Broadway theater package including transportation, and a tour of one of the most exclusive wineries in Napa. Then again . . . Oh. Her pen hovered over a well-known plastic surgeon’s offering of twenty thousand dollars’ worth of work. Gage grabbed her wrist.
“You don’t need that.” His tone was an odd combination of disapproval and disbelief, and the intoxicating compliment warmed her from the inside.
“I won’t win.” She crooked her finger and lowered her voice. “See that number? Yvonne Baker. She’s due for her annual overhaul and she’s already bid on it three times. Now that she’s seen me scratch my name . . .” Morgan gave a quick glance over her shoulder to confirm the Jayne Mansfield clone was watching. “Yep. If her eyes could shoot poison darts, we’d both be dead. She’ll reclaim it. Besides, she only bid eleven grand. It should go for at least as much as it’s worth.” It wasn’t the first time she’d taken a chance by betting on people’s greed. They had yet to disappoint her. “And Mitzi Chennault has had a honeymoon in the Mediterranean in her head for the last two months. Just making sure she gets what she wants.”
“At a price that benefits the foundation. Impressive. Devious. I appreciate that in a woman.” That smile of his could charm a cobra out if its basket.
“I’ll do whatever I have to in order to raise money for my kids.” Which was as close to the truth as the inspector was going to get.
“Your kids. Sounds personal.”
Wanting to believe his interest was genuine, Morgan shrugged. “Do you know how many children are waiting for life-saving medical procedures their families can’t afford? Experimental treatments their insurance won’t cover? Thousands and those are just the ones I’ve heard about. I get calls and emails every day asking when the center is going to open, begging me to put their patients on our admissions list. I know every name, every disease. I’ve got pictures of each of them up here.” She tapped the side of her head. “So, yes. They are my kids. Just as they were my mother’s.”
“It takes a strong person to build what you and your mother have.”
Person, not woman. Because he didn’t hesitate in the non-distinction, Morgan’s tone softened. “We lost my little brother, Colin, when he was eight to a rare form of leukemia. The foundation, the center, they’re in his memory. My mother was determined to save as many children as possible.” Morgan blinked as if the lights were too bright. “She—we—didn’t want another family to have to go through the loss we did. She dedicated her life to the cause. Now that she’s gone, the mantle passed to me.”
“I didn’t realize the crusade was that personal.” Gage’s voice rang with sympathy, and regret, as if he felt he should have known.
“My mother was the face of the foundation, but Colin is the heart. Don’t you dare feel sorry for us.” Her order earned a soft smile from Gage in return. “He was a gift we had for eight years. He changed my life. Gave me, gave my entire family, a purpose. I get the feeling you understand that, given your reaction to my myth comment earlier.” Morgan took a deep breath, and stepped into the fire. “The Nemesis case. It’s personal for you.”
“It is.” The coolness in his voice made her regret the comment, but she needed to know what she was up against. She still had a few hours to spend with the man and he’d asked about her work. She couldn’t very well ignore the opportunity to reciprocate.
“The initial investigator was my training officer years ago.” Gage swallowed the last of his drink. “Malloy got caught in the media and political cross fire, wasn’t able to get anywhere with the victims. Drove him to an early grave.”
Morgan’s heart skidded to a halt. “You don’t mean he committed suicide?”
Gage’s gaze shifted to his empty glass. “If you mean did he eat his gun, no.” Morgan forced out a breath before the guilt could settle.
“But the media bubble was impossible to thrive under,” Gage said. “The stress, the pressure to close the case, the lack of assistance from anyone involved. It was a toxic combination when you add in a stubborn refusal to listen to his doctor and take a step back.”
“But you blame Nemesis.”
“Take Nemesis out of the equation and Brady Malloy might still be alive.” Gage gestured with his empty glass as if toasting his friend. “Solving his last case seems the appropriate tribute.”
Morgan bit the inside of her cheek.
If she’d had any doubts about Gage before, they’d evaporated. Gage Juliano saw the world in black and white, right and wrong. He’d never understand Morgan’s world was a million shades of grey.