To: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com
From: ED@mythicmail.com
Subject: Please be careful
Dear Prez,
The person trying to force you out—why? What’s his or her motive? That can give you a clue as to who it is. Does someone want your job? Or does someone hate you so much they’re trying to ruin you?
If it’s the second, watch out. That sort of person will stab you in the back.
—ED
Everett paced the bedroom. He’d handed her a fatal tool—and through her, maybe handed it to his enemy. If she told Howell about his gang connection . . . damn it, it wouldn’t even be betrayal. Just telling the truth.
Edie was his precious fireball. But as much as he liked her and desired her and perhaps felt something more, he could only trust her to be herself. She was honest, forthright, and had every reason to hang him. He was the man who stood between her and her idea of good management. If not for him to draw on the management reins, she would be a happy wild filly.
Wild. Her face, reddened by the glow of the stove, as he’d pleasured her . . . He reached into his pants and adjusted things that wouldn’t adjust. It would be a long evening.
Speaking of long evenings . . . she was out there with little to do but stew. Not a good way to leave things.
He sucked up his courage and braved the main room.
She was staring intently at the broken phone, wrapped in his kimono, the masculine garment entirely feminine when pulled snug around her sweet little body. He shifted stance. Next time he was buying baggier pants. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not sure.” Her face was flushed, her curls unrulier than usual. Had he raked them with his fingers that they looked so adorably mussed? “I’m missing something, to do with this phone.”
Suddenly he had to know. With anyone else he’d play the corporate game, dangle bait or lay a trap. But with Edie . . . He was constantly fighting the desire to bury himself in her, fighting the need to open himself to her. All subtlety abandoned him. “If it worked . . . Would you call the office? Would you tell them?”
Her brows furrowed. “About being stranded? Sure.”
In another person that would be fencing, making him admit his fumble, emphasizing his precarious position. Edie truly didn’t know. “About my gang connections. Management wouldn’t be pleased.” What the hell. The damage was already done. He was just assessing its depth. “Edie. You could have me fired.”
Instead of reassuring him with fake promises or heartfelt lies, she only blinked at him.
His headache returned. He couldn’t do this after all. He gathered the blankets from the floor and remade the couch. “Do you want the bed?”
“No.” She was staring at that damned phone, not even realizing he was upset. “It’s your turn.”
“Of course. Good night, then.”
“Good night.”
When he left for the bedroom, she was still lost in thought.
• • •
Edie stared at the phone. Everett’s words had startled her, especially when she understood what he was really asking. If the phone worked, would she betray him?
Never.
Except . . . it might be for his own good. He was courteous, sensitive, and idealistic. Leaving HHE could be a release for him.
It’d be, not betrayal, but freedom. He’d be free to be—with her.
A thrill sang through her. Everett, tethered to the corporate rules, was sexy and capable. How much more could he be if he could kiss and touch her freely, without restriction? She nearly ran after him to find out. To tell him how she really felt. She actually took a couple steps toward the bedroom.
But while she was sure Everett the untamed mountain man liked her, she wasn’t so sure about the corporate hunter Mr. Kirk. Mr. Kirk might see her emotions as a weakness to be exploited.
Mr. Kirk could hurt her badly.
She stopped.
Everett’s secret could kill off Mr. Kirk.
She sucked in a breath. Without Kirk, Everett would be the wonderful man she’d uncovered here in this cabin.
And all hers.
All she had to do was kill off the corporate predator.
• • •
Edie woke Tuesday morning to an empty cabin again. But her big wool gloves were gone, so at least he’d dressed warmly this time.
After washing the dishes and folding the dried clothes, she spent an hour picturing what she’d do to Everett when he returned, beginning at his toes and working her way up. But after a brief sojourn in the bedroom she was bored.
So she got out her old laptop and started playing with a little open-source database engine, finally get around to creating her Christmas card list.
The communications icon caught her eye.
Too bad there was no wireless here. She’d even take a working phone line. Assuming she remembered how to use dial-up. Jack had given her the number for the HHE server, but it was so long ago . . .
Her heart beat faster, her body catching the implications a split second before her brain did.
The phone didn’t work. But the line might.
Edie leaped to her feet, laptop in hand. Her old clunker had a modem card. She ran to the phone, popped the connector tab and yanked the line out of the base, then plugged the connector into the computer. It made a small snick.
Crossing her fingers, she activated the dial-up program.
The beep-boop of her modem exploded in the still room. She pumped air. A live line! Now, if only she could connect.
The line went silent. She sat cross-legged and settled the laptop on her knees. Still no sound. The floor chilled her buttocks. Silent, too long.
The sudden hiss of a computer handshake jarred her taut nerves. A single beep and text reeled across her screen, a greeting and login prompt.
She grinned. “I’m in.”
Her grin faded. If she was going to “free” Everett, best to do it while he was out of the cabin.
While he couldn’t stop her.
Okay, good. Everett would be free, might even thank her. She got on the virtual private network, linked to her work desktop computer, and typed an email to Howell Senior.
Her fingers slowed. Stopped.
Everett would lose his job, like she’d lost hers at Broad Vistas. That had hurt. The weeks until she’d found another job had been scary. The nights worrying, the days dodging collectors’ phone calls . . . Everett wouldn’t thank her.
Blinking at the email, she remembered Philip betraying her. She clamped her eyes shut as realization struck her.
She wasn’t freeing Everett.
She was punishing Everett because of Philip.
It horrified her. Her eyes popped open. She needed time to think. She canceled the email.
Immediately she felt relieved.
Okay, right decision. What next? Oh yeah, rescue. She switched from email to chat, and pinged Jack.
The chat window halved. Jack’s bright, “Hey, Edie, how’s sunny Californ-I-A :)” glowed on the bottom.
Edie typed in, “I’m caught in snowy UTAH!” and waited.
“You and the PRES?? Ooh-la-la!”
“Perv.” It took Edie three times to type that, her hands were shaking so badly. “We’re lost somewhere off I-70. Call the police. Trace this line and rescue us.”
Nothing more was added to the screen and Edie thought she’d lost the line. But then the bottom half cleared and Jack typed, “Are you kidding me?”
Edie typed, “NO!!”