Friends and lovers. It seems such a simple concept and yet it’s one I’ve never been able to master. Not with the same person, anyway. Admittedly, I’ve never been all that interested in trying. I have friends. I have the occasional lover. Mixing the two always seemed to be borrowing trouble. So much better to keep them separate, then everyone understands what’s expected of them. No muss, no fuss. And you always know who to call for what.

Chapter 14

Have you closed this one yet?” Finn asked via cell phone.

“Still working on it, Dad.”

“Well, stretch it out, boyo. Might as well live the high life for a bit longer, eh?”

Riley watched the raindrops track down the windows of his truck. “Yeah, right.” He hadn’t told his father about the recent change in his assignment. He didn’t feel particularly compelled to, either. His father didn’t care how the job got done as long as it got done and the checks came in. “What about you? Things wrapping up there?”

“Well, that’s why I called.” He hesitated, then asked, “You need me to come in and help out?”

Riley shook his head, didn’t bother to sigh. “No, I’ve got it under control. You staying in Santa Rosa, then?”

“For a bit longer, I’m thinking.”

Considering everything, he should just keep his mouth shut. Apparently he was incapable. “Dad, do you really think this is wise? I mean, the assignment was to—”

“I’m quite clear on my assignment. I don’t need any lectures from you, boyo. You just leave me to mind my own.”

Riley could have pointed out that leaving him to mind his own was exactly what had driven him to the brink of losing everything. And continued to be an obstacle to their finding continued success. His father should have been born with a trust fund. Unfortunately, he’d trusted in his son’s pro career instead. But there was no point in trying to get his father to be fiscally responsible. It was always going to be up to Riley. One way or the other. “Did you send the package in on the Gordon case? Silverman also called asking for specifics about what the two of you set up.”

“I’m on top of it, don’t you worry. You take care of yours. Speaking of which,” Finn added, the defensive posturing disappearing in a wink, as it always did, replaced by the charming Irish rogue that saved his father’s bacon on a regular basis. “How is she going? Made any headway?”

Normally Riley would shake his head in weary disgust at his father’s sly innuendo. This time, however, he felt the heat creep up the back of his neck. His father couldn’t have any clue about the internal battles Riley had been waging with himself . . . and his wandering libido, but that didn’t make him feel any less guilty for having them. Still, he responded as he always did, by pretending the question was strictly about business. “We were hoping to match up a latent print, but the suspect’s employer doesn’t keep them on file. They do keep photo IDs, though. I’m getting copies along with the complete employee list. We’ll at least get some faces to work with. We have a second suspect as well. The man she works for. I’m working on getting a print from him to see if it’s a match.”

“Good, good,” Finn replied assuredly, though Riley knew he couldn’t care in the least. It wasn’t his case, after all. “What about the skirt?” Finn pressed with a chuckle. “Gotten a peek at what’s beneath it yet, eh?”

Now the disgust came honestly. Riley might be wrestling with “like father, like son” issues regarding his growing attraction to a client, but hearing his father reduce that attraction to the same kind of tawdry liaison he’d indulge in himself only served to piss him off.

It also clarified better than Riley could have on his own the distinct and permanent difference between the two men and their approach to the opposite sex. It was a defining moment, bordering on profound. He didn’t, however, thank his father for his unwitting paternal assistance.

“Listen, Dad, I have a call coming in. Just let me know when you’ll be getting back in town.”

Finn sighed, clearly disappointed. “You behave like it’s a sin to indulge in a little of what God put us on this green earth to enjoy. We have things hard enough, no? Don’t be so high and mighty. It hurts a lot more when you fall.” He merely chuckled when his bit of wisdom was met with stony silence. “You always were a tough one. Like your ma that way, you are, God rest her soul.”

Not for the first time Riley wondered if Finn’s focus would have remained on hearth and home, not to mention business, if Mary Theresa Parrish had lived past Riley’s first year in high school. Riley had buried his grief on the gridiron. Finn had buried his between the legs of other women. He wondered if that was still his dad’s excuse now, but had no interest in finding out.

“I’ll call when I’m back in town,” Finn went on. “But don’t expect me until after the holidays.”

Finn rang off, leaving Riley as he usually did, feeling frustrated and somewhat helpless. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Dad,” Riley muttered. For the millionth time he found himself wishing he was more impervious to his father’s regard for him. But no matter how old he was, no matter how well categorized his father’s failings, no matter that his road was the better one to take, he knew Finn could still plink him with the parental-guilt thing, and far too easily.

Tamping down the urge to smack something, Riley punched a number into his cell phone instead. “Hey, J.B.,” he said when the young man answered.

“Coach. Long time, no see. What, you can’t talk to us now that we’re out of contention?”

Riley grinned, quite relieved to put his conversation with Finn behind him. “I’ve been busy. Sorry to hear you guys got knocked out of postseason. Figured you might like to put your newly acquired free time to some use, earn a little Christmas money.” Riley had a few players from SFSU he kept on call for occasional assistance with cases. Some knew of him from when he played, some didn’t, but like all aspiring jocks, they liked being around someone who’d achieved the ultimate dream; an alumnus who’d made it to the pros. Didn’t matter to them that here he was, a few years later, his knee shot and struggling to earn a living. He’d played with the big boys, and they were sure if they ever got the chance, they’d make it last a lifetime.

For his part, he enjoyed the connection with them, seeing that hunger and drive. Helped him keep a healthier perspective on his achievements, not focus on what he’d lost. Or so he told himself anyway.

“We missed you at the gym the past couple of weeks. What hot case you on? Who you protecting, someone famous?”

Riley smiled. Everything seemed so much bigger and more dramatic when you were twenty. “I should be back after the holidays. Just in time to whip your sorry postseason-lacking asses back into shape.”

“That’s just harsh, man,” J.B. said, but the affection was clear in his tone.

“Hey, I’m simply trying to prepare you. You think life is tough playing college ball, you don’t know shit.” He could just see J.B. rolling his eyes. That was the other thing about being twenty, you thought you knew every last thing. Riley’s smile grew as he realized he was thankful to be reminded that being thirty-two and still not knowing shit wasn’t that bad after all. “Listen, I need you to pick up and deliver a package for me.” He told him where to pick it up, then gave him the address of the corner nearest to where he was presently sitting. “Sometime in the next hour if you can do it.”

“I’m on it, Coach.”

Riley hung up, shaking his head. The moniker had begun as an “old guy” joke, but as more guys began to look to him as a kind of mentor, at least in the weight room and during the occasional pickup game, it had stuck. Grinning, he stretched, then winced and swore when his knee protested painfully. “Oh yeah, being thirty-two is sooo much better.”

He glanced up at Tanzy’s office window. She wasn’t peeking out at the moment, trying to be cute with the little grins and the occasional wave. Sitting in the chilly rain, knee cramping, he hadn’t been in the mood to respond in kind. Now he thought about simply storming the fortress. She hadn’t offered, but he’d bet she wouldn’t refuse.

And the reason she’d let him in was exactly the reason he was still sitting in his truck.

After another look up at her window, he glanced at his watch, figured he had enough time to boot up before meeting J.B. Ernie should have something for him by now.

Angling his body so he could keep an eye on her row house, he connected his computer to his Palm Pilot and logged on to get his email. It would have been a hell of a lot easier if FishNet had digitized their photo file. Then they could have just emailed it to him. Or he could have had Ernie hack it for him so he wouldn’t have had to deal with the FishNet CEO at all. He shuddered thinking about that call.

Lori Sack was her name, and boy did she have a major chip on her shoulder. He had no idea why she was taking it out on him, but it didn’t take long to figure out his Y chromosome played a large role in the matter.

He’d hoped to bypass her as they had up to this point. Ernie had been flying below their radar, extracting the information he needed so they wouldn’t have to announce their involvement. If SoulM8 was a FishNet employee, Riley didn’t want to risk giving him any indication that they were tracking him. The fact that the perv kept changing his account info, always with a false name and address, told him the guy was either paranoid or had a pretty good clue that Tanzy wasn’t going to take his devoted act lying down—figuratively or literally—and would hire someone to look into it.

They’d managed to continue behind the scenes with the fingerprinting issue by contacting FishNet’s personnel director. Riley had made the anonymous call, asking about their employment and hiring procedures and if they printed or drug-tested their employees. He didn’t really care about the drug question, but knew it would divert the personnel manager from the fingerprint info he really wanted. As planned, she assumed he was some guy looking for a job where he didn’t have to give a sample at the office. Disgusted, she’d curtly informed him they ran a complete criminal and drug history on all new hires and therefore didn’t need to fingerprint them if they passed.

So, with the print comparison a bust, Riley’s second choice was a list of employees and, hopefully, photo IDs. But Ernie couldn’t extract what wasn’t there. Not that it was all that surprising FishNet didn’t store stuff like that on their mainframe. Many firms, especially those directly involved with Internet service, went out of their way to hackproof company information. Riley shook his head. Hack all you wanted into their clients’ information—what did they care?—but God forbid you tiptoe through their personnel or business files.

Which had forced the call directly to Ms. Sack. He made her aware of what he suspected and asked for her cooperation so they wouldn’t have to involve the police. Usually just the mention of the cops was enough to get assistance. No one wanted that hassle if they could avoid it. Ms. Sack, however, wasn’t afraid of a little hassle. In fact, she demanded to know why he was the one pursuing this instead of the police. Her position was that if they didn’t take the case seriously, why should she?

After patiently explaining how stalking cases worked and how little the police, by law, could actually do about it, he’d pushed hard on the issue of a woman’s right to protect herself—which, given her tone, was a subject she felt strongly about—and made it clear that if anything happened to his client, he’d be more than happy to point the finger at her, ringleader of the She-Woman Man-Haters Club. So, okay, he didn’t use exactly that term, but it had put a chink in her self-righteous armor.

She’d grudgingly agreed to give up a list of names, but had held steadfast on the pictures and address and phone number info. He didn’t care about the latter. With a name, Ernie could get him the personal info. But the pictures were crucial to the rest of his plan. Fortunately Ernie had also done some digging on Ms. Lori Sack. Background information that at the time had seemed useless. But given her rather open hostility toward the opposite sex, Riley didn’t think she’d want it to get out that she’d once applied to be a contestant on The Bachelor. Like she had a chance in hell, he thought, having seen her publicity photo on the FishNet website. Now, Survivor he could see her on. And winning the million. Hands down. But a dating show?

He still hadn’t figured that one out, but now that she’d set herself up in this new business venture, going brass to balls with the big boys, she wasn’t all that keen on having that information broadcasted, either. She did subject him to a blistering tirade on men’s continued subjugation of women—which he privately began to think was exactly what she really wanted, complete with leather bondage gear and a riding crop—but she gave him what he wanted.

Not his best day. But he’d gotten the job done. He also knew he’d burned that bridge, so whatever he got from this information was pretty much going to be his last shot at proving a direct link between SoulM8 and FishNet. Which would shift the focus entirely back to Martin. Martin, whose fingerprints Tanzy kept promising, but not delivering on.

He was working up an alternate plan for obtaining them himself, but had been busy working with Ernie on collecting additional information on possible fresh leads. Millicent had been able to give him a guest list to the charity ball. Ernie was working on getting a list of the wait staff, doormen, and valets who had worked during the event. If they were very lucky, when they cross-referenced those names with the employee list from FishNet they would get a hit. Hopefully SoulM8 was arrogant enough to think no one would make that particular connection. Riley was banking on it.

He glanced up at Tanzy’s building as his Palm Pilot connected, only to see her dash out of her front door and across the street. She ran around the back of his SUV and tapped on the passenger window. Juggling two Cokes, a couple of sandwiches, and what looked like a Road Runner figurine in a plastic bag, she motioned him to unlock the door.

He spent a moment considering the wisdom of that move, and maybe enjoying keeping her in the rain a fraction longer as well. After all, if she’d just been a little less stubborn about all this, they could be dining on real food back in Millicent’s roomy kitchen.

Her teasing smile shifted to what he’d come to think of as “that look.” She was very good at it, which still didn’t explain why it turned him on. Fighting a grin despite being annoyed with her—so what else was new?—he popped the lock.

She slid in and snapped the door shut behind her. “I thought you might like some company for lunch.”

As if she wasn’t the reason he was dining alone. In his truck.

She dangled the bag, immune to his glare. “And I brought you a fingerprint sample.”

“Wile E. Coyote?”

“A gift from Martin.”

Riley frowned and took the bag. “When?”

“When what? Oh, when did he give it to me? Just after the wolf/sheep thing hit big. Readers have been sending me sheep figurines. It was the closest he could come to a wolf.” She glared at him. “I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t some kind of hidden message of his sudden and profound obsession with me. More an example of his sweet but dorky sense of humor.”

Riley withheld comment on that and inspected the figurine through the plastic. “Who else has handled this? Has it been dusted?”

“I believe that’s your field.”

“I meant as in housecleaning dusting.”

“I’ve handled it, but no, no dusting.”

He regarded the figurine dubiously. “The uneven surface will make it difficult. You couldn’t get a meeting with him?”

She sighed. “Try to cooperate and all I get is a bunch of complaints.”

“Meaning you could get a meeting, but you didn’t.”

She held up the sandwiches. “Ham and Swiss, or tuna?” She put them on the padded console between them and went about popping the tops on the soda cans and putting them in the console holders. “I’m more the tuna type, if it helps you in the decision-making process.”

“Tanzy, listen, we really have to discuss—”

“Listen, I came out here, being nice, bearing food and fingerprints, because I’m getting tired of seeing you sit out here in the rain. You won’t even wave.”

He gave her the look. Judging from the little flash of response in her eyes, he was pretty good at it, too. “I’m working.”

“Come on, Riley, I know Millicent is worried, but you’re handling this, right? So there’s no need for her to—”

“Yes, she is worried. And yes, she’d rather us both be under her roof.”

“I told you I couldn’t live with her. Just as I told you—and her—that I didn’t think it was necessary for you to watch over me like this. So don’t blame me for your having to sit out here like this. There’s no need for her to pay you to—”

“Your aunt isn’t paying me for this detail.”

That shut her up. For a moment, anyway. “Did something go wrong between you?”

“No. You demanded taking over the bill payment and she accepted it.”

“But I made it explicitly clear that I didn’t want a bodyguard, I—”

“Yes, I know.” He scowled, though how he’d hoped to avoid this particular discussion, he had no idea. “You’re not being billed for this, either, okay?”

Nonplussed, she sat back and stared at him. “Why?” she asked finally.

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Because once I start something, I see it through to the end.” Whether it was his pro career, rebuilding his father’s life, finishing cases . . . “Just because you don’t think you warrant protection doesn’t mean I agree. And as long as I’m working this case, where and how I choose to work it is up to me. And I choose to work it where I can also keep my eye on you.”

She stared at him for a long moment, opened her mouth, then shut it again.

He couldn’t help it, he smiled. “What do you know. It can be done, and I don’t even think hell had to freeze over.”

Now he got the look again, and felt better for it.

“I’ve been known to remain speechless for entire minutes at a time,” she informed him frostily. Then the dry smile surfaced, followed by a resigned sigh as she flopped back in the seat and watched the rain splatter against the window. “I appreciate what you’re doing.” She glanced over at him. “Really, I do. But SoulM8, whoever he is,” she added with a warning glance, “hasn’t contacted me in days. Not since the dance. I’ve had two columns out since then and no email after either one. Martin hasn’t done or said anything remotely suspicious to me in our emails.”

“I know.”

She just looked at him. “Great. Thanks. So, did it ever occur to you that maybe it’s over and he’s moved on to some other unfortunate recipient of his twisted lust? I mean, at what point do we stop all this?”

“It doesn’t make sense that he’s just given up. Whatever drew him to you in the first place hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s magnified. The focus and attention on your column is white-hot and gaining. You’ve got more media exposure with that piece in last Sunday’s paper, and now the appearance on Good Morning Bay Area next week.”

“Maybe that’s it, maybe he’s shying away from the spotlight. Or maybe he made you. You haven’t exactly been hiding yourself.” She snagged the tuna sandwich from the bag and unwrapped it. “I mean, I go to the grocery store and you’re right there in the frozen-food aisle. I stop to meet Sue for lunch, and you’re two tables away. I get in my car, you’re right behind me. It’s silly.”

“It’s one more shield than you’d have without me.”

She paused midbite, then lowered the sandwich altogether. “You really think he’s going to come directly at me? You said most stalkers lacked self-esteem, that they kept their distance in order to keep their dreamworld intact. That contact was too risky, because rejection of their twisted reality would burst their fantasy bubble.”

“And that is statistically true. But after the note at the dance, it’s a chance I’m not willing to take. And neither should you.”

The sandwich completely forgotten now, she stared past him out the window. Riley had no idea what she was thinking this time. “Do you really think it could be Martin?” she said finally, breaking the rain-pattered silence. “I mean, he has plenty of other means of letting me know if he has . . . feelings for me.” She rubbed her arms. “I’m sorry. I can’t buy that.”

“I’m not just looking at Martin. He’s only a possible. We’re still looking at the stalker being an employee for FishNet.”

She fell silent again, then very quietly said, “I get this shuddering, creepy-crawly feeling every time I open my email file. I hate knowing he has access to me, even that way. And as much as I hate even considering it’s someone I actually know, I think I hate even more the idea that it’s just some stranger, with a face I wouldn’t recognize, out there somewhere, watching me. I want to believe he’s moved on, gotten over it. I really do.” She was absently shredding the crust of her sandwich into little pieces.

“I know,” he said, just as quietly. “And maybe he has.”

She looked at him. “But you don’t think so.”

Riley just shook his head, wishing he could tell her otherwise.

“So when do we give up? How long do we pursue this if he stops making contact?”

“Until we at least have a face or a name. Otherwise, he’s still out there, knowing who you are, knowing things about you, with you knowing that at one point at least, he developed a highly unstable crush on you. And it leaves you here, knowing nothing at all about him.” He clicked his laptop and Palm Pilot closed, email forgotten, turning to face her fully. “Information is power, and right now he’s holding too much of it to suit my peace of mind. And yours, from what you’ve just told me. So that’s how long we stay on.”

“What is the chance he’ll become an actual threat to me? Your professional opinion,” she added.

Did she suspect the monumental struggle he was waging keeping the personal out of this? “I don’t know. I have someone running an updated profile, taking this latest contact into consideration. I should get it back later today. I can try to lift something from the figurine. Even a partial would be enough to give us an indication. But until we find out a name at least—a face would be even better—I stick close to you.”

Her dry smile flickered to life. “Whether I want you to or not?”

“Unless you want to hire someone else, someone who will only play by your rules.”

She immediately shook her head. “No.”

Riley tried to tell himself the immense relief he felt was because of the paycheck. And knew it was a lie before the thought had completed itself. Just as he knew he’d see this through whether she was paying him to or not.

“I do trust that you know what you’re doing. I—I just guess I hate admitting how much I need you to do it, is all.”

Riley hated the defeated look on her face. One of the things he admired most about her was her chin-first attitude. And right now he wanted to reach out, stroke that chin, turn it toward him, lean over, and—

“I guess we need to discuss the current situation here, then.”

The current situation, he wanted to tell her, was that he was achingly hard and dying to taste her. He could tell himself his professional judgment wasn’t clouded, but the fact was, he was in a fog so thick and sensually charged, he was completely incapable of discussing anything.

She sighed, apparently oblivious to the fact that he had to curl his fingers into his palms to keep from reaching for her. She looked small somehow, when she’d always been larger than life to him, and he hated that defenselessness about her. He wanted her to be mad, like he was, furious that someone dared to mess with her head like this guy was.

“I agree that I need to at least know who this guy is. For my own peace of mind. And . . . although it pains me to admit it”—she flicked a hint of her special dry smile his way—“I’ve slept better knowing you’re out here watching me. Only I can’t let you go on doing this. Sitting in your truck, I mean. Christmas Eve’s less than a week away, for God’s sake. I feel like Scrooge.”

“Afraid you’ll be visited by some ghosts in your sleep, are you?”

She laughed then and he was glad to see her regroup. “I have plenty of ghosts, trust me. But that’s not what’s motivating me.”

“Then what is?”

The quiet seriousness in his tone had her turning toward him. She started to toss off some smart remark, he could see it in her eyes. Then she stopped, and her expression grew as serious as his. “I like you.”

Riley couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Is that so bad a thing to have to admit? Are you still mad because of how I handled—”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that, to be quite honest, I don’t have many men I consider friends.” She looked at him directly. “And so, I like you. I like knowing I can talk to you. And while I’m making a fool of myself here, I’ll admit that I like thinking I could talk to you about things unrelated to the case.” She raised a hand to fend off his response. “I know you think that sheep thing was all an act, but I have to tell you, Riley, you’ve got more sheep in you than you think.”

Whatever he’d been about to say dissolved in an openmouthed snort. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, don’t get all offended on me.”

He could have told her he wasn’t in the least offended. In fact, it was probably the most flattering thing she’d ever said to him. “Go on.”

“I guess I feel like if I had something that was bothering me, you’d listen. I mean, really listen, and rather than overreact like some of my girlfriends would do, you’d think about it and offer some kind of sound, rational advice. That’s your inner sheep.” She folded her arms. “Go ahead and laugh now.”

He didn’t. He was too confused. “Why is my being a supposed nice guy and all-around good listener a problem?”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Because. I can’t live with Millicent. A weekend is one thing, but you don’t know what it’s like. I simply can’t do it for the long haul. I’ll be running foundations and making speeches at luncheons before I know it.”

“Would that be so bad?”

She merely glared at him.

“I meant, you said something at the charity ball about getting more involved.”

“Involved, yes. But on my own terms. Under the same roof with Millicent, nothing is on my own terms. So I can’t live with Millicent, ergo I’m living at home. I can’t stand you living in your truck, ergo—” She motioned toward her row house.

“You’re offering your place?”

“I’m not getting us adjoining hotel rooms.”

Riley settled back against his door, quite happy to discover that apparently he wasn’t, in fact, the only one having sleepless nights. Nights that SoulM8 hardly factored into. “And I appreciate that. And the offer to bunk in. But I still don’t understand the problem.”

She swore under her breath, and damn if it didn’t make him even harder. How she did that would always be a mystery to him.

“Fine, then, might as well just sacrifice what’s left of my ego here.” She shifted her body so that she faced him, pulling one knee up on the leather seat. “I like you, okay? But I also want you. And all the mixing business with pleasure stuff aside, I generally don’t do well with keeping men around very long after we—after I—”

“Have your way with them?”

“Oh, you’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“So, let me get this straight. Mixing business with pleasure aside, you want to be friends, but you also want to . . . have your way with me?”

“Must I completely abase myself here?” At his amused but very direct look, she swore again. “Fine, maybe this is what I deserve after all. My friends certainly seem to think so.” She held his gaze directly. “Yes. Okay? Happy now? But, more important, I want to be your friend. I want to know you’d be there for me. And not because I’m paying you to be.”

“I would be,” he said, all kidding gone. “Will be.”

“I—” She swallowed, surprised by the solemnly stated vow. “Thank you. I’d . . .” She let out a little laugh. “God, you threw me, there. I, uh, I want to be there for you, too. If you ever needed anything, that is. I know we don’t know each other that well, but—”

“So what is the problem, Tanzy?”

“If you move in with me—professionally speaking—it’s going to be hard for me to, well, only want to be your friend.”

“And you don’t think I can resist such a temptation?” He’d been teasing, fully expecting her to take a shot right back. So he hadn’t expected the little flicker of hurt in her eyes. Which is when all the teasing, the torturing, and the worrying about inherited sins and professional distance flew right out the window. “I’m not sure I could,” he said, then reached over and ran his fingertips along the side of her face. They both shuddered at the contact. “Would that really be so bad if I didn’t?”

She lifted a wary gaze to his. “It’s been my experience that,” she said, her voice wavering as he continued to stroke her face, play with her hair, “while a whole hell of a lot of fun, sex generally ruins everything.”

“I don’t have sex with clients,” he said, already leaning over the console, tugging her closer, wishing like hell they were somewhere other than in his damn truck.

“Well, then,” she said, already sighing and letting her eyes drift shut. “I guess that’s one problem solved.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, “so fire me already.”

“You’re totally fired.”

“Thank God. Because I’m not going anywhere anyway.” He pushed his hands into her hair, rubbed his thumbs along her cheekbones. “And no one is going to get close enough to touch you.” He stole one taste, and that was all it took to put him over the edge. He tugged her bodily across the console, across his legs and chest and into his arms, sending computer, food, and God knew what else skidding everywhere. He could care less. She was finally right where he so badly wanted her to be.

“Except me.” And then he crushed his mouth to hers.