Independence. Self-reliance.

These are things to be proud of, things that make you a stronger, more confident person. Not to mention they’re good for your general mental health.

But can you take self-reliance too far? I’m beginning to think so. And the signs are when independence stops looking like freedom, and starts feeling a whole lot like isolation. I’m not advocating total dependence, or even partial dependence really. I think I’m talking about teaming up. Joining forces. Realizing when you can’t do it alone, and not being afraid to reach out for a little assistance. Sure, all the trust issues rise up. Along with fears of losing that oh-so-valued independence. But is it really such a bad thing to follow on occasion, instead of always having to lead? And, most important, is it okay not to feel guilty when, rather than feeling threatened by letting someone else handle a tough spot, you simply feel relief?

Chapter 17

Damn.” Riley continued to swear as he flipped through the pages. He didn’t even bother to look at the photos. It was bad enough that he’d crashed on Tanzy’s couch for four straight hours. Although he had to admit he felt better than he had in days. Some of it due to sleep, some due to the fact that he could look over at Tanzy and know he’d be tasting that mouth, hearing her laugh . . . Until she kicked him out on his sorry, unhelpful ass, anyway.

His sense of well-being was rapidly dwindling as he slapped the FishNet employment list onto the coffee table. He really wanted this lead to pan out. He really didn’t want SoulM8 to be Martin. “All women.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, then sighed. “I guess I should have known after my run-in with Ms. Sack.”

Tanzy scooped up the stack. “An all-women Internet firm.” She ruffled through the pictures, pausing to look at this one or that. “Hence the name FishNet, I suppose. After the stocking?”

Riley shuddered at the mental image of Lori Sack in fishnet anything. “I suppose,” he said.

“Interesting concept,” Tanzy mused. “Although I’m not exactly sure what her message is. Girls Can Be Geeks, Too?” She straightened the stack he’d slapped down and began looking through the names and dates hired. “This doesn’t necessarily mean he isn’t connected to them somehow, does it? Isn’t it possible that he has a gal pal and she’s the one setting up the false accounts for him?”

Riley shook his head. “Wouldn’t fit the profile.”

“A sister, then? Cousin?”

Riley sighed and shoved his fingers through his hair. “A long shot there, too. Most of these types don’t have great relationships with women. Family or otherwise. Except for the fantasy ones in their heads, anyway.”

“Well, doesn’t that rule out Martin, then? He has good relationships with women.”

“His profile is a bit different. He’s been married all his adult life to one woman. We don’t know how close they are, but from the looks of things at the charity ball, I’m guessing now that the nest is empty, they’re discovering they don’t have all that much in common anymore. He’s not a big socializer, wasn’t all that popular in high school and college.”

Tanzy’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve done a background check on him?”

Riley looked at her. “It’s my job. He’s none the wiser and we’re informed. It’s the only way,” he added when she looked as if she was going to protest. “And now he’s having some kind of midlife crisis. Goes and buys a fancy sports car. Maybe starts developing an attachment to his protégée. Starts sending notes. You know, there’s a reason Martin is in a computer-oriented field. He communicates better via the written word. Nonconfrontational. Removed from face-to-face situations with other people. Starting to sound familiar?”

Tanzy stared him down for ten full seconds, then finally, stubbornly, looked back at the photos. “I don’t recognize any of them. Or these names. Dammit.”

Clearly she was not going to discuss the Martin angle. And Riley was more than happy to let it go. For now. He had the coyote figurine to work with. Hopefully that would put an end to their speculation. One way or the other.

She put both piles on the table. “I know you explained this already, but why isn’t it possible that this guy is just hacking into their site and setting up these accounts?” She smiled. “I’m a failed girl geek, so indulge me.”

Despite his frustration, his lips quirked. “Ernie tracked that. As best as he could, anyway. The way their system is set up, it would be hard to hack in that often and not get caught. On the inside, he’d have a much easier time covering his tracks. Besides, if he had that kind of technological ability, he could hack into any provider. No sense in sticking with the same one and risking getting nailed. FishNet does have some pretty tight shields in place, plus they don’t keep any of their company files stored online. It’s all backed up, and managed off-site.” He sighed. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but it is one of the main reasons Martin stays on the radar. Because of the size of the account with MainLine, he has carte blanche with FishNet on setting up email accounts. We’ve tried tracing them, but they set up dummy accounts all the time for vendors and such. He’s got a pretty good background in computers.”

“As good as your pal Ernie?”

“Good enough,” he told her. “But I’ll be honest, I really thought we had SoulM8 pegged as a FishNet employee. I still thought that was the stronger lead by far.” And the one he wanted to be true, for her sake, even if it meant more work for him.

She sat silently for a while and he wasn’t sure what was going through her mind, but when she finally spoke up, it was about the FishNet angle. “Maybe we should stick with the family angle. Maybe a female relative or friend that looks more like one of the guys?” She nodded to the photographs, and dryly added, “Not that that description would narrow things down much.”

Sad, but true, he thought. “It’s a possible. I do wonder why Ms. Sack never mentioned the company’s gender slant when we had our little talk.”

“Maybe she assumed you knew.”

“More likely she’s sitting somewhere, right this minute, cackling over my disappointment and frustration.”

Tanzy shot him a wry smile. “Internet Feminists: one. Stupid Arrogant Males: zero.”

“Hey,” he said in mock affront. “I’m not stupid.”

He finally got an honest laugh out of her. “So, now what do we do? What other leads do we have?” She shot him a look that made it clear she wasn’t referring to the Martin angle, only the FishNet angle.

Riley felt like he’d beat on her enough with that anyway for one day. He didn’t enjoy the idea that it was someone she trusted doing this to her, innocent flirtation or not, any more than she did. “I’m compiling a list of people who attended and worked the foundation benefit the night of the Crystal Ball. My original plan was to cross-check them with this list and see if any of the names popped. It still wouldn’t hurt to look. Using the sister or relative theory, maybe we’ll at least get a last-name match.”

“And if we don’t?”

Riley sighed and stared directly at her. They both knew where he was going to focus his attention if this didn’t pan out. “We keep looking,” he said. “We have one other thing we’re working on, but it’s taking some time to perfect. Ernie is working on a virus—”

“Creating one, you mean? Can you do that? Legally?”

“Ernie is working on a virus,” he began again, purposely not answering her, “to put in your machine that will automatically attach itself to your outgoing emails.”

“And that works how?”

“It’s called a Trojan Horse. It will email everyone in your address book and when they open it and download the attached file, it’s like a worm. It will slide into the recipient’s computer and set up shop, allowing us to go anywhere we want in his machine.”

“Wow. I hear stories, but I always thought they smacked of paranoia. You can really do that? And if so, I don’t want to infect everyone I know.” She smiled. “Although there are a few people it might be fun to—” At his warning glare, she smoothed her mouth into a straight line, lips shut.

“We won’t infect anyone else. We’ll set up a duplicate email account on your laptop, with only one name in the address book.”

“Ah. But for this to work, he has to open the attached file, right?”

“Assuming the guy is a stranger, and this is his first contact from you directly, do you really think he’d be able to resist?”

Tanzy shuddered. “True. But what will the note say? And won’t it just encourage him?”

“It will be a standard promotional thing. We’ll make it look like it’s something your magazine is having you send out. The file will be a list of your upcoming appearances.”

“But won’t that encourage him to—”

“Yes, and we hope he does show up. He can access that information from the magazine site anyway, but not in a list like this. They only announce things as they come up. He’ll see this as a personal invitation. After all, you’ve never sent him anything before, right? He’ll take the bait, trust me.”

Tanzy rubbed her arms. “Bait. Not giving me the warm fuzzies, here.”

“I’ll get some help and we’ll cover the audience at your upcoming talk-show appearance and also watch whoever hangs outside the radio stations, and so on. We’ll record everyone, then scan the films to see if we notice a recurring face pop up.”

“Why haven’t we done that already? I mean, even if the virus doesn’t work, should we send him the email anyway, to spark him into action? Should we wait until he contacts me again?”

“No, we don’t wait. And I’ve already started recording things.”

“Since when?”

“Since the day after the dance.”

“Because we didn’t take him seriously until then,” she said, nodding in understanding. She lifted a hand when he started to speak. “No, I don’t blame you. Hell, I didn’t take it seriously, either. And I’ve been doing some online research about stalkers, too. You were just following standard protocol with these guys. Not usually a threat, only considered potentially dangerous when the pattern changes.” She looked at him and he hated the vulnerability he saw there. “And now the pattern has changed. First the note at the dance. And now no emails after my columns come out.”

“I don’t have anything from the radio show, but I do have film from your last Barbara Bradley taping. So we don’t have anything to compare it with yet. But we’re going to ask the television station to give us a copy of whatever film was taken of the audience during your last handful of tapings. If we don’t get a name pop on the list comparisons from the charity ball, we’ll hopefully recognize a recurring face in the crowd.”

“Okay,” she said, but he could see that it wasn’t. That although she was taking a very hands-on, direct approach to helping herself be safe, the reality of how vulnerable she was, and had been for some time, was just sinking in.

The eyes she lifted to his made his chest tighten. There were no tears, which he hadn’t expected anyway. But there was a sort of haunted look. Or perhaps hunted was a better word.

“I really want this to be over,” she whispered fiercely. She rubbed her arms again and looked away. “One way or the other.”

He got up and went to her, pulled her from the chair and into his arms. “We’ll get him, Tanzy. We’ll ID him.”

“I wanted to think the cease-fire meant he’d moved on,” she said, still sounding somewhat hollow. She looked up at him. “But it’s just another change in the pattern, isn’t it?”

He looked steadily into her eyes. She was having a momentary lapse, but he knew her. She’d rebound quickly, and likely hate it that she’d let the bastard get to her, even for this brief moment. So she wouldn’t appreciate him sugarcoating anything. It would be the same as telling her he thought she couldn’t handle it. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It looks that way. But it doesn’t mean he’ll do anything, or that he hasn’t given up. Pattern breaks are signals, but they don’t always mean something dangerous is going to happen.” He stroked her face, rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks. “But we’d be foolish not to prepare for any possibility. And that includes—”

She pressed her fingers across his lips. “Don’t. Just . . . don’t. I can’t think about that any more today. About it being—you know. I just can’t, okay?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay.” He tipped her chin up. “But you need to know that I’m not giving up. We’re not giving up. Not until we nail the little bastard down.”

“Yeah,” she said, then pressed her cheek against his chest and slid her arms around his waist. “Bastard-nailing sounds good.”

The circumstances sucked, but he couldn’t help but think how right it felt to hold her like this. She had such a huge personality, and it was still rather stunning to realize how small she felt in his arms.

He rubbed his hands up and down her back, then tucked her even more tightly against his body. He only wished he could make her feel this safe, this protected, twenty-four/seven.

She sighed deeply. “You know what I really hate?” she asked, her voice muffled against his shirt.

He leaned back. “What?”

“That I have him to thank for meeting you. I hate giving him even that much.” She slid one hand around the back of his neck and along his jaw. “But I’m glad it was you.”

“Thank your great-aunt for any introductions and leave it at that.” He took her hand from his face, turned it, and kissed her palm, then curled her fingers inward. It was a silent promise, one he hoped to hell he could keep.

A light flared to life in her eyes as he pressed his lips to her closed hand, then covered it with his own. It wasn’t the flare of fear, or vulnerability, or even hope. It was a flare of desire.

He had a brief thought of how dangerous situations could make two people feel things, want things, do things they’d never ordinarily do. He knew that wasn’t the case with his own feelings, but he didn’t want Tanzy to regret anything that might happen between them.

She ran a finger down the side of his face. “You’re still worrying about the whole mixing business with pleasure thing, aren’t you?”

He should be. Considering all he’d gone through with Finn. And his father would be the first to hoot with laughter if Riley dared to say that this was different, different because it was Tanzy, because what he felt wasn’t just lust. That, at the very least, it was the beginning of something that could be a whole lot more than simple sexual chemistry. In fact, he could already say that.

“I want us to do this because we want it,” he said finally. “Not because we’ve been thrown together in a sort of surreal situation.”

“Is that how you feel?”

He shook his head. “And because of that, I might as well tell you something else now. I’m going to make some calls. Bring some other people in on this. We need more eyes and ears.”

Instead of balking, she merely said, “Well then, they’d better be billing me for it. I know you’re worried about me and it’s more than professional concern, but I won’t accept you doing that out of pocket. It’s only fair—”

He kissed her. When he managed to lift his head, he said, “My perspective with you is shot. I need help with this. And, frankly, yes, I’ll feel better when I know there are other people watching out for you.” He gently gripped her face between his palms. “But I won’t—can’t—step completely out of the way.”

“I believe I specifically asked you not to.”

His lips quirked. And he loved that no matter the intensity of the moment, humor and amusement were always lurking just below the surface between them. It made this alliance he felt they shared seem all the more solid. “Ordered would be the more appropriate description, I believe.”

She shrugged, unconcerned, and wrapped her arms around his waist. “As long as you don’t let me out of your sight, I’ll be perfectly fine with whatever solution you feel best serves the situation.”

Now his body was the one doing all the flaring. She nestled closer to him, her body warm and pliant. Okay, maybe not all the flaring was exclusive to him. “Round-the-clock attention,” he promised, his voice growing a bit rough as she continued to stroke his face, his chin, his lips.

She smiled and he didn’t mind the hint of satisfaction. Not one bit. “Could give the term bodyguard a whole new slant.”

“Could.” It was all he managed to get out before taking those sly lips with his own.

He tasted sweet from the milkshake she’d made him and something else that was a flavor all his own. He took his time with her, kissed her slowly, like a man who planned to stay awhile. She relaxed against him, worry and fear receding as he continued his lazy seduction. She could get used to him staying awhile if it meant a lot more time spent doing this.

His hands skimmed down her back, then tucked her hips snugly into his. He was so hard, it took her by surprise. A man with such an urgent need was usually a bit more . . . impatient. And yet though his fingertips gripped her hips, it wasn’t with barely leashed passion, but with gentle confidence. As if he knew they had all day—and night—to see where this could lead.

Normally she’d be impatient with this kind of pace. And it hit her, as his mouth left hers and traced a slow, wet path along her jaw, that she’d always been the one to push it, never allowing either party to take more than a second to think of anything other than slaking lust. She tipped her head back, a soft moan escaping her lips as he had his way with the tender curve of her neck. What on earth had she been afraid of?

She knew exactly what. She trailed her hands up his back, lifted her head, and kissed him gently, sweetly, on the lips. His eyes opened and she thrilled a little to see how deep the desire ran. “Thank you,” she whispered.

His eyes widened a fraction. But his hands were moving now, trailing along her spine, toying lazily with her hair. “For?”

“Taking your time.” She smiled briefly. “Making me take my time. Making me want to take my time.”

“I’m just doing what feels right. With you.”

Her lips curved deeply. It was the perfect description of how she felt. She so hadn’t expected this slow, smooth glide into want. Although if Tanzy was honest, she’d admit she’d long since gone past want, to pure, unadulterated need. But with all the banked heat, the zing of tension that was such a constant thing between them, she’d expected some sort of cataclysmic explosion when they finally came together. Not this sweet, aching tenderness.

And while a part of her wanted to pull away, automatically protect what little of her she could from such a vulnerable sort of intimacy, she realized it was too late for that. The real intimacy was all the things that had happened leading them to this moment. And it was that, her wanting this man as a whole, that made this tender moment more emotionally explosive than the wildest sex ever could.

“You have good instincts,” she told him finally, then slid her fingers into his hair and tugged his mouth back to hers.

Riley’s heart teetered on the brink. He really hadn’t begun this interlude with any sense of calculation. She’d needed him, needed to know she wasn’t facing this alone. He needed her to know she’d never have to face anything alone. The words hadn’t been there, so he’d kissed her, held her, stroked her.

Had he planned their first time, he’d have assumed she’d want the full wolf treatment. And, frankly, he was pretty damn sure he could accommodate her on that score. If they stayed together long enough, he would. Or die trying. But not this time.

Her tongue was warm and ice-cream sweet as it slid into his mouth. He wondered if he’d ever tire of tasting her, dueling with her. His appetite for her exploded and he was tempted to simply take over, dominate, go for all that he suddenly was so desperate to have. Only the exquisite torture of keeping it slow, exploring rather than conquering, was all the more tantalizing, each little sigh all the more rewarding.

“I have to tell you,” he said roughly when she began the slow exploration of his jawline and neck, “I’ve dreamed of having you.” He felt the shiver run through her and his body tightened further. “It wasn’t slow. It was always hard, and fast. Nothing like this.”

She ran her tongue along his neck . . . and now it was his turn to shiver. With pleasure.

“No,” she agreed, dropping small kisses beneath his ear, “it was nothing like this.”

It gave him a little jolt, knowing she’d fantasized about him, too.

As if she’d read his mind, and he was beginning to think she could, she looked at him, lips curved in that wry tilt. “What, you think men are the only ones who think about stuff like that?”

“It wasn’t about women fantasizing in general,” he said, his own lips curving. He toyed with the hem of her sweatshirt. “It was very specifically the idea of you fantasizing about me that got to me.”

“That surprises you? You do realize you’re total fantasy material, do you not?” She ran her hands down his chest, then up over his shoulders and down his arms. “Totally.” Then she grinned at him. “But, and here’s the real shock, I was dreaming of doing this . . .” She slid his shirt up, rubbing her palms flat along his chest as she did, until it was bunched up under his arms. “Uncovering this,” she went on, no longer looking into his eyes, but staring at his chest. “Doing this.” She leaned in and ran her tongue around one nipple, then the other, making his entire body jerk in surprised response. “Even when it was covered by those awful shapeless suits and I hadn’t a clue such a magnificent chest was hidden beneath it.”

He simply stared at her, his entire body humming. “Did you, now?”

She nodded, the playful, almost smug smile faltering only slightly when he pulled his shirt completely off, then very deliberately placed his hands on her waist. “Well,” he said, enjoying her little intake of breath when he nudged her baggy sweatshirt up, revealing a scant inch of bare abdomen. “I always knew what sort of body lurked beneath your clothes.” He nudged the shirt an inch higher, pleased that she gripped his biceps, as if needing the support. “I almost blew my sheep cover, literally, that night on the stairs when you had on those suede pants that looked like they’d been tanned directly onto every inch of those legs of yours.”

“Yeah?” she said, but her voice was shaky, ruining whatever edge she might have hoped to gain with that cocky smile.

“Yeah,” he said, stroking his thumbs up underneath the edge of her sweatshirt, which was now just below where her bra should be . . . but wasn’t. Damn, but she kept him a little off balance, too. He stroked a little higher, nudging the thick cotton up until the round fullness of her breasts dipped below the ribbed hem. “But when I closed my eyes at night, it wasn’t suede pants or couture ballgowns that had me hot and hard.”

He saw her throat work, felt his own go a bit dry as he skated his fingertips beneath the soft material . . . and found something entirely softer. The softest skin in the world.

“No?” she managed, the word more like a croak.

He just shook his head, dying to dip down, taste the hard budded nipples he was stroking. Dear God he was hard for her, every inch of her. “I—” He had to stop, clear his throat, wet his lips.

Her pupils shot wide at the unconscious action and he almost lost his last scrap of control right then and there. “I fantasized,” he said, covering her breasts entirely with his hands, making her moan . . . smoothing his palms gently over her now distended nipples, making them both suck in a little breath, “about that damn football jersey.” He slid his hands around her back, sliding the sweatshirt up and over her head, then finally, mercifully, pulling her against him, so bare skin could finally kiss bare skin. “About tearing it off of you . . . and making love with you wearing nothing more than those goddamn slippers.”

She’d already been reaching for him, pushing fingers into his hair, tugging his head closer, when his words registered, and she stilled . . . then burst out laughing.

He grinned. “Smooth, aren’t I?”

“The best kind of smooth,” she said, her smile pure, her eyes so bright, so filled with an emotion he was too afraid to put a name to. Mostly because he wanted to so badly.

Then she tugged him close, put her mouth on his, and murmured, “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

He kissed her, hard and fast, then slow, and excruciatingly slower still. “I’ve never felt the need to make the sweeping romantic gesture,” he murmured as he lifted his mouth from hers. “But I’d love nothing more than to carry you up those stairs to bed. Only we’d more than likely end up a broken, twisted heap at the bottom.” He was thoroughly enjoying the roller-coaster pace of this moment, the slow, tortuous ascent, the screaming plummet, only to climb once again.

“There’s a romantic image,” she agreed. “But the sentiment is appreciated.” She abruptly slid from his arms, took his hand, and completely unself-conscious of her half nudity, turned and tugged him along. “However entirely unnecessary it is.” She tossed a grin over her shoulder as she pulled him up the stairs behind her. “We can play follow the leader instead.”

And though he wanted nothing more than her naked, in a soft bed, with him driving deeply into her, it was almost as enjoyable keeping her off stride. She’d had entirely too much experience in calling all the shots. If nothing else, he’d be the one to show her that following was sometimes more fun than leading.

They reached the landing on the second floor and she turned to hike them up another flight, when he suddenly swung her around and expertly trapped her against the wall. Her eyes were wide with surprise, but filled with delight as well.

Oh yeah, definitely going to enjoy the battle of their particular wills.

He braced his hands on either side of her head, leaned his body into hers, almost but not quite touching. “What rooms are on this floor?”

She lifted her hands to run them up his chest, the playful gleam swiftly returning to her gaze. He turned the tables easily, snagging both hands before they could brush his chest and pinning them back to the wall.

Now her pupils all but exploded, her mouth dropping open even, before she reined it in.

“What rooms?” he asked, almost conversationally, an easy smile on his face.

“I, uh . . .”

His grin widened. Speechless. This was even better.

“Rooms, Tanzy,” he whispered, leaning down and nipping her shoulder, then running a quick tongue up along her neck. “Name them,” he murmured against her ear.

She tensed under his erotic assault, but tellingly didn’t fight back. “Office. Bathroom.”

She gasped when he cut her off with a deep tongue kiss. “And?” he asked, as if he hadn’t just made her knees buckle. Again.

“Closet.”

Damn. The bathroom could be fun . . . but he wanted her on a flat surface. First. Preferably one with cushioning. “Third floor?” he asked, dipping his head down to run a wet ring around her nipple with the tip of his tongue.

She gasped, then moaned when he gave the other one the same treatment. Or maybe that was him.

“I have no idea,” she said, then half laughed. “Damn, what you do to me.”

He lifted his head, grinned. “I do expect paybacks, you know.”

She tipped her head forward, managed to open her desire-blurred eyes. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

Her eyes began to clear, that smile began to form. A worthy opponent. They were going to have fun with each other.

He pulled her arms over his shoulders, then lifted her backside away from the wall. “Put your legs around me,” he instructed.

“But—”

“Wrap ’em, Tanzy,” he commanded. “Tight.”

She did, and he turned for the last set of stairs.

“Your knee—”

“Is a minor inconvenience compared to other, more centralized aches.” He smiled. “Piggybacks aren’t as dashing as sweeping you into my arms and racing up the stairs two at a time, but—”

She wiggled a little against him. “Piggyfronts definitely have their bonus attributes.”

She had him there.

And it was precisely because he couldn’t wait another moment for her to have him—and if there was a God, again after that—that he did take the stairs two at a time.

And he didn’t care in the least that he’d have to ice his knee for a week.